Kiss The Rod

But even as his hand stretched, ready to grasp the pretty, lethal tool, it was whisked away from him as she visibly changed her mind. 'Hmm. No, perhaps not,' she mused, one hand on her micro-skirted hip, and a finger straying to poke at her mouth, sucking on the tip.

Terrible, crushing disappointment must have been clearly displayed on Jon's face, because it made her laugh a loud, crude laugh. 'Oh, Jon, the look on your face! Don't worry, you're still going to get your share.' She looked pensive, for a moment. And he must have looked... hungry, probably, he thought. And a little bit dazed, maybe. 'Right now, in fact,' she added, and stepped back a pace or two.

His eyes widened -- both in anticipation and in puzzlement. Because she wasn't handing over an implement of any kind. He looked at the little whip at the end of the bed, and hesitated, turned back to her. But Suzy shook her head decidedly. 'Not the instruments, Jon: not the whips, not the canes, not the rods. Not first. No, it's you first, and it's skin on skin. Use your hand: the flat of it. Give the naughty girl a spanking.'

How could it be any better, Jon thought, tingling in anticipation. But Leslie promptly moaned a little, that was how. And not the 'Oh god, what have I done to deserve this loser getting to give me a paddling,' type of moan, either. No, it was definitely an anticipatory kind of a moan. Jon didn't think he'd ever heard such an anticipatory moan before, and certainly not in circumstances like this.

Suzy grinned at him, and tugged at his arm to drag him a little closer to the bed. 'Now, Jon,' she said, in very schoolmistress tones, 'What do you have to say to naughty Leslie? After she's been such a bad, bad girl and all...'

Jon shifted his feet a little awkwardly. Dirty talk had never really been his forte: he'd always stuck to strong silence when it came to sexy activities of the bedroom type. But he figured that that game just wasn't going to fly here, and he was going to have to make strenuous efforts to meet these girls' standards of filthy fuck-talk and merit a place as ass-spanker of choice for the evening. Damn it. 'Er, Leslie, I hope you know that you've been pretty damn naughty,' he said severely. 'You addressed me incorrectly before you were corrected by Mistress Suzy, and, er, well, your entire attitude has been very disrespectful. And let me tell you, young lady -- you will be punished severely for that attitude.' He hoped he sounded suitably stern and impressive, but he still more than half-expected Leslie to just splutter with laughter and hoot in his face, and maybe Suzy too.

But no. It seemed like she was getting quite into the role-play: at his words she wriggled her tanned naked ass some more, and her voice was a soft little murmur -- not her usual strident blare -- as she responded to him. 'I'm sorry, sir,' she said, in those tender tones, and god almighty but it went straight to his dick.

And it boosted up his self-confidence in his authority a whole lot, too. 'Sorry isn't quite good enough, young woman,' he replied severely. 'I hope you realise that this merits a good spanking? It's not something that I can simply allow to pass without corrections and a mark of disapproval. Do you understand, Leslie?' he continued.

Her voice was quite meek -- like a little mouse -- as she replied.'Yes, sir. How many strokes, sir?' Christ: that was almost enough to have him blowing his load in itself. How many strokes? He wondered, to himself, and couldn't concentrate on whether it was meant for her ass or his dick. He shot a quick eye in Suzy's direction, where she had stepped away a couple of paces to give him space. The look she gave him was sharp, with a nod, and she lifted both her hands up and indicated with her fingers. Six, then.

'Six strokes, with my bare hand, Leslie,' he said, and his voice wavered a little with excitement. This was quite as good as watching the two of them together. Well, almost, at any rate, and he hadn't entirely given up on seeing that too before the night was out.

'Oh dear,' Leslie said, in a soft, submissive little voice -- really not very reminiscent of her normal persona at all. That was as good as permission, or enthusiastic signalling of consent to Jon. Leslie was definitely the kind of person who would have let him know about it if she had any objection to the proposed plan of action.

That was definitely a 'go', then. Nothing for it: he raised his hand, observing in a detached kind of way that it was trembling a little with excitement. And he looked down at Leslie's peach of a bum, tanned and soft and smooth, deeply creased and femininely rounded. It almost seemed a shame to mar it with a slap. Not enough of a shame to actually deter him, though, of course.

He lifted his hand, swung it through the air, and hesitated only for a moment before bringing it down sharply, to meet both cheeks slap bang in the middle of her crease with an utterly satisfying crack that resounded through the air just like a pistol shot. Leslie's body jerked up into a concave semi-circle, and all the air left her body in a fast gasp and then a high-pitched shriek. It was wonderful, and he felt all of the blood in his body shoot to his cock.

