Peter had been ready to make a full apology for his behavior, but she no longer seemed to care, chatting happily of this and that and teasing him for his lack of self-control. In return, he threatened to spank her then and there, in front of the three dozen or so people also enjoying lunch in the garden and anybody who happened to be crossing the bridge. She dared him to do it and he found himself forced to back down, but from that point there had been no doubt that it was going to happen. With lunch finished, they enjoyed a leisurely coffee while watching the river before returning to the car.
Instead of turning south towards Broadfields, Peter drove up onto the downs, stopping at the end of a track where they could look out over the Vale of White Horse through air so clear that the spires of Oxford were visible in the distance. Peter had been there just once before, on a summer Sunday the year before his expulsion. As he'd hoped, it had barely changed at all. The lonely beech hanger where he'd relieved his frustration over a copy of Mayfair magazine was as he remembered it, with a screen of hawthorn to shield the interior from prying eyes and ledges of chalk where generations of badgers had dug into the hillside. Rhiannon seemed to have forgotten all about the possibility of being spanked, laughing and showing off in her new dress as she walked, and when Peter took her firmly by the ear and pulled her in among the beeches she gave a squeak of surprise and alarm.
“Ow, that hurts!” she protested. “What are you doing?”
“I'm going to spank you,” he told her as he seated himself on a convenient ledge. “Across my knee and bare bottom, for being such a tease. Come on now, over you go. This is what you wanted, isn't it?”
Rhiannon gave a sullen little mewl, her big green eyes moist with apprehension and even a little fear. But she quickly draped herself across his lap as best she could, her feet braced on the ground, her pert bottom lifted into a tempting ball beneath her dress. Peter could feel her trembling, and his own hands were shaking as he stripped her, pulling off the pretty green dress, followed by her shoes and socks, and last of all her panties, to leave her naked in the dappled sunlight.
“It's quite safe,” he assured her. “Now come on, get that little rump up higher and we'll get you spanked.”
She did as she was told, lifting her hips to let her cheeks spread, exposing her tender anus and the little purse of her cunt. Peter slid a hand between her thighs, cupping the soft, furry swell of her sex and pushing a thumb inside her vagina, only for her to cry out.
“Ow! I'm still sore, Peter.”
“Sorry,” he told her, “and I'm sorry I took your virginity so roughly ⦔
“You didn't. Clemmie did me with a hairbrush.”
“That doesn't count!” Peter laughed, easing his thumb free. “You need a cock inside you to lose your virginity, Rhiannon, not your toasty girl's hairbrush handle. Does she spank you as well? I'd have thought you'd be the one spanking her?”
“We take turns,” she told him as he began to lay gentle pats across her cheeks. “Sometimes one of us feels she needs it, or sometimes we play dice or cards and the loser gets it. Mmm ⦠that's nice. A little harder please.”
Peter smiled and began to spank a little harder, just enough to make her cheeks bounce and spread to the smacks. “I take it you do each other bare bottomed?”
“Yes, of course, or completely naked. Clemmie loves to be naked. I'm the one who loves to spank, and be spanked, thanks to you, Peter Finch.”
“Always happy to oblige a lady,” Peter responded, lifting his knee to tip her up a little as he took her around the waist.
Her feet had come clear of the ground and she'd begun to kick her long, bare legs as the spanking continued. Peter could sense the excitement of her cunt, while his cock had begun to stiffen once more. But he was in no hurry, peppering her bottom with stinging slaps of his fingertips to make her gasp and wriggle in his grip, then slipping a hand between her thighs, this time to rub at her clit instead of penetrating her.
“You're a disgrace, Rhiannon,” he told her. “A dirty little brat who badly needs her bottom smacked hard and often. Imagine stripping for your friend and having her spank you for kicks, never mind letting her put her hairbrush handle inside you. What else do you do, Rhiannon? I'm sure you kiss. Do you suck her titties, do you let her suck yours? Do you lick each other's cunts? Tell me!”
“Yes!” Rhiannon sobbed. “You're so dirty! Now harder ⦠hurt me ⦠punish me, and tell me off.”
“I will, because that's what you need, you rude little brat, a good spanking and a lecture. So what else do you do together, Rhiannon? Have you had your tongue in her ass? I bet you have, and I bet she's had hers up yours as well, with your butt in her face as she licks your little hole clean, right inside ⦔
His words broke as Rhiannon groped back for her cunt, cocking one leg high like a dog about to piddle on a lamppost as she began to clutch and grasp at herself, gasping and crying out to the sting of the smacks, but still babbling words.
“No ⦠not that ⦠I couldn't! It's too dirty ⦠too dirty ⦠But oh I wish she'd make me do it to her ⦠so, so badly!”
