Peter Cried "Whip Me!"

Moisture immediately drenched Peter James' face as he left work on a humid Saturday evening. Not many in his father-in-law's office cared to venture to the cramped New Jersey branch, in its less than posh neighborhood, but Peter found it to be a peaceful respite from the city. Whatever plans he had made for himself were to be interrupted since Calvin, Peter's close school chum, insisted they go out for a romp. Even though he had given up the bachelor life, quite willingly, Peter knew better than to try to refuse his devilish friend. He checked his pocket watch -- Calvin was notorious for being late... among other things. Peter embraced this brief moment of quiet; it would be the evening's last. A sudden strike on his posterior pulled him from his reverie followed by his friend's maniacal laughter.

"Calvin, you're a sight for a sore arse," Peter said as he rubbed his bruised bottom.

"Only trying to prepare you for tonight's entertainment. There's more where that came from," Calvin hinted lasciviously.

"Where are you taking me?" Peter asked nervously.

"To a place you would never go without my encouragement."

"Without your force."

Calvin laughed again, undeterred by his friend's reticence. Peter couldn't help but chuckle along with those mischievous blue eyes on him. He hung his head so Calvin wouldn't notice the pink glow on his cheeks when his evil half wrapped an arm around him to urge them both toward their destination. Calvin walked, aggressively, fast so Peter felt he had to run to keep up at first. Even though Peter plied the scoundrel with questions along the way, Calvin remained mute for once. Peter was left alone with his anxious thoughts for the duration of the walk; he had no idea where they were once he realized they had stopped. He almost bumped into the prankster when Calvin abruptly stopped in front of a dimly lit, pale yellow house with black shutters, curtains, and front door. It seemed in such stark contrast with the houses on the other end of the street. Those were closer together, painted less brightly; one would only notice this house if they were looking for it. Calvin took the ornate, ebony door knocker in hand and hammered it against the wooden edifice four times slowly. Peter shot him a quizzical look, but Calvin merely wiggled his eyebrows in playful mystery.

"Good evening, gentlemen," a smooth, alto voice welcomed them.

Before them stood a middle-aged woman in a low cut, dark gray evening gown; her hair was dark as night with some silver strands that rebelled, in tight curls, from their pinned up sisters. Peter felt like he was in the presence of the Queen of the Night. When the lady of the house gestured for the men to enter, Peter gasped at the sight of her bare arms. When Calvin handed the mystery woman money, Peter became alarmed at the realization of where they might be. His mouth went dry and seemed unable to speak while instructions were given in a tiny foyer.

"Welcome to Madame Della Berteau's Bordello. I am she, the abbess, of this fine establishment and as such will tell you the rules only once. Since your friend," she indicated Calvin, "has already paid, step one is complete. Step two, you will sign your names in my book."

From betwixt Madame Della's bountiful breasts, the abbess brought out a small, leather bound book with its clasp already unlocked. She opened the book to a new page and indicated with an old-fashioned quill that they should sign.

"Why must we sign?" Peter whispered to Calvin.

"To ensure nobody squeaks to the police."

"As a gesture of goodwill, I keep my book locked and tucked away in a safe place. Beyond this foyer everyone wears masks to further ensure secrecy, not to mention heighten pleasure" Della winked at Peter as she brought out two black masks for them to tie on.

"Lastly, while this may be a brothel, I demand respect for my workers. This is a place for a specific type of pleasure and no more than that. Keep your hands to yourself, gents, and you may visit here again."

Mme Della then turned to lead them deeper into the dimly lit den of vice. Peter grew hot with nervousness, but noted how excited Calvin looked. Surely his friend wouldn't lead him into anything unsafe or unreputable. Another smack on the rump sent the message loud and clear for him to relax as they entered the parlor. A most muscular butler, clad only in skin tight undergarments, took their coats while Mme Della leaned over, suggestively, to pour each of them a brandy. At some point in the transition she had acquired a brilliant, silvery mask that exemplified why she belonged in the night sky. Peter was still fidgeting with his black, satin eye mask when the alluring abbess came around to help him.

"You act like a woman on her wedding night, Mr. James. I promise we won't hurt you. Too much," Della Berteau cackled.

"May I have my usual, Madame Della?" Calvin asked as though he were a regular visitor.

"I shall have Bram see if Dangerous Daphne is indecent for you," she said with a flick of her hand towards her aid.

"She sounds...thrilling," Peter gulped.

"Who do you think we should start him with, Madame Della? He's barely a year out of his virginal bed," Calvin chortled into his drink.

"We shall have to decide that without you, I'm afraid."

All eyes went to the stairwell as Bram the butler descended followed by a red-headed amazon clad fully in leather. A riding crop in hand, she gestured for Calvin to rise. Without a word, Calvin drained his drink, then walked towards his goddess of pain. Once at the foot of the stairs he knelt, deeply, before Dangerous Daphne, then rose with a crack of the crop. Peter yelped at the sound, then knocked back his drink for courage, as Calvin was led away by leash.

"How would you like to be punished?" Mme Della spoke softly in Peter's ear.

"Punished?"

"That is what I specialize in. For those who...enjoy pain to various levels of...roughness...with various tools...or methods. Your choice."

Mme Della Berteau poured another brandy for Peter while he sat in quiet contemplation. He had only heard whispers of places like this from his rapscallion father the morning after such base romps. While having been a husband for barely a year now, Peter still felt overwhelmed by the world of lust with its various hedonistic activities. With a final gulp of brandy, he slammed down the glass determined to enjoy himself. Even if it the thought still terrified him.

