Whips, Incorporated

Whips, Incorporated




To the uninitiated reader it must be admitted at once that the ecstasy of the whip is experienced mainly by the one who uses it... It is not by any means uncommon, however, for the victim to rise above his agony, as it were, and soar up into a similar ecstasy.


A lost classic from Olympia's most popular author. Whips Incorporated is the story of women taking control of men... and boys. First published 1960 by the Ophelia Press.



Publié par
Date de parution 07 janvier 2013
Nombre de lectures 43
EAN13 9781608728282
Licence : Tous droits réservés
Langue English

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To the uninitiated reader it must be admitted at once that the ecstasy of the whip is experienced mainly by the one who uses it...

It is not by any means uncommon, however, for the victim to rise above his agony, as it were, and soar up into a similar ecstasy.

ANGELA PEARSON. London—Paris, 1960.


“Your glass is empty,” said Lord John Maidwell. “May I fill it?”

Madeleine St. Clair glanced at her watch. “I don’t think so, thank you. It’s after midnight. I really ought to go.”

“Just a small one. And then perhaps you’ll let me run you home?”

“That would be very nice of you. All right, just a small one.”

She watched the man as he threaded his way through the crush at the Chelsea supper-party. He’s very attractive, she thought. And he certainly finds me attractive. He’s trying his best to work up to an improper proposal. But he’s crashingly shy, poor dear. It’ll be interesting to see what happens on the way home.

“Thank you,” she said, as he returned and gave her her glass. “That’s quite a big one.”

“An uncooperative barman. I told him a small one. Tell me, do you know these people well?”

“This crowd?”


“Not really. I’ve been abroad for some years. But I was at school with our hostess.”

“The lovely Audrey.”

“Yes. She is lovely, isn’t she? And here, in fact, she comes.”

The Hon. Audrey Morphy came up to them. “It is wonderful to see you back, Madeleine darling. So you two know each other? Good.”

“I’ve been wondering,” said John Maidwell, “why I haven’t met Miss St. Clair before. But now I learn that she’s been abroad I don’t blame myself so much.”

Audrey Morphy put her hand on her friend’s arm. “Darling. I have an idea. Are you free this week-end?”

“Yes,” said Madeleine St. Clair. “Why?”

“I’m going down Friday-to-Tuesday to some cousins in Hampshire. Do come with me, and then we’ll have time to talk and talk.”


“Do, darling. It’ll be a quiet week-end. He’s the vicar of a village down there, and he has a dozen or so boys whom he crams for Common Entrance. But we shan’t see anything of them, and there’s no wife. Only a daughter, sixteen years old and ravishingly Beautiful, as well as clever. We’ll have a wonderful time.”

Madeleine smiled. “I’d love to. It sounds just the sort of week-end I need.”

“Good. We’ll be driving down. Come and have lunch here on Friday, and bring your bags with you. And now, do excuse me. I must go and look after the people I don’t know so well.”

“We’re just off, anyway. Thank you for a lovely party.”

John shook hands with his hostess. “Yes. Thank you so much.” He looked round the room. “Where is your husband?”

“Over there by the door.”

“Oh yes.”

He steered Madeleine St. Clair towards the door at which their host was standing. They thanked him, said goodnight, and went into the hall. The front door was opened for them by a beautiful redheaded maid. They made their way to the cars parked opposite the house.

“It’s quite amazing,” said Madeleine as the man opened the door of his big black Mercedes for her, “how Audrey has managed to find such good-looking maids.”

“It’s amazing that she’s found any maids at all,” he replied. “And that one at the door was a beauty, I agree.”

“And she has two others—equally beautiful.”

“Good God!”

He manoeuvred his way out of his parking position, and increased speed. “Where to? I hope it’s nice and far.”

“Richmond Park. I’ll show you where, when we get there.”

“Right.” He fumbled for his cigarette case and offered it. “Did you notice our host’s wrists?” he said, as he lit her cigarette.

