Those simple words led me down the deepest erotic chasm you can imagine. They were spoken so innocently and light heartedly to who I hoped was going to be my latest girlfriend.
She was such a tiny thing with long dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail that hung well below her shoulder blades. She was almost toylike in her daintiness, barely coming up to my shoulder yet so perfectly formed she made me both weak at the knees and hard at the groin.
As had become our habit of a weekend we were at her family stables, where she kept her horses and livery for those of her friends. Seeing her handle and move the massive animals with such confidence raised a whole range of fantasies I had not thought of for many a year. And, almost unbidden as she stood there in her tight jodhpurs and bright white blouse, I uttered those fateful words.
“Would you like to whip me?”
Her response was so completely unexpected it took my breath away. “I wondered if you would be the one who would ask me. You somehow seemed the type.” I felt my mouth moving and no sound coming out, so I snapped it closed as she continued. “Mother always said that as long as I worked around horses sooner or later some man would ask me to give him a whipping. Come on then.”
She gestured towards a door with her trim little riding crop and I proceeded her into the room. In the centre of the room stood an empty saddle stand.
“This is what mother uses when she wants to,” she said in the simplest matter of fact voice imaginable. I felt myself flush at the thought. I had seen her mother but never thought her the type, but then again, I could see her point. If you spent enough of your time in tight trousers with a whip in your hand it was only a matter of time before a hopeful man asked.
“Bend over it then,” she said simply “And grab the cloth loops on the floor.”
Bemused but not believing my luck I laid across the curved surface. I had to lunge forward as it was just a fraction too high to have both my feet and hands on the floor at the same moment.
“Here, let me help you,” she said, crouching down in front of me. Tiny fingers danced about my hands and she slipped mine through soft silken loops, tied to steel rings set into the floor and I took a firm grip. She stood up, and I felt myself go white as she cheerfully said, “Oh, hello mother, I didn’t hear you come in.”
I heard heavier footfalls and deep breathing. I shifted my weight and balance to extricate myself from my compromising position when her mother spoke.
“I told you it was only a matter of time child, but you really do have to learn how to use this thing right, you know.”
A hand landed hard in the small of my back and a deftly swung leg knocked my flailing legs backwards. I felt the soft loops snap tight about my wrists as I slithered backwards.
“Now, this is how you use it child,” she bellowed.
I felt the shoes being pulled off my feet before a muscular hand grabbed the waist of my jeans; they and my underpants were whipped backwards off my legs, as I struggled for balance and grip with my hands lost to me. I was desperately trying to get one hand to the other to undo the loops that had snapped tight about my wrists, but they were cunningly placed just too far apart. At the back of my mind I realised just how much thought her mother had put into her innocent looking device.
“Here child,” chided the mother, “I told you what to do with them.”
Hands grabbed both ankles and I felt them being tied off into silken loops like those around my wrists. Now I balanced precariously on my stomach with nothing in contact with the ground, my manhood dangling in space. I peered back over my shoulder and saw my ankles had been tied off to metal hoops that had lurked unseen under the straw.
“Well my friend,” said her mother, “aren’t we going to have some fun together?”
I twisted my neck until I could see the source of the voice. Her mother. Her hair was blonde and fell loosely about her shoulders framing a broad face. Clad in tight blue jodhpurs and a matching blouse, she cut a stocky figure with what looked worryingly like muscles on arms and legs that strained the fabric to the limit. Hands on hips, she drew back her shoulders and a magnificent pair of breasts made the buttons bulge in what under other circumstances would be incredibly sexy.
She looked down at my spread form and her face twisted into a smile. There were sounds outside and her head snapped round as two more of the yard girls clattered into view. They came to a dead stop when they saw me stretched across the saddle stand, then burst out laughing.
“I told you girls,” said the mother, “you will all get asked at some point.”
I could see no faces but I felt myself blushing at the sight I must have presented to them. I looked downward as two fresh pairs of boots stalked around my position, and when I finally glanced up I got a glimpse of sun bleached blonde hair on both of them as they walked out of my restricted sight.
“Shall I teach you a few tricks?” I heard mother ask, “so you will have a few good ideas when you get the invitation?”
“No!” I screeched, “No, that’s enough, let me up!” But deep down I could feel my raging manhood bouncing up and down, as hard as it had ever been at the prospect of what lay before me.
Mother slapped my bare stretched arse and I yelped.
“Now girls,” she said, in a tone of voice that could have come from any teacher about to lecture her class. “There are several things you can do with your subject, once you have the upper hand like this. Naturally your first task is to get him tied up securely like this. If he is not tied tight, he will soon forget all about what he has asked for and realise that what he really wants is a few swats about the buttocks and then some sex. But if you have him tied down tight, you can give him exactly what he has asked for. Which is, I assure you, not what he actually wants.”
She was pacing up and down in front of me, as if I were a piece of livestock and she was addressing her class.
“Now girls, there are several ways you can treat him. You can tease him, punish him, or do things with his brain you can only imagine, that will have him crawling back regularly for more. A little reprogramming if you like. If you are really lucky, he will quite literally come crawling back on all fours, and a man who comes back on all fours can be quite the most fun you can imagine.”
I saw her flick her hair back over her shoulder. Under the hay and straw I caught a glimpse of a cage big enough to hold a person, and what looked like a thick collar resting on top of it.
