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Sunday, 31 March 2019

A Friend in Need

From Blushes 2.03
Roger pressed his lips against Sandra’s bared nipple. She moaned gently, arching her back, pressing her breast against his caress. After he had kissed her, he talked softly, whispering close to her ear. Her eyes were closed. He was lying between her legs. ‘So you wanted to tell me about Jilly…?’ His fingers were touching her where she was wet and extra-sensitive. Each stroke of his fingertips sent new ripples of ecstasy through her body. Her voice was soft and choked. ‘Peter doesn’t know what she needs.’ Roger’s lips went again to her nipple, standing proud and firmly erect, her breast softly resilient. ‘So what does she need?’ he asked her, already knowing the answer. He lifted himself away from her, giving her the freedom to move. She wriggled onto her front, her head resting gently on the pillow, turned to face him, her long legs casually open. He knew what Sandra needed. He gave it to her, almost every night. His fingers traced secret patterns across the contours of her bottom. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he told her, almost every night. His fingers traced secret patterns across the contours of her bottom. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he told her quietly. He often told her how beautiful she was. Not just her tits. Her bottom. The bottom of a growing young woman. Smooth and round. Fully-fleshed. She was a gorgeous creature, and being no mean athlete, her body was in gorgeous shape. Her bottom could look soft and vulnerable, and yet firm and resilient, all at the same time. He knew he could smack her really hard. Really make her yell and squirm. But she was strong and fit and healthy. She could take it. Rosy red-cheeked, she would kiss him goodnight. And on the following evening, she would bare her bottom for more.
Peter was having problems. It was easy enough to get at Jilly’s tits. And to get a firm grip of her knickers. But that’s where it would always end. ‘God. What’s wrong with you?’ he yelled at her one night, as she remained chaste, hands clutching her knickers, bra tangled around one shoulder. ‘Sod you,’ she announced, climbing off his bed to retrieve her discarded jeans and blouse. ‘Sod you.’ She sought consolation from her childhood friend. ‘God. What’s wrong with him, Sand?’ Sandra reckoned she knew. She and Jilly were birds of a feather. Girls with the same or, at least similar predilections and preferences. They went for a drink. Not to the local, but out in the country, where the lads couldn’t reach them. In a quiet corner by the flickering log fire. ‘Remember Oakdean?’ Julie downed her vodka. ‘God. Do I remember Oakdean!’ Sandra leaned towards her friend and whispered a few intimate reminders into Jilly’s ear. They giggled together, like naughty young girls. ‘So does Roger give you… you know…?’ Sandra went back to the bar and returned with refilled glasses. ‘Yes. He bloody well does. Whenever I need it.’ She handed Jilly her drink. ‘And it’s bloody marvellous.’
They drove home, knowing the lads would be out playing skittles. ‘So how do I get Peter to sort himself out?’ It was a cry from the heart. ‘The stupid wimp couldn’t even swipe a fly.’ Sandra was driving. ‘Find yourself another bloke. That’s my advice.’
Very late that afternoon, Sandra began rethinking their conversation. Perhaps she could get things moving. Get Peter to wake himself up. She lay on top of her bedclothes, her fingertips tracing patterns upon the most erogenous areas of her bare body. She remembered how she had first sorted out Roger. How she had bent forwards across his bed, tantalising him, her little nightie carelessly raised so he would see her bottom. She remembered the taunts and the insults. She remembered his angry murmur as he strode across the room and lifted her off her feet, placing her face down across his knee. Sometimes she really itched with a desire for that first spanking, so real and uncontrolled. So forceful. He had really lost his temper. He had really upturned her, ripped back her nightie. He had really laid into her. And she had asked for every sweet stinging smack.
Roger entered her, with a short firm thrust. She stifled a deep-throated gasp. ‘Look. What about Jilly… and…’ She lost control of her vocal chords as he rode her, edging her closer and closer to orgasm. Afterwards, as they lay together, fingers exploring each other’s bodies, she returned to the subject. ‘We’ve got to light his fire,’ she told her boyfriend. ‘For Jilly’s sake…’
----//----
Two days later, Peter and Jilly were invited round to Roger’s place for supper. Strategically-placed candles created the right mood. Soft red wine helped to relax tensions. After the meal, the two lads relaxed in the lounge, soft blues on the stereo. Sandra and Jilly were in the kitchen. The sound of shattering glass broke the atmosphere. ‘What the bloody…’ Roger ran into the kitchen, Peter following. ‘Alright. Which of you young madams smashed it?’ On the kitchen tiles lay the remains of a wine glass. The two girls glanced urgently at each other. ‘Right. Get in here.’ The order was directed at Sandra. Meekly, she scampered into the lounge.
Peter sank in astonishment towards the nearest empty chair as he watched his friend take control. Jilly stood in the open doorway. Sandra was dragged unceremoniously across Roger’s knee as he sat on the settee. ‘No, Roger. No. Not now… No!’ Sandra’s short disco skirt was pulled right up, well clear of her bottom. Red fashion tights were tugged right down, along with her brief knickers. ‘Jesus Christ, Roger. Later! Not while they’re watching. Please!’
Roger, oblivious to her pleas, began smacking his girlfriend’s bottom. Firm explosive smacks which rippled across her bare bottom flesh and made her squirm and swear and gasp and yell. ‘For God’s sake, Roger… for bloody Pete’s sake…’ Pete watched spellbound, his girlfriend too, stood open-mouthed as the punishment commenced, and Roger turned Sandra’s bottom into a blazing stinging mass of girlish bottom-flesh. Many minutes later, after Sandra had yelled and pleaded and threatened, Roger finally stopped. She climbed to her feet, tugging up her knickers and tights. Without another word, she ran from the room. But the glance she directed at Jilly said everything.
Jilly stood in the doorway, hands on her slim hips. She spoke to her boyfriend. ‘Peter, I’ve got a confession to make…’ Both lads looked at her. ‘I broke it. Not Sandra.’ She glanced at Roger and then back to Peter. ‘So what are we going to do about it?’ Peter was rivetted to the spot, still stunned by the earlier vision of big Sandra, writhing, knickers down… across her boyfriend’s knee. Jilly repeated the challenge. ‘Look lads, I did it. Not Sandra. So who’s going to tan MY bottom…’ Roger stood up. ‘Get your jeans off, love. I’ll tan you… you bloody well deserve it…’ Peter, hardly able to believe his eyes, watched his girlfriend meekly strip off her jeans, right in front of Roger. ‘Hey. This has gone too far…’ He stood between his girl and Roger. ‘I’m not letting you touch her…’ Jilly, now dressed in just her tee-shirt and knickers, pushed him away. ‘Don’t be stupid, you wimp! I deserve it. And Roger’s going to give it to me.’ She draped herself across his knee, and waited for Roger to take down her knickers. It was inevitable. He always smacked Sandra on the bare. Her bottom was bared. She lay there, Roger’s hand hovering in mid-air above her creamy bottom-cheeks.
‘Don’t you bloody touch her. Don’t you bloody dare…’ Peter ran across to his girlfriend, grabbing her by the arm, lifting her away from Roger’s knee. She stood up. Again her hands went to her hips. But now, she was minus her knickers as well. No-one noticed Sandra, now standing in the doorway, watching the proceedings. Roger stood up, holding his arms aloft. ‘Alright, I won’t touch her. She’s all yours.’ He strode across the room, took hold of Sandra, and disappeared from view.
