What a predicament: I was naked, wet from a long bath, and in the hands of Stella and her three daughters. They were in no mood to show any leniency for my earlier offenses. Ordered to bend and touch my toes, I did so reluctantly, but eldest daughter Nancy pressed down on my shoulders to keep me there.
Stella was stroking my bottom with the thick leather paddle. “This is going to take a while,” she told her daughters with a smile. “An hour, maybe? I don’t think I’ve ever given anyone here as many as a hundred.”
“No. But he deserves it,” Claudia said angrily. “He spied on me, didn’t he? And he plays with himself, all the time.”
“Oh, do you know that for a fact?” Stella inquired.
“No, but I bet he does. He has that look about him, wouldn’t you say? Sneaky, guilty?”
Her two older sisters nodded in agreement. “Oh, doesn’t he?” Suzanne giggled. “Like he needs a good wash. A typical wanky boy.”
Stella raised her paddle, and propelled it with great force. The crack of the leather on my wet, bare skin echoed around the small tiled room. I’m sure passers-by in the street could hear it clearly too. I gave a sharp grunt of surprise, then a little moan.
“Oh, dear me. If you’re going to make that much fuss over the first one, think what you’ll be like before I finish,” Stella teased, running her hand over the reddened patch where the paddle had struck. “Please, this isn’t the amateur dramatic society.”
“Yes, don’t be such a baby,” Claudia scowled.
Another sharp swat made me twitch.
“Run some more warm water, Suzanne,” Stella instructed. “I’m sure we’ll need to soak him again before we use the cane.”
I tried not to count how many strokes I’d been given, but the blows never ceased for a moment. Stella hit me hard, working steadily from the upper curves of my buttocks down to the sensitive skin where they join my thighs. Whacks to each side of my cheeks alternated with blows to the center. My backside was on fire when I head Stella comment: “Phew, this is hard work! I need a rest. I make that sixty.”
“May I?” asked Claudia, reaching for the paddle. For a small girl, she hit very hard. “No dirty language, you!” she insisted, as she brought a semi-articulate yelp from me with a hail of harsh blows. “Or, we’ll have to wash your mouth out again!”
I was whimpering by the time the paddling was over.
“Wipe your face, and get back in the tub,” Stella ordered. It was a relief to clamber in to the hot water. The bathroom was quite chilly now. She looked at her watch. “Oh, we’ve got plenty of time left,” she smiled. “Now, what did we say? Three dozen, doubled to six, with the cane?”
“Yes,” the two older sisters grinned.
“Make it eight dozen, mummy,” Claudia piped up. “Please?”
“You must have noticed how sore he is,” Stella advised, peering at her youngest daughter with doubt in her eyes. “He’ll be black and blue in the morning.”
“Good!” Claudia said, in triumph. “So, let’s make sure.”
“My word, you are so spiteful!” Suzanne admonished.
“So what?” Claudia pouted. “We’ve got him. Let’s punish him.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Stella sighed, combing her hair back. “Eight dozen, rounded up to a hundred. But we’ll stop before then, if we make him bleed.”
Stella turned to me, cringing low in the tub. “Up you get, Roger. Time for the cane.”
I didn’t submit voluntarily, but allowed myself to be helped from the tub by Suzanne and Nancy, and held tightly by them in the bent-over position Stella wanted. My legs were spread wide, and my ankles pinned by their legs. My backside was raised and tilted to meet her. The cane hissed through the air like a demented bumblebee, and I let out my first loud yelp of pain.
“Quiet, Roger. The neighbors will hear, and wonder what has happened to turn you into a silly girl.”
I bit my tongue, but it was hard to keep quiet as the cane took its toll. She was working with great care, trying not to overlap the strokes on her first run across my buttocks, but make close parallel rows, then carefully interlace them at an angle on her return.
“We’ll stop at fifty,” Stella announced. “And sit his bottom in a bowl of cold water. Claudia, go get the old enamel bowl from downstairs.”
“If we had a fridge, we could use ice cubes,” Nancy offered.
“But we don’t have a bloody fridge do we, Miss Fancy Pants?” Stella retorted. “Don’t think you’re completely beyond the age where I can put you over my knee, girl!”
By the time Stella had finished, the bowl of cold water had arrived. It looked quite inviting as Claudia perched it on the floor by the toilet pedestal. “In you go,” her mother snapped. “Don’t expect us to do every damned thing.”
Immersing my aching backside was a great relief, but only a brief one. “We don’t want you getting numb,” Stella said, showing her cunning. She roughly prodded my genitals with a finger. “Not even these bits.” And with that, I was bent over again, and the vicious caning resumed.
