0 comments/ 21929 views/ 4 favorites Kiss The Rod By: Amaritta_Beane When Jonathan started dating Suzy in college, she told him she was a lesbian. She also told him she was making a special exception for him, and no, he couldn't 'join in' with her and her girlfriend, Leslie But as long as he was cool with that, then Leslie was cool with that, and they could all be poly-amorous and happy and relaxed. Jonathan was as fine with it as you might expect. Although he did get curious, and just a little bit wistful, and he did a lot of hinting around about maybe having a special birthday treat, about getting down with both girls together. A guy can dream, right? That was until he knew more about what they actually got up to, together, when Suzy spent the night with Leslie and left him on his lonesome. Not that he didn't imagine plenty, even without any solid info! But then Suzy got drunk a couple of times and started hinting around, and he got a clearer picture of what was going on. The vanilla stuff was quite enough to rev his motor: she talked about eating each other out, about a little gentle bondage and doing each other from behind, kneeling, with a strap-on. But although that was plenty, it was what followed that litany that really had him drooling and ready to fall to his knees and beg. He'd always had a thing for discipline. And to be much more specific, he had a very specific thing for discipline between two women. Maybe a couple of nuns whipping each other with those little miniature scourges they used. Always and forever, a bare bottom spanking between a gorgeous blonde and a severe older woman, maybe a secretary type. Maybe a leather-clad dominatrix wielding a whip on a sexy redhead clad only in a bikini, or a thong, even less. When it came right down to it, he was pretty flexible. As long as it involved one gorgeous sexy woman spanking, caning or whipping another beautiful lady, he was ready to be there in any capacity whatsoever. That didn't necessarily need to involve an active element of participation: if it came right down to it he would be happy enough with a seat at the edge of the room and a role fetching and carrying various beautifully adorned instruments of correction. Heck, they could have tied him up in a corner of the room and forgotten about him, and he'd still have been as happy as a sand-boy! It took, though, an awful lot of begging for Suzy to even consider it as a possibility. And not only begging -- which, truth be told, Jonathan wasn't only happy to do, but was actually a little bit turned on by. So, a winner all round. No, in addition to that he had to do her innumerable favours. There was all kinds of errand-running, lending of delicate and expensive audio and media technology, his favourite Fossil watch, and picking her and her crowd up for what basically amounted to a taxi run whenever they decided to spontaneously hang out and go clubbing until the small hours. But in the end it was all totally worth it, because in the end, Suzy agreed to run the idea past Leslie, at least. Of course, Suzy reminded him sternly, if Leslie said it was no dice, then it was no dice, and she didn't want to hear any further nagging from him on the subject. Didn't he think he was lucky enough to be allowed access to her fun-bags and the various other delights of her ample body on a semi-regular basis, as her whims took her? (And yes, the answer was that he did consider himself lucky. Suzy was scorching hot.) He was absolutely in suspense, on tenterhooks all evening, the night Suzy had agreed to bring the subject up with Leslie And then, when she'd promised to text him immediately with the verdict, of course she did no such thing. Not only that, but his own increasingly eager (or frantic) texts went ignored. And in the morning, she put him off via a highly minimalist and uncommunicative email when he wanted to meet up at the first available opportunity for morning coffee. Eventually, the only and earliest time he could pin her down to, was a beer at the bar opposite his fraternity association office late in the afternoon. By that time of course he wasn't expecting much. If it had been good news, wouldn't she have been eager to tell him all about it? So when she walked into the dark shadows of his corner of the bar -- red hair messy, wild curves tamed by her tight tube top and skinny jeans -- he was steeling himself for a pretty brutal rejection. It wasn't as if Suzy ever saw any reason to mince her words. 'Okay, you're in,' were her first words as she pushed up against him, round the table and into the most comfortable spot on the squeaky old vinyl seating. She never wasted any time getting right to the heart of a matter, either. Jonathan just gaped at her, and she gave him an irritable shove to the shoulder. 'What? Stop looking at me like someone just scooped out your brains and served them to you in a cone. You wanted it, you've been whining for weeks... I talked to Leslie, and she's agreeable to the suggestion.' Jon's mind and heart and, frankly, loins, were immediately on fire, and he sat up straighter in his excitement. Quite erect in fact. Suzy eyed him narrowly, and poked a finger in his broad, t-shirted chest. 