Part III, Lunch with the Judge
I watched Joan walk out of the shower room and remove the towelling robe. I loved this routine. Reclining in the bedroom armchair with eyes almost closed, I watched her starting to dress. For some reason I don’t understand, this was to me more erotic than watching a woman undress.
Joan would be totally clothed in black today. I watched her long tapering legs as she drew on the skimpiest of lace panties. She drew them carefully up to her tummy, jiggled the waistband and smoothed the delicate fabric. She checked that not a single pubic hair escaped; I insisted she did not shave there as I loved to push my nose into the wiry bush when sucking out her clit, but she did trim the edges to preserve good order and discipline. Suspender belt was next, and the lovely bit where she reached behind to fasten the bra, then hitched the front to settle the contents comfortably. The frock was next. Her very shortest. Modestly it covered her right up to the neck, but the hemline was far from modest.
Now for the best bit. She sat on the wide stool at the foot of the bed and drew on her stockings. Once fully unrolled, each stocking was carefully smoothed. I had an urge to help. Could there have been anything more lovely than a woman posing, one leg forward, the other slightly bent at the side, while she stooped forward to attach the suspenders to her stocking. It was partly the concentration, partly the way the skirt had to be pulled up, but mostly the shear elegance of a fully-stockinged leg, bent at slightly more than a right angle at the knee, which was so beguiling. Once everything was in place, Joan stood and backed towards the mirror, skirt still hitched to her waist. The seams had to be straight. More careful smoothing.
Stepping into a pair of skimpy shoes, she put each foot in turn onto the stool to secure the shoe with the slenderest of straps round the ankle. Satisfied at last, Joan pulled down her skirt and straightened.
We drove up to the great house. A splendid black Rolls Royce stood at the front door, and, incongruously, next to it stood Carol’s battered Mini. A uniformed chauffeur was solemnly cleaning the Mini.
My mind was on the coming event. The elegant gilt-edged card had arrived a week before, inviting us to “Lunch with Lady Emily to meet her husband Lord Empton, and afterwards . . .”
The dots betrayed a sense of humour; that at least was reassuring. So Joan had asked Carol what it was all about.
“Oh, I’ve got an invite, too,” Carol had said. “In fact I’ve been once before. Its quite an honour, you know. The Judge selects a couple of promising women from the Club to meet her husband.”
“Promising?” said Joan.
“Well, she keeps her eyes open at the Club, and no doubt . "ncongruous, next to it stood Carol'. to push my nose into the wiry buhas you marked as someone who would appeal to his Lordship. She did ask me about you, and I was happy to spill the beans. She likes to keep him sweet by supplying him with girls. Very fond of spanking, is the great man.”
“Why does she have to keep him sweet with other girls?” asked Joan. “They’re both into spanking, so aren’t they a perfect fit? And by the way, when you say spanking, I think you mean full-blooded caning, don’t you?”
Carol laughed. “Well, you might be right about the caning. But seriously, they are very fond of each other, but they’re both very dom and just can’t stand living in the same house for more that a day at a time. Can you imagine living in the same house as the bossy Lady Emily? He keeps a big house in London, and she lives here, so they are both happy. But he bankrolls her. He’s something big in the city and very rich, so she can spend to her heart’s content up here and he’s happy enough to pay for it all. So once in a while she arranges a lunch party for him.”
“So he must have paid for the extension at the back, where the Court sits?”
“That’s right,” answered Carol. “He knows all about it, and she knows that to keep the cash flowing, she needs to entertain him. And that’s where we come in.”
“So where does John fit in?” asked Joan.
“Oh, he’s to keep her amused. There’s always a man at the lunch for her pleasure and delight. Are you jealous?”
“Well, it works both ways,” said Joan. “I may feel just a bit envious if he gives her a good time, but if we have agreed both to have an adventure at the same party, neither of us has a complaint, have we? Besides, I think we both get a kick out of watching our partner being whipped by someone else.”
“Yes, I know,” said Carol. “I’ve taken part in just such a party. I well remember that evening in your study, with the school secretary. That was a great night, to be sure.”
So that was it! Joan had explained all this to me, so we both knew we would be in for a good tanning at the least.
A young man met us at the door. He must be a sort of butler, I thought. I wondered if he got a taste of the cane from time to time.
