Big Tom had Anne’s riding crop and Little Tom had Christina’s. Both ended in a D-shaped leather flap, but the shaft of Anne’s was a square section, whilst Christina’s was round. The effects of the thin whippy crops and the flat mini-paddle ends would be different. Despite her worries, Anne was intrigued to see the marks they would make on Christina’s cheeks and to feel for herself the different impacts. An observer for now, she drew closer to the three others and hugged herself in anticipation.
Big and Little Tom drew back their right and left arms respectively. Big Tom let fly first, followed a split second later by Little Tom. The whistles and cracks sounded almost together and Lady Christina’s bottom bounced from the impacts. Both men drew back slightly and waited.
Two thin white lines appeared, slowly turning red, each ending in a D of deep pink. There was a suggestion of a difference between the marks left by the round and square crop shafts … but not much.
“One,” intoned Lady Christina.
The arms drew back again and once more let fly, Little Tom a fraction ahead of his father this time. Two more white lines appeared, just below the previous ones. As they turned red it looked to Anne like a pair of railway lines, so straight and parallel were they.
“Two.”
Again the whistles and cracks were so close as to be almost undistinguishable. This time, however, the men didn’t pause and delivered ten more pairs of strokes in rapid succession. Lady Christina counted each one as fast as she could. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the bough ever more tightly with each stroke. One foot briefly left the ground as each of the final lashes cracked home. At the final pair of strokes her voice broke briefly and she called “Twelve” with a small sob at the end.
She started to rise, but Big Tom put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her down again.
“That’s twelve, Ma’am, but don’t forget there’s an extra six for cheating.”
Christina sighed and settled back down, but both men stepped back as Anne came closer and inspected the slowly blistering bottom. The marks were by now highly coloured and some lashes had fallen on top of previous ones. They were all clustered around her sit-spot. Riding back would be impossible and Anne was sure Christina wouldn’t be sitting comfortably for several days. She stroked the weals gently and bent her lips to each cheek, licking along each ridge. Out of the corner of one eye she noticed Little Tom adjusting the bulge in his crotch. Turning her head the other way, she saw Big Tom doing the same. A sly smile lifted the corners of her lips. This could be fun … after the pain.
During a pause of a few minutes Christina’s bottom steadily took on greater colour and from her continual shifting it was clear that the pain was sinking throughout. Nevertheless, she uttered no sound, nor did she make any attempt to rub herself.
The Toms resumed their positions and took aim again. This time the strokes fell some ten or so seconds apart, but they were not parallel to the previous twelve. Instead they landed somewhat crossways, with the leather ends smacking into the tender flesh at the top of each cheek. Lady Christina yelped with the first pairs of three, groaned at the next and screamed with the final ones. Anne noticed that her vulva peeking as it was between her reddened thighs glistened in the pallid, filtered sunlight. The scream had not been entirely of pain, but also of orgasm. Anne moved forward to caress her friend’s scalded bottom, but Big and Little Toms’ hands were there first, palms stroking along the lines. The fingers of both men dipped into the crevice below Christina’s bottom cheeks and brushed her wet vulva, then traced up the cleft to the puckered rosebud of her anus. Christina moaned and shuddered, and her vulva glistened more as she came once again. Anne was entranced.
“Now, Miss. Your turn, I think.”
Christina was helped up by Little Tom, who held her as she recovered from her twin orgasms and her whipping. Big Tom led the nervous Anne to the branch, unzipped her breeches and pulled them down to her knees.
“No knickers. I like that sort of readiness in a woman.”
Trembling, Anne bent over the thick branch and gripped the thinner one tightly.
“Relax, Miss. It’ll be easier,” said Tom in her left ear.
“Aye, Miss,” said the other Tom in her right.
She tried to relax. The bark of the branch was rough against her pubis. She gave a little wiggle and felt a little heat begin to build inside as she was stimulated by the mossy bark.