'Of course, that agreement comes with a set of extremely strict conditions.' Jonathan sagged slightly, his erect posture of a moment previously forgotten. Nothing was ever plain and simple with Suzy, and everything had to be bargained and paid for in the end. 'Shoot,' he said. He figured that whatever it was, it'd be well worth it. Just as long as it was something, or some things, that he could actually do. But Suzy just waved him off lazily. 'Don't worry about it just now. Leslie's going to put it all in writing: isn't she the legal eagle? You can read the small print and add your autograph when you come round for your walk-on part. And you come round tonight. Eight sharp, don't be late or we won't answer the door. Because we'll be busy. Now get me a beer.' Jonathan was still a little apprehensive about those terms and conditions. He would have liked to know more about them before being asked to sign his name to something containing them. But he got Suzy her beer. It never paid to argue a point with Suzy Of course he turned up on the dot that same evening, at Leslie's house and smartly dressed just like Suzy had sternly warned him. When he rang the doorbell, he didn't altogether know what he was expecting. But it wasn't having to repeatedly knock and wait for a good eight minutes or so -- continually checking his watch and cell-phone to confirm that, yes, he was definitely not late. Of course, he thought, it might just be Suzy and Leslie's idea of a joke. Maybe neither of them had ever intended to let him in on the action. Maybe there was a hidden camera recording his every move and this was all just a huge joke to them. It was tremendously depressing as a thought. He was dispirited enough by it that his shoulders sagged, he leaned against the door-frame and his attention wandered for a moment. So it was a bit of a shock when the front door opened abruptly and Suzy peered out. She didn't seem eager to be spotted out on the street, and really there was very little wonder, considering what she was wearing. It was a French maid's outfit, if the said French maid had slightly adapted her outfit with a micro-skirted little PVC black dress and a miniature whip. But the rest of the ensemble, the little frilly white cap and the apron and everything, it was all present and correct, although the heels were a lot higher than he could imagine any bossy French madame putting up with in her servants. He was in heaven, and he didn't even care when Suzy grabbed hold of his lapel (belonging to the very nice jacket of his only good suit) and dragged him indoors. She led him down a long corridor packed with typically untidy and devastated student bookshelves, tennis shoes, and old kit bags, and then swerved abruptly off to a door at the end on the left. When she opened it, it yawned open to reveal a flight of rickety iron steps. Down into a cellar, in fact. And, tingly euphoria aside, Jonathan was plenty smart enough to hesitate, and to wonder if that was altogether a good idea. But he didn't have an awful lot of time to hang back and to debate. There was the shove of the flat of a hand between his shoulder-blades, and an impatient, 'Shit, Jon, get your ass in gear, okay? You down with this or not?' from dear, lovely, terrifying Suzy He guessed he'd better be down with it, since his feet were already stumbling down the tumble-down stairs, Suzy's heels plunking down after him, sharp and tinny. She slammed the door shut as she took her first step, and it thundered out behind him as he climbed down, very ominous. Arriving blinking down at the bottom of the staircase, he looked around himself with some apprehension. But fortunately the environment he found himself in turned out to be a whole lot less serial-killer-style than he'd half expected given the past twenty seconds or so. No. It was actually pretty cool. A big, clean, roomy cellar, well-lit, with white-painted walls and a few delicate black art nouveau dining room chairs set around the walls. For an audience? But that wasn't the main focus of attention, anyway, none of that. What really caught the eye was the bed in the middle of the room, and taking up about a third of it. The bed, and the girl laid heaving and squirming on top of it. That was the point -- as he stood and gaped -- that Suzy prodded him sharply in the back. 'Say hello to Leslie, man. You've met her before. Have a few fucking manners, Jesus, it wouldn't hurt you.' 