By Don Winslow
Part 1: The Afternoon of the Nymphs
From the doorway he could see them: two slightly-built girls, young and lightly clad in tee shirts and jeans, huddled together on the crushed velvet sofa that dominated the sunken living room. The blonde, Pickering judged to be in her early twenties; her companion even younger, maybe eighteen or nineteen. They had that freshly-scrubbed look of youthful innocence. Youthful they might have been, although certainly not innocent, thought Pickering, although, he had to admit, they didn’t look at all like call girls. Not at all his image of painted whores strutting about in wickedly high heels while wiggling their asses in tight black dresses.
But Higgins had assured him that Claire would provide whatever sort of girls they were looking for, so he was delighted, if not entirely surprised, when the two pretty college girls had been shown up at Higgins’ fashionable apartment for the afternoon.
Higgins followed Pickering’s eyes when the quick glance as took in the girls. He smiled knowingly. He knew what thoughts were going through his friend’s head. The two men shared a passion: an amusing hobby, or a deranged obsession -- depending on your point of view. They were connoisseurs, dedicated enthusiasts of their peculiar pursuit – the art of spanking women. All sorts of women, girls and ladies, housewives and whores had come under their hands. They ranged from mature women with generous asses that shook and wobbled like jelly when spanked, to young women with hard bodies and tight-cheeked bottoms: small buttocks which, when upended, drew the skin taut as a drum so that the spanking hand bounced off the hard, jutting curves imparting just the slightest shimmy. The kind of bottoms the college two girls had plunked down on Higgin’s crushed velvet couch, while awaiting their turn.
On the day they first planned this special afternoon, the two friends were strolling back from lunch through the city park that ran adjacent to Worthington’s campus. They were enjoying the warm spring day, neither one in any particular hurry to get back to the office. The gravel path took them along a wrought iron fence that wrapped around a grassy knoll strewn with college students taking advantage of a just-about-perfect spring day, their firm young bodies sprawled about on the grass in various states of undress.
That part of town was alive with college kids who could be found working in shops, waiting on tables and tending bar. There were girls who made good money as dancers in the topless clubs that lined the alleyways of the Brooktown section. That others had found a way to put in much less hours, and earn even more money by turning tricks was hardly surprising. Some of the prettiest girls, looking for tuition money, ended up working for Claire.
Higgins took him to where their guests sat, smiling up at the two men.
“Girls, this is Mr. Pickering; Pickering, this is Jenn,” he said nodding towards the blonde, “and her friend, Courtney.”
Pickering took each proffered hand in his, unexpectedly thrilled by the touch of those small, delicate hands. It all seemed absurdly formal.
Pickering took a chair directly across from the sofa, while Higgins went off to get a bottle of sherry and four glasses.
They spent a few awkward moments sipping wine, then Higgins, who enjoyed playing host, decisively set down his half filled glass, and rose to his feet.
“Stand up girls, let’s have a good look at you.”
They rose to their feet. Jenn, the taller of the two, was a slender, flat-chested blonde. Smooth ashen hair hung in lank folds to her collar, and crossed her brow in a row of even bangs. A dark maroon tank top hung loosely from narrow, fragile shoulders layering her shallow, practically tit-less chest. Her jeans were faded, but clean and well fitted, tapering down her lean hips and legs. She looked up at Higgins with a sparkling blue eyes and a small expectant smile.
Courtney was smaller and even more slightly built: a skinny girl with delicate shoulders, straight arms and legs, and straight boyish hips wrapped in trim bluejeans. Pickering deuced her youthful breasts would constitute two neat handfuls from the small rounded knobs that tented the front of the apple green tee shirt she wore. Courtney’s mop of dusky hair was short and loose; a swath angled down across the forehead of her small face. Her eyes were bright and engaging.
Pickering set aside his glass of sherry, eased back into the low rounded-backed chair, extending his long legs forward, crossing them at the ankles. He seemed prepared to let things unfold.
Higgins took charge, abruptly getting to his feet. “Shall we get started? Girls, I think it’s time you got your clothes off.”
The two exchanged glances and then casually reached down to undo their sneakers; shoes were unlaced and removed; white cotton socks pulled off. Once shoes and socks had been removed, they got up to stand in bare feet on the thick carpet just in front of the couch. The two men watched the girls reach for their tops, when Pickering suddenly stopped them.
“No, wait,” he paused, smiling at them.
“Why not have them undress each other?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Go on, girls. But first, how about kissing each other?”
The two stepped up one another, reached out to embrace, and exchanged modest, sisterly kisses.
“Come on, ladies! You can do better than that. On the mouth! And let’s get a little tongue action going!”
This time their open arms drew each other in, lips met and mouths opened to accept probing tongues. And as their embrace tightened the two young women swayed, their hot bodies squirming against each other while they were locked in deep soulful kiss. Pickering felt a sudden surge of lust that powered the stirring in his pants.
When they finally separated both girls were a little flushed, lips parted in open breathing, but they managed a smile and looked at the men as though seeking their approval.
“Great!” Higgins nodded his encouragement. “Now go on, undress each other.”
They watched as Jenn gathered up the hem of Courtney’s tee shirt and drew the clingy garment up and over the girl’s head while Courtney helpfully raised her arms. Now the men were greeted by the sight of young Courtney’s firm little breasts cozily nestled in a sexy black brassiere, one of those made so that the nipples could be dimly seen through the open lacework of the filigreed cups.
The girls worked quickly now. Courtney drew the tank top up and peeled it off exposing Jenn’s lithe torso banded by a small, flowered brassiere. Her bra was made of thin cotton, small soft white pouches of milky white edged in deep blue trim and sprinkled with tiny periwinkles of purple and green. The bra was worn more for decoration than anything else, for the slight rises on the blond girl’s maidenly chest hardly needed such support.