Regardless, she was still apprehensive. Unlike Her Ladyship, there would be no warming up of Anne’s bottom such as her initial hand-spanking had done. She was to receive the strokes on her unprepared flesh. Not a frequent submissive, her buttocks were soft and she felt the cane, crop and occasional birch most keenly. She gasped. The birch. She hadn’t seen any, thank goodness, but had noticed some coppiced hazel at the end of the wood where they’d left the horses. Perhaps another time.
Crack! Crack!
Away with her fantasies, she hadn’t heard the warning whistle of the descending crops and the blows caught her unawares.
“Ow! Ow!” she yelled. “Sorry, sorry. Wasn’t ready. That’s one.”
The sting began to seep through, countering the growing sexual thrill she was getting from rubbing her pubis against the branch.
Another pair of lashes fell, then two and four more. The sting became a definite pain, white-hot initially, then fading to red-hot, mimicking the change of colour she knew was taking place on her bottom.
“Si … sev … eight,” she shouted, unable to keep up with the counting, so fast had the lashes landed.
There was a pause. Strangely, the pain in her bottom seemed no worse, whilst her vagina was hotter than before. She wondered if she had reached that plateau submissives speak about.
The final four pairs of strokes landed close together, both in time and on her bottom. With the final pair she came, hard, squirting from between the lips of her vulva as she did so.
“Wow!” yelled Christina, who had recovered her balance and had been crouching down level with Anne’s bottom, watching closely. Her breeches were pulled up, but only as far as the top of her thighs where they met her throbbing bottom. She was still too tender to pull them over her ridged cheeks. She washed her hand over her face and licked each of her fingers in turn. “You sprayed me! Wonderful!”
“Way to go!” shouted Little Tom, his hand stroking the lump in his groin.
“Fantastic!” thundered Big Tom, who had his hand down inside his moleskin trousers, trying to create some additional space for his penis.
Christina helped Anne upright and hugged her. “You OK?” she asked. “Silly question, really. I’ve never seen you come so hard before.”
Anne shuddered. “I’ve never come like that. I’ve never squirted, only read about it.” She rubbed her bottom, feeling each ridge with tender fingers. She counted them. Nineteen, but five ridges were higher and sorer than the others. They must be where a second lash had landed right on top of a previous one.
“Are you ready for the finale?” asked Christina.
“What finale?”
“Shagging both Toms together.”
“What? One each?”
“No. Both together. For you, my darling. My treat. You see, I’ve had them before!”
Anne turned back towards the branch. Slightly further along from the spanking place, both Toms were sitting facing each other. They were naked from the waist down, their penises pointing skywards a few inches apart.
“Hop up here, Miss. There’s a rock either side for your feet.”
It was a perfect place, Anne thought. One branch offering opportunities for spanking and sex.
“Which way round?” asked Christina.
Anne looked closely at both men’s penises. Big Tom’s was around seven inches, thick and knobbled with veins. Little Tom’s was longer, but slimmer and circumcised.
“I’ll face Big Tom,” announced Anne, fearing to have his fat penis in her anus. Little Tom’s would be enough.
Christina boosted Anne up between the two men, spat on her fingers and applied them to Anne’s anus, then licked Little Tom’s penis. Anne found that the rocks Tom had mentioned were of a size and shape and handily placed for her to put a foot securely on each so as to stand with her crotch about two inches above Little Tom’s long penis.
She bent her knees and lowered herself onto the pair of cocks. Little Tom spread her bottom cheeks, his hands reigniting the fires of her caning. He pushed into her first, slowly and gently. Big Tom entered her easily; she was so wet with her previous spend and other juices.
Lady Christina began to clap slowly and Anne rose and fell in time with the clapping. As her bottom slapped onto Little Tom’s thighs she felt again the sting of the riding crops and this spurred her towards a second orgasm. Christina clapped faster and faster. Anne rose and fell faster and faster. It didn’t take long. As she came, she felt first Little Tom and then his father explode inside her, drenching her both front and back and extinguishing her inner fires with a deluge of cum.
After a rest of some thirty minutes, the men helped the ladies manoeuvre their riding breeches over their bottoms. The tight fabric smoothed out most of the welts, but several of the double ridges were clearly noticeable from behind. “A variation on VPL,” commented Little Tom, earning him a playful cuff from his father.
