by Violet Blue
“Would the novitiates step forward to join me, please?”
Already at Martyn’s side, I waited as another eight men made themselves known, almost ashamed of their eagerness in stepping forward. Fewer in number even than I’d expected, we didn’t dare to make eye contact for fear of revealing just how stricken with nervous anticipation we were.
“Gentlemen, let me explain the rules for tonight. Allow me to introduce you to the lovely Scarlett.”
At his words, a girl of around twenty was led into the room, dressed in a short, flirty white dress decorated with a cute cherry pattern. Her nut-brown hair was fastened in two pigtails at the nape of her neck, and she wore bright red T-bar shoes and white ankle socks. She looked the very picture of innocence, but a glint in her eye told me a saucy little pain slut lurked beneath the carefully constructed façade. Was she a student, taking part in tonight’s ceremony for the love of it, or a working girl with a taste for submission? It didn’t really matter. She clearly wanted to be spanked every bit as much as Martyn Salisbury and his cronies wanted to spank her.
A high-backed chair was set down in the center of the room, the other members of the Salon forming a partial circle around it. At Martyn’s command, we took our places, completing the circle.
“First, you will watch as Scarlett is treated to a thorough bottom warming. Then each of you will have the opportunity to give her six of the best. Think of it, gentlemen, six hard spanks on her peachy, perfect cheeks…”
Glancing at the guys on either side of me as Martyn talked us through the pleasures to come, I couldn’t help noticing they both already had distinct swellings in their evening trousers. I couldn’t blame them; who could fail to be aroused in such surroundings, with the prospect of dishing out their first-ever spanking growing closer?
His speech at an end, Martyn sat on the chair, ordering Scarlett to drape herself over his knee. She made a halfhearted attempt to resist him, but it was all part of the game. Martyn simply grasped her wrist and hauled her into place. He’d made sure to position himself so the initiates had the perfect view of her round, plump ass, the dress straining across its curves. Edging up the hem, ignoring her protests that he simply couldn’t do such a thing to her, he revealed Scarlett’s white cotton panties, the spanking fetishist’s undergarment of choice. Their crotch looked damp; proof, if any more was really needed, that she was enjoying this ritual every bit as much as we were.
“So, do you have anything to say for yourself before your spanking begins?” Martyn asked.
Scarlett’s reply was simple and heartfelt. “Please, Sir, I need to be punished.”
“Then punished you shall be. By me and my nine associates. I hope you’re ready for that.” Everyone in the room seemed to hold his breath as Martyn drew back his arm. A moment’s tense silence, then his hand landed with an audible crack on Scarlett’s panty-clad ass.
She gave a little “Ow,” even though the blow didn’t seem that hard. Still, it was what we expected. What we wanted.
Martyn repeated the action on Scarlett’s other cheek, bringing another little mew of pain from her. Somewhere to my left, I heard a groan—part desire, part disappointment—and wondered whether the excitement had caused one of my fellow first-timers to come before the real fun started.
Ignoring the noise, Martyn concentrated on giving Scarlett’s ass what my mother would have called a good skelping, slapping her cheeks hard through the thin underwear, over and over again. We didn’t need to be told we were watching a maestro in action. His spanking motion was smooth, the strokes unhurried, giving the anticipation just enough time to build before the next one fell. For Scarlett’s part, she wriggled prettily on his knee in reaction to her punishment, the crotch of her panties, aided by Martyn’s thick fingers, slipping into the groove between her pussy lips to give us a glimpse of the delights to come once he pulled them down fully.
I heard the rasp of a zipper coming down, and glanced over to see the guy to my right extracting his cock from his fly. My companion to my left already had his dick out—as, it appeared, did everyone watching except me.
Martyn had noticed it, too. All the time, I thought he’d been concentrating on Scarlett and her reactions to the spanking, but it appeared he’d had an eye on his audience, too.
“A little slow in joining us there, Freddie.” His tone made it obvious he expected me to be wanking publicly by now. “Don’t tell me you’re shy? And you a good Cavendish School boy, too. They’re usually the first to start the circle jerks.”