“Peter’s wrists? No. Why?”

“Well, I should say one of his wrists. When he shook hands. I didn’t see the other.”

“No, I didn’t notice anything. What about it?”

“Damn great rope marks. His cuff slid up when he shook hands with me. He’s been tied up somewhere.”

“Tied up? Surely not. Peter? Why ever would he have been tied up?”

“Goodness knows. But they were rope marks all right. No mistaking them.”

“How very curious.”

There was little traffic at that hour, once they had left the Chelsea district, but John drove slowly. He realised that he had had a lot to drink. He wondered how far he would be able to go that night with his companion. She did not seem the sort of person who would take kindly to any advances at love-making in a parked car, but he decided to see how things were going when he reached the relative darkness of Richmond Common. If they were going well enough he might stop at the side of the road and offer her another drink from the portable bar in the boot of the car. After that, things could take their course. He would be very careful, though. He had a terror of being snubbed.

“What do you do?” asked Madeleine.

“Foreign Office.”

“Home or overseas?”


She turned her head and regarded him. “Yes, it fits. The younger diplomat.”

He laughed. “Thank you kindly. I hope Lord Curie has the same opinion.”

“Audrey’s father? Why?”

“He’s the man who really says yes or no to diplomatic appointments now.”

“Does he? I didn’t know that.”

“And what, if anything, do you do?”

“I’m ashamed to say I do nothing. Except travel.”

“That’s nice. Ah, here’s the beginning of the common. I’ll open up a bit.”

The car increased speed, and swept smoothly along the empty, unlighted road. In the beam of the headlights they saw a man half a mile in front of them. He began to wave his arms. He moved into the middle of the road.

“He looks a bit unsteady on his feet,” said Madeleine.

“Yes, he’s quite drunk,” said John, and blew his horn. “We won’t stop, of course. But I wish he’d move out of the middle of the road.” He blew the horn again. He put his foot lightly on the brake.

The man moved a yard or so nearer to the edge of the road. He shook his fist at the oncoming car. Then he waved his arms again. He swayed from side to side.

“Do be careful,” said Madeleine. “He might fall under your wheels.”

As the car came up to the man, and he realised finally that it was not going to stop, he raised both fists, shook them violently, and lurched forward into the middle of the road again. He stumbled and fell flat on his face in the path of the wheels.

John swung his steering-wheel and put down his brake hard. He felt a crunch as his off-side front wheel lifted itself over something.

“Oh, my God!” breathed Madeleine.

John opened his door and ran round the front of the car. He knelt and looked at the man. His heart seemed to stop beating as he saw that the wheel had passed over the head, and had broken the neck. He put his hand to the man’s heart. He slowly straightened himself. He looked at the girl.

“He’s dead.”

“My God!” she said again. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. What a stupid thing to do. I mean him. It was’ his own fault.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t help matters. I’ve been drinking quite heavily. They’ll find that out at once. They have tests, you know.” He looked down again at the man in the road.

“What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Find a phone and ring the police. Nothing eke to do.”

“What good will that do?”

He looked up at her slowly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re absolutely sure he’s dead?”

“Good God, yes! His neck is broken. And his heart’s stopped, anyway.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it would be stupid to call the police. It won’t bring him back to life, will it? And it was completely his fault. Why should you wreck your career? Come on.”

He stared at her without speaking, his thoughts racing.

“And,” she went on, “nobody has seen us. The road is completely empty. For the moment. It won’t remain so. Come on! Don’t be a sentimental idiot. You can’t do anything for him.”

He frowned for a moment and made up his mind. “All right. You’re probably right. Let’s go—quickly.” He stooped and pulled the body out of the path of the rear wheel, and ran round to his seat. He found that he had left the engine running. He drove quickly away.

She lit a cigarette and put it between his lips. “Don’t fret. It was not your fault, and this is the only sensible thing to do.”

