School Reunion Year 2

by Laurel Aspen

  ‘Your pleasure is my prerogative,’ Ben replies, teasing her inflamed nipples, his erection hard against her glowing buttocks. ‘Now watch and learn while your errant friend is severely dealt with.’

  The evening acquires a dreamlike unreality as Louise’s run of bad luck continues with her last chastisement. ‘A full dozen, bent over the table, with the crop!’ Louise is alarmed at the dice’s verdict. ‘I can’t possibly take such a beating. I’m already suffering from the first two thrashings. I won’t be able to sit for a week!’

  Phil, in no mood to forsake the final reckoning, ignores these pathetic protests and unceremoniously places her facedown over the table, a thick cushion elevating her haunches to the required height. He spreads Louise’s legs wide apart but she immediately brings them smartly back together. ‘No, please,’ she begs, eyes brimming, make-up starting to run.

  ‘If you choose to be difficult,’ Phil says grimly, ‘I’ll just have to be more strict.’ Momentarily he disappears from the room, and upon his return he again pushes Louise’s ankles asunder, this time fastening a slender leather cuff around each one before clipping them to a metre long length of steel tube.

  ‘That spreader bar should make sure you present yourself properly,’ he says, oblivious to her wails. ‘And since you choose to behave like an insolent brat, you’ll get a spanking on that naughty pussy prior to the punishment proper.’

  This assertion is met with a gasp from the assembled witnesses; their games and role-plays have never walked this far on the wild side before. Undeterred, Phil slaps her wetly gleaming labia, transmitting jolts of sheer carnality to Louise’s swollen pink clitoris. She cries out, but unable to escape can only struggle fruitlessly against her bonds until he determines her hypersensitised quim has been sufficiently smacked.

  ‘Well, have you learned to be more obedient?’ he eventually demands of his whimpering spouse.

  ‘Yes, Phil,’ she replies meekly, tearstained and sore.

  ‘Then reach back and spread your bottom cheeks wide,’ he commands coldly, and crimson-faced with shame she reluctantly obeys. Seductively her painted nails separate the red-streaked cheeks to reveal the milky-white valley of her arse. Phil squirts a sliver of clear cold jelly onto the puckered ring of her anus, which clenches in involuntary reaction. Carefully he rubs the lubricant in and around, slowly pushing against the tensing muscle until it yields. Next he teasingly withdraws his finger, knuckle by knuckle, and substitutes a slim vibrator, working it an inch at a time into her rectum until only the base of the imperceptibly buzzing cylinder is visible.

  ‘Now you’ve an opportunity to exercise a little self-control,’ he explains. ‘You’ll hold that in place while I whip you, and make no mistake, I’ll start all over again should you let it fall out.’

  ‘Oh, please Phil, couldn’t you let me off with six,’ Louise pleads persuasively, wiggling her plugged rear suggestively, but in reply Phil quickly delivers six lusty strokes to the upper slopes of his wife’s rump, enjoying the spectacle as she hopelessly tries to ignore the horizontal lines of hurt, desperately tensing her muscles to retain the vibrator stretching her tight back passage.

  For the denouement Phil holds nothing back. The final blows fall vigorously across the fullest swell of Louise’s lower buttocks, extracting exultant cries as she pushes out her reddened rear to meet each slashing stroke. With the extreme tip of the crop Phil flicks the leather across her pubic portal. Louise sobs, loses any semblance of control and writhes on the table, the vibrator slipping from her bottom. Taking pity on her, Phil relinquishes the crop and slips two fingers into her superheated sex. Legs manacled apart, her bottom blazing agonisingly, Louise’s hips jerk in rhythmic abandon as he vigorously fingers her to an explosive orgasm.

  Then, somewhat abashed at their loss of sangfroid, Phil and Louise breathlessly disentangle themselves and adjust their clothes to some semblance of decency. Phil undoes the ankle cuffs and the couple embrace with unashamed carnality, before fixing their gaze upon the hapless Nicola, who still has a last turn of the dice to come.

  ‘Now then,’ with a conspiratorial smile the deliciously dishabille Louise advances purposefully towards the girl, ‘it’s time we dealt with you.’