'Hi, Leslie,' Jon managed, his voice squeaking just a bit. It was true, he'd met Leslie often enough before -- well, a few times. As lesbian girlfriends went, she seemed pretty tolerant, but he supposed there were limits to even her tolerance as far as keeping company with her girl's casual heterosexual fucks went. However, on all previous occasions when he'd met her, she'd been fully and conservatively clothed. Well, conservatively compared to her current outfit, anyhow. Considering that that consisted of a shiny black latex bikini underwear set with thong panties, and some high-heeled red platform sandals. And bearing in mind that she was strapped to the bed with an impressive collection of belts, straps and ties, the sandals seemed a little bit unnecessary. But on the other hand, they were very decorative, and Jon wasn't at all complaining. Not about the sandals. 'Hello, Jon,' Leslie replied to him, in a slightly sarcastic, sing-song voice. She never had taken to him, really. Although it was difficult to tell if he was interpreting her tone correctly, what with her being face down in a heap of pillows. At that, Suzy reached over from behind him, and smacked her girlfriend on the ass-cheek. It was a bit of a startling addition to the introduction to her and Leslie's sexy times, but, Jon figured, start as you mean to go on right? 'Leslie What is the appropriate mode of address for you, towards visitors to our dungeon?' she asked. Then she slapped Leslie's ass again. 'Answer me, cheeky miss!' Leslie's tone in reply was both indignant and saucy. 'The appropriate mode of address is either madam or sir, Mistress Suzy,' she said. Then she added, 'Even for Jonathan?' That was certainly cheeky. But Jonathan was too busy being turned on to even care. Irritable, aggressive, self-assertive Leslie, who he'd always found more than a little intimidating... in a subservient position. Calling visitors 'sir' and 'madam', while tied up and half-naked. Calling him 'sir', for that matter. Not that she actually had, yet. He decided to risk it. 'So what do you call me, Leslie?' That got him a little squeak of protest, as she wriggled in her bonds. But Suzy echoed his words. (Fortunately. He'd thought she might just laugh at him for taking it seriously.) 'Well, Suzy? How are you going to address our visitor?' Suzy said sternly. She picked up a switch of some resilient, flexible fibreglass that he hadn't noticed lying at the foot of the bed. And letting it swing up into the air, she brought it thwacking down again on the palm of her hand. Her breasts jiggled, tightly encased in the black latex of her tiny little dress. Leslie groaned, from her prone position on the bed, and that was pretty hot in itself. 'Oh mistress,' she ground out sulkily. 'Do I really have to?' Her bottom twitched in protest too, and there wasn't much left to the imagination about it by the thong. It jiggled along with her boobs. For an answer, she just got the switch swished through the air again, and a still more threatening hiss of the fine tip on the palm of Suzy's hand. It pretty much got the message across, though. 'Oh all right,' Leslie said sulkily. 'Welcome to our secret abode, sir. See anything you like?' It was heavily laced with sarcasm: but Leslie had still addressed him as 'sir'. It was more than enough to make his cock tingle, stand up and take notice, apparently. 'Much better, girl,' Suzy said approvingly. 'Now you've remembered your place in the pecking order, we can get on with the schedule of activities for the night. Jon, we will be requiring your assistance in this. Are you willing to take part in the evening's entertainment?' She lifted one eyebrow at him, and gave a little wriggle that was only enhanced by the tightness of her outfit. Her little French maid's hat tottered slightly on her head, and she reached up a hand and poked at it with her long French manicure acrylics. Well. What a crazy question. On what planet wouldn't he be willing, ready, eager and able to help out, Jonathan wondered. He didn't even need any advance notification of what exactly his duties were supposed to be. If he was the water-boy just keeping everyone hydrated during a strenuous evening's activities, then that was just fine by him. It was fine. His expression must probably have conveyed this, because he was pretty much incapable of anything beyond a squeaky assent of, 'Yeah! Anything! Um, right!' Suzy laughed sharply, and flicked him, very lightly, on the cheek with the little crop she had in her other hand. It was kind of hot. And it also hurt a little bit, however gentle she was with it. 'Okay, that's good. We'll get down to business, then. Jonathan, take her panties off.' Okay. Suzy definitely needed to learn a thing or two about a gentle run-up to startling news, a slow build-up. Because either Jonathan was having auditory hallucinations, or she'd just told him to take Leslie's panties off, and that was something you needed to lead up to. Not to just spring it on a person like it wouldn't result in hyperventilation or physical collapse! Perceiving his hesitation, Suzy slapped him on the ass, open-handed. It was a lot less of a kinky prelude to sexy times, and a lot more of a hearty, man-to-man reassurance. 