He stood and trembled a moment -- it was just that good -- and Suzy brought him back to himself with a couple of pistol shots of her own: a couple of claps of the hands that might have been applause or mimicry or mockery. And her admonition was sharp, as she folded her arms and gave him her most evil look (and that was going it some, for Suzy) 'Well? You're not done yet, Jon. Get on with it: and this time put your back into it.'

He didn't need telling twice, at least. The second stroke was sharper, quicker, much less hesitant -- but Leslie jumped and squealed just as loud, and her ass reddened under his hand, blood rushing to the surface of her soft plump fleshy pillows. Then he got quite lost in it, slapping faster and faster, while he managed to grunt out, 'You're supposed to be thanking me, Leslie, you know. For every stroke, you're supposed to be thanking me. Each and every stroke!'

The hand that grasped at his wrist -- feminine, quite delicate, but a little thick in the wrist and quite surprisingly strong -- took him by surprise. It was Suzy, of course: stealthy as a cat, and umpteen times as sinister. As he turned to her she gave him a reproving -- but not really angry -- shake of the head, and he relaxed a bit, and didn't try to resist. Even if he was in trouble, it didn't look to be anything too serious: and anyway, he had to take his punishment like a man, right? Because she was the mistress. The mistress of pain. And he shivered, deliciously.

'Now, I have two things to say,' Suzy announced, giving each of them a hard stare in turn. 'One for each of you.' She turned to Jon, and gave him a shove in the chest. 'Six strokes, I said, young man! That was not six strokes! Now tell me what you have to say for yourself!'

(It was curious to Jon how her accent got distinctly British, rather than a harsh New York twang, as she got more and further and deeper into her role. It was cool by him. In fact it was kind of a turn-on.)

But she was still waiting for his excuses and explanations, and he hung his head sheepishly. 'I'm like, really really sorry, Mistress Suzy I, uh, got a bit carried away. I'm really sorry, Leslie'

'None of that!' Suzy said sharply, and re-directed his face where it had strayed to the quiet, only slightly sighing Leslie 'You will direct all of your conversation and your apologies to me! I am the director and mistress of this dungeon: and I will thank you kindly to remember it.'

'Oh Christ, yes, sorry Mistress,' Jon hastily corrected himself, and wondered uneasily if he was about due for a spot of correction himself if he wasn't careful. Not that he was completely averse to the idea, at least as an experiment. But he was extremely keen to get on with the boy-on-girl and girl-on-girl action first, before he got a whipping himself.

She eyed him thoughtfully, and then nodded. 'I'll deal with you later. At least you understand where you went wrong. Now,' she added, 'I'll deal with Leslie first. Leslie?' she asked, voice sharp as a whip cutting through the air.

'Yes, mistress,' Leslie replied, and her voice was utterly resigned, like someone who knows perfectly well what's coming and can do nothing to evade it.

But Suzy swung her little whip around in her hands, to give herself the handle-end to point with, and prodded at one of Leslie's lovely soft lush buttocks with it. 'What am I going to say to you, Leslie?' she asked, and tapped gently at the reddened buttock, one and two and three.

Leslie's voice was a little sulky at that. 'That Jon was right, I suppose.'

Jon was amazed -- but pleased -- to hear it. He'd known it! He didn't know much about spanking for fun, but he was pretty darn sure that the recipient was supposed to be appropriately grateful!

Suzy seemed less than thrilled with Leslie's reply, and tapped harder and faster, a staccato rhythm. 'Would you care to repeat that for me, Leslie?' Her tone was terribly sharp.

'Master Jon!' Leslie said hurriedly. 'Master Jon!'

But that was by no means sufficient for Suzy, who loomed closer and leaned menacingly over Leslie 'And what is it that you should have said to Master Jon, Leslie? What is it that you wish to say?'

Leslie clearly wasn't as keen on this part of the ceremony as the actual spanking: but she conceded and submitted anyway. Maybe she knew that it was the only way that the fun could continue.

'Thank you, Master Jon,' she managed to grit out, however, with only a trace of sarcasm peeping through in her tone of voice. It would have been quite hard to really get going with the sarcasm, perhaps, anyway, Jon thought, what with still being naked, tied up and face down on a mattress.

'For?' Suzy prompted, her hand resting threateningly on that rosy ass.

