windar
Teller of Tales
7.
Stan grasped the handle of the whip tightly in his right hand, staring fixedly at Barb’s tight little ass, measuring the distance with his eyes. “Would you mind sticking your tuchas out a bit more, sweetheart?" he asked with studied politeness.
“Geez,” Barb muttered, lowering her hands slightly on the bars and bending at the waist to comply. “You wanna paint a bullseye on it, Goldman?”
“That’s tempting, but I don’t think it will be necessary,” Stan replied, swishing the tails of the whip lightly a few times against the soft flesh to perfect his aim. “Don’t forget to count,” he said, as he pulled his arm back and struck the first blow, hard, but not, perhaps, as hard as he could have.
The leather made a satisfying swish through the air and an even more satisfying crack as it connected with the target, the sound echoing against the hard stone walls. He felt the force of the impact in his arm. Stan knew that Barb would refuse to show her pain on the first lash, but he also knew that she had felt it by the way she shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other, causing her ass to sway delightfully back and forth. “One,” Barb said, her tone as even as her will could make it.
Stan struck again. He watched the soft flesh jiggle under the impact and heard the sharp intake of breath as Barb struggled to manage the sensation. Still, “Two,” was all she said, though the sound was a bit rougher than the first one.
The third lash caused Barb to stamp her right foot against the cold stone floor. Stan could see that the grip of her hands had tightened on the iron bars and the sway of her buttocks was even more vigorous than before. It took her a moment to catch her breath enough to spit out, “Three.”
“How you doing?” Stan asked. “Does it hurt?”
Barb turned her head around to glare at him. “What do you think, genius?”
“Is that any way to talk to a Senator?” he replied, putting a bit of added oomph into the fourth stroke.
“Shit!” he heard Barb mutter, her ass gyrating wildly. “Four,” she said, sounding more labored than she had on the previous three.
“I can’t see much in here, Bob,” Stan said, “Could we get a bit of light?”
Bob extracted his phone from under his toga and turned it on. He approached Barb and bent so that the light from the screen illuminated her nether parts. Stan bent as well to have a closer look. Barb’s ass was streaked with angry-looking red welts, though the skin was unbroken. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I think her ass is even more beautiful marked with the whip than it was before,” Bob replied.
“You and me both, my friend. Would you like to take a turn, Senator Spero?”
“With pleasure, Senator Homaurum, that’s very kind of you,” the Italian cop replied.
“Kind?” Barb said sarcastically, “It’s probably just that his old arm is tired.”
“Who asked your opinion?” Stan said, handing the whip to Bob, who took it in his left hand. “In case you missed the important clues, which as a former cop, I certainly hope you didn’t, Bob is a lefty, which means that his lashes should cross mine in an interesting, and for you, perhaps, unfortunate way.” Bob took his position on the opposite side of Barb from Stan, measuring his distance carefully, before he struck.
“Ow!” Barb moaned loudly, stamping first one foot than the other before catching her breath and adding, “Five.”
The next lash seemed to be somewhat of a breaking point for Barb. She lifted her right hand off the bars and brought it down behind her in a futile attempt to soothe the fire that Stan knew was burning in her ass, before she shouted, “Six, you bastards!”
“Keep your hands on the bars,” Stan ordered. Slowly Barb raised the hand back to its former position. “And stick that ass back out.” She paused a moment before complying. Bob waited until Barb’s tight little was properly presented before he lashed the leather smartly onto the soft flesh.
Stan could see that Barb was struggling to catch her breath under the stress of the painful stimuli bombarding her body. Finally, she was able to gasp out, “Seven.”
Bob whipped the leather across her buttocks again. Stan was reasonably sure that Barb was sobbing now as she managed to announce, “Eight,” in a faltering voice.
Stan motioned to Bob to stop. He reached up and grasped Barb’s chin, turning her face towards him. Bob held his phone out. Stan took it and shone it towards Barb. Indeed her face was streaked with tears. “Are you sorry now that you left me handcuffed to the bed?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. That was a stupid trick.” she sobbed. “But I already paid for my mistake, Stan, as you well know. That crucifixion was no joke.”
“I know that Barb, I was there to save your butt as you well know, but you haven’t been punished properly by me until now. Don’t you think it’s fair that I should get to take care of things personally?”