Jenn now attacked Courtney’s belt, unbuckling, opening the jeans, working them down her hips while the brown-haired girl stood perfectly still, legs close together. Jenn dropped to her knees to skim the accordiened jeans down Courtney’s straight coltish legs. Courtney then went to work removing Jenn’s pants, and soon both girls were left standing before the men in their underwear.
Courtney’s nubile body looked delicious in her sexy black panties -- a pair of low rise briefs. A satiny wedge at the reinforced crotch, layered the soft bulge of a gently-mounded pubis. The taller girl was equally inviting in her flowery cotton underpants, thin hip huggers that banded her svelte loins and matched her pretty bra. A shadow of sparse pubic hair could be seen through the thin crotch.
“Very nice,” Pickering crooned in honest admiration.
Higgins nodded his head in silent agreement.
“Hop to it now, girls. Get out of those undies!”
The girls hesitated, standing there is their underwear, seemingly at loose ends.
“Go on, the bras” Higgins directed in a soft voice that held a hint of strain.
Again, it was Jenn who started, reaching for the smaller girl, who obligingly turned her back to allow easier access the clasp of the bra strap. Jenn undid the tiny catch and the bra seemed to pop open dangle from her shoulders releasing the girl’s little breasts that jutted out to greet the curious onlookers. Courtney’s jaunty tits were taut and narrow and slightly conical in shape; the nipples small brown caps. Pickering watched them jiggle slightly as their owner reached out to remove the blond girl’s brassiere.
The falling away of the skimpy bra revealed a delightful surprise: for while the blond girl’s tits were petite mounds, those delicate peaks were crowned with nipples that were surprisingly large, protruding nubs – fleshy, plump nipples of delicate pink that stood out, simply begging to be plucked and suckled.
Pickering found the sight of these two coltish nymphettes in their underpants to be especially inspiring, and he toyed with the idea of having them gamboling about the apartment bare breasted, delightfully nude but for their cute panties. But his colleague was getting increasingly impatient, eager to get on with it. Although both men shared the same overwhelming, all-consuming passion, differences in their character and temperament meant they got to the same goal by different paths. Higgins was hot-blooded, amorous by nature, quick to become aroused, lustful and greedy, and eager to have his voracious appetite satiated. Pickering was also quick to arouse, but he had learned to cultivate a measure of control which he used to slow down the pace so as to drain every drop of pleasure from each sexual experience.
Now both girls were moving in a business-like manner. Jenn approached Courtney, who stood with arms loosely at her sides, looking into her companion’s eyes. Jenn gave her friend a reassuring mile as she reached out for the other girl’s hips. Her thumbs slid into the elastic waistband and she drew the silky panties down those girlish hips, bringing to the light of day a lightly-furred pussy with its pale brown pubic hair. Jenn went to one knee; Courtney reached out to steady herself with her hand on the kneeling girl’s shoulder as she lifted each foot and her panties were removed.
Jen stood perfectly still while Courtney curled her fingers into the front of the flowered briefs and peeled Jenn’s panties down exposing to the admiring eyes of the on-looking males the narrow triangle of a small, demure pussy adorned with wispy blond hairs.
Pickering’s full-blown erection was pressing with lustful urgency against the front of his pants as he got to his feet to help arrange the naked girls on the couch. They were urged to take places kneeling side by side on the seat cushions, facing the back of the couch. They inched forward until they could rest their chins on arms folded along the padded back. The position left the two with slightly arched backs and cute little butts sticking up in the air most invitingly.
Thus posed, Higgins left the naked girls in Pickering’s care while he went to gather up the implements that they had planned to try out on those tight-cheeked young bottoms. When he returned from the kitchen he was holding a wooden spatula in his right hand, a rubber fly swatter in his left. He stood behind the waiting girls and silently offered both to his companion. Pickering hesitated, then accepted the fly swatter.
The girls were now watching over their shoulders as Higgins, with spatula firmly in hand, took his stance behind and just to one side of Courtney’s pert little rump, while Pickering stepped up to the plate, lightly smacking his palm with his weapon, all the while eyeing up Jenn’s sleekly narrow buttocks. At Higgins’ silent nod the two men began smacking those tempting girlish butts -- beating a light, but steady, tattoo.
The flat blade of the wooden spatula slapped squarely across Courtney’s taut cheeked bottom, testing the bouncy resiliency of those supple rearcheeks and leaving them wobbling with a jello-like jiggle. The effect of the fly swatter whapping the other girl’s lean, hard-cheeked bottom was less noticeable, but the whippy smack of floppy rubber slapping that tautly-drawn butt, and the way the girl jacked upward with each crisp slap suggested that the sting of the rubber was more terrible than the impact of the flat-bladed wood. The sounds of the dual spanking settled into syncopated rhythm.
The two girls squirmed and twisted and soon were yelping in a curious contralto -- thin, high-pitched squeals punctuating the regular smacks of the make-shift paddles on dancing girlish behinds. Between smacks, Jenn’s ass squirmed desperately as she tried to shake of the sting, while Courtney’s bouncing bottom rebounded and wiggled with each solid smack that indented her springy cheeks, and left its pinkish imprint.
