Chapter 7
Joan and Robert arranged to make their way separately to Elisabeth's home. Joan was delayed at the last moment by her father. She set off a quarter of an hour late.
Robert, arriving punctually, was embarrassed to find himself alone with the lovely Elisabeth. He was very conscious that she was going to beat him, and it unnerved him.
She showed him very politely into the parlour, made him sit down, apologized for not having anything in the house to offer him to drink, and wondered whether to stay and talk to him, or leave him alone till Joan arrived.
She chose the former course. If she was going to put a switch across his bottom — and a cane too, for that matter — it would be absurd for her to behave like a servant now. She sat down in another chair and crossed her legs.
Robert looked nervously at his wrist watch. "I'm not early, am I?"
"Oh no, Mr. Andover. You're on time. It's Miss Joan who's a bit late."
"I wonder what's keeping her."
"I wonder." She thought of telling him that it didn't matter to her if Joan didn't come at all, but she decided that would be going too far. She racked her brains for something to say, something not too cheeky, but something that would break the ice a bit.
He was also trying to think of something to say. He cleared his throat a couple of times.
Elisabeth looked at him expectantly.
She was indeed extremely good-looking, he noticed. She was quite tall, with a slender but well-developed figure. Her waist was small, her legs impeccable. She had a full, oval face, a creamy skin, and big yellow-grey eyes that were both slow and wild in their expression. Her hair was very beautiful — golden blonde, fine, silken and abundant.
She was wearing a well-cut and expensive-looking skirt of soft brown leather, with a V-necked white silk blouse. On her feet were high-heeled pumps of brown kid. He noticed that the heels were extremely sharp stilettos.
"A very odd situation, this," he said fatuously. "Isn't it?"
Well, she thought, the ice has to be broken somehow. She said, with her eyes on his: "Coming here to my house for a whipping, you mean?"
He blushed."Yes, that's what I mean."
"It is rather odd," she said easily. She felt better now that the words had been spoken. "Are you afraid?"
"No," he said at once, a little defiantly. "Should I be?"
"Well, I should be if I were in your place."
There was a silence for a moment or two.
She stood up suddenly. "Let's get the things out and look at them, shall we?" He followed her with his eyes as she went to a cupboard and unlocked it. She took out a cane and the switch which he immediately recognized. She also took out a length of rope and the handcuffs which he had given Joan.
"How do those things come to be here?" he asked.
"I brought them with me," she said, raising her eyes. "They are Miss Joan's."
"Yes, I know."
"She asked me to bring them myself."
"Oh."
She swished the switch through the air. Then she did the same with the cane. "Which hurts more?" she asked, curiously.
"I don't know," he muttered. He felt very embarrassed now. He wondered whether she was going to start on him at once, before Joan arrived. He prayed she wouldn't.
She was wondering the same thing. She could so easily give him a few strokes with each of them. But would Joan be angry? She then remembered that she herself held the whip-hand over both of them. What did it matter if Joan was angry?
"You don't know?" she repeated. "That's very strange. Let's find out. Just get up a moment and bend over. Let's see which makes you jump more."
He stared at her. He made no move.
She tapped the seat of the chair with the switch. "Come on. Bend over here, please." Damn, she thought. Why did I have to say 'please'? I'm master now. "Come on," she repeated peremptorily. "Bend over here."
He gave a shrug to his shoulders, got up from his chair, and moved in front of the one which she was tapping ominously with the switch. He put his hands on its seat and bent his body.
A fluttering feeling came to her loins. She lifted his jacket up. She stepped back, looked at the switch, and changed her mind. She put it into her left hand and picked up the cane with her right. She gave him three very hard strokes with it.
He flinched, but made no sound.
She put the cane down and took the switch into her right hand. She gave him three strokes with equal force.
He still made no sound, but his flinches were more pronounced.
"I see," she said. "This one hurts more. Now you may sit down again."
He sat down and looked at her. She was bending the switch in her hands. He was surprised to find that he no longer felt any embarrassment. It seemed as though her strokes had thoroughly cleared the air of any shyness between them, as though her pain had exorcised his embarrassment.
"I'm surprised," she said, examining the suppleness of the switch. "This certainly looks more hurtful. What's it got inside it?"
"A thin piece of metal, I think."
"Golly! I wouldn't like to have it used on me. What do you get out of it?"
"Pain."
"Why do you let me do it to you then?"
He took out his cigarette case and offered it to her. "It seems I have no choice — from what Joan tells me."
