Kiss The Rod

When Jonathan started dating Suzy in college, she told him she was a lesbian. She also told him she was making a special exception for him, and no, he couldn't 'join in' with her and her girlfriend, Leslie But as long as he was cool with that, then Leslie was cool with that, and they could all be poly-amorous and happy and relaxed.

Jonathan was as fine with it as you might expect. Although he did get curious, and just a little bit wistful, and he did a lot of hinting around about maybe having a special birthday treat, about getting down with both girls together. A guy can dream, right?

That was until he knew more about what they actually got up to, together, when Suzy spent the night with Leslie and left him on his lonesome. Not that he didn't imagine plenty, even without any solid info! But then Suzy got drunk a couple of times and started hinting around, and he got a clearer picture of what was going on. The vanilla stuff was quite enough to rev his motor: she talked about eating each other out, about a little gentle bondage and doing each other from behind, kneeling, with a strap-on. But although that was plenty, it was what followed that litany that really had him drooling and ready to fall to his knees and beg.

He'd always had a thing for discipline. And to be much more specific, he had a very specific thing for discipline between two women. Maybe a couple of nuns whipping each other with those little miniature scourges they used. Always and forever, a bare bottom spanking between a gorgeous blonde and a severe older woman, maybe a secretary type. Maybe a leather-clad dominatrix wielding a whip on a sexy redhead clad only in a bikini, or a thong, even less.

When it came right down to it, he was pretty flexible. As long as it involved one gorgeous sexy woman spanking, caning or whipping another beautiful lady, he was ready to be there in any capacity whatsoever. That didn't necessarily need to involve an active element of participation: if it came right down to it he would be happy enough with a seat at the edge of the room and a role fetching and carrying various beautifully adorned instruments of correction. Heck, they could have tied him up in a corner of the room and forgotten about him, and he'd still have been as happy as a sand-boy!

It took, though, an awful lot of begging for Suzy to even consider it as a possibility. And not only begging -- which, truth be told, Jonathan wasn't only happy to do, but was actually a little bit turned on by. So, a winner all round. No, in addition to that he had to do her innumerable favours. There was all kinds of errand-running, lending of delicate and expensive audio and media technology, his favourite Fossil watch, and picking her and her crowd up for what basically amounted to a taxi run whenever they decided to spontaneously hang out and go clubbing until the small hours.

But in the end it was all totally worth it, because in the end, Suzy agreed to run the idea past Leslie, at least. Of course, Suzy reminded him sternly, if Leslie said it was no dice, then it was no dice, and she didn't want to hear any further nagging from him on the subject. Didn't he think he was lucky enough to be allowed access to her fun-bags and the various other delights of her ample body on a semi-regular basis, as her whims took her? (And yes, the answer was that he did consider himself lucky. Suzy was scorching hot.)

He was absolutely in suspense, on tenterhooks all evening, the night Suzy had agreed to bring the subject up with Leslie And then, when she'd promised to text him immediately with the verdict, of course she did no such thing. Not only that, but his own increasingly eager (or frantic) texts went ignored. And in the morning, she put him off via a highly minimalist and uncommunicative email when he wanted to meet up at the first available opportunity for morning coffee. Eventually, the only and earliest time he could pin her down to, was a beer at the bar opposite his fraternity association office late in the afternoon.

By that time of course he wasn't expecting much. If it had been good news, wouldn't she have been eager to tell him all about it? So when she walked into the dark shadows of his corner of the bar -- red hair messy, wild curves tamed by her tight tube top and skinny jeans -- he was steeling himself for a pretty brutal rejection. It wasn't as if Suzy ever saw any reason to mince her words.

'Okay, you're in,' were her first words as she pushed up against him, round the table and into the most comfortable spot on the squeaky old vinyl seating. She never wasted any time getting right to the heart of a matter, either.

Jonathan just gaped at her, and she gave him an irritable shove to the shoulder. 'What? Stop looking at me like someone just scooped out your brains and served them to you in a cone. You wanted it, you've been whining for weeks... I talked to Leslie, and she's agreeable to the suggestion.'

Jon's mind and heart and, frankly, loins, were immediately on fire, and he sat up straighter in his excitement. Quite erect in fact. Suzy eyed him narrowly, and poked a finger in his broad, t-shirted chest. 'Of course, that agreement comes with a set of extremely strict conditions.'