The spanking wasn’t hard but it was steady, followed by a brief respite after twenty smacks when the connoisseurs changed places, and then assaulted the poised bottoms once again with twenty more well-placed smacks. Now Pickering swung with a short, crisp snap of the wrist, sending the floppy rubber pad slapping all over the jutting curves of young Courtney’s dancing butt, each smack deepening the pinkish hue and evoking a tiny yelp as the girl twisted and arched up, unable to keep still. Jenn’s agile bottom was also gyrating with increased agitation under the spanking spatula, the hard wood blade splattering the firm, resilient mounds repeatedly as Higgins cheerfully swung the wicked weapon straight across those delightfully bouncy rearcheeks.
The two old friends sat sipping wine, chatting idly, letting their gazes fall on the slight figures of two young girls who stood facing the walls in the far corners of the room. After their spankings, the girls had been allowed to dress -- but only in tee shirts, shoes and socks. Their blushing bottoms were to be left on open display for the time being, left exposed for the leisurely appreciation of their benevolent admirers. It was a time of contemplation, a time to reflect and compare notes as to the effectiveness of their respective weapons, as the connoisseurs began to plan the next adventure in their obsessive, some would say ultimately futile, hunt for the perfect instrument to use on the perfect ass.
End of Part 1
Part 2: A Woman of Substance
“Knowing our good friend Claire as I do, I’m sure, My Dear, that you’ve been well briefed as to what we, eh, ‘require’?” The question was a bit disingenuous, almost coy, Higgins thought, with a twinge of mild distaste. Still, it was Pickering’s interview to conduct. That had been agreed upon; he was to be the one to take the lead on today’s session.
The handsome woman, 35 or more, Higgins judged her to be, was well groomed and impeccably dressed. She sat with lovely stockinged legs nonchalantly crossed, letting one dangling high-heeled shoe swing in an indolent arc. Higgins was delighted when she first came through the door, and now that she settled in on the divan, he found himself quite taken with the girl. She was magnificent! Poised and composed, she sat regally ensconced in the very center of Higgin’s large crushed velvet divan, that very divan that had witnessed so many adventures.
Gratia watched the two men over the top of her cradled drink; a slightly bemused smile playing across brightly painted lips. The loose skirt of her tailored dress had ridden up over her knee, but she made no move to righten the errant hemline; just let it lie in negligent repose, draped well back so as to expose the rounded prominence of the top knee along with an enticing length of sleek, nyloned thigh. She studied her clients with a large expressive eyes, seductive eyes that held a dark gleam of sexual interest.
“Yes, I think I understand.” Her unhurried response was low, well-modulated. Hers was a sophisticated voice, the voice of a lady; one who moved easily among men. Higgins, who had an ear for such things, was sure he detected just the trace of a southern drawl.
“You want to spank me.” It was tossed off casually -- a simple statement of fact. But the words cut through the two connoisseurs like an erotic knife.
“Quite so, my dear. I presume that’s agreeable, since Claire led me to believe that it would not be a novel experience for you. I understand you’ve done this sort of thing before,…with other, uh, clients of yours?”
“A few times, yes.”
“You’ve been spanked before?”
Gratia’s eyes were sparkling with merriment, as she smiled; slowly and silently nodded her rich mane. Higgins was struck by the beauty of her hair, thick lustrous waves that fell to her shoulders in glorious disarray.
“Yes, well, I trust it wasn’t too unpleasant for you?”
The experienced call girl seemed amused by his choice of words. She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I didn’t mind.”
Pickering cleared his throat; leaned forward in his chair. “My colleague and I would like to know about those other times. It would be helpful if you could describe your previous experience for us, in detail please.” He glanced at his companion who had stiffened expectantly, and now sat alertly on the edge of his chair. Higgins looked back at him, and nodded meaningfully. Pickering caught the silent reminder.
“Ah, yes, …before you begin, My Dear, we’d like you to expose your breasts. You need only undo the front of your dress.”
“If you don’t mind.”
Gratia’s smile broadened, slyly curled into a cat-like grin. With her eyes directly on Pickering, her hands went to the flattened collar at the front of the dress. Following the instructions she had received, Gratia had donned a plain linen A-line, a pale beige dress which buttoned down the front. Claire, as usual, had clearly specified the type of dress she was to wear, and emphasized that it must have a front opening -- that detail she had insisted upon. Gratia now understood why. The one she selected was a simple, yet stylish dress: short sleeved, with a wide plastic belt circling her trim waist. The pleated skirt was loose and full, with a hemline that normally rode just below the knee. The shiny patent leather pumps on her stockinged feet matched the gleaming black belt and the row of small buttons down the front of the dress, buttons that Gratia’s elegant fingers were now systematically attacking.
She proceeded to undo the front of the dress, following the buttons down the bodice, one after the other, while the gap that widened in the trail of her working fingers laid bare first her neck and shoulders, and the top of her chest and a sexy black lace brassiere snugly cradling her substantial breasts. When she reached the last button just above the belt buckle, she paused to look up at them.
“That’s right, My Dear. Now just lower your dress. Take it down…in front.”
Gratia obediently slipped the short sleeves down over her shoulders, and pulled her arms out from the loose dress which promptly collapsed to form a folded heap in her lap.
“The brassiere,” Pickering said, rather needlessly, Higgins thought.
The dark-haired woman looked down as she leaned forward and reached up behind her back. Her fingers blindly found and unhooked the small clasp of the brassiere. Suddenly loosened, the bra sprang free; dangled uselessly from her shoulders. She slipped it off, gathered it up, and placed it on the coffee table before them, leaning over as she did so that her newly liberated breasts swayed liquidly beneath her.
As she straightened up, her unsupported bosom settled in with a shimmying wobble before the eager eyes of the keenly observant males. The breasts Gratia now so openly displayed were generous, although not overly large; softly rounded tits that sloped down to full mounds capped with prominent puffy nipples jutting out with brash impudence. She saw Pickering’s eyes widen in appreciation, and she couldn’t suppress the secret smile that forced its way to her lips.
