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Four of a Kind

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Author le Valle is back, with his inimitable published-in-Paris style, describing wild nights between four young, beautiful, licentious wives, and the many things ladies will do to each when their husbands are away.

 

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Four of a Kind

Pierre le Vale

This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.

CHAPTER ONE

Back in the main room of the chalet, the four women pulled off their furs.

“Well—what now?” Yola Reimer pulled off her fur hood and shook out her long, blonde hair.

“Oh, there's no need to worry; when they find we're not at the rendezvous, they'll come up here looking for us.” Hester Carr stretched her tall, willowy body and yawned. “In the meantime, we can at least get a night's sleep, which I can do with more than somewhat—that was one hell of a climb they talked us into.” She looked at her watch. “Do you realise we started out from the hotel at 7 o'clock this morning and it is now 4.30 in the afternoon; we only waited here two hours, so that means we've been more or less on the move for seven and a half hours, except that stop for a meal.”

* * *

“I shouldn't think they'll attempt to get down while this weather lasts,” observed Constance Lynd, looking out of a window. “Wonder if they made it to the top?”

“Personally, I couldn't care less whether they did or not.” Anne Wyatt tossed her mane of thick auburn hair.

“You sound as though you'd feel the same way if they fell over a precipice, or something.” Constance went over to the stove and inspected the coffee-pot.

“Well, that's not quite accurate—I need them to get down in one piece myself.”

“Just listen to that wind howl!”

“I should think this will keep up all night, now.” Hester Carr collected four mugs and carried them over to Constance at the stove.

“Supposing it keeps up for days?” The red-headed Constance looked vaguely alarmed.

“They'd send out a search party, and, any way, there's a store of emergency rations here; with the food we've brought with us, we could hole up here for a week.”

“What a bore, though.” Yola Reimer pulled a face.

“Oh, I don't know.” Anne Wyatt gave her a long, calculating look. “Sometimes the simple pastime can invent away from civilisation prove—interesting.”

There was a moment of electrified silence in the room, accentuated by the whistle of the wind outside, then it was broken by Yola scraping her chair as she got to her feet, her face a little flushed.

“How about some of that food we were talking about? I'm starving.”

“All this talk of food and pastimes and our poor husbands may be in awful danger.” Hester protested, her tone somehow not quite matching up to the gravity of the words.

“You sound about as worried as my sister's cat and that came from Cheshire!”

“Well, I didn't want to conic in the first place. Don't forget that you talked us into coming.”

“All the same. I think food is a good idea let's eat!”

Half an hour later, the four sat huddled round the lire with plates of canned stew and mugs of hot coffee.

“In which way,” Hester Carr looked at each of the other ladies in turn. “Seeing that there are only two beds—what are we doing about sleeping arrangements? Personally. I don't mind, just so long as I can hit the sack as soon as I've finished this chow. I'm bushed!”

“Me, too!” Constance Lynd put down her empty plate and stood up. “Obviously, with one bed in each room, we'll have to pair off.” If anyone has a preference, speak up.”

“I think Yola and I should get along OK,” drawled Anne Wyatt, giving Yola another long look. “What do you say, Yola?”

“I don't see why not,” she answered, standing up and turning her back quickly to hide the blush that came to her cheeks. Thai stare of Anne's seemed to strip the clothes from her body and left her in little doubt as to her intentions.

“That's settled that problem, then!” Hester exchanged glances with Constance, who smiled knowingly and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I'm off—how many oil-lamps have we?”

“About half-a-dozen.”

“Fine, then I'll take one. G'night all—see you later, Constance.”

“I'm right with you!” Constance followed Hester into the cubicle. “Hey—how about that! There's an oil-stove in here got a match?” Hester look the lighter Constance handed her. “Plenty of kerosene in the tank, too. They sure stock these places but good.”

As the warmth began to raise the temperature of the small room, they undressed, pulling off slacks and jumpers.

Clad in their panties and bra's, they stood in front of the stove for a while, warming up before climbing into bed. Stripped of the shapeless clothes they had donned for climbing, they took stock of each other.

