Tie and Tease Read online

  As soon as I’d got the rhythm of sucking I sneaked a hand back between my thighs to masturbate. My pussy was soaking and it would have taken only a moment, but I was in no hurry. Instead I explored my bottom as I sucked him, feeling the lines of roughened skin where the cane had bitten into my flesh. They stung, a hot, sharp sensation, sexy now that I was fully aroused. Reaching back between my cheeks I touched my bumhole, feeling the tight ring and thinking of the moment my panties had come down to show it off in a vulgar, dirty display of my most intimate secrets.

  Percy watched me touch myself, his eyes flicking between my beaten bottom and my lips where they were pursed around his erection. I wanted to come with him still in my mouth, or perhaps immediately after him, with his come in my throat or splashed across my face. He was likely to take a long time, though, and I was beginning to get urgent. I forced myself to complete my exploration of my bum, stroking and fondling myself while I thought about my beating, the pain, the humiliation and the way I had cried.

  I began to imagine how the magazine editor would have felt watching me being punished: her outrage as I obeyed Percy’s instructions, adopting a pose of blatant submission, exposing my bottom for beating, blubbering my way through the caning, bending to have my anus inspected and finally sucking his cock. That was too much and my hand went to my pussy, two fingers opening my lips, another beginning to rub at my clit.

  Percy took me by the hair and started to fuck my mouth. I rubbed harder, hoping to get the moment right, thinking of the editor and Beth staring at me, horrified at my grovelling obedience to a dirty old man, staring at my whacked bottom and Percy’s stiff little cock, my bulging cheeks and eager lips, my wrinkled bumhole and gaping, sodden pussy, my fingers working frantically in wet flesh . . .

  I came, a long, glorious climax better by far than either of those I’d had with Beth. Even as my muscles clenched and my back pulled in I was thanking myself for being such a slut, for enjoying my beating, for enjoying my own humiliation, for being dirty, and rude and so, so free. I was still coming when Percy’s cock jerked in my mouth, slipped out, bumped my lips. He ejaculated, full in my face. My mouth came open and I took him back in, sucking the come up as my ecstasy died slowly down, rose to a second, lesser peak and then died again.

  My face was a mess, with sperm in one eye and hanging from my nose as well as in my mouth and on my lips and chin. I ran for the bathroom, and couldn’t help but laugh when I saw myself in the mirror, sideways on with my cane marks showing and one eye glued shut by a big blob of sperm, top up, panties down, a classic image of a used girl and a thoroughly happy one.

  I felt a lot better for my caning, with my self-confidence restored and a familiar warm glow behind. After a lengthy session rubbing cream into my cheeks in Percy’s bathroom I emerged to find him reading Metropolitan. His normally ruddy face was going purple, so I took it away from him and suggested lunch, to which he agreed with enthusiasm.

  He listened to the full story as we ate, tiny steaks and fluffy potatoes washed down with something called Irancy. The fox-hunting amused him, although he admitted it all sounded a bit active for his taste. The episode with the police had him fuming again and going on about the abuse of personal freedom, so I quickly switched to what I’d done afterwards, which delighted him. My seduction of Beth had him grinning like the wicked old satyr he was, but at the end he said that two dozen strokes would have been a more appropriate punishment for me if he’d know the whole story in advance.

  When I left I was in a thoroughly good mood, albeit slightly uncomfortable when I sat down on the tube. Until then I hadn’t been sure if I’d see Beth again. Now I knew I would, telling myself it was for her own good, but knowing underneath that it came from a determination to impose my own will over that of the wretched magazine. The fact that I’d lied to her and she thought I was a filing clerk from Reading didn’t seem to matter, I just needed her joyfully dishing out a spanking or with her own bum bright red and a big smile on her face.

  It was one thing to think about introducing Beth to the delights of kinky sex, quite another to do it. Anderson and Vicky were at Amber’s when I got back, and although all three of them were delighted with my story, only Anderson agreed that I ought to see her again. Vicky couldn’t understand why I’d bother when I had plenty of dirty-minded girlfriends to play with. Amber agreed, and might have wanted to point out that I was her girlfriend, but could hardly justify the stand when she had spent the morning driving Vicky as a pony-girl.

