The Bottom Line (19 page)

It was becoming clear that Barbara and I had a higher tolerance to pain than Sharon and Jack, though I suspected that Sharon's limits could be extended, and were much more accustomed to genuinely giving and taking fairly severe punishment, so it was quite a surprise to us when Sharon gave Jack his instructions for the last scenario in the second round. He was to go into the dining room, place a dining chair sideways on to the table and kneel on it, resting his elbows on the table. As we watched Jack take up his position, Sharon ran her hands lovingly up and down the leather belt.

‘It's a good job it's only six,' she confided in Barbara. ‘He deserves more than that, but I'd better not do too much damage or he won't be fit to take a caning from you. I'll see whether I can put one or two stripes on him, though, just for fun.'

Fun for Sharon it may have been, but I got the impression that Jack wasn't used to serious punishment. With the first two strokes she left clear purpling lines that would eventually turn into weals, but after that she eased off and rather stroked the belt across his cheeks, giving Barbara several conspiratorial glances as she did so. There was another impression forming in my mind, which was that Sharon had derived considerable pleasure from being invited to hold Barbara's breasts and that it was an exercise she might well fancy repeating or developing. An interesting speculation, I told myself, and one that we might well turn to advantage some time in the future. I also understood that disappointed look earlier in the evening.

Round two ended with no further damage and we returned to the living room, where Jack offered drinks. Tea and coffee were easily available, or would we perhaps like something stronger. ‘What I really fancy,' I said, ‘is a glass of something chilled and sparkling.'

‘Funny you should say that,' he replied, taking the cue, ‘but I might have the very thing in my fridge.'

He departed into the kitchen and we could hear a series of appropriate noises for the next few minutes, until he returned with a tray bearing four glasses, the bottle of Clairette de Die I'd earlier handed over, and assorted titbits. ‘I think you'll like this one,' he said, ‘it ought to go down quite well and the cold wine should soothe any warmer feelings that you may have by now.'

We sipped our wine appreciatively and nibbled on the goodies, no longer exhibiting any self-consciousness. My erection had subsided, though my prick still felt engorged, and I couldn't see Jack's. I knew the final round would have it standing up again, but I didn't care any more. Once again I began reflecting how much more natural women were than men and, once again, my musing was interrupted by the call to action stations.

I had already decided that I would give Sharon quite a severe tawsing, and that to do that I would need to have her well stretched. Accordingly, I had her kneel on the settee, her knees tight against the end and her arms over the side, gripping the stool I'd placed there. The tawse itself was a lovely instrument with its polished wooden handle and divided leather strap. I knew I had to get the five strands to open up on impact if I wanted to leave my mark and so, after two relatively gentle blows to warm her up, I let her have it with the next three. She took them very well, but there were already a few puffy yellowish lines across her flesh where the edges of the strands had caught her, and I suspected that by the next morning she would be in full technicolour.

I half-expected her to crop me in the same position, but I had to give them both full marks for inventiveness. After the unusual hairbrush treatment she had undergone, Sharon now asked Jack to fetch a sawing bench and asked me whether I would mind being tethered. While I would not normally have agreed to being immobilised by a relative unknown, I saw no danger with Barbara present to ensure fair play, and agreed readily. So I had to lean over the sawing bench, over which a cushion had been placed, while my knees and elbows were secured to the feet with the cords from the discarded dressing gowns. And then she began.

By now I was warming to Sharon, literally and metaphorically. She had been quick to realise that Barbara and I were more than novices and had adjusted accordingly. She made the crop whistle as she tested it spectacularly on the settee and then she gave me four good strokes, every one of which forced the air from between my clenched teeth, while the tongue delivered a serious message as it landed round the side. ‘One to go,' she informed me. ‘Think of me tomorrow, won't you, Graham?' she taunted, as she struck with considerable force from underneath, grazing the tops of my thighs as the crop embedded itself in the soft underside of my bum.

Slowly I straightened up. ‘Yes, I'll think of you tomorrow, Sharon,' I assured her. ‘You've made very sure of that,' and I leaned forward and pecked her lightly as she had pecked me earlier.

Barbara, by way of contrast, caned Jack fairly lightly, although almost any blow from a thin cane leaves a considerable mark. She had him kneel for her on the dining table, so that he was quite high up and all four strokes were aimed upwards. She was sufficiently experienced to know that she didn't need much backswing or arm movement, just a good flick of the wrist to send the cane cutting into the soft flesh, and sufficiently sensitive to realise that Jack was the most vulnerable of all of us. He thanked her when she'd finished and asked her to take up position over the sawing bench, which Sharon had just used for my final punishment.

