Subculture (20 page)

‘I need release,' Marie-Rose whispered, her rump now obscenely raised with the aid of the cushion.

‘I'll let you come after you ask nicely for twenty strokes of the two tailed tawse,' Michael replied. He knew that she could take the first ten - her flesh looked lively but not excessively chastened. From strokes eleven onwards she'd probably start to beg.

‘I'm waiting,' he murmured. He stared as the arse before him went through it's familiar love-hate pantomime. It quivered at the shame involved in accepting further punishment. It trembled because it knew its owner was going to ask for the pain. Then the bare bum received instructions from the clit that said do it, do it, do it. Marie-Rose let her head flop down more fully as she cleared her throat.

‘Please chasten me fully, sir,' she muttered in the most humble tone that she seemed to be able to muster.

‘Is that's what your bum needs, dear?' Michael mockingly said. He flicked back the tawse and used it four times so that the wide stripes partially merged together. Then he stayed his hand. ‘I'm bored with thrashing you,' he said with deliberate coarseness. ‘You don't seem to be trying. I've no incentive to finger that hungry little clit so I'm getting ready to walk away.'

‘Christ no.' He'd genuinely left the scene in some of his early sessions with the receptionist when her humility failed her. Now she found the words that would please him. ‘Master, please bring the tawse down as hard as you can.' Her rump tensed and untensed in growing humiliation. ‘Please turn my arse ruby red.'

‘Keep going,' Michael ordered. ‘I want to be sure that your bottom knows it deserves chastisement.'

‘Please thrash my arse till I beg for mercy,' the receptionist said.

‘And what way will you beg?' Michael parried. ‘Will you wriggle over to me on your soft warm belly? Or will you crawl like a bitch in heat on your hands and knees?'

‘On my belly... kiss your toes... crawl around so that you can inspect my reddened bum,' the forty year old said gutturally. ‘I need to come. I've got to. I'll do it any way.'

‘Yes, you've a hungry little clit, but it's that rump which really needs attention,' Michael murmured. He lashed the leather punisher onto her nates again.

His lover took fifteen strokes before she gasped out, ‘Master, please. No more. I can't bear it.'

‘No more rubbing your clit?' he murmured with growing sexual desire and enjoyment as he ceased to warm her exposed flesh with the tawse.

‘No more thrashing, I beg you,' the Maltese woman whispered, parting her juice-slicked suntanned legs.

‘But I like warming your bum. And you've been bad, and you've admitted you deserve this.' He traced the leathery tails down her dripping labia then over her buttocks, teasing each tender line. In a few seconds her bottom would cool slightly and her libido would rise, and she'd ask nicely for the remaining five tawse strokes. He'd slowly oblige. That hard won sore-bummed submission would bring her to her climactic edge; it always did so. Then he'd use his fingers or his cock to take her the final way.

Michael set down the tawse and palmed her tormented globes. ‘They're sizzling prettily,' he murmured, ‘but they deserve to flinch further.'

‘I don't think I can bear it,' the receptionist reiterated, moving her hips the little she could from side to side.

‘Can't bear five more lashes then endless pleasure?' He slid his right hand under her belly to cup her mons. ‘Can't bear to have your clit touched like this?'

‘Ooooh, that's...' Words seemed to fail her. But her liquid sex had its own body language as it squirmed ravenously against his hand.

‘Five more of the tawse,' he repeated, stopping the clitoral contact.

‘Couldn't I take them afterwards?' Marie-Rose asked gutturally.

‘No, my dear. Continuity is all.' He straightened up and took a few steps back from her body. ‘But if you've had enough for tonight I'll be very understanding and we'll just call it quits.' He began to turn away. ‘Shall I ask Jamilla to bring you extra coffee, my dear, or a liqueur? You couldn't have finished your after dinner refreshment, you arrived in my room with such haste.'

‘Stay, please. Take the tawse. Don't want any coffee,' the receptionist said in a wild rush. He looked back to see her turning her head towards him, each feature pleading. Her mouth was slack with desire, eyes glassy with lust.