Hester Carr, tall, willowy, raven haired, with small but firm rounded breasts and very white skin. Constance Lynd, medium height, a redhead with full-blown breasts and a wonderful pair of buttocks.

They both laughed self-consciously when they realised they had each been sizing up the other.

“Anne made it pretty plain what she wanted, didn't she?” grinned Hester.

“She certainly did! What about Yola, though—maybe she won't go for it.”

“You didn't hear her make any objection, did you? I wonder who'll play the wife and who the husband!” Hester mused.

“Hester!”

“Well, we both know what they're going to do as soon as they get into bed, don't we? It won't be to go to sleep, and that's for sure! One will be flat on her back with the other on top of her and if we were to put our ears to the wall, we'd hear those bed-springs taking terrible punishment!”

“But how can they do it like that? They surely can't have brought a...” Constance stopped, her face going red.

“So—our Connie knows all about such things, does she? Hester grinned. Then, in mock virtuous apprehension, she covered the bulge of her pubic region with one hand and threw her other arm across her breasts. “What would my husband say? Maybe I ought to sit up in the other room!”

“Silly,” laughed Connie, “you'll be quite safe with me!”

“I was afraid of that!” Hester's eyes twinkled.

“I thought you were supposed to be tired? I am— and I'm getting into bed right now.”

Connie went over to the bed and pulled back the clothes. Hester watched her climb in, her eyes kindling, as Connie, her back turned to her, put one knee up on the cot, stretching her tight panties even tighter across her beautiful behind. She moved well over to leave a space for Hester and pulled the bedclothes up to her chin.

“You coming in?”

Hester climbed in and stretched her slim, shapely length alongside Constance in the narrow cot. She shivered as a smooth thigh touched one of hers.

“Chilly, isn't it?” said Connie, misinterpreting the shiver. “Shall—shall we cuddle up for warmth?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Why not!”

Turning towards each other, their arms clasped, each pressing the other close to her, feeling the warmth of one another's near naked bodies. One of Connie's thighs pressed itself between Hester's: their bellies touched and Connie felt her full breasts flatten against the firm, apple-like roundness of Hester's flimsily-covered breasts.

Connie felt Hester's heart pounding against her right breast and knew Hester could feel the pulsing of her own. She pressed her a little closer and caught her breath when she felt a damp warmth on the thigh she had prisoned high up between the other girl's legs.

She lay for some time, trying to fight down the old urge she felt rising within her. It was a losing battle; that soft damp patch pressing against her thigh and the small, firm breasts pressed so lightly to hers, the nipples poking through the bra were forces superior to her own.

Hester stirred in her arms and without a further thought, she bent her head and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. As this brought forth no protest, she lifted her shoulder a little, where Hester's head rested, and brought her lips in line with hers. Opening her mouth slightly, she pressed it against the warm unresisting mouth of her bed-mate, holding the slim, shapely body tightly.

For a moment, the soft mouth under Connie's remained passive, then came a drowsy murmur of protest, the mouth closed and tightened and Hester pulled her head away, but still lay within the circling arms.

“Please, Connie, no. I'm awfully tired, really, I am.” Hester's voice was drowsy and Connie realised she must have actually drifted off to sleep within moment of getting into bed.

“Sorry, dear,” she whispered. “I hadn't realised you were asleep— I took your silence to mean you didn't mind. I won't trouble you again. Sorry ”

She relaxed the grip of her arms and started to pull her thigh from between Hester's. Hester, however, kept her thighs tightly closed on it.

“No, stay like that—it's all nice and warm and cosy.” She murmured, her voice still drowsy. “I didn't say I didn't like it—just that right now, I'm dead beat.”

“You—you mean we...”

“I mean there's always tomorrow. I just want to sleep now...” Hester's voice trailed off, her head falling back in Connie's shoulder.

For a long time, Connie lay awake in the darkness, fulfillment so close yet so far. The long day of climbing had taken its toll, however, and her mind drifted along the narrow corridor between sleeping and waking. Her last conscious thought before being completely claimed by Morphius, was a slightly envious speculation on the possible activities of Anne and Yola in the next room.