The cat o' nine tails was quite a ferocious weapon, consisting as it did of a wooden handle about two feet long and nine strands of thin leather. Used viciously it would have opened up the flesh with every blow, causing serious cuts and possibly leaving behind scars, but I was confident that Jack would have more sense than to damage Barbara other than superficially. His words revealed that he, too, was aware of the danger. ‘You've really got the worst possible draw here,' he told her. ‘This doesn't cause much actual pain at the time, but it cuts very easily so you can feel it for days afterwards. If you want me to stop, then I will.'

There was no answer, so Jack moved back, measured the distance and flicked the whip lightly so that nine strands cut sharply across Barbara's taut cheeks. It occurred to me that, had he really wanted to ensure minimum damage, he would have had her standing with her cheeks unclenched so that the surface was better protected, but I was confident that she could handle it.

A second time he struck and a second time there was no reaction, and no apparent marking other than a very faint line. After the third stroke he scratched his head. ‘This is one tough lady,' he said to me. The whip landed a fourth time, this time on Barbara's left cheek only and considerably harder, eliciting a choked gasp from the victim. Jack licked his lips in apparent contradiction of his concern, while my erection stood like a ramrod, a fact I noticed Sharon watching with some interest. For the last stroke Jack changed his angle and cracked the whip across Barbara's right cheek, again producing a strangled cry.

Barbara remained in her kneeling position for some time, finally pushing herself up by both hands and gripping the top of the trestle. She stayed there for a few more seconds, and then pressed firmly down on the wooden frame to raise her knees from the floor and gradually straighten. She put her hands back to feel the damage, and then moved towards Jack. ‘Thank you,' she said, seizing his erect prick and squeezing it two or three times. ‘I know you were trying.' And then she moved to Sharon. ‘I never did get that tawse, though, did I?'

We didn't stay very long after the action had finished. Jack phoned for a taxi and then we compared wounds, got dressed, gulped down cups of hot coffee, and went back to our motel, having first promised to keep in touch. I was doubtful about the likelihood of this, but Barbara was confident that Sharon and Jack, for separate reasons, would both wish to keep in touch. In the event she was to be proved right.

 

 

 

The very first moment I saw Janine I was reminded of Wilhelmina Hoyland. This was not a good thing, since there had been no teacher whom I had hated as deeply and as persistently as I hated Willie. On the other hand, since Janine bore an astonishing resemblance to Willie, this meant that she shared her good points, too. Like Willie she had wavy auburn hair, dazzling blue eyes (although, as I later learned to my cost, they could chill as easily as they could dazzle) and a slender figure with a shapely bottom.

Willie was nicknamed Bumble, though nobody ever used the appellation within a hundred yards of her. It had a double significance, being both an obvious pun on her shape as admired from behind, and an acknowledgement of the fact that she could sting like a bee. She was also blessed with remarkable hearing, as those who carelessly used her nickname were quick to discover.

When I met Janine I was forty, unmarried and living in what would generally be considered luxury, with a job which brought me a six figure income for three days' work a week, a large and elegant flat in the home counties, a sizeable wardrobe and a housekeeper to keep my home, and me, in good order. Janine, in her mid twenties, had been commissioned to translate some of the company documents into Dutch, which was another point of resemblance, since Willie was Dutch by birth.

Willie used to make my life a misery in the sixth form, constantly telling me how useless I was, how idle I was and how hopeless it was for me to aspire to anything beyond a life of drudgery. Few lessons passed without her lacerating me with her tongue and, in a state grammar school with a very rigorous entry policy, one did not argue back with the teachers or complain about the level of verbal abuse to which one was subjected.

So, I left school determined to take my revenge one day on Willie, took up my place at a good university, graduated with honours and eventually established myself in a position where my rather laid-back attitude to life was an asset. Although I was rarely without female company for long, nobody had attracted me sufficiently for me to contemplate marriage. I had enjoyed several sexual relationships, and had been pleased to be told what a considerate and imaginative partner I was, but between partners I could always offer myself instant relief if I needed to.

