Painful Prize

by Stephen Rawlings

  "Go on! You're joking. Is that really what happened?"

  "I kid you not," Trudi assured her. "After that first flogging I had to go upstairs to bed with them, and take them both. Boy was I ever sore, inside and out. The welts on my bottom were like hot purple ropes, and they'd both buggered me until my bum felt as if it had been reamed out with sandpaper. Just when I thought it was over and I could get some sleep, I was ordered to go down to the study, bend over the whipping bench and wait for someone to come and cane me again."

  "And did you?"

  "What do you think? Haven't you just allowed everything in the book, rather than let the side down? Yes of course I did, and the Master came and gave me another dozen on my sore bottom, and then they turned me over again, and reamed me some more. Ugh! But it was worth it," she concluded with a sly smile.

  "Was it the same for all of you?" Jenny asked looking around the group.

  "We all got it as bad, one way or another," Rachel replied, "but always in a different way. The men used their imaginations to dream up fantasy situations that would test us out. They took me out, wrists tied behind my back, and blindfolded. Naked, of course. I didn't know where they were taking me, but I learnt afterwards it was the old barn near the church. I had to stay bent over a table, blindfolded and gagged, until I was told different. They kept me there for two hours, from ten by the church clock to midnight. I'd no idea what would happen to me - just if I was to join the group I had to strip and bend, and not get up whatever happened."

  "And what did happen?"

  "They came for me, one by one. By the time I was through, I'd been beaten four or five times, buggered by at least six men and fucked from behind more times than I could count. I've no idea to this day just which of those bastards had me, or if some of them came back for second helpings. I know it was all I could do to hang on, and I was never so grateful as when I heard the clock strike twelve and Bill's voice saying, 'Congratulations, slut. You can get up now.' There was a prick up my arse at the time and my buttocks were burning from my last beating, but I was proud and happy to have come through."

  "Was everybody treated that roughly?" she asked, incredulous, lying back in the chair and almost purring as Laura continued a sensuous brushing of the luxuriant auburn locks.

  "Actually I got it a bit differently," Georgina said, "Chris didn't have to prove anything about my willingness to take a beating. He used to give me my weekly dozen, every Saturday night, before we went out to the club or whatever and any extra punishments on top for what he considered wrong behaviour, so I was pretty hardened, but he knew he could get to me still by humiliating me, especially in public. Still can for that matter..."

  By the time Georgina had finished the story of her humiliation and degradation, order had been restored to face and hair, and something close to decency to her clothes... if a knickerless bottom could qualify as decent. Renee asked her how she felt.

  "And you don't resent Henry getting you into this?"

  "Oh no. Well maybe I'll chew his ear later, but all I want at the moment is for him to take me home and fuck me silly."

  "I'm sure that could be arranged, he'll be as raring to go as you. But watch the ear chewing. Once these men get the idea they own you they don't let it go. You may find your tongue will get your bottom into trouble if you're not careful."

  "I sincerely hope so," the grinning girl declared, "I've no intention of giving up this life now I've found what I've been missing."

  "Hmm. You may be right, but need to wait until you've been a Friday girl for a few months before you can be sure of that," Renee told her.

  "A Friday girl? What's that?"

  "No time to explain now," Renee said hastily, as if she'd just realised she'd strayed onto dangerous ground, "It's time for you to be presented. If we don't go in soon the men will come through and rape us all in their excitement."

  "Chance would be a fine thing," Laura said in mock despair, "they'll only have eyes for little redhead here. We wouldn't get a prick between us."

  The cheerful coven quitted the powder room and entered the bar to warm cheers and applause for the new recruit, who found herself the subject of eager male attentions, from burning glances to no nonsense kisses on her mouth, rough but welcoming, and frank tokens of her desirability. She was made to make the rounds of all present, then taken to the low dais at the end of the big room, where a DJ, and occasionally a live group, performed for the frequent dances and discos.

  "Come on, darling," Renee urged. "Let them all see you. Here, stand on this chair."

