Subculture by Sarah Veitch Page A

Wished that she could assuage the heavy increasing heat between her tied-apart legs.
    How hard would the last paddling be? Each whack had sizzled and stung, but she sensed he’d been holding back, acclimatising her slowly to erotic chastisement. Would this final hardwood wallop vanquish her? Make her say that she’d do whatever he wished? Lisa wriggled on her belly in an agony of mild fear and anticipation as she waited for the lash.
    When it came, it heated the dividing crease of her backside. The fire seemed to race through to her lower belly and to her pubis. She shoved her clitoris shamelessly against the edge of the low stool and tried to maximise the friction on her labial lips.
    â€˜Up until now I thought only canine bitches in heat rubbed their pussies against the furniture,’ Michael Landers said amusedly.
    â€˜Fuck you.’ Her words came through a mist of desire.
    â€˜I think you’d like to fuck me, my dear.’
    â€˜Not if you were the last person on earth,’ Lisa retorted. She couldn’t show the conceited pig that she was unbearably aroused. She wondered if he was about to untie her, take her gently in his strong sure arms.
    He did. She held her breath as he slung her over his shoulder and carried her across the huge room to the bed. He set her down on her hands and knees atop the duvet.
    â€˜Look in the dressing table mirror at your toasted arse, my sweet. There. Isn’t that pretty?’
    Numbly, Lisa turned her head back, stared at the smooth reflection of her naked rear. Both cheeks were a glowing hot crimson. So was her glistening sexual fringe. ‘Like what you see, do you?’ she managed.
    â€˜Very much,’ Michael confirmed.
    Then touch me, lick me, feel me she thought dazedly. Waited for him to join her on the King Sized bed.
    And waited and waited and... Lisa flopped down upon her tummy, leaving her skirt rucked up. Let him stare at her paddled contours. Let him get stiff and stretched. He’d make some excuse in a moment to walk over and touch her.
    â€˜I think I’ll go to sleep now,’ she said challengingly.
    â€˜As you wish, my dear,’ Michael said.
    The herbalist stared as he turned towards the door. He wouldn’t leave her like this - he just couldn’t! He’d watched Marie-Rose spanking Dania earlier tonight and now he’d paddled Lisa. He had to want to come as much as she. Any moment now he’ll turn back, she told herself as he continued to cross the long room. Any moment now...
    The door opened, closed. He’s calling my bluff, she rationalised. He’ll come back. He’ll cup my sore buttocks. I’ll think up some other wager so that he has an excuse to fondle my clit. She’d come really fast, then order him to leave her alone. That would show him! She’d have the last action and word.
    No she wouldn’t. Three minutes later Lisa acknowledged that her tormentor wasn’t going to return - at least not that evening. He’d left her with a sore bum and an aching quim. She slid her middle right digits inside herself, gliding in three slender fingers. Longed for a man’s thicker fingerpads. Or a man’s...
    She forced back the thought. Remembered the vibrator. Crawled to the edge of the bed then stumbled over to it. God, it’s width felt good. She realised belatedly that Michael might be planning to burst in, hoping to find her using the mechanical pleasurer. Hastily she double-locked the door.
    Groaning, the herbalist lay on her paddled bum. Her bare curves rubbed against the duvet sending fresh heat to her pubic region. She splayed her thighs far apart, imagining that they’d been cruelly staked there. Then she pictured some man warning her that he was now going to tease her with the machine, but that she wasn’t to come. Don’t wriggle, said the inner voice, or you’ll make your Master angry. Don’t even moan with pleasure or else he’ll have to