As Peter approached, Jilly backed away, strangely, refusing to allow her boyfriend to touch her. ‘Hey. What’s wrong now?’ She put her hand up, pushing him away. ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong. It’s you. You’re a wimp. A bloody wimp! Why can’t you be a man? Like Roger? Why can’t YOU deal with me? Why can’t YOU keep me under control?’ She scampered to the settee and stretched herself across its padded arm, face down, displaying her bare bottom. ‘If you can’t tan my bottom, you stupid pranny, then you can’t screw me either!’ Peter’s temper finally erupted. Somehow, he found a large leather sandal in his hand. He thanked Roger for its provision. Swearing darkly to himself, he stood over his girlfriend, and her cheeky upturned bottom. ‘Jesus Christ. I’ll teach you to talk to me like that!’ He raised the slipper and planted an almighty slap across Jilly’s bottom-curves. Again and again. And she danced and yelled and pleaded and tossed her pretty head backwards and forwards.
Two hours later, Sandra and Roger lay together in the bedroom, holding each other. His fingers were cupping her bottom-cheeks, still feeling their radiating warmth. They were listening to the lively sexual activity taking place in the adjoining room. ‘Jesus Christ, he’s really giving it to her, isn’t he?’ Sandra suppressed a little giggle. ‘Doubt whether our Jilly’s been screwed like that for a very long time!’ Roger could only agree, judging by the mixture of creaks and groans. Peter was really going at it. ‘Think we’ve solved the problem, then?’ Roger turned, and kissed his girlfriend’s lips. ‘Sounds like it.’
Next door, young Jilly was still perched face down over the settee. She was devoid of her knickers. And her bra and tee-shirt. Her bottom looked very red. And Peter was giving her the sex session of the century. ‘You bloody show me up again…’ he whispered through clenched teeth. ‘And I’ll tan you into the middle of next week.’ Silently, Jilly whispered Thank God. And promised to buy Roger and Sandra a very special drink, next time they met.

Saturday, 30 March 2019

The Olympic Spirit

A Short Story by Samuel Lovell from Februs 39
We English tend to assume that when it comes to the thorny, if erotically enticing, issue of corporal chastisement, we are quite literally world beaters. Ben Farrow certainly considered his predilection for the tanning of female behinds to be a peculiarly Anglo-Saxon disease. It caused him untold angst especially during the early seventies when he was a student of ancient history at Leeds University. Within a puritanical atmosphere of women’s rights and growing political correctness, his passions left him extremely uneasy. He also found that the so-called permissive society was less evident than certain sections of the press had led a small-town boy like himself to believe. He was in his third and final year before Jessica finally agreed to full physical relations. It was a relief, no doubt, and to them both if the truth be known but there was still a glaring omission to his sexual cravings.
Little did he realise that his charming yet timid girlfriend held emotions just as strong as his own. Sadly, they left her feeling scared and abnormal. Being an intelligent young woman she knew this was a silly reaction, but she had nobody in which to confide which meant the problem festered away untreated. Considering they had been courting for two years, it may seem odd that they had never even discussed the matter. Like so many couples, however, the very seriousness of their relationship somehow prevented further exploration of each other’s sexual psyches. It was almost like trying to imagine their parents making love and as one can appreciate, that is rather unsettling. Fortunately, life has an uncanny knack of pushing the inevitable along and so it was with Ben and Jessica one lazy Sunday afternoon.
They had taken a break from their studies and decided to spend the day watching nonsense upon the television. Ben’s house-mates were away, affording them some unexpected privacy; it was a situation he intended exploiting to his own advantage. With the curtains shut, the door firmly bolted and a large supply of cider in the fridge, they snuggled together on the sofa. It all seemed to be heading for their usual quick bounce which for once would not take place in utter darkness. Then fate decided to lend a hand with the assistance of the British Broadcasting Corporation. A series of classic Elvis films was to be aired starting with Blue Hawaii. The scene so infamous to spanking fans caught them both unawares and for that matter practically naked. As Jenny Maxwell was hauled over the King’s knee our two young lovers were both glued to the set. The brief scene affected them deeply and with their many inhibitions dulled by the alcohol the rest came quite naturally.
It began as a nervous joke, but within a few minutes Jessica was over Ben’s knee getting what for with vigorous aplomb. The release was incredible, both mentally and physically as their frantic lovemaking demonstrated. Sadly, the pathway to liberation then reached an irritating impasse. They were ready to move on having talked the issues through sensibly. Spanking was most definitely for them, of that they were certain. Quite understandably, however, it was an aspect of their relationship which they wished to keep private. Their activities, therefore, were curtailed by the eggshell thin walls and the presence of house-mates. They attempted to compromise by whispering fantasies to one another as they made love, but nothing could really compensate for the real sting.
So it went on right up to their finals which, though stressful, at least offered a distraction. Then with surprising suddenness it was all over and they were free to leave. After a week of drinking and general merriment, Ben suggested that they sell everything and go island-hopping in Greece.
‘All right,’ agreed Jessica cocking her head in the manner he found so attractive, ‘but if my Morris Minor has to go so does your motorbike.’
‘Anything but that,’ he pleaded suddenly.
‘Imagine a quiet cove, your lap and my naked bottom,’ she replied with a roll of her brown eyes.
‘I’ll ring Exchange & Mart right away.’
----//----
Within a fortnight they were boarding the plane to Rhodes having taken advantage of a last minute cancellation. Being a student of ancient history Ben had hoped to start their adventure in Athens, but the prospect of laying his hands upon Jessica’s pert little behind certainly made up for this disappointment. They spent three blissful weeks on the island finding numerous hideouts where they could indulge in their fancies. Already, however, the presence of organised tourism was making itself felt and after being caught by a German family in the throes of a good rogering the pair decided to move on. So, they caught a ferry to Karpathos in the hope of finding greater seclusion.
As the quay at Pigadia drew closer they smiled at one another, sensing immediately the unworldly isolation that is such a striking feature of this Dodecanese island. They had always preferred a long day’s walk in the Yorkshire dales to the overcrowded and smoky bars of the Leeds student scene. It was quite natural therefore that they went in search of rugged and picturesque serenity rather than a busy night-life.
Alter dropping their rucksacks off at a small apartment they wandered down by the harbour and ate in one of the restaurants. The sun was still quite warm when they finished and both had only one thing in mind. Around Ben’s waist was a leather belt he had purchased back in Rhodes and they were as yet to christen it. After taking note which way most people were heading, they set off in the opposite direction. This took them up a steep coastal path, past a small white church and up over the rocks. As they climbed ever higher Ben watched Jessica’s buttocks as they strained against her tight hot pants. He could barely keep his hands off them as they jiggled from side to side and if they had gone on much further the bulge in his jeans would have rubbed itself sore. Fortunately, they came across a series of caves and without a word they both wandered into the largest one.
‘Strip, you naughty minx,’ Ben growled once they were submerged in the half light.
‘Must I, sir,’ pleaded Jessica, theatrically, her fingers already unfastening her bikini top.
‘I’d be quick if you value the skin on your arse,’ Ben threatened and in one swift movement he pulled the belt from round his waist.
‘Oh yes, sir,’ mewed Jessica, highly impressed by Ben’s authoritarian manner.
They both enjoyed playing these little games before getting down to the real business of warming Jessica’s nates. It gave the whole affair a certain edge and now they were becoming accustomed to their roles, the effect was greatly enhanced.
Jessica quickly disposed of her clothes allowing Ben to wallow in her naked glory. There wasn’t a spare ounce upon the girl, even her breasts, though fulsome, displayed a youthful tautness. After admiring her exquisiteness for a moment or two Ben gave the order to touch her toes. This was a new twist, for in the past, she had always bent over his knee. Being supple and athletic, she achieved this classic pose with ease, presenting a target of supreme beauty. Her orbs practically begged to be whipped and her sex seemed to glisten in anticipation. She felt glorious, so vulnerable yet safe with her dearest Ben at the helm.
