Wage Slave

by Gail P. Wright

  “Real intimacy is total giving. One bearing the burden of responsibility, the other of obedience. In this club the man rules. Others reverse it. It isn’t important who wears the trousers so long as somebody does.” Petra raised her hand and pointed a forefinger at Debbie. “Show me a couple living together as equals, and I’ll show you a business partnership where neither participant gives - or gets more than the agreement stipulates. You want that? Fine.

  “But I suggest that you let Adam have his head for the weekend and see what transpires. If the problem is resolved you won’t lose everything: money and marriage!”

  Gathering the folds about her Petra stood up. “Think about it. If you are determined to leave whatever the cost, Deborah, no-one will stop you. There are no prisoners here. Adam was told that from the start.” With that, she left Debbie to ponder.

  Debbie sat for a long time, fear and enlightenment growing in equal proportions. There was no denying she was, like it or not, dependent on Adam for the solution. Because she loved him, yes. Yet also because she did trust him. Always had.

  But the thought of being spanked sent a tremor through her limbs. Try as she might, Debbie couldn’t even hold her head steady so strong was the nervous reaction. She felt as if she were facing the gallows and a fate more impenetrably final than whatever the next few hours might bring. Goose-bumps stood up all over her as if each fine hair raised itself in horrified supplication. A trickle of sweat started down her spine, rapidly joined by sympathetic streams from her armpits.

  ***

  Adam’s own sweat evaporated rapidly in the night breeze as he sat in silent vigil with Peter. Not a word had passed between them since Petra’s punishment, as if the lamplight from the caravan windows shadowed their thoughts as effectively as their faces. The mutter of feminine voices had died away, so the only signs of life were occasional blurs of movement across the grass or a distant curtain. Adam longed for a piss. Not that he needed one. It was just that fly-fronted boxer shorts had proved an ill choice of underwear in the circumstances. Peter’s offer of a supportive weekend in an inspiring ambience had seemed heaven sent, but he was now both embarrassed and intrigued by the day’s events and his responses to them. For Petra’s submission had left him as wise yet wounded as a child unwittingly witnessing his parents having sex. The sight of her exposure - the soft drape of linen framing her rounded hips; the full, mooning globes of her nates; the g-string’s understrap and waistband impressing the yielding flesh - aroused latent passions which pinned him in seething immobility.

  All he understood clearly, was what he’d wanted. Wanted: to see her buttocks dance as she wriggled and writhed. Wanted: to cry out to Peter to do it harder, faster, make her scream. Wanted: to jump up and add the weight of his own hand to her burden.

  Instead, he’d remained seated, afraid even to cross his legs lest Peter detect the movement and guess what was happening: that he was the shame-faced possessor of an uncontrollable penis which had wormed through the gaping front of his boxer shorts and was grazing painfully up the coarse lining of his trouser zip. Jammed at an angle as it strained to complete its inflation, he could only suck in his belly in a vain attempt to give it more room.

  And thus he’d stayed. If he didn’t move soon and allow the importunate monster to straighten its back, he could end up with a blood clot. He’d heard of it happening, if only to a friend of a friend of a friend. Turning at last to excuse himself, Adam was surprised to see a look of understanding on his mentor’s face.

  “Catches you unawares, doesn’t it, old son?” Peter said. “It did me, the first time. I didn’t think myself capable of such intense emotions. Leastways, not once I’d outgrown my teenage obsession with ejaculating in or over every hole I could find with hair round it.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Adam admitted.

  “The longest journey begins with a single step,” Peter mused. “Who said that?”

  “No idea. But I get your drift. It’s just that ... well, Debs is an uncomplicated girl. It feels like I’m taking advantage.”

  “I can’t rationalise that one for you. Only remind you that the alternative is ... what?”

  That the alternative could only be terminally detrimental to his marriage, was something Adam had already wrestled with; concluding that he wasn’t trapped between his rocks and a soft place, so to speak. The question of the moment was: which frightened him the most, the erosion of his masculinity in the event of failure or the acrimonious decline of the relationship if he did nothing?