And so that exquisite, well-endowed brunette sat with one arm causally laid along the top of that infamous couch, unruffled, perfectly poised, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to sit there bare breasted and tell these two fascinated men all about the times she had been spanked.
For the next ten minutes she told them of her encounters with other men, men who had engaged her services so that they have the distinctive pleasure of spanking her shapely, mature, well-made and decidedly feminine bottom. As she slipped into these recollections, her voice slid down a register, so the words came out low and silky.
She told them of the one the girls called “The Principal.” He was always neatly dressed in suit and tie and politely addressed her as “young lady,” before pulling her down to sprawl over his lap. First there were a few spanks on her skirted behind. Then her skirt was raised up in back to expose her panties, plain white panties – he insisted on that. He continued to spank her, lightly but repeatedly, all over the tautly curved seat of her panties, all the while scolding her for being “a naughty girl.” He never took her panties down, and he never wanted sex, only the playful spanking. It seemed enough. He always left well-satisfied.
She told them of the cold, balding man, strong and stoutly built, who dressed all in black. He never smiled, but gruffy ordered her to strip the minute she came through the door, and then to stretch out, completely naked, beside him while he stayed fully dressed, and seated on the edge of the bed. Silently, with grim determination he pinned her in place with one flattened hand on her lower back, while with the other he proceeded to spank her, unmercifully, whomping her vulnerable behind in cold fury. And it didn’t stop till he had her squirming under his pinning hand, kicking up her heels, and yelping with each breath-taking smack till tears welled up in her eyes. That spanking was hard and long and it hurt, but the man in black tipped most generously.
Higgins and Pickering exchanged glances and shook their heads in silent disapproval at the brute’s obvious lack of finesse.
And she told them of the television executive who was into bondage as she found out when she quickly found herself tied down stretched over the back of a heavily padded easy chair so that her upturned bottom was presented in prominent display. Higgins and Pickering were well acquainted with this position, and they approved. But what she revealed next came as a surprise. It seems the TV executive had used a rolled-up newspaper on her behind, and this startling piece of news caused Higgins and Pickering to turn to each other with raised eyebrows -- a novel variation, and one the connoisseurs had never before considered. It was mentally filed away for future reference.
When all three stories had been told, the questions began -- intimate, probing questions. Her inquisitors were most eager for details -- all the details! She was asked to describe how it felt to have her upended bottom warmed by a strong masculine hand, to have her pretty tail swatted by a rolled-up newspaper. She was made to describe the feel of the crisp slap of a flattened hand, straight across her properly presented buttocks.
The girl’s husky account sent a twinge of lust slamming through Higgins leaving him weak-limbed, with his insides turning to mush. He sank back in the chair, gave a tiny inward sigh, ran his hand over his fevered brow, licked his lips nervously. The same words caused Pickering’s already hard erection to stiffen even more so, burgeoning into an obvious bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge he attempted to hide by getting to his feet to retrieve the sherry.
Now Gratia was told to finish undressing, while Pickering went about filling their glasses and Higgins, went off to the bedroom.
She stirred, climbed off the couch, drew herself up to her full height, to undo the belt and quickly ride the displaced dress down her hips and let it drop to the carpeted floor. With the collapsed dress ringing her high heels, the tall brunette was left in a pair of black silk panties with shapely legs encased in thigh-high stockings of a shimmering honey colored hue. The thigh-highs were another detail that Claire insisted on for all her girls.
Unlike the hassle of garterbelts, or the inconvenience of pantyhose, this arrangement allowed the panties to be readily removed while the stockings stayed securely in place. Claire knew there were plenty of men who liked to see their girls prancing around in nothing but a pair of nylons and high heels. Claire understood men.
“These too?” she asked of Pickering as her hands went to the waistband of her panties.
“Oh, yes,” he nodded his overly-eager agreement, stopping what he was doing to turn and watch as she bent over to slip her panties down and then, delicately, step free of them.
“And the stockings?”
“Oh, those can stay, by all means. But slip your shoes off, then come over here.” He pointed to a sturdy padded bench perhaps 18-inches high that formed a centerpiece between the divan and their two red leather chairs. It resembled a polished rosewood coffeetable with a vinyl-covered cushion laid lengthwise to completely cover the rectangular top.
As Pickering was admiring their guest’s splendid and now, all-but-naked, form, Higgins returned with the instrument that had been selected for today’s demonstration. Gratia saw that in his hand he held several leather belts as well as what appeared to be a metal ruler, although she judged it to a bit longer than the standard length, perhaps 15 inches she guessed. The narrow lathe strip was thin and pliable; flexible enough to be bowed ever so slightly. Higgins was now testing the ruler’s resiliency, working it between his hands while stepping around to fully appreciate the attractive call girl’s elegantly-made bottom.
His eyes remained fixed on the object of his affections while he addressed his colleague.
“Oh, yes, Pickering, she will do quite nicely. A most superb ass, first-class indeed!”
Pickering grinned and nodded in sage agreement. “Please bend over, My Dear. Hands on your knees. We’ll want to examine you more closely.”
The leggy brunette took up the mandated position, leaning forward from the hips with hands braced on her thighs sticking her naked rearend back most provocatively right into the faces of the happy connoisseurs.
The two men silently studied the beautiful ass now being presented to them, their experts eyes adoring the sculpted contours: of a slightly pear-shaped bottom, with sloping undercurves, that were softly rounded and met in a darkened cove out of which peeked a fuzzy tuft of pubic hair. They noted with approval the symmetry of the twin domes, the narrow tightness of the rearcrack. This was indeed a generous ass, a plump, fully curved, womanly ass.