'You can do it, kid. I'm just going to go sit by the wall, and I'll give you instructions.' It was followed up with a hearty clap on the shoulder, and then she abandoned him by the bed, and went to sit down on one of the dainty little chairs, crossing her legs in a ladylike fashion, spike heels flaring out. He looked down at Leslie, and hesitated. Her muffled sigh was audible, and there was a slight snicker from Suzy over by the wall. 'Don't bottle out of it now, Jonathan. Be a man. Ease her panties down gently, but not hesitantly. Firm and manly, remember.' He drew his shoulders back and took a deep breath, and reached out slightly towards Leslie But the roll of her eyes put him off a bit, and he still hesitated some more. 'Do I have to come over there and thrash you, before I instruct you on how to properly remove a lady's panties?' Suzy's voice was bored and amused, and Jon got the hint. He didn't want to be fired from the job of removing Leslie's panties before he'd even got properly started, after all! Firm and manly, he thought sternly to himself, firm and manly. It wasn't as if he'd never taken a woman's pants off before, after all! Or, well, assisted in the process, anyway. 'Is this okay?' he asked in a hoarse whisper, as he laid his hands on either side of Leslie's hips, and she only answered him with a slight groan. He took that to mean, 'Get on with it,' and took a firmer hold of the narrow day-glow strips of the legs of her thong. The skin of her butt and hips was tan, and very soft, with a light sheen, and as he eased the bright strips of material down over her hips, his hands brushed against the softness of her skin. Her ass wriggled as he freed it from the constriction, and he was starting to feel more than a bit uncomfortable and tight in his pants. But Suzy's voice was sharp as she reprimanded him. 'No unnecessary touching, Jon! Keep it strictly business!' Damn it. That was him pretty much busted. She hadn't forbidden him from looking, though: and he looked his fill, at the soft curves of Leslie's ass, at the shadow that led down to her pussy, at her taut and muscular thighs and rounded calves, her pretty little feet. (Not that they were so pretty or delicate when she was playing soccer and kicking the hell out of her opponents. Oh, wait, she'd corrected him on that previously: when she was 'tackling' her opponents, of course. Very important to get it right: especially when discussing it with Leslie herself.) Easing the delicate little bit of fabric and webbing off Leslie's feet was the trickiest part: and he noticed then that the colour, a hot orange, matched her toe nail polish exactly. Of course, Leslie was a stickler for detail. Her bra was the same colour, a solid-colour push-up affair, saucy and perky rather than delicate and lacy. Sporty, but still hot: pretty much like Leslie herself. The tan of her skin, the freckles, against the bright hot solid orange, was very sexy. And she wiggled her toes as he trailed the little scrap of fabric off her feet, letting it stroke the soles for a moment before he pulled it away, and looked to Suzy -- well, to Mistress Suzy -- for approval and further instruction. Suzy -- looking very formal and straight-backed, not at all her usual slouching, gum-snapping, sneering self -- nodded at him, which seemed sufficient confirmation that he had done well. Then she tipped her head to a corner of the cellar, where there was a tall narrow metal cupboard, a little at an angle. 'Quite well done, boy,' she conceded in patronising tones. Boy, Jon thought, and tested it, rolling it around his head. He found he didn't object at all. There was certainly a time and place for role-play, and he was happy to accept his apparent place in the pecking order. Especially considering the things it was doing for his pecker. 'Now go to the cupboard, and see what you find in there,' she instructed him. He was willing enough, and what he found, on closer examination, was enough to take his breath away. A whole cornucopia of instruments of correction, enough to whip a whole army of ne'er-do-wells into submission. Submission: he shivered at the thought. 'Bring the poison-wood cane with the inlaid bronze handle, Jon,' Suzy said. There was something he barely recognised about her voice: something sharp and formal and... old-fashioned, somehow. Something regal, and like it totally belonged to someone who should be addressed as 'Mistress'. He picked out the cane and took it over to her, where she had risen to stand by the bed, where Leslie lay quiet and still, her tied and captured hand only fiddling with a stray lock of her long hair, where it had strayed over her fingers. Suzy took the cane from him and eyed Leslie's butt thoughtfully: then she stepped back a foot or so. The cane swung in her hands, as she tested out the weight of it: and she made a half-movement as if to hand it to him. He didn't need any more encouragement than that, and his hand sprung out of its own accord. Yes, his fantasy-life preference was for a little girl-on-girl chastisement, normally. But right now, he certainly wasn't at all averse to the idea of taking a pretty damn active hand -- ho, ho -- in proceedings himself. Not at all. 