Stars and Stripes

Mario walked to the front, microphone in hand.

'Who will start the bidding? Who would like to whip the lovely Marga?' he asked.

There was no response, so he asked again: 'Come on, don't be shy. Who'll give 100 euros for the pleasure?'

A hand on the front row shot up.

'One fifty,' came a voice.

'Dos cientos,' Another, and so on, until the bids started to peter out and Mario declared 'Sold!' at 650 euros.

The winner was a sophisticated-looking man in his forties, with a neat moustache and a trim-looking body. Mario gave me a bundle of whips to take to him. 'You may choose your weapon,' he said, in English, and the man took a coach whip from the bundle, then stepped up onto the stage.

'Would you like her tied up?' asked Mario, and the man, again in English, so that I gathered he was a Brit. I was wrong, as the guy said, 'Yeah, I guess.' He was an American. Lucia's turn it was to fasten Marga's wrists to the metal post, using duct tape, with the blonde's hands high above her head, then she taped her ankles together, and to the bottom of the post. She faced her torturer, looking, I thought, serene, and almost as if challenging him to hurt her.

The guy looked around at Mario, who was still standing impassively at the back. He nodded, and the guy immediately laid about his task, lashing the helpless girl ferociously about her slender, naked body. Marga remained impressively silent as the whole front of her body became an irregular pattern of pink stripes -- each stroke must have stung awfully, I thought -- and she flinched as they fell, but the only time she gasped at the pain inflicted was when his aim was across the top of her thighs, and the lash snaked around between her legs, right where the silver ring glinted. Mario walked down the aisle and whispered to the man, who wound himself up, gave her one more terrible stroke across her firm breasts, then put down the whip.

I looked around at the audience in the semi-darkness, and saw that the woman who had been more-or-less openly jerking off her husband was busily wiping her hands on a big white handkerchief, and several men were still masturbating. Another one was locked in an embrace with his female partner. I realised then that I was soaking wet, myself.

'We'll have a short break now,' announced Mario, 'then it will be the turn of Inger, who came to us from Sweden.' The lights were turned up, and mario came smiling towards us. Singling me out, he said, mischievously, 'You seemed to be enjoying that, Lisa.' I turned away, but he wasn't to be denied. 'I saw the way you were watching, with your mouth open, and your breathing....'

'It....it affected me, I suppose,' I admitted.

'Hmmm,' he mused.

I'd seen Inger at the dinner table, perfect complexion, a natural blonde, tall and silent, she had impressed me.

Now she was quite stunning in a completely transparent long black sheath dress, with voluminous sleeves. Pointed breasts poked their dark nipples at the diaphanous material, an the only garment she wore underneath was a tiny pair of black lace panties, tied at their sides with wide red ribbons, their bows peeping out through slits in the sheath -- just asking to be flipped open, I thought. Inger's feet were in silver stilettos, and her hair was elegantly coiffed in a chignon -- everything about her spoke of elegance, in fact, from the haughty way she looked around the audience, to the way she proferred her perfectly manicured hands to me, so that I could handcuff her behind her back. Attaching a silver collar to her slender neck, Lucia then clipped a chain-leash into its wide silver ring, and led her to the stage, as I took up the rear. During the break, the stage had been altered, the couch replaced by something which resembled a vaulting horse, but was inclined, just knee-high at one end, much higher at the other. But its most striking feature was a big black phallus which rose a foot from the lower end. A small TV monitor had been set up above the high end, so that the victim could observe her punishment.

Mario strode up to the microphone. 'Inger likes to be caned,' he said, 'in fact she needs to be caned, and we have devised a little extra entertainment for her, as you can see.' A little light laughter came from the audience, but the sight of Inger standing there, looking at them with something like disdain, silenced them.

'Now, who wants to cane this magnificent slut?'

When the bidding finished, a middle-aged, overweight man had offered 825 euros for the pleasure, and could scarcely wait to get started, picking a long, thin switch from the selection I offered him.

