by Sarah Veitch
'Oh, we're deadly serious. We planned this from the start,' Dorothy said.
'You mean... you mean that Laura was never asked to be a sing-a-gram.'
'No, just to pretend to be one. I told her what a libertine you were and asked her to go as far with you sexually as she wanted - and to report back.'
'She wore these little black shorts and... well, I'm a man, aren't I?' Darcy said.
'A man about to pay for his stolen pleasures,' Laura chipped in. 'You thought I was a broke student who'd been set up - so you took advantage. You deserve a good whipping, need to be taken to task.'
'And you think that you have the right to...' Darcy muttered.
Laura nodded. 'I've got you spanking me and fucking me on tape after apparently catching me shoplifting. I think it's a tape that the police would really like to see.'
'You wouldn't,' Darcy said worriedly, knowing already that she would.
'If you refuse to take your thrashing like a man, I'll also send a copy of the tape to my daddy,' Dorothy said smugly, 'I'm sure he'd love to see his son-in-law commit adultery.'
Knowing when he was beaten - or was about to be - the forty year old walked disconsolately over to the post.
It was an unusual whipping post in that his wrists were tied high over his head, exerting a cruel pull on his arms. But his feet weren't bound together at the base of the contraption. Instead, they were forced sideways and manacled to the floor so that his body formed a triangle. This gave the women maximum access to his bare bottom - and to his cock and balls.
Darcy was now facing the wall and couldn't see what was going on behind him, but he heard a scraping sound as one of the whips was removed from its display hook. Seconds later Dorothy walked in front of him and held out a cat-o'-nine-tails. 'It used to make hardened sailors beg for mercy. I wonder what it will do to a soft little shopkeeper?' she taunted.
'My guess is that he'll howl like a coyote,' Laura said from somewhere behind him. He heard her walk closer then tensed as she pulled at one of his ankles, ensuring that his legs were even further apart than previously. Both of these women were very angry at him and he knew this boded ill for his most sensitive parts.
He was desperately trying to think up some appeasing words when he realised that the whipping was about to begin. Laura came and stood in front to observe his expression, so it was clear that Dorothy was going to start the actual thrashing. Unless they'd brought her beloved father in... Darcy tensed, wondering if the dominatrix who owned this dungeon was also in on the deal. He felt vulnerable for the first time in years.
Suddenly nine tongues of fire crisscrossed his buttocks and his lower back. He cried out and Laura said smugly, 'He definitely felt that.'
'Of course I bloody felt that,' Darcy muttered and was whipped again for his pains. The cat-o'-nine-tails lashed into him an untold number of times, burning his buttocks, scalding his thighs and even curling around to stripe the soft warmth of his belly. Occasionally one of the fronds flicked at his scrotum and he cried out in fear and pain and pulled ineffectually at his bonds.
But it was clear that the women could do whatever they wanted with him. The bindings held fast, ensuring that he couldn't flinch more than a few millimetres. They had full access to every centimetre of his anatomy.
'Christ, Dorothy,' he said raggedly as the whipping went on, but she simply lashed his sentient flesh with renewed enthusiasm. 'I can't take much more,' he mumbled into the whipping post.
'He can - he's not even crying yet,' Laura said.
Darcy opened his eyes and looked into her smug little face, the eyes bright with excitement and curiosity. How he longed to tan her supercilious little arse with his belt.
But Dorothy was the one wielding the punisher - and she knew how to make the most of it. He howled again as the nine tails berated his helpless flesh.
'I'm on fire,' he gasped out.
'Think of it as a smouldering ash that's about to become an inferno,' his wife said.
'I'm sorry that Laura and I...'
'Oh this isn't about Laura - this is about every girl you've tricked or seduced. This is about every time you've borrowed money from my folks rather than get a proper job. This is your day of reckoning,' Dorothy said.
'Your arse is really in for it,' Laura added softly, smiling up at him. 'You can't imagine how mad she is.'
