AN INOPPORTUNE ARRIVAL
When I reached home I tried to analyse my feelings and realise what had happened. I could barely believe it was true. It seemed like an impossible dream. Here was I just down from Oxford, aged twenty-three, submitting to be whipped like a naughty boy on my bare bottom by a woman whom I had only met once, and in the presence of another girl whom I had never seen before I called on her mistress. More than that, I had poked and "kissed" the mistress and had been "kissed" by both mistress and maid. Still more, neither woman was a whore in the usually accepted sense of the word. The one was accepted as chaperon for the cousin of my best pal and evidently mixed in quite good society. The maid to all appearance was eminently respectable. No. I couldn't believe my own experience. It was only when I sat down to think things out that my sore bottom brought the truth palpably home to me. I jumped up with a cry and rushed upstairs to my bedroom, locked the door, and in a twinkling had my trousers down and was investigating my bottom in the looking-glass. Gad! but I was marked. Long lines of purple and red showed criss-cross all over both cheeks, with here and there a spot of bright red where the buds on the birch had broken the skin. I got some ointment which I used for soreness after rowing and gave myself a liberal dose.
Then I washed John Thomas, who was looking thoroughly ashamed of himself, dressed myself and went downstairs. My feelings were difficult to analyse. Shame, anger, and a wish for revenge fought with each other. At the same time Muriel's charms were ever before me, and at moments John Thomas made gallant attempts to persuade me that the afternoon was worth everything. Juliette's bottom also rose before my eyes white and plump and round, quivering under the blows of the birch, opening and shutting between the strokes and showing glimpses of the dark pouting lips of her pussy-that pussy which I had felt and found so responsive to my fingers.
What were her last words? "I should love you to whip me." By Gad, I thought, why not? Surely it was worth risking another whipping myself to get the chance of making those lovely cheeks flinch and squirm. And then Muriel! What a gorgeous poke. How her tongue had caressed my old man. How her pussy had drawn every bit of life from me! Yes, undoubtedly I must call again.
So I argued that night. But next morning doubt and nervousness came over me again, and eventually it was quite a week before I rang the bell again at the little house in South Molton Street.
Juliette opened the door and smiled when she saw me.
"Madame was wondering why you had not called," she said.
"She is rather angry with you, sir, in consequence, I fancy," she added with a meaning look. "She does not like to be neglected. But she is not at home now."
"Can I come in and wait?"
"Oh, yes, sir, if you like."
So I went in and shut the door. She led me into the little morning-room and for a moment we looked at each other. Then without any delay or explanation, we seemed to fall into each other's arms, our tongues met, and our right hands dived straight between each other's legs. John Thomas rose at once and I found Juliette's soft little pussy already dribbling with expectation. I urged her gently back to an armchair and, kneeling before her, placed John Thomas in the haven where he would be. Her bottom lifted itself to meet him and we came together in a mutual flood of love.
"Tell me, Juliette," I said when we had finished, "does Muriel whip you often?"
"As often as she gets the chance," she said with a wry little smile.
"But why do you submit," I said, "and how did it begin? It isn't usual for maids to be whipped."
"I'll tell you someday," she answered. "It's too long a story for now. Besides, she's very good to me and I get more pleasure with her than I should anywhere else."
She cuddled close to me and fondled John Thomas, who evidently enjoyed it.
"You said something to me as I was going away last time that puzzled me," I said after a minute.
She blushed a little.
"Come," I said, "do you really like being whipped?"
"Don't you?" "No, I'm damned if I do," I answered with a laugh.
"Oh, you will in time. I don't always. There are different sorts of whippings. I didn't like being whipped the other day by Muriel in front of you, for she was wicked and jealous. But you, when I whipped you, didn't you like it? Wasn't it different to the whipping Muriel had given you?"
"Yes," I said reflectively, "it certainly was different."
"Well," she went on, "if I like a person I do like him or her and want to do all and everything to please. With Muriel, for instance, when she's nice and wants me"-she blushed a little as she said this-"I'm willing to submit to anything. I know she wants to see my nakedness and watch my bottom wriggle, so I do all I can to gratify her, but when she's angry and only wants to punish me, I hate her and want to hurt her."