  “You need an excuse for being a man?” Peter snapped “Okay, let it all go down the toilet. Once it’s flushed away you can always console yourself with the hypocrisy that It wasn’t because of anything you actually did.” With that, he rose abruptly and went inside.

  “Sod conditioning,” Adam cursed. An enlightened, liberal minded mother was not necessarily a man’s best friend after all. Jumping up, he unzipped his slacks and stuffed the errant flesh back inside his shorts With a yank, he shut and firmly bolted the stable door. “Right then!”

  ***

  Peter and Petra were sitting quietly at the table when Adam appeared in the doorway. They glanced up briefly before commencing a desultory conversation.

  The caravan shook underfoot as Debbie came along the passage with a firm step to halt when she spied Adam. For long moments the couples followed their respective preoccupations: the hosts tactfully distracted; their guests transfixed by each other’s decisive bearing, which tacitly acknowledged the irrevocable sealing of their fates.

  “Come here.”

  She walked steadily to the centre of the room.

  “Remove your skirt.

  She removed her skirt, wriggling the tight denim carefully over her hips so as not to disturb her underwear.

  “And the tights.”

  She removed the tights.

  “Give them both to me.

  She passed them to him, the former to be tossed onto a chair, the latter to be bunched and thrown out of the open door.

  “In future, you will wear stockings. Understood?”

  She nodded.

  Adam admired her spirit. She stood straight and proud in just the denim shirt and shoes, returning his stare with more than mere fortitude. She was meeting him on his own terms. His own terms; that much he sensed.

  “The shoes: Off!”

  She removed the shoes and tossed them with the skirt.

  “Neatly!”

  She picked them up and placed them side by side on the floor, her stoop allowing him a tantalising glimpse of ice blue knickers.

  “Lie across the table, facing Petra.”

  Slowly she turned. Petra - whose attire Adam was too absorbed to notice - sat serenely still, her calm face radiating reassurance, hands laid palm upwards in encouragement.

  One step at a time, Debbie advanced, her fear now apparent to them all.

  Peter looked between the women, recognising the bond between them and more than a little glad of it. These first few steps were, he knew, the hardest and longest the youngster would ever take.

  Debbie stopped when her thighs touched the table. Reaching forward, she tremulously took hold of Petra’s hands, grateful for their support as she lowered herself with as much grace as she could manage onto the hard, cold glass top. She held Petra’s gaze as if her sanity depended on it, tilting her head back to maintain the contact as Petra’s grip tightened and she was drawn forward until her body was down flat. She fought to hold back her tears.

  Unbidden, Peter edged a little to one side and stretched a leg out, sweeping Debbie’s feet beneath the table and trapping them there, taking up the slack in her knees.

  She took a deep breath and held it as everything went still and her world waited for its next, decisive turn.

  There being no point in trying to snea
k up on her, Adam stomped over and stood inches from the slim thighs which hung slackly from the curtaining shirt-tail above the knees just far enough apart to stop them knocking. He fumbled uncertainly with the cloth, unsure whether to lift it or roll it neatly up. Rolling proved too intricate a manoeuvre in the circumstances, so he grasped the hem and turned it decisively above her waist. The sight that greeted Adam’s eyes brought a lump to his throat. Tense with fear, the gorgeous loins he knew from every conceivable angle were indefinably charged. They were ... he sought the right image - compelling! Yes, that was it. The pinned, helplessly vulnerable flesh thrilled him as never before. She was his. Not as an eager lover sharing the joy of sex. Genuinely his. To do with as he chose. Fuck if he fancied. Flail if he wished. It was only the presence of others which stopped him from tearing open his clothes and letting the eager dog see the rabbit; from ripping the flimsy panties from her crack; from impaling her on his cock and pounding her into submission.

  Her back dipped gently out from beneath the shirt. sweeping into the tautened mound where the golden flesh peaked before arching into the slender limbs. Cool-blue nylon clung to the petal soft cheeks, the elastic possessively hugging her thighs before curving and converging beneath the lower swells to burrow suggestively out of sight, overwhelming his senses.