* * *

As soon as Hester and Constance had gone to bed, Anne Wyatt lit one of the spare lamps and took it into the other room. This, too, had an oil stove, which she lit and lost no time in getting out of her clothes. She stripped right down to her panties and, her big breasts swinging with her quick, lithe movement, she went to the door.

“Hey—How long are you going to be? Come on, honey—you know you want to!”

Yola swung round and looked at the tall well-built Anne Wyatt, her eyes going wide when she saw her standing in nothing but a pair of stretch nylon panties that looked several sizes too small to cope with the width of her hips and the fullness of her buttocks.

She had been trying to sort out her feelings, as she always did when faced with an imminent sexual contact with another woman. This was resolving itself as it always did—especially after a further appraisal of the woman in question — in acquiescence. Tonight, even more so, when she saw the nearly naked Anne standing at the door, her large, but up-tilted breasts, swaying as they stood out from her chest like luscious, tempting fruits. Her blood raced as her eyes devoured the full, shapely body and she knew that at that moment she wanted nothing else.

She really knew it would come to this as far back as the previous summer, when she had first met Anne Wyatt; she had been fixed with that long, cool, calculating stare, the slightly amused twitch of a smile at the corners of her mouth; a toss of the auburn head that said more plainly than words: “I've got you figured for what you are, and, furthermore, it happens to be what I want and sooner or later I'm going to get it!” And, somehow, Yola had known she would.

“Well, now you've had a good look, maybe we can go to bed?”

Yola realised she had been staring at Anne for some time. She lowered her gaze and went meekly towards her, her emotions a crazy mixture of a bride on her wedding night and a lamb going to the slaughter.

As she passed into the cubicle, Anne gave her a little push and closed the door after them.

“Hurry up and get your clothes off. I feel like a bitch on heat! I hope you do, too! Here—let me help.”

She took the bottom of Yola's thick jumper and pulled it up and off over her head, Yola standing unresisting and lifting her arms at the appropriate time. Anne reached for the zip at the hip of the jeans she was wearing, tugged it down, unbuckled her belt and let the jeans fall to the floor. Her eyes held a gleam of triumph as Yola stood submissively through the quick, ungentle stripping. Her slip was pulled off next, then her suspenders were unfastened, her stockings rolled down and she stepped out of jeans and stockings as Anne went behind her to undo the catch of her brassiere.

With breasts bared, she stood quietly as Anne surveyed them, mouth almost watering. Yola's breasts were quite full and rounded, well shaped, with pointed coral nipples; her waist was slim and her hips swelled outwards to give her an hour-glass figure. Her bottom was well-fleshed and her thighs shapely and tapering to good legs.

Impatiently, Anne grabbed her and hugged her close for a moment, crushing the rounded breasts hard against her own. Then she released her to take hold of Yola's panties and drag them down. As she straightened, she paused half-way to eye the plump mount.

“A real blonde, too, eh?” she commented.

Taking hold of the black suspender-belt, that, also was yanked down, then stood naked, watching the bigger woman swiftly strip off her own panties.

Yola waited as she tossed them on the end of the bed and turned to watch her as she came towards where she stood in front of the stove. Anne stood very close to her and bent forward slightly, so that the nipples of their breasts touched. Yola gave a little gasp at the contact, feeling the other woman's hot, stiffened teats poke into hers, as yet still soft and lax.

“You know what I want, don't you, darling? And I think I have you figured right, too—you like it rough, don't you? That's how I prefer a woman; I have many tastes and I want a girl who's prepared to cater for all of them. Now, for the rest of the night, at least, you're mine and you are going to do just as I tell you— agreed?”

Yola looked briefly up into her eyes, then quickly looked away again and nodded her head.

“Good! Then open your legs and let's have a good look at your cunt, to start with. Oh, yes—you'll find I call a spade a spade, so don't look so startled. She squatted down in front of the naked blonde. “Come on—open up!

Yola obediently parted her legs and allowed the crouching Anne to look up at the long, slim gash of her sex.

“I hope you have a fair-sized clitty—have you?”