"I think I need to be broken in gently," Peter declared.

Madame Della quirked an eyebrow up at him in a half smirk before the flick of her hand sent off Bram yet again. Peter felt his heart quicken with anticipation, but inhaled deeply to steady himself. The brandy would need to soothe his nerves quicker if he were to do this without fainting. What felt like an hours wait was over in minutes when Peter heard two pairs of feet coming down the stairs. Unsure of himself, the flagellate novice lowered his eyes in deference for this woman of the night. A shiny pair of black, pointy boots entered his field of vision when his breath caught in his throat.

"Is this the flapdoodle then?" a sharp voice pierced the seductive air in the parlor.

"May I introduce to you, your mistress for the evening, Zadie Supreme."

"G- good evening, m...?" Peter peeked up unsure what to call her.

"You may call me Lady Zadie when I address you. I will call you whatever I like when you're with me."

Lady Zadie quickly turned on her heel to go back upstairs, which gave Peter time to finally take in this formidable female. Like Mme Della, she had raven black hair, though was clearly not at an age for any silver to have appeared yet upon her crown of braids. His eyes continued downward to smooth shoulders, completely bare until the short sleeves that draped down her sinewy arms. A black bodice was laced tightly around her middle over a thin, ivory chemise; from her waist flared out an evergreen skirt that fell just to mid-calf where her boots began. Breath caught in Peter's throat again as he stared, longingly, at her ankles when he didn't realize they had stopped at a door.

"Open the door then, fool!" Lady Zadie ordered.

Peter snapped to it, even held the door open for his mistress as he carefully scanned the room they were now in. Strangely enough there was no bed, not to his observation, though half the room was partitioned off by a heavy, green curtain. It seemed only half of the room was for work purposes, Peter inferred. The work half being the portion with one somewhat weathered chaise, a low table, and a shelf with all the tools he imagined were fair game to be used on him.

"You are now in my domain, so you shall not speak unless spoken to, agreed?"

"Yes, Lady Zadie," Peter whispered with barely a nod.

"You are a quick learner, poppet. Do you hereby relinquish all will to me for the next hour?"

Peter nodded quickly before he could lose his nerve. An hour seemed like a long time, but then again, it depended on whether or not one enjoyed themselves. Peter would have enjoyed just looking at her swollen bosom that blossomed above her corset with each breath.

"Good boy. Kneel down then and kiss my boots," Lady Zadie made her first decree.

Peter descended to the floor as Zadie stepped toward him, then bent down to kiss the toe of each boot. A shudder of excitement ran down his spine for he could hardly begin to imagine what else was to come.

"Now lick up the sides of each boot," he heard commanded from above.

Peter ran his tongue from the toe up to the mouth of the boot inhaling, deeply, as he went. The scent of warm, dank leather intoxicated him as he licked along the seam of the other boot. He blushed in embarrassment, briefly, for he could not imagine what Emilia would think were she to see him like this. Worse still, what this woman now must think of him, but all that was kicked aside when Zadie placed a pointy boot on his chest and pushed him brusquely away.

"No daydreaming in here, poppet," Lady Zadie spoke sharply as she stood over him; if he were brave enough Peter might have caught a glimpse up her skirt.

As though she could read his thoughts, Peter watched in awe as Lady Zadie slowly pulled up the heavy skirt to reveal a hint of richly tan skin devoid of undergarments. His groin swelled painfully against his trousers, which Peter attempted to hide by rolling to lay on his side. It seemed like nothing could get past his mistress, though, for she burst into high pitched laughter.

"Let's see it then!" she ordered, "Take off your clothes, poppet!"

Peter felt the blush on his face creep down his neck, then further still as he unbuttoned his shirt. He kept his eyes cast downward until Zadie tapped underneath his chin in silent command that Peter look up at her. They stood face to face while he continued the humiliating task of unrigging. The smirk in Lady Zadie's vibrant green eyes did nothing to help his stiffened sinew as he let his over-starched underwear slip to his ankles. Only his gartered socks and shoes remained. Zadie barely spared a glance for his slight steed before she whipped around to grab a birch rod from the shelf. Peter felt his heart skip instead of stop like he imagined it might.

"Lay face down on the table," Lady Zadie commanded with a thwack of the rod against the table.

Anxious excitement buzzed through Peter's body as he did what was ordered of him. Before he could get too comfortable he felt a sharp sting against his exposed ass. His body naturally tensed up in fear of the next strike. The sound of his mistress' heels clacked against the wooden floor as he sensed Zadie walk around him, the predator assessing its prey. Right as Peter's breathing began to slow down, there was the long awaited slap of wood to flesh. A mixed sound of pleasure and pain escaped Peter's mouth unexpectedly.

"Do you want more, fool?" Lady Zadie whispered in his ear while her hand pulled Peter back by the hair roughly.

"Oh yes, please," Peter gulped.

"Please..." Zadie pulled harder.

"Please, Lady Zadie!"

Peter heard the swish of the birch rod race through the air before it hit his targeted flat, buttocks over and over again. Lady Zadie made him count each one; the impact of the rod became harder with every hit. When Peter reached ten, Zadie gave him a break to catch his breath. He felt close to tears, but also like he might burst into agonized bliss before her. Peter moved a hand to ease some of the tension in his own rod, which had begun to drip prematurely. He was caught off guard when his arm was, mercilessly, twisted behind his back by Zadie Supreme. In spite of her slight build, Zadie was quite strong as she leaned her full weight against Peter's pinned arm.

"Good boys only get to blow their lumps when told."

Peter moaned for it seemed like the actual punishment had begun.