She screamed as she finished, her muscles in violent contraction as she went into an orgasm even more powerful than before, with Peter spanking her relentlessly and reminding her of what she'd said.
“You want to lick your friend's asshole, do you? What a confession. What a confession, Rhiannon! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, wanting Clementine to sit on your face, wanting to push your tongue up into her bottom!”
Rhiannon gave one last cry and went limp, leaving Peter grinning as he lowered her gently to her knees.
“You certainly deserved that,” he told her, “and now you're going to say thank you, nicely, the way a spanked girl should.”
He'd freed his cock as he spoke and she gave no resistance beyond a mildly petulant glance as he fed it into her mouth. Soon she was sucking earnestly, if a little clumsily, and Peter took pity on her, taking hold of his shaft to masturbate into her mouth. Only when he was close to orgasm did he take a grip on her hair, holding her firmly in place as he finished himself off and making sure she swallowed before letting go.
“Beast,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “That was the best spanking, though. Thank you.”
“Any time,” Peter promised. “I suppose I'd better get you back to school then?”
Rhiannon stood up and stretched in the warm sunlight, naked and beautiful.
“Let's stay here,” she said. “Or better still, why don't you take me back home? You can spank me whenever you want, and all the other dirty things you like to do.”
“School,” Peter insisted. “Come on.”
“There's no point,” she answered. “It's too late.”
“What do you mean it's too late?” he demanded in sudden alarm.
“It's past five o'clock,” she told him. “My taxi for the airport was supposed to come at two. My plane left half-an-hour ago.”
“I'll say one thing for letting Master Jacobaeus run the club,” Karen said. “We don't have to spend half the day setting it up.”
“Yes,” Peter agreed. “Although I think he might at least have asked you to be club domina.”
“I don't think he believes in them,” Karen answered. “You know, it's all this crap about men being the naturally dominant sex, even when more than half the men who go to clubs are submissive. You'd think he'd notice.”
“Master Jacobaeus only sees what he wants to see,” Michelle stated. “But he does have the most enormous cock.”
“Very philosophical,” Peter said. “Here we are.”
They had reached St. Botolph's, a great, squat edifice with a massive portico at the front and a disproportionately small spire stuck on top as if as an afterthought, so that it resembled an ancient temple as much as a church. A corrugated iron fence surrounded it, open at the front where one of the doormen Peter regularly employed stood waiting for guests. Peter parked the cab at what he considered a safe distance and they walked back, drawing curious looks in their longcoats and a couple of wolf whistles for the girls' high heels.
Rhiannon was back at the apartment, sulking because she couldn't come to the party. A terse conversation with her father in Saudi Arabia had ended in Peter taking the phone and telling Mr. O'Neil that Rhiannon was old enough to make her own choices. Still, he'd decided that taking her to a fetish club (a club that was almost certainly going to be raided by the police) was pushing his luck. He'd spanked her afterwards, out of genuine exasperation with her behavior, but she'd enjoyed it even more than when they'd only been playing, and Michelle's threat of having to take it from a woman too had been greeted with a happy purr. Making her stay in had been the only effective punishment.
All three of them were waived through the fence, to where broad stone steps rose between the great pillars of the church to a pair of high, ornate doors, now open to the summer evening. The interior had been largely cleared of pews, adding to the impression of empty space and drawing the focus to the altar, which was now covered with a black velvet cloth on which a large, golden pentagram had been marked. A second pentagram decorated the floor between the choir stalls. This pentagram was larger still and surrounded by runes and other mystical symbols, all beautifully done in gold, red and black. Peter found himself grinning as he looked around, and he extended a hand as Master Jacobaeus himself appeared from the steps leading to the crypt.
“I know I can always count on you to put on a show,” Peter told him. “So what's the program?”
“For the main event, I'm deflowering a new slave,” Master Jacobaeus answered, as casually as if he was describing a theatre trip. “Before that there are demos, and wrestlingâgirl on girl. If you want to sign up, see Blue.”
The last remark had been addressed to Karen, who responded with a non-committal nod, but Michelle answered.
“Ooh, yes please! Come on, Karen, sign up with me and you can beat me up and spank me, maybe sit on my face. Let's find Blue.”
Karen had opted to wear the slinkiest of catsuits, and Peter enjoyed watching the clearly defined contours of her body as both girls departed and made their way through the crowd. Peter continued to talk to Master Jacobaeus for a while before buying a bottle of lager at the bar. The bar itself had been constructed with beer cases and pews arranged around two huge refrigerators. Master Jacobaeus evidently hadn't bothered with a license, or anything else official, but he had put a great deal of work into the club. A generator set up in the vestry provided power, with cables snaking across the floor and down the steps to the crypt. Twin gantries had been rigged to support a bank of lights, mostly covered with red or orange gels, while a lanky youth with his naked upper body covered in swirling tattoos had set up an improvised booth in the lectern so that he could look out over the crowd as he controlled the music.
