The Choice (24 page)

‘Are you sure?’

I nodded, a single urgent motion. She kissed me and began to guide me gently down across James’ lap. He hesitated only a moment, sharing a glance with Violet, who spoke. ‘She needs it, James, trust me.’

He already had me over his legs, and as his grip tightened around my waist all my ill feeling had already begun to slip away. I closed my eyes, everything concentrated on the position I was in and being held tight by a man who wanted me and knew how to handle me. As he lifted my dress it was as if some huge weight was being lifted and not a few ounces of cotton. I lifted my body, wanting to be fully bare, and again it was Violet who understood immediately.

‘All the way up, and lift her bra.’

I nodded my acquiescence, sighing as my bra was unclipped and tugged high, spilling my breasts out against his legs and
the
material of the sofa. He didn’t feel them, but put his hands straight to my knickers, lifting the waistband and peeling them slowly down off my bottom. Again I sighed, and let my legs come apart until my knickers were taut between my thighs, deliberately showing myself off behind. It felt right, completely open to him, and had he chosen to slip a finger inside me before the spanking began I’d have accepted it.

Again his arm tightened around my waist, his hand settled on my bottom, and it had begun, firm and steady, hard enough to sting. I gave in immediately and completely, lifting my bottom to the smacks and gasping out my feelings into the sofa. In no time at all I’d begun to warm, and before long I’d slipped my hand back between my legs, without the slightest embarrassment as I began to masturbate. He understood, he cared. To him my reaction was a precious gift, an act of submission and of love from woman to man, not some unbalanced fantasy rooted in misery and hate, thoughts which had the tears streaming down my face even as I came to climax under my fingers.

I spent the night with James and Violet, and woke in his huge old bed with him between the two of us. When we’d slept together before it had always been Violet who went in the middle, and as I got up to put the coffee on I was wondering whether the events of the night before had triggered some change in the dynamic between the three of us. After I’d come, Violet had asked for the same treatment, and James had stayed firmly in charge of both of us for the rest of the night, rather than Violet dealing with me.

By the time we’d got to sleep it had been nearly three o’clock, and I’d woken to full, hot sunlight streaming in through the windows. It was nearly noon, but I had no desire whatsoever
to
return to Oxford, or to hurry at all, despite the hundred and one things I was supposed to be doing. None of it seemed important, for all that I knew I’d neglected my revision for prelims to make time for rowing and the Chamber. I felt warm and safe, happy to go naked as I padded between kitchen and bedroom with the coffees, and unconcerned for a life that felt distant in both time and space.

It was neither, and as we sipped at the hot liquid and talked my mood gradually changed, to an urgent need to get as much out of what would probably be my last free day before the end of term. Unfortunately Violet was still half asleep, while James was clearly content to lie there with the two of us snuggled up to his chest, perhaps not surprisingly. He was also keen to make future arrangements.

‘Violet says you’d like to see us over the holidays? We’ll be here most of the time, and of course you’re very welcome to stay, but we’re going to take a cottage again and we’d like you to come.’

‘Normandy?’

‘Not in the summer. We were thinking of the Ardennes, or somewhere in eastern France, even Germany.’

Violet put in a sleepy comment. ‘Somewhere with plenty of woodland … lonely woodland.’

‘Yes, please. I’d love to come.’

I took another sip of coffee and pulled James’ arm around my shoulders. It was a wonderful prospect, the three of us all alone somewhere we’d be able to indulge ourselves to the full without the slightest risk of being caught. I was well overdue a birching, or James could punish me the way he’d done Violet the night before. Then again, I wasn’t going to need to change in the boathouse for the rest of term, while after what had happened last night Stephen wasn’t likely to be seeing my bare bottom.

‘Put me on the hook!’

Violet had closed her eyes, but opened one. ‘Eh?’

‘Put me on the hook. I don’t have to worry about marks any more.’

She rolled over, muttering. ‘Whip the little baggage, will you, James. It’s too early for me.’