Inger, having had her cuffs and leash removed by Lucia, was dancing sensuously around the tables, stroking the hair of men and women alike as she passed their tables, pausing to sit in the laps of two guys, kissing both of them on the lips. Then she paused again, next to a younger, black guy, and picked up the ribbon of her panties, delicately between thumb and forefinger, presenting it to him to pull. He happily did so, and when she twirled sexily around, repeated the deed at her other side. The flimsy panties dropped to the floor, revealing a clean-shaven mound under her transparent sheath, and she whisked them up, then put them deftly into the black guy's top pocket, as the audience applauded. She continued to walk around the tables, now pausing to push her sharp little breasts into an old guy's face, now bending to stroke a rising cock through someone's trousers. Between times, she ran her hands suggestively up and down her lithe body, and there can't have been anyone who wasn't affected by her display. When she walked back to the stage, the guy with the cane was waiting for her, with Lucia and I stood beside him.

Lucia took Inger by the hand and led her to the low end of the 'horse' and lifted up her narrow dress, right to her waist, then had her perch on the very end of the bench, legs apart, inviting the audience to get a look at her hairless, pink cunt, which she fingered briefly, opening her labia with two fingers, before Lucia again took her hand, and helped her stand, turn and straddle the horse. The audience gasped collectively as she lowered herself onto the waiting phallus, wriggling to accommodate its considerable dimensions in her damp vagina. She sank until the whole length was inside her, and an audible sigh escaped her as she accomplished this.

Mario nodded to the guy with the switch, and he drew back his arm, then brought the thin cane hard down onto Inger's arse, raising an angry red stripe from side to side. She made not a murmur, nor did she cry out at the second stroke, a little higher up than the first.

'Harder!' said Mario, and the guy's face was red with the effort as he plied the girl's naked buttocks with fierce power. But it took some ten strokes, by which time the red stripes had become livid, bloody welts, before she started to cry out. And simultaneously, Inger began to move, up and down, rhythmically, as the vicious cane rained down on her pale flesh, fucking the 'horse' with increasing fervour. Her head was lifted, so that her eyes were on the screen, where she could watch the cane as its cruel strokes cut her tender flesh, until her buttocks and upper thighs were red-raw. But her cries when the cane fell were interspersed with deep moans as the rhythm of her 'dip and lift' on the big black artificial cock increased, and when she screamed long and haard, anyone near enough could see the creamy ooze that slid from her cunt -- she had cum, with an orgasm so fierce she almost blacked out, and the guy wielding the cane wondered if he had been too harsh.

I was within an ace of cumming too, when I watched the tall blonde writhing in apparent ecstasy, as she was so brutally caned, the huge dildo spearing her as she rode it.

When we had led her away, Mario called for another interval. 'We'll have a break now,' he said, 'then we have another treat in store for you.' Then he took us aside, and explained what he wanted, in two languages. We trotted off to the dressing room I'd never known existed, at the back of what was now the theatre. We had been told to strip and put on corsets and long full skirts -- we were going for a quasi-medieval scene. We helped fit each other into wickedly tight black, whaleboned corsets. Whn mine was laced up, it as much tighter even than the dress I had got used to wearing. My breasts, thrust up by the garment, poked their nipples out above the lace frill at the top, and my waist was drawn into almost nothing by the cruel lacing. We each donned long, full, black cotton skirts, long black silk gloves, and heavy leather collars, then giggled as we looked at our reflections, as we kicked our feet into sandals -- we certainly looked different. Paz joined us. She was very dark-skinned -- swarthy, almost -- with lustrous, long black hair. I haad thought at first sight that she was Indian, perhaps, but learned later than she was a gypsy, from Córdoba.

We helped her dress, in a long, shapeless dress in natural cotton, tied at the waist with a rough hemp rope. Around her ankles, we clipped broad metal restraints, and joined them with a heavy steel chain. Her wrists got the same treatment, this time with a much shorter chain. We were ready when Mario came to fetch us, and walked out, Lucia and I flanking the barefoot, shuffling Paz, who was trembling slightly, either with fear or anticipation, the chain clanking along behind her. Some sort of ecclesiastical chant filled the air, and I saw that a big, heavy wooden cross had now been installed on the stage. It looked for all the world as if Paz was being taken to be crucified.

Ropes hung from the cross, and,as I had been instructed, I uncuffed her, then tied her wrists, one by one, to the arms of the cross. She now had her arms suspended just above the level of her head, as she faced the cross, then Lucia roped her, just about at knee-height, to the stem of the cross, passing the length of rope twice, tightly, around the girl's legs.

The music died, and Mario took up the microphone. 'Paz has to be punished,' he said, dramatically, 'and she must be whipped, in the way slaves were treated long ago. I'll open the bidding at 500 euros.'