He nodded but did not reply. They drove in silence for some minutes. Then she began to give him directions. At length they pulled up in front of her house.

“Don’t fret,” she said again. “Don’t be silly and sentimental.”

He smiled at her ruefully. “All right.”

“Nobody but us two will ever know.”

He smiled again. “This puts me completely in your power, doesn’t it?”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she said lightly. Then she turned and faced him, thoughtfully. “Yes, it does, indeed! I hadn’t thought of that.”


Pauline Heathcote entered her father’s study and found it empty. She went to a bookcase and began to study the tides of some of the books there. After a moment she reached up on tip-toe to look at the books on a higher shelf. She was a lovely girl of sixteen-and-a-half years, with long shapely legs, a very small waist, and a well-developed bosom. She was wearing a simple yellow linen frock. Her legs were bare.

She looked round as she heard a howl of pain. She went to the open window and looked out.

In the orchard, a hundred yards away, a number of her father’s pupils were amusing themselves by whipping a new boy of about thirteen years of age.

Most of the boys were between thirteen and fourteen years of age, and were resident at the Vicarage while being prepared by the Reverend Hugh Heathcote for the Common Entrance Examination to various public schools. An exception was a boy of about fifteen who had failed the last examination, and was doing the year again. This boy was now leaning against a tree in the orchard, absently watching, and directing, the whipping.

The new boy was running as fast as he could up and down a gauntlet. Each wall of the gauntlet was formed by five boys, standing two yards apart from each other. The victim had his wrists bound in front of him. He was wearing only a short football shirt and running shoes. The boys who formed the walls of the gauntlet had long, thin willow-switches in their hands. They lashed the victim hard across his naked bottom each time he passed them. The victim was trying his best not to cry out, but from time to time a howl of pain involuntarily escaped him.

Pauline moistened her lips. I’ll-treatment of new boys was standard practice, but this was the first time she had witnessed a whipping in the gauntlet. She bit her lower lip and watched it with interest and a mounting, tingling excitement. She wished she could be there, a switch in her hand, lashing the naked bottom herself. She put her hands to her breasts and squeezed them.

In a bedroom in the east wing of the Vicarage, Madeleine St. Clair said: “Mind if I open the window?”

“Oh, do, please,” said Audrey Morphy. “It’s a bit stuffy.”

Madeleine went to the window, opened it, and looked out. She gave an exclamation. “Come and look at this!”

Audrey went to the window. “Good God!” she said.

“That poor boy!”

“Probably a new boy being broken in.”

“But surely this sort of breaking in doesn’t happen these days. It went out with Tom Brown.”

“I don’t think so. Not in crammeries like this. And it doesn’t seem to have gone out with Tom Brown.”

Madeleine frowned. “It certainly doesn’t. What horrible little brutes boys of that age are.”

Audrey nodded. “Yes. But they’ve probably all had it done to them. They must pass it on. And it does toughen them up, you know. A good thrashing never did anyone any real harm.”

“But doesn’t the Vicar stop it? Do you mean he’s just taking no notice?”

“He’s not in the Vicarage, darling. He’s in church, conducting the evening service. He’s where we ought to be.”

“I hope he won’t be upset that we’re not.”

“I don’t think so. He’s rather liberal-minded.. But I don’t think he’d be liberal-minded about this. He does a good deal of thrashing himself, I hear—but I don’t think he’d approve of his pupils doing it for him.”

The boy in the gauntlet stumbled and fell. He was whipped to his feet again. The older boy who was standing against the tree said something, and the beating stopped. He held out a hand. One of the boys handed him a switch. He said something else. The victim walked hesitantly up to him, turned sideways, and bent his body. The older boy raised the switch and brought it down hard across the centre of the lacerated bottom. He repeated this five times. When he had finished, the victim fell to the ground, writhing with pain.

“I should very much like,” said Madeleine, “to thrash that boy myself—that older one.”