When I first saw Janine I was indeed between partners, but within a week Janine was in my life, in my flat and in my bed. She wasn't unusually demanding and the couplings would have been no more than routine but for one thing: her bottom. For such a slim person with modest, though pretty breasts, her bottom was a delight: two soft globes covered with peachy skin and divided by the sexiest cleft imaginable. Most of the time we made love with her on top, so I could continue to fondle and explore her bottom while I screwed her. I also developed the habit of spanking it, quite gently most of the time and never using anything other than my bare hand. She didn't object to this and generally accepted whatever ways I found of varying our lovemaking, but I realised quickly that, while she inevitably reached orgasm, sex to her was little more than a favour to me. The one disappointment was that she never touched me very much, except to play with my nipples or, occasionally, if she was more than usually aroused, to pinch them.

When we had been regular partners for a couple of months I invited her to move in with me, and to my surprise she accepted. I was surprised because she seemed to pride herself on her independence, but she accepted the invitation immediately, stipulating only that the smaller guest bedroom should be for her exclusive use. She remained in her job and I in mine, but we accommodated one another by travelling together up to town. During the week we often dined out or took in a show, but at the weekends we spent most of the time in the flat, sometimes having friends round for a drink on the Saturday or Sunday evening. Janine used the spare room only for the wardrobe, and apart from the obvious pleasure of sharing a bed with her, I enjoyed the novelty of waking each morning to find her alongside me.

My friends were intrigued and impressed by her; intrigued because she was the first woman I'd invited to share my home; and impressed because she had a sharp wit and an equally sharp tongue. Whatever the subject of conversation, Janine could be relied upon to find some
bon mot
which was inevitably witty and usually cutting as well.

I'm not sure why I asked her to marry me. Looking back I can see no possible reason, since we were enjoying the comforts of married life without any of the obligations. Marry her I did however, and for a year or so our relationship developed. She seemed to take an increasing interest in sex, for one thing, constantly looking for new ways of titillating me and seemingly taking pleasure in allowing me liberties that, previously, she had merely tolerated.

Although she preferred to be on top, for example, not only because she knew I liked it but also because she came more easily in that position, she now sought to vary the position by having me take her from behind, pushing deep inside her while my belly met the soft roundness of her buttocks and my hands were free to tease her nipples. The spanking continued and, if I had been more severe than usual, she would usually kneel invitingly in front of me. Sometimes I would bring her to orgasm before entering her myself and occasionally I would use a vibrator on her afterwards, although she remained generally suspicious of what she saw as artificial aids.

One of the greatest pleasures, however, had nothing to do with sex. Janine struck up an instant friendship with Radford, my housekeeper. Radford was a widow in her fifties, and the choice of designation was hers alone since I would have preferred to use the conventional ‘Mrs', but she insisted that the bare surname was more appropriate to her place in my establishment. She came in three afternoons a week to clean, shop, wash and iron. If we were likely to be there in the evening she would also prepare an evening meal, leaving strict instructions on how we had to finish the cooking and how we then had to pile all the dirty cutlery and crockery into the dishwasher. Janine liked and humoured her.

Although Radford's hours meant she was unlikely to be in the flat when Janine and I were in bed, it did happen once. We'd returned after lunch, found the flat empty and gone to bed, unaware that Radford was merely out shopping. When she got back she heard noises coming from her employer's bedroom, feared the worst and rushed to the defence of the household, brolly poised to strike, to find us hard at it and covered only by a sheet.

I was mortified but Janine burst out laughing, detached herself from me and went to apologise for having embarrassed Radford who, it must be said, took it in very good part.

‘Only natural,' she said, ‘a young married couple like you two. If you come back early again, though,' she suggested, ‘why don't you leave a briefcase or something in the lobby and I'll know not to disturb you?' Janine thought this phlegmatic acceptance of the situation admirable and she and Radford became firm friends.

For the best part of a year we continued to enjoy one another's company and I continued to enjoy Janine, more or less as frequently as I wanted to. It was noticeable, however, that her tongue was getting sharper as the months progressed, and the cutting edge reached an unacceptable level when Marina came unexpectedly to visit us. Marina was a former girlfriend of mine and as different from Janine as could be imagined. She was large, bubbly and totally genuine. There had never been any question of our striking up a permanent relationship but the sex had been hugely enjoyable and totally uninhibited.

We parted when Marina moved to a new job in Sweden. We had just about explored as much as we wanted to but there was enough genuine affection for neither of us to wish to hurt the other by calling an end to the affair, so her move abroad came at the right time. We parted on the best of terms and with an invitation from me for Marina to pay me a visit whenever she happened to be back in the UK.

Four years had passed since then and our communication limited to a letter inside a Christmas card, so when the bell rang one evening Marina was not among those whom I expected to drop in - a practice I had not generally encouraged.