“I don’t know,” she sniffed, “Maybe. Anyway, it really hurts, Stan. And we’ve got that flight to London tomorrow. How am I going to sit in that Ryanair seat? Those are uncomfortable enough even if your ass isn’t covered with welts. Can we stop now?”
Stan looked into her tear-stained face. She really did look contrite and awfully cute like this. “I’ll tell you what, Barb. Since it’s your birthday in a few minutes, Bob and I might be willing to remit the rest of your sentence if you were really nice to us.”
“I’m always nice to you, Stan,” she said grimacing through her pain.
"Occasionally you are, Barb," Stan said fumbling with the knot that held his toga together. "And I think this might be a time to go the extra mile," he added, finally getting it undone and letting the cloth fall from his body, leaving him only in his briefs, in which, even in the dim light, the state of his arousal could not have been missed.
"Geez, Goldman, you expect me to fuck you right here in this cell?" Barb asked.
"Why not?" Stan replied. "Just think how many condemned female prisoners right here in this prison back in ancient times must have been willing to do ANYTHING to get some small favor from the guards-a few half-strength lashes, a quicker death on the cross, whatever."
Barb glanced over at Bob. "But we're not alone here, Stan."
“ Bob is my friend and our host, Barb. And both of us have to agree to reduce your sentence. You really want four more on that tight little? Better hope it's a VERY smooth flight tomorrow."
Barb looked disgusted. "I don't know why I put up with you, you nasty old bastard." Yet, shaking her head, Barb reached down and slid Stan's briefs over his hips, revealing his full erection. “It looks like this whipping has had the same effect on you as it has on me.”
"So you're telling me that it's gotten you all hot and bothered?"
“Mmm, I guess so, big boy” Barb replied, kissing him hard. "So I suggest you fuck me right now Goldman, or I’ll really be pissed off at you."
Hearing this, Stan broke the kiss off and ordered Barb to get down on all fours and stick her welted ass up in the air like a bitch in heat. He knelt behind her and slid inside, his entry eased by the undeniable wetness of her arousal. She groaned in pain as Stan’s groin rubbed against the inflamed streaks on her ass, but Stan continued moving in and out, undeterred by her distress.
“I suggest you think of some creative way to take care of Bob, unless you want those remaining lashes,” Stan ordered. Bob moved in front of Barb and stripped his toga and briefs off as Stan had done, revealing an arousal every bit as strong as Stan’s. He knelt so that his erection was at the level of Barb’s face. She opened her mouth and took it inside. “That may be the best way to keep this one quiet,” Stan remarked.
Stan grasped Barb’s hips and thrust forward, eliciting as much of a groan as Barb could produce with Bob’s cock filling her mouth. The two men continued moving back and forth in turn, enjoying the excitement of sharing a very turned-on woman whom they had both whipped. Soon, Stan saw Bob’s eyes close and heard him mutter something in Italian as he filled Barb’s mouth with his seed. That was all Stan needed to summon a final thrust and empty himself into Barb, his mind and body numb with the immense pleasure, as he collapsed on top of her.
Slowly, Bob withdrew from Barb’s mouth and began wrapping the toga around his naked body. He glanced down at his phone. “It’s midnight,” he announced.
Stan, still resting inside Barb, turned her face towards him and kissed her. “Happy birthday, baby,” he said.
She smiled, despite the obvious pain Stan’s weight on her butt was causing her. “That was the best present ever,” she cooed.
Bob, dressing now, coughed softly. Stan looked up at him. “I think I will leave you two alone now. If you are gone by 7 in the morning and take everything with you, no one will know you were here. Lock up when you leave and don’t forget to take the camera. You can leave the key and the camera at the desk of your hotel and I will come and get them later,” he said, dropping the key loudly on the floor in front of the happy couple.
Stan finally withdrew from Barb and stood up, shaking Bob’s hand. “It’s been great finally meeting you in person. A real pleasure.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” he replied. Stan didn’t doubt that he meant it. “Have a good time in London.”
“We will,” Stan replied. Then, turning to Barb he said, “Did I ever mention my friend Inspector Bill Pritchard of Scotland Yard? We worked on a couple of cases together a few years back. He told me he can give us a private tour of the Tower of London. What do you think, Barb?” Stan didn’t catch everything that Barb said, but he believed it had something to do with him performing an anatomically impossible act on himself and also something to do with porcine animals with wings, but he wasn’t entirely sure.
