No Touching, Sir!

Hi all,

I have a tale to tell that you may find interesting!

I can't say I wasn't warned.

I can't say she encouraged me.

I can't even say I didn't deserve it.

But damn it, it's unfair. We men are destined to fail, it's nature having a poke at our expense. We are built for sex, lust for all manner of perversions: it's our instinct and our hormones. We respond to sexual stimuli in a way that makes us lose control of our rational mind.

That's nature's fault, but everyone knows this. Not mine, nor an aberration by any man, but Nature's fault. And everyone, including The Pussycat Lounge on the main road out of town knows this. They know what highly stressed executives like me need after a hard day of firing people and shafting suppliers. It's tough work, but I just want to get down and dirty with some floosie before heading home to my frigid wife.

Megan was my favourite; she'd grind her pelvis into my lap as I stuffed money into her G-String, grabbing a peek at her bare slit as I did. She'd smile and push her bare breasts together, rubbing my face in her bosom as she sat astride me.

And I'd touch; no-one else let me, but if a couple of fifties had found her way into Megan's lingerie before she'd began, she'd happily let my hands wander. Not for long, mind, and nowhere covered by her underwear but I'd touch her as my cock strained it's cotton prison to snaffle a few moments with the sluttish whore.

But Megan was ill that fateful day, and a young lady I'd not seen before gave me the eye. Sure, she looked like Megan: tall, black-haired beauty with big bazookas and the same flimsy black G-String. She clearly knew the unspoken arrangement I had, and I beckoned her over. £50 for the dance, £100 for the fondle. It should have been plenty, but she flinched the moment my fingers caressed her thigh.

"No touching, Sir!"

I will admit to a degree of alcoholic consumption, at this point, but I'd paid for the right to touch her; she was mine, and as she resumed her dancing my fingers danced lightly over her rump.

"Sir, I've warned you. No touching. Or I will tell Madam."

Madam? I wonder what her boss would say if I told her that I'd paid for this little slut and all she wanted to do was to hold out on me. I wanted to slide my fingers along her thigh and I'd paid for the right. Everyone could be bought, and this little cunt had already named her price and taken the cash. I was collecting.

She squealed as my hands gripped her buttocks. "I want to touch," I interrupted, but was on the floor in seconds as the hired thugs pulled me away from the girls, before dragging me away from the action and into a chair in a side-room.

I threatened them with lawsuits, but they ignored me, holding me tightly until a middle-aged woman entered the windowless room. She oozed confidence, holding herself with dignity as she adjusted her pale blouse.

She held my wallet up, sliding out my driving license and throwing me the brown leather item. "You dropped it," she said emotionlessly, clicking her fingers that signified the thugs leaving the room and taking my driving license from her. "Put it on my desk."

"Oi," I cried, but I was ignored. I jumped up as the thugs closed the door behind them, but the Madam wasn't fazed, leaning against the white wall with a gleam in her eye.

"Sit down!" I hesitated. "Trouble following directions do you, sit down." I slumped in the chair, snarling at her. "You've upset one of my girls."

"I did not. I paid for a fondle and I wanted it. Little slut's taken my money and ..."

She interrupted with a cough. "That's a serious problem you have there. I will not have my girls upset by silly little boys," she ignored my interruption as she opened the door on the only cupboard and withdrew a wooden rattan cane, sliding it out in front of my nose. "Whoa!"

"Bend over," she demanded.

"Fuck off!"

"Mr Hamilton. I have your driving license. Bend over, or I shall have my girl make a formal complaint to the Police. Think of this as an education. When a girl says no, she means no."

I sneered. "I'm getting out of here."

"And Danny and Michael will bring you straight back in here." She rubbed her brow as she looked at me, withering in front of her. "I've a busy club to run, I don't have time to be teaching silly little boys their manners. Didn't your parents ever teach you that 'no means no'?" She tapped the cane on her palm, as I grunted, looking away from her.

How dare she side with the little floosie; I was never going to come in this establishment again and left the room in indignation. I never made it out of the room before the two hired thugs had had me returned, winded and coughing from a stray punch to the gut. "Fuck!" I yelled at her, but she was unmoved, glancing at the closing door.

"As I said, leave before you are punished and you will be returned. Now, Mr Hamilton, bend over. I shall not ask again."

"But ..."

"BEND OVER!" The words hit me like a wrecking ball, smashing me sideways as the imposing lady barked ferociously. "NOW!"

Surely, this couldn't be right? How dare she think of disciplining me like I was an errant child in a Victorian school. I remember thinking of anything but the impending humiliation, muttering obscenities under my breath as I stared at the wall. I saw a chip in the paintwork, and a black mark. I noticed the unevenness of the tiled floor and the hairline crack in the ceiling. I noticed everything, except the Madam fiddling with my belt. "Whoa!" I cried as my trousers and underwear puddled around my calves.

"Discipline is always given on bare skin," she muttered nonchalantly. I had no reply as she opened the door briefly and the girl who had ripped me off sauntered into the room, still dressed in just a G-String.

The perversity of the situation struck me; the engorging of my cock as my arousal surged. She was hot, deliciously hot, but somehow restrained and unavailable, taking the cane from her employer. "Across the backside," she was told. Surely this was just a game, designed to frighten errant visitors to the club. A warning shot. They won't hit a CEO of a national company.

They would and they did. Ellie giggled as she stepped into her strike, slashing my backside with her wooden cane. I yelled: pain tore into my bum as I gripped the back of the chair and turned to face them angrily.

"That fucking hurt," I yelled. The Madam smiled and pointed to the chair; when I refused she pulled her phone from her pocket and threatened to call the police unless I relented.

I had no choice, swearing as I resumed a submissive position. I was submitting and prostrating myself to the floosie: a girl beneath me. She existed for my fun, and I resented having to yield to her.

I was furious, but another swish of the cane landed on my backside causing me to scream again. I felt tears well up in my eyes; this was pain I was not used to, and grunted angrily under my breath.

The Madam must have heard as the weapon rained down on my bottom, red-hot stripes of agony lining my bum as wave after wave of angry pelts littered my exposed rump.

I was yelling, screaming for them to stop. Begging for mercy and desperate for a respite. "That. Is. What. Naughty. Little. Boys. Deserve," the Madam added over my screams, as I received a further seven hits.

"Now ... stand up. Face us." I covered my cock with my hand, looking at the floor instead of the two women. "Do you have something to say?" the Madam asked, standing astride her employee. "To Ellie here."

"Ummm ... yes, I'm sorry," I muttered, feeling the heat in my cheeks.

"Good. Now, if you ever cause problems in my club again, it won't just be a sore bum you have to worry about, understand?" I nodded, as Ellie left the room. "Now, get dressed, enjoy your evening and spend some money," she barked as I pulled my trousers to my waist.

"Right."

"And Sir, this time, no touching!"

How could I possibly argue?