The girls walked the horses back to the manor house. Neither could face riding. Both their bottoms were too sore and Anne was additionally sore from her double penetration. But, she reflected, it was a nice sort of sore.
Before dinner that evening, they changed into more formal clothes. Both chose loose-fitting gowns and French knickers for the most comfort they could achieve. They changed together in Lady Christina’s room, taking the opportunity to inspect and compare their weals in several long mirrors arranged so that every side could be seen at once. Both bottoms had turned the black red of a Chateau Palmer Grand Cru Classé, with raised welts criss-crossing like the lines at a major railway junction. They stood naked, bosom to bosom, kissing deeply whilst gently but firmly rubbing a soothing cream into each other’s bottom, their fingers tracing the lines and dipping into anus and vulva as they did so. The gentle frigging took their minds off the coming agony of sitting down to dinner on the rush-seated ladder-back chairs.
In the hall, before they went in to dinner, the butler whispered discreetly, as he poured a 1998 Blanc de Chateau Prieuré-Lichine, “The Estate Manager suggested that I place an extra cushion on your chairs.” There was no change in his expression as he said this. Anne looked daggers at Lady Christina. “Does everyone know?” she growled. “Don’t worry,” grinned Her Ladyship. “Charles has a strong right arm and a stout cock too … and he’s very discreet.”
Despite the extra cushion, dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Anne wriggled from time to time, partly with the ache in her bottom, but also because she was remembering the feeling of a pair of cocks inside her and fantasising too about Charles’ strong right arm and stout member.
Another day, maybe … when today’s scars had faded.
Hunger
by Elizabeth Cage
‘Do you think it’s too short?’ I ask, smoothing down my slinky new red dress in front of the wardrobe mirror.
Mo wrinkles her mouth uncertainly. ‘Wiggle test,’ she suggests.
I begin to gyrate my hips to the sound of an imaginary dance track.
‘Hmmm. It rides up just far enough to show the merest hint of a stocking top, but not to the point of indecency,’ she grins approvingly. ‘Ready for action?’
It’s a sultry summer night and even with the car windows open, it feels hot and stuffy as Mo drives into the packed car park of our local nightclub.
‘Do you think Mark will be here?’ I ask nervously as Mo manoeuvres awkwardly next to a shiny green sports car, narrowly missing the wing mirror.
‘Kira, for God’s sake,’ she sighs impatiently. ‘So what if he is?’
‘But I don’t know how I’ll feel if I see him again –’
‘You dumped him three weeks ago, Kira. Get over it!’
‘You’re right,’ I mumble miserably. ‘It’s just that, I really miss him.’
Mo frowns. ‘Correction, hun. It isn’t Mark you miss. It’s sex with Mark.’
She’s right, of course. Mark was insatiable, and when I was with him, so was I. We did it everywhere – on trains, in hotels, sprawled across park benches, knee tremblers in shop doorways – think of a place and we had sex there. The problem was, it wasn’t just me that Mark had sex with.
‘Forget about Mark,’ Mo says reassuringly. ‘You look great. I hope he is here. Then he’ll realise what he’s lost by screwing around.’
We make our entrance, strutting through the kaleidoscope of flashing, swirling lights, the thump-thump of the bass sending vibrations through our bodies. Mo gestures across the crowded dance floor. ‘You think your dress is short – look at that woman over there, flashing the gash.’
But my eyes are scanning the room for Mark. I wonder what the other woman – correction, women – that he shagged, were like. Sexier than me? More adventurous? Then I notice a gorgeous-looking bloke strutting his stuff, surrounded by a gathering of appreciative females. The rhythm is pounding, pulsating, and he looks cool in a black T-shirt and tight jeans. I take in the sway of his lithe, toned body.
‘What a poser,’ says Mo.
‘Actually, I think he looks rather good,’ I reply, adding, ‘you could bounce a Ping-Pong ball off that tight little bum.’
‘OK, so I wouldn’t kick him out of bed,’ admits Mo grudgingly, although I can see she has her eyes on a tall blond-haired Adonis who is watching her from the bar.