In the drawing room Lord Empton made us welcome and insisted on our taking sherry from the tray proffered by the butler. Carol was already there looking radiant. I noted her attire. Like Joan she wore a small black cocktail dress, and her legs looked splendid in dark stockings and black heels. The neckline was much lower, though, and the bust was well braced up to make the most of what she had, which I was sure would please his Lordship. The skirt was much longer than Joan’s. I wondered which our host would prefer; Joan’s short skirt or Carol’s low neckline.
Conversation was not a problem. I stood quietly sipping my sherry as the girls flirted with the older man. They seemed perfectly at ease and happy in his company. In spite of what he was going to do to them, I thought.
The door suddenly opened and Lady Emily appeared. My mouth dropped open, I’m afraid. She had obviously come straight from the stables. Wearing high riding boots, pale coloured jodhpurs, and a white silk shirt open at the neck, she was flushed as if just back from a vigorous ride. A riding crop swung from her hand. It was perfectly obvious to me that the crop had that very morning been used on the flanks of a horse. And that it would shortly be used on me. I felt the beginning of an erection tightening the inside of my pants.
“Ah, my dear,” cried his Lordship, “I’m just entertaining your guests. And very agreeable I find them, too.”
“Thank you, George,” said Emily, walking straight towards me. “Lovely to see you all.” She extended the back of her hand to me. I realised I was to kiss it, and bent. It was awkward, and I touched the hand with my nose, missing altogether with my lips.
This would have been enough to spoil the day for me, but she seemed not to notice, and went on to welcome Joan and Carol. We soon went in to lunch. Emily took my arm and we went first. Lord E followed with a girl on each arm, chatting easily to them. I envied his ability to handle a situation so smoothly. I sat with my lady at the head of the table, and Lord Empton sat at the other end with a girl on either hand. The table was big enough for eight, and we formed two separate groups, deliberately no doubt.
The butler served a light meal. We had spatchcock with lots of pepper and mustard (a first for me) and an elaborate salad with fabulous sauces. Fresh fruit to follow, leaving my hunger satisfied, but I was by no means bloated. Again, well planned, I thought, as soon we would see vigorous action. If I was to be flogged, it should not be on an over-full stomach.
The Judge was drawing me out. “What do you think of the Justice Club, my dear?”
“I think its brilliant,” I said. “I like every aspect of it. The formality, the dress, the nudity . . . but it’s the people you’ve assembled. They all love it. I’d no idea there were so many people into the CP scene.”
“Ah,” she replied. “You don’t know the half of it. We turn down more than we accept. But you’re right . . . they all enter into the spirit. And if anyone gives trouble or breaks the rules, well we know what to do about it, don’t we!”
“Actually, yes,” I said. “And I’ve seen one or two people deliberately breaking the rules to earn themselves an extra few strokes of the cane.”
Lady Emily said, “I saw you talking to Amethyst. She’s one who likes an extra stroke or two. Only too happy to oblige, of course.”
Later I had the temerity to ask why she had started the Justice Club, and what she liked most about it.
“Ah, well, there’s the nub of the matter,” she said, looking thoughtful. “I like watching the action, and I love being in control. But the best answer I can give is that you will have to wait a few weeks. Then its my anniversary treat.”
I asked her what she meant.
“Well, you see, on the anniversary of our initiation, every member has to go through an ordeal again. And the higher the member’s rank the stiffer the ordeal. A novice member only gets six with the cane, or something equivalent. But an elite member gets something much more severe. We’ve even had people leave because they daren’t go through all that again.”
“And your anniversary is due shortly?” I asked.
“Yes. But don’t get too excited. I do have some privileges, and being caned is something I just don’t do. At least, not the level of thrashing that an elite member can expect. But I do get a little whipping. Its as much as I can bear. I’m not really into pain myself, you know. But I do love everything that goes with it, and I do give a good performance. In fact several people have told me my anniversary is THE event of the year. You’ll have a chance to judge for yourself.”
The lunch went on happily. Joan and Carol chatted animatedly to Lord E, who clearly enjoyed the attentions of two lovely young women. He had insisted they called him George, which they were evidently happy to do. The courses came and went, coffee was served, and before I was ready we were moving out of the dining room. The noble Lord led the way with a girl on each arm. Lady Emily took my arm and we followed upstairs. The bedroom was huge. A large double bed had pride of place, and Emily guided me over to it. The other three disappeared behind a large ornate screen at the other end of the bedroom.
Emily sat on the bed, She had brought the riding crop, and with it she indicated I should stand in front of her. “Now you know, John, that I’m going to whip you, don’t you?” she said, smiling at me.
