Bait In the Trap

by Monica Belle

  ‘Good girl. There we are, Julian. Didn’t I say she’d play?’

  He gave a complacent nod, as cool and calm as ever as he drew down his fly and pulled out his cock and balls. I was staring, no longer even bothering to remember not to gape like a goldfish as he crooked a finger to Henry. So many times I’d sucked his cock, so many times I’d felt him harden in my mouth, and now somebody else was to do it – a man at that. I didn’t even feel cheated, although I didn’t know why not, but I was filled to the brim with shock and arousal and a sense of pride in his sheer masculinity.

  Henry crawled to Julian’s feet, his face set in what seemed to be utter misery, but that didn’t stop him taking hold of the big pale cock and putting it in his mouth. He began to suck, and to tease Julian’s balls, his motions not so much eager as eager to please. Julian simply lay back, idly sipping his gin and tonic, his eyes closed in pleasure for the feel of having his cock sucked, which I suppose is much the same whoever is doing it. Vanessa was less reserved, making the little, pleased purring noise in her throat I’d heard before as she took a grip on the hem of my dress and gave it a meaningful tug.

  ‘Come on, Chloe, don’t you think we should give Julian something to watch while he’s sucked off? Let’s have you showing.’

  I let it happen, lifting my bottom to allow her to tug my dress up, first around my waist and then higher still, up under my arms with my breasts bare and nothing but my knickers and shoes on below my naked chest. That condition didn’t last long either, Vanessa quickly levering my panties down to my ankles to leave me bare on her lap. She began to explore my body, maybe partly for Julian, but mainly for herself. He’d opened his eyes, smiling as he watched my breasts felt and my nipples brought to erection, my bottom gently smacked and my pussy stroked.

  It didn’t take me long to give in. Soon my thighs had come open and I was allowing Vanessa free play with my pussy, while when she drew my head down to her mouth I let my lips come open immediately, returning her kiss with near equal passion. By then Julian was hard, his cock rearing from his fly into Henry’s mouth, fully erect to another man even if he was watching me groped. Vanessa was watching them too, but she was a great deal more interested in me, her fingers exploring with ever more urgency, probing the hole of my vagina, tickling my anus, while she seemed fascinated by the size and weight of my breasts.

  My courage built with my excitement, and I’d soon begun to stroke Vanessa’s boobs in turn, each a small, firm mound, very different to my own. We began to kiss again, and I saw that Vanessa had closed her eyes, now taking her pleasure solely in me. I couldn’t let go so easily, one eye still fixed on Henry as he sucked my boyfriend’s cock, his head now bobbing up and down. His face was still set in what I could have sworn was true and bitter humiliation for all that he was putting everything into what he was doing, not only sucking, but playing with Julian’s balls and masturbating him into his mouth.

  Julian was watching me, smiling as Vanessa suckled at one of my nipples, and then his face had gone abruptly slack and I realised he had come in Henry’s mouth. A hard shiver went through me as I saw, and another as Henry swallowed, both sensations close to orgasm, and with that I gave in completely to my own need. Rising, I’d quickly tugged Vanessa’s dress up over her hips and chest, to let me get at her naked breasts and her sex. She had no knickers on, and if she was surprised at my sudden urgency she made no effort to stop me getting what I wanted. Down I went, onto my knees, to bury my face between her thighs, licking up the musky perfume of her pussy as my hands went to relieve my own now desperate need.

  She sighed in pleasure as I began to lick and, at the same time, to rub at myself. I was going to come at any moment, and my head was full of filthy thoughts – only not fantasies, but memories: Julian feeding his cock into Henry’s mouth, Vanessa stripping me nude from breasts to ankles, the feel of her fingers inside my body, and the sight of my lover’s cock jerking into another man’s mouth – a man who had swallowed what came out. With that I came, still licking eagerly, but not very skilfully. Vanessa had begun to gasp and push herself into my face, now holding me by the hair, but she hadn’t come, and as my own shudders faded she spoke, her voice a hoarse croak.

  ‘Whip the dirty brat, Julian.’