Jonathan sagged slightly, his erect posture of a moment previously forgotten. Nothing was ever plain and simple with Suzy, and everything had to be bargained and paid for in the end. 'Shoot,' he said. He figured that whatever it was, it'd be well worth it. Just as long as it was something, or some things, that he could actually do.

But Suzy just waved him off lazily. 'Don't worry about it just now. Leslie's going to put it all in writing: isn't she the legal eagle? You can read the small print and add your autograph when you come round for your walk-on part. And you come round tonight. Eight sharp, don't be late or we won't answer the door. Because we'll be busy. Now get me a beer.'

Jonathan was still a little apprehensive about those terms and conditions. He would have liked to know more about them before being asked to sign his name to something containing them. But he got Suzy her beer. It never paid to argue a point with Suzy

Of course he turned up on the dot that same evening, at Leslie's house and smartly dressed just like Suzy had sternly warned him. When he rang the doorbell, he didn't altogether know what he was expecting. But it wasn't having to repeatedly knock and wait for a good eight minutes or so -- continually checking his watch and cell-phone to confirm that, yes, he was definitely not late. Of course, he thought, it might just be Suzy and Leslie's idea of a joke. Maybe neither of them had ever intended to let him in on the action. Maybe there was a hidden camera recording his every move and this was all just a huge joke to them. It was tremendously depressing as a thought.

He was dispirited enough by it that his shoulders sagged, he leaned against the door-frame and his attention wandered for a moment. So it was a bit of a shock when the front door opened abruptly and Suzy peered out. She didn't seem eager to be spotted out on the street, and really there was very little wonder, considering what she was wearing. It was a French maid's outfit, if the said French maid had slightly adapted her outfit with a micro-skirted little PVC black dress and a miniature whip. But the rest of the ensemble, the little frilly white cap and the apron and everything, it was all present and correct, although the heels were a lot higher than he could imagine any bossy French madame putting up with in her servants.

He was in heaven, and he didn't even care when Suzy grabbed hold of his lapel (belonging to the very nice jacket of his only good suit) and dragged him indoors. She led him down a long corridor packed with typically untidy and devastated student bookshelves, tennis shoes, and old kit bags, and then swerved abruptly off to a door at the end on the left. When she opened it, it yawned open to reveal a flight of rickety iron steps. Down into a cellar, in fact. And, tingly euphoria aside, Jonathan was plenty smart enough to hesitate, and to wonder if that was altogether a good idea.

But he didn't have an awful lot of time to hang back and to debate. There was the shove of the flat of a hand between his shoulder-blades, and an impatient, 'Shit, Jon, get your ass in gear, okay? You down with this or not?' from dear, lovely, terrifying Suzy He guessed he'd better be down with it, since his feet were already stumbling down the tumble-down stairs, Suzy's heels plunking down after him, sharp and tinny.

She slammed the door shut as she took her first step, and it thundered out behind him as he climbed down, very ominous. Arriving blinking down at the bottom of the staircase, he looked around himself with some apprehension. But fortunately the environment he found himself in turned out to be a whole lot less serial-killer-style than he'd half expected given the past twenty seconds or so.

No. It was actually pretty cool. A big, clean, roomy cellar, well-lit, with white-painted walls and a few delicate black art nouveau dining room chairs set around the walls. For an audience?

But that wasn't the main focus of attention, anyway, none of that. What really caught the eye was the bed in the middle of the room, and taking up about a third of it. The bed, and the girl laid heaving and squirming on top of it.

That was the point -- as he stood and gaped -- that Suzy prodded him sharply in the back. 'Say hello to Leslie, man. You've met her before. Have a few fucking manners, Jesus, it wouldn't hurt you.'

'Hi, Leslie,' Jon managed, his voice squeaking just a bit. It was true, he'd met Leslie often enough before -- well, a few times. As lesbian girlfriends went, she seemed pretty tolerant, but he supposed there were limits to even her tolerance as far as keeping company with her girl's casual heterosexual fucks went.

However, on all previous occasions when he'd met her, she'd been fully and conservatively clothed. Well, conservatively compared to her current outfit, anyhow. Considering that that consisted of a shiny black latex bikini underwear set with thong panties, and some high-heeled red platform sandals.