“I—oh!” She gasped as Anne reached in between her thighs and roughly spread the soft lips of it wide.

“Well, let's see if I can find it.”

Anne ran a finger-tip along the furrow; Yola jerked a little as it reached the top of the pink groove and received a sharp slap on one thigh.

“Hold still! Just push your belly out a bit more. That's it!”

The finger-tip found Yola's clitoris and pressed hard on it. She had a hard job to keep still, then, as the rapidly stiffening sliver of flesh was subjected to a rough frigging.

“Hm, not bad!” was Anne's comment. “Could be a little larger though.”

She pressed the flesh away from either side of the ill-treated clitoris, so that it stood out, wet and glistening in the lamplight. Her tongue came out and gave it a long, slow lick, then her lips closed over it and sucked it in.

Yola cried out with the sensation and, jerking her hips forward, she grabbed Anne's head, clasping her hands round the back of her neck. That was a mistake. The bigger woman drew back at once and got to her feet.

“I said you would do just as I told you to do! You will pay for that shortly! Right now, I'll continue with the inspection. Clasp your hands behind your back and breathe in—push your tits well out.”

Trembling, partly with apprehension and partly with frustrated desire, Yola took a deep breath, clasped her ands behind her and squared her shoulders, thrusting her full round breasts out. These, too, underwent a rigorous inspection; they were pinched, squeezed, weighed and pulled. Then each nipple was taken between a finger and thumb and twisted until the tears came to her eyes. Then they were pulled out and stretched to their limits. Finally, Anne took each one in turn, stiff and aching now, into her mouth and sucked so strongly on them that Yola was sure she could feel fluid begin to move up along the milk channels in her breasts.

She was panting when Anne had finished; her breasts ached and the nipples stung hotly. She looked down at them and saw the tender pieces of flesh sticking out farther than she had ever known, red and swollen; even the aureoles were suffused.

“So much for the titties! Now turn round and bend over: open your legs wide and stick your bum out. I want to see what sort of arsehole you have.”

Yola obeyed her, though she was feeling a little worried, now, about what she had let herself in for. That was the roughest treatment her breasts had ever been subjected to; even now they throbbed where they hung down, swaying, from her chest, as she bent over. Other women had mistreated her in sexual bouts; it was part of her make-up to want it, but she felt this woman was going to go well beyond any of them.

She felt her buttocks being pulled apart and cool air fanned her exposed anus. Pressing two fingers against the little downy, crinkled hole, Anne widened the entrance; the tip of her tongue touched it, pushed and pressed inwards. She drew her hand back and replaced her tongue with a forefinger. Yola's breath sucked in sharply as the finger was pushed up into her rectum, right to the third knuckle, without pausing on the way.

“Reach behind you and hold open the cheeks of your arse.”

Bracing her legs wider apart for better balance, Yola reached back and opened up her buttocks. She choked off a scream, then, as the stiffened forefinger dug cruelly into her backside again, twisting as it went up into the tight passage. She suffered this indignity for some time, before the finger was withdrawn and she was allowed to straighten, her back aching, a stinging soreness in her rectum as though the membrane had been torn.

She turned to face Anne Wyatt, her eyes showing a trace of fear. She was realising this woman's sadistic potential and knew that the ill-treatment she had undergone at her hands was nothing compare to what she was capable of inflicting.

Yola was sure whether her fear was engendered by the possible extent of Anne's sadism, or how far her own masochistic tendencies and sexual desires would drive her, forcing her, almost like a drug addict, to submit to the further pain and humiliation she was certain must come.

She looked down at the red, distended nipples and her hands came up to lift the rounded globes in an effort to ease them.

Before her hands could touch them, she was staggering back, gasping with pain, her breasts swinging from the two stinging slaps they had taken, one on each breast, from her tormentor's palm.

“You're forgetting what you agreed to when we came in here. You are mine for tonight and that means those breasts belong to me, as does every part of you. Don't you dare touch yourself anywhere unless I give you permission—understand? Neither do you touch any part of me without first being told. Is that clear?”

