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The double attention of my cock slithering beneath her sex trench and my mouth slithering across her breasts soon had the desired effect and Mrs Frobisher soon had her clit in exactly the right position to enable her to reach a loud, shuddering climax on my heaving body.
As she collapsed back onto me, kissing my mouth eagerly as our upper bodies again came into contact, she whispered into my ear: "We've got to do this again, soon!"
Then Maitresse Yvette was assisting Mrs Frobisher from the bed, as I lay prone, my cock stiff as a rod, waving above my abdomen.
The second session of my "behaviour modification" continued in much the same vein, with the club captain, Mrs Paige, and Mrs Armitage also enjoying what Maitresse Yvette called "dry 'umps" on my cock before reaching noisy climaxes – or, in the case of Mrs Paige, what I would term "explosive".
"And now, for out last leetle display of domination," said the maitresse, "I'm going to give zees naughty boy a good spanking. Turn over, Rupert."
I rolled over so I was face down on the cot. Marie then picked up a large leather paddle from a table in the corner of the room and handed it to her mistress.
Maitresse Yvette stood beside me, tracing its considerable weight across my buttocks. "Now, zere is an old Eenglish 'abit of giving naughty leetle boys seex of the best," she told the assembled throng.
"So I shall give 'eem seex of the best for each lady in zis room. For the purpose of zees punishment, Marie, I am going to include you as a lady!"
The audience laughed. Then Maitresse Yvette addressed me: "Zo, monsieur, 'ow many strokes will eet be?"
I gulped. Six guests, plus the dominatrix and her assistant! That's eight times six! "Er, 48 strokes, maitresse," I replied.
"Correct, monsieur," said Maitresse Yvette. "Now, into a push-hup position and get that lovely bottom in zee air."
I straightened my arms, raising my upper torso and thrust my buttocks up as high as I could. Maitresse Yvette swept the paddle down across my cheeks to the accompaniment of digital cameras clicking.
"You 'ave zee onner of counting out zee strokes," said my tormentress.
"One, thank-you maitresse," I gasped.
"Non, far too late, naughty boy," she snapped. "We will 'ave to start again!"
Again the paddle whacked onto my buttocks, sending a wave of pain through me. I began to count. Maitresse Yvette was in no hurry, striding slowly around the cot from side to side and thus being able to strike me using the flogger in either hand until she was finished.
"Stay zere, keep your bum in zee air," she snapped, "people want to take pictures."
The ladies gathered around to get photographic proof of the 49 blows which Maitresse Yvette had burned into my poor posterior.
And now, at last, Maitresse Yvette called a halt to proceedings, before addressing the six women: "Ladeez, that's eet for zis afternoon. I zank you all for your attendance and invite you back next week for naughty Rupert's graduation."
The woman applauded, before being "shushed" by Maitresse Yvette, who ended the proceedings with her own little joke.
"Eet will be a leetle like a passing out parade," she promised the six guests. "Only don't worry – I won't allow Monsieur Taylor to pass out before eez satisfied you all!"
To be continued.