When the bids came to a halt, at 750, I was surprised to see an elegantly-dressed woman, in her late thirties perhaps, wearing a backless black velvet evening gown, come forward. She had a full figure, short black hair, and diamond and gold ear-rings brushed her shoulders.

I held out a selection of whips to her, and she took a long bull-whip. I wondered if she would have the strength and skill to wield it.

'You may use your judgement as to how many strokes he can take,' said Mario, standing beside Paz, then he seized the neckline of her dress with both hands, and tore the material right down to the waist. Then he untied the rope around her midriff, and tore the dress down to the rope at her knees. Her dusky body was laid bare, unadorned and vulnerable, as the woman gave a practice swing, then moved further back, until she was nearly at the edge of the stage.

Doubts left me as she flicked the long lash expertly at Paz's unprotected back, and caused her to squirm and moan as its very tip struck, stinging, I was sure, like hell. The woman whipped her with something akin to fury, until Paz was sobbing, and her whole back was covered in bright red welts, then she switched her attention to the girl's buttocks and upper thighs, lashing her with the huge, brutal whip until she started to draw blood. Then she simply threw down the whip and went calmly back to her table, where she lit a cigarette. We had to support the gypsy girl as we led her out, amidst applause from the gathered crowd. While we took her to her room, Mario had brought the show to a close, and people were streaming away when I came back across the courtyard, having left Lucia tending Paz's back. I had wanted to do it, so that I could try and talk to her, but Lucia insisted, so I made no complaint, and left her to it.

But at dinner, I watched Paz ease herself gingerly onto her chair, then went and sat next to her, soon finding, to my delight, that she had a relatively good command of English.

'That must have hurt terribly, Paz?' I asked.

'Yes, Lisa, it did,' she confirmed, smiling, I thought, like the Giaconda.

'So why do you do it?'

'If you don't know, I guess you never will understand.'

'I think I'm beginning to understand.' And I really meant that -- my thoughts, since I arrived at Finca San Marcos, had been a crazy jumble, first wondering whatever I'd got myself caught up in, then getting excited beyond belief. I wondered if my dress had something to do with it. I could admit to a fetish about restraint and suchlike -- was that what it was? But then -- my reaction to seeing girls tied up and whipped? What was all that about? I had kept imagining -- or trying to imagine -- what it might be like to put myself in their shoes, to feel the sting of those cruel whips and canes on my own delicate flesh. But Paz was speaking to me.

'Perhaps you'd like to try it?' she said.

So why didn't I just shake my head and walk away? Why did I have to pause, prevaricate? I was starting to admit to myself a strange and compelling fascination for the whip, almost amounting, I realised, to a desire to be whipped. Perhaps Marty had been right when he had practically suggested as much, way back in London?

'I...I don't know, Paz,' I managed to say.

But the seed was sown, and I knew I shouldn't rest until I had starred in one of Mario's films. Before I went to sleep that night, I lay awake, trying to imagine the hiss of the whip as it flew through the air, this time to strike my back, its terrible sting as the lash cut into my tender flesh. Before I knew it, my hand was between my legs, busy fingers flicking at my clitoris, and alternately plunging into my soaking wet cunt. I came, in a shuddering climax, and had to bite the covers to prevent myself from crying out loudly. My last thought, as I drifted off into slumber, was that I should seek a word with Mario next day.

The sun woke me, streaming through the slats in my shutters, which I opened, to see the makings of a lovely day. Sunday, I thought; that means no work. So I rummaged in my wardrobe for something appropriate, and soon found a short green summer dress, all tiny pleats, in a material that looked felt like silk, but was probably man-made. It was simple and had no belt, just falling from gathered neckline to mid-thigh. As I was naked underneath, I felt very daring -- a puff of breeze and all would be revealed. The very thought excited me, as I went across the courtyard for breakfast, where I joined Lucia, who, dressed in a pristine white broderie anglaise minidress, was busy making coffee.

My Spanish had improved to the point that I could have a simple conversation with her, and I asked her what she had planned. She told me that Mario was taking her out for the day -- a silly pang of jealousy passed through me, quickly dismissed when Mario himself appeared, dressed in Bermuda shorts and tee-shirt.

'Ah, Lisa,' he said, 'I've asked Lucia to come out with me, and take a picnic. Would you like to come along?'

