‘It’s “sir” here,’ he replied sternly, while he could be overheard. Then he bent his legs a little, came down to my level and whispered, ‘You can do this, Lulu.’
‘I know,’ I said. I wanted to. I was beyond thrilled by the prospect. But I was scared as well. ‘Just … I’m a bit nervous.’
‘That’s natural,’ he said. He put his arms around me and stood with me wrapped up in front of him while the show continued.
God, the cane looked horrendous! But the noise it made was pure sex, swishing down and landing with a wince-inducing thwick on the poor woman’s soft rounds.
Perhaps it didn’t hurt as much as I thought, because she barely made a sound in protest. She was strapped down, of course, but there didn’t seem to be a lot in the way of strenuous escape attempts going on either. So perhaps ‘poor woman’ wasn’t the right term. Perhaps it was ‘lucky woman’.
Lucky woman to have each stroke firmly laid in a white bar before it reddened into a long welt. Lucky woman to hear the applause and laughter of the onlookers as she suffered. Lucky woman to have this memory to play with for the rest of her life. Above all, lucky woman to be facing away from the crowd.
The next victim was not so fortunate. He was positioned with his face to the crowd, his wrists cuffed and suspended from a hook while he took a whipping across his back and buttocks from a very short but very confident woman in a leather catsuit. She stood on a footstool to reach her target effectively. I couldn’t decide which was the more worth watching – her face, with its clear satisfaction in a job well done, or his, in its reverential anguish, determined to bear all for his mistress.
The lash really frightened me, more than the cane, and Joss seemed to pick up on my tension.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I won’t use anything you can’t take.’
‘How do you know what I can take?’ I asked, mesmerised by the sweat dripping into the submissive man’s eyes.
‘I don’t. But the best way is to work up slowly.’
Two more came before us, and these took lighter spankings, amid much laughter and squealing. I was relieved. I didn’t want to show myself up as the token lightweight among serious masochists. The last couple switched, both taking ten strokes of the strap, stepping down from the stage with matching red bottoms and wide grins.
‘Sweet,’ I said, but my lips were rubbery with fear and I could taste the seafood salad i
n the back of my throat. I hoped it wasn’t about to make a reappearance.
‘Up you go.’ Joss nudged me between my shoulder blades and I stepped uncertainly up the steps to the platform. He kept his hand around my upper arm in case, I thought, I bolted. I must admit, it crossed my mind. There was bright backlighting in my eyes and two black-clad figures standing by a big chest to the side of me.
‘Bench, post, hook or something else?’ One of them asked Joss.
‘I think I’ll use the hook for this,’ he said. ‘Could I have something to tie her wrists with? Something light?’
They handed over a pair of marabou-trimmed velvet cuffs. Joss steered me to the centre of the stage and made me stand in the ninth position. I was grateful beyond words at not having to face the crowd. I clasped my hands behind my neck, but not for long, because Joss unlaced them and made me put them in the air so he could fix them together with the surprisingly comfortable cuffs. He attached the linking chain to a hook in the ceiling, and this pulled me up until I was on tiptoe. I felt my nipples pop out of their scant covering, forced upwards like that, and burned at the thought of the guardian people seeing them. They were still slightly protected by a layer of gauze, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough.
‘Choose your implement, sir,’ said the same official.
From the corner of my dazzled eye, I saw him opt for a flogger, a friendly-looking one with purple suede strands, unknotted at the ends. This could have been much worse. I would have heaved a sigh but my position, coupled with the corset, wasn’t easy on the sighing reflex.
The lights were too much and I shut my eyes. All around me eddied the noise of the spectators, a comforting jumble with nothing standing out. They could be talking about the weather for all I could discern.
But then I felt Joss’s hands at my waist and I knew – why had this not occurred to me before? – that he was going to part the skirts behind.
‘Oh,’ I exclaimed sharply, and then there was laughter.
‘Bad girls get spanked on their bare bums,’ said someone, amid shouts of ‘hear hear’ and ‘I should think so too’.
‘I think Lulu had forgotten,’ said Joss. He pulled the fabric drapes apart. My bottom goose-pimpled with the sudden chill of exposure and I clamped my thighs tight.
Everyone is looking at my bottom. Everyone can see my bottom.
I had to bite my lip to quell my moan of embarrassment, but at the same time I was buzzing between my legs, my body overtaken by a kind of sensual rapture.
Joss placed his hand over the curve and stroked it for a short while. Stroking turned to patting.
‘Are you going to spank her or fuck her?’ someone called.
‘Either is fine,’ said another, to general laughter. ‘Or both.’