'Thank you for spanking me!' Leslie responded. She might as well have added a vigorous 'Duh!' to her words, considering what she sounded like.

Suzy stilled, as if less than pleased by that: but paused and seemed to decide to let it slide. She leaned a little lower, and it did some things to her full, white, powdered cleavage, in her tight PVC dress, that made Jon more uncomfortably hard than he was already. She leaned in a little closer, and let the tips of her pretty acrylics, long and sharp, dig in a little to luscious rounded pink flesh.

Her voice was very quiet, now: and her words were hissed out, a little like a snake, beautiful and venomous. 'Incomplete, Leslie Do you want me to give you a failing grade? Because you know the consequences of a failing grade, don't you, Leslie? What are the consequences of a failing grade?'

Leslie couldn't gabble her words out quickly enough, lipstick smearing on the pillow underneath her head as she spat it out like bullets. 'Thank you, Master Jon, nine times! Nine times! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.'

Suzy had her head on one side, considering: as if she were counting. And indeed she was, as her next words proved. 'That's ten, actually, sweetheart: but I'll let it go. Better over-enthusiastic than trying to short-change me! Or Jon, for that matter,' she said, nodding towards him, smoothing down the apron of her French maid outfit.

'So,' Suzy continued, head on one side and assessing the pair of them, lazy and confident, little whip swishing into her hand, in and out, once again. 'You've had four -- no, three -- extra strokes of the hand, Suzy Isn't that right?' she said thoughtfully.

Leslie nodded into her pillow. 'Three,' she said, resentfully. But perhaps with a side order of luxuriating. 'Three more strokes than I was supposed to have.' And her voice softened on the last words: as if she treasured every one of them, in fact.

Suzy considered, her lush plump lips pressed together. 'Then I determine you are owed a debt,' she conceded. 'However, on the other hand, I must consider the fact that you entirely failed to properly acknowledge your gratitude to Master Jon -' and here she nodded at Jon, formal and dignified and luscious, and he wondered where the hell she was getting her vocabulary (and accent) these days, seeing as how it was all single syllables and most of them pretty darn vulgar, normally -- 'and that, in fact, merits you some extra discipline and correction. Oh dear me, yes. You've been an awfully bad girl.'

Jon couldn't honestly say that Leslie seemed upset about it. In fact she wriggled, and squealed, before anyone had laid a hand on her.

'So.' Suzy assumed a critical, thoughtful expression, as she totted up figures on her hand. 'You've had -- let me see -- three more slaps of the flat of the hand than you were due. But on the other hand, you entirely merit some extra punishment, on account of your failure in correct deportment and etiquette towards your temporary master.'

Jon would have had to admit, in his secret heart of hearts, that being described as such -- and even with the 'temporary' modifier -- made his heart beat a little faster. He wasn't used to being described as anyone's master -- and certainly not Suzy's, or anyone like Leslie's

But Suzy wasn't waiting around for his musings. She'd come to a decision, and nodded vigorously. 'That means you must be accorded further punishments -- since only an extra three strokes by hand seems grossly inadequate for your infringement of proper etiquette.' There was a pause as she mused a moment, and Jon felt that both he and Leslie were transfixed, on tenterhooks for her decision.

'Eight strokes of the scourge, you shall have, in addition,' Suzy decided, nodding to herself as if confirming the wisdom of her decision. 'Yes: that's about right.'

And then she turned to him and gripped his wrist firmly -- almost harshly -- as he reached out towards the little side-table, where the small, almost delicate implement of correction lay, the little miniature cat of nine tails allegedly popular with certain orders of nuns for maintaining order, servility and a correct attitude of humility. 'And what do you think you're doing, Jon?' she asked sharply.

He was helpless to answer her, really, with any acceptable excuse. Really he'd just assumed: assumed that the job was down to him, that he was the man for the job and that it was her intention that he carry her decree out to the letter. And with considerable enthusiasm, too.

Now he just hesitated, hand still outstretched, unwilling to move if it meant incurring her latex-clad wrath. Her face calmed a little at his obvious deference and submission. 'Not this time, my darling,' she said, in positively soothing tones. His brain boggled a little at that: Suzy had certainly never called him her darling prior to this, and not in that accent either. Not that he objected to it, or anything. 'Now you can't have all the fun, can you, Jon dear?' she continued, in the most sweetly reasonable tones. 'Let someone else take the lead now and then, love.' She worded it as a suggestion: but there was no doubt in his mind that it was actually an order.