  I tried to pull back, terrified of the whip, still coming but already awash with guilt. This time Vanessa’s voice was a hiss.

  ‘Hold still, you greedy little slut, and fucking lick! Whip her, Julian!’

  I was sobbing into her pussy as I continued to lick, still excited but confused and scared. Vanessa tightened her grip in my hair, holding me firmly in place with my bottom stuck out for the riding whip Julian had now picked up. The sting caught my cheeks, gently, then a little harder, each smack sending a little jolt straight to my sex. I tried to tell myself that it was fair, that I deserved punishment for being so dirty, not just for letting Vanessa have me, but for not even trying to put a stop to what had happened between the four of us.

  It worked. I stuck my bottom right out, my cheeks wide, my wet pussy flaunted to Julian and his whip, and incidentally to Henry. The smacks got harder, stinging me as I tongued Vanessa, knowing my ordeal wouldn’t be over until she’d come, and no longer sure if I wanted it to be. I caught her by the hips, pulling her forward in the chair so that I could get my face between the cheeks of her bottom and my tongue up her anus where it belonged. Vanessa gave a gasp of surprise and delight and Julian’s whip smacked down harder still.

  ‘Dirty brat is about right! I’ve never known a girl so keen to lick another woman’s bottom, isn’t that right, Chloe?’

  I nodded, my tongue now pushed into the tight star of Vanessa’s anus as far as it would go, licking eagerly. Julian laughed to see me so dirty, and suddenly the whip was no longer striking home across my cheeks but between them, the leather sting smacking on my open pussy. Moments later I was coming, pushed over the edge for a second time, beaten to orgasm with my tongue in my mistress’s anus and willing to have anything done to me for their pleasure, anything at all.

  This time when I’d finished I never really came down, and there was no more than the slightest twinge of guilt as I transferred the attention of my tongue back to Vanessa’s cunt. Now I was licking eagerly but carefully, using what skill and imagination I had to give her pleasure and with my bottom well stuck out so that she could watch me beaten. Even then she took her time, holding me firmly in place and rubbing herself into my face until, at last, she came, by which time my bottom was hot and criss-crossed with whip marks, but if I was sore I was also happy.

  Chapter Five

  I EXPECTED TO COME down really badly, but I didn’t. Perhaps I was getting used to it, or perhaps it was that before I’d been the only one to behave disgracefully, whereas by letting another man suck him off Julian had broken The Rules big time. The only problem I did have was my smacked bottom, because although the whipping hadn’t seemed hard at all while I was getting it, both my cheeks were covered in long red welts and there was no shortage of bruising. I even walked back to the Hall bare bottom, after Vanessa had sweetly rubbed cream into my cheeks. By then it was dark, with the lights along the drive making puddles of illumination and utter darkness beyond, but with Julian by my side and my body still pumped up with adrenaline the night held no fears.

  It did in the morning. We got up late after a night of steamy, if rather careful, sex, and after wolfing a plate of bacon and eggs Julian went up to his computer. I knew he was going to check on the Inquisitor’s blog, but I didn’t expect anything new to be up, not when we’d been in the gatehouse until nearly midnight. Whoever it was would barely have had time to update.

  He was obviously dedicated, because I’d barely put the plates into the sink when I heard Julian curse, then call to me.

  ‘Chloe! Come and look at this, the little bastard!’

  I ran upstairs, to find him with his chair pushed back from the table as he indicated the screen.

  ‘Look!’

  I loo
ked. There we were, a good clear shot this time, walking hand in hand up the drive towards the Hall, clearly illuminated by one of the lights, Julian in his baggy combat trousers and loose top, me stark naked except for my heels, my bare bum stripy with whip cuts.

  ‘Shit! He must have been right behind us!’

  ‘That or he’s got a seriously expensive lens, and a good camera. That’s not even a long exposure, but read this.’

  He did so himself, not bothering to wait.

  ‘“There was a ritual last night. I don’t know what happened because it was indoors, but there was a lot of screaming and when the girl and her boyfriend left it was obvious she’d been whipped. Just look at the pic! (Fuck me, but she’s got a nice arse!) I reckon she got 11 cuts, and 11 is the essence of all that is sinful, harmful and imperfect, as we all know, so if that doesn’t prove what they’re up to, nothing will!”’