I nodded, suddenly shy and nervous.
“Well, first you can take your clothes off. I liked your body when I saw you at the Club, and I’m going to have a proper look at you today. Come on, off with everything!”
I had come to like and admire Lady Emily, and undressing in front of her was utterly erotic. By the time my underpants tore free from my prick I was hard. “Oh I like that,” said the Lady, smiling. “You are pleased to see me, aren’t you!” She reached out with the crop and played with me, testing the springiness of my prick and the hardness of the testes in my sack. The excitement was intense, but I forced myself to keep my hands out of the way and stand unconcerned. I fooled her not at all.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “I’m not going to whip you there. Its that lovely little bum of yours I’m going to attend to. She stood and walked round me, inspecting me as though I were a soldier on parade. She ran the whip over me. My skin crawled.
She was inspecting that ‘lovely little bum’ when we heard a loud crack from behind the screen. “Come on,” said Emily. “Lets see who’s getting it first.”
She walked across the room and I followed, watching the cheeks inside the jodhpurs jigging up and down. Like her breasts they were generous, and the skin-tight trousers failed to hold them in check. We stopped at the corner of the screen. My attention was held by the sight of my wife’s lovely behind shining white in the light of a table lamp. She still wore her stockings and suspenders whose black lines framed the twin globes. Lady Emily looked up at me and said, “Utterly charming! You have a lovely wife.”
Lord E had removed jacket and tie and rolled up the right shirt sleeve. The canestrokes were hard and accurate. After each stroke Joan’s voice could be heard. “Ouch!” in a high little-girl tone, curiously muffled. “Please!” after the next stroke. “Oh, oh, oh!” after the next, the pitch getting higher and higher.
Stripes were showing already, first pink then darkening and changing colour as I watched. I longed to pass my hand over them. I was sure ridges would already be forming.
I dragged my eyes away from her bottom. Joan was doubled over the end of a sofa. At this end the sofa-back turned the corner to form a sloping backrest for someone reclining with feet up on the seat. It made a perfect support for Joan’s tummy. Her shoulders were low down near the seat. There Carol knelt, skirt pulled up to her waist, legs apart. She was astride Joan’s head, gripping it between her thighs. Carol’s hands had reached under Joan’s body, and I suspected her of holding Joan’s breasts. Carol looked up to catch my eye and smiled.
Six strokes, and George said to Carol, “You can let her up now.”
Carol opened her legs and Joan rose stiffly. Her hair was tousled and her face red. It must have been hot between Carol’s legs. “Is that all?” she said to the man.
“Now don’t be greedy,” he said. “Its Carol’s turn to have some fun now. You can have some more later, don’t you worry.” He looked thoughtful. “Little girls don’t usually goad me like that. I think you’re going to have to be taught a lesson. Just you wait until I’ve touched Carol up a bit. . . or she’ll be feeling all left out of the party.”
Carol was already wriggling out of her dress. She threw it on the floor and reached behind her back to unclip the bra. That followed the dress, and she was already doubling over the end of the sofa. Feet apart, legs straight, she gave a little shimmy to settle herself comfortably. It occurred to me that she had not been wearing knickers, the minx!
Joan knelt on the sofa and gripped Carol’s head between her thighs. She held on to Carol’s armpits to keep her firmly in place. The cane was already tapping at her bottom, and the first stroke lashed down.
As we watched the stirring spectacle I felt Emily’s hand on my bare bottom. It moved smoothly around, stopping now and then to grab the thin flesh every time the cane landed. As I watched the caning and experienced Emily’s fingernails |I became impatient. I wanted my own beating to start.
I turned to her and bent to whisper in her ear. “I want you to flog me,” I urged. “Do it now . . . please!”
We hurried over towards the bed. I heard two more canestrokes as we went. Emily guided me to a small chair, beautifully carved and painted, with dainty curved legs and a tapestry seat. “Hold on to that, my darling,” she said. “You’ll soon have what you want.”
“Oh, but I’m forgetting,” she said. “A little bird told me that you like your ladies to reveal something of themselves.”
I stood up and faced her. “You may unfasten these buttons, my dear,” she said, pointing to the front of her shirt. With trembling fingers I undid each one, and the buttons at each wrist. I had a glimpse of a white bra. The jodhpur waistband was tight, but I tugged the shirt clear. I slipped it off her shoulders.