Yola hesitated, then nodded dumbly, wanting desperately to put her hands up to her stinging breasts, but not daring to move. Anne's eyes blazed with excitement and triumph; she had had some submissive and beautiful women in her time, but this one promised to top the lot. Absolutely sure of herself, now, she turned and walked to the door; opened it and stood to one side. Looking back at Yola, she gestured into the other room.

“If you are not prepared to place yourself in my hands and agree to let me do anything I want to you; if you do not think you can take the punishments I intend to inflict, then get out and sleep in the other room—I'll give you some blankets. You had better go now if you're going. Well?”

Yola looked at her and beyond her into the haven of the other room; her eyes swung back and met Anne's; she shivered at the glint of cruelty in them.

Then, slowly, she hung her head, muttered a barely audible “I'll stay,” and stayed where she was.

She looked up as the door was closed and saw Anne fit the wooden bar into the two slots, barring the way if she thought of changing her mind; the woman would be on her before she could lift it.

“Come over to the bed, Yola.” Anne sat on the edge and opened her legs.

“Come here and kneel between my thighs. That little exploration of you has made me all sexy, so you can suck me off before we proceed any further. And in case you're thinking I may lose interest afterwards—I won't. I could 'come' a score of times in one night and still be ready for more. After this one. I'll only have to play with you for a few minutes and I'll be ready for another.”

Yola knelt between the parted thighs, her heart hammering as she bent her head and approached the auburn-haired mount, the strong aroma of the woman's quim in her nostrils.

She saw by the open, wet lips of the vulva that she was fully roused. Anne moved her behind closer to the edge of the bed, so that her cunt was clear of it. Hoping she was not displeasing her, Yola gently put her finger-tips to the fat, pink lips and spread them wide, exposing the clitoris. It was big and seemed to stiffen and throb like a miniature penis as she put out her tongue and gave the warm gristle a soft lick.

“Mmm! That's lovely—lick it for a while like that. Ooooh! Yes!”

Yola licked and nuzzled it with her lips, Anne's hips giving little delighted jerks. Her hands clasped Yola's head, holding her face close to her sex.

“Ah! Fabulous! You certainly know how to do it. Now suck it for me—take it into your mouth. Suck it right in—it's big enough. Ooooh! Fucking hell!! Where have you been all my life?”

Yola drew the thick clitoris between her lips; it was the biggest she had ever encountered; there was really something to suck on. She gently tickled the unfolded vulva as she sucked and was rewarded by having her head pressed tightly between two plump thighs.

“I—I'm going to come any minute now,” gasped Anne, working herself against Yola's mouth. “Quickly —get under my cunt; I want to spend in your mouth. No, wait! Lie down on the floor on your back.”

Yola did as she was told and Anne knelt over her, knees straddling her face, cunt pressing down on the waiting mouth.

“Now—suck as you've never sucked before! Suck! Shove your tongue up it! Aaah! That's it!”

Yola worked her mouth and tongue frantically for only a few seconds, then the wet, hairy quim was jiggling against her mouth and further sucking produced an acrid, slimy juice, thrilling Yola as she swallowed it.

As the orgasm faded and the temporarily sated woman drooped on all fours above her, Yola got out from beneath her and knelt up beside her, wanting to caress the Junoesque body. Her arm went over her back and she reached under her to fondle the hanging breasts.

Anne pushed her away and got to her feet. She went over to the bed and flopped down on it. Yola followed and lay beside her, arms going round her body to cuddle her close, her sexual excitement mounting to fever pitch, For her pains, she was thrown off and, as she rolled over, given a hard slap on the backside.

“I told you you are only to do as you are told! Now stand at the foot of the bed —facing me. You will stay there until I tell you to move. Clasp your hands on your head—it's good for the breast muscles! I'm going to rest for a few minutes.”

She lay back on the bed as Yola stood at the foot with her hands on her head, watching the lovely lax body, legs splayed wide, so that Yola was looking directly down her cunt.

For about a quarter of an hour Yola was forced to stand there, torn between desire, aggravated by the naked woman spread so invitingly before her, and fear of what the said woman might do to her next.