  ‘Bloody hell! He’s nuts, but what’s 11 got to do with anything?’

  ‘I don’t know, presumably it has some occult significance, but I’m sure I gave you more than 11 strokes.’

  ‘More like 20, look.’

  I turned my back and pulled my nightie up, allowing him to make a quick count of the welts on my bum.

  ‘19, I think. Some overlap. More than 11 anyway, but that’s good. The more he’s able to delude himself, the more convincing we’ll seem.’

  ‘Do you really want a nutter like that running about the estate?’

  ‘Yes. He’s exactly what we need. Look, he’s starting to get comments.’

  There were only five, and three of those remarked on my bum, with one stating that if he’d been in Julian’s place he’d have given me a much harder whipping and then buggered me.

  ‘What a pervert!’

  Julian merely laughed, then clicked on a link attached to the next comment, which was by somebody calling himself “Triplesix” and approved of what we’d done, accusing the Inquisitor of trying to interfere with the valid expression of our beliefs. The website was dedicated to the occult, and specifically to Aleister Crowley – pretty hysterical stuff but with a forum boasting over 10,000 members. Julian drew a deep sigh.

  ‘We’re in! They’ll be queuing past Norwich, especially if they think they might catch a glimpse of you getting a whacking.’

  I didn’t answer, thinking of 10,000 people looking at my smacked bottom. And I’d meant to keep my new-found taste for being spanked a secret. Now everybody from the village to Vancouver could see that I got it, and I was sure it wouldn’t be long before the picture was all over the net. The only mercy was that it didn’t show my face, but that was small consolation. It was still me, still my naked body marked by Vanessa’s whip, on show to men by their million; frustrated teenagers surfing for porn, dirty old men, students in their college rooms, American nerds, Japanese boys with a taste for the weird, men in Bangkok and Berlin, New Delhiand New York, all ogling my body, thinking of my pain and humiliation, some of them masturbating, the one who’d made the comment imagining me whipped harder still as he eased his cock up my bottom. A powerful shiver ran down my spine at the thought and I felt my anus tighten, but Julian was already rising from the chair.

  ‘We don’t want to put him off, but I do want to know more about him and how he works. How come we didn’t see him last night, for example? Let’s see if we can work out where he was when he took the photograph.’

  ‘What if he’s watching us now?’

  ‘This was posted less than half an hour ago. If he sees us and comments that tells us a lot.’

  I nodded, unable to deny the logic of what he was saying.

  Even fully dressed I felt exposed as we walked down the drive, Julian holding a print-out of the photograph the Inquisitor had taken. It was easy to work out which light we’d been under, as there were only four and the Hall showed faintly in the background. We stopped underneath it, Julian frowning at the picture.

  ‘Yes, we were here, definitely. OK, stay here.’

  I did as I was told, watching as he walked towards the gatehouse. The drive curved slightly, but when he reached the gate itself I could still see him, peering out from the shelter of one of the tall brick pillars. If that was where the Inquisitor had been hiding then we’d passed just feet away as we left the gatehouse, almost close enough to touch. Julian was walking back, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘That’s where he was, and it means we’re looking for somebody with a good DSLR and an expensive lens, quite a long one too. Let’s set a trap.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We’ll advertise a special tour, something that’s bound to attract his interest.’

  ‘What, like seeing me get a whipping?’

  ‘Don’t tempt me. I’d love to spank you in front of a group of visitors. But seriously, we do need to give him an opportunity he can’t refuse.’

  ‘He seems to be into rituals. Maybe if we say we’re going to re-create one of John Aylsham’s ones?’

  ‘Great idea! We’ll start with the first ones, which were quite simple – a sort of reversal of Holy Communion if I’m thinking of the right one. Come, library.’