“Now this,” she said, pointing to her bra. When I unclipped it her breasts tumbled heavily. I looked at them with delight, imagining the way they would shake when she flogged me.
“Right,” she said. “Over the chair with you. And stick that lovely little bottom out.” I feared the way the end of the crop might whip between my legs, so I kept them together. I lifted my head so that I could look about me. I saw she had positioned a tall mirror in a tilting frame just next to my head, and there she was, large as life, breasts devastatingly naked, idly flexing the crop. She was breathtaking.
I hollowed my back to bring my bum into prominence, but it stretched the back of my thighs so I bent my knees a little.
“That’s lovely,” she said, and with a swirl of her torso and a flick of the wrist smacked the crop into my right cheek. I was watching her in the mirror, but was still shocked by the rapid action and the ferocious sting which it delivered.
I do remember thinking at that first cut that it hurt more than a cane. But my main memories are of watching her wonderful body as she laboured over me. She beat me with a smile on her face. She was loving it. I matched her spirit as I received every stroke with a fierce joy. I revelled in submitting to this imperious lady. I seemed the most natural relationship I could have with such a woman, and I was happy.
I watched the jodhpurred hips swing and twist. I watched the flicker as the crop flew through my line of sight. I watched locks of hair flick across her face as the smart coiffure collapsed. I watched one arm outstretched to hold her balance. Above all I watched her breasts thrash heavily from side to side.
Pain? It must have hurt almost beyond endurance, but I remember nothing of that. I did not want it to stop. I must have been beside myself as the pain built up, but within my head I was willing her to go on.
She did stop eventually. I must have taken about twelve lashes. “There, my darling,” she said, putting an arm round my shoulders. “You can have a little rest now.” She helped me stand. When I had recovered myself she said, “Lets go and have a look at the others, shall we?”
She put a hand on my bruised and battered bum and we walked over to the screen.
An amazing sight met my gaze. Not one but two glorious bottoms were on show. Joan and Carol were bending side by side over the end of the couch. Four full moons, still framed by suspenders and stockings, shone out. The difference was that now angry stripes covered the once-white space. Red and black with flecks of yellow. The weals shone and glowed in the light. They must have been intensely sore.
George swung the cane with gusto and struck Joan’s bottom, right in the centre of the damaged zone. Joan gave a scream and jolted her body against Carol, who struggled to regain her balance. George stepped forward a couple of feet and reached out to touch Carol, measuring his distance carefully. When he was ready he struck Carol equally hard, and got a similar response. I could see the girls were at full stretch. This must have been for Joan the toughest beating she had yet endured.
“Give in then?” I heard the great man say.
“Not on your life,” said Carol aggressively.
“How about you, my dear,” said George, bending over Joan.
In a weak voice Joan said, “What are you waiting for?”
So the man straightened and gave Joan a hard cut with the cane.
He was preparing another stroke for Carol, when Emily started forward. “Just a minute,” she said. “That’s a blister!” She pointed to Joan’s right cheek. Sure enough, just where the cane had just landed was a long narrow blister which grew as we watched.
“That’s enough for today,” said Emily, firmly. “In fact that young lady has taken more than a girl should. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, George.”
“Quite right, m’dear,” he replied. “That’s enough for Joan. But Carol has a backside like a rhinoceros. You can take another six, can’t you, my darling!” Not a question, more a statement of the obvious.
“Of course I can. Get on with it, then. Six more.” Her voice was still strong.
We watched George at work. He took his time, giving Carol plenty of recovery between strokes. Carol had stopped screaming, and took each canestroke in silence. Towards the end, though, I realised why. Drops of moisture appeared under her head, and when she stood, slowly and painfully after the six, her face was streaked with tears.
I had never dreamed that the tough Carol could be made to cry. It made me realise what a hard time the two girls had endured.
Emily grasped her husband by the crotch and twisted. “You are a beast, George,” she whispered. An absolute bastard. And when you reach purgatory, I hope you are whipped by naked virgins for the rest of eternity.”
“I probably shall be,” he replied, removing her hand. “In the meantime I’ll whip the virgins.” He grinned, and pushed Emily towards me, patting her on the bottom and saying, “Your turn now, m’dear. Lets see if you can make your young man cry.”
Emily took my arm and guided me back to the chair. My erection, which had grown as we watched the girls, began to sink as the reality of a further beating overwhelmed me.