Stan grasped the handle of the whip tightly in his right hand, staring fixedly at Barb’s tight little ass, measuring the distance with his eyes. “Would you mind sticking your tuchas out a bit more, sweetheart?" he asked with studied politeness.
“Geez,” Barb muttered, lowering her hands slightly on the bars and bending at the waist to comply. “You wanna paint a bullseye on it, Goldman?”
“That’s tempting, but I don’t think it will be necessary,” Stan replied, swishing the tails of the whip lightly a few times against the soft flesh to perfect his aim. “Don’t forget to count,” he said, as he pulled his arm back and struck the first blow, hard, but not, perhaps, as hard as he could have.
The leather made a satisfying swish through the air and an even more satisfying crack as it connected with the target, the sound echoing against the hard stone walls. He felt the force of the impact in his arm. Stan knew that Barb would refuse to show her pain on the first lash, but he also knew that she had felt it by the way she shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other, causing her ass to sway delightfully back and forth. “One,” Barb said, her tone as even as her will could make it.
Stan struck again. He watched the soft flesh jiggle under the impact and heard the sharp intake of breath as Barb struggled to manage the sensation. Still, “Two,” was all she said, though the sound was a bit rougher than the first one.
The third lash caused Barb to stamp her right foot against the cold stone floor. Stan could see that the grip of her hands had tightened on the iron bars and the sway of her buttocks was even more vigorous than before. It took her a moment to catch her breath enough to spit out, “Three.”
“How you doing?” Stan asked. “Does it hurt?”
Barb turned her head around to glare at him. “What do you think, genius?”
“Is that any way to talk to a Senator?” he replied, putting a bit of added oomph into the fourth stroke.
“Shit!” he heard Barb mutter, her ass gyrating wildly. “Four,” she said, sounding more labored than she had on the previous three.
“I can’t see much in here, Bob,” Stan said, “Could we get a bit of light?”
Bob extracted his phone from under his toga and turned it on. He approached Barb and bent so that the light from the screen illuminated her nether parts. Stan bent as well to have a closer look. Barb’s ass was streaked with angry-looking red welts, though the skin was unbroken. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I think her ass is even more beautiful marked with the whip than it was before,” Bob replied.
“You and me both, my friend. Would you like to take a turn, Senator Spero?”
“With pleasure, Senator Homaurum, that’s very kind of you,” the Italian cop replied.
“Kind?” Barb said sarcastically, “It’s probably just that his old arm is tired.”
“Who asked your opinion?” Stan said, handing the whip to Bob, who took it in his left hand. “In case you missed the important clues, which as a former cop, I certainly hope you didn’t, Bob is a lefty, which means that his lashes should cross mine in an interesting, and for you, perhaps, unfortunate way.” Bob took his position on the opposite side of Barb from Stan, measuring his distance carefully, before he struck.
“Ow!” Barb moaned loudly, stamping first one foot than the other before catching her breath and adding, “Five.”
The next lash seemed to be somewhat of a breaking point for Barb. She lifted her right hand off the bars and brought it down behind her in a futile attempt to soothe the fire that Stan knew was burning in her ass, before she shouted, “Six, you bastards!”
“Keep your hands on the bars,” Stan ordered. Slowly Barb raised the hand back to its former position. “And stick that ass back out.” She paused a moment before complying. Bob waited until Barb’s tight little was properly presented before he lashed the leather smartly onto the soft flesh.
Stan could see that Barb was struggling to catch her breath under the stress of the painful stimuli bombarding her body. Finally, she was able to gasp out, “Seven.”
Bob whipped the leather across her buttocks again. Stan was reasonably sure that Barb was sobbing now as she managed to announce, “Eight,” in a faltering voice.
Stan motioned to Bob to stop. He reached up and grasped Barb’s chin, turning her face towards him. Bob held his phone out. Stan took it and shone it towards Barb. Indeed her face was streaked with tears. “Are you sorry now that you left me handcuffed to the bed?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. That was a stupid trick.” she sobbed. “But I already paid for my mistake, Stan, as you well know. That crucifixion was no joke.”
“I know that Barb, I was there to save your butt as you well know, but you haven’t been punished properly by me until now. Don’t you think it’s fair that I should get to take care of things personally?”