They looked at each other and smiled in mutual satisfaction, well pleased with the carefully selected present that Claire had sent to them.
With the preliminaries over, both men were now eager to get on with the main event. Gratia was told to kneel on the carpet at one end of the table, then urged to lay herself down over the padded top, stretched out with arms at her sides, so that her body from shoulders to knees was supported on the table
The wide leather straps were now laid in place, one encircling her at the lower back; the other looped around the upper thighs, both drawn snugly and cinched tight.
Once the girl was secured to the bench, Higgins, the ruler tucked under one arm, worked his fingers into a pair of thin leather gloves, while Pickering retreated to his favorite wingbacked chair and his waiting glass of sherry. Once seated, he had a perfect view as his colleague knelt down next to the bench, and slid back to sit on his heels with the proffered bottom placed conveniently at his side.
Higgins was intoxicated at the heavenly prospect before him, all atingle with excitement; he couldn’t resist reaching out to caress the sleekly countered lines of the laid-out woman. Placing a gloved hand on Gratia’s bare back, he followed down the smooth slope, over the 6” wide belt, and finally up the abrupt swells to attain the summit of those choice, delectable twin mounds. Grabbing an overflowing handful of fleshy ass cheek, he jiggled it, squeezed the malleable cheek experimentally once or twice, before giving up the wobbly mound. The cupped hand slid down the slope and beyond to the back of a thigh where he began a light stroking, as though he were reassuring a skittish mare.
Kneeling on legs that were folded under him, Higgins now settled back onto his heels, eyeing up the tempting target as he fingered the shiny metal ruler he held in his right hand. Gripping it firmly between thumb and forefinger, he raised it a few inches, and swiftly brought the metal ruler down with a crisp slap, punctuated by a snap of the wrist.
The wicked metal ruler was slapped smartly, straight across the twin domes, splattering the fleshy mounds, and imparting a searing, one-inch wide sting that brought a yelp of shocked surprise from the pinnioned victim. It was a tiny, high pitched yelp -- a little girl’s squeak.
THWACK! “Yeep!” THWACK! “Yeep!” THWACK! “Yeep!” THWACK! “Yeeeep!” THWACK!
The spanking continued in a crisp staccato, each precise whack eliciting that tiny yelp.
The whippy smacks were not terribly severe, not much more then a rapid series of hard taps. But they quickly became a steady drumbeat, and the repeated sting they engendered in the call girl’s substantial behind soon had the bound woman squirming in helpless agitation. By making an effort she managed to bring her initial squeals under control so that only tight-lipped grunts were emitted that as Gratia tensed up, her buttocks muscles tightening down, the crack narrowing into a thin slit as she tried to steel herself against the repeated slaps.
Higgins smiled to see those buttocks clenching, spasming under the quick flutter of the ruler; he just kept at it. One he had a pattern established, the grinning disciplinarian continued on the task at hand, laying on a systematic set of strokes, first concentrating on the right cheek, then administering an equal number to the left, before alternating and peppering the writhing rump from top to bottom. Under this unrelenting assault the hardened muscles uncoiled once again, slackened into loose mounds that soon were simply absorbing the rhythmic punishment being meted out. Higgins was totally absorbed in his task, lips tightly pressed together, and a manical gleam in his eye, as he kept on slapping the softened butt as though he were whipping butter.
His tied-down victim had lost all control. She was crying out, gyrating under the restraining straps, kicking up her heels in agitated fury. Stockinged legs flailed the air as the crisp smacks continued to rain down, methodically covering every inch of those curving surfaces till Gratia’s wobbling bottom took on an overall rosy glow.
By now, the dark-haired girl was jerking up, arching back, flinging back her hair, and openly shrieking with each stinging slap:
A sharp, single cry of distress, each more shrill than the last, punctuated each precisely laid on-slap of the thin, whippy ruler.
After several minutes of this, Higgins paused; letting his victim recover a bit, smiling to see her furiously wiggling her ass as though trying to shake off the deep-seated sting. He looked up to his seated colleague to find him leaning forward in this chair, holding the camera before his eyes, and snapping rapidly away. It was gratifying to consider that pictures of Gratia’s lovely, well-chastised bottom would be archived to take an honored place along with those from other memorable performances carried out in this very same room.
Having softened up his target, the consummate connoisseur extended the pause, looked up at the camera and smiled. He let his weapon fall to the carpet, raised his gloved hand, took a deep breath and… brought it slamming down with determined authority, to begin merrily spanking lovely Gratia’s most delightful, soft yet firm, bouncy and resilient, full and womanly ass.
End of Part 2
Part 3: Amelia Brings Her Pet to Work
“Sorry I’m late. The traffic was dreadful! Gets worse every day,” Pickering groused. “Are they here yet?”
Higgins stepped back from the door to allow his colleague in, nodding in sympathy.
“They’re in the bedroom; changing,” he answered in a hushed voice, as he busied himself closing and then locking the door. He immediately turned toward the bar knowing his friend would welcome a drink after his ordeal.
Pickering drifted down into the sunken livingroom to make his way to the window, there to station himself, as was his habit, to admire the superb view, this time giving a scowl to the thick traffic in the street below. He took the wineglass that was offered to him, and the two men sat down to await the entrance of the ladies.