He folded the belt in half and cautiously lifted it back. The moment the leather swooshed across her orbs he knew that the blow was a trifle tame.
‘Ow,’ said Jessica with a giggle, thus confirming Ben’s concerns.
Right then, he thought, try this one for size and he really let it fly. Jessica suddenly regretted her outburst of sarcasm as a dose of very real pain exploded across her denuded behind. It stung like crazy and she let out a piercing squeal that surprised them both. Then a lovely feeling of submissiveness overwhelmed her senses and she settled down to await the next instalment. Ben was quite shaken by Jessica’s vocal response and placed a little less venom behind the following blow. His confidence quickly grew however and the rhythmic sound of leather slapping flesh soon filled the air.
By the end Jessica’s rump had assumed a bright scarlet hue without suffering any lasting damage. On the whole they both thoroughly enjoyed the experience yet something was still missing. Later, after making love, the two discussed events in the open style that had become their fashion.
‘You held back, didn’t you?’ Jessica questioned, as she nibbled at Ben’s suntanned neck.
‘A little, but only because you nearly jumped out of your skin.’
‘It was just a shock that’s all,’ she explained. ‘It feels different to your hand, stings more at the time, but it’s not throbbing now and I kind of miss that.’
‘So you want it harder?’
‘Yes and I want to yelp. It’s rather good fun.’
Over the coming days they visited the cave quite regularly with Jessica’s naked behind suffering harsher and harsher punishments. This led to a fair degree of bruising which made sunbathing on the beach amongst their fellow travellers impractical. Again, they decided to press on, in search of some idyll that would suit their needs entirely. They wished to stay upon Karpathos, however, having fallen in love with its grey mountains, rocky promontories and anachronistic lifestyle. So, they caught the local caique around the island to the village of Olymbos. It was an interesting trip made all the more so by the flimsy nature of their boat and its susceptibility to break down.
Eventually, Olymbos came into view, clinging somewhat precariously to the mountainside. As they stepped ashore they were immediately struck by the women of the village who still wore the traditional apparel. Their elegant white dresses made Jessica feel rather conspicuous and she was relieved to find a hotel so quickly. It was here that they met Vanna for the first time. She was the proprietor’s daughter and to their surprise spoke excellent English.
‘I live in Rhodes for ten years working with the tourists,’ she explained while taking them to their room. ‘Then my father bring us back home to Olymbos saying it will soon be full of tourists too. He wrong so far, but it’s beautiful yes?’
‘It is indeed,’ Ben replied and he couldn’t help but think that Vanna was rather beautiful too.
Jessica noticed how her lover stared at the girl’s behind as she placed fresh sheets on their bed. She could have made an educated guess as to what was going through his mind. A few months earlier she would have felt threatened by Ben’s lascivious reaction, but now she had a new confidence in the strength of their bond. They were growing that was for certain, both together and outwards. Where it would all lead Jessica was as yet unsure, but it no longer scared her as it had in the past. There was perhaps another sensation simmering below the surface that she could not as yet express. Still, it stirred some pleasant currents in her loins and she began day dreaming about a sore bottom and a satisfied libido.
‘Are there any quiet beaches or coves close by Vanna?’ she asked innocently while flashing Ben a knowing glance.
‘All the beaches on this side of the island are quiet, but I know what is a cove not?’
Once this minor linguistic problem was solved it became obvious that Ben and Jessica’s love of spanking alfresco would be well catered for around Olymbos. Vanna promised to show them several solitary spots the following day where they could swim and sun bathe, ‘however they liked… yes!’
That evening, however, the village was celebrating and she insisted that Ben and Jessica joined the revelry. The cause of this riotous affair never became clear though there seemed to be a religious theme hidden somewhere below all the singing and drinking. Whatever the motive, young and old alike partied into the early hours with hardly a pause for breath.
They were slightly fragile when Vanna awoke them early the next morning with a tray of feta cheese, bread and olives. She seemed none the worse for wear, her brown eyes sparkling as she ushered them out of the hotel in her bossy yet charming manner. To Ben’s delight she had cast her traditional garbs aside opting for shorts and a thin pale denim shirt.
‘Mama shouts at me for dressing this way,’ she said as they wandered out of the village. ‘She says it makes talk. I don’t care I like less clothes when it’s so hot!’
‘I suppose,’ Jessica replied thoughtfully, ‘but I do adore the embroidery on your dresses.’
‘Yes, it is beautiful, but not always,’ Vanna continued in her husky tones. ‘Sometimes it’s best to be free of all clothes… yes!’
‘Oh yes,’ agreed Ben, suddenly taking an interest in the conversation.
You turncoat, thought Jessica who had suggested a touch of naturism back on Rhodes only to be told it was out of the question. Ben was no prude, however, to him it was simply a matter of aesthetics. He found the contrast between the milky white flesh on Jessica’s bottom and the brown skin that surrounded it most enticing. If pressed, he would explain in detail how it highlighted the target area, thus ensuring he always hit the right spot. Never mind, Jessica decided with a hint of amusement, if anyone is going to suffer from sunburn it will be him and that dangling beast of his.
They followed in Vanna’s wake as she strode effortlessly over the razor sharp rocks for a good half an hour. Then she led them down a preposterously steep crevasse, around numerous large boulders and out onto a long thin stretch of shingle which sloped down to the gently lapping sea.
‘You like?’ she asked in her demanding style.
‘It’s wonderful,’ Jessica replied as she dropped her bag to the floor.
‘And nobody but me comes here,’ Vanna continued. ‘Come let’s go in for a swim, it will wake you two sleepy people up.’
She then pulled her shirt up over her head to reveal a pair of rounded breasts that were tipped majestically in dark ebony. Jessica feared Ben’s eyes would pop out of their sockets not to mention the strain on his shorts. For a moment she felt a pang of jealousy, but then she bared her own buxom chest and realised quite smugly that they were just as ripe as their Greek friend’s. Vanna meanwhile had pushed her shorts down to her ankles and kicked them aside. Her buttocks were oval and long, blending into her broad fleshy hips. Jessica also removed her shorts and the two girls skipped excitedly down to the water. Ben who was enchanted to near senselessness by the whole scene noticed the bruising on his girlfriend’s behind at the last possible moment. Vanna won’t spot them, he thought vaguely, more concerned with the rather incriminating condition of his manhood than anything else.
With this in mind he stripped quickly and charged straight past the frolicking girls, plunging into the cool blue water. Upon re-joining them he discovered that Vanna was more observant than he had earlier assumed.
‘Did you do this to her bot-bot?’ she accused pointing her finger at him. ‘You wicked man, you are, I think.’
‘Well, errr,’ Bon stuttered flushing with embarrassment.
‘Oh, he’s most wicked,’ Jessica teased, less perturbed than her boyfriend by their lapse in discretion.
‘Still it’s such a cute little thing,’ Vanna crooned and her hand reached out and grabbed Jessica’s rump. ‘I like to give it a… what do you say… spank?’
‘Yes,’ giggled Jessica, her heart quite a flutter.
‘A good spank myself, over here, yes!’ and she tapped her knee.
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Jessica beamed, ‘and I’m sure Ben won’t either.’
‘I can see that for myself,’ laughed Vanna pointing at his aroused condition.
Then she took hold of Jessica’s wrist and dragged her up the shingle beach to where their towels lay. Ben, as was becoming his habit, followed close behind, his chest pounding in amorous anticipation. He could hardly believe that Jessica was the same shy girl he had tried so hard to impress back in Leeds. That life suddenly seemed a million miles and as many years away. He felt so alive that it hurt, but what an exquisite pain it was and how he wished to endure it forever.