  We hurried back, both full of mischief as we returned to the Hall. There were quite a few valuable books in the library and it was generally kept locked. I’d only glanced in before, when he was showing me around, and had never really had a chance to take it in. It was a big square room, occupying the corner of the house at the far end to our bedrooms so that the high windows with their lead panes and panels of old green glass illuminated the table at the centre of the room in morning sunlight but left the bookcases in relative shade. The cases were high, reaching almost to the ceiling, and there was an ancient wooden ladder mounted on wheels that Julian used to climb to the shelf where John Aylsham’s diaries were kept.

  I’d been expecting barely legible script peppered with lots of “ye”s and “thou”s, but both his hand and his language were surprisingly clear. So was his logic, at least from the point of view of an educated man living in the late 17th century, as Julian explained.

  ‘The important thing is to realise that he actually believed in God and the Devil. This was two centuries before Darwin, after all, and even Newton did as much work on theology as he did on physics, so when John Aylsham invented this ritual, he wasn’t playing, like just about anybody who did it nowadays would be. He expected it to work.’

  He had the book open, treating it with exaggerated care as he turned the pages one by one and carrying on when he had the passage he wanted.

  ‘Here we are, “To partake of the sacrament is to become one with Christ and so it must be that to reverse the sacrament is to become one with the Devil. How then to reverse the sacrament?” The next bit is quite involved, quoting all the sources he’d read, mainly Paracelsus, who was a Renaissance occultist, or other people who’d drawn on Paracelsus for their own ideas. The symbols you draw on your body come from his book, by the way.’

  ‘You mean they’re real?’

  ‘As real as any of this stuff is. Anyway, John goes on for quite a bit, but it all seems to come down to what to use as a substitute for communion bread and wine. That was the basis of the first few rituals, the idea being that he’d summon the Devil into the body of one of his acolytes and could then strike his bargain. He tried various things, some of them pretty gross, but let’s see ...’

  Again he began to turn the pages, as carefully as before, his finger flicking to the relevant parts of the text. He hadn’t been joking about the substitutions being gross.

  ‘I’m not drinking pee, or pig’s blood, and I’m certainly not eating ...’

  ‘Relax. We’re only doing this for the Inquisitor. We can fake it.’

  ‘Good! But we’ll have visitors around us, won’t we?’

  ‘Yes. A pity really, as that means you can’t be naked.’

  ‘Are you sure he’ll even come? He’ll know it’s not the real thing after all.’

  ‘He’ll come if he knows you’re going to be
in a bikini, and I intend to put a photo on the Hall website with the announcement – nothing too kinky, just enough to arouse his interest.’

  We spent the next couple of hours setting up our trap. I got into my black bikini and sat on the altar in a mildly provocative pose, allowing Julian to photograph me. The picture went on the website, along with an announcement that we would be reproducing one of Sir John Aylsham’s original satanic rituals on the following Sunday. That would mean we got a lot of people, making it easier for the Inquisitor to blend in with the crowd, but because of that he was more likely to come and Julian was still confident of being able to identify him without scaring him off.

  I felt both nervous and excited, while it was hard to forget what an exhibition I’d made of myself – or rather, what an exhibition the Inquisitor had made of me. It was a turn-on, no question, but I could have cheerfully strangled him, probably before bringing myself to orgasm over the thought of all those thousands of male – and maybe female – eyes lingering over the contours of my body – and, in particular, my smacked bottom.

  We had to square our decision with Vanessa, but she readily agreed, as always more than happy to give Julian free rein with anything designed to bring in more visitors. She had also changed her attitude to me, now more open and less condescending, although still superior. Henry was also with her when we went over to the gatehouse, and he could barely bring himself to meet my eyes. Vanessa thought it was funny and began to tease him, which might well have led to something had not Julian and I needed to greet the day’s tourists.

  It seemed quite likely that the Inquisitor would be among them, and we kept a careful watch as we went through the now familiar routine. Julian had warned me not to rely on preconceptions of what the man might look like, but it was hard as I had a clear image in my head. He would be of middling height or rather less, overweight if not actually obese, probably bearded and sloppily dressed. It also seemed likely that he would be on his own, or at least not part of one of the families who made up the bulk of our visitors.