Whip Hands (5 page)

‘Come on, you bitch,' Peter shouted over his shoulder. ‘We're going to the kitchen. That's where I expect to find you when I return from work. And that's where I intend to get even.'

Shereen, concerned at what Peter was planning to do, had no option but to follow the pair. She was still quivering with the adrenaline rush his sudden appearance had caused. Stopping only to slip on a pair of slender slingback sandals and a wrap, she followed the two men down the stairs and through the open-plan lounge with its stunning picture window.

As she entered the large kitchen she saw her clothes in a heap on the scrubbed pine farmhouse table. Beside them were Jack's shoes and socks. Jack was standing barefoot on the quarry tiles in the corner furthest from the door, looking distinctly uneasy. Her husband was noisily going through one of the drawers.

‘Ah, you're here at last.' Peter turned to face her, with something partly concealed in his hand. ‘Now, perhaps you could provide a more convincing explanation of what the two of you were doing in our bedroom.'

‘We weren't doing anything wrong, Peter,' she began.

‘No, but you were just about to, you trollop! I could see you panting for it.'

Jack began to remonstrate, but was silenced with a glance of fury.

‘You still maintain that, despite the fact both of you were bollock naked, it was all quite innocent?'

Shereen began to explain that she and Jack had met by chance in the coffee bar of the local arts centre, that they had taken a few drinks, that she had suggested going back to her place to see if she could find some old photographs, and then, sitting next to each other on the green wicker sofa that creaked with every movement, well, as the years seemed to roll back they became more familiar. He had also mentioned doing a full-size figure of her in clay. She stopped in mid-sentence, realising it was a poor story.

‘It looks to me as if you were behaving like naughty children when the grown-ups are away,' Peter said quietly.

Eagerly she agreed that it was all quite innocent, without considering the implications. She noticed Peter had one of her metal spatulas in his hand. Thoughtfully he tested its flexibility with a thumb and finger before laying it carefully on the kitchen table. He came out with a long-handled mixing spoon as well.

‘Well, now the grown-up is returned. It's time to consider an appropriate punishment. Shereen, you know what comes next. Adopt the position.'

‘What, here?' She suddenly felt very naked under the thin robe.

‘The kitchen table is ideal for the purpose. You know the rules and the penalty for breaking them. The dispensation of discipline must be harsh and instantaneous. There is no time to go for the hairbrush or the slipper. I must make do with what I have to hand.'

‘But not in front of Jack. Peter, please!'

‘Jack can shut his eyes if he wants to. Somehow I think they'll be wide open so as not to miss a stroke.'

With a shrug, she slipped the robe from her shoulders and laid her forearms on the warm surface of the table.

‘Here,' her husband ordered.

As she moved around the table she realised she was being positioned so Jack would get the full view of her posterior as she bent at full stretch over the table. Although she had been willing to display herself to him only a few minutes ago, this was an entirely different situation.

She felt the humiliation of her position keenly. Her forehead rested on her own blouse and jeans but she was not permitted to wear them until her punishment was complete. Peter's guttural whisper broke into her reverie.

‘Shall we say a dozen?'

She could see Jack in the corner, seemingly unable to believe his eyes. No doubt he was expecting her to protest, instead of taking her punishment as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

‘We'll start with the spatula, shall we?'

She whispered an inaudible reply.

The first few strokes left broad red blotches across both her ample cheeks. She hardly stirred until Peter adjusted his position, rested one hand on her back and struck the flat metal along her thighs. Immediately her belly went down as she bent her knees and wriggled her buttocks in a vain attempt to relieve the initial sting of the whippy blade. For the first time she gasped out loud.

She glanced over her shoulder briefly to see Jack looking intently at the mottled red and pink appearance of her arse. There was a telltale stirring in his groin and she knew that Peter had been right in his assessment of the other man: he was enjoying every moment of this.

Peter's words caused her to focus her full attention on him. ‘Now the wooden spoon!'

‘That's not fair, Peter. I thought you meant a dozen strokes in total.' She gulped down her tears.

‘Well, I've changed my mind. Down!'

The session with the wooden spoon was noisy and painful. She squirmed and raised one foot in an ineffectual attempt to prevent the punishment from continuing. Peter used a firm hand between her shoulder blades to hold her belly to the table top, as if she were a piece of dough. She knew the head of the spoon would be marking her with red, half-moon splotches. It was too humiliating.

When Shereen stood up she could hardly bear to look Jack in the face, aware of the tears on her cheeks.

‘Stand over there. No, leave your clothes where they are.' Peter's voice was at normal volume again. She went to stand beside Jack. She couldn't help noticing the prominent bulge in his trousers, a feature his hand could not conceal. Peter removed the leather jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

‘Now it's your turn.' He directed this at Jack with barely a glance. ‘Strip to the buff - just like your models do.'

Jack found himself dropping his trousers, wondering why he wasn't putting up more of a fight. One pile of clothes was replaced by another on the kitchen table. Soon he was standing totally naked as Shereen struggled into her tailored jeans. What sort of punishment awaited him? To his horror, he felt his penis begin to stir at the thought.

‘Take his clothes off the table and put them out of reach,' Peter ordered Shereen. ‘He's not going to need them for a while. Not until we've finished with him.'

She did as she was bidden and stood back.

‘Now, my young stud, on to that table face down and spread.' Peter gestured with the spoon, which he still had in his hand.

Clumsily, Jack raised first one knee and then the other on to the solid pine surface, then moved into the centre and gingerly lowered his belly until his legs were stretched out behind him. He stayed on his elbows so as to be aware of what was going on around him. He remembered that Shereen and he had made love on this very table only a few weeks ago during an afternoon of prolonged passion. Strangely, his penis was continuing to stiffen as he became aware of his utter vulnerability.