James merely chuckled and carried on drinking his coffee, but I wasn’t being put off. I climbed out of bed, and made my way downstairs, where the ropes still hung from the hook. Violet’s wrists had been in a pair of rope cuffs linked together with strong metal clips, and it was easy to put my own in and snap the link closed. I immediately realised I was in trouble. She was not only taller than me, but had also been in built-up heels, so that I was forced to go on tiptoe. I couldn’t open the link again either, leaving me completely helpless. James laughed and I twisted around to find him standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his dressing gown half closed across his chest.

‘I’m a bit stuck here.’

‘That, Poppy, is the idea.’

‘Yes, but I’m not as tall as Violet and I’m barefoot …’

‘So I see. Being like that shows you off rather well.’

‘A couple of inches maybe, please?’

‘No. Try to enjoy being in an awkward position. It should add to the experience.’

‘Yes, but …’

He had picked up the whip, which looked heavy and painful. I did my best to pose as he lifted it behind his shoulder, looking back at him with my apprehension soaring. He brought it down, the suede thongs landing with a smack across my flesh, but it didn’t hurt at all, producing only a heavy, diffuse sensation, certainly nice but in no way painful.

‘You can do that again.’

‘I intend to. This was going to be a treat before you went down.’

‘Violet said, but she wouldn’t tell me what. Sorry I spoiled it.’

‘There are other things, two of which I intend to try on you today, as you’re so keen. Are you sure about marks?’

‘Yes … I want some.’

As we’d been talking he’d continued to flog me, laying the soft heavy thongs across my back and bottom and thighs to a steady rhythm but with each blow a little harder than the last. I’d begun to feel the blows, quickening my breath and making my body jerk each time. He was reacting too, his dressing gown now open to expose his cock, which had begun to swell. I hung my head, wondering what he’d do to me and delighting in the knowledge that I was helpless to prevent him.

He changed his rhythm, suddenly, bringing the whip around in a long lazy arc to fall across my breasts. I gasped, jumping on my toes against the shock but keen for more, my chest pushed well out. He’d begun to grin as he continued, amusing himself with me by never letting me know where the whip was going to fall until the last instant, using it to make my breasts bounce and my bottom cheeks jiggle, swinging it up between my legs to smack gently against my sex.

I was in heaven, my entire body aglow, my skin warm and starting to prickle with sweat, while the state of his cock made it very clear that he was enjoying the view and my helpless, aroused reactions. Soon he was fully erect, and again and again I thought he would put it in me, but he held off, tormenting me until I was wriggling on the end of the rope and pushing my hips in and out in my need.

At last he returned the flogger to the table and stepped close, but only to make a brief inspection of my bottom and pull at each of my straining nipples, before calling upstairs. ‘Violet, the cane, please.’

There was no response, forcing him to call again. ‘Violet, would you please bring down my cane, or you’ll be getting it first.’

She appeared a moment later, looking worried. So was I. The thing she was holding was a metre length of thin pale-brown cane with a crooked handle, the sort of thing I’d only ever seen in old cartoons which had made me very, very glad I’d been born too late to have one used on me. Now it was going to happen.

I couldn’t stop wriggling, and my heart had begun to race as he reached up to take the wicked-looking thing from Violet. She was still holding her coffee mug, lazy and elegant as she leaned on the balustrade, but her eyes were glittering with pleasure and her mouth had come a little open in her excitement at the prospect of me being given the cane. James had come close again, and drew one finger slowly down between the cheeks of my bottom, pushing between to enter me and to tickle my anus. I gasped, pushing against his hand by instinct, and he gave a pleased nod.

‘She’s ready. Six strokes is traditional.’

He stood back, measuring the cane across my cheeks. I’d kept my bottom stuck out as best I could, determined to behave, but when he brought the cane down it was like having a line of fire drawn across my cheeks. I could take it though, just, and was quickly back in position, the target presented for his attention.

The second was worse than the first and the third worse still, forcing James to wait while I jumped up and down on my toes in a vain effort to dull the pain. I’d got to the point of thinking I was mad to let him hurt me so much, and with the fourth I very nearly called out for it to stop. Only my need to find my barrier kept me in place, and it came with the fifth stroke, no less painful, but leaving me with a sense of regret that it was nearly over.