"No," she said. "That's quite right, and don't you forget it. You haven't any choice, as far as I'm concerned. None at all. But why do you let Miss Joan do it to you?"
He put a hand jocularly over his lips. "That's a secret. You can't expect me to tell you that."
She laughed. "Well, it doesn't matter. But you have to take it from me, if you don't want Miss Joan getting into trouble. And you can take another six now! Just get up again and bend over."
She gave him all the six this time with the switch. She was beginning to feel extremely excited. "Did they hurt nicely?" she asked, as he sat down again.
"Yes, very much."
"It's a pity," she said, "that Miss Joan is going away next week. Just when I've got you in my clutches." She turned her head suddenly and stared at him thoughtfully. An idea had come to her mind, an exciting idea. "No, it isn't a pity at all. Why should it be? I can go on beating you in her absence, can't I? I'm her assistant now. Yes, you can simply come and report to me here every Saturday afternoon for a whipping. Of course you can."
"We'll have to see whether Joan agrees to that," he said, with some anxiety.
"She'll have to agree," said Elisabethe succincty. "How very nice! Why didn't I think of it before? I've got my own permanent whipping-boy. When do you go back to the university?"
"In about two months," he said unhappily. He wondered why the prospect troubled him so much. By now he knew full well that he was a masochist. It seemed, though, that he was a masochist for Joan only. He enjoyed being under her domination, because he loved her. He felt nothing for this girl. He could see that it would be nice to go to bed with her, but it was not appealing to be whipped by her every Saturday afternoon. On the other hand, he couldn't very well resist her, for fear she would go to Clive Lyveden and get Joan into a devil of a lot of trouble. He was obviously in her clutches, as she said.
"That'll make about eight Saturdays," she said pleasantly. "Oh yes, life has suddenly turned very good for me. Did you ever see a film called 'White Cargo'?"
He smiled a little ruefully. "No. But it had a girl who whipped a servant, didn't it?"
She grinned at him mischievously. "Yes. Tondelayo, her name was. Miss Joan told you, then?"
"Yes."
"That's what really put the idea into my mind. To whip a man, I mean."
"You've never done it before?"
"No, never. The twelve I just gave you were the first ever. But, oh golly, how I've wanted to! And now I can, every Saturday." She turned on her heels in another pirouette of happiness. "And I want to give you another six now. Get up again."
The house-bell rang.
"There's Joan," said Robert, standing up, and feeling greatly relieved.
"Yes," she said with disappointment. For a quarter of an hour she had been the master, but now she would become only the assistant. She shrugged her shoulders imperceptibly with resignation. It didn't matter very much. She would have him to herself after Joan had gone.
She went to open the door.
"I'm so sorry I've kept you waiting," said Joan. "Daddy wanted me for something at the last moment."
"It doesn't matter at all, Miss Joan," said Elisabeth demurely. She led the way back into the parlour.
"Anyway," said Joan, "it's given you a chance to get acquainted." Her eyes fell on the switch, the cane, the handcuffs, and the rope. She looked enquiringly at Robert.
He nodded. "Only too well acquainted."
She frowned. That was going a bit too far, she thought.
Elisabeth said quickly: "I gave him a bit of a taste, Miss Joan." She was about to add: "I hope you don't mind," but changed her mind. She reminded herself again that it was she who held the whip-hand.
Joan was thinking the same thing. It would be unwise to let herself be angry. There was nothing she could do. And to get angry at the outset would spoil the whole of the afternoon. "That was a very good idea," she said lightly.
Robert raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. She shook her head slightly at him as though to tell him to accept the situation with a good grace.
Elisabeth said: "I thought we'd go upstairs, Miss Joan. To my bedroom."
"All right," said Joan. "But listen. Let's not have any false modesty between us. What we're going to do is purely sexual, so let's bring it out into the open."
"That's what I think, Miss Joan," said Elisabeth. She moved to Robert. "So shall we have something else out in the open too?"
Joan watched her in considerable surprise as she unbuttoned Robert's flies and brought out his penis. She caressed it lightly, gave it a small slap, and turned to face Joan again.
Well, well, Joan thought. And I was worried that she might be shy and modest! She said: "You did that very proficiently, Elisabeth. It seems that you've had some experience."
"Oh yes, Miss Joan. You didn't think I was a virgin, did you?"
"I wasn't sure."
"Oh, I'm no virgin. The only thing I haven't done is give a man a whipping. But what were you saying?"