Vanna picked up her towel, but instead of drying herself she laid it on one of the smaller rocks. Then she sat down upon it and beckoned Jessica to come closer. She required little encouragement, her backside was just itching for a hard slapping. Her enthusiasm was heightened further by the novelty of being bent over such a luxuriously feminine lap. This discovery caused a delicious tremble to pulsate down her spine and she became aware just how wet she was between the legs. She felt quite ashamed at enjoying her humiliation especially when she considered that Vanna was practically a stranger. Somehow that made it all the better and she determined to savour every moment.
‘Over you go,’ Vanna instructed. ‘I spank your bot-bot till it nice and red yes.’
‘Don’t hold back she’s much tougher than you think,’ Ben joked his eyes wide as saucers.
‘It is the same with all women,’ Vanna replied with a touch of curtness.
Once snugly in position Jessica cocked her head to face Ben and winked at him. He winked back, both revelling in the simple joys of the flesh. Then Vanna’s hand connected crisply with Jessica’s buttocks. They were still cold and damp with salty water. Jessica liked the feel of it even more than usual and she moaned rather than gasped.
‘You naughty girl,’ Vanna scolded playfully, ‘I not stop till it very sore now.’
That was just fine by Jessica who stuck her nates out invitingly for the next smack. Vanna obliged wrapping her hand around the upturned target with all the strength she could muster. She watched as the finger marks leapt from the pale flesh before giving it another then another. Jessica’s bottom twitched and wriggled which delighted her chastiser not to mention the silent Ben. He stood transfixed, breathless and rather giddy as the blows began to fall at an unrelenting pace. Even in his wildest fantasies he had never imagined witnessing such a vividly stimulating display of erotic discipline.
Jessica meanwhile was completely immersed in that heady mixture of pleasure and pain that had come to represent the epitome of her sexuality. To her utter amazement she then realised how close she was to climaxing. That had never happened over Ben’s knee though she often thought it might. She felt a little guilty, but there was nothing that could stop her going over the brink.
‘Oh, you are terrible,’ Vanna laughed when she realised what was happening. She obviously didn’t mind for her fingers dipped lightly into Jessica’s honey-pot thus aiding the girl to even higher peaks of ecstasy. ‘That feels good yes?’ she said as Jessica shuddered to a halt.
‘Oh God, yes,’ she wailed joyfully.
‘Now maybe you do the same for me?’ Vanna asked expectantly.
The idea of switching roles had never really occurred to Jessica and now she was faced with the prospect it held little appeal. She was by her nature highly submissive in the sexual arena yet it seemed only fair to accommodate Vanna’s desires. After a moment’s hesitation she found the solution. ‘I think it would be better if Ben took charge of your punishment,’ she said upon rising to her feet. ‘His hand is much harder than mine.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ Vanna replied examining his muscular frame. ‘Well Ben, do you want to spank my Greek bot-bot?’
‘The girls I punish call me sir,’ he said in mock annoyance.
‘Yeees, sir,’ Vanna pouted.
Moments later she was over his strong hip with her expansive behind taking the brunt of a passionate hiding. It was now Jessica’s turn to watch proceedings and it aroused her far more than she had anticipated. In fact it was all she could do to keep her fingers from drifting down between her legs. She resisted however, suspecting that Ben would quell her lusty desires in due course. For the time being he continued to belabour Vanna’s hide only stopping when the constant rubbing of her belly across his manhood brought him close to a highly premature ejaculation.
Vanna stood up and rubbed attractively at her smarting behind.
‘Is it red?’ she asked Jessica while attempting to look over her own shoulder.
‘As a tomato.’
‘But not marked like yours.’
‘No he uses his belt to do that.’
‘He do it to me?’
‘I’ll do it to you both,’ Ben interrupted decisively, having become tired of them scheming as if he was not even there. ‘And to make things more interesting we’ll have a little competition.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Jessica quizzed.
‘England versus Greece for the honour of being crowned Queen of the Hardy Bottoms,’ he announced dramatically. ‘So both touch your toes and the last one to rise will be our winner.’
‘And the prize?’ asked Jessica amid an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.
‘It stands proudly before you,’ he replied to yet more laughter.
‘I think I understand,’ Vanna said as they pulled themselves back together, ‘but what is this touching toes mean.’
All soon became clear and the two girls bent over thus proffering their very different behinds to the waiting Ben. Both were exquisite, complementing one another like a fine wine does an equally excellent meal. Their unsurpassable quality certainly caused Ben to hesitate for a moment, his eyes skipping from one set of chubbies to the other.
‘Stop leering and hurry up,’ moaned Jessica.
‘That’s, stop leering and hurry up, sir, to you,’ Ben rebuffed and he gave his beloved a mighty whack to force the point home.
Predictably, Jessica squealed like a wounded animal which led Vanna to assume Greece was going to claim the gold medal easily. It had been quite a while since her last bare behind whacking, but never in her life had she made such a racket. With a certain amount of pride she then remembered the Dutch boy back on Rhodes who had beaten her rump black and blue with a wooden sandal. If she could not only take but enjoy that kind of treatment then a mere belting would be nothing. Ben had become highly proficient at his task, however, and the smarting blow that wrapped around Vanna’s buttocks caused her to gasp in alarm.
For some reason the two girls then turned their heads and looked into each other’s eyes. Their expressions must have been similar for both realised instantly that this was going to be a protracted affair. Ben certainly had the necessary energy and aptitude to keep their nates dancing, patiently gracing their behinds with stroke after torturous stroke. Jessica screamed herself hoarse while Vanna simply groaned. All three gave and took from one another, balancing upon the precipice of fulfilment for longer than seemed possible. Finally, with their buttocks crimson and wealed Ben threw the belt aside.
‘You’ve both won,’ he declared as he took hold of their hair and pulled them towards him. ‘Now, come and claim the spoils.’
They did so eagerly, hardly noticing the rough shingle as they fell into a desperate ménage-a-trois.
Life would never be the same for Ben and Jessica after their time with Vanna in Olymbos. The path was set and they were now compelled to follow it whatever the consequences. Diversity, they found, could be a difficult cross to bear in such an intrusive and unforgiving world. So, once a year, at least, they returned to Vanna and the quiet little cove where their passions could be free.

Friday, 29 March 2019

Join the Dots…

From Blushes 45
Her proud breasts stretched tautly and she stared up at her wrists as her arms remained taut in their own act as though saluting the ceiling. Her upper torso was completely naked and the nipples on her tightly posed titties were thrusting like excited stalks from the pinky aureoles. Her high-heeled shoes helped the full expression of her enforced statuesque posture as, with ankles together, she choked back the constant threat to whimper her hopeless helplessness.
‘Are you sure you are stretching your arms as high as you can?’ his voice asked unreasonably.
‘Oh yes sir… I am, I am,’ her voice conveyed her own fear that she might displease him and that would be a situation that Fiona knew she did not want to even think about.
Please let me not fail, please, please, she inwardly and constantly prayed. To show him her anxiousness to please at all costs, she tried to thrust her wrists even higher.
The tight black stockings that encase her symmetric curvy legs were stretched tight and these in turn were clipped to a satiny suspender belt. She wore no panties but she was so far saved the full humiliation of exposing her soft pubic hair by the covering of the black lacework of the pantyhose. She felt the shock waves of nausea throb through her when the serious-faced inquisitor approached her.