I got back into position for the sixth, glancing at James’ straining cock as I pushed my bottom out. He was going to have me as soon as he was done, whether I liked it or not. My body was ready, my sex wet and vulnerable, brought on heat by a whipping as I dangled helpless on the end of a piece of rope. The cane struck home one more time and I’d been done, caned, with six livid scarlet welts criss-crossing my bottom.

James dropped the cane and came straight to me, his cock in his hand, with Violet laughing and clapping to see the state he and I were in. I felt him between my legs, but not in me, and I knew I was going to be treated to the same delicious fate he’d given us both at the blockhouse. Now it was better still, with my burning bottom cheeks pushed against him and his arm tight around my hips, as he took me to an orgasm that made me scream and left my vision hazy before he slid himself deep into my body for his own satisfaction.

16

I DID NOT
want to go back. Unfortunately I had to, and being with Violet made it a lot easier. I stayed with them on the Sunday night, the first time I’d done so, and James dropped us off first thing in the morning. It took a conscious effort not to hold hands as we came into the lodge, and I was sure the porter’s smile hinted that he at least guessed something was going on.

There was a note from Stephen in my pigeonhole, asking where I was. I’d had my mobile switched off, and he’d also sent me a text, so had clearly realised that something was wrong. The last thing I needed was an emotional crisis, and I found myself wondering what I should do, and cursing him for being unable to understand my needs. I’d been ready to spend the rest of my life with him, and had suffered enough trying to make one compromise without needing to come to terms with another.

It was possible, just about, because if he was going to keep seeing Giles I could see no reason why I shouldn’t have a similar arrangement with James and Violet, although I knew it would never be entirely satisfactory and was also extremely risky. As I’d learned since I’d first gone to bed with Violet, the wonderful thing about same-sex relationships, particularly between women, is that nobody suspects anything unless you’re really quite blatant about it. Unfortunately my relationship with Violet was getting to that point, while, if I was to include James, the three of us would need to be very discreet indeed, especially in the long term.

I knew the answer, or at least the answer most people would have given me: to stick with Stephen and stop behaving like a perverted little slut. Dad would have phrased it less harshly, but it would have been what he thought, Mum too; thoughts that weakened what had seemed such an obvious choice over the weekend and added to my indecision about Stephen. In the end I took the coward’s way out and sent him a text apologising, but not explaining where I’d been.

With Eights Week past and my position as Recorder assured, I could at least concentrate on prelims. Fail and I was out, and if there was one thing I was absolutely sure of it was that I wanted to remain at Oxford. So I spent the day at lectures and revising, with an ever-growing awareness of just how much I needed to cram into my head in order to be sure of passing. I had no hope whatsoever of gaining a distinction.

My work did at least give me an excuse not to see Stephen and so avoid the awful choice between having to accept sex, lying to avoid it and having a serious talk which might well break up our relationship. There was also the state of my bottom to be considered, as anybody who saw me bare could not possibly fail to realise that I’d been caned, which is not something that’s easy to explain away.

I’d forgotten all about Wednesday at the time, but could now see it was going to be a problem. The most sensible choice seemed to be to cry off sick, but as I sat in the Chamber bar on the Tuesday evening, nursing a well-earned glass of port after an afternoon of solid revision, Giles appeared at my elbow, looking even more pleased with himself than usual.

‘Presently, Poppaea, you will be thanking me in broken tones for the favour I have done you, and for which I charge not even the use of your pretty mouth.’

I gave him a filthy look, completely wasted as he went on.

‘Uncle Randolph will be joining us for dinner tomorrow, and
thanks
to my influence he will be making you an offer. Do not turn it down.’

‘What is it?’

‘Ah ha, you must wait and see. Suffice to say that it could very well be the making of you.’

‘No, seriously, what is it? I’m not in the mood for games, Giles.’

‘No? That’s not what I’ve been hearing.’