“So should I, darling,” said Audrey, slowly. “I should like it very much indeed.”

At the study window below, Pauline called into the orchard. “Gateson! Gateson!” The older boy looked round.

“Come here,” said the girl. “Come here into the study.” The boy walked towards the house. Pauline moved away from the window. She went to a cupboard and opened it. She took out a birch of thin whalebone strips. She ran it through her fingers, lightly, caressingly. She swished it through the air. It gave a soft hissing sound.

The door opened, and the older boy entered the study. “Don’t you knock,” said Pauline, “when you come into my father’s study?”

“Your father’s not here,” said the boy, eyeing the birch in her hand. “He’s in church.”

“That’s why you were whipping Tomlinson? Behind my father’s back?”

The boy snorted. “Of course behind his back! What do you think? That we’d do it in front of him?” He eyed the birch again. “You’re not going to be beastly about this, I hope. He’s a new boy.”

The girl looked at the birch in her hand. Then she raised it above her head. She held it there for a moment, looking the boy in the eyes. She brought it downwards, hissingly, with all her force. The boy winced. “So?” she said.

The boy wetted his lips. “Everybody has to go through it, when he’s a new boy. “Docs my father agree?”

“He probably does—in theory, at least.”

“Does he in practice?” The boy was silent.

“Does he?” She lashed the birch through the air again. “Answer me.”


“And he would thrash you, as the senior boy, for allowing it to happen. Wouldn’t he?”

“I suppose so.”

“So I shall thrash you myself—under the usual arrangement.”

“Oh, no! That’s not fair, Pauline. He’s a new boy.”

“Let’s not go over all that again. You’re going to get twelve.”

“Twelve! But six is the usual thing from you. Twelve isn’t fair.”

“It is. My father would have given you twelve for allowing it to happen, and another twelve for beating the boy yourself. Twenty-four. Therefore I give you twelve. The half, as usual.”

“No! You can’t give twelve. It isn’t the arrangement. It’s not fair.”

Pauline raised her eyebrows. “So you want me to report you to my father, do you?”

The boy swallowed. “Oh, all right. Have it your own way.”

She smiled sweetly, and swished her birch through the air again. “That’s better. Go over to the block and take your trousers down.”

The block, to which the boy now reluctantly went, was a copy of the Eton Whipping Block. It stood in a corner of the study, with its straps dangling from its sides. It was like a chunky letter “T,” turned upside down. Victims were required to kneel, lay their stomachs over the two-foot-high centre column, and stretch their arms forward and downwards on the other side. There, their wrists were secured by straps. On the top of the centre column a strap was passed over the small of their backs. And finally, to prevent any movement of the part of the body which would be whipped, their knees were secured by other straps to the base of the column itself.

“Come on,” said the girl. “Down with those trousers. Quickly!”

The boy undid his buttons. He pushed his trousers downwards. They fell to his ankles. He pushed down his pants. “I still think that twelve isn’t fair,” he said, sulkily.

“Shut up.” She went up to him and took his penis in her hands. “This is not so vigorous as it was last night, is it?”

“What do you expect before a whipping?” he said. But his penis began to erect under her touch. “Do you think I enjoy being whipped?”

“Many men would. But then, you’re still a child.”

“I’m not a child. And you’re talking nonsense. Nobody would enjoy being whipped.”

She slipped her fingers downwards around his scrotum. She sank her fingernails lightly into it. “You’ll see, when you grow up. Kiss me now, and then ask me to whip you.”

The boy leaned forward and put his arms around her neck. He strained her towards him. She sank her nails more deeply into his scrotum. He put his lips to hers. She opened her mouth and sucked his tongue on to the top of hers. They strained their bodies together for a moment. Then she broke away. “Now ask me,” she said, breathlessly. “Ask me nicely. You know what to say.”

He drew a breath shakily. “Please whip me,” he said. “Whip me as—as hard as you can.”


“Because I’ll get only half as many from you as I would I from your father.”