They didn’t have long to wait, for in a few moments a startling figure came around the corner from the bedroom hallway: a lanky woman, clad all in shiny black Latex. Lean as a whippet, she strode imperiously into the room on wickedly high-heeled boots. The sleek brunette’s dramatic entrance was breathtaking, but even more astonishing was that the fact that she held a thin chain attached to the neck of a young blond girl who meekly followed behind, her eyes demurely lowered to the carpeted floor. In marked contrast to the erotically clad figure of the dominatrix, the blonde was dressed quite plainly in a thin cotton dress of sky blue decorated with tiny periwinkles, and trimmed in white at the bodice and the hem. It was a playful sundress, light weight and cool: something to slip into on warm summer’s day, when one didn’t want to bother with a lot of clothes. A pair of high heeled sandals were strapped on her bare feet. Only the high leather collar around her neck, with the leash clipped to the front, struck a bizarre note.
The dark-haired woman held the leash trailing behind her in one gloved hand, totally indifferent to her charge who dutifully followed her mistress down the two steps into the sunken livingroom. They crossed the carpet to confront the two men who had risen from their chairs and now stood gaping, wide-eyed at this astonishing apparition.
“Uhh…..that is…” Higgins finally stumbled his way through the introductions: “This is Mistress Amelia. My colleague, Mr. Pickering.”
“I’m pleased to meet you.” Pickering said, rather inanely, considering one doesn’t often shake hands with a dominatrix in full regalia as though she were some casual acquaintance met at a cocktail party. He was captivated by the haughty arrogance of her manner, the way she held her proud chin high, the way her lean hard body was so tightly wrapped in a Latex bustier that the taut bulges of her rounded breasts seemed about to spring free from the restraining halfcups at any moment. “We…uh… we’ve heard so much about you and your special ‘talents’.” He smiled, bobbing his head.
The dominatrix stood regarding her client with dark eyes dramatically lined and shadowed; hard as onyx. Her raven hair had been tightly pulled back from her sharp features, swept up and tied up in such a way as to stretch the skin over her high cheekbones leaving her with a vaguely oriental appearance. She let him hold her gloved hand, her eyes sizing him up, set features hard and sober, with lips pulled down slightly at the edges. She nodded once, a curt perfunctory nod, so Prussian that Higgins almost expected the woman to click her heels.
With unflinching eyes still boldly holding Higgin’s, she gave the chain an abrupt tug, taking the tethered girl by surprise so that she stumbled forward on her heels a step or two.
“And this is Pet.”
The two looked to the slender blonde who stood with head lowered submissively, as though she were a little girl being presented by a proud parent. She was a pretty girl, with the small delicately made features of a fashion model. She was young, in her middle or late twenties, with a leggy, small breasted body. Her hair was a helmet of white gold, that fell in straight sheets to her shoulders. With head bowed it fell forward to drape the sides of her face.
The girl stood before them perfectly still, hands at her sides, looking particularly innocent and demure in her flowery sundress. The dress was sleeveless, its square cut bodice hung from spaghetti straps, riding low enough to provide a seductive view of the topcurves of her loosely nestled breasts. The slight bulge of the thin cotton print suggested that the girl was bra-less, a suggestion confirmed by the stubby nipples that were blatantly evident pressing as they were against the thin covering. Below the gentle curve of that unfettered maidenly bosom, the dress clung snugly to the trim midriff before flaring out at the waist to form a loose, wide skirt that fell to the knee.
The connoisseurs stood entranced by the silken shimming crown of the pale blond head of the docile submissive.
“Down, Pet. On your knees.” It was a soft command, accompanied by just the slightest tug on the leash. “Greet the Gentlemen properly.”
The girl stepped forward and slowly dropped to her knees, then bowed to the two men.
“Charming.” Pickering breathed, his eyes fixed on the kneeling girl.
Amelia waited with booted heels set wide apart, arms folded across her chest. With the other two she formed a little circle, looking down on the submissive blonde. No one spoke.
Finally, the mistress of discipline broke the silence. “I understand you’d like to see my little Pet get her butt whacked?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the silent girl.
“Yes, that’s something we’d very much like to see,” Higgins agreed eagerly.
“Of course, you realize that I only spank my little Pet when she deserves it,” she said coyly, as she moved closer to the motionless girl, reached down to take up a strand of that silken hair between her fingers. She examined the lank fold of hair, toyed with it, rubbed it between gloved fingers, let it sift through her fingers, while the two men waited in tense anticipation.
“But you’re lucky. Pet’s such a bad girl, you see, she always deserves it,” she added with the trace of a sly smile she reserved just for herself. The fingers that were playing in the girl’s hair, dipped into the front, brushed down the bangs down, arranging them evenly into place. “Don’t you, Pet?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the girl’s voice was barely audible, even harder to hear as she kept her head lowered.
“Yes, Mistress, I’m a bad girl, and I deserve to be spanked,” the words came more clearly now from under the lowered head.
The connoisseurs knew they were privy to a private ritual that must have been played out many times before, and was now being enacted before them. There were certain words that must be used; certain forms that must be observed. They approved.
“Please Mistress, spank me.” The girl’s voice came out in a hushed whisper.
“Louder, these gentlemen can’t hear you. Raise you head, girl! Look at me!”
With her face uplifted towards the woman who stood over her, she repeated the bizarre request.
“Please Mistress, spank me.”
“It’s at the request of these gentlemen that you’re to be spanked. You must ask their permission too.”
“Please Sirs,” she began, turning a freshly innocent face upward to look from one to the other from under her bangs with wide brown eyes, “ may I be spanked?”
“I think we should allow it, don’t you Higgins.” Pickering asked with exaggerated politeness.
“Of course, since we’ve been assured that the girl’s been bad, and obviously deserves it.”
The perpetually scowling mistress of discipline said nothing, but for the first time since she came into the room, the men saw her smile crease the hard muscles of her face. It was not a pleasant smile. It was an evil grin of pleased satisfaction.