“I don’t know,” she sniffed, “Maybe. Anyway, it really hurts, Stan. And we’ve got that flight to London tomorrow. How am I going to sit in that Ryanair seat? Those are uncomfortable enough even if your ass isn’t covered with welts. Can we stop now?”
Stan looked into her tear-stained face. She really did look contrite and awfully cute like this. “I’ll tell you what, Barb. Since it’s your birthday in a few minutes, Bob and I might be willing to remit the rest of your sentence if you were really nice to us.”
“I’m always nice to you, Stan,” she said grimacing through her pain.
"Occasionally you are, Barb," Stan said fumbling with the knot that held his toga together. "And I think this might be a time to go the extra mile," he added, finally getting it undone and letting the cloth fall from his body, leaving him only in his briefs, in which, even in the dim light, the state of his arousal could not have been missed.
"Geez, Goldman, you expect me to fuck you right here in this cell?" Barb asked.
"Why not?" Stan replied. "Just think how many condemned female prisoners right here in this prison back in ancient times must have been willing to do ANYTHING to get some small favor from the guards-a few half-strength lashes, a quicker death on the cross, whatever."
Barb glanced over at Bob. "But we're not alone here, Stan."
“ Bob is my friend and our host, Barb. And both of us have to agree to reduce your sentence. You really want four more on that tight little? Better hope it's a VERY smooth flight tomorrow."
Barb looked disgusted. "I don't know why I put up with you, you nasty old bastard." Yet, shaking her head, Barb reached down and slid Stan's briefs over his hips, revealing his full erection. “It looks like this whipping has had the same effect on you as it has on me.”
"So you're telling me that it's gotten you all hot and bothered?"
“Mmm, I guess so, big boy” Barb replied, kissing him hard. "So I suggest you fuck me right now Goldman, or I’ll really be pissed off at you."
Hearing this, Stan broke the kiss off and ordered Barb to get down on all fours and stick her welted ass up in the air like a bitch in heat. He knelt behind her and slid inside, his entry eased by the undeniable wetness of her arousal. She groaned in pain as Stan’s groin rubbed against the inflamed streaks on her ass, but Stan continued moving in and out, undeterred by her distress.
“I suggest you think of some creative way to take care of Bob, unless you want those remaining lashes,” Stan ordered. Bob moved in front of Barb and stripped his toga and briefs off as Stan had done, revealing an arousal every bit as strong as Stan’s. He knelt so that his erection was at the level of Barb’s face. She opened her mouth and took it inside. “That may be the best way to keep this one quiet,” Stan remarked.
Stan grasped Barb’s hips and thrust forward, eliciting as much of a groan as Barb could produce with Bob’s cock filling her mouth. The two men continued moving back and forth in turn, enjoying the excitement of sharing a very turned-on woman whom they had both whipped. Soon, Stan saw Bob’s eyes close and heard him mutter something in Italian as he filled Barb’s mouth with his seed. That was all Stan needed to summon a final thrust and empty himself into Barb, his mind and body numb with the immense pleasure, as he collapsed on top of her.
Slowly, Bob withdrew from Barb’s mouth and began wrapping the toga around his naked body. He glanced down at his phone. “It’s midnight,” he announced.
Stan, still resting inside Barb, turned her face towards him and kissed her. “Happy birthday, baby,” he said.
She smiled, despite the obvious pain Stan’s weight on her butt was causing her. “That was the best present ever,” she cooed.
Bob, dressing now, coughed softly. Stan looked up at him. “I think I will leave you two alone now. If you are gone by 7 in the morning and take everything with you, no one will know you were here. Lock up when you leave and don’t forget to take the camera. You can leave the key and the camera at the desk of your hotel and I will come and get them later,” he said, dropping the key loudly on the floor in front of the happy couple.
Stan finally withdrew from Barb and stood up, shaking Bob’s hand. “It’s been great finally meeting you in person. A real pleasure.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” he replied. Stan didn’t doubt that he meant it. “Have a good time in London.”
“We will,” Stan replied. Then, turning to Barb he said, “Did I ever mention my friend Inspector Bill Pritchard of Scotland Yard? We worked on a couple of cases together a few years back. He told me he can give us a private tour of the Tower of London. What do you think, Barb?” Stan didn’t catch everything that Barb said, but he believed it had something to do with him performing an anatomically impossible act on himself and also something to do with porcine animals with wings, but he wasn’t entirely sure.