The crypt proved to be even more impressively inappropriate than the main body of the church. It was a broad, pillared vault, with much of the space occupied by tombs, and both floor and walls almost entirely occupied by plaques and engravings to the departed. What open space remained was largely taken up with dungeon equipment, including spanking stools of several different designs, a pillory, a St. Andrew's cross, a curious basket-like device made of webbing and hung from a rusting iron hook in the ceiling, and a massive rack made of black iron and wood. Red lamps and the flickering fire light from two braziers added to the sinister effect and Peter found himself nodding in appreciation as he sipped his beer.
People were beginning to gather, many of his regulars and others who seemed more drawn to the atmosphere than typical practitioners of kinky sex. Goths, ravers and simple voyeurs outnumbered those dressed for sex by at least three to one, with men in the majority, although there was no shortage of nubile female flesh on show. A few had even started already, with a man in nothing but a rubber posing pouch acting as a table and foot rest for a trio of giggling Goth girls, while a well-built woman in a skimpy black rubber outfit was in the pillory being whipped by a man who might or might not have been her husband.
Peter watched for a while, admiring the woman's nicely rounded bottom, but the situation seemed rather too contrived for his tastes, and she was certainly no substitute for Rhiannon, nor Michelle. Returning to the upper floor, he found some of the helpers setting up a wrestling ring in the middle of the floor, while Blue stood to one side with a notebook, organizing the schedule. Violet was with her, also Sophie, to Peter's surprise, as he'd advised her not to come. Concerned, he walked quickly over to speak to her.
“Hello Sophie. Aren't you worried about the police?”
“Not really,” Sophie answered. “I really want to wrestle, and I don't suppose they'll come until late. I've got no ID on me anyway.”
“Your choice,” Peter told her. “But whatever happens, don't try and run for it. This place is very easy to surround, with enough men. So who are you against?”
“Red, then one of the other winners. It's a knockout competition.”
“You seem very confident. You got your face sat on last time.”
“By Violet, and I wasn't really trying.”
“Is that so?” Peter asked, intrigued by her tone of voice. “This I have to see.”
She smiled, then turned away as Blue approached her, leaving Peter to continue his rounds. The music had begun, a throbbing repetitive beat accompanied by flashing red lights that threw the shadows of the dancers' jerking bodies across the high walls and pillars of the church. Outside, the light was beginning to fade, making what seemed to be Master Jacobaeus' vision of hell more compelling by the instant. Screams from the direction of the stairs drew Peter's attention and he descended to the crypt once more, to find Red strapped naked to the cross while Master Jacobaeus used hot wax on her breasts and belly.
A crowd had gathered to watch and Peter stayed on the stairs so that he could get a proper view of her body. Her full breasts and the plump swell of her stomach were already spattered dark red with wax, while her back was arched in blended pain and ecstasy reflected in the strained expression on her face. She was gasping, her eyes closed, and with each fresh application of wax to her bare skin she would scream and jerk in the leather straps that bound her in place. Master Jacobaeus stood to one side, making sure everybody could get a clear view as he tortured her, slow and calm, betraying no open emotion save for a faint, cruel smile as he moved the thick, blood red candle over her skin. Most of her breasts had been done, each plump white orb thickly coated with wax, save for the area around her nipples, to give the impression of a peep-hole bra with each fleshy little bud standing stiff at the center of a pale circle. Her shaven cunt had been avoided too, so that the bulge of her sex showed white and nude, save for the glistening pink of her slit.
Master Jacobaeus spoke to her, very softly. She responded with the faintest of nods and her body began to tremble as the candle moved slowly up towards her breasts once more, bringing the hot drips ever closer to her straining nipples. A drop caught one stiff bud. Red screamed, and screamed again at the touch of a second drop, her whole body taut in her bonds, her muscles jerking against the leather, her thighs squeezing tight and parting once more, now wet with sap from her pussy. Again Master Jacobaeus moved the candle, catching her other nipple to set her screaming again, and moving abruptly down to drip wax directly on her outthrust cunt. Red screamed again, louder still, and not once but repeatedly, writhing in her bonds as molten wax splashed her cunt, her head shaking desperately from side to side in her pain, only for her back to arch tight and her mouth to come wide, now in silence as her torture finally brought her to orgasm. Master Jacobaeus stood back, acknowledged the crowd with a complacent nod and began to speak.