  I assured Amber of the depth of my faith with a hug and a kiss, by which time Anderson had started on a deliberately melodramatic spiel about how it was our duty to save the unfortunate Beth from the twin monsters of prudery and repression. This involved standing on a chair and waving his arms about, which made Amber and Vicky laugh, more or less winning the argument.

  They took turns to read my magazine while he drank tea. It annoyed Vicky much as it had annoyed me, for denying her enjoyment of bondage and punishment while preaching self-expression. Amber was less fussed, pointing out that we were in no way obliged to pay any attention to it. Anderson reacted much as Percy had done, principally complaining about the way real men were denigrated while the readers were invited to strive towards a phantasm of male perfection. I pointed out that if only he would drop his perverse behaviour and do as Vicky told him he himself would be pretty close to the ideal, which drew a contemptuous snort and a threat to spank me on the spot. I’d already shown them the state my bottom was in, and pointed out that for the time being I was off limits. He shrugged and went back to the magazine, turning to the article about rubber as street wear.

  ‘The knack,’ he remarked after a while, ‘would seem to be to take one of the fetishes they consider acceptable and follow it to the logical conclusion.’

  ‘How so?’ I demanded.

  ‘Well, rubber for instance,’ he went on. ‘These dresses are pretty, but nothing like as rude as some of the rubberwear around. You could try a rubber skirt, see what she thinks; try something a bit naughtier, perhaps at a nightclub with a mildly risque dress code. Have you seen Vicky’s one with the lacing at the back from neck to hem?’

  ‘Yes, but it might take ages, and it would be a pretty expensive process.’

  ‘Leather then. Have you got any clothing-grade hides in stock, Amber?’

  ‘A couple,’ she admitted, ‘a black one and a zebra print I got in a bundle by mistake.’

  ‘Excellent!’ he answered. ‘Use the zebra print to make up a cavegirl outfit, indecently short with plenty of tummy and back on show. Naughty, but nothing to raise an eyebrow in a modern club.’

  ‘How’s that going to get me spanked?’ I asked.

  ‘Easy,’ he said. ‘You enjoy the club, get drunk, go back to her flat, start playing silly games like being pulled by your hair, that becomes play wrestling, you slap her bottom, and before you know it she’ll slap yours back. Giggle and stick it out and you’ll have your spanking in no time.’

  ‘You’re thinking of Vicky,’ I pointed out. ‘Beth wouldn’t go for it.’

  ‘Would she go as far as the play wrestling?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Then surely she’d spank you, if only to get back at you if you did her? I mean your bottom, in a leather mini-dress, how could anyone resist smacking it?’

  ‘You couldn’t, that’s for sure.’ Vicky laughed.

  ‘Beth could. I begged her for it, and we were drunk, and we’d been kissing. She told me I didn’t really want it.’

  ‘Didn’t want it? How could she know what you want or don’t want?’

  ‘She thinks the evil Mark has brainwashed me into enjoying abuse,’ I explained. ‘According to Metropolitan, all sadomasochistic games are abuse and as such unacceptable. Men dressing up as maids or taking the odd smack being the exception. You can’t genuinely want a spanking: you just think you do.’

  ‘Eh? I’ve wanted to be spanked ever since I learned how to come!’

  ‘I know, I
know, me too. In fact the first time I ever came was after a spanking, from my aunt as it happens. Beth would say that enjoying it was my mind’s way of dealing with the trauma.’

  ‘What a load of crap! That’s like saying you only enjoy driving a fast car to cope with having had to pay for the thing. It’s the other way around: you pay for it because the pleasure is worth the cost, just like the pleasure of a spanking is worth the pain, but you can’t get that pleasure without the pain! Explain that to her.’

  ‘You could borrow a nice car, or even pinch it. Besides, the threat of a spanking is enough to come over sometimes, or just having my panties pulled down in preparation, so the pain isn’t strictly necessary.’

  ‘Don’t be awkward, Penny, that only works once the fantasy is established in your head, and you know it. You have to have at least one spanking to be afraid of what you’re being prepared for.’