Do not move Fiona, please… whatever he does, do not move; her own silent instructions emphasising even to herself the importance of causing him no displeasure made the necessary reminder that she was in no way able to prevent anything happening that the inquisitor might suggest would happen. She silently winced too. In his hand, that terrible and evil-looking tapering cane. Long and menacing. She saw how it swayed with each step he took. Its own pliancy made it a springy piece of wood. She blushed deep when he stood immediately before the blonde posed beauty. Slowly, tantalisingly and teasingly, he eased the pantyhose clear of the area that he wanted to look at. When he would turn her round later, the soft cheeks of her bared bottom would be open to his eyes; and anything else he might want to do to them.
Fiona wanted to pull away from those fingers that were even now lifting the veil that covered her modesty. She gasped because hands were fondling her breasts. She kept still. How much longer; my arms are aching! But self-discipline made her suffer the anguished pull of gravity against the limbs so forcefully thrusting towards the ceiling. The unveiling of her lower tummy did nothing to help her modesty or dignity. He stepped back after exciting the heated breasts and then without warning his right hand snaked between the now parted thighs. She gasped and he shot a glaring look of disapproval.
‘I’m sorry,’ she moaned.
It was another shameful response. She would never have visualised herself having to apologise for making some reaction to having a hand thrust in between her legs. And what was even worse, she had to push her pelvis forward in a ‘welcoming’ gesture! She felt the heated response of her heated body as fingers stroked, plucked and thrust freely where they would.
He told her to face the opposite direction and she found herself facing the blank decor of the wall. Now her bottom was under his digital control and her proud very rounded cheeks were kneaded and felt with a freedom that defied description.
‘Remember, stand still,’ his austere tone warned her. ‘You know what I am going to do, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she choked in an aggravated toned voice.
‘What am I going to do?’ he required her to express herself in a knowledge that she would prefer to be without.
‘You are going to cane my bottom,’ her own voice had now taken on a tight sound of fearful apprehension.
Not too hard please. Please don’t cane me too hard. Not my poor bum. I don’t want to be caned. I don’t want to stand so nakedly exposed… I don’t want…
‘Aaaahhh… oh… please… please,’ she screeched as the sheer hell of that first stroke ignited a sense of real stinging fire across both cheeks of her bottom.
Two… three and then four… hard whipped strokes marked thin lines across her nates… with all the will power in the world, there was no way she could be expected to stay still.
Her bottom writhed and she forgot the first principle of staying still. His snapping voice soon reminded of that first principle and as she shook in hopelessness, she reluctantly stretched her wrists towards the ceiling and the searing agony across the cheeks had to remain there without the comfort of being soothed in her own palms. Two more strokes came down and she felt the crazy sensation as she completely collapsed her resolve and sank to her knees.
‘If that is the way you prefer to be then so be it,’ he said.
She was soon kneeling upright with her hands pulled tightly behind her and this emphasised the tautness of her thrusting breasts. She was to lean forward and the shapely cones of her titties pushed before her. Her sobbing and heaving chest could not contain the gasping breath that she exhaled and then he gave her a further three strokes. When she was standing, she had sank to the floor, now she had been on the floor she wanted to retract from the posture that attracted the cane… so despite her natural objections and protests which she kept to herself. She was now standing, her hands once more behind her back pushed up and always.
‘Nooo! Oh nooo!’
The cane whipped down harshly. How many was he going to heap upon her throbbing buttocks. They twisted and writhed in sheer demented reaction and cringing response.
She knew that there would be various cruel positions and this man seemed to have sorted out a veritable studio of unnatural poses for her near naked form to comply.
When he insisted that she pose on her knees once again, he had her place her wrists between her knees and down to her feet. This bent her whole torso in a frame of further exposure. Her head was right down to the floor now, and she had to stay like that for many minutes as the inquisitor studied the chasms between her legs. He knew of a pose that would soon have that whole area fully open to his gazing and searching eyes.
The rounded moons of her bottom, now revealing the sheer state of his thrashing cane, stretched with the enforced pose of her wrists pulled between her thighs and then all the way through to join her ankles. He warned her that if she moved he would thrash her without stopping with a harsher twin leathered strap. She tried to smother the gasp that wanted to escape her when his hands traced the lines of the cane that he had put across her.
Even when his hand snaked between her legs she knew she just had to stay still and accept the liberties his palms could take with her body. The misery of her defencelessness showed on her tear-stained face. The agony of her shameful humiliation was sketched on her very soul… the obeisant manner was an enforcement that she had suggested she would rather suffer than have the wickedness that she had perpetrated revealed. She was a prisoner of her own making. Despite the terrible things that she knew she would be prepared to suffer, she also accepted that she would rather accept this a thousand times over than have him report to the proper authorities the knowledge he had of her terrible sin.
He could pose her as he pleased. He could punish her as hard as he liked and for as long as he liked and in any position he liked. He would command and Fiona would most certainly obey… unquestionably.
Her protests would have to be suppressed and only silence would be the result. She was allowed the privilege of vocally expressing the response to the painful lines, but she knew she must not under any circumstances refuse to adopt the pose to receive them.
The pantyhose had been removed and only the suspender belt, stockings and shoes remained. She felt the tension of the skin from her shoulders, down her back and then the tightened tautness of the striped cheeks of her bottom. There was that swishing sound that she had come to recognise as the forerunner of streaking pain lines. She was not mistaken. The same searing pain seemed to burn an indelible line once more. She could not jump up and her writhing body wriggled so that she lay on her side.
‘Stay like that for a moment. Now pull your hands round to your back’ he snapped.
Laying like that, she slowly pulled her hands round to her rear. She had now been enforcedly forbidden to touch her own bottom and the need to just lay her cool fingers on the bare flanks of her arse was a highly desirable action. She did not touch her bottom despite that urge to do so. This exposure of her tummy was once again enhanced as she cringed inwardly, but only inwardly from his rudely inspecting eyes. She had never felt so utterly open and his eyes revealed nothing to her; whether he found her desirable or whether her naked body caused him pleasure, just nothing.
Then he was telling her to lay on her back and this time she was instructed to pull her knees up to her chest but once again the arms were placed between her legs and stretching down to the ankles. This caused the most humiliating pose so far because now the soft-centred vulva was open fully to all that he wished to see.
She choked when once again, a hand was placed on the very exposed region of her body. She just had to lay there feeling the lava of heated shame build up inside her. She did not want her body to respond to this demanding hotness. The sizzling condition of the heat that seared and blistered became a blending of passion and pain all at once. Fiona was in that tormented state of loving the passion and hating the pain. Fingertips were able to stroke and penetrate the tight sucking tube of her sex mouth and she knew that if this went on for long then she would have no choice but to fully surrender to the thrilling sweetness that was not taking over where the pain had left off.
But she knew that there was still a number of strokes to come and she felt as though hot wires had been drawn across her bottom.
‘You have been very naughty,’ he reminded her.
‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry… I’m truly very sorry,’ she sobbed.
‘And all naughtiness must be punished.’
‘Yesss… yes, sir,’ she could only agree.
‘By a good tanning on your bare bottom.’
‘Yesss… yes, sir… l knooooww,’ she was not sure what he was driving at… all she could think about is the way she was actually trying to make her vulva area more accessible to him!
‘Do you think you have been punished enough?’ he asked.
Fiona’s instinctive warning system sounded alarm bells. Bells telling her to be careful how she responded to that one.
‘I… I don’t know, sir. I… I don’t know,’ her voice sounded like a tightened octave simply because of the sheer delight she was feeling oozing from her body.
She did not want to feel the sexual heat building up. She only wanted him to tell her that the punishment was over. But he ceased his administrations to her vulva and Fiona immediately thought that she might prefer him to continue for a little while.
Standing again. Once more the full stretched pose… facing the wall again and now the sizzling lines had slightly diminished pain but were throbbing still to keep her mind firmly aligned to the task of being disciplined for being so naughty.