But Darcy could feel how mad she was every time the multi-thonged whip lashed into his back, arse and thighs. Every cell of his flesh cried out for release as the cruel fronds bit into them. He could imagine the hundreds of thin red lines merging and overlapping to form a continuous scarlet hue. His backside must be the colour of a crimson apple by now - and still his wife beat on.
'I'll do anything,' he mumbled as the nine lashes continued to heat his already sizzling hindquarters.
'You will in due course,' his implacable spouse said.
Eventually, when he was close to tears, Laura unbound him and pushed him none-too-gently to his knees.
'Watching you being thrashed has excited me,' she said, 'so I think that the least you can do is give me an orgasm.'
Wondering if this was yet another trick, Darcy glanced nervously at his wife.
She nodded. 'Lick Laura to climax whilst I recover from whipping you. Then you can lick me out too.'
'Yes, Ma'am,' Darcy muttered, desperate to get into her good books. He looked back at Laura and saw that she was already lying towards the end of one of the chaise longues and had spread her legs. Eager to please, he crawled over and put his tongue to her labia, licking alternate leaves until she began to moan and push her pubis against his lips. In return, he licked harder, slowly moving his tongue closer and closer to her clitoris. He knew that some women didn't like the clitoris touched directly as the sensations were just too intense. And he was prepared to take his time and give her an especially strong orgasm so that she wouldn't want to punish him with the whip.
Suddenly Laura tensed in, cried out. Darcy kept licking and licking and licking. Only when she pushed his head away and sighed with deep satisfaction did he flop tiredly on the floor. For the next ten minutes he lay there and regained his strength then he sat up and looked at the wet-bushed Laura who appeared to be fast asleep.
He heard his wife's voice float to him from across the room. 'Would the little donkey like a drink of water?'
'Yes please,' Darcy mumbled, wondering if the little donkey reference meant that he wasn't well hung. He heard her walking about the dungeon, looked up as she approached.
'Hands and knees,' she ordered and he hastened to obey. Seconds later she fastened a waterbag to his head. 'Drink,' she ordered, 'like a good little animal should.'
Feeling foolish, the forty year old lapped away at its contents. He felt even more silly when Laura woke up and laughed.
'Time for your riding lesson, Laura,' Dorothy said, removing the waterbag from his blushing face.
'I really am sorry about everything,' Darcy said apprehensively.
'You will be,' his wife replied.
To his shame, she went over to the equestrian corner of the huge dungeon and returned with her arms full of equipment. As he trembled on his hands and knees, she fastened a saddle to his back and put a metal bit in his mouth. She also fastened small spurs to Laura's ankles then bid her to take the new donkey for a ride.
Laura was a small, slim girl but nevertheless Darcy sagged under her weight. But he straightened up on his hands and knees after Dorothy lashed his bare buttocks three times in quick succession with a vicious riding crop. She lashed him again and urged him to start crawling around the room.
'Faster, boy, faster,' Laura urged, grazing his flanks with her cruel spurs. Darcy groaned and crawled as fast as he could. Dorothy was too tall to ride him, but she kept herself occupied by flicking the crop at his buttocks and even at his balls, causing him to cry out and jerk and crawl as if his life depended on it. Sometimes, obviously acting out of devilment, Laura pulled on the bit in his mouth, bringing h
im to an abrupt and painful halt.
'Rest and drink some more,' Dorothy said at last, removing the bit. Almost weeping with relief, Darcy obeyed. For five minutes he lay there, still wearing his saddle. 'Now bring me to orgasm,' she ordered, stretching out on the second chaise longue.
'Yes, Mistress.' Darcy put his tongue to work. As usual, he felt slightly over awed by his lecturer wife, who was so much more successful than he. Spanking teenage shoplifters was far less demanding - but not nearly as arousing as making his somewhat remote spouse come. He licked away as if he was relishing an ice cream cone, and grew increasingly animated as she writhed and moaned under his expert tongue.
Soon she climaxed long and hard, whilst the watching Laura applauded and said, 'well done, little donkey.' Hoping that his punishment was over, Darcy sat back gingerly on his heels. His buttocks and thighs still burned from their prolonged whipping and he was keen to keep them from touching the carpeted floor.