The next thing he heard made him think Peter had gone totally out of his mind.

‘Shereen, I think it's time for our little spring-cleaning session. You know what this dirty boy needs, don't you? Hurry and get it.'

Jack felt his head being pushed firmly down on to the table. Peter's breath was warm on his ear. ‘Don't be so nosy, lover boy. Yours is coming all in good time. Now spread those arms and lift your backside.'

His head was facing the door so he saw Shereen return shortly. She was bearing an old-fashioned carpet beater. Peter took it from her and swished it experimentally through the air above the recumbent figure on the table.

‘Just for the record, this is a genuine split-cane beater, used in the last century by the domestic staff. I got it in a country house auction. A real find. Now, you probably think I'm going to take out my jealous anger by beating you to a pulp on my own kitchen table.'

‘No, please.' Despite his trepidation, Jack was uncomfortably aware of how swollen his manhood had become now that his haunches were pushed upwards by his bent knees. It was a painful position to maintain and his skin was stretched tight over his hindquarters. ‘I meant no harm by it.'

‘Listen to what I have to say, lover boy. Blood and guts isn't my style, but I certainly do want to see you suffer a little. You seem to enjoy dropping your pants in front of other people's wives. This will be to discourage you from doing it again. I hope you understand that quite clearly.'

No response was necessary. The creaking beater was handed to Shereen. Peter put both hands on her shoulder as he adopted a stage whisper. ‘Give it to him hard or you'll be sorry.'

Jack heard this, as he was surely intended to, and groaned.

‘Yes, my virile young friend, you came here with high expectations of an afternoon's shafting. Unfortunately, it's you who will be getting it instead. And Shereen will continue with the punishment until I tell her to stop. I hope you can appreciate the fine irony of your situation. In a minute or two your rump will be giving you such agony that you will be unable to think of anything else.'

And so it was to prove. Fifteen minutes of the broad-headed beater left the recumbent Jack's buttocks in a sorry state. The young woman warmed to her task, scarcely needing any encouragement as the rattan was lifted higher to administer a satisfying swish and slap on the man's lean, compact globes. They were glowing and rosy, with bands of deeper colour caused by the most recent strokes. Peter stood watching with arms folded.

‘Harder. Come on now, no slacking! This little cocksman has to be taught a lesson he won't forget in a hurry.'

Soon Jack was flat on the table, squirming from side to side, aware that his scrotum was now pulled tight up against his shaft. He felt himself losing control of the throbbing monster so close to the seat of his pain. Shereen pulled a strand of hair away from her forehead as she delivered three strokes in quick succession. He felt the surge of seed start with a kick along his straining shaft. His hands went down to cradle his pulsating rod.

‘I've had enough! Mercy!' he screamed.

‘At last!' the big man interjected in a jovial tone. ‘My God, I've built up a thirst just watching you at work, Shereen!'

Laying the beater on the table and giving the prone man a playful slap, she obligingly produced a can of lager from the fridge then poured herself a vodka. ‘Thanks, Peter,' she purred. ‘You excelled yourself this time.

‘At times I really did believe you were my husband consumed with jealousy. You know how to lay it on with the kitchen equipment.' One hand tentatively explored her jeans-clad behind as she took a sip.

The man threw an arm around her shoulders. ‘Hope I didn't hurt you too much, love. Jack certainly kept us waiting this time. I still reckon you were holding back a little out of wifely concern.'

‘No, I wasn't. I just wasn't sure about this beater. It was an inspiration. I'm glad you remembered to leave it by the door when you came in.'

‘Maybe Jack would have preferred to get it from me. What do you reckon, Jack? That bum looks as if it's on fire.'

Jack, still lying on the table, had moved on to his side. ‘Christ almighty, I'm sore. Next time we'll stick with the school matron story-line,' he said. ‘I can't take many more with that instrument of torture.'

‘Oh, dear, did it hurt?' Shereen went up to him and pinched one cheek. ‘I did warn diddums beforehand, but you wanted to be the macho guy, didn't you?'

If he had intended a reply Jack swallowed it as he gingerly moved to a sitting position on the edge of the table and reached for his clothes. But they were out of reach, and Shereen just wagged a finger at him.

Peter drained his can with a few more gulps and picked up his jacket. ‘Well, you two lovebirds will want to be left alone, I imagine. How about next Friday evening? Shall I bring Christine along?'

‘Sounds fine by me. Stay for some supper in case you're hungry afterwards.' Shereen pouted at him, then looked sideways at her husband. ‘What do you think, Jack? Are you man enough to take your punishment from two women at once?'

He smiled grimly. He couldn't complain. It had been his idea, after all, to send in the contact ad reading, ‘Bad boy needs spanking: all scenarios considered'. He just hadn't expected Shereen to go along with it quite so enthusiastically when Peter replied. And Peter just loved playing ringmaster and watching the proceedings, the kinky bastard.

The front door clicked as Peter let himself out.

‘Now,' said Shereen, in a hoarse whisper that made Jack's pulse accelerate, ‘let's see what lover boy can manage as an encore.' She pushed him on to his back again and stood over him on the sturdy well-scrubbed table. She began a slow strip as he looked up at her.

‘This time you're going to do your fair share of the work. Okay, sweetie?'

Within seconds Jack's penis was rigid again. Shereen threw her panties in his face, then stepped down and opened a sideboard drawer. She brought back two braided cords, slightly longer than the width of the table. He closed his eyes in delicious anticipation as he felt her hand gripping his wrist with renewed strength.