Joan drew a breath. Matters seemed to be being taken out of her hands. "I was saying that what we're doing is purely sexual, and I want to get the program straight. No" — she shook her head confusedly — "that's not what I mean. The program is quite clear — "
"A good deal of whipping, Miss Joan. That's it, isn't it?"
"Of course. But what I meant was something else. You said you wanted to be my assistant, didn't you?"
"Yes, Miss Joan." Elisabeth's tone was a little suspicious. She wondered what was coming.
"Well," said Joan, finding it hard to speak as openly as she herself had insisted, "after we've whipped Mr. Andover, he'll make love to me."
There was only the faintest emphasis on the "me", but it was not lost on Elisabeth. Never mind, she said to herself. He'll make love to me after you've gone. She said aloud: "Of course, Miss Joan."
"And I want you to whip him while he's doing it."
Elisabeth's nerves gave an excited leap. She had never thought of this. "Of course," she said again. "It's a wonderful idea."
Robert cleared his throat nervously. He felt that too much time had gone by without a word from him. He had spoken only four words since Joan arrived. He was being treated as though — he tried to reject the thought — as though he really were nothing more than a whipping-boy. He cleared his throat again.
The two girls turned to him expectantly.
He could think of nothing to say. He pretended to cough and then said lamely: "Better get on with it, hadn't we?"
Joan sensed his mood. She went up to him and kissed him. "Darling Robert," she said softly. "You're hating this aren't you? Don't, thought. It's going to be rather good fun."
He swallowed and nodded his head. "I hope so."
Elisabeth said: "Shall we go upstairs then?" She led the way out of the room and up the stairs. Half-way up she stopped: "Oh dear! I'm a fine assistant, aren't I? I've forgotten the things!"
Joan turned on the bottom step. "You bring them," she said to Robert. She gave him a dazzling smile.
Elisabeth laughed wickedly. "The victim carries the instruments, does he? I see I've got a lot to learn."
The bedroom was fairly small but much larger than Joan had expected from the outside appearance of the house. It had a big old-fashioned wardrobe, dressing-table, and chair. Her eyes, however, went first to the bed. It was a three-quarter bed with brass head and foot. It would do very well, she thought.
Elisabeth stood beside the dressing-table. Robert, with a nonchalant air, tossed the switch, cane, handcuffs and rope on to the bed. Joan closed the door, looked to see whether there was a key, saw that there was, and turned it.
"There's no danger at all that your mother will come back earlier?" she said to Elisabeth.
"None at all, Miss Joan. Mum's crazy about the flicks — if somebody else pays. She's too mean to go and pay for herself. She waits for Saturday and hopes that I'll pay for her. And, as I told you, she always sees the film through twice."
"That's all right, then," said Joan, with relief. She looked at Robert. "Get your clothes off, my boy." She saw that in spite of his agitation at the whole of the proceedings his penis was still very stiff.
"What shall I do, Miss Joan?"
Joan considered. "First, you can tie him up, if you like. Then we'll bend him over and each give him a dozen alternately. Which do you prefer ? The cane or the switch ?"
"The switch, please, if it's all right with you. It's more like a whip."
"And it gives more pain," said Robert suddenly and acidy.
"Yes, Mr. Andover, it does, doesn't it?" said Elisabeth sweetly. "We found that out downstairs, didn't we?"
"It's all right with me," said Joan. "If anything, I prefer a cane myself."
"Have you ever used a real whip on him?"
"Good heavens, no! A real whip would be too terrible."
Tondelayo did, Elisabeth told herself. And I think I'm going to use one myself one of these coming Saturdays. Where can I get one though? Oh yes, any leather shop. They all sell those long dog-leashes for Alsatians. And they are whips. Oh yes, Mr. Handsome Andover, she said to herself as she watched him undress, one of these Saturdays you are going to feel a real whip across your body.
When he had stripped himself completely naked, she moved to the bed and picked up the length of rope. She knelt beside him and deftly tied his ankles very tightly together. She stood up and took the handcuffs in her hand. "Hold out your hands," she ordered, her heart beating at what seemed twice its normal rate. She clicked the handcuffs over his wrists, her nerves giving a thrilling leap at the sound of the clicks. "You're nicely trussed up now, aren't you?" She gave a slap to his penis and moved behind him. She exclaimed out loud at the sight of the weals on his buttocks. She looked at Joan. "You have been whipping him, Miss Joan!" she murmured admiringly.
Joan handed her the switch. "Would you like to go first?"
