Adam gulped like voyeur caught, cock in hand, amongst the bushes. The orgasm’s tumultuous power had been awesome; the manifest depth of Petra’s responses stunning. So much for his consciousness-raised dedication to clitoris power. A new respect flowered for Peter’s sensitivity, followed at once by a lip-smacking urge to emulate The Master on Eva’s waiting bottom.
The cane was waiting patiently in his hand.
THWIPP! THWIPP! THWIPP! He flayed. THWIPP! THWIPP! THWIPP!
Six of the very best slashed across cheeks still clenched from the first stroke, the rattan mercilessly crushing her flesh against the bedrock of tensed muscle.
Keening shrieks burst forth as she glimpsed new horizons of suffering. Spasms shook her, wrenching against the tenacious straps.
“Aaaaagh! Adam! PLEASE! NO!”
THWIPP! THWIPP! THWIPP!
Her throat contorted, distorting her pleas Into a screech of despair: “EEEEEEEEEHH!”
He held off and she slumped, limp and uncaring A tic dimpled the skin of her left nate, but otherwise she was still. A mish-mash of livid weals scored her buttocks and thighs, particularly those long, long slender thighs which lacked only for extra straps to interrupt the golden flow of flesh and deny their intimidatingly immaculate elegance.
Eager to test how well she’d learned her lesson, he pressed the cane against her skin. The touch galvanised her into life.
“Nooo!” she wailed “Quiet!” Adam ordered. Then: “Peter?” He pointed to Eva’s head and slipped a suggestive thumb into his mouth. Peter’s eyebrows jigged, a grin lighting his face. There was no mistaking his enthusiasm for that idea.
Beckoning Adam over, Peter relieved him of the cane. Replacing it in the alcove, he selected a short crop-like implement tipped with a squat double blade of thick. tan leather. The outside of each blade sported the p.b. logo, but this time with a difference - it was etched in reverse. He passed it to Adam and awaited the inevitable question.
“Why...?” Adam started.
“Shhh!” He held an admonitory finger to his lips. “Softly, softly, whacky monkey, old man. Never done any printing? Any wood-cuts?”
“Yes. Oh, I see. Does it work?”
“The old slapper never misses. So long as you use the blades. It isn’t a crop.” Peter made to turn away, then stopped: “by the way, thanks for the offer. I accept gladly. You won’t be offended, though, if I save the soup for my own lady’s tureen?”
Adam smiled. “Not at all.”
Re-positioning himself directly behind Eva’s posterior, Adam noted that she trembled like a small frightened animal. He experienced a twinge of regret that she was incapable of more animation in her struggles. The pedestal was not, perhaps, so much to his liking as he’d first thought. It had been more fun watching her frenzied jerkings beneath the beam, every muscle playing some exciting visual part. Total immobility was deathly uninspiring by comparison. Running a hand up her unblemished inner thigh drew a startled yelp, which mellowed into a wistful murmur of pleasure as his fingertips crested the labia and dipped easily into the hot slit. Despite the air conditioning, everyone glistened with sweat, so the slickened lips offered no resistance to his probing. Three fingers sank in to the knuckle. Her soft oily tube yielding before him then closing around in an enticing peristalsis: an invitation his penis craned to accept. Snatching back his hand, he damped down the resurgent lust with a mental shower of bank statements. No! Not now! Master he was and master he would himself first of all.
The slapper felt good in his sex-soaked hand. Somehow appropriate. If only it could have imparted his own initials to those few unmarked patches of golden skin. Once again he used the implement to adjust his position, touching the blades to Eva’s quim and shuffling back until his arm was comfortably angled.
Peter stood ready, his heavy purple knob with its blunt mushroom helmet brazenly gleaming - casting a baleful eye over its prospects.
***
Like the man falling from a skyscraper, Peter’s prick bobbed to the optimist’s anthem. So far so good; so far so good. And it looked like getting better.
Removing Eva’s hood with the anticipation of a glutton, he kept a wary eye out for any radical reaction. But there was none - she had, after all, made out the brooding shape s approach through the veiling silk.
For several moments nobody moved. Adam held a relaxed tennis player’s stance, awaiting Peter’s serve. Petra focussed her attention on the diminishing space between cock and mouth, fearful of a faulty delivery. Eva wisely kept her eye on the balls.