‘Beg for what you want,' he ordered dispassionately.

‘I... please, Master, I want five more lashes of the tawse,' the forty year old mumbled, her lids fluttering down.

‘And you won't try to push your belly forward?' he asked softly, running the leather strap through his hands and staring at her punished posterior.

‘No, Master. I'll even push my bum further out,' Her voice told him she was moving close to a convulsive climax now. ‘And I won't flinch at all.'

Michael lined the punisher up with her behind. The submissive woman always flinched, even when she promised not to. It was human nature. But warning her not to move increased the excitement for them both.

‘Shall I aim all five in the middle, or shall I stripe you with parallel lines?' he murmured in a low tone, obviously talking to himself rather than to the receptionist.

‘Parallel lines please sir,' Marie-Rose murmured. ‘Not a concentrated pain.'

‘Dear me, my tawsing arm feels quite enraged,' Michael said, ‘because your bare bum just voiced an opinion.' He pulled the tawse back and got ready to apply it. ‘You're here to be thrashed into submission, not to speak.'

‘Sorry, sir. I'm being better, sir,' Marie-Rose got out, and he could tell that the admission had brought her even closer to orgasm. She'd sometimes come from simply being whipped and talked down.

‘I hope it's going to be a silent bum, an unmoving bum, or I may have to discipline it further,' he said softly. ‘May have to double the number of strokes of the two-tailed tawse.'

‘Please, no more of the tawse, sir.' Marie-Rose's poor rump did a little twitching dance. ‘Such a sore bum already. I'll take a spanking or go stand in the corner if I'm bad.'

‘I may make you stand in the herb garden.' Michael elaborated. ‘Use those twin rotundities as a scarlet scarecrow.'

He looked at her puffy pubis, nearing ecstasy like his own. Then he laid on the last five strokes with moderate intensity, strong enough to heighten her submission but not painful enough to momentarily take the long-built lust away.

Stepping forward, Michael put one hand on her deep buttock crease before sliding the other under her soft warm belly. Moved some of the vaginal gel up from her labia and circled it gently around her clitoris.

She was almost coming already. He could see it in the engorged view her labial leaves presented. He could feel it in the swollen size of her sex. Her thighs tightened with near-rapture as he gently played with her satisfaction source.

‘Lisa's watching from her window,' he whispered, fondling her folds. ‘Bakar's staring over from the greenhouse. Dania's gazing over from the stable grounds.' He played her clit with the lightest touch. ‘They're all looking at your nakedness. They're pointing and laughing. Bakar's indicating that he'd like to tease your hot clitoris next.'

‘Uh,' Marie-Rose grunted. ‘Uh! Ah! Aaaaaaaaaaah!' The thought of being tormented by a boy less than half her age seemed to make her humiliation complete and she drove herself against Michael's fingers and gasped and wailed and yelled. Her orgasm seemed to come in waves, causing her to thrust forward, then move back, then push inwards. She drove her pubis into him so forcibly that he feared that his fingers might break. ‘Oh,' she gasped out as her thigh-tightening convulsions at last began to lessen. ‘I was so... needed so much...'

‘I know,' he murmured into her back. ‘When I suggested we break for coffee instead of a climax, you should have seen your face.'

‘You can be such a bastard,' his Maltese lover whispered, easing herself slowly up from the wall, then flopping on her bare knees onto the ground beside it. She put her hands to her waist, obviously intending to smooth her skirt down but Michael told her to keep it in place. ‘Do you want me on my back?' she asked softly.

‘No,' Michael said, smiling. ‘I hoped that you'd stay on your knees.' He paused, searching for the most suitable words. ‘As you didn't finish your coffee I thought that you might like a milky drink.' He wanted to look down at her chastened rump as she sucked him. He knew that - like her - he would come really quickly. Punishing a bare bum was all the foreplay that he needed. A few sucks from her willing mouth and he'd have release.