'I...I don't know,' I said uncertainly, glancing at Lucia, who appeared not to have understood.

Mario caught the look, and said, 'It'll be OK with Lucia, I'm sure -- it's you she really fancies anyway.'

It was news to me, as my Spanish companion had never given me an inkling of a reason to think she 'fancied' me. But I agreed to go with them, and when Mario spoke to Lucia, she turned in my direction, and said, '¡Muy bien!'

'What should I wear?' I asked Mario.

'Come just as you are,' he replied, 'you look ravishing.'

I went back to my room, however, and paid special attention to my hair and make-up, cinched a heavy silver belt around my waist, next to my skin, and clipped on a matching anklet. Remembering the words of the lady who had pierced me, I hung a long silver ear-ring from the silver ring in my clit, and when I walked up and down, it dangled nicely against my upper thighs, giving me an erotic sensation. Brushing my long blond hair until it shone, then stepping into a pair of needle-heeled sandals, I felt ready for whatever lay in store.

Mario drove us along quiet roads, then turned off along the valley of a stream, on an unmade road, through woods, until we came across a shady glade, the stream gurgling along below the road. When we got out, I saw that there was a grassy area beside the s tream, below the level of the road, and therefore almost invisible. Mario had us carrying blankets, food and drink from the back of the 4x4. It was quite hot by this time, even though our little idyll was partly shaded, and I wasn't at all surprised when Mario stripped off, and waded into the stream, gasping as he encountered the cold water, then plunging in deeply where the stream deepened into a pool above a line of rocks which formed a sort of dam.

He waved to us to join him, and I glanced at Lucia.

'¡Vamonos!' she said, and her dress was over her head in an instant. Her slender body was lovely, taut, flat stomach and tiny breasts, with puffy nipples that just asked to be kissed. I pulled off my dress, kicked off my shoes, and together we waded gingerly across the stony stream-bed to join Mario in his pool, which I guess was a metre and half deep. It was perishingly cold in the water, which had come down from nearby mountains, and we didn't spend long in it. Mario had brought a small pile of towels for just this occasion, but the powerful sun was all we really needed to dry off, and we sat naked on a huge blanket, basking in its warmth.

'¿Puedo besarte?' asked Lucia, in a little voice, at my elbow. My Spanish was now good enough to know that she wanted to kiss me, and, for reply, I pulled her towards me, and we were soon entwined together. Her nipples seemed to grow as they hardened to my touch, and it wasn't just my lips she wanted to kiss. In no time, she was burrowing her way between my legs, and I moaned as she tugged at the ring in my clit, at the same time pushing her tongue deep into my arsehole. It was as if she knew instinctively what I wanted. I flipped her almost weightless body onto her back, and we were soon in full '69' position, so that I could bury my tongue deep, deep in her fragrant cunt. She squirmed delightfully as I did so. But I had forgotten Mario, and, as Lucia was engaged with my own eager pussy, I suddenly felt his hard, insistant prick pushing at the portals of my anus, already excited to dilation by Lucia's tongue. He drove into me brutally, and I groaned, but his pounding only made me thrust my tongue harder into Lucia's cunt, and I added to her sensation by poking my long-nailed forefinger as far as I could into her tight rectum. She screamed as she felt this, but her fluids were soaking me, oozing from her gaping cunt as I fucked her with my tongue. Mario drove into me ferociously, and his groans scared a pigeon from the tree above, but then he stiffened, and I felt the invading heat of his gushing cum, as he filled me to bursting.

We eventually separated, but half an hour later, Mario fucked Lucia while he played with my tits, and I kissed her, my studded tongue adding to her pleasure, I think.

Later, we sat and ate sndwiches, and sipped white wine cooled in the stream, as birds sang, and an inquisitive fox sniffed the air at the other side of the stream, then loped away unconcernedly.

As we sat, drinking and soaking up sunhine, Mario suddenly said, 'Well, Lisa, have you thought any more about what I said to you in the interval at the show?' He knew I must have been thinking about it, of course, and his hand was on my naked thigh as he spoke.

I looked at his open face for a moment, in silence, then said, quietly, 'You can whip me, if you like.' There, I'd said it! But did I mean it? Did I really want to be chained up and flogged until I practically bled? Where was the pleasure in that? I couldn't have explained it, even to myself -- I just knew that there was a correlation between pain and a pleasure so intense that I needed to experience it, felt I could no longer live without it.