He was waiting, as was everyone in the room, but I couldn’t bring myself to unzip my trousers. Not here, not in front of all these people I didn’t know.
When my hand didn’t move in the direction of my fly, Martyn decided matters should be taken into someone else’s hands. He spoke to the initiate on my right. “Why don’t you help Freddie out, Smith? He’s obviously having first night nerves. Though I don’t know why. After all, it’s not as though he’s going to have anything we haven’t all seen before…”
This was the last thing I’d expected to happen, to have fingers other than my own undressing me. I tried to stop Smith grabbing for my zipper, but I was too slow. He pushed a hand inside my borrowed evening trousers, seeking for a hard, aching cock—and finding only wet, puffy pussy-flesh.
His baffled surprise lasted only a moment. “Fuck me!” he bellowed, alerting everyone else to his discovery. “Freddie’s a girl!”
Trying to back out of the circle, I was grabbed by Smith, who looked like he played rugby and had the brute strength to prove it. Without ceremony, Martyn dumped Scarlett off his lap and strode over to me.
“What’s going on here?” He tugged the domino mask from my face, staring into my wide, panicked eyes. “Who are you, and where’s Freddie?”
“I…my name’s Ashley Powell,” I admitted. “I’m a friend of Freddie’s. He’s ill, so I borrowed his invitation. I’m sorry I deceived you, but there was no other way I was going to be allowed into the Salon, and I wanted to come here so badly. I know I shouldn’t have.”
“Damn right you shouldn’t. This place has secrets, secrets generations of Salon members have worked very hard to keep hidden over the years, and in you barge in your stolen clothes, spying on things that were never meant for the eyes of someone like you.” For the first time, I became aware of Martyn’s height, at six foot four a good six inches taller than me, and the way his muscular body bulked out his tuxedo. So strong, so dominant. His dark eyes stared into mine, and in that moment he knew me. “Of course, you know there’s only one thing to do with someone who lies and cheats her way in here, don’t you?”
I dropped my gaze, aware of a mounting excitement in the room. “Y-yes, Sir.”
Martyn turned to Scarlett, who’d almost been forgotten about in all the ruckus following the revelation of my real identity. “I’m afraid we won’t be needing you any longer, sweetheart. Someone will call you a taxi. Don’t worry, there’ll be a little something extra in your tribute by way of compensation.”
So she was a tart—and a very disappointed one, from her petulant pout as she was escorted from the room. Still, it left the way clear for Martyn to focus on dealing with me. I shifted from foot to foot, nervously awaiting his next instructions. They weren’t long in coming, but to my surprise, they weren’t directed at me.
“Gentlemen, as you all now know, we have an intruder. A very cunning one, but one who needs to be punished for this show of audacity. And the first thing we have to show her is that taking someone’s clothes without permission is wrong. Smith, Berry, remove that stolen outfit from her, would you?”
“But I didn’t steal it, I just—” I tried to protest, as Smith and the ginger-haired lad who’d been standing to my left began to unbutton my jacket. Just like Scarlett’s, my protests were part of the game. Try as I might to deny it, my pussy was pulsing, fluid with desire as the two initiates stripped me of Freddie’s clothing.
Shoes, socks, jacket, trousers,
bow tie, shirt—all were removed from me in a matter of moments. I’d used bandages to flatten my breasts and aid in the illusion I was male, though in truth there wasn’t too much to conceal. With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, Smith disposed of the fastenings keeping them in place. They slithered to the floor, baring my tits to the assembled guests. It was the most humiliating moment of my life, yet I’d never been so turned on. Martyn couldn’t have known my most potent fantasies involved being stripped before a punishment while an audience looked on, though I’d never dreamed I’d ever find myself in this position.
Berry caught hold of my panties, preparing to lower them.
“Hey!” I objected. “Those are mine, not Freddie’s.”
Martyn chuckled. “That may be so, but naughty girls who lie and steal shouldn’t be allowed to keep them on. Otherwise they’ll never learn their lesson, will they?”