He was standing next to her and his hand was fondling the aching breasts that had seemed to grow heavier by the second. Even when his hand stroked down to the hot spheres of her burning bum, she knew she must keep them roundly pushed back.
‘Very well… for the final part of your punishment,’ he said.
Oh Lord. No more. Please. Please. My bottom is too sore… there is too much pain in it, she prayed.
This was not strictly true. Fiona certainly had taken some strokes, but that had been some fifteen minutes ago… the cheeks of her magnificent arse had settled down to a steady throbbing hum.
There was a swiiish… there was a thwacckk, and there was a wail of pure helplessness to defend. The naked torso started to writhe again. The hips thrust in a harsh movement from side to side and then she was bucking her torso backwards and forwards in a piston movement. Just in time, her bottom thrust back and the cane caught the cheeks at the further roundness of her backwards thrust.
Another wailing sound… another enlivened movement of pain-striped buttocks and the whole exercise was about to start all over again.

Thursday, 28 March 2019

Pact with the Devil

Story by Jean-Philippe Aubourg from Janus 162, the final instalment in a series of four.
Siobhan looked at the cards on the mantelpiece. ‘Happy Ninth Birthday!’ It did not seem a decade since the chain of events which had brought her here were kicked off by the bishop’s last visit.
He had caught her and Elaine, his niece, red-handed. Let into their Clapham flat by their young male neighbour, Bishop Franks had discovered it full of records and posters dedicated to the ‘Satanic’ rock and roll he despised so much. When they got home, from a Rolling Stones concert to make matters worse, they found him in their living room, furious.
He had them strip practically naked, then spanked them, with his hand and a wooden spoon, before taking off his belt and strapping them severely. As he left, he told them he would return the next day, to make sure they removed all the records and posters.
The girls had approached their handsome neighbour. He was eager to make amends for letting Bishop Franks into their home, and let them use his flat to store everything the bishop might find offensive, until after his second inspection and his departure to Ireland. Then he helped carry it back across the hall.
While doing this he seemed to take a shine to Siobhan, much to her surprise. The willow-figured brunette was used to Elaine getting her share of male attention, with her long blonde curls, large breasts and curvaceous figure. Siobhan was not sure how to deal with it. She tried to keep the young man at arm’s length, but was bowled over by his charm.
They began going out, first with Elaine, then on their own. She allowed him to cuddle her, and then kiss her, but persistently refused his pleas to make their relationship ‘special’, by going to bed with him.
But he kept the pressure on, and she finally relented when he promised to marry her. This led to a brief tumble in his bed, lights off of course, which she found painful, uncomfortable and embarrassing, although he seemed to enjoy it. In fact, he was very keen to carry on doing it regularly, which they did for two months, as he kept on telling her how much he loved her, and wanted to make plans with her.
Looking back, she realised how stupid and naive she had been, but at the time she had no cause to doubt him. Until, that is, the evening she stumbled tearfully across the hall and banged on his door, to tell him she was three weeks late and he was going to be a father.
At first it seemed as if everything was going to be alright. He spent the night holding her, and telling her how they were going to bring the wedding forward. She went back to her own bed apprehensive, but reassured.
The next morning she crossed the hall again, to find the door to her boyfriend’s flat open. Inside she found only the furniture. The two rooms had been stripped of all his possessions. He had gone in the night, and she was alone.
Over the next few weeks Elaine did what she could for a distraught Siobhan. They eventually tracked him down, and he claimed he panicked. However, his only extra contribution was to offer to pay for an abortion. Siobhan knew for certain that was one thing she could never do, so said goodbye to him for good.
With Elaine’s help she struggled for as long as she could, before having to give up work to have her baby, a beautiful girl who she called Bernadette. Straight away she knew she had to be as self-sufficient as possible. Her family in Ireland had disowned her when they found out she was pregnant. Elaine had even had to lie to her own family, telling them Siobhan was not living with her anymore, for fear she would also be shunned.
Siobhan saw her future through qualifications, to get the best job she possibly could. Bernadette’s father contributed what he could, but never seemed likely to earn much.
Through night school, Siobhan studied hard and finally selected a career — law. She was amazed to discover how much of an aptitude she had for it, and after years of studying, full and part-time, passed her exams to become a fully qualified solicitor. Money was still tight, especially with a nine-year-old daughter, but Siobhan was happy, now being able to think about buying a home of their own. However, the house market of 1985 was becoming buoyant, and scraping together the cash for the deposit looked as if it was going to be a major task.
By then she had given up hope of ever hearing from any old friends or relatives from Ireland again. She had distanced herself from Elaine some years ago, as much for Elaine’s good as hers. So it was with great surprise that, among the pile of birthday cards which had arrived for Bernadette, she found a letter from Elaine.
The letter was not long, but it knocked the breath out of Siobhan. Elaine said she had spent months trying to find her. She said she had important news, which it would be of great benefit for Siobhan to hear, although she could not put it in the letter. They had to meet soon, and it had to be somewhere private. With Bernadette due to spend the following weekend with her father, Siobhan arranged for Elaine to come on Saturday morning.
She arrived, and she was not alone. A middle-aged man, with glasses and slightly greying hair, dressed casually in a sweater and chinos, stood behind her on the doorstep. ‘Hello my darling!’ beamed her old friend. Her blonde curls had lost a little of their shine, but none of their bounce. Nor had Elaine’s breasts, their curves pushing against her fashionable white silk blouse, with its frilly cuffs and new romantic collar. Tight jeans showed her lower figure was also still in good shape.
Without waiting to be asked, Elaine threw her arms around Siobhan. ‘It’s so good to see you again!’ she said. ‘Can we come in? Oh, this is Derek. He’s a solicitor, like you now, so I’m told!’ The man grinned, although he appeared somewhat nervous. He was carrying a briefcase and a long cardboard tube.
‘Yes, yes, of course!’ Siobhan ushered them in. Within fifteen minutes they were all in her living room sipping coffee, as Elaine cooed over pictures of Bernadette.
‘So why was it so urgent you find me?’ Siobhan asked. Derek suddenly looked as if he was about to speak, but was stayed by Elaine’s hand on his knee.
‘It’s my Uncle Patrick, Bishop Franks,’ she said.
Siobhan flinched at the memory of the man on whom she blamed all the misfortunes of her early life. The man who had virtually bought her from her family, to cook and clean for him, allowing her not one moment of pleasure in return, who had taken such sadistic pleasure in punishing her naked bottom so severely at every possible opportunity. The bastard who had even violated their home, stripped the two of them and beaten them raw for daring to choose their own lifestyle. Was he going to try and force his way back into her life? No way — this time she was not the naive country girl. She would see him in Hell first.
‘I’m afraid to say’ Elaine went on, ‘that he’s passed away.’
Dead? He’s dead! Siobhan would have laughed out loud if it had not been his niece telling her this. Instead all she could muster was a faint ‘how?’
‘It was a stroke. Very quick. He didn’t suffer.’ Unlike me, you and quite a few other young women, I daresay, thought Siobhan, but again she kept quiet. ‘It happened five months ago. And it was when we opened his will that we started looking for you. You’re in it, Siobhan.’
‘Me?’ She was stunned. ‘What did the old pervert put me in his will for?’ Elaine flushed at the description of her Uncle, but made no attempt to contradict it.
‘For five thousand pounds.’ It was the first complete sentence Derek had said to her, and it knocked her sideways. ‘Bishop Patrick Franks had accumulated a good deal of wealth for a man of the Church, although as the eldest of his siblings, he himself inherited a sizeable estate as a young man.’ Derek was opening his briefcase and taking out papers, warming to his task, although something still seemed to be bothering him. ‘And as a man of the Church, he naturally had no children to pass his estate on to. He’s made several bequests to former colleagues and staff, and he seems to remember you particularly fondly, and so has left you this not inconsiderable amount. However,’ and at this point Derek became a little hoarse, and coughed to clear his throat, ‘he does make a rather, er, unusual condition.’