“And to answer the earlier question, that is why I call myself Master. It is not a title I take lightly, nor one that should be used by those who have not earned it, as I hope I have made clear?”
Nobody disagreed and he went on.
“We must all learn, but as you have seen there is a great leap to be made between coming to understand your dominance as a man and achieving the status of Master. So we move on, from fire to water, from wax to another skill which I can use to bring a woman's senses to a peak far beyond what most will ever achieve: the enema. However, poor Slave Red is a trifle exhausted from her experience, and a good Master knows never to abuse his property. So perhaps I could have a volunteer from the audience?”
Nobody answered him outright, but Peter noticed two of his regulars holding an urgent, whispered conversation and the girl had quickly been pushed forward. She was in a leather bikini and high heels, with a collar around her neck and nothing more, while her long, dark hair hid her face as she bowed her head to Master Jacobaeus. Peter knew her as Lily and had seen her bound and whipped on several occasions, but the thought of watching her receive a public enema was irresistible.
Moving behind a row of tombs and climbing on top of one with a conveniently flat lid, he managed to find himself a clear view of the pillory where a fat bulb of red rubber and a length of tubing already hung from one of the hooks in the ceiling. The rest of the crowd moved with Master Jacobaeus, Lily's partner and Lily herself, bringing her to the pillory and quickly fixing her neck and arms into place. An adjustment to the stand forced her upper body down and her hips up, so that her bottom was the highest part of her body, with each cheek stretching out the leather of her bikini bottoms to taut perfection and her cunt outlined in exact detail, a sight so fine that Peter almost found it a shame when she was quickly stripped and her naked rear view put on show.
Her partner moved to the side, leaving Master Jacobaeus to go about his work, as cool and matter-of-fact as ever as he pulled on rubber gloves, applied lubricant and pushed one long finger up inside Lily's bottom. She was already shaking vigorously, and her cunt had begun to glisten, but he took no notice, carefully working her anus with first one finger and then two before reaching for the enema bag and inserting the nozzle into her now expectant hole. He talked as he worked, explaining what he was doing and what Lily would feel with her bottom spread to the audience and her head and hands trapped in the pillory. Peter could well imagine, having inflicted the same humiliating routine on various girls over the years. But it was a sight that never failed to fascinate him, especially when the victim let her emotions go.
Lily looked as if she wasn't going to disappoint. Her head had remained hung in submission as she'd been fixed into place, stripped and penetrated, silent all the while. But once Master Jacobaeus had twisted the spigot that controlled the flow of water into her rectum, she quickly began to respond. First came a low sob as she felt the cool water inside her, a moment of silence, then a faint mewling noise as her belly began to swell and bloat. Before long she was treading up and down on the hard flagstones of the floor, with ever increasing desperation, while the enema bag slowly deflated and her belly grew rounded and fat.
When Master Jacobaeus pulled the nozzle free of her anus Peter was sure the full contents of her rectum would explode back out instantaneously, but she seemed determined to hold off from the final disgrace as long as possible, wriggling her toes and squeezing her bottom cheeks as she gasped out every sensation. The effort was obviously futile and served only to amuse her audience and prolong her ordeal, but still she clung on. Her butthole begun to bulge outward, the flesh pink and glistening, a thin trickle of white fluid escaping from the central hole as she struggled to hold it in. It hadn't been water. It was milk. Somebody noticed and laughed, at which Master Jacobaeus reached out to give Lily a single, resounding smack across her bottom.
She let go, crying out in despair and humiliation as the milk exploded from her body in a high arc to splash down behind her. A second squirt followed, and a third, each accompanied by a cry from Lily, not of pain, but pure emotional anguish for what had been done to her and her utter helplessness to stop the milk now pulsing from the wet pink flower of her asshole. Master Jacobaeus merely watched, his arms folded across his chest, his face expressionless as Lily let out the rest of her enema, abandoned now to her shame as the milky fluid trickled down over her cunt to puddle on the floor. Only when the flow had reduced to soft, wet bubbles and Lily's head hung in defeat did Master Jacobaeus reach out, using one gloved hand to stimulate her sopping cunt, bringing her quickly to an orgasm every bit as intense as Red's.
The moment she was done the crowd began to clap and cheer, with the exception of a few who stood in the wrong place and been splashed when she let go. But not even they complained. Peter found himself clapping politely, amused and not a little aroused, to the point of wishing that he knew Lily better, as no sooner had she been released then she went down on her knees to her boyfriend, to take his cock in her mouth and suck with frantic urgency. Master Jacobaeus watched with a paternal eye for a while before announcing a demonstration of mummification, a fetish which had never appealed to Peter on the grounds that it seemed counterproductive to conceal a girl's body from view.