  So immersed are they in the momentum of the game that punishment is now merely a means to an end; the dice is a catalyst to transcending inhibitions which are now redundant. Nicola casts the final throw. Six stokes of the hairbrush, a mild sentence but she’s under no illusion that the others will allow her to get off lightly. A confusion of hands guide her to the chaise longue where, placed on her back, her knees are parted and lifted. Louise kneels and cups Nicola’s breasts, fingers twisting each erect little nipple. Their lips meet in a prolonged kiss as Phil holds her ankles aloft, exposing her vulnerable sex. Meanwhile Ben begins to softly smack her moist mound, sending jolts of adrenalin through her struggling, sexually charged body.

  ‘Mmpph…’ Attempting to kick, or even lift her head is impossible. Louise’s lips move to suck avidly on her aching nipples, the resultant instantaneous arousal inundating Nicola’s sex. Ben teases his captive lover with the hairbrush, dragging the bristle side through her saturated curls then flipping it over to rain stinging slaps on her thighs and calves. She cries out, inarticulate protests which swiftly transmute into guttural moans of delight as Ben smacks first the bud of her clitoris then transfers the brush to the engorged folds of her vaginal lips. Abruptly shifting the focus from agony to ecstasy, he sets his tongue to work on her pouting sex, and thrusting her hips lewdly forward she responds urgently to his attentions. Moving rapidly towards a mutual climax Ben holds his ecstatically undulating partner behind each knee, placing the tip of his prick against the honeyed portal of her beckoning vagina.

  Meanwhile, Phil is determined to fuck Louise from behind. As Ben slowly slides his impressive rod, inch by inch, deep inside Nicola’s accommodating cunt, Phil eases his cock into Louise’s arse, forcing her, despite initial struggles, to take the entire length into the clutching heat of her bottom. Louise clenches her sphincter muscles tightly around Phil’s shaft, tipping him over the edge; jets of hot semen flood her rectum and, with a cry, she comes too.

  Concurrent with their host’s delight, Nicola grinds herself frantically against Ben’s pubic bone, bucking wildly, gripping him in the velvety warmth of her pussy and sparking her own tumultuous, heel-drumming orgasm as he too comes in a shuddering torrent.

  Time stops, sensuous minutes pass, the four lie silently on sundry rugs and chairs, each immersed in their own salacious reverie.

  Satisfied and totally spent, a random thought occurs to Phil. ‘You know, dice are getting rather old hat,’ he ponders. ‘I wonder if there’s a computer software programme which allows you to play interactive CP games…’

  ‘Dunno,’ Nicola replies drowsily. ‘I suppose we could always invent one.’

  Louise, both moist recesses aching from Phil’s potent penetrations, and Ben, unsure that somewhere in the last hour he hadn’t died and crossed the threshold of a licentious heaven, are too engrossed in mutual exploration to care.

  E-mail

  London’s a big city to get to grips with for a newcomer, especially one from the other side of the Atlantic. ‘I don’t have a whole lot to complain about,’ Ellie Kozinsky said to herself. ‘I’m not a refugee, I’ve got a smart company flat in a fashionable part of Docklands, and a high-powered career with an international publishing company. It’s just that a social life, or better still a sexual life, isn’t so easy to acquire.’

  Her colleagues were polite and friendly but mostly married thirty-somethings. Ellie - a determinedly single girl - soon decided there was a limit to the number of dinner parties she could comfortably attend as a prospective mate for these couple’s unattached friends.

  Sure, there was the gym, movies, West End theatres, but at the end of a long day an evening at home frequently felt the best option. But even there the desire for human contact remained strong, and led Elli
e inexorably to the screen of her beloved new iMac. The trouble was, the Internet seemed to becoming habit forming; this was the third night running she’d been surfing the information highway. Ellie sighed sadly, ‘I’ve got to get a life.’

  What her friends back across the pond would say if they knew of the sites she frequented, Ellie didn’t dare to speculate. It really had started accidentally with a spontaneous search, although in truth nobody had forced her to explore further. Goodness, type in the innocuous word spank, and you could spend the rest of your life trawling through pages and pages. Pay sites, free sites, tacky sites, sophisticated sites - the choice is yours.