"Haven't you ever whipped her?"
"Good Lord no! That's not her game, she's no Masochist. I only wish she were and I had the chance. I'd pay her back. But she's much too strong for me, and besides, I'm different, I don't like giving pain and she does. It's only when I'm angry with her."
"Hm," I said.
"What are you thinking of?"
"I was thinking, well, I don't know much about this matter, but I know this. I'd love to get my own back for my last call here. Now you and I together, eh? Couldn't we master her?" Her eyes gleamed, then dropped. "She'd kill me," she said. "Oh no. I'd see she did not do that. I'd make her promise to bear no malice and I don't think she would. If she did, I'd see you came out all right. The worst she could do would be to turn you out, and then you could come to me. I am looking for a flat to settle down in and should want a housekeeper, eh?"
"Oh, that would be lovely," she replied.
"But you haven't answered my question. Would you really like me to whip you?"
"Try," was all she answered. And before I knew what she was doing she had slipped off the chair and pulled up her skirt and petticoat above her waist behind, showing her dainty drawers.
"Sit down there," she said, pointing to the chair she had just left.
I obeyed her. She then laid herself across my knees, face downwards with her head towards my left arm, and pulled her drawers open behind, showing the beautiful curves of her bottom, the cheeks of which stood out like two lovely white moons, though still slightly marked from last week's whipping.
"Now smack me and see if I like it."
I gazed at the snowy globes with the shady valley between. Just at the meeting of her legs a few tendrils of dark hair showed themselves, promising other, more secret delights.
I smacked her lightly with my hand. It was more of a caress than a blow.
She lay still.
Smack-smack-smack, and my fingers crept between her legs.
"No, not yet," she said, "I want you to smack me."
I humoured her and I smacked both cheeks quickly till they began to grow pink.
I smacked more severely. Her bottom became appreciably warmer.
"Harder still," she said, "harder!"
I did as she said, and my own hand began to tingle. The joy and lust of domination began to grow in me. After one or two really hard blows, she shifted slightly and heaved her bottom, opening her legs a little. I gave her several harder smacks. She sighed and wriggled. I stopped.
"Go on," she said at once.
"But I'm hurting you."
"I want you to hurt me," she murmured fiercely. "I want you to hurt my bottom. Can't you see it growing red and hot? Hurt me, hurt me."
Her passion, though I didn't really understand it, fired me, and I took her at her word. Blow after blow fell on her plump cheeks and at length her sighs came quicker and quicker and became more like gasps. Her bottom heaved and opened and contracted, her legs parted and I could see the lips of her pussy parting and closing again as if eager for satisfaction. Desire now took full possession of me and I smacked her as hard as I could, seizing every opportunity of making my hand reach the more hidden and secret retreats. It was a strange and maddening delight to me. After two or three blows on her firm bottom I felt my fingers strike the softer lips of her pussy. Once or twice I managed to reach that delightful spot with my finger tips while my palm just managed to get between the plump cheeks. This seemed to madden her as much as it did me. She flung her legs apart, pushing up her bottom, keeping it as wide open as possible. She muttered inarticulate cries, and at last after several blows which hit both marks full, she sank down heavily on my knees, imprisoning my hand between her thighs, which closed on my fingers like a vice. I felt her pussy throb and throb again and then a warm flood spread allover my hand. I raised her up and held her close in my arms.
"You darling," she murmured, "take me, I am yours utterly."
Her hands slid down and with feverish haste unbuttoned my trousers.
John Thomas, as was only to be expected, was rampant. "Give him to me," she half-sobbed.
"How would you like him?" I asked with interest, for I had not forgotten how she had asked to be allowed to wash it in her own way.
"Any way, so long as he is in me ... in front, behind, any way, I don't care. I'm yours, all of me. Take all of me, darling, my master!" and she threw herself at my feet, embracing my legs, half sobbing and writhing with unappeased passion.
I lifted her up to her knees and she seized my affair with her lips and, flinging her arms round my bottom, began to lick and suck it with avidity.
"Oh, so that's the way you entertain my guests in my absence, is it?"
I turned hastily. There stood Muriel. She had evidently just come in. Her latch-key was still in her hand. She was holding the door open.