'Oh dear, the little animal has gotten excited,' Dorothy said, sitting up and staring at his pulsing erection. 'And it's not as if we have another donkey to mate him with.'
'We could take care of him by using a machine,' Laura said. 'I've read about that - they collect the donkey's sperm mechanically then insert it in the brood mare. It works a treat.'
'That's what we'll do then,' his wife replied with a pitiless grin.
Darcy relaxed slightly as she removed the saddle from his back then tensed anew as she rolled him onto his stomach and pulled his arms cruelly back. She flicked at his balls with her finger until he followed her orders to curl his legs up. Seconds later she'd hog-tied him so that he was completely at her mercy again.
The forty year old's cock had deflated during the hog-tying but now Laura knelt down in front of him and reached under his body to find his testes and tease them. Soon Darcy's hardness was sticking up in front of his body - and his bondaged position ensured that the women could do whatever they desired.
'Time for the machine,' the teenager told his wife.
Darcy groaned with shame as his spouse approached him holding a vibrating pussy, the type of gadget beloved of stag nights. It was an item that a man used as a joke or on his own - not with a giggling audience. She slid it onto his erection and he realised that it felt warm and wet just like a real vagina. It sent exquisite sensations through his scrotum from the second she switched it on. Darcy whimpered and gasped as the machine took him closer and closer to climax. He didn't even realise that it had a remote control setting until his wife switched it off.
'Kiss our bum holes and tell us how wonderful they taste,' she said crudely, 'and maybe I'll switch this gizmo on again.'
'Oh please, please, please,' Darcy whispered then tongued the women's pink apertures as if they tasted like nectar. 'Please let me come,' he begged.
Dorothy obliged but again turned off the vibrating pleasurer as he approached a climax. This time she made him lick her to orgasm again, then she brought him almost to orgasm, then he had to tongue Laura for a second time. Only when he was weeping with frustration did they turn on the machine for a final time and let him come.
At last, then, it was over and the women untied him and allowed him to shower and dress.
'It goes without saying that we've recorded all of this,' Dorothy said as he asked for permission to leave the dungeon. 'Either you agree to come back here for a monthly punishment or I'll show the video to all your macho friends.'
'You wouldn't,' Darcy gasped. He thought about it some more then realised that she would. The tapes made her look powerful - but they just made him look silly. His friends would hit on her and laugh at him.
'Shall we say the first Monday of every month? You can pay the dominatrix in advance,' his wife continued. 'You've been such a bad boy that it's only fitting you pay for your own punishment.'
'Yes, Mistress,' the forty year old muttered, knowing when he was beaten.
'I think the correct term for next month will be Yes, Nanny,' his wife retorted, giving her new teenage friend a conspiratorial wink.
Laura grinned, clearly relishing the thought of Darcy's continued humiliation. 'Remember,' she said softly, 'to bring a dummy and an outsize romper suit, you naughty little boy.'
Bridget Mones's Diary
January 1st
Dear Diary
I wish my mother hadn't given you to me as a Christmas gift. I mean, it's just another chore in a day that's already filled with them. But she'll visit at some stage and flick through you so I'd better write a few words. (Hi mum - how about an edible present for a change?! Or something to drink?)
It's freezing outside and the TV is dominated by men in kilts. Tartan is so passe.
January 2nd
It's still cold, the TV's showing James Bond again and I had to shout at next door's four year old for singing. Moreover, I fear I may be going down with flu.
January 3rd
A dull day.
January
4th Even duller.
January 5th
Back to work - and I have a new boss, Rob Hillman, who's been recruited from the United States. I hope that they aren't paying him some inflated salary that will come out of the staff pension fund. I mentioned this to the office junior, Janette, and she said, 'But it's over forty years till you retire.' The little fool - a girl can't be too careful and the teachers at the convent always praised me for having an old head on young shoulders. You have to assume the worst nowadays. I put Janette's correction fluid under the radiator to dry out as a punishment and hid the raffle tickets that she was selling for charity.
