P03E13

Throughout their conversation, I had watched Marcy. She had stayed silent, but the color of her skin had ranged from pink to dead pale, and her eyes darted back and forth anxiously between the two men as they discussed her fate. I realized how they were doing nothing but preparing her mind in anticipation of her whipping; and the way they played her, how they **** all that mental pressure upon her before even laying a finger on her, was very stimulating. I noticed how my own thrusting speed into Heather was increasing and deepening towards the climax of the scene they played on Marcy, and my orgasm loomed on the horizon again.

Howard said: “Well, I am just not sure. Maybe a flogger would suffice here.”

Eric shook his head in disapproval: “You are too soft on your sluts, Howard. How can you expect her to respect you when you demonstrate this kind of lenience on sordid behavior like that?”

From his body language, it was obvious that Howard was on the losing side of the discussion; his voice gradually became hesitant and his shoulders sagged slightly. Even if they were discussing the punishment of his own wife, he seemed to become convinced by Eric’s arguments. I suspected that he was playing a role, a part where Marcy gradually became aware of the deterioration of her prospects, but she didn’t seem to realize when she suddenly burst out: “Sir! Please, I beg of you… not the cane! Please, I will do anything, _anything! _But please, please, spare me!”

Howard lent an ear to her plea, then suddenly seemed to change the subject when he turned to Eric: “When you borrowed her last time, did you enjoy the full spectrum of her oral dexterity?”

“I did not. I was too occupied with cracking her loins. “

“Well, you heard her plea… do you think you could waive the cane when she employed her proficiency on the rod she detests?”

Eric frowned: “What do you mean? Like she could buy off her punishment in that way? “

“Well, not really. Merely alter it. You realize how revolting it would be for her to take your dick deep into her throat, don’t you? ”

Eric frowned even deeper now, saying: “Do you really mean that you would allow a slut to alter her own punishment? Are you out of your mind? It is our job to decide on that, a **** merely needs to offer her body to receive the result of our deliberations!”

“Of course, of course! But…”

Eric interrupted him, getting carried away by the train of his own thoughts: “And besides, performing a blowjob on me shouldn’t be considered a punishment. And I don’t mean that as it sounds, that it is some kind of affront to me, because it isn’t. What I mean is, that it would mean we would have to abstain from receiving a blowjob when there is no reason for a punishment, and that would conflict with the natural male right to demand such service at any time. It has nothing to do with discipline! It should be your unencumbered decision whether she should blow me or not, it isn’t a bargaining chip which gets traded off in some unnatural negotiation on the discipline to be administered! In fact, I will especially enjoy receiving such a blowjob when her ass is black and blue from the caning she just received, and the agony of her previous torment contrasts so delightfully with the ecstasy of unloading deep into her throat… but that isn’t a part of her correction, it is nothing but an expanded source of pleasure for me!”

His arguments aroused me even more. As I gained another insight into the philosophies of this place, realizing more about the yoke these girls were supposed to endure, my loins had **** but to pump even harder into Heather, my final shot approaching with each powerful thrust. Her continued moaning seemed to support his arguments on the proper way to treat these sluts even more.

Howard nodded: “You are right about that, of course. These things should remain separated. Very well; the cane it is.”

“NOOO!!,” Marcy screamed on the top of her lungs, “NOOOO!!!!” She was ignored. Instead, Howard ordered her to assume ‘whipping posture’. Even though she complied, her body language expressed rebellion and fear when she stood up and walked over to the simple horizontal, metal bar at waist height. She bent forward over it, until her hands reached into two grips when her torso bent forward about 45 degrees, and shuffled her feet away from eachother until they were almost a yard apart; then she waited until her husband got up to secure her wrists and ankles, immobilizing her for the whipping.

But even then, the men weren’t quite ready to commence her thrashing: they spent at least fifteen minutes discussing the type of cane which should be used, how many strokes she should receive, and where exactly those strokes would be aimed. The muscles in her body quivered more and more as the men discussed their plans in abhorrent detail, and large patches of goosebumps spread across her shoulders, arms, and thighs. Her breathing was shallow and hasty, puffy little phews at the anticipation of her torment.

When the men were finalizing their plans, her teeth were chattering and the weight of her body hung meekly in her chains and across the bar. Howard had actually taken up the chosen cane by then, a rigid strand of rottan almost a yard long. He placed it across the width of her ass, as if to measure his first blow, just two inches above the crack between her thighs and her buttocks. She grit her teeth and bowed her head, bracing herself for the ordeal ahead. Eric had sagged into his couch, and lit up another cigar, ready for the show ahead, and I was still managing to keep my shot away by decreasing my thrusting rhythm into Heather slightly.

Finally, Howard was ready to strike, and he raised his arm. Marcy shut her eyes in a cramp, holding her breath, preparing how little she could for the strike to come.