Taking her by the ears, Peter used the tip of her nose as an aiming mark and gingerly eased his round into the barrel. It slid satisfyingly home, the breech slamming shut as her soft lips adjusted to his circumference to hold him, poised. Primed, he gave Adam the nod.
Sighting on those tender curves where the parted buttocks flowed into the thighs, Adam delivered a swinging SLAP! to each and awaited results.
But, aside from a firming of her resolve, she showed no response.
Again: SLAP! SLAP!
She sniffed
SLAP! SLAP!
Nothing
Relieved, all thought of logos dismissed from his mind, he settled into a crisp figure-of-eight swing which sent the slapper cracking up onto each curve in turn. Missing her sex lips by a hair’s-breadth, no ass was ever more cleanly swatted.
Peter feasted his eyes on the tremors which shook first one buttock, then the other. Steadying himself on her shoulders, he bent at the knees and began easing the gnarled root in and out of her mouth.
At last! Eva was ecstatic. The flicking, flaying Slapper created arcs of pain across her quim which traversed her spine to ignite a burning bush of adoration in her brain. With the murky taste of male massively in her throat and the torrent pouring from her vagina, she was buoyed on a wave of pure sensation.
Unconsciously, the men matched strokes. Each SLAP! coinciding with a thrust. Every jolt of mortified ass matching the bump of pubic bone with brow.
Petra began to vibrate with frustration, the cords supporting her legs thrumming as she strained for the heights the scene impelled her towards. She watched, aghast, as Peter’s rhythm increased, the spit-slickened rod sliding deep enough to choke a horse. His bum jiggled as the strokes shortened, bringing his release and her deprival closer by the second. Her urgency became desperation as Adam’s free hand wrenched at his briefs.
Eva, motionless, was the most active of all, personifying the breams of her entranced audience. All eyes were upon her. Just being, suffering, giving through absorbing, though. The Pedestal’s dimensions were deceptive and it wasn’t by any stretch of foreskin difficult for Adam - albeit his toes - to cork her bottle. For such had, at long last became his imperative.
Mortal man can manage a lot. Then, as Popeye was wont to put it, he can’t stands no more! For Peter’s sake he had steadfastly struggled, but inevitably throwing timing and accu racy to the winds, he succumbed. Wrenching the briefs from his hips he wriggled them down and kicked impatiently free. His sleek cock was bursting harder than he’d ever known. Supporting it with a finger and thumb, he cupped his uncomfortably swollen balls and mentally urged Peter to get a move on. Self? or Selfness? When it came right down to it, whose cock came first?
Eva was deaf to the yelps and pleas forced from her by blows which scorched her cheeks, searing them with a St Elmo’s fire of crackling agony. Until now. Now gobfull of gagging cock or not, she verged on the screaming abdabs. Several wild swipes had missed the presumed target and fallen Instead on the puffy pink portal of her sex.
“MmmmmmmeeeeeeeeughgarrGHHK!” she gurgled, retching on the barrelling flesh which buttered her throat. As warnings go it wasn’t much. Was it enough?
SLUP! SLUP! SLUP! Each one full on her sex lips! Baring her teeth. she purposely nipped, hard enough to scrape th
e thinly stretched skin. Thankfully, Peter got the message and leaped back to safety.
“Thank fuck for that!” Adam grumbled, throwing the slapper down and leaping at Eva like a starving man after the last ham sandwich. Trembling palms spread her cheeks, stretching his goal into an inviting oval. A gobbet of saliva was roughly thumbed over the orifice to smooth his pain. Then, with a decisive jab, in he thrust. “Aaaah!”
Bliss!
For an instant Eva’s body flared, the sphincter dilating. As he penetrated further the anus contracted, holding him eagerly; urging; coaxing him deeper. Responding, he pushed steadily, feeling his mercury rise as heat radiated through the thermometer. Fully home, her swollen fesses crushed against his groin, he fought to prolong the end. Squeezing handfuls of impaled hip flesh, breath hissing through gritted teeth, he threw back his head in a paroxysm of pleasure.
Peter fought, too, the Great Fight. Though with all the delicacy of a charging bull. Throwing his weight cruelly on Petra’s legs, he stabbed and jabbed blindly until moist flesh yielded. Oblivious to the beatific smile lighting her face, he pounded away with images of Eva - thrashed and thrashing - flitting across his mind. Grunting and sweating, he rammed the buffeted pussy into sore but sublimely happy submission.