Elisabeth moistened her lips. "Yes, please." She ran the length of the switch through her fingers. Then she put its tip under his penis. She flicked it slightly upwards. "Bend down," she said tremulously. "I'm going to whip you!"
He turned his head and looked at Joan. "Moriturus and so on!"
She gave him a smile that was apologetic. She tried to show him, too, that she was not going to enjoy watching this whipping given by another girl. She knew in her heart, however, that that was not true. She was beginning to look forward to watching it. She moved position in order to have a better view of the switch cutting into his buttocks.
"You said a dozen, Miss Joan?" murmured Elisabeth, taking up her position and measuring her distance by laying the lash-end of the switch across his bottom.
"Two dozen, if you like," said Joan unexpectedly.
"Thank you! Two dozen it shall be then." Elisabeth tapped his buttocks with the switch. "Down you go. Bend right down."
He gave Joan a reproachful look as he bent down and waited for the pain.
Elisabeth swung the switch with all her strength. As it cut into his flesh she felt something like an electric shock strike her own body — a shock of ecstasy that was electrical. "Oooh!" she breathed, and swung again.
Blood spurted at her fifth lash.
Joan watched the drops gather in the weals and slowly begin to ooze down his legs. She counted silently as each lash struck.
On the eighth lash Robert jerked upright. "Stop! STOP!" she shouted. "I can't stand it!"
Very deliberately, Elisabeth lashed him twice across his shoulders. "Bend down," she hissed. "Or do you want the rest across your back?"
He looked into her eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but she lashed him again across his shoulders. "Get down!" she said icily. "Get down and stay down."
He bent his body at once, his brain reeling with the agony in his shoulder blades. Again he cursed himself for ever having started this mad business of masochism with Joan. This mad, totally mad business! He must himself be mad. He knew what it would be like each time, and yet he voluntarily submitted himself to the pain. And now there was this other girl — this very lovely but frighteningly brutal girl. Never again! Neither from Joan, nor from this Elisabeth. This Elisabeth with her threats of a whipping every Saturday afternoon. By the great Almighty God, never again! Let Joan go to the devil. Let her get into trouble with her father. To hell with them both! Never, never again ...
The switch continued to cut into him, lash after searing lash ...
And finally it was over.
Panting with exertion and excitement, Elisabeth flung herself face downwards on the bed. She uttered small cries of abandoned rapture.
Joan swished her cane. "And now it's my turn," she said between her teeth. Watching Elisabeth's two dozen lashes had produced a variety of emotions inside her. Exhilaration was one; exhilaration at the sight and sound of the switch falling hissingly through the air and cutting into male flesh — after the first half-dozen lashes she had stopped thinking of the flesh as Robert's: it was simply male flesh. Wonderment was another; wonderment at the sight of the drops of blood splashing up into the air. Anger was a third; unreasoning anger because she herself was not delivering the lashes. And a tremendous sexual urge was the fourth; the sexual urge to begin at once to thrash that male flesh with the cane in her hand.
As from a distance she heard his anguished appeal: "for Christ's sake let me have a moment, Joan!"
At first she did not take in the meaning of the words. They were only noise. Then, as her cane was poised to strike, the meaning sank into her understanding. She dropped her arm. "Of course," she said dully.
He dropped to his knees and put his head on the seat of the chair. He moaned piteously.
She looked at him, and listened to his moans, as from a long way off. With one side of her character she was dreadfully sorry for him, and was ready to take him home. With the other side, she drank in the sound of his moans, and was impatient to increase the reason for them.
Elisabeth raised herself slowly from the bed. "My God, my God, my God!" she said wonderingly. "What absolute, utter" — she could not find the word she wanted, and finished — "heaven!" She stood up straight, gave herself a little shake and came beside Joan. "It's your turn now. How many are you going to give him?"
"Two dozen. The same as you."
"Do you really want that cane? You don't prefer the switch? It's much better."
Joan nodded. "Perhaps it is. Give it to me." She saw no reason why Elisabeth should be allowed to give more pain than she.
"May I ask you a favour, Miss Joan?" Elisabeth said diffidently.
"Yes, of course."
"Would you let me suck his thing while you're giving him your two dozen?"
Joan looked at her in surprise. "Suck his — penis ?"
"Yes."
"If you want to. But why?"
"It's something else I like to do. I like to put a man's thing into my mouth. But you'll have to whip him standing up — if you don't mind. He can't be bending over. I wouldn't be able to get at it."