“You’ve missed a line.”

“What? Oh yes. Because I deserve it.”

“Why do you deserve it?”

“Because you ought to report me.”

“And if I reported you?”

“I’d get twice as many from your father.”

“And so?”

“I’d rather have half the number from you.”

“And how many is that?”



“Oh, all right. Twelve, this time.”

She drew the birch through her fingers again. “Kneel down on the block then.”

He turned and knelt in front of the column. She put her birch under an arm and stooped to fasten his knees with the leather straps. He bent forward over the column. She pulled his shirt up so that his bottom should be quite uncovered, and pulled the strap tightly over the small of his back. He thrust his arms forwards and downwards in front of him on the other side of the block. She moved forward and secured his wrists tightly.

“And now,” she said, moving back behind him. “Twelve of the sweetest best. But I’ll give them to you six and six. You can have a breather between. There’s plenty of time. Father won’t be back for over an hour.” She swished her birch experimentally again, and took aim with her eyes. “Say your prayers now. Here come the first six.” She raised herself slightly on her toes as she lifted the birch. She brought it down with all her force across the lower pan of the naked buttocks.

The boy gasped, and then screamed.

The whalebone strips hissed down again.

Another scream cut the air.

In the bedroom above, Madeleine St. Clair looked at her friend. “Did you hear dial?”

“Yes,” said Audrey. “Somebody screaming.”

“What is this place? You said it would be a quiet week-end.”

“I know, darling. But it’s a crammery.”

“It sounds like a concentration camp.”

“It does, rather.”

“But doesn’t it bother you? You don’t seem to mind at all.”

“Bother me? Goodness no! Why should it? If anything, I’d like to take part in what’s going on.”

“Darling, what are you saying?”

Audrey looked up at her friend and smiled. “I would, you know. I’ll tell you all about it before the week-end’s out.”

“Whatever do you mean? Tell now.”

“Not now. Let’s go down now and get a drink. But I will tell you. We’ve never had secrets, have we?”

“Never. Come on. Tell now.”

“Not now. Let’s go and have a drink. My cousin has a nice bar in his study.”

Another piercing scream came through the window as they left their room.

Pauline, in the study on the ground floor, let her birch fall to her side for a moment. “You are being a sissy today. What’s the matter with you?”

Her victim turned his head. “And you’re being an absolute bitch,” he said, between his teeth. “You’ve never hit so hard before.”

“You’ll have an extra six for the bitch,” said the girl. “And as for hitting hard, it’s your own fault. What you did to Tomlinson excited me. Thank your stars that I have some control on myself, or else you’d have a hundred at least.” She raised her birch again. “And you’ll come to my bedroom tonight. Sometime or other, and never mind the danger. You’ll just take care not to be seen. Otherwise I will give you a hundred next time.” She swung on the balls of her feet as she brought the birch down. A savage thrill tore through her as the whalebone cut into the flesh and brought the next scream.

“All right,” she said. “You can have a breather before the next six.” She walked unsteadily to an easy-chair and sat down.

Audrey Morphy entered the study. “Good God!” she said, for the second time that evening.

Madeleine St. Clair, on her heels, said: “An absolute concentration camp!”

Pauline jumped up from her chair. “I thought you were in church with Daddy.” She glanced nervously at the boy on the block.

Audrey smiled sweetly. “We changed our minds. Will you get us a drink, please?”

“Yes, of course. What would you like?”

“Gin and a very little vermouth, please.”

Pauline looked at Madeleine. “And you?”

“The same, please.”

Audrey sat down in an armchair. “And you can now tell us all about this.”

Madeleine looked at the boy on the block. He had sunk his head down on to his chest in an effort to hide his face. “Isn’t that the bigger boy who was in charge of what went on in the orchard? The one who gave the final six?”

“It is,” said Pauline, as she poured the drinks. She took a third glass and poured a generous measure of gin for herself. “And—and I’m punishing him for it.”