  For no obvious reason she could deduce, the word spank had always elicited a strong reaction in Ellie. So far in her explorations she had been no more than a voyeur of CP images, some professional, others, she was intrigued to find, demonstrably amateur. To be honest, Ellie found the latter by far the most exciting, proof positive that ordinary people, folk such as herself, really did get up to… well, you know.

  A vivid picture of herself, skirt up, knickers down and bottom pinkly prominent across the knee of a handsome Cary Grant type flashed unbidden through Ellie’s mind. She didn’t consider herself sexually inexperienced, but spanking, as foreplay or indeed in any other incarnation, had thus far had no part in Ellie’s far from sheltered life.

  Whatever, there’d be no surfing tonight, none at all until she got her computer fixed. Ellie was no expert but it seemed like some sort of ISP connection problem. She’d have to get someone in to fix it. Keenly aware of her safety as a girl living alone, she resolved to ask one of the techies at work if they could recommend somebody. Who would be best? Ah, Sarah, petite and potentially pretty but totally immersed in techno speak. Hair pulled unflatteringly back, hopelessly old-fashioned thick-rimmed glasses and baggy shapeless clothes, obviously not someone overly concerned with sex. Perfect, she must know lots of nerds, but in the meantime Ellie knew enough to delete her history files and temporary folders. She was well aware of the embarrassing potential of electronic paper trails and never permanently downloaded anything. After a final check of her stored emails she decided to turn in for the night, secure in the knowledge that to outward appearances her personal interests were boringly straightforward. Hmm, if only life were really so simple.

  But what Ellie didn’t know is that all sorts of information, deleted or not, might still be copied from the hard disc…

  Saturday morning and the intercom buzzed to tell her the computer engineer, recommended by Sarah, who’d warmly sung his praises, was waiting in the lobby. In person he turned out to be completely different from the bespectacled dweeb Ellie expected. Roughly, she guessed, about her own age, Carlo was tall, slender and, it appeared, something of a Goth. Rare outside of a few east and west coast towns in the US, but as Ellie had observed the previous weekend, virtually common or garden at Camden market. That encapsulated something of the diversity and freedom she’d already come to love about Britain; virtually every musical and fashion trend of the last five decades, from rockabilly to punk, enjoyed their own vibrant subculture.

  Sick of Banana Republic casual conformity Ellie rather envied Goth girls their black and purple flowing skirts, wasp waists and aura of debauched sexuality circa Anne Rice’s New Orleans. Carlo’s workday attire was rather less flamboyant, but black jeans, black shirt, black boots and long, tied back black hair indicated the possibility of more than a passing interest in matters Gothic.

  Intricate tattoos, peeking from the short sleeves of his T-shirt, pierced ears and heavy bracelets and rings, all rendered in thick silver, were surer signs. Radiating confidence and strength, both mental and physical, he smiled a warm greeting, revealing perfect white teeth and not a trace of fangs. Reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer were perhaps something else Ellie should cut down on.

  She left him to his explorations of her ailing iMac and went off to make coffee, his predictably strong and black, hers a healthy decaff latte. Within an hour the competent Carlo was through, a minor glitch requiring expertise rather than expensive parts, making his bill another pleasant surprise.

  To Ellie’s mind Carlo embodied a number of attractive attributes. Welcome adult company for sure, the careful way he listened when she spoke, his flashing green eyes, these all made her reluctant to relinquish her magnetic software saviour to the outside world. Eventually she could think of no more computer questions with which to ply him, and since their relationship sadly extended no further, bid a reluctant farewell.

  ‘Call me again if you have any problems,’ he called as a parting shot.

  ‘I wish,’ Ellie said under her breath. ‘I really wish.’

  Ho hum, with the machine fully up and running temptation was all too close at hand, and Ellie was soon logging back on to her ISP. In passing Carlo had casually mentioned something about computer communities. There was, he said, one for virtually any interest you could think of, from aficionados of opera to peculiar and rather worrying individuals who collected bus numbers. There were also, Ellie discovered after several hours’ assiduous research, a number concerned with spanking.