  ‘Sit on her and spank her pink,’ Anderson cut in. ‘Once her endorphins kick in she’ll be putty in your hands, or wobbly red bottom-flesh anyway.’

  ‘That’s not consensual, Anderson, and anyway, she’s bigger than me, if not by much.’

  ‘Get Vicky to do it, or Amber, or Ginny. Why not all three of them?’

  ‘Don’t be silly; the poor girl would be terrified. The only reason that I managed to get her to take me to bed was because I’m so completely unthreatening. She called me her little kitten at one point.’

  ‘Next time she does that, scratch her, start playing kitten games. With luck she’ll get off on it and it can’t be too hard to get from one sort of erotic pain to another.’

  This was Amber’s suggestion, and better than anything Vicky had to offer, let alone Anderson. I wasn’t sure about it, though, and in ways I’d spoiled my own bid by going into such lurid detail about the way Mark had used me. Like Vicky, I was so used to spanking as a turn-on that it was hard to imagine someone being scared of it. If Beth hadn’t been before she probably was now. The dress was a nice idea though, even if I didn’t think Anderson’s plan would work. At the worst I’d end up with a new naughty dress, and if I combined it with the kitten idea it had to be worth a try.

  ‘Do you feel like doing some leather work, then?’ I asked Amber.

  She nodded, drained the remains of her tea and stood up. In nearly five years I’d gained a pretty good understanding of how she thinks. Being in her dress while I played with Beth would go a long way to making up for any bad feelings she might have about me doing it. It was like being Amber’s pony-girl but under someone else’s control. They might be driving me, training me, even having full sex with me, but I was still in her harness: I was still her pony-girl. Of course, there was another thing. She knew full well that if I did successfully corrupt Beth, she would be the first to benefit, and she does like a new filly to train.

  We crossed the yard to the old forge that is now her workroom, a high, red-brick building that I still can’t enter without a shiver of pleasure. It was the first place she caned me, and more besides, while the walls are hung with things designed for the restraint and punishment of girls, and men for that matter, including a boss of chains at the centre of the ceiling. When she’s been working the smell of leather is almost overpowering, and if it didn’t do much for me at first, over the years it has come to be associated with sex.

  Now was no exception, with the rich tang heavy in the air. Vicky took a deep breath as she came in and let it out with a long sigh. Anderson chuckled, much in the way Percy always did when faced with a well-fleshed female bottom in tight white panties. Only Amber seemed indifferent, but being a saddler the scent of leather is everyday to her.

  She pulled out the zebra-print hide, a smallish pig skin with a particularly strong scent to it, perhaps from the white dye. Holding it up to me I could see that even on me any dress made from it would be barely decent. She tutted, and suggested I strip, so casually, as if it was nothing for me to go nude in front of the three of them. It wasn’t the first time, and all of them had seen me do things that would have had Beth open-mouthed in shock, but I still feel vulnerable naked, and I hope I always do, because it’s a major spur to my arousal.

  I did as I was told, and not just down to my panties but stark naked, without even shoes or socks. Anderson licked his lips and gave an appreciative nod as he sat down on a workbench. Vicky settled on to his lap, deliberately wiggling her bottom, and as I hung my panties on a convenient nail Amber turned back to me, acknowledging my obedience with a pleased nod.

  She looked up my measurements in her work-book, only to decide to take them again. In five years I’d put on an inch on my hips, nothing on my bust and waist, which I couldn’t help feel pleased with even though personally I like girls to be a little plump, or at least muscular. I suppose that’s just the submissive in me, because helplessness acquires a whole new meaning after having your face sat on by a fifteen-stone girl, which has happened to me.

  Things quickly began to get to me: the gentle touches of Amber’s fingers and tape measure, the all-pervading smell of leather, the sight of the harness and whips. Being naked while the three of them were dressed was strong too, as always giving a sensation of vulnerability and showing off. I smiled at Vicky, who was bright-eyed and beginning to look expectant, with her arm around Anderson’s neck and his hands folded over her tummy.