“Good for you,” said Audrey. “But does your father know that you do this sort of thing? And does he know that you drink gin?”

“No,” said Pauline. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

“Good heavens, no! We both agree with you—about the punishment, that is. We both said that we’d like to thrash him ourselves.”

“You can, if you like. He’s got another six coming for the punishment, and an extra six for calling me a bitch. You can give them to him, if you like.”

“Good,” said Madeleine, to her own surprise. “Give me that whip.”

Audrey raised her eyes in amusement. “And good for you, darling! Go ahead. I’ll follow you in a moment.”

Pauline looked at Madeleine. She held the birch forward hesitantly. “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course. Give it to me.”

With the birch in her hand, Madeleine went to the block. She felt a moment of hesitation. “You deserve a very good thrashing,” she said, and felt her courage return to her. She raised the birch. “Here come my own six of the best.” The boy screamed six times as she gave him six very hard lashes.

Madeleine turned and handed the birch back to Pauline. “Thank you very much.” She sat down in an easy chair. Her heart was beating fast and she felt a tingling excitement in her hips. “Give me my drink, please.”

Audrey looked at her curiously. “Yes, I thought so.”

Madeleine took a long drink from her glass. “What did you think?” She held the glass tightly in an effort to stop her hands trembling.

“That you had some sadism in you.”

“Sadism? I? What are you saying?”

Audrey laughed. “Yes, darling. Sadism. I remember something that happened at school.”

“What happened at school?”

“You caned a stable-boy for being rude. Do you remember?”

“Oh that. Yes. I remember.”

“And you said afterwards that it had given you a thrill. Remember?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. But does that necessarily make me a sadist?”

“And this gave you another thrill just now, didn’t it?” Madeleine glanced at Pauline, and then at the boy on the block. “I rather think—”

“Oh, don’t mind them,” said Audrey. “It’s quite obvious that Pauline’s a terrific sadist, too. And the boy is not in any position to do any talking.” She drained her glass and got up. “Give me the whip,” she said to Pauline. “Although you don’t know it, I have had quite a lot of experience of this sort of thing. See if you can hear any difference.” She took the birch and flicked it expertly. She went up to the boy on the block. “And you can see whether you feel any difference.”

The six screams that rent the air had an unearthly quality.

“Good heavens!” said Pauline with a finger to her lips, as Audrey threw down the birch. “Please tell me what you did. No one has ever screamed like that with me.”

Audrey smiled. “I will, don’t worry. But you tell me first. You don’t just leave things to finish here, do you? You’ll let him make love to you, of course?”

Pauline stared. “However did you know?”

Audrey patted her cheek. “Darling, you have a lot to learn. Of course you’ll make love. You’d burst otherwise. When and where, though?”

“Tonight, after dinner. In my bedroom.”

“Why not do it now, in our bedroom?”


“Yes. While you’re at the top of your excitement. Why let it cool off?”

“Well—yes. Why not? It’d be much better.”

Audrey nodded vigorously. “Much better. And Madeleine and I will beat him again while he’s making love to you.”

Madeleine sat up straight in her chair. “What are you saying?”

Audrey turned to her. “Look, darling. This is all connected with what I said I’ll tell you before the week-end’s out. Just relax. Please. Don’t be a prude. You never used to be.”

“But this is something—”

“Something that deep down in your heart you’d like to do. So why not do it?”

Madeleine stared at her. Then she dropped her eyes to her glass and regarded it absently.

“Get her another drink,” said Audrey to Pauline.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, and held out her glass. “Yes, I need another drink. And—all right. I’ll go along with you. I won’t be a prude. It is rather exciting, in fact.”

“Of course it is,” said Audrey. “Life doesn’t offer many opportunities of pure sensation. It’s a crime not to accept the ones that are offered.” She turned to Pauline. “Better untie him quickly. We don’t want your father walking in on us. And bring something else in addition to the birch. We’ll want two things.” She picked up her glass. “I’ll have another myself. And while we’re going upstairs you can tell us all about all this. Do you thrash all your father’s pupils?”