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?' Kiss The Rod Suzy's response was swift, and positively frosty, with extra icing on. 'I believe you've missed something out of your address to Master Jon, for the second time this evening, Leslie?' she observed, and there was a threat in her voice that they all knew only too well would be fulfilled if apology and a quick shape-up were not rapidly forthcoming. Leslie's response was immediate. 'Can you please hurry up, Master Jon, sir, is what I meant to say, Mistress Suzy,' she quickly corrected herself. Suzy sniffed a bit: but no further admonitions or threats were forthcoming, and both Leslie and Jon breathed sighs of relief. Further correction, would, after all, hold up proceedings considerably: and they were just about to get to the really good parts. Instead, Suzy prodded him vigorously in the thigh, and rolled her eyes when he no doubt looked a touch confused about what she wanted of him. Irritation began to border on fury in her clear green gaze. 'Are you waiting for anything in particular?' she asked, with poisonous sweetness, her hands on her hips in a way that thrust out her breath-stealing cleavage, squeezed into creamy mountains by the neckline of her dress. It finally managed to get the message across, and Jon swallowed a gulp, before apprehensively climbing onto the bed -- steady there, he thought, just don't fall off or do anything stupid like that, it might nix the whole thing -- and straddling himself over the prone, twitching body of Leslie None of Suzy's -- Madam Suzy's -- scolding had managed to reduce his stinging, throbbing hard-on, and it was fortunate enough at this stage of the game. (How embarrassing would that have been? Suzy would probably have given him a thrashing for not being up to the job. Which might in itself have been enough to solve the problem.) Anyway, who was he kidding: Suzy's scolding was only enhancing his arousal more with every volley and reproof. He fucking loved it. Although not as much as her correction of Leslie That shit was hot, and he had the proof throbbing in his hand, as he unzipped and took it out, to an approving little coo from Suzy, and a head-craning attempt to take a look from Leslie That got Leslie a sharp little extra twitching slash with the scourge, to which she responded with a thoroughly petulant whine. 'Stop whining,' Mistress Suzy said to her sharply. 'Yes, that was a little extra for you, and it was quite merited, don't pretend you don't know it. No trying to get a look at the goods and easing out of the position you've been prescribed.' Leslie's petulant little whimper was pretty much a wordless admission of the justice of Suzy's judgement, and Jon took it as his cue to really begin to get this show on the road. He figured an excess of finesse wasn't going to be particularly appreciated in this environment: so he cracked open the condom packet and got on with the old pinch and roll, before re-adjusting his legs and opening up Leslie's so he was lying in between hers. She squeaked as he moved her around, but was quite accommodating and pliable, not to say warm, soft and fleshy in his hands, and the smooth warm heat of her skin gave a hypnotic quality to the experience. He wanted to touch and taste her, could smell her cheap mall-cart scent, so he did, touched and tasted to his heart and dick's content, and Suzy praised him, urged him on. Leslie herself gave contented little whimpering moans: they made his dick throb and he knew it was time to get down to business before he just came in his condom, which would be a truly tragic waste of time and an erection. So he eased a hand gently underneath Leslie's smooth lightly rounded tummy, and lifted her up so she was resting on her knees instead of lying flat, ass pert and proud and rising high in the air for anyone to see. That exposed her pussy too, and Jon took a deep breath as he got himself lined up behind her and started to ease the head of his cock in, spreading the cheeks of her bum apart to widen her up a bit and give easier access. Leslie gave a startled little yelp as he pushed the first couple of centimetres in, and Jon froze for a second, before she followed that up with a giddy, high-pitched little giggle, faking him out. 'You little minx,' he said, relaxing, and gave her what-for by pushing in hard and fast and making her squeal for real. She was nicely tight, but lubricated enough -- excited enough, by the spanking and the whipping, the correction and the submission, to be all ready for him and to pant and wince only a little as he slid in up to the hilt, his thick red veined cock finding a nice snug nestling home in her warm wet core. He still had a firm grip of her hips, stopping her from sliding forwards, and started to ease his dick out of her, ready for a forward thrust, loving the heated clench of her pussy as it sent little shudders and shock-waves of pleasure through his dick and sack. But he was arrested, as Suzy reached around him and slapped his ass firmly, keeping him in place. 