“Now, where did I leave them...” she muttered, running her hands along the eaves of the stables. “Ah, here we are,” she said, withdrawing her hand holding two large feathers. “Now girls, allow me to show you how to tease and torment your subject until he whimpers.”
I tried to get loose, really I did, but those damn silken ropes were designed not to slip loose or allow me any chance of escape without outside help. I was theirs to do with as they pleased.
Mother handed one of the feathers to one of the girls with the sun-bleached hair and gestured downwards with her head. Sun bleached smiled and dropped on her haunches beside me. “Now girls,” mother said, “this is the first step to reprogramming his brain, so he enjoys what he actually thinks he enjoys. Step one requires a couple of feathers. Begin down there.”
They saw me lurch and cry out in my bonds. Two heads bent to see what sun-bleached was doing to me. She giggled as she flicked the very tip of the feather back and forth across the very end of my erect manhood. I squealed when I felt her warm hand close about it and felt her gently peel back the foreskin so the tenderest part was revealed. Her hand danced away and then the flicking caress of the very tip of my manhood began. I wriggled, I wailed, I felt the tears coming, as the steady repetitive flicking continued.
“Now,” said mother, “we have other things to do.” I saw her hold up the second feather and tilt it forwards. A flat palm grasped one of my buttocks and for a moment I did not know what was going to happen next. I saw the feather moving, then tried to leap forwards in my bonds as they very tip caressed my upturned anus.
Mother laughed as she started exactly the same rhythmic flicking motion across my puckering anus as was going on down below on my manhood.
I screamed out, I cried, the tears running down my face after five minutes of the incessant torment. The stimulation that just would not go away, it was both terrible and stimulating beyond belief.
Rather than the usual gentle run-up to any orgasm that every human desires, one moment I was in torment, the next I was coming so hard I was quite literally crying out. I could feel my manhood pumping for all it was worth as it twitched in the air, then there was only panting and sweat running down my face.
“That was step one,” I heard mother saying, “now we begin step two. The punishment. My dear, would you do the honours? As you were the person he so nicely asked. No child, not that silly thing, this one.”
The daughter, the one with whom all this had begun, swung a new whip back and forth, and I caught sight of the end of it: a long coaching whip. I started to protest, to cry out, to beg for it all to stop, then I heard the swish of the thin whip through the air and a line of agony erupted across my upturned arse.
“Nice steady rhythm,” I heard mother say, “and keep those red lines nice and parallel. A good whipping is a neat whipping.”
I was crying out for it to stop. She was right, I didn’t want a whipping. I wanted a few strokes and some wild sex. This was different, oh so very different. A proper whipping hurt! I lost track of the time as the strokes fell, my arse on fire, my arms and legs thrashing in their silken bondage. Suddenly, as abruptly as it had all begun, the whipping stopped.
“Now girls,” I heard mother say, “we can complete the reprogramming, and make him ours.”
I saw her take up a more modest riding crop from where it lay and nod to one of the girls with the sun bleached hair. I was crying, I could feel the tears running down my face as I pleaded with them to stop. The mother’s face appeared close to mine and she spoke quietly to me.
“I really do not see what all this fuss is about. After all, you did ask my daughter if she would whip you, and she has. More than that, you have the undivided attention of no less than four fit and healthy young ladies, what more could a man ask for? And think, when all this is over, you will be begging for us to let you come back. I mean, we have so many handy little toys here. Take a look up...”
Doing the best I could from where I was bent over I twisted and looked up. Two hoops of the wickedly soft but oh so securely confining silken cloth were tied off to steel hoops in the ceiling.
“Yes, we have those handy steel hoops everywhere. And once your hands are confined in those nice high ones your feet just about touch the floor. But your arse and cock are both helplessly exposed for us to play with. Do you like that thought?” She peered back at my manhood. “I can see that you do. And just think about all the fun things our saddler has made for us, out of nice strong leather and buckles. But first, the final step.” And she was gone.
“My dear, if you please,” mother said to one of the sun-bleached girls, “you know what you must do.”
I tensed, giving my bonds one last hopeless tug as I wondered what would happen next. I let out an involuntary whimper as a warm hand closed around my manhood and gave it a slow pump. She pulled the foreskin down over the tender head, then pulled it slowly back. Down came the hand again, and as it reached the tender tip the crop cracked down across my arse. And so it continued, on every tantalising stroke, in perfect time. I could feel things building, my body tensing for the inevitable. I saw a sun-bleached head move under me and a tiny tongue touched that tender spot, at the very same moment the crop hit my buttocks and I came again as if my life depended on it. Then all was silent.
Hands were untying me and helping me up, my limbs shaking as I stood naked before them, all four of them coldly regarding my body. Mother lifted the crop towards me, tapping my manhood and all laughed as it struggled itself up towards a wanton attention.
“You see,” said mother, “after that his mind associates the whip and the pain with pleasure. What was a simple fancy has become a turn on he can no longer resist.” She smiled at me “Come back any time you fancy, my friend. But give us a little warning so we can be sure you get the sort of visit your little heart desires.”
And with that, mother and the two sun-bleached girls were gone and I was alone with the daughter. She smiled at me before turning away and saying “Hurry back...”