Siobhan looked at Derek, then at Elaine, who was staring at the carpet, fiddling with her fingers. ‘What condition?’
Derek fumbled with some papers. ‘I, er, think it would be best to read you Bishop Franks’ own words,’ he stuttered, clearly unable to find any of his own. ‘Ah, here we are.’ He unfolded a copy of the will and began to read aloud.
‘To my former housekeeper, I leave the sum of five thousand pounds.’ Siobhan gulped on hearing the amount again. ‘But on the condition that she shows true repentance for straying so far from the path of righteousness. For the acts of fornication, and bringing into this world a child out of wedlock, are serious crimes against God’s Holy Church, as is the wantonness with which she has abandoned her family and loved ones. And so,’ Derek went on, after pausing to cough again, ‘she shall only receive the money once she has paid a full penance, namely a complete and severe caning around the whole of the rosary, on her bare bottom, administered by a member of my family, and witnessed to his full satisfaction by my executor.’
Derek folded the will and looked up. ‘I’m sorry Miss O’Connor, normally strange bequests can be challenged, but the rest of the document is singularly unremarkable. There can be no doubt he was of sound mind when he made it.’
‘So I get five thousand’ said Siobhan slowly, ‘but only if I let one of his creepy relatives undress and cane me, just like he used to do?’
‘Well, we thought, if you wanted to go through with it, that I could do it.’ Elaine broke her long silence. ‘We thought you might be more comfortable with that.’
‘Comfortable? What could be comfortable about getting my bum whacked fifty-nine times? Yes, Elaine, fifty-nine! That’s how many beads a rosary has. You remember, that’s how many I saw the old bastard give your cousin Rosemary in 1970! She had marks for a week!’
‘Sure, but she deserved it! But you just have to think of the money. Think what you can do with it, for you and your little girl!’
‘Do you seriously expect me to debase myself for money? Especially his money!’
‘Miss O’Connor, no-one says you have to do this.’ It was Derek again, desperately trying to be reasonable. ‘But I feel I have to point out that, should you exercise your right to refuse, the money will go to the Roman Catholic Church.’
The words had a strange effect on Siobhan. It seemed to her she was being offered the chance to put one over the bishop, even though he was not here to appreciate how it would feel. Clearly he had thought he could get to her from beyond the grave. He probably assumed she would be horrified, humiliated, furious, and too proud to offer her bare bottom up for the embarrassing and painful punishment. Then she would have to watch the money go to the Church, the very institution which had let her down by giving him the power to control her life and punish her. It was probably exactly where he was planning to leave the money anyway, the old boys club of self-serving hypocrites in black, purple and red, which he had been part of almost all his adult life. Well, she was damned if they were going to see a penny of it!
‘Let’s get it over with, then.’ Elaine and Derek looked at her, both wide-eyed. Clearly they had not been expecting this outcome either. ‘I assume that’s the dirty old sod’s cane you have in that tube? Well, you’d better get it out and use it on me Elaine, before I change my mind. Then you can write me a cheque Derek, and Patrick Franks can carry on burning in Hell.’
Derek fumbled with the cardboard tube, and took off the plastic cap. From within he took out the slender crook-handled cane that had made Siobhan’s late teens so painful an experience. He shook the tube and a rosary fell out. ‘Also Bishop Franks,’ Derek explained. ‘He was specific about the use of this cane and this rosary, in case we tried to use anything lighter or with fewer beads.’
‘A thorough pervert to the end’ said Siobhan. ‘And he also demanded I be bare-bottomed? Well, he wouldn’t have it any other way!’ Stepping out of her slippers, she unbuckled her belt, then pulled down the zip of her jeans and unbuttoned them. Pushing the fashionably skin-tight trousers down to her ankles, she stepped out of them. ‘Bare-bottom, he said?’ repeated Siobhan, looking straight at Derek, who had broken out in a sweat and turned pale.
‘Er, yes’ he replied, looking up the relevant passage in the will, as much as a way of diverting his eyes, as to make sure the information was correct.
‘Then these will have to come off!’ Putting a finger and thumb on each side of the waistband of her panties, Siobhan pushed them down to her knees in one quick motion. Dragging them the rest of the way down her legs with her left hand, using her right arm for balance, she pulled them off altogether, and dropped them on top of her discarded jeans.
Putting her hands on her hips, she looked straight at a very flustered Derek. His eyes were fixed on her crotch, her thick black pubic hair now totally exposed. ‘I thought it was my bum you were both interested in?’ she said sharply.
‘Oh! Er, yes! Yes indeed!’ She kept a stony expression on her face, but deep down she was enjoying the power her semi-naked body gave her over Derek. ‘I think you’d better, er…’
‘Bend over? I know exactly what to do. I’ve been forced into it often enough, but I never thought you’d be doing it.’ She shot a withering look at Elaine, who was picking up the cane. ‘Traditional position? It’s what the old git would have wanted. Give me those beads.’
Taking the rosary from Derek, she walked across the living room. Siobhan was incredibly aware of two pairs of eyes watching her naked legs and bottom as she moved. Always skinny as a young woman, she had gained a little weight after giving birth, and middle age had added a little more, but it had all gone to her tummy. Her bottom was still tight and small, even boyish, practically the same size and shape it had been when the bishop himself had wielded the cane over it. The same cane Elaine was about to use.
Suddenly she had an idea. Walking to the unit where she kept her hi-fi and record collection, she bent down and opened the cupboard door. She could feel Derek’s eyes burning into her, and was not sure whether she was giving him a far more intimate view of her sex than she had intended. She pulled out one of her favourite albums, a Rolling Stones compilation. Lifting the perspex lid on the hi-fi, she slid the vinyl from the sleeve and dust jacket and laid it carefully on the turntable, then pressed play. She walked back to the centre of the room, just as the first track began to belt out of the two small speakers that she had nailed to the walls at opposite ends of the room. ‘He hated music and the modern world, and he never forgave me for loving life. He is NOT going to stop me now he’s dead!’ she told Derek and Elaine.
Pulling a dining room chair into the centre of the room, Siobhan bent forward, placing her hands on the seat, after giving her sweater an arrogant flick to clear it from her bottom, resting her tummy on the top of the backrest.
She fingered the first bead as she heard Elaine stand up and take position behind her. ‘Siobhan, I’m really, really sorry about this! If there was any other way…’
‘Just get on with it. Sooner it’s done, sooner it’s over. And don’t hold back. I assume the will makes it clear the strokes all have to count?’ She looked at Derek, who was watching proceedings with wide eyes and an open mouth. He pulled himself together long enough to nod a yes. ‘Okay Elaine — cane me!’
Elaine gulped hard enough for Siobhan to hear, and tapped her bottom with the rod. It was pulled back, and Siobhan closed her eyes and held her breath.
The cane cracked home, almost diagonally, from the top of her left buttock to the bottom of her right. It was not as accurate or as hard as any she had ever received from the bishop, but it brought back all the feelings that used to rage through her when he punished her: Anger, frustration at the injustice, humiliation, and above all, pain. She passed the first bead through her fingers, counting out loud ‘one!’
A few seconds later another stroke landed, a little more accurate this time, and just as hard. ‘Owww!’ she cried. ‘Oh! Two.’ Another bead was counted off. How was she going to get through this awful experience?
Elaine landed more strokes, her aim improving with each one. Nor could she have been accused of making things easier for her friend. They were hard, relentless, unforgiving, each one stinging Siobhan to her core. She counted them off with the rosary: ‘Twenty-seven! Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine! Ooh! Thirty!’