And bearing in mind that she was strapped to the bed with an impressive collection of belts, straps and ties, the sandals seemed a little bit unnecessary. But on the other hand, they were very decorative, and Jon wasn't at all complaining. Not about the sandals.

'Hello, Jon,' Leslie replied to him, in a slightly sarcastic, sing-song voice. She never had taken to him, really. Although it was difficult to tell if he was interpreting her tone correctly, what with her being face down in a heap of pillows.

At that, Suzy reached over from behind him, and smacked her girlfriend on the ass-cheek. It was a bit of a startling addition to the introduction to her and Leslie's sexy times, but, Jon figured, start as you mean to go on right? 'Leslie What is the appropriate mode of address for you, towards visitors to our dungeon?' she asked. Then she slapped Leslie's ass again. 'Answer me, cheeky miss!'

Leslie's tone in reply was both indignant and saucy. 'The appropriate mode of address is either madam or sir, Mistress Suzy,' she said. Then she added, 'Even for Jonathan?'

That was certainly cheeky. But Jonathan was too busy being turned on to even care. Irritable, aggressive, self-assertive Leslie, who he'd always found more than a little intimidating... in a subservient position. Calling visitors 'sir' and 'madam', while tied up and half-naked. Calling him 'sir', for that matter. Not that she actually had, yet.

He decided to risk it. 'So what do you call me, Leslie?'

That got him a little squeak of protest, as she wriggled in her bonds. But Suzy echoed his words. (Fortunately. He'd thought she might just laugh at him for taking it seriously.) 'Well, Suzy? How are you going to address our visitor?' Suzy said sternly. She picked up a switch of some resilient, flexible fibreglass that he hadn't noticed lying at the foot of the bed. And letting it swing up into the air, she brought it thwacking down again on the palm of her hand. Her breasts jiggled, tightly encased in the black latex of her tiny little dress.

Leslie groaned, from her prone position on the bed, and that was pretty hot in itself. 'Oh mistress,' she ground out sulkily. 'Do I really have to?' Her bottom twitched in protest too, and there wasn't much left to the imagination about it by the thong. It jiggled along with her boobs.

For an answer, she just got the switch swished through the air again, and a still more threatening hiss of the fine tip on the palm of Suzy's hand. It pretty much got the message across, though.

'Oh all right,' Leslie said sulkily. 'Welcome to our secret abode, sir. See anything you like?' It was heavily laced with sarcasm: but Leslie had still addressed him as 'sir'. It was more than enough to make his cock tingle, stand up and take notice, apparently.

'Much better, girl,' Suzy said approvingly. 'Now you've remembered your place in the pecking order, we can get on with the schedule of activities for the night. Jon, we will be requiring your assistance in this. Are you willing to take part in the evening's entertainment?' She lifted one eyebrow at him, and gave a little wriggle that was only enhanced by the tightness of her outfit. Her little French maid's hat tottered slightly on her head, and she reached up a hand and poked at it with her long French manicure acrylics.

Well. What a crazy question. On what planet wouldn't he be willing, ready, eager and able to help out, Jonathan wondered. He didn't even need any advance notification of what exactly his duties were supposed to be. If he was the water-boy just keeping everyone hydrated during a strenuous evening's activities, then that was just fine by him. It was fine.

His expression must probably have conveyed this, because he was pretty much incapable of anything beyond a squeaky assent of, 'Yeah! Anything! Um, right!'

Suzy laughed sharply, and flicked him, very lightly, on the cheek with the little crop she had in her other hand. It was kind of hot. And it also hurt a little bit, however gentle she was with it. 'Okay, that's good. We'll get down to business, then. Jonathan, take her panties off.'

Okay. Suzy definitely needed to learn a thing or two about a gentle run-up to startling news, a slow build-up. Because either Jonathan was having auditory hallucinations, or she'd just told him to take Leslie's panties off, and that was something you needed to lead up to. Not to just spring it on a person like it wouldn't result in hyperventilation or physical collapse!

Perceiving his hesitation, Suzy slapped him on the ass, open-handed. It was a lot less of a kinky prelude to sexy times, and a lot more of a hearty, man-to-man reassurance. 'You can do it, kid. I'm just going to go sit by the wall, and I'll give you instructions.' It was followed up with a hearty clap on the shoulder, and then she abandoned him by the bed, and went to sit down on one of the dainty little chairs, crossing her legs in a ladylike fashion, spike heels flaring out.