She whipped me with the crop again. It seemed natural, dressed as she was from the stables. She gave me six. There was no time between strokes for the sting to ease. The pain just built up and up. By five and six it was just about unbearable, and I knew I could not go on.
I stood up clutching my bottom. My face was drawn into a wince. Not wanting to reveal my distress I hid my face from Emily and slowly brought myself under control. Emily put her arms around me, pulling our bodies together. Her breasts pushed at my chest, and I felt her concern. She put her face up to mine, and I felt wetness. My God, I was showing weakness too. Not manly.
I pulled away from her. “I’d like you to carry on. I can manage a few more strokes.”
“Of course, my dear,” she said, very caring. “I’ll give you one at a time, and you can run that lovely little bottom each time.”
“That would be wonderful,” I said, and meaning it too.
We held each other for a moment, and I drew away again and bent over the chair. She struck me with the whip. I watched her breasts in the mirror and gloried in the explosion at my rear. I jolted upright with an “Oh,” clutching myself. It was wonderful. I faced her, still holding my bottom and she smiled sweetly, thoroughly enjoying herself. Eventually she said, “Go on . . . time to bend over, my darling.”
This was much easier to bear. The pain had largely died away by the time she whipped me, and quickly standing after each stroke allowed me to ignore any new agony. And all the time I was conscious of her body.
After each stroke we hugged. Her body was soft and rounded. She was warm from her exertions, and I sensed just the slightest odour of sweat, though whether this was mine, hers or from the stables I did not know. Perhaps all three. My cock was stirring. It was trapped against the softness of her belly, stirring delicious sensations. I hoped there would be no weeping liquid to stain her. The costly hairdo was ruined, and I buried my face in it. Like her body the hair was soft and smooth, and had an aroma of its own. I was in heaven.
The last six strokes took some time. While it was going on, the others crossed the room and his Lordship lay on the bed. The girls had removed his trousers. He was a big man and filled half of the bed. I was too engrossed with Emily to watch what they were doing to him, but I sensed they were very active.
“There, my darling,” said Emily as she hugged me after the sixth stroke, pushing my erection to one side. “I think you’ve had enough . . . for today, anyway.” She held up her face to be kissed. I kissed her on the lips and thought what a privilege it was to experience such affection and intimacy with such a fine woman.
She turned me round and showed me in the mirror what she had done to my buttocks. They were a mass of bruises. Not the merging of the straight ridged marks of a cane. There were some short marks where the shaft of the whip had taken full effect, but mostly the flap at the tip had done the damage. The marks were messy and irregular, and very colourful. I noticed my erection was returning
“Lie down on the bed, my dear,” said Emily. “Never mind the others. We’re going to play a little game, you and I.”
I did as I was told, and lay on my back. Emily stripped off her jodhpurs, not without difficulty because of the tight fit. The bed was so large that I could ignore the goings-on over there. Emily hopped astride me, sitting on my tummy and looking down at me.
“Now we’re going to have a little chat, you and I,” she said.
She paused a moment, then, “You know I don’t like to be whipped. Pain’s not my thing. But, well, there is just one kind of pain I like.”
She put her hands on my chest and rummaged in the hair to find my nipples. They were very small, but she soon gripped them gently with her fingernails.
“Go on . . . get hold of mine, too. We’re going to play a game.”
I reached up and gripped her nipples between finger and thumb, careful not to hurt her. Her breasts were hanging, very full, over me and the nipples were huge. I could feel them getting firmer. She was clearly excited by this, and so was I.
“Now I’m going to squeeze you a bit, my love,” she whispered. “And every time I squeeze you a bit harder, you must do the same to me. Its OK, I’m going to nip you with my nails, and you must do the same to me. The harder I nip you, the harder you do it to me. OK?”
She squeezed me just as I tried to say “yes,” and it came out as a squeak.
“We’re going to nip harder and harder until one of us gives in,” she said. “And gives the codeword . . . RED”
I was sure she would give in long before me. So when she started to squeeze I pressed a bit on her nipples, but gingerly. There is something subtly erotic about having my nipples hurt, and before long my prick was jumping and pressing on Emily’s back.
“Come on,” she urged. “You’re not trying. Come on . . . get your fingernails going.”
I did, and she gave an appreciative “Mmmm.” Her nipples had grown hard like rubber. I was sure I was being too rough, but she suddenly increased the pain in my nipples, which I took as a sign that she wanted it harder.