January 6th
Rob Hillman started the staff appraisals today. Shirley, who gets the costumes dry cleaned, went in first and came out beaming. Supercilious little cow - I tore up her dry cleaning receipts when she was out doing some lunchtime shopping for her elderly neighbour. That neighbour is so irritating - she brings us in her home baking every week, during which her wheelchair creaks so loudly that I can hardly hear myself on the phone.
Jimmy, who buys in new costumes and props, had the afternoon appraisal and he also came out looking very pleased with himself. Janette has only worked here for three weeks since leaving school so she doesn't require a formal appraisal but I heard Rob say 'Well done you' when she told him that she'd ordered thinner because her correction fluid kept drying out.
January 7th
I'm still shaking so much that I can hardly write this. How dare he! I'd report him if good jobs weren't so hard to find.
I went in for my appraisal at loam and Rob Hillman told me to sit down then added, 'Not that you'll be sitting down for long, Bridget.' I asked him what he meant and he said, 'I'm thinking about showing you the door.' He suggested that I was sulky, rude to other staff members and had ignored him since he took charge. In turn, I said that I was simply being a realist, not a Pollyanna figure, to which he replied, 'Realism and chronic pessimism are not the same thing.'
I wanted to tell him where to go, but I've a mortgage and bills to pay just like everyone else so I muttered that I'd try to do better. He replied, 'I'm going to make you do better,' and told me to march ahead of him to the Extensive Props Hall. I knew where it was, of course, but I'd never actually been in it - as bookings clerk I simply take a customer's telephone order for their fancy dress costume and any associated props.
Anyway, we walked through the main office (where Janette, Shirley and Jimmy all stared at me) and out of the side door, down the stairs, past the Small Props and Special Effects Props rooms to the Extensive Props Hall. Rob Hillman ushered me in then smiled crookedly. 'Make your way out to the woodshed, Bridget,' he said.
For a moment I just stared around the vast hall which was filled with gothic furniture and dungeon apparatus, presumably, for Halloween. There were also silvery sledges for Christmas. Then I saw an arrow pointing to the back door of the hall saying 'to the woodshed' and I followed it to a timber shed that was the size of a small bungalow.
Inside, to my const
ernation, I found a contraption like a table which had been turned over so that the four legs stuck up in the air. 'It's designed for good old fashioned American punishment,' Rob Hillman said in his Texan drawl.
I took a deep breath. 'So why are you telling me?'
'Because this American is about to paddle your arse until you see sense.'
Well, diary, I remonstrated with him for as long as I could. I talked about equality - but he said that he'd thrash the male members of staff if they behaved as I had. I mumbled that it was against the law but he said that it was going to be consensual because if I had any sense I'd agree to it. I said that I wouldn't but then he reminded me of the fact that we were moving into a recession, that I'd taken on a ninety-five percent mortgage, that, without a reference, I'd never get a comparable job.
In the end I muttered, 'Okay, how do you want me?'
'Skirt up, knickers down, stretched out with a limb at each corner,' he said.
Well, diary, I was blushing so hard that I was glad to get down on the ground just to hide my embarrassment - but it still took all of the courage I had to edge my grey pencil skirt up over my rear end. Luckily I was wearing new white hold ups and reasonably new white cotton panties so I guess the view wasn't too bad.
Not that Rob Hillman whistled appreciatively or anything like that. Oh no, he just said, 'Knickers down, girl.' I sensed his eyes on me as I pulled down the concealing cotton. A light breeze skimmed over my bare cheeks, only serving to emphasise my partial nakedness.
The authoritarian Yank knelt down beside the nearest table leg and I realised that it had a binding wrapped around it. Whistling to himself, he bound the spare end around my wrist.
'You won't get away with this,' I mumbled, feeling obliged to put up some show of defiance. In answer he bound my other wrist to the adjacent table leg. Moments later he'd secured my ankles so that I was spread-eagled and helpless, my buttocks - never before viewed by a man - served up for punishment. My entire focus was now on my bare bottom; how it looked and how it was about to feel.