“You’ll have some beautiful marks,” Stella told me, stroking my back, as if in regret to not be applying the cane there, too. I sobbed helplessly, unable to move, with both sisters gripping me hard. Now she was seeking to make a pattern with her strokes, I realized. The pain when welts intersected was acute. Around eighty strokes, Stella called a halt. “I think we’re going to split the skin quite badly if I don’t stop,” she said sadly. “Still, there’s always another day, isn’t there? Even after you’ve gone back home, Roger, you’ll still want us to keep your secret, eh? You wouldn’t like me to tell your Mum about the way you expose yourself and play with your penis, would you?”
“That’s blackmail,” I groaned.
“Don’t be nasty, Roger,” she retorted. “Or I’ll just keep going. Well?”
“Alright,” I gasped. “Whatever you say.”
“That’s better,” she smiled. “I think you should stop by once a week for a proper spanking, don’t you? It’ll do you good. Make a man of you.” I nod, doubtfully.
“I want to teach the girls how to use a paddle and cane, Roger. It’ll come in useful as they get older, I’m sure.”
Suzanne and Nancy simpered at each other, obviously having heard this piece of conversation before.
“Let’s say every Thursday, at 7, shall we?” Stella suggested. The sisters grinned at me, and nodded their acceptance of the arrangement.
“Good, now we need to deal with this dirty willy of yours,” Stella grinned. “So, sit astride the edge of the tub, and let’s see what we can do.”
Awkwardly, I straddled the edge of the bathtub, hearing the water gurgling down the drain.
“Hands on your head,” Stella ordered. “Pass me that scrubbing brush, Claudia.”
And before I could protest, I was tightly grabbed by the other two sisters, and Stella began a vigorous penis scrubbing, roughly jiggling my balls in her frenzy to brush me. It was very uncomfortable, in fact, painful. My sincere cries of alarm made her stop in a minute or so. “Bring a chair,” she told Suzanne. “One from your bedroom.”
When Suzanne reappeared with a high-backed wooden chair, I was shoved into it. And within seconds, Stella was roping my ankles to its legs. Next she grabbed my penis, and began to loop a long football lace around the root of the shaft. Within a less than a minute, I was snugly tied, with my cock pressed flat on the hard wooden surface of the chair’s seat.
Skillfully she rolled my foreskin back, commenting to the two older daughters: “Oh, look at this, now. If we didn’t have proof that he was a wanker, what more would we need?”
“None at all,” Nancy agreed. “Wankers can always pull their foreskins back without any fuss, can’t they, Mummy? Just smell it! There’s no use hiding it, is there?”
“Oh, poo!” Claudia added, wrinkling her nose, but bending very close.
“Shall I get the ruler?” Suzanne grinned.
“That’s the one,” she was told.
They clustered round, grinning happily. Stella had the initiative, and began smacking me first, paying particular attention to my glans, but beating a merry drum roll up and down my shaft as well. Inevitably, this only made me harder, to their communal glee.
“I think he’d squirt if we kept on,” Nancy commented, to which Stella replied sharply, “Oh, and since when did you become an expert on that subject?”
“Oh, I’m just guessing, looking at his face,” Nancy evaded glibly.
Stopping suddenly, just in time to avert a fountain of semen, Stella clapped her hands. “We’ll finish up with a chase. Nancy, tie his hands behind his back, nice and tight.”
This done, Stella told her daughters, “Now go and find yourself a nice leather belt or something similar. Tag time. We’re going to chase him until he surrenders.”
I stared, mystified, until both Stella and Nancy doubled the belts in their hands and lashed out viciously at my bare chest and back, striping the skin. Recoiling, I took my cue and rushed out on to the landing. Hot on my heels, Claudia snapped off a shot at my calves that sent me tumbling downstairs.
Whooping and laughing, the four women pursued me around the house for about thirty minutes, not missing any opportunity to thrash me viciously when cornered. I was on my back in the hallway, under a rain of blows from all four, when Pa appeared with a vague expression on his face, and his mug of tea in hand.
“Ah, girls will be girls,” he remarked.
These girls were trampling me underfoot, whacking me with their belts, slapping and kicking me. When Stella finally called a halt, I was trapped in a corner, covered in welts and stripes, but too exhausted to get to my feet. Partly from relief, I burst into tears.
“What a mess,” Stella smiled. “Well, we’ll say you fell off a ladder picking apples, and landed in a bramble bush. Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” I pouted.
“Good,” she smiled. “I’m pleased to hear it. Let’s hope it stops you misbehaving. Because, if it doesn’t…”
Originally posted 2010-08-02 14:33:59.
Bad Boy’s Punishment
Female Led Relationships - F/m Fiction, Male Chastity, Feminization Stories, Female Domination Erotica, Femdom Photographs