By now she was up on her toes with every stroke, wiggling her little bottom between each one, driving herself on to take the next. She pictured the bishop in his coffin, with the lid about to be nailed down, sealing him in and as far away from her as possible.
‘Ahh! Forty-six! Forty-seven! Ooh! Forty-eight! Forty-nine! Ow! Fifty!’
She pictured herself using the five thousand pounds as a deposit on a house, where she and Bernadette could be happy, get on with their lives, and where clergy never visited.
‘Fifty-four! Fifty-five! Fifty-ooh-six! Fifty-seven! Fifty-eight! Aaah! Fifty-NINE!’
The rosary fell from Siobhan’s shaking hands and she sank to her knees, her fingers gripping the backrest of the chair to stop herself collapsing completely.
After a few minutes she felt Elaine’s hands gently taking her shoulders, lifting her to very unsteady feet. She helped Siobhan to the sofa and lay her face down. Siobhan looked up and was vaguely aware of Derek writing a cheque and placing it on the dining room table.
He picked up his briefcase. ‘I’m pleased we were able to resolve the matter to everyone’s satisfaction. I’ll leave the cane and rosary with you, as stated in the will. And I’ll be in touch about the rest of your payment from the estate, now you’ve persuaded Miss O’Connor to accept your uncle’s wishes.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll be in touch. Now I think it’s best if you leave me with Siobhan.’ It seemed Elaine was in a hurry to get Derek to leave. And what had he said about a payment for her?
Siobhan sat up, as Elaine escorted, in fact almost hustled, the lawyer into the hall and out the front door. As she came back, she picked up Siobhan’s jeans and panties, and held them out to her. ‘Here you are, my darling.’
Siobhan made no move to take them. Instead she looked straight at Elaine. ‘What payment?’ she asked.
‘Payment? Why, er, that’s just my share of Uncle Patrick’s estate.’
‘No it’s not. I heard him loud and clear. It was because you persuaded me to take that caning.’ Elaine sank into an armchair, looking sorrowfully at Siobhan. ‘Isn’t it?’ repeated the brunette.
‘Yes, yes it is,’ the blonde mumbled.
‘How much?’ Again, no reply. ‘How much!’
‘A thousand’ Elaine whispered.
‘A thousand pounds! You get a thousand pounds for bullying me into having the most painful, the most humiliating, the worst caning of my life? You bitch!’
‘Please Siobhan! I did it for us! I’ve got a husband and two small kids! I need that money, and I know you need five grand even more, especially being on your own with a little one.’
‘So why not come clean with me straight away?’
‘Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. You might even think I was going to enjoy hurting you.’
‘Did you?’
‘No! I hated every minute of it, every bloody stroke!’
‘Easy to say, when it’s not your arse getting flayed. Okay — prove it.’
‘Prove it? How?’
‘I’ve earned my money, for sure.’ Siobhan reached underneath, to rub the weals on her agonized bottom. ‘Now I think you should earn yours.’
‘Earn mine? Do you mean…?’
‘Yes, you’re getting a fifth of the amount I am. I got fifty-nine strokes. That means you should get twelve.’
‘Twelve strokes?’
‘And you’ll be getting off lightly. Don’t think I don’t want to pay you back all fifty-nine!’
‘You can’t make me! Uncle Patrick’s will never said anything about me being caned!’
‘You’ll do it, though — if you’re my friend. And I know you are my friend.’
A look of defiance crossed Elaine’s face. Siobhan stood and turned round, bending over and almost pushing her naked bottom in her face. ‘Look! Look at those marks! You did that! There are fifty-nine of them, you can count them if you like. Oh no, of course, you don’t have to — you put them there!’
Siobhan turned back to face Elaine, putting her hands back to give her raw flesh a firm rub, as much for effect as for relief. ‘And all I’m asking you to take is twelve of them, just to show you still care about me.’
Elaine got to her feet. Siobhan thought she was about to walk out, but she was not. ‘Bare bottom, just like you?’
‘Of course.’
Elaine slipped off her sandals and undid the button and zipper of her jeans. She pushed them down her legs and squatted to step out of them. As she stood, Siobhan saw her panties had gone with them.
Elaine stepped to the chair and took her place over it, pausing to pick up the rosary. ‘Twelve hard ones,’ she said, ‘I deserve them, for sure.’
Siobhan picked up the cane. It was the first time she had ever done so without having to hand it to the bishop so it could be applied to her own bottom. Knowing she was going to use it this time gave her new emotions, not just power, but justice. She looked at Elaine’s plump bottom, a bigger rounder target than her own for sure, and maybe a tiny bit bigger than it had been ten years ago, the last time the bishop punished them both.
Siobhan was about to begin, and had even lined up the first stroke, her fingers gripping the cane handle tightly, when she realised something was missing. The music had stopped.
Putting down the cane, she went to the hi-fi, which had finished playing side one of the LP. Flipping it over, she started the turntable and lifted the stereo arm. Placing the needle carefully between the grooves, she returned to the waiting Elaine, and picking up the cane again as she went, she tapped her bottom, waiting for her chosen track to start.
The jarring chords of Keith Richards’ guitar filled the room. ‘Duh-duh-duh-duh-der-duh-duh-der-du-deerr!’ It was a riff she loved. The dirty opening of Bitch had always been a winner for her, and she could think of no better song to cane Elaine to. ‘Listen darling,’ she sneered, ‘they’re playing your song!’
She lashed the cane back, and then whipped it down hard. Elaine squealed and threw her head back. It had been a hard one, and the tip had caught the top of her right thigh. Nevertheless, she counted off ‘One!’ with the aid of the rosary.
Siobhan pulled the cane back, then swished it home a second time, on the downbeat of the music. ‘Ooh! Two!’ moaned Elaine. That one had been harder and more accurate. Clearly there was an art to this caning that Siobhan just had not appreciated when she was on the receiving end.
‘Ow! Three!’ Elaine winced, as Siobhan swung the wood home again. Three livid lines were painted across the blonde’s bottom, growing deeper and redder as Siobhan looked at them. But any sympathy she felt for her friend was drowned out by the music. ‘Aah! Four!’ There was no let up in the severity or the pace of the strokes.
‘Oh! Five! Eaah! Six! Ooh! Seven! Fuck! Eight!’
‘I imagine Uncle Patrick’s turning in his grave, to hear his niece use such disgusting language!’ Siobhan taunted her, before landing another stroke.
‘Ow! Nine!’ Elaine did not curse this time. Now Siobhan was sure her punishment was having an effect. Elaine had been conditioned against swearing, probably by this very cane. ‘Ooh! Ten!’ Two more strokes to go, and Siobhan was going to make them count. ‘Aah! Eleven!’ She waited a little longer to dish the last one out, almost taunting her victim. Finally, as the saxophone joined in the grinding blues riff, bringing the song to a crescendo, she did the same with the caning, slashing the rod squarely across the centre of Elaine’s cheeks. ‘Aaah! Twelve!’
She dropped the rosary onto the floor, and arched upwards, clasping both hands to her injured bottom. ‘My God! You cane as hard as the old wanker himself!’
Throwing the cane onto the sofa, Siobhan embraced her. Elaine hugged her back. They stayed that way for several minutes, both naked from the waist down, both with extremely sore bottoms, as the next track on the album played itself out.
Finally they separated, but continued to hold hands, looking into each other’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry’ whispered Siobhan.
‘I deserved it’ Elaine replied. ‘And I’m sorry too.’
‘Friends again?’
‘I sure hope so!’ They embraced again, knowing that the ghost of Bishop Franks had been exorcised from both their lives.