"I don't mind. But he'll have to have three dozen, not two. If he's not bending over, that is."
"That's for you to say, Miss Joan. I only want to suck his thing." Elisabeth moved beside Robert, still with his head on the chair. "Stand up now," she said gently. "I'm going to do something nice to you — something that you'll like. Stand up, like a good boy."
He climbed obediently to his feet. He wondered what she was going to do to him now. He had heard their voices these last few moments but he had taken no notice of what they were saying. He was surprised to see Elisabeth kneel in front of him and take his now flaccid penis in her hands. She caressed it lightly. A sweet sensation stole into his loins. He felt the cock begin to erect. She went on caressing it until it was quite hard again. Then she moved her head forward, opened her lips, and put the cock into her mouth. He stiffened abruptly with pleasure. He felt her tongue running over the sensitive nerve, her teeth lightly biting. He found he could almost forget the pain that still racked him.
Joan watched in fascination. At school, she had vaguely heard that women sometimes did this to men, but only at the man's request. She had never dreamed that a woman might want to do it for any pleasure it would give her. But here was the proof, in front of her.
Elisabeth's eyes were closed. There was a slight lift to her eyebrows, as though of serenity. She moved her head and shoulders rhythmically forwards and backwards as her mouth alternately engulfed and slid away from his now enormous cock. The fingers of both her hands played lightly with the bag of his testicles.
Robert closed his own eyes and threw back his head. He gave himself up to a sensation that was quite new to him — a wonderful, rapturous ecstasy which, mixed with the pain that continued to burn dully in his bottom, was poignantly sweet.
Elisabeth took her mouth away from his penis, opened her eyes, and looked up at him. "You like this, don't you? I thought you would."
"Yes," he murmured. "Don't stop."
"I won't stop," she said. "I like doing it. I like it almost as much as whipping you. But you're going to be whipped again now by Miss Joan — while I'm doing it."
Joan said suddenly: "Be careful not to let him come. I want him myself afterwards."
Elisabeth nodded. "He won't come, Miss Joan. Not while you're whipping him." Mentally, she hoped she was wrong. She very much wanted him to come, to spurt his semen into her mouth. Joan could have him another time.
"I'd better start then," said Joan. She took up her position with the switch poised.
Elisabeth put her mouth back over his cock and closed her eyes again.
Joan began to lash at his bleeding buttocks.
With considerable relief Robert found that the pain was bearable — was, in fact, compounded of some curious pleasure. He realized at once that it was due to the thrilling life that Elisabeth was giving to his loins. Joan's lashes seemed only to increase this life. For the first time he experienced a totally physical masochistic pleasure. Always before, his pleasure had been mental. It had been the excitement of the thought of feminine domination, not the agonizing fact. Now for the first time, he did not swear never to submit again. He submerged himself in the commingling of pain and pleasure, and wanted it to last for hours.
Joan had delivered over two dozen lashes when his body took control. The juices gathered in his loins and surged up his penis in great pulsating spasms.
Elisabeth gave a little cry and swallowed avidly as the semen spurted at the back of her throat.
With a feeling of fury Joan watched it happen. She was being robbed of what she had looked forward to for so many days. She knew he would not be able to recuperate his strength enough to make love to her before the time came for them to leave. She uttered a wail of anger and began to lash his shoulders with the switch.
While his orgasm held him in its grip Robert found that even this new agony in his shoulder-blades was tolerable. With a flush of perception he realized, however, that it would not be tolerable as soon as his orgasm had spent itself. His ecstasy was so powerful, on the other hand, that he did not bother much about this thought. He gave himself up to the bliss of the moment.
It was a long, tenacious moment. By the time it began to come to its close Joan had spent herself in her anger. She dropped her switch and flopped down exhaustedly on to the chair.
Elisabeth swallowed the last drops of semen and slowly stood up.
Joan looked at her resentfully. "You even swallowed it!"
"Yes, Miss Joan."
"How could you?"
"That's the point of the whole thing."
"So you meant all the time to let him come."
Elisabeth shook her head. "No, I didn't. I didn't think he'd be able to, not while you were whipping him."
"Well, he did," said Joan sulkily. "And now I can't have him."
Elisabeth said gently. "I'm very sorry, Miss Joan. But you can have him, you know. In a different way."
"In what way? Your mother'll be back before he gets his strength back."
"You can let him do to you what I did to him."
Joan stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"You just lie down on your back on the bed and open your legs. He will put his tongue to your — between your legs. You've never had that done to you?"