‘I think I’ll get a drink,’ she says distractedly. ‘What do you fancy? Or is that a silly question?’
It’s hard to tear my gaze away from the hunky dancer. Boy, this guy can move! Most of the blokes I’ve dated needed six pints before they’d venture onto the dance floor and even then they’d shuffle embarrassingly from side to side. I enjoy the display while Mo is otherwise engaged.
Eventually, Mo returns with a smug look on her face.
‘Kev’s just asked me out.’
‘Who’s Kev?’
‘The guy at the bar. He’s really nice. He’s a personal trainer at the new fitness centre.’
‘Fast work, Mo, even for you.’
She grins. ‘Come on, Kira. I think it’s time we got on the dance floor. I want to show Kev what’s on offer.’
‘You shameless tart,’ I tease, noting the mischievous gleam in her eye that I know so well.
We manage to find a space on the crowded dance floor, Mo starts to move towards me and we begin our routine. She dances around me and we’re back to back, brushing against each other, hips touching. Then, as the music changes, she turns to face me and she bends her knees, legs apart, swaying from her waist, her bronzed arms snaking the air. I can feel people watching our little display.
‘I’m enjoying this,’ she whispers, glancing in Kev’s direction.
‘I can see that,’ I laugh.
Then the tempo changes to the mournful wailing of James Blunt and Mo mutters, ‘Erection section. It’s a groper.’ We start to walk away but predictably, Kev comes over like a bullet out of a gun and whisks Mo back onto the dance floor. I pretend to rifle through my bag, feeling self-consciously alone. As I watch the other couples, I start to wonder what Mark is doing.
I remember the last time we had sex. We’d been out for a Sunday afternoon walk in the woods when Mark suddenly pushed me against a tree, unzipped his jeans and said, ‘I want you!’ With hardly a glance around to see if anyone was watching (not that it would have bothered Mark – he was quite an exhibitionist) he lifted my skirt, pushed my skimpy knickers to one side and pushed eagerly inside me.
‘We can’t do this here,’ I’d protested feebly, but he was already thrusting deeper and deeper, covering my mouth with his to drown out any further protest.
And to my surprise, I discovered the thought that we might get caught turned me on even more. As he caressed my hardened nipples through my thin blouse, he gave up trying to stifle my moans of pleasure, and I came explosively, followed closely by Mark. I remembered how I was still throbbing and tingling when we straightened our clothes and continued our stroll, as if nothing had happened. I find myself getting hot again just thinking about it.
‘Penny for them?’
Suddenly I realise someone is standing beside me.
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Somewhere nice, I hope?’ I look up to see the hot dancer and I feel my face flushing furiously.
‘Sitting this one out, then?’
‘Er, no one has asked me – yet,’ I mumble.
‘Now they have,’ he replies, taking my hand in his and leading me onto the dance floor. He folds his arms around me.
‘My name’s Leon,’ he says, his voice dark and sexy.
‘Kira,’ I reply.
He pulls me closer to him and I can feel my breasts brushing up against his T-shirt. I can also feel something else.
He looks deeply into my eyes, searching, as if he is waiting to see how I will react to his hardness. My heart is thumping in time with the music. I can feel his breath on my neck, his hands cradling my bum as we sway from side to side. Then he kisses me. Gently, at first, exploring. Then longer and harder, and I can feel the fire between my legs that I thought only Mark could ignite.
When the music ends, he walks me back to my table. I decide to take the bull by the horns, so to speak.
‘Would you like to come out for a drink some time?’ I ask uncertainly.
‘I’d love to.’
‘Great. How about tonight? My place.’
‘Tonight? That might be awkward.’
‘Oh.’ I can feel the adrenaline draining away – fast.
‘It’s just that I came here with my brother and he’s staying at my house for the next few days. I can’t really abandon him.’
‘No. Of course not.’ My voice is flat, the frustration palpable. Damn his brother. Then again, I did come here with Mo. Perhaps she could take his brother home. When I notice her still snogging Kev, I decide there isn’t much point asking her. I wonder if I will be the one without a lift back.
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