  She clambered up onto the hard-back chair and turned to face the audience.

  "Not that way," Renee laughed. "Let the dog see the rabbit. Turn your back and lift your dress."

  She flushed a deep crimson. Heaven knows she had exhibited herself all afternoon, but this was a different kettle of fish. Still she wasn't going to fall at the last fence and hiked up her dress above her waist, knowing as she did so that her well beaten buttocks, with their peppering of painful red blisters where the pieces of the mat had penetrated, were blatantly on view. While she stood and blushed, the entire gathering filed slowly past, first inspecting her beaten hams, then moving to her front to admire the inflamed and swollen labia of her vulva, the neatly trimmed thicket of russet curls and the darkly bruised grape of her clitoris peeping coyly through its sheltering lips.

  "I knew you were the right stuff," Henry said, when he came at last to claim her.

  He could hardly manage to spare the time for polite farewells before half dragging her to the car. The short but bumpy ride through the lanes played havoc with her sore bum, but she just leant against him, feeling the warmth of his body as he drove, and went up the stairs with him hand in hand. In seconds they were stripped and in each other's arms. He turned her and started to push her towards the bed, but she fought him off. He paused, uncertain at her resistance.

  "Before you have your wicked way with me," she said, "isn't there something missing?"

  "And what might that be?"

  "I think I'd be a better woman for another six of the best don't you?" she said demurely, "I'd be so nice and warm for you inside, if I'm hot outside."

  "Don't go away," he said, and went to get his cane from the hall.

  Part Two: Whipped

  For most of the day after the 'treasure hunt', sore but satisfied she had lazed languidly around the house but by evening, a need to parade her hard won honours took over and she persuaded Henry that she needed to go out, and a visit to the Trident would be just the right tonic. Deeper down she had this sense of triumph, this need to share her stripes and welts with everyone she knew, and strangers too come to that. It was all she could do to desist from stopping passers-by and telling them she was walking round with a dozen livid weals on her buttocks.

  Her euphoria subsided gradually, but she was still on a high when she met up with Renee and Laura later in the week to compare notes, and revel in her new-found belonging; a sense shared by the other two women who were fast becoming her close friends.

  It was on one of these occasions that she heard another reference to Friday women. They'd taken up their usual stools at one end of the bar. Both the other women had seemed a little uncomfortable, squirming and wriggling on their hard plastic seats. At one point Laura's mini had ridden up and, on the fleshy bulge, where her weight had pressed one tight buttock cheek out over the rounded edge, she could see two things quite clearly. Laura wasn't wearing knickers, and that soft white bottom showed, quite distinctly, the hot ripe tracks of a very recent beating. No wonder she was squirming. Could that be Renee's problem too? Aloud she said:

  "You look as if you've been in the wars. And how come no panties?"

  "Friday night, Darling," Laura said, as if that was sufficient clarification

  "Are you the same?" she wanted to know, looking at Renee, w
ho laughed.

  "It's tough being a Friday girl," she said by way of explanation.

  "A Friday girl?"

  The two women looked at each other, as if guilty of some indiscretion.

  "Errm..." Laura began doubtfully, but Renee interrupted her.

  "Oh the cat's out of the bag now," she said, resignedly. "We might as well tell her, since she's bound to guess anyway after we've flaunted our bums so blatantly. We'll have to confess our fault on Friday next, anyway and pay with our bottoms, so we've nothing to lose."

  "Tell me what?"

  "It's an old custom among Sexton wives," Renee explained. "Friday nights you confess your sins and your man wipes them out for you with a suitable chastisement. Leaves you pained but pardoned. Usually takes place before we go out for the evening, in which case we aren't allowed underwear, as you've already spotted with Laura and," lifting one buttock off her stool, and pulling up her skirt a little, "you can see I've been to confession too."

  She blinked a little at the vivid blobs of hot purple bruise visible on Renee's flank. Obviously they ran right across under her. Their partial concealment made it difficult to estimate how many there were, but it was quite obviously a substantial beating.