He looked down at Leslie, and hesitated. Her muffled sigh was audible, and there was a slight snicker from Suzy over by the wall. 'Don't bottle out of it now, Jonathan. Be a man. Ease her panties down gently, but not hesitantly. Firm and manly, remember.' He drew his shoulders back and took a deep breath, and reached out slightly towards Leslie But the roll of her eyes put him off a bit, and he still hesitated some more.

'Do I have to come over there and thrash you, before I instruct you on how to properly remove a lady's panties?' Suzy's voice was bored and amused, and Jon got the hint. He didn't want to be fired from the job of removing Leslie's panties before he'd even got properly started, after all!

Firm and manly, he thought sternly to himself, firm and manly. It wasn't as if he'd never taken a woman's pants off before, after all! Or, well, assisted in the process, anyway. 'Is this okay?' he asked in a hoarse whisper, as he laid his hands on either side of Leslie's hips, and she only answered him with a slight groan. He took that to mean, 'Get on with it,' and took a firmer hold of the narrow day-glow strips of the legs of her thong. The skin of her butt and hips was tan, and very soft, with a light sheen, and as he eased the bright strips of material down over her hips, his hands brushed against the softness of her skin. Her ass wriggled as he freed it from the constriction, and he was starting to feel more than a bit uncomfortable and tight in his pants.

But Suzy's voice was sharp as she reprimanded him. 'No unnecessary touching, Jon! Keep it strictly business!' Damn it. That was him pretty much busted. She hadn't forbidden him from looking, though: and he looked his fill, at the soft curves of Leslie's ass, at the shadow that led down to her pussy, at her taut and muscular thighs and rounded calves, her pretty little feet. (Not that they were so pretty or delicate when she was playing soccer and kicking the hell out of her opponents. Oh, wait, she'd corrected him on that previously: when she was 'tackling' her opponents, of course. Very important to get it right: especially when discussing it with Leslie herself.)

Easing the delicate little bit of fabric and webbing off Leslie's feet was the trickiest part: and he noticed then that the colour, a hot orange, matched her toe nail polish exactly. Of course, Leslie was a stickler for detail. Her bra was the same colour, a solid-colour push-up affair, saucy and perky rather than delicate and lacy. Sporty, but still hot: pretty much like Leslie herself. The tan of her skin, the freckles, against the bright hot solid orange, was very sexy. And she wiggled her toes as he trailed the little scrap of fabric off her feet, letting it stroke the soles for a moment before he pulled it away, and looked to Suzy -- well, to Mistress Suzy -- for approval and further instruction.

Suzy -- looking very formal and straight-backed, not at all her usual slouching, gum-snapping, sneering self -- nodded at him, which seemed sufficient confirmation that he had done well. Then she tipped her head to a corner of the cellar, where there was a tall narrow metal cupboard, a little at an angle. 'Quite well done, boy,' she conceded in patronising tones. Boy, Jon thought, and tested it, rolling it around his head. He found he didn't object at all. There was certainly a time and place for role-play, and he was happy to accept his apparent place in the pecking order. Especially considering the things it was doing for his pecker. 'Now go to the cupboard, and see what you find in there,' she instructed him.

He was willing enough, and what he found, on closer examination, was enough to take his breath away. A whole cornucopia of instruments of correction, enough to whip a whole army of ne'er-do-wells into submission. Submission: he shivered at the thought.

'Bring the poison-wood cane with the inlaid bronze handle, Jon,' Suzy said. There was something he barely recognised about her voice: something sharp and formal and... old-fashioned, somehow. Something regal, and like it totally belonged to someone who should be addressed as 'Mistress'.

He picked out the cane and took it over to her, where she had risen to stand by the bed, where Leslie lay quiet and still, her tied and captured hand only fiddling with a stray lock of her long hair, where it had strayed over her fingers. Suzy took the cane from him and eyed Leslie's butt thoughtfully: then she stepped back a foot or so. The cane swung in her hands, as she tested out the weight of it: and she made a half-movement as if to hand it to him.

He didn't need any more encouragement than that, and his hand sprung out of its own accord. Yes, his fantasy-life preference was for a little girl-on-girl chastisement, normally. But right now, he certainly wasn't at all averse to the idea of taking a pretty damn active hand -- ho, ho -- in proceedings himself. Not at all.