With that, he told Berry to pull my underwear down. I stood meekly as the shamefully damp garment was passed from man to man, eager noses sniffing at the cotton.
I attempted to cover my bare crotch with my hands, but Martyn ordered me to link my fingers behind my head so everyone in the room could take a good look at my naked state. “You’re enjoying this entirely too much,” he said, even though my cheeks burned with shame. “Maybe that will change once you’re over my knee.”
Taking me by the hand, he led me over to the chair. Sitting down, he guided me efficiently into position, rump upraised. Unlike Scarlett, I didn’t try to resist. What was the point in pretending I didn’t want this, that all the time I’d been preparing to watch another woman being punished, I’d been thinking how it would feel if I was the one whose ass was on the receiving end? I differed from everyone else who’d stepped through the door of the Salon for the first time tonight not just because I was female and they were male. They’d always wanted to give a spanking, but I’d always wanted to take one.
“Before we go any further, Ashley, do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Only that I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Believe me, you’re not sorry yet, but you will be when this is over. As the stand-in for Scarlett, you’ll be expected to take the same punishment she would. I shall be warming you up, then six spanks from each of the initiates.”
It was a lot to expect a novice like me to take, but as Martyn’s hand caressed the curves of my ass, acquainting itself with the texture and weight of my flesh, I willed him not to push me past my limits.
The circle of masked men had reconvened around us, clutching their cocks as they waited for my punishment to begin. For a moment, I gazed at them, proud and defiant. I’d infiltrated their all-male environment, breaking their rules, and I was unrepentant about that fact. Indeed, I’d have no qualms about doing it again.
My defiance lasted as long as it took Martyn to land the first smack. His open palm made contact with my bare ass, stinging more than I’d believed possible. When I yelled, it wasn’t a cursory acknowledgment of the slap, like Scarlett’s had been. It had bloody hurt, and I wanted everyone to know it.
Martyn’s tone held a certain smug satisfaction. “Wasn’t what you thought it would be, was it? Are you starting to regret this now?” His words were punctuated with smacks, each equally hard as the first. Falling in the same spot every time, they burned, making me writhe against the harsh twill of his trousers—and the substantial bulge lurking at his crotch. With every blow, the fists of our audience moved faster on their cocks, the sights and sounds of my punishment spurring them on to make themselves come.
But even though my spanking was so much more painful than I’d ever dreamed, already the endorphins were doing their best to soothe the hurt, and I was riding a wave of sweet, dark bliss. “No, Sir, I don’t regret it,” I told him.
“Well, I’ve done my best,” he replied, even though I was sure the spanking he’d given me was only a fraction of what he could dish out, should he choose. “Let’s see what someone else can do. Smith, would you like to take your turn?”
And so began my long, drawn-out punishment at the hands of the initiates. One by one, they stepped up to take Martyn Salisbury’s place. A couple approached me with a measure of assurance, even if they didn’t really feel it, while the others were endearingly clumsy in their eagerness to spank me. Each ordered me onto his lap, searching for the same authoritative tone Martyn had used. They stroked my ass, feeling the heat radiating from it. Some went further, letting a finger slip between my pussy lips to find the wetness there, rubbing my clit or exploring my juicy hole. One of them even slicked his thumb with my cream, before pushing it up my asshole. At least one of the wanking onlookers shot his spunk at the moment I cried out at the shamefully delicious feeling of being penetrated there.
Whatever else they did to me, they all made sure to treat me to six spanks. Most were tentative at first, but by the sixth, they were swinging their arms with confidence, palms falling with unerring accuracy on my sore, blotchy cheeks.
By the end, tears were rolling down my face, and my ass felt so hot and swollen I knew I’d have to sleep on my front that night. Between them, these men had broken me down, but in their appreciation of my submission, the resilience with which I’d taken all they had to give me, they’d put me back together stronger and more alive than before.
What happened now? I wondered, as the last of the initiates helped me off his lap. Did I get down on my knees and suck every single one of them until they came, by way of thanks?