'What do you think you're doing?' she asked sharply. And all he could do was to look at her, bewildered. It wasn't that he wanted to offer his dungeon mistress any kind of disrespect: but he thought it was pretty fucking obvious exactly what he was doing. Leslie, too, whined as she was kept waiting, wriggled and squeezed around his cock so that he had to squeeze his eyes shut and concentrate on not shooting his load right then and there. Suzy's face gentled, just a little bit, as she probably realised from the uncomprehending look on his face that he genuinely didn't have a clue what she was talking about. 'You need to get out of my way,' she explained to him, and when Jon still didn't move, she reached over and took a hold of his hands and eased them further back down Leslie's hips, in the direction of her ass. She got him positioned so that he still had enough of a hold on the squirming girl to keep her in place ready to take his thrusts, but leaving plenty of access for Suzy to get at her ass. And now the light dawned, and he felt his dick harden up to the point he thought it might explode. Suzy was going to administer correction to Leslie While he fucked her. He couldn't help whimpering out loud at this point. But Leslie just threw her scourge onto the bedside cabinet, where it clattered and bounced down the side, careless and unheeded. And she lifted her hand, then set her other hand on her tightly clad hip and gave him a quizzical look, and then a nod. 'Off you go, my lad,' she told him. 'And at a gallop, too!' He tried for control: he thought of holding back, of attempting to make it longer, draw it out and squeeze every last drop of satisfaction from it. But he'd had his orders: and besides, the moment he pulled halfway out, and then thrust back in again, vigorous and making Leslie's ass bounce up with the force of it, Suzy lifted her hand higher, and brought it down fast. That was it, and there was no possibility of taking it slow and savouring it after that. Instead he let his cock guide him as he rode Leslie, following its lead as he plunged in and out and in and out again She was juicy and delicious, and his cock throbbed as he parted the tightness of her walls, but almost more than that, he was pushed to madness at her loud cries as Suzy let loose a hail of slaps on that rounded, cushioned ass. It wouldn't have been half as pleasurable without the punishment: he could even feel the vibration of the blows as Leslie's ass and pussy shook with them, exerting pressure on his diving, hammering cock. He could feel come beginning to collect in his balls, ready to shoot out in a fierce spasm, and he wished strongly for the ability to prolong it. But he looked down at Leslie as she flinched and panted in his sturdy grasp, pushing back against his dick harder with every crack of Suzy's hand. He squeezed a hand down further than her tummy, down to her clitoris even as he worked away, his cock working like a thick fleshy engine against the wet resistance of her pussy, and he gave her some stimulation there. It was enough to bring the pitch of her cries up a notch, so that he didn't know if she was screeching from Suzy's increasingly rapid spanking, sharp hard rapid slaps like hail-stones, or from the pleasure of his rubbing her clitoris and his cock filling her up and leaving her empty and filling her up again. But he couldn't answer the question, because he was busy coming himself, shouting dirty things hoarsely about 'Take it you little bitch,' and 'That'll teach you to show some respect,' and 'Damn well behave,' and then just incoherent shouts as it was dragged out of him and he fell over her as she gave her last spasm with a mewling little pathetic squeak and lay trembling underneath him. Suzy gave one last hard crack to Leslie's right buttock before they fell, and then drew back, standing with her hands on her hips and watching them with an air of satisfaction. And she reached out and gave Jon's own ass a light smack, and he had to confess that he didn't mind at all: or maybe he was just too satisfied and exhausted to feel any sting of humiliation. There was tenderness in her face as Suzy looked down at them, watching them in their tired, wrecked, sweaty and sore embrace. 'You've done awfully well, my darlings,' she said, fondly, and Jon felt a warm glow at her approval, smiling tiredly up at her, in all her tawdry, fleshy glory, squeezed and laced into her gear so tight her boobs were ready to explode up and out. And she reached out, strong and muscular, and rolled him over a little, so that she could bend and kiss Leslie on her sore, glowing ass cheek: and then lean a little further, tits teetering precariously on the edge of her neckline, to kiss Jon's cheek, too, though his face this time. Her own face was glowing, pleased. 'Awfully well,' she repeated. 'Mistress Suzy is pleased with you.' And beneath him, Leslie gave a thoroughly contented sigh.