Amelia looked from one to the other. “Good. Let’s get started then,” she said briskly, all business-like now.
She unclipped the leash from the girl’s collar and left her kneeling there without a word as she turned to retrieve a large nylon bag the size of an airline carry-on bag with shoulder straps and a top zipper. She drew the bag up onto a chair and proceeded to root though it, taking out the instruments of her trade: a set of leather cuffs and a ballgag, a riding crop, a small wooden paddle with a wide flat blade, a cat o’nine tails made out of ribbons of leather that looked like a handful of shoelaces. Each item was set out carefully on a nearby table.
Pickering was watching the woman in black as she made her preparations; struck by the way she moved: like a big cat. Higgins, who was after all a connoisseur of such things, couldn’t help admiring the neatly-rounded butt she presented as she bent over the bag. Small and tight, it was packed into tautly stretched gleaming seat of the erotic one-piece garment, a seat that was not quite adequate for its job so that that a generous portion of those hard cheeks encased in the nylon of black pantyhose, had escaped the curving Latex, along with several inches of those svelte haunches.
Although it wasn’t part of the current arrangements they had made with Claire, he couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to soundly whip that hard-cheeked, Latex encased butt.
Amelia selected the riding crop, testing the flexible rod by slapping lightly slapping her gloved palm, as she returned to circled the kneeling girl.
“Well, Gentlemen, Perhaps before we begin you’d like to see her ass,” she asked while lightly bending the riding crop she held between her two hands.
Her rapt audience allowed as how that was so.
The girl scrambled to her feet.
The young woman pivoted on her heels, presenting her back to her three admirers.
Now Amelia ran the tip of the crop all the way down the skirted behind of the standing woman till she was toying with the lacy hem of the dress. Flipping the hem up, the rod reversed course this time tunneling up under the skirt, plowing the loose skirt upward, uncovering the back of the girl who stood perfectly still while straight slim legs and then naked buttocks were laid bare. Amelia only stopped when the whippy rod held the tented skirt pinned in place, the tip pressed against the girl’s back, just above the waist, thus allowing the soft folds to fall on either side like an open drape revealing the nether regions of the woman nude from hips to feet.
“You see! What did I tell you? You can see for yourself what a bad girl she is; running around without her panties. I have to keep an eye on her all the time. She’s such a shameless slut, aren’t you, My Pet?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the words came out in a tiny, little girl’s voice.
“You can see why she has to be punished.” This in an exasperated tone. “The girl’s nothing but a little whore.”
The riding crop was jerked back; the dress fell into place, and the wicked crop was sent sharply across the skirted behind, all in one fluid motion.
“WHOMP!” The whippy rod buried itself into the billowy skirt, striking its hidden target with crisp authority.
“YEELP!” The girl jerked upright, but her mistress ignored her reaction, having already turned away to go back to her bag of tricks. She dug out a handful of restraints while Higgins, who had discussed the arrangements with the dominatrix beforehand, now brought over one of the tall chrome stools that normally serviced the wet bar. Like much of the furniture in Higgin’s apartment these barstools could be pressed into service for disciplinary purposes should the occasion arise. Their splayed metal legs and rounded seat cushion, made an ideal platform over which to suspend a spankee. One that had been used before, always with the most satisfying effects.
Now, as the three of them stood around her and watched, the blonde was ordered to take off her dress. Amelia decreed she must be totally naked before they tied her down over the stool. The girl kept her eyes on the floor as she dutifully stripped, reaching up behind to lower a little zipper, peeling down the shoulder straps, and then sliding the loose dress down her naked body to let it fall into a soft heap around her ankles, so that she stood before the three fully clothed people perfectly nude, save for the leather collar banding her neck and the sandals on her feet.
The men were powerfully moved by the erotic sight of this naked woman in their midst.
Pickering felt himself getting hot, sweating. The erection pressing painfully into the front of his pants was screaming for release; there was a dryness in his throat, as he was now given his first unhindered sight of this pristine, beautiful nude. His eyes caressed the gentle slopes of those slim shoulders, the delicate breasts she showed to them: small flattened mounds, crescent-shaped, -- little pancake breasts that sported nipples which seemed to have swelled into fully-erected prominence.
The triangle of wispy hair between her legs was pale brown, the trace of a neatly tucked vulva dimly visible through the pubic curls. Was she a blonde by choice, or did her mistress make her dye her hair; insist upon it? The same mistress who now had her standing at attention: shoulders back, hands at her sides, chin raised, eyes locked on some distant horizon.
Eyeing those stiffened nipples convinced Pickering that it was getting to her. Was it being made to expose herself like this in front of these men, that turned her on, or the exciting thought of having her bottom warmed before them by her stern, dominating mistress? Pickering could only speculate as to what was going through that blond head, but he had no doubt that the sexual tension in that room was getting to the girl too.
Higgins who was feeling flushed himself, was watching the girl’s face, and noted the heat that rose to her cheeks. He saw her work her lower lip, bite down on it with small white teeth. There was no doubt in his mind that, should he be able to test her by fingering her vagina, he was sue to find the girl quite wet between the legs. She was already aroused, an obviously excited submissive about to play her favorite games.
Even the cold, expressionless mistress of discipline seemed taken up with keen anticipation. There were points of pink on the edge of her cheekbones, her eyes gleamed with an unnatual light, and her normally fluid movements were jerky and impatient.
As the girl stood passively compliant, Amelia took a limp wrist and began to fasten a leather cuffs. These well-used cuffs had a D-rings sewn into them so that they could easily be attached by short elastic cords to a restraining frame, such as the barstool that now awaited the girl.