  To keep his left hand occupied he ran his fingers down Debbie’s spine and under the waistband of the knickers. Gathering the warm material, he clenched his fist and tugged it tight. The stretched cloth yielded, sliding into the cleft until her cheeks folded over like quicksand swallowing a careless foot. Both buttocks lay exposed, trembling like nervous blancmanges.

  Adam licked his lips.

  Flexed his fingers.

  Raised his hand - and swung.

  CRAKKK!

  “Uuuuh?” Debbie was shocked. It hurt. Sharply at first, then dull and deep. Her right cheek fluttered.

  CRAKKK!

  “Oh!” That one had landed half-and-half. He was too close to swing cleanly at the left hand side.

  CRAKKK!

  Her lips compressed as the tears flowed in earnest.

  CRAKKK!

  Petra’s grip tightened as Debbie made to twist away.

  CRAKKK!

  “Nnnnn!.. God! His hand was harder than she would have thought possible.

  CRAKKK!

  Her bottom was burning. She’d never sit down again. How did Petra stand it?

  CRAKKK!

  Viced between Petra’s hands and Peter’s leg, Debbie ground her teeth, grateful to move something by her own volition.

  CRAKKK!

  “Mmmmmmmmhn!” she mewed.

  CRAKKK!

  Petra’s face dissolved into a watery blur, seen distantly as a safe harbour in a storm tossed world.

  CRAKKK!

  Desperately, Debbie lunged and twisted, bruising her pelvis in her struggle to evade the pain.

  CRAKKK!

  The right cheek blazed, though the left only smarted.

  “Oh, Adam,” she whispered. “I do love you.” A squeeze from Petra’s fingers was her only answer. Adam wasn’t listening.

  CRAKKK!

  “Ouch! No! Please, Adam! Enough!”

  CRAKKK!

  “Uuuuugh! No more there, please. The other side ...”

  CRAKKK!

  “Noooooo!”

  She felt a movement at her side.

  CRAKKK!

  “OH!”

  The final slap was full handed on her left buttock. Amazingly, it eased the agony in the right.

  “Fifteen,” Adam announced. “All right. Get up.”

  Feeling herself freed, Debbie pushed herself carefully upright. She stood, sobbing and snuffling, head finally bowed, sleeving away the tears with one hand while the other soothed the hot, tender flesh.

  “Have you learned anything?” Adam demanded.

  “Yes,” she answered ruefully. Lifting her puffy face, she looked at Adam’s stem features and almost threw her arms round his neck. Would have done had it not been for the gleam of animal power in his eyes.

  “Wait for me in the bedroom,” he ordered. And watched the scarlet ass bunch obediently away.

  Chapter Three

  “What happened then?” asked a fascinated Heather.

  “Wait. Let me finish,” Debbie insisted. “Did you know you’re utterly helpless bent over like that? You can’t even twitch the cheeks of your bottom.”

  “Of course not. The muscles are stretched,” Heather grinned.

  “Er ...” Debbie paused, giving her best friend a mischievous look. “Just how much am I really telling you?”

  “Get on with it! You tottered off to the bedroom. And?” Heather prompted, easing herself into a more comfortable position on the towel.

  “I cried until Adam came to bed.” There are things you don’t even tell your bestest best friend and top of Debbie’s list right then was the chain of events which followed her self-pitying plummet onto the bed, where she set about soaking the pillow with tears.

  ***

  And what tears ! The torrent was fed by such diverse and disturbing tributaries as panic, pain and pleasure melded into an amalgam of feelings susceptible only to that one form of expression. While the heat radiated off her bum, Debbie fought - in reality, much too soon after the events - to understand how in Hell’s name she could love and loathe her man at the same time that she both dreaded and desired what he had done to her!