Eva clenched. Not her buttocks. Not her teeth. Nor her pussy. She did. All of her, Adam’s rivetting entry of her exit having inverted all the hopeful preparations: her sighs were stifled; her yearnings stultified; her oozing, thwarted sleeve stunned. As original approaches go, this one had gone the whole way!
The Hospitality Room’s anechoic claustrophobia dampened the sounds of urgent coupling, leaving the heaving lumps of mottled flesh to the privacy of their hard earned release. Not that they cared as they cawed and croaked through the throes of surging climaxes, rivulets of spunk spewing forth to proclaim penile primacy.
***
Post-coital depression aside, Adam felt on top of the world. And, for the first time in an age, totally at one with life.
Releasing Eva with limp-dicked trepidation - expecting some castigation for his excesses - he’d failed to conceal his relief and admiration when she showed concern only for her difficulty in straightening up. His spontaneous hug had solved that problem, the kiss he’d planted on her forehead being accepted as more an expression of jubilation than consolation. He couldn’t know that her own impulse - resisted only because of the additional pain it would cause - was to fall to her knees and kiss his feet!
She joined Petra impassively, facing the wall with hands on head, while the room was restored to its pristine deceptive innocence. Her bottom glowed unnaturally bright beside the elder woman’s, most of whose outward and visible signs of her Master’s grace were concealed between her carefully parted legs. Their physical contrast was more apparent than ever, her trim athleticism counterpointing her neighbour’s fulsome flesh.
By unspoken agreement each couple retired in turn - guests first - to shower and dress according to their whims. After Eva’s latherishly humble ministrations Adam opted for a pair of bright red trilobal satin shorts, which he felt rather fetchingly emphasised his temporarily demoralised wedding tackle. For Eva, he selected white nylon net briefs so tight and transparent they scarcely muted her buttocks’ scarlet clarion.
When they congregated in the kitchen for refreshments, Peter sported black leather jeans and Petra a polished, black rubber cheongsam which clung so perfectly it must have been moulded on her. While the women busied themselves with coffee and lemon tea, the men shared the camaraderie of honoured commitments. They worked their way through rueful smiles to relieved and satisfied grins and thence to macho handshake. No-one was under any illusions. The whole thing had been a resounding success on all fronts and two backsides. Their futures - both communal and several - seemed assured. The only question was: what next?
Adam had to ask.
“How did I do?”
“Marks out of ten? A definite nine.”
“That’s a relief.
“I think I can safely put you out of your misery now, Adam. I have no qualms whatever about the suggestion - rather, offer - I’m going to make.”
“Yes?”
“Fact is. I’m going to the United State on business for a while. At least a couple of months. We’re making it a combined vacation. Haven’t had a real one for years. It’s the ideal opportunity to accept a long standing invitation from some ‘scene’ chums who have a ranch kitted out to make this house look like a kindergarten. What I was ... And don’t worry about your business interests; the Agency will be in good hands .. What I was wondering was, would you and Eva like to sit house for us?”
“We’ll be glad to keep an eye on it for you.
“No. Move in. Live here while were away.”
“Well ... of course. I suppose there’s no reason why not.”
“All the facilities would be at your disposal. Make what use of them you will. How about it?”
Adam glanced thoughtfully at Eva, to find she was all ears and sharing a conspiratorial look with Petra. Did he detect a nod of approval? He pulled himself up short: It was his decision! And the free run of the Hospitality Room was a golden opportunity.
“Yes. You’re on. I’ll take good care of the place and try not to wear anything out.”
Eva’s shoulders heaved a sigh of relief before she resumed her dissection of a lemon. More than Adam, she felt the urge to explore the Hospitality Room. She’d only seen what she’d been shown and knew there had to be a great deal more to it than that. Not to mention the four poster bed. Now that Adam had his confidence the possibilities were boundless.
“One proviso, though,” Peter added. “You must keep working. It’s your commissions which help pay for all this.”
“Have no fear, boss. I have the feeling there will be more than enough inspiration around me.”
Gleefully, Adam wondered how long it would take before he forgot what Eva’s bottom cheeks looked like without weals and blushes. If necessary he could always check back with an old illustration she’d modelled for. But he’d lay odds she wouldn’t find it so easy to recall the feeling of a sit-upon reserved exclusively for sitting upon.
“When can we move in?” ...
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