Subculture by Sarah Veitch

paused, fondling her raised bareness. ‘Sweetheart, you enjoy the skirmish.’
    â€˜Don’t enjoy this,’ Lisa said sourly.
    â€˜Getting your bum thrashed? Of course not. But you enjoy the way it makes you especially wet.’ She closed her eyes nervously as she felt the air currents change, knew he’d lifted the paddle again above her bottom. ‘You love the quality of the climax which follows being disciplined. Your arse and nerve endings may hate it, honey, but it’s what your psyche and your pussy craves.’
    Before she could argue, he punished her with the hardwood implement again. Lisa cried out and drove her belly forward as she vainly tried to escape an iota of the hot impact. God, he was merciless. She wondered what colour her flesh was by now, wished she could see. ‘It’s colouring nicely,’ the doctor said. ‘You’re lucky that you’re fair skinned, love - means I get the shade that I want quite quickly. Takes longer to similarly chasten a beige-toned bum.’
    â€˜I’m sure you manage to force yourself,’ Lisa muttered.
    â€˜Indeed I do, and I’ve never had any complaints,’ the doctor said.
    She thought of the lustful way Carmen had looked in the photo, remembered the satisfied moans and yells of Jamilla and Dania. She wanted to join them in their orgasmic paradise.
    â€˜Let’s treat these naughty hot cheeks to stroke six,’ Michael continued.
    â€˜Oh let’s,’ Lisa jeered. Was aware that she wanted him to break through some barrier. But which barrier, and why?
    â€˜I think we’ll toast the left cheek this time. It’s looking a bit left out, a bit neglected,’ her employer continued. Lisa held her breath. Neglected like her quim was, she thought dazedly, as ignored as her throbbing clitoris and pouting lower lips. She cried out as the paddle made searing contact with one bent-over bare buttock, and writhed madly in her bonds. She’d take the remaining two strokes and beg for ten more if he’d only give the gentlest of rubs at her love bud. Just a little feathery friction to her labia and she’d sing like a bird.
    â€˜Now where shall we lay on the seventh whack?’ Michael Landers murmured with casual cruelty.
    â€˜Want me to draw you a map?’ Lisa said.
    â€˜No, just draw in your breath as the paddle strikes down.’ she heard the taunting tone enter his voice. ‘I like to see you wriggle, hear you groan.’
    â€˜Pity for you that I’m staying immobile,’ Lisa replied. She willed both of her buttocks to stay smooth and relaxed beneath the punisher. Damned herself and him to hell as he doled out the seventh wallop and she jerked and moaned.
    â€˜Last but not least, one stroke of the paddle coming up,’ the doctor quipped. She sensed him staring down at her half naked body. Wondered how her exposed small hemispheres must look. ‘Shall I roast the tender underswell?’ the man continued. ‘Or concentrate my energies on that helpless crack?’
    â€˜Surprise me. Go on - use your imagination,’ Lisa snapped, trying to take verbal control of the situation.
    â€˜If I was fully using my imagination I’d have you walking to heel in the gardens on your studded collar and lead,’ the former surgeon said. His voice grew dreamy as his musings continued. ‘I’d teach you how to show humility, how to give a paw.’
    â€˜And I’d teach you what ten years in prison for assault is like, you supercilious bastard,’ Lisa spat out, pushing the exciting yet demeaning image away.
    Heard his low laugh. ‘But angel you’d have agreed to be trained. I’d have teased your hot wet pussy till you agreed to anything. Till you put your collar and lead in your mouth and brought them over to me.’
    â€˜Dream on,’ the herbalist gasped out. Wished that his words weren’t making her crotch quite so swollen.