  "What on earth did you do to deserve that?" she cried.

  "Oh, nothing in particular," Renee replied, nonchalantly. "Just been getting a little lippy lately, answered back a bit too freely, that sort of thing. Tom thought I'd be better off for being straightened out."

  "But didn't it hurt?"

  "Of course it did, that's the point of it. It hurt like hell at the time," Renee agreed, "but he was right. I did feel better afterwards, once the first sting had gone off and I'd wiped my eyes."

  "And what about you?" she asked her new blonde friend. "Did you need straightening out as well?"

  "Of course. I did have a couple of actual faults to settle as well, a letter I forgot to post, a scratch on the car, but mainly it was to improve my mood. You have to admit it did," she said with a sunny smile.

  She did too. Both her friends had seemed radiant tonight, despite their writhing on their seats or, perhaps, because of them. She recalled her own feelings after her first beating. Her need to show off to someone, her feeling of being especially alive, her pride, that was it, pride, at feeling the stripes under her, and her desire to rip off her clothes and display her 'war medals' to everyone she met.

  "Well now the cat's out of the bag, perhaps you should ask Henry to make you a Friday girl as well," Laura interrupted her thoughts with the suggestion.

  "Err, I think I'll pass on that one," she said doubtfully, looking at the livid weals where they terminated on her friends' soft thighs, and imagining the thick dark bars that must run across their bottoms, but they were not convinced and exchanged knowing grins across her.

  Later, lying happily in Henry's arms in a post-coital glow, his thick seed trickling stickily down the inside of one thigh, she kissed his ear and murmured, "Henry, will you make me a Friday girl?"

  He came awake at once.

  "Those gossiping witches have been shooting their mouths off again have they?"

  "Now don't be angry with them," she pleaded, "they've already said they'll confess all at their next Friday sessions, and clear their consciences if not their bottoms and, anyway, it just slipped out in conversation when I spotted their stripes and their lack of panties."

  "And you'd like to sit in the bar on Friday nights, with your bottom bare and burning too?"

  "Yes please," she said demurely.

  "Hmmm. We'll have to see if you're ready for that," he said, doubtfully. "You've hardly been here five minutes. Let's sleep on it," and he pulled her so that her back and especially, her soft warm bottom, fitted tightly into the curve of his body. She smiled secretly to herself as she felt the piston of his flaccid organ begin to stiffen again from the contact. No need to press the matter, she thought to herself, he's already enjoying just thinking of it.

  She didn't push it but a few days later, lingering too long beside Renee's pool, a private place where they could economise on swimwear by leaving it safely in the drawer, she had found the delights of her friends' caresses and the surprises their bodies held, had left her stranded, with Henry probably already home and no meal ready.

  What had diverted her from her duties as a mate was the unusual configuration of each female body. It had all started as a little affectionate play, some kisses, a little warmer than mere friendship strictly required, some friendly probings of pubes and breasts, the application of hot loving mouths to rigidly erected teats, while their owners moaned and squirmed, the probing of thick fleshy labia by her darting tongue. It had found a sopping gash, as she had expected, but something else; a thick gold ring that pierced the root of each gristly clitoral wedge.

  In the heat of these innocent Sapphic salutes, she had not questioned their origin, but continued to explore her friends' open and willing bodies. A hand slipped between the buttock cheeks, at first merely following the tracks of a recent caning down into the deep divide, to explore how the shock of the rod had left impacts well beyond its direct reach, bruising the flesh by making it impact on itself almost as hard as under the actual contact line itself. But the sensitive fingers had found more than the hot spoor of this interior bruising. Where she had stroked along the floor of the groove, expecting to find a slightly depressed dimple where the anus was set, she found a strange protuberance. It was as if the anal dimple had developed a rim, its circular shape compressed by the lightly clenching buttock halves so that it was more like a slot. She was sure it was more than a natural oddity, since both women had the same rubbery extension of the anal ring. Before she could make further enquiries she was called back to reality by Renee reminding her what the time was, and that Henry would be home at any moment.