"No, never."
"You'll like it. It's better in some ways than the proper thing."
"I see," said Joan. "And he certainly doesn't need his strength for that."
Robert said: "I'm sorry, darling. I couldn't hold myself. But let me do that to you. I'd love to."
"And I'll whip him," said Elisabeth, "while he's doing it. Like we said before."
Joan smiled. She was happy again. "All right. Let's do that." She took off her skirt and panties, and moved to the bed.
Elisabeth looked at his bottom and shoulders. They were covered with blood. "We'll have to put something down for him to lie on," she said doubtfully. "Don't know what Mum would say if she saw blood on the bed. She knows I'm not a virgin."
"Have you got a sheet of plastic?" said Joan. "Or a mack?"
"Yes," said Elisabeth. "I've got a mack. It's not plastic. It's rubber, but blood'll wash off rubber all right. Half a tick. I'll go and get it." She unlocked the door and ran downstairs. She was back in a minute with a mackintosh of rubberized nylon. She spread it, rubber side up, on the bed.
"Will it be enough?" said Joan, looking at it doubtfully. "His blood does splash about, you know. It might splash on to the counterpane."
"You're right," said Elisabeth. "Mum's got a mack. We'll borrow that, too. But I'll have to wash it before she comes back." She left the room again.
Robert hopped heavily over to Joan. He raised his manacled wrists and put his arms down over Joan's shoulders. "You were very angry with me," he said.
She nodded. "Yes, I was — for a moment."
"I'm awfully sorry. I feel very guilty."
"It's all right. Forget it."
"Almost as though I'd been unfaithful to you."
She nodded again. "Yes, I must admit that that thought crossed my own mind too. But only for a moment. You couldn't help it."
He kissed her. "I love you, you know."
"But you find her attractive?"
"Of course. Anyone would. After all, she is attractive. But it's you I'm in love with."
She put her arms round his neck. "All right, darling. I forgive you completely — now. And I love you too. Do you still want to marry me?"
"Of course I do. Will you?"
"We'll talk about it when you finish the university."
Elisabeth came back into the room. "Couldn't find it at first. It's a cape. Much better." She picked up her own mackintosh and spread the rubber cape on the bed in its place. Then she put her mackintosh beside it. "That'll be safe now. He can splash all he wants to."
Joan kissed the tip of his nose lightly and disengaged herself from his manacled embrace. She lay down on her back in the middle of the protected part of the bed. "Come on, Robert," she said. She opened her legs. She felt a little shy but was determined not to show it.
Robert hopped to the side of the bed and let himself down on his stomach over its edge. The rubber felt pleasantly cool to his burning body. His face was on a level with Joan's vagina. His penis rested comfortably on the edge of the bed. His legs stretched down at an angle to the floor The only thing that caused discomfort was the constriction of his wrists.
"Can't you take these handcuffs off?" he said. "I don't know what to do with my hands."
"Of course," said Joan. "And I want your hands free for my breasts. Do unlock them, Elisabeth. The key is on my key-ring — in my bag."
When his hands were free he put them up to her nipples and began to stroke, to caress, to squeeze, in the way that he knew she loved. He put his face to her vagina, put out his tongue and lightly touched its moist lips.
She stiffened with pleasure. She stiffened again as she felt it enter her.
Elisabeth took the switch and put herself into position. She said: "You'll tell me when to start, Miss Joan?"
"Start now," said Joan dreamily. Elisabeth had been quite right. Robert's tongue on and in her cunt was giving her a more exciting type of pleasure than his prick had ever done. She heard the swish of the switch. She felt his flinch, and at once received a violent shock of additional pleasure. His flinch, born of pain, had for her a mutability that, though she had half-expected it, was unbelievable now in the force of its effect. "Oh, thrash him, Elisabeth," she cried wildly. "Thrash him hard! Flog him!"
Elisabeth needed no further urging. With a savage lust in her eyes she whipped with all the strength she could muster. Her own juices in her loins began inexorably to gather.
For Robert, the pain was again unbearable. He had the sense, however, to realize that he had better concentrate as much as he could on bringing Joan as quickly as possible to her orgiastic climax. The quicker he did this the sooner the agony would stop.
It did not take very long.
Joan felt herself being lifted out of herself — into a dream world of such rapture as she had never dreamed of. She became half-conscious, entering a sort of coma of pure pleasure.
Elisabeth, too, was not fully conscious. Her brain was reeling as she lashed, and as her juices spread and boiled and took possession of her ...