She seemed very ready with her slaps, so she was obviously interested in flagellation. Yola herself was not averse to taking a mild beating, but the women she had submitted to before had not been of this calibre. How far would Anne want to go? She certainly didn't want to have the skin stripped from her back! She trembled, her mouth going dry when she thought about it. Perhaps she wouldn't be interested in just whipping her back and buttocks, as she had found usual in other women. She might want to whip her elsewhere; her breasts, maybe—or even—event between her thighs. She almost dropped her hands to cover her sex at the thought.

Her fingers were beginning to go numb and her arms ached by the time Anne sat up and got off the bed. She came round and stood in front of Yola, looking at her. She moulded her hands round the taut breasts.

“That stretch will do them good—help keep your figure longer. You may take them down, now.”

Yola unclasped her hands and dropped her arms with relief, flexing her fingers.

“I suppose you've been wondering what's in store for you?”

Yola nodded, dreading it, yet wanting it.

“I'm going to beat you. You were expecting me to, weren't you?”

Yola nodded again. Anne stroked the lovely flanks of the submissive woman, her eyes sparkling.

“I don't believe in namby-pamby spankings — for a session like this, anyway. You are going to be whipped!”

Anne walked over to where their clothes lay and picked up both their jeans.

“I shall whip you in two phases. The first you will receive on your hands and knees; your buttocks must be well canted up for me to get at easily. When they have been well thrashed, I shall tell you to get up; as soon as you do, you will walk over to the door and place your wrists against the wooden bar so that I can bind them to it. I shall then whip your back until I consider you have been thrashed within the limits of what you can endure—we don't want you fainting, or something silly like that.”

Yola's stomach crawled with fear.

“Are—are you going to cut me?”

“Don't worry—I'll be careful not to cut the skin; a woman can be well whipped without that.”

Yola suddenly felt horribly naked and defenceless as her mistress for the night pulled the thin leather belts from the waist-loops of the jeans and stood in front of her, the straps dangling from her fingers.

“I think we could do with another light on the subject—go and get one. Better throw another log on the fire while you're at it.”

Yola padded out, shivering in the lower temperature of the larger room. She threw another log on the fire and brought another lamp. Anne lit it and placed it on the floor.

“Kneel down here beside the lamp.”

As Yola knelt, Anne went over and barred the door again, leaving one of the belts hanging from it. Yola's eyes never left her the whole time as she moved about, judging the strength of the voluptuous body; trying to gauge the power of her right arm as she came back to her, winding the strap round her hand.

She eyed Yola critically as the trembling woman knelt on all fours.

“Nope! I'm afraid that won't do—too upright. Now, then; lower the front part of your body so that your forearms are resting on the floor instead of your hands. Arch your back a bit more; rest your head on your arms. There we are! That's the position a woman should be in to have her backside whipped properly!”

Yola was now in the most abased position she had ever been in; her bottom jutted up into the air and the widely-spread position of her thighs not only stretched the skin of her buttocks so taut that the deep cleft between the cheeks was spread open, but also exposed and forced open the lips of her sex. A quick glance over her shoulder told her that her bottom was in an ideal posture to be beaten. She could almost feel already the thin strap biting into her.

Anne picked up the hurricane lamp and placed it between Yola's legs.

“That not only gives me a better view of all you have, but it'll stop you from kicking about too much—if you try to close your legs, you'll get burnt!”

Yola crouched on the floor, waiting; the nipples of her breasts just touched the rough planks. She had an odd sense of unreality as she waited for her whipping to begin. Here she was, Yola Reimer, aged 27, married for three years, holed up in a wooden chalet during a blizzard, half-way up a mountain, crouched naked on a hard floor, waiting for another, equally naked woman to thrash her behind with a strap.

She was brought back to reality, then, as Anne touched her bottom.

“Get ready, honey—here it comes! Hold still, now.”

Yola tensed her whole body in readiness and shut her eyes tightly. She must remember not to move her legs about. She gave a little jerk as the tip of the belt touched her bottom; she looked round. Anne was measuring her distance. She watched her step back a pace; the belt was lifted. She quickly turned her head away, resting it on her arms again and shutting her eyes.