  He'd upbraided her sharply, but fairly, after all it was part of her share of the partnership, now she was no longer going up to the city every day, but she'd found herself reacting to the criticism like a ruffled cat until, at last, she stopped further discussion by blurting out, "Well, if you're so bothered about a little thing like that, you'd better put it on the Friday bill."

  He'd looked at her silently for a moment then said quietly, "Yes I'll do that. Now get changed. We're going out to the Bay Tree."

  She dressed quickly in a flurry of emotions. Did he really intend to take her up on the question of Friday penance? Probably, she thought, stroking smoky nylon up a succulent thigh and snapping the garter clip onto it, or why was he taking her to the best restaurant that Sexton had to offer?

  No more was said at the time, and the evening provided enough distractions to banish the subject. There were several couples there they knew, and one or two diversions to keep her mind from Friday's threat. For a start, when the headwaiter had suggested, "Table for two, Sir?" Henry had nodded to him familiarly and murmured, "Madam will not be requiring a chair, Alexis."

  The man had nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and led the way to a table just off the centre of the room, but far from relegated to obscurity. There he had motioned to one of his underlings who had deftly removed chair and place setting, leaving space for one. The waiter had seemed not to notice her presence at the table, drawing out the remaining chair for Henry, who took his seat without looking at her. She was more bewildered than angry, standing there beside him, her breasts moving agitatedly beneath the silver lame of the dress he had chosen for her, a strapless tube that just covered them, and fell straight to her ankles.

  "Kneel!" he commanded and, dutifully she went down on both knees beside his chair, conscious that most of those already present were turning with undisguised interest to the scene being played out before them. She was uncertain at first how to hold herself but instinct led her to sit back on her heels and place the palms of her hands flat along her silver covered thigh
s as she'd seen other women do in this same restaurant.

  Ignoring her presence again, Henry took the menu the Headwaiter handed him and began to order.

  "Melon, roast Aylesbury duckling, a selection of fresh vegetables."

  "And something to drink Sir?"

  "A schooner of dry sherry, and a bottle of number 49, the claret," Henry told him.

  The service was good. A pretty waitress arrived within minutes with the sherry balanced on her tray, setting it down without batting an eyelid at the elegantly dressed young woman kneeling submissively at Henry's side. Perhaps she was used to seeing that sort of thing here.

  Henry took a sip at the straw-coloured drink then offered it to the woman kneeling at his side. She opened lush red lips and sipped delicately from the rim.

  At first she had been angry at his treatment of her but it quickly subsided into excited anticipation. What had he planned for her? What would the others think? She felt a confused mixture of emotions, exposed as she was in this public place, kneeling and at a man's command. That of course was the nub of it, the overt surrender. As the meal progressed she found herself sliding more and more under the spell. There was something primeval and deep in her psyche that this touched. To depend for her very food on what this man chose to let her have, or keep from her, leaving her kneeling empty mouthed, while he ate. She was not physically compelled, she could get up at any moment and go home to a well-stocked larder, but that wasn't the point. She was as tightly controlled as if in chains by just the intensity of the situation and the proximity of all these people, both acquaintances and strangers. As if mesmerised, she stayed obediently on her knees, taking without fuss each titbit as it was offered, even leaning forward to nuzzle his hand with her lips in grateful thanks for his care of her. It may have started out as a form of punishment, a public humiliation, but it had become a privilege, a sacrament almost. Or was it a lesson?

  The courses came and went. At first she was too excited to be hungry, though she refused nothing he offered, then, as she got into the swing of things, she ate avidly each piece offered, closing her lips delicately around the morsel on the fork, sipping carefully from the rim of the glass, letting the rich dark wine warm her belly. The pretty waitress went backwards and forwards between table and kitchen, seemingly unaware of the kneeling woman but covertly sending glances in her direction, admiring looks tinged with envy perhaps. When he had placed his order for dessert, Henry rummaged in his pocket and produced a small object wrapped in tissue, and passed it to her.