It seemed not. “Thank you, gentlemen,” Martyn said, applauding their work. The other members of the Salon joined in, welcoming their new brothers in spanking. “And that concludes the evening’s proceedings. I look forward to seeing you again in a month’s time.” As they began to zip themselves up and prepare to leave, presumably to spend the rest of the night reliving what they’d just witnessed, he turned to me. “As for you, Miss Powell, we still have unfinished business…”
He waited until everyone else had left, letting me wonder what else he had in mind for me. Unzipping his fly, he brought out the only cock I hadn’t yet seen. His self-restraint was amazing, not to have touched himself at any point, despite the punishment scene he’d orchestrated so spectacularly. I’d gained some idea of his dimensions as I squirmed on his lap, but still I smiled at my first sight of that long, unyielding column of flesh.
“Suck it,” he ordered.
Without a murmur, I sank down, taking him deep in my mouth. All my gratitude at having been chastised so thoroughly and so publicly was expressed by my lips and tongue, sucking and slurping from root to tip. He tasted of spice and brine, and when I gazed up I saw his eyes half closed, his expression one of wonder. Grazing my teeth along his length, I gave him a teasing hint of how it felt to have your pleasure mingled with sweet pain.
Unable to deny myself what I’d been craving since Martyn’s hand first caressed my bare ass, I dabbed at my clit. He realized what I was doing and laughed.
“Greedy girl, aren’t you?” Those were the last coherent words he managed before his orgasm overtook him. Fingers curled in my hair, he held my head steady as his load jetted down my throat, his willpower no match for my oral skills. The taste, the feel of him climaxing in my mouth was all it took to have me coming, too, the perfect end to this most extraordinary evening.
As I was dressing to leave, Martyn surprised me with his next words. “So we’ll see you in a month, Ashley.”
“I’m sorry?” The last thing I’d expected was to be allowed anywhere near the Salon’s premises again.
“It’s always nice to find a girl who loves to be spanked as much as you do, and who doesn’t expect to be paid for the privilege. And after tonight’s performance, I think a few of our older members are going to want the opportunity to warm that gorgeous ass of yours. Oh, and bring Freddie with you. He’s still got to pass the initiation, after all.”
Poor Freddie. I had some explaining to do, when he was well enough to hear it. He’d be annoyed when he r
ealized how I’d used him to get what I wanted. Annoyed enough to punish me? Despite the dull throb of my recently punished ass, I couldn’t help hoping so. And with any luck, I wouldn’t have to wait ’til the next Salon gathering rolled ’round to learn how that felt.
ON THE VERGE
Rosalia Zizzo
A Doritos bag whirls like a tornado through the parking lot, sprinkling crumbs around cars and empty parking spaces. A quartet of seagulls attacks the bag for what they hope will be a feast, and they squawk and snatch the bag from one another, shaking what is left to the ground. One gull shoves his beak inside, envelops his whole head, then hops like a two-legged Doritos bag toward a snickering Josie at the stadium entrance, who mutters to herself, “Best if you share, guys. Believe me.” The corners of her mouth curl, and she shakes her head.
Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and cradling her binder on her hip, Josie blows her hair out of her eyes and steps into the dark tunnel that leads to her favorite pastime. Wearing her white peasant blouse off the shoulders hasn’t made her any cooler. It only draws attention to Josie’s obvious sensuality and her need for male attention. Remembering the success of the last ball game, she giggles to herself and prepares for what’s to come.
The seagulls continue their feud in the parking lot as she walks with purpose—swaying her blue-jeaned hips—into the stadium that bursts with sunlight when she emerges from the tunnel. Casting her eyes over her surroundings, Josie notices a smattering of people clothed in blue and gold yakking with their friends and munching on stadium snacks, and just as she spots one of her men, she grins while biting her lower lip. The San Diego Padres don’t draw a full house, but Josie and her friends watch anyway, their addiction making it impossible to keep away. On the benches sit local fans, drunken businessmen, escapees from the weekly drudgery—those who spend their days in offices and windowless rooms—and students like Josie and the boys.