  Not that they proved easy to find, but eventually, through a convoluted series of links, she found some, glad that there remained aspects of life which, try as they might, governments and self-appointed moral guardians couldn’t censor or control.

  None turned out to be quite what she was seeking, although she couldn’t have defined accurately what that was if her life had depended on it. Nevertheless, each site she found proved interesting, just the same.

  Common denominators were real-time chat rooms, which she shied away from, and message boards with topic threads covering every conceivable aspect of CP activities, with individual postings ranging from erudite to the banal. Vast libraries of images, principally photographic, were commonplace, as were the many homemade sites she stumbled across.

  Finally tired, yet forlornly unsatiated, Ellie logged off and took herself off to her solitary bed.

  Her increasingly intricate spanking fantasies were fine within the veritable sexual theme park of her head, but where the hell, she wondered miserably, would she discover a male with whom to enact such flights of fancy? Such situations were fraught with possible dangers, like how could she be sure he’d heed any safe word, stop when she wanted, wouldn’t really hurt her, or worse, permanently damage her? Far too many males couldn’t even begin to understand how their partners could become turned on dreaming of being taken by force, yet live in fear of the reality of rape.

  Her body arched and a long moan escaped her lips as she succumbed to the sorely needed relief of a masturbatory orgasm, an enjoyable but temporary solution, her larger quest remaining unresolved.

  You have mail, her computer advised her the following day, which was good because she’d had nothing by snail mail, so electronic correspondence was welcome. Probably only another annoying spam, but worth a look, she thought. It could be from one of her mates back home.

  Dark Star, the sender’s name was strangely familiar. But she’d better run a virus check, all the same. Okay, it was all clear, and Dark Star was online, so they could write in real time.

  DS ‘It seems we frequent the same web communities, you and I.’ That’s where she’d seen the name before, in the message threads. Before she properly considered the consequences she tapped in a reply.

  EK ‘I’ve seen your alias on community pages.’

  DK ‘Why don’t you participate in the discussions?’

  EK ‘Too shy.’

  DS ‘You must have opinions?’

  EK ‘Sure I do.’

  DS ‘Which sites do you like, or dislike.’

  EK ‘Why would I tell you?’

  DS ‘I’m curious.’

  EK ‘Well, despite myself, I did recently linger on one site.’

  DS ‘Which one?’

  EK ‘“Chastisement of Errant Wives”.’

  DS ‘Not to your taste?’

  EK ‘Domestic disc
ipline, in the twenty-first century. No way I am going to be some surrendered wife. These woman might claim it’s their choice, but trying to recreate nineteen-fifties attitudes smacks of a cop out.’

  DS ‘Doesn’t fit your post-feminist view of the world?’

  EK ‘No, definitely not.’

  DS ‘Then why visit CP sites at all?’

  EK ‘Good question, and don’t think I’m not aware of the perilous argument I’m pursuing. One slip and I plunge right off my hypothetical tightrope and straight into deep hypocrisy.’

  DS ‘Go on…’

  EK ‘I suppose I wouldn’t mind being spanked as part of sexual foreplay, forced to go further than my own timorous free will would otherwise take me. A little light bondage, perhaps, or more adventurous oral, or even, maybe, anal sex.’

  DS ‘Such things are possible…’

  EK ‘I know, it’s all very well to boast bravely on a girls’ night out, but actually taking the plunge, well, I lack the courage.’

  DS ‘But if a man forces you, Ellie, that’s your get out of jail free card, not your fault, not Ellie’s idea.’

  EK ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, my poor defenceless bottom spanked despite my struggles, me tied to a bed maybe, him putting his cock…’ Whoa, steady girl! She was becoming flushed and overheated, the questing digits of her right hand thrust deep into her knickers, one circling her clitoris, another dipping into her copiously lubricated pussy, so abruptly she pulled herself out of her dream. It was all very well to joke about the one-handed readers of top shelf men’s magazines, but look at her now. Abruptly she terminated the connection.

  It was three days before she dared open her emails again.

  Once Ellie had finally plucked up the courage to check her inbox again, she found another communication from Dark Star instructing her to log on again at eight that evening. It never occurred to her for a moment not to do so.