Audrey locked the bedroom door. “Yes, I see,” she said, looking at Pauline. “Yes. If the boys would get twice as many from your father, they of course prefer to have half the number from you. Do you do it very often?”

“As often as I can,” said Pauline simply. “It gives me a terrific thrill.”

“Yes,” said Audrey again. “I can understand that very well.”

“Can you? I thought I was rather depraved.”

“Oh, no. By no means. You’ve started rather early, that’s all.”

“Do you do it?”

“Yes. Regularly.”

“Do you? Oh, how marvellous! Who to?”

“My husband principally.”

Madeleine sighed. “I still think I shouldn’t believe my ears.” She regarded Audrey intently. “Do you really mean to say that you thrash Peter?”

Audrey smiled sweetly. “Yes, darling. Regularly.”

“Well, well!” Madeleine nodded her head. “And you tie up his wrists with rope?”

“Yes, but however do you know?”

“Somebody saw some rope-marks on his wrists the other night at your party.”

Audrey laughed. “Oh dear!” She turned to Pauline. “Tell me, does your father thrash the boys with their trousers down?”

“No,” said Pauline.

“But you do.”

“Yes. His arm is a good deal stronger than mine. I make them take their trousers down to even things up.”

Audrey smiled. “A very good reason. And a completely dishonest one, my sweet. But I agree with you. Let’s have his trousers down again.”

Pauline turned to the boy. He had been standing, with the birch and a cane in his hand, listening to the conversation with a mixture of fear and interest.

“Give me those,” she said, and took the birch and the cane from him. “Take your trousers down again. No, take them right off. Your pants, too.”

“Look,” said the boy. “I think things are going a bit fast. After all, I—”

“Be quiet,” said Audrey. “And do what you are told.” She took the birch and the cane from Pauline’s hand, and looked at Madeleine. “Which would you like?”

Madeleine hesitated. Then: “The cane,” she said simply, and held out her hand for it. “But the whole situation is quite unbelievable.”

Pauline said: “Come on, hurry up.” She watched the boy remove his pants. “I think you’d better strip completely, after all. Come on. Take everything off.”

“Look,” said the boy again. “I—”

“Shut up. Strip.”

He glanced at her and then shrugged his shoulders. He unbuttoned his shirt. “Well, get your own clothes off then.”

“I will,” said Pauline. She pulled her linen frock over her head and put it over the back of a chair. She pushed her pants down to her ankles and stepped out of them.

“How long ago,” asked Audrey, “did you lose your virginity?”

“I’m still a virgin,” said Pauline. “I don’t let them go into me. We just do soixante-neuf.”

“Very wise. And just as pleasant.”

Madeleine threw back her head and laughed. “A quiet, normal week-end in a Vicarage in Hampshire. Oh, dear God!” She looked at her friend. “You always were a terrible girl, Audrey. At school, I mean.”

“Yes,” said Audrey. “But isn’t it nice to be terrible?”

Madeleine swished her cane experimentally. “It is, rather. It’s just a bit shaking at first. But to hell with everything. I’m going to enjoy myself. I’m looking forward to using this.” She swished the cane again.

The boy looked at her darkly. She’s incredibly good-looking, he thought. But then, all three of them are. If only he were not going to be beaten, the evening might be rather pleasant. “I hope,” he said, “that you won’t be too beastly with that thing.”

Madeleine smiled at him sweetly. “We’ll see. This is all rather new for me. But I’m looking forward to giving you another thrashing. I’m looking forward to it very much. So get yourself stripped quickly.”

“That’s right,” said Audrey. “All you’ve got to do is throw off conventional inhibitions, and let yourself go. And when we get back to London, I’ll show you something in my house that’ll interest you. But we must find a man for you to whip. This boy-stuff is all very well in its way, but for a real thrill you need a man.”