There was a low hum and a sharp report that seemed to come from along way off. Then fire lanced through her bottom. Her breath sucked in sharply, she started to brace herself for the next blow, but it was on her before the contracting muscles of her behind had begun to relax.

The next cut had her jerking her fiery bottom with pain as it cracked across the first. Anne gave her the next one across the right buttock, making the strap snake round her hip. The fourth was frighteningly low and within a hair's-breadth of the opened vulva. She wanted desperately to close her legs, but dared not because of the lamp. She gave a deep sob of pain as she received the fifth stroke. Anne was a powerful woman and Yola's skin was soft and pampered. She had allowed a few other women to beat her naked bottom, but none of them could compare with this! Anne thrashed her steadily, without hurry, measuring each stroke. She looked down at the quivering body, knowing she longed to evade the blows and marvelling that she took such punishment and still knelt in the position she had ordered.

She smiled. So—even the pain of a beating made her sexy! The lips hung wide open now, dewy with the released secretions of sexual passion. Anne longed to jam her mouth hard against it, but postponed the urge in favour of continuing the chastisement—it would serve to heighten the pleasure later on.

She raised the leather once more, to bring it down on the pain-wracked bottom of the sobbing Yola. Splatt! The strap cracked across the rounded flesh; the lovely buttocks jerked again, bringing another muffled cry from the kneeling girl.

Twice more the strap rose and fell and Yola was wondering how much more punishment she could take, when the steady beating ceased and Anne was telling her to get up.

Painfully, she struggled to her feet, her bottom feeling as though it had been scalded. She stood in front of Anne, bosom heaving, tears running down her cheeks.

“Well—you know what to do next, don't you?”

Slowly and stiffly, Yola walked over to the door and placed her wrists against the wooden bar. Anne came up behind her and secured her wrists with the strap. Once more, Yola was in position to be whipped, only this time, no matter how bad it got, she would not be able to do anything about it even if she wanted to. Anne wound the strap several times round her wrist and the bar, then pulled it tight and buckled it.

As she stood back and picked up the whipping-strap, Yola's skin crawled; she had never received a whipping on her back or shoulders before and soon they would match the fire in her bottom.

“You took the first part of the whipping quite well; if you're a good girl and take this the same way, I'll make you have a fabulous 'come'. Hold tight, now.”

Yola clenched her teeth and tried to breathe deeply and evenly. She heard Anne moving behind her and cringed as the strap swished through the air several times and cracked close to her ear. Anne was certainly making the most of having such a submissive woman.

The belt swished again, this time to land with an agonising crack across Yola's shoulders.

The naked woman jerked hard under the biting sting, and the second half of her chastisement had begun.

Expertly, Anne flogged the naked back before her, starting from the shoulders and working down to the top of Yola's bottom, carefully leaving a thin line of white skin between pink-striped back and reddened buttocks.

Smiling wickedly, Anne laid another stroke across the sore buttocks. It was the straw that broke the camel's back; Yola began to tug frantically at the strap that bound her to the door, jerking her shapely bottom from side to side to escape the lash. A second stroke to the fleshy part of the buttocks, already scalding from the first thrashing forced a sharp cry from her lips. Another stroke across her back and she yelped and drew a deep breath to let go another one.

“All right! No more noise, now—the punishment is over.” Anne threw the strap on to the bed and went over to Yola, who almost hung by her bonds, her body wracked with sobs. “All right, all right! I haven't killed you—I haven't even broken the skin.” She inspected the reddened, tender flesh. “Mmm—I did a good job! I'll bet you've never had a thrashing like that before, eh?”

Yola shook her head, her back and bullocks like lire, especially her buttocks, which had had a double load of punishment.

Her sobs broke out afresh.

“Ssh! You'll have them coming in to see what's going on in here! You did consent, you know. Hush, now, and I'll untie you.”

Anne released Yola from the bar and half supported her over to the bed, where she fell forward and lay face down. She picked the second lamp up from the floor and hung it...

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