  Suddenly, with two swift motions, he had pulled up her jumper and bra, spilling her breasts out. It took her by surprise and she gave a little gasp, but made no move to cover herself, leaving them showing, bare and round. He took them in his hands, moulding gently and rubbing his thumbs over her nipples to make her eyes close in bliss. She was in a moderately short skirt, which was already rucked up to show most of her long, elegant legs, and as he teased her breasts she let her thighs slip apart, exposing the silky black crotch of her panties.

  Amber smiled and shook her head, moving to the bench where she had spread the hide. Vicky stood, crossing her hands over her front to take the edges of her jumper and pulling it off, and her bra with it. Skirt, shoes and stockings followed, then her suspender-belt and lastly her panties, removed in a casual strip to leave her as naked as I was. Anderson smacked her bottom, a playful pat to send her over to me.

  ‘Vicky wants to be strung up on the boss,’ he said.

  Amber was drawing lines on to the back of the leather and didn’t stop, nor did Anderson get up. That left it to me, but I was in no mood to dominate Vicky, not that I don’t like being in control now and then, but she’s six foot and pure muscle. It just doesn’t feel right, except when she’s helpless.

  Knowing more or less what I wanted, I went to the racks and selected a double pair of wrist cuffs. After lowering the chains to my own head height, I cleated them off and strapped her offered wrists into the cuffs, then my own, closing them with my teeth. Anderson had watched all this and finally condescended to help, taking the pulley rope and raising the chains. Being in bondage is always strong, and I began to feel it as my arms went up over my head, drawn by more force than I could resist. My body went against Vicky’s too, not quite face to face, but so that our boobs were pressed together and my pussy was against her tummy.

  I squeaked when I found myself on tiptoe, but Anderson ignored my protest, giving the rope a final pull to leave my feet clear of the ground. The pain in my wrists was immediate, along with the awful frustration of having my toes barely an inch clear of the ground but not being able to take my weight on them. Vicky was still standing, and I wrapped my legs around her hips because it was the only thing I could do to relieve the strain. That spread my pussy out on to her belly and left my bottom open, adding blatant sexual exposure to my difficulties.

  Anderson laughed and tied off the cleat, leaving me strung helpless from the boss. Vicky had her eyes shut and was moving her body gently against mine, obviously enjoying being nude and powerless enormously. So was I, although my position was just that little bit too awkward and painful to really get off on. Still, my bottom was well spread, and I
could feel the air on my vagina and bumhole, making a superb contrast to the heat where my flesh was pressed to Vicky’s.

  Amber glanced around, smiling to see the predicament I had been put in, then going back to work. Anderson was considering pony-girl harness, and I wondered if he was going to put us in some sort of strap system until he reached out for a head-dress and pulled an ostrich feather free of its mounting.

  I felt my guts and bumcheeks tighten instinctively. He was going to tickle me, and I knew where, right between my spread cheeks. I’d lose control, I was sure of it, but if I closed my legs to protect my pussy I’d be swinging from the ceiling by my wrists. My breath began to come in little pants, just from knowing how it would feel. I was panicking, and he hadn’t even touched me.

  He laughed and the feather touched my skin, at my side, making me shiver and tighten my legs around Vicky’s waist. It tickled but I could take it, only I knew that he wasn’t going to spare my more sensitive areas. The feather moved up, tickling our breasts where they were squashed together. Vicky began to giggle and squirm, her flesh writhing against my pussy. I could feel her tummy muscles moving on my clit, a really weird sensation, and one that might even have eventually given me an orgasm if I hadn’t been in such a tricky position.

  I clung tight as he tickled her, drawing the feather gently across her skin, her middle, her bottom and her thighs. She squirmed and wiggled and jumped on her feet, gasping and swearing at him but never once calling out her stop word. With every little wriggle her tummy rubbed my pussy, and I was getting more and more out of control, until I was squirming myself on to her. The anticipation of my own tickling was rising too, and turning to fear from the way she reacted. When he finally stopped we were both wet with sweat and I could feel my pussy juice on her belly. I could hear it too, little wet sucking sounds as we moved together and parted in our distress.