And he wasn't really sure about that admonition about how he couldn't have all the fun. Because as he let his hand drop away, Suzy moved towards the table, and took a hold, a tight and welcoming grip, of the scourge herself. And there was something about the way she lifted and hefted it in her hand, examined it minutely and smiled as if it was an old friend, that suggested she had her own plans for it that would shortly be taking shape.

There was nothing he could conceive of that would be more fun than Suzy getting in on the action and giving Leslie the thrashing of her life. For the sake of getting to see some of that, he was only too happy and obedient in stepping aside. His breath was unsteady as he watched Suzy fondle the scourge a little further, her eyes speculative as they rested on Leslie's well-used, pink-cheeked ass.

Even head down in the pillow, Leslie was clearly aware of being scrutinized also. Curling her plump, lithe body sideways, she let her ass rise and fall a little with the sigh, a come-on if ever he'd seen one. Suzy smiled in approval, and said, 'Yes, eight strokes: you've been a shockingly rude young woman, Leslie You must be discouraged from such appalling behaviour in the future.' She closed in on the bed, and stroked a hand over Leslie's sensitive buttocks, receiving a little hiss of tenderness in response. 'Are you ready, Leslie?' she asked, sharp and pointed.

'Yes, mistress,' Leslie murmured, voice wavering only a little bit. And Suzy did not give her further time to think about it, but raised her hand in a millisecond and brought it down sharply, each little beaded string flicking out to mark and mar Leslie's buttocks in a different direction.

Leslie's high-pitched squeal was almost orgasmic: or at least, it was for Jon. It had him edging up close to the bed himself, and surreptitiously pressing and rubbing against it -- because it was so very conveniently situated at crotch height. But his eyes were fixed on Suzy's hand, and there was no let-up. She had an action like a robot, like an automaton, as she counted out strokes in a high hard voice that took no account of Leslie's startled squeals and quiet moans.

Jon gazed at them, at one beautiful, tightly clad woman delivering punishment and correction to another, naked and wriggling while bound to a bed. And his pleasure surged with every stroke, till he longed to just stick a hand down his pants and relieve himself in one almighty lava eruption of come. But as Suzy counted out her flicks of the wrist -- 'Three,' and a pause, 'Four,' and a pause, 'Five,' and a pause, she darted her other hand out and stopped a moment, stopping him with a tight grip on the hand hovering to take action for his own relief. 'No. Save that,' she instructed him curtly, and he let his hand drop guiltily -- the action had, after all, been taken without her permission.

He paused, waited a moment for her to continue -- but she put one finger up to her full, plushy bottom lip, and prodded at it as if it was an aid to concentration. Then she jerked her head at the bedside cabinet, small and enamelled steel and battered, nothing fancy. 'Open the top drawer, Jon,' she said shortly. Then, when he failed to move immediately, a little confused by the combination of activities and instructions going on, even if they weren't all directed at him, she snapped out a further order. 'And you're waiting for what? Move it! Top drawer, Jon!'

So, he didn't need telling twice, and he checked out those drawer contents pretty damn quick sharp. It wasn't exactly a massive surprise, what he found in there: but it still made him suck in a sharp breath, of anticipation and anxiety combined. Essential massage oils... some little spiky metallic decorative-type things that he couldn't even work out what they were for... and condoms. He was betting on the condoms being what Suzy was after. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do -- and, to be truthful, he was a little bit apprehensive -- if she meant the shiny spiky things. (Although to be honest they looked like they might be leftover Christmas baubles).

So that was what was in his hand as he turned towards her, where she stood half-turned towards him in turn, beside Leslie grunting impatiently on the bed. (With two strokes of the scourge still to go, and apparently impatient to feel their lash and burn.) What he got from Suzy, as she eye-balled his stash, was an approving, if distant, nod. 'Get yourself suited up, boy,' she ordered him. 'Before Leslie gets her last two strokes,' and at this, Leslie whined, which wasn't doing anything to relieve the hard tent in Jon's pants.

It wasn't as if he was anything less than panting and eager: but he eyed Leslie cautiously, as she lay pink and fleshy, pouting and flopping around on the mattress in front of him. Spanking, corporal punishment, a little light beating she'd quite clearly signed up for: but he wasn't quite so sure about anything involving actual exchanges of bodily fluids. But as he hesitated, Leslie gave it an extra little wiggle of her pert, pink, misused bum, and whined out irritably, 'Are we going to hang about all day? Get on with it, can't you?'