Assuming that she was willing, of course. He always kept the sexual side light-hearted, unassumptive. These women had agreed to be punished for work-related misdemeanours. That didn't give him the right to possess their bodies as well. He'd been lucky so far with each session - the correction left them as horny as it did him. Michael's cock lengthened at the thought of the pleasure yet to come. He'd found that a thrashing often made a submissive woman more keen to lick and suck his phallus. After a thorough chastisement Marie-Rose often took him in her mouth extra deep.

Tonight was no exception. Michael stared at her crimson bottom as she unzipped his suit trousers and liberated his throbbing erection. Then her lipsticked mouth enveloped its leaking tip. He watched as the smooth round head of his cock disappeared into her soft sultry mouth ever so slowly. Her bum muscles tightened as she bent her head forward to take him in.

God, he loved looking at a punished arse. Correction made a submissive woman look truly beautiful. He loved hearing her plead and watching her mons get wet.

‘I hope that you're paying due reverence to my cock,' he whispered, staring at her chastened rump. ‘I'll bear your performance in mind when I next thrash that bare bottom.' In answer, Marie-Rose ran her free hand under his fluid-filled balls. Somewhere in his sac the ecstatic pulsing started. Michael thrust his hips forward, cried out into the open air and came.

Afterwards they dressed and showered together, then rested on his bed in his room. Soon the receptionist was sleeping deeply. Michael lay on his back, body tired, mind awake. Marie-Rose had brought him physical relief, and for that he was grateful. But his psyche was still churning because Lisa had become so uncommunicative and cold.

Why had she turned her back on him, on what they'd had and what they could have? She'd threatened him with the police, yet she knew damn well that spanking her bottom wasn't a sadistic act. Couldn't she admit to her submissive self that a little buttock-based pain was a prelude to almost endless genital pleasure? Couldn't she tell that he wasn't a violent man?

 

Reece smiled to himself as he watched a pair of turtles mating. This Singaporean aquarium was spectacular, and he wished that Lisa was here to share in its charms. She'd also love the country's verdant parks, and large plush gardens. She'd adore its equatorial warmth. If only she could be here, accompanying him around the island on this, one of his few days off.

After lunching in a Cantonese restaurant, Reece began to walk around the gold jewellery shops in search of gifts for his always appreciative Lisa. He watched, frowning, as a male manager ordered a blushing female assistant around. The girl's lipsticked smile was a travesty of submission. Though women here worked outside the home, they were still seen as subordinate to men. Reece sighed. He hated it when women treated him differently because of his gender. He wished again for the easy equality that he and his fiancee shared. On future trips she'd hopefully accompany him, then continue her own freelance herbalism. It would turn each contract from a somewhat lonely slog into a vacation of sorts.

Not that it was all bad here on his own. Reece bought a gold leaf stand in which Lisa could display her many bottles of essential oils. As he waited for it to be wrapped, he thought about his ongoing project. The Singaporean team had proved to be tireless workers, insightful and bright.

But the island's many good points couldn't make up for its prison's infamous brutality. Reece shivered as the couple next to him began to discuss a foreigner who'd been sentenced to several lashes of the barbaric Singapore cane. The woman was talking; she sounded Australian. ‘Six strokes with it and the prisoner is unconscious,' she said.

‘So Saleh was telling me,' the man replied. ‘His cousin was thrashed for stealing a car. He fainted when he heard the sentence. Saleh saw his back six months after the caning - says he'll be scarred for life.'

Suddenly the gold looked less pleasing to the eye, the assistant's smile more mechanical. Reece walked away with his package, trying to push the bloody vision from his mind. He'd read that flogging was common on the island, was mandatory for over thirty crimes.

He'd also read of the way the punishment was carried out. It was savage, even merciless. The prisoner would be strapped to a trestle. The man wielding the cane would ensure that its long thick contours split the skin. Blood would spurt out and the prisoner would scream, then moan, and usually lapse into semi-consciousness. Afterwards he'd need urgent medical care. And it wasn't just young men who suffered such a fate; any man under fifty could be so brutalised.