After that I thought no more about sparing her. She kept on nipping harder and harder, until I was writhing under her. But I pressed more and more with my nails, twisting and tugging so that her breasts were pulled out of shape.
The game went on for ten minutes. I expected she would capitulate, but she never did. Eventually, still applying pressure on my now desperately tender nipples, she leant forward. We both retained our grip. Emily’s mouth was open and I could tell she was going to kiss me. I opened to receive her. Just before she reached me she said, “I’m not going to fuck you, darling John. That’s for Joan. But I am going to have my pleasure of you, just the same. With that she flattened her mouth on mine. Her tongue was everywhere. Her mouth was hot and wet and I relished the taste. It was wild.
We both hung on to the other with our fingernails. The kiss had made me forget the pain, but she renewed the torture by twisting and nipping violently. I tried to cry out, but the noise was muffled inside her mouth. I did the same to her, and felt her own attempted cry.
Time passed in pain and passion and the wildest kind of lovemaking, but I have no idea how long. At last she broke off the kiss and lifted her head. “Its time you capitulated, young man,” she said, tweaking me again. “I never give up. Its up to you, or we’ll still be nipping each other a week from now. Besides there’s something else I want to do with you. Give in?”
I had been determined not to give in, but it was clear that I really must. So I played the game she wanted. “Please . . . please . . . I can’t bear it,” I whimpered. “Please let me go.” And I pretended to cry. I let go her nipples and she sat up on my chest.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she said, smiling broadly and giving me an extra tweak before letting go. Somehow I was more in pain when she let go than when she had been pressing for all she was worth.
Emily lifted off my tummy and shuffled forward until she was astride my head. I loved it when she lowered her fleshy crotch onto me and I searched between her lips for the clit. She helped me by moving forward more, and I found the clit and sucked it into my mouth. I was in seventh heaven. She was hot and wet, and her juices flowed all over my face so I sucked it all in.
Before long I felt a spasm go through her, as though an electric shock had attacked. She tensed while this was going on, clamping her thighs against my ears. This was the most massive orgasm, and I loved it.
She had three more cums before she let me go. The others were less intense, but lasted longer. When she’d had enough she lifted off. The cool air massaged my face, but I was sorry she’d gone. I could have endured that all day.
“That was wonderful, my darling lover,” she said. I could only agree.
After that everything happened at once, and my memory is a blur. Emily told Joan to come over me and fuck me dry. Joan sat astride my hips and lowered onto my prick which had been erect for ages and was vastly tender. It was a relief as her hot and wide-open cunt slid smoothly over me. She was as ready as I, and we both came almost at once. I became aware that his Lordship was squatting behind Joan, his huge hands grasping her breasts. Joan’s head was back, hair thrust into his face, her mouth open as her senses were overwhelmed.
I looked to the side. Carol and Emily writhed together in every variation of sixty-nine. It was becoming an orgy, I thought.
When Joan and I got home we could do nothing but drag ourselves to bed, where we fell asleep in each others’ arms.
Next morning we woke late and lay in bed talking over the previous day’s events.
“How did you get on with Emily’s husband?” I asked.
“He’s an absolute honey,” Joan replied. “Mind you, he’s a devil with a cane. He turned it into a sort of contest between Carol and me. Then he just caned harder and harder to see who would give in first.”
She stopped for a while, thinking about it. I was rather horrified that Joan had been trapped into taking such a vicious punishment. “Then I just got into the right mood,” she resumed. “Carol too. Neither of us was going to give in. I just willed him to make it harder. Goaded him on. Carol did the same. I was revelling in it. The pain didn’t matter. I just wanted to win.”
“And when Carol was being caned?” I asked.
“Oh, well, she had been holding me in place between her legs, so when it was her turn for the stick, I did the same to her.”
Joan paused again, recalling the scene. Then, “It was rather wonderful. I could watch the cane swishing into her, just below me. Carol was a bucking bronco. She nearly threw me off a few times, so I just gripped her tighter. And when she tried to throw back her head she pushed into my crotch. Which she did every time the cane landed. It gave me quite a thrill, I can tell you.”
“Would you go again if we get an invite?” I asked.
Joan was silent for a moment. “Well between you me and the gatepost, George has already asked me.”
“And what did you say?”
“Oh, I said of course I’ll come again.,” said Joan, laughing. “And I’ll tell you something else. Emily got me on one side and asked me the same question. Except that she particularly said would BOTH of us come again.”
“And?”
“And I said of COURSE we would come again.”