  Never. Never, never, never again would she screw up their finances. She’d sooner take the vows and become a nun; so long as she could take Adam along to keep her warm at night. Sob turned to giggle at the thought of enfolding Adam in the voluminous folds of a habit, feeling him poke and probe his way nearer and nearer to the sacrament of her sex.

  Giggle turned to anger at the memory of the pain he had so readily inflicted upon her.

  Anger turned to humility at the recognition of the righteous of his cause. Most crushing of all was the realisation that the suffering had been earned, had been justified and had still turned out to be an enervating experience.

  For no longer did she feel guilty at her actions. She was absolved - a thought which inspired further tears as she grieved for her lost equality.

  But then, so what? Petra had been right. If he wanted the

  responsibility he had to bear the burden, which left her free of it.

  That glimmer of advantage had barely flickered at the end of the tunnel when she heard the door click open and decided a bit of a wail could only put her ahead in the sympathy stakes. Opening one eye to see Adam’s mood and her mouth to bemoan her condition, Debbie was left literally in the dark when the light went out!

  “Adam?”

  The only reply was a sense of orchestrated movement whose purpose she couldn’t determine. A clothy flicking noise - what could that be?’ Oh, yes: he was removing his shirt. A bump. And another. There went his shoes. The clatter was his watch on the table, followed by his loose change.

  Then: ‘raaasp’, as only a fly zip can. No woman mistakes that sound! The tinkling belt buckle confirmed it as the trousers crumpled to the floor.

  Cotton coughed over hairy thighs. Then ... Silence.

  Debbie’s tears stopped with her breath. Should she turn over? Enough light filtered through the curtains for her to make out his shape. But that addictive adrenaline rush had returned and she found herself enjoying the uncertainty.

  Whatever was to happen would be between her man and his woman!

  ***

  Piqued by Debbie’s continuing silence, Heather raised one lens of the black goggles she wore under the sun-bed’s tubes. Squinting across to where Debbie lay, she noted the smile playing on her lips. Obviously there would be no further revelations until the pleasa
nter recollections were privately dispensed with. Sighing, she settled back to pass the time mulling over some of her own more adventurous encounters.

  ***

  Debbie’s heart hammered while she tried to guess Adam’s intentions, to no avail.

  Though it seemed like hours, less than a minute passed before she detected further movement; a gradual pressure which relentlessly compressed the mattress, tilting her to one side. Then further over, righting her again. A warm, brushing contact on her foot confirmed it: naked, Adam was kneeling on the bottom of the bed.

  Why the delay, though? Surely he hadn’t been playing with himself? That was her job! As his hands grasped her ankles she knew the answer. He’d been waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

  She was pulled round straight on the bed. Those strong, sure fingers shifted to the backs of her knees and, with the kind of chest-expanding sweep Adam practiced on his Bullworker, her legs were swept apart as easily as strings on a bead curtain.

  The grip shifted to her thighs, bearing down as Adam swung his knees between them. With a grunt, he caught her by the hips and heaved, hoisting her belly clean off the bed. Leaning back, he dragged her unresisting body towards him, sliding thigh over thigh until crotch buffered groin.

  There were now five electrifying points of contact. thighs to thighs; hands to hips; and, hot against the cleft wherein her knickers still lay bunched, the weight of his rigid cock. It jutted above her cheeks like the taffrail flagpole at the stern of a ship; pennantless but proud.

  Heat emanated from the throbbing shaft and the swell of his balls dabbed the rapidly moistening cloth over her peach. Excitedly she licked her lips, praying he wouldn’t come too soon. It would be just too much if the spoon missed her mouth and all she got for supper was egg-white over her toasted buns.

  Jamming her against his belly with one hand, Adam slid the other between her thighs and scrabbled a purchase on the soggy gusset. Breaking its hold, tugging it roughly aside, he bent forward and used his thumb to press the ach ing rod into the Great Divide. Feeling the glans prodding her quim, Debbie squeezed with her knees, using the precarious hold to buck and smear the knob with her juices. Scarcely had she managed it than Adam thrust mightily and was in!