Yet there she was, as large as life and as bubbly as ever. She flung her arms round me, kissed me enthusiastically and then folded me in a bear hug, by which time Janine had come to the door to see what the commotion was.

‘One of your exes, I presume,' she said, somewhat acidly. ‘Well, are you going to bring her in?' She led the way into the flat, took Marina's coat and invited the unexpected guest to sit down.

Marina, having apparently taken in the situation, apologised for bursting in upon us unannounced and asked whether we would ring for a taxi to take her to the station, but Janine was having none of it. ‘Oh no,' she said categorically, ‘you must stay the night. I've been wondering for some time what Oliver's exes would be like, and now we can compare notes.'

There was quite a lot more bitchiness, briefly interrupted when I offered Marina a drink and a snack, which she gladly accepted. I assumed, wrongly, that Janine would put Marina in her own single room, but she showed her into the larger of the spare bedrooms.

‘I expect you prefer a double bed,' she said sweetly, as though conferring a great favour. ‘No doubt it's what you're used to,' without making it clear whether the allusion was to Marina's size or to her presumed sexual habits.

We stumbled through the rest of the evening, Marina pretending not to notice the digs or the tension. In bed, however, Janine refused to let me near her. I thought at first it was for fear of being overheard, but Janine made it clear that her coldness stemmed from her displeasure that I had given a former partner the address of what was now our marital abode. That I had done so long before meeting Janine was irrelevant, I was told, as Janine resolutely turned her back on me.

‘You've had it every night for the past week,' she told me, ‘so you should be able to do without for once.' There was a short silence during which I caressed her glorious bottom, more in hope than in expectation. Then she resumed. ‘And if you're so desperate I'm sure Marina will oblige. She's in a double bed, after all.' Another silence. ‘Mind you, she needs most of that space for herself.'

I gave up the quest, turned over and eventually drifted off to sleep, but some time in the early morning I was conscious of a noise, or movement, though not of what or where. I got out of bed, armed myself with a torch and went to investigate. The bathroom light was on and the door ajar so I went in, rather tentatively. To my relief it was Marina, in only a pair of knickers, leaning over the bath, and I realised she was spreading a T-shirt over the edge of it as she sensed she was no longer alone.

‘Oliver,' she said, without attempting to cover herself, ‘what are you doing here?'

‘I came to see what the noise was,' I replied, ‘so I could ask you the same thing.'

‘I needed a drink,' she told me, ‘but your taps are so fierce I soaked my T-shirt and I was spreading it out in the hope it might dry by morning.'

‘Nice try,' said a voice from behind me in the doorway. ‘Tell me, is this before or after?'

Janine stood there, her arms folded and an expression on her face that could best be described as a mixture of contempt and triumph.

‘I'm sorry to have intruded, Janine,' Marina said, straightening up. ‘I'll be on my way first thing in the morning.'

I attempted to say something soothing but Marina put a finger to her lips and disappeared into her bedroom. I thought that Janine would go to the single room, but she came with me and we attempted to get back to sleep, both of us realising that to say anything at that point would only make matters worse.

When I awoke with a start I saw it was after seven o'clock and I could hear voices. Janine and Marina were in the kitchen, drinking coffee and chatting as though nothing had happened in the small hours. I didn't know what to say as I realised there had been one of those sudden reversals of alliance that many women favour and which leave men baffled. In fact Marina left shortly afterwards, Janine said she had to go to the office and I spent the day in the flat, going over the events of the past twenty four hours and wondering what, if anything, to do about Janine's behaviour.

But it was Janine herself who took the initiative. When she returned in the late afternoon I was ready to challenge her over what I considered her unacceptable behaviour to a guest, but she brushed aside my comments, saying it had been a simple misunderstanding, easy to make and just as easy to sort out. I wanted to continue the conversation but she insisted on taking a shower.

When she came out of the bathroom she gave me a funny look and said without warning, ‘I'm surprised at you, though; I thought you were an arse man.' Such language and such directness were both novel. Although Janine had a cutting tongue and, at times, an abrasive manner, she was rarely crude or even sexually frank. But this was only the start. ‘What did you make of those tits?' she asked me. ‘I should think they nearly smothered you, didn't they?'

I tried to change the subject but Janine was having none of it. I thought of my former relationship with Marina and how she liked to straddle me, bouncing up and down on my erection as her large breasts swung over me until, finally, I would seize them and squeeze them, which was what she liked most. And then I thought again of Janine, her delicious bottom and what I was going to do to it. In a flash I pulled her over my knee and raised her dressing gown.