The naked blonde, with wrists and ankles banded, was now ordered to the stool, there to lay herself down on her belly over the padded seat with arms and legs dangling down either side. Amelia busied herself attaching wrist and ankle straps to a metal ring set near the bottom of the stool’s legs.
Once Amelia’s Pet was folded over the seat, Higgins stepped up to demonstrate another feature of the handy stools. The seat could be raised or lowered by working a pedal at its base. He proceeded to pump it a few times, raising the seat to elevate the girl’s midsection till her limbs were tightly stretched and she was held immobile with her bottom raised invitingly.
The men closed in for a closer view. The girlish posterior they beheld was nicely proportioned, its slightly oblong shape was elongated even more by being stretched taut; the mounds, sleekly smooth and meaty would make a couple of nice handfuls. And as they stood gazing at the object of their desires, the voice of the dominatrix interrupted their reveries.
“Now, as to what to use,” she paused. “Is there any special preference?” she asked, lightly laying a proprietary hand on the up-served ass, tapping it absently, making her ownership perfectly clear. Both Higgins and Pickering caught the gesture.
“Our experience has been there’s always a right tool for any job. We’ll leave it up to your good judgment Mistress Amelia, knowing the girl as I’m sure you do,” Higgins replied for both of them.
Amelia shrugged. “I think perhaps the ‘cat’ then. You’re familiar with it?”
The connoisseurs modestly allowed as show they had some familiarity with the short-handled whip. The cat o’nine tails that had been laid on the table was a handful of thin leather strips embedded in a short handle. They vigorously approved of the selection.
Amelia took up the instrument along with a ballgag, which she proceeded to tie around the dangling blond head, crouching down to look into the girl’s eyes as she made her open her mouth to accept the hard rubber ball. The men watched the silent communion take place between the dom and her sub, as the two women looked into each others eyes. The men were powerfully moved by what they saw.
Now Amelia got to her feet to stand next to the upturned bottom.
With a lazy flick of the wrist she tossed the ribbons of leather upward, to let them lie splayed limply over the upturned cheeks; she slowly drew them down the curves with teasing indolence.
A tiny squeak came from the inverted head. Was it the teasing tickle, or the sly threat of what was to come, that forced the involuntary cry? Amelia flicked her wrist again, this time adding an extra snap to it; lightly slapping the solid mounds with the lacy thongs.
“Mmmmmh!” The whimper forced from the girl was muffled by the very effective gag.
Sssss..THWACK! Sssss…THWACK! Ssss...THWACK!
The lacy strips scoured the twin domes repeatedly, as the lean dominatrix whipped her Pet’s ass with dry regular, precision.
Sssss..THWACK! Sssss…THWACK! Ssss...THWACK!
The whipping was harder now, each lick sending the cheeks quivering, the tautly-curved skin of the rounded surfaces blushing, taking on a pinkish hue. The tiny cries were becoming higher in pitch, more urgent cries that escaped from around the hard rubber ball. The deadly kiss of the leather ribbons had ignited a fire in the girl’s behind; she was no longer able to keep still. Her hips wiggled with each slap of the whip, and her hanging head shot up – the only movements left to her.
Amelia kept her eyes firmly fixed on her squirming target, which she was now punishing with grim determination.
Sssss..THWACK! Sssss…THWACK! Ssss...THWACK! Sssss..THWACK! Sssss…THWACK! Ssss...THWACK!
Repeated, rapid-fire attacks rained down on the vulnerable buttocks, as the pinioned girl tried to twist in fiery agitation, and her desperate cries rose to muffled shrieks.
The two men watched, entranced, thoroughly absorbed in the intensely erotic scene, as the wickedly clad and booted woman whipped the outstretched nude with barely suppressed fury. Amelia was totally engrossed in her task, watching the cracking splay of the deadly ribbons strike the reddening rearcheeks again and again to leave its white fingerprints momentarily in those pink cheeks. Her face was set, the lines of her lips drawn into a scowl, and the eyes had hardened with a manical gleam.
Now she switched tactics, pausing quite deliberately, pulling back on the ends of the cat with her left hand while she held the bending handle with her right, so that, with a sudden release of tension and a flick of the wrists, the thongs were sent forward with an extra spring to bite into the mounded softness and send it shaking, while the girl howled. Two or three times she used this particularly effective technique to administer the coup de grace. The connoisseurs were properly impressed!
Amelia’s Pet hung limply; long hair falling down to shroud her face. By now the shrill, stoppered cries that came from the inverted head had trailed off into a series of heaving sobs. The mistress of discipline, an astute judge of such things, decided that her victim had had enough. She ran a gloved hand over those throbbing mounds, squeezed them a bit, dug clawed fingers into those meaty mounds, released them. Giving the wobbly mounds a final slap -- a kind of parting shot, she turned to her little audience…..and was greeted with a round of applause! She acknowledged their approval with slight nod of the head and an evil smirk, and then went to release the bent-over girl.
As she bent over to undo the ankle cuffs, the dominatrix inadvertently presented the two onlookers with her pert, latex-encased butt. It was a choice opportunity that simply cried out for attention, and one that proved irresistible to Pickering who immediately scooped up the riding crop and with one silent and swift step came within range of the unsuspecting behind. He hauled back and swung, slapping the whippy rod smartly, right across that insolent buttocks.
The bending girl, yelped, shot upward and sputtered in surprised outrage as her hands flew back to rub her to behind. She turned on them with an angry hiss, eyes flashing in righteous indignation, only to be blandly informed, with dry and absolute certitude:
“That, Madam, simply had to be done.”
End of Part 3