“I think,” said Madeleine, “I’d rather like to whip a man. I honestly don’t know what’s happening to me today —but I do think I’d rather like it.”

“We’ll have to put our heads together. You’ll have to find some way to get some man under your thumb.”

“Good God!” said Madeleine, and put a hand to her head.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve just thought. There it a man who’s under my thumb—or could be. Someone I met at your party. He could be completely in my power. He’d have to take a whipping if I told him to.”

“Someone you met at our party? But who?”

“That’s a secret.”

Pauline said: “I think we’d better get on. Daddy’ll be back in less than half an hour.” She was now completely naked. She ran her hands over her skin and then cupped them under her breasts. She looked at the boy. He was also completely naked. Her eyes flickered as she looked down at his erected penis. “Come here,” she said, dictatorially.

The boy walked up to her.

She put her left hand to his penis and squeezed it. She put her right hand behind him and ran it over his bottom. “Lovely, lovely weals. Do they hurt?”

“Yes,” he replied, putting his own hands to her breasts.

She sank her fingernails into his bottom. “You’re going to have some more now.” She pulled him by his penis towards the bed. “Lots and lots of lovely weals. All bleeding.” She lay down on her back on the bed, still holding his penis tightly. “I hope they thrash you terribly, terribly, terribly. Lots and lots of weals and blood. Oh God!” She opened her legs wide. “Come on. Get into position.”

The boy lay down over her with his head over her mound. He opened his legs and hutched himself into position, with his penis above her lips. He dropped his head to her mound and opened his mouth. His tongue licked lightly through her hairs. She stiffened at its touch. She opened her mouth and took his penis into it. He gave a violent shudder of delight.

Audrey, birch in hand, moved to the far side of the bed.

“Come on, darling. You stand on that tide. And we’ll give him alternate strokes.”

“Yes,” said Madeleine, breathlessly. “Alternate strokes. Oh God, this is very exciting!” She moved to the side of the bed and raised her cane. She brought it down hard across the centre of the boy’s bottom. Something like an electric shock struck her nerves. The boy gave a great flinch but did not raise his head.

Audrey raised her birch. It hissed down across the lower part of the buttocks. The boy flinched again.

Pauline felt the flinches pass through the body of the boy, and felt the extra jabs of his tongue into her vulva. Her bones seemed to turn to water. She closed her mouth tightly over the penis and sucked hard.

To his great surprise, the boy found that the agony brought by Audrey’s birch and Madeleine’s cane was not unbearable; it was, in fact, mixed with a sort of straining ecstasy that clutched and tore at the nerves in his loins. As each lash struck the flesh of his bottom he flinched and withdrew into himself as though in some way to escape the pain of the next lash. But as soon as the first savage rip of agony had torn its way through him he felt himself relaxing; he felt as though he wanted to raise his buttocks to welcome the impact and the pain of the lash that he now heard hissing through the air.

“Harder now,” said Audrey. “They’re approaching.”

The two bodies on the bed had begun to tremble with the fury of the oncoming orgasms. Pauline was moaning softly as she sucked and licked the great penis in her mouth. The boy had rounded his tongue into the shape of a penis and was alternately licking the lips of her vulva, and jabbing it inside her as each lash struck his buttocks.

The two girls beside the bed began to thrash harder, and faster.

Madeleine thrust her left hand inside the bodice of her dress as she thrashed with her right. She thrust it under her brassiere and gripped first one and then the other of her breasts. She felt herself uplifted with a joy she had never before experienced.

Suddenly the two bodies on the bed seemed to freeze into rigidity.

“And now,” said Audrey, between her teeth, “really hard! Come on!”

The rigid bodies strained against each other. Ten lashes struck the now bleeding bottom before the rigidity relaxed, and then collapsed.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” breathed Madeleine, and went shakily to a chair. She fell into it...


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