Message-ID: <24047asstr$957834638@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: mrspraycan@aol.com (Mrspraycan) X-Original-Message-ID: <20000508164032.02276.00001818@ng-fx1.aol.com> Subject: {ASSM} Remembering Lorraine:3/MrSpraycan Date: Mon, 8 May 2000 21:10:38 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, IceAltar REMEMBERING LORRAINE: 3 by MrSpraycan What a predicament: I was naked, wet from a long bath, and in the hands of Peggy and her three daughters. They were in no mood to show any leniency for my earlier offenses. Ordered to bend and touch my toes, I did so reluctantly, but eldest daughter Diane pressed down on my shoulders to keep me there. Peggy was stroking my bottom with the thick leather paddle. "This is going to take a while," she told her daughters with a smile. "An hour, maybe? I don't think I've ever given anyone here as many as a hundred." "No. But he deserves it," Lorraine said angrily. "He spied on me, didn't he? And he plays with himself, all the time." "Oh, do you know that for a fact?" Peggy inquired. "No, but I bet he does. He has that look about him, wouldn't you say? Sneaky, guilty?" Her two older sisters nodded in agreement. "Oh, doesn't he?" Suzanne giggled. "Like he needs a good wash. A typical wanky boy." Peggy raised her paddle, and propelled it with great force. The crack of the leather on my wet, bare skin echoed around the small tiled room. I'm sure passers-by in the street could hear it clearly too. I gave a sharp grunt of surprise, then a little moan. "Oh, dear me. If you're going to make that much fuss over the first one, think what you'll be like before I finish," Peggy teased, running her hand over the reddened patch where the paddle had struck. "Please, this isn't the amateur dramatic society." "Yes, don't be such a baby," Lorraine scowled. Another sharp swat made me twitch. "Run some more warm water, Suzanne," Peggy instructed. "I'm sure we'll need to soak him again before we use the cane." I tried not to count how many strokes I'd been given, but the blows never ceased for a moment. Peggy hit me hard, working steadily from the upper curves of my buttocks down to the sensitive skin where they join my thighs. Whacks to each side of my cheeks alternated with blows to the center. My backside was on fire when I head Peggy comment: "Phew, this is hard work! I need a rest. I make that sixty." "May I?" asked Lorraine, reaching for the paddle. For a small girl, she hit very hard. "No dirty language, you!" she insisted, as she brought a semi-articulate yelp from me with a hail of harsh blows. "Or, we'll have to wash your mouth out again!" I was whimpering by the time the paddling was over. "Wipe your face, and get back in the tub," Peggy ordered. It was a relief to clamber in to the hot water. The bathroom was quite chilly now. She looked at her watch. "Oh, we've got plenty of time left," she smiled. "Now, what did we say? Three dozen, doubled to six, with the cane?" "Yes," the two older sisters grinned. "Make it eight dozen, mummy," Lorraine piped up. "Please?" "You must have noticed how sore he is," Peggy advised, peering at her youngest daughter with doubt in her eyes. "He'll be black and blue in the morning." "Good!" Lorraine said, in triumph. "So, let's make sure." "My word, you are so spiteful!" Suzanne admonished. "So what?" Lorraine pouted. "We've got him. Let's punish him." "I'm inclined to agree," Peggy sighed, combing her hair back. "Eight dozen, rounded up to a hundred. But we'll stop before then, if we make him bleed." Peggy turned to me, cringing low in the tub. "Up you get, Roger. Time for the cane." I didn't submit voluntarily, but allowed myself to be helped from the tub by Suzanne and Diane, and held tightly by them in the bent-over position Peggy wanted. My legs were spread wide, and my ankles pinned by their legs. My backside was raised and tilted to meet her. The cane hissed through the air like a demented bumblebee, and I let out my first loud yelp of pain. "Quiet, Roger. The neighbors will hear, and wonder what has happened to turn you into a silly girl." I bit my tongue, but it was hard to keep quiet as the cane took its toll. She was working with great care, trying not to overlap the strokes on her first run across my buttocks, but make close parallel rows, then carefully interlace them at an angle on her return. "We'll stop at fifty," Peggy announced. "And sit his bottom in a bowl of cold water. Lorraine, go get the old enamel bowl from downstairs." "If we had a fridge, we could use ice cubes," Diane offered. "But we don't have a bloody fridge do we, Miss Fancy Pants?" Peggy retorted. "Don't think you're completely beyond the age where I can put you over my knee, girl!" By the time Peggy had finished, the bowl of cold water had arrived. It looked quite inviting as Lorraine perched it on the floor by the toilet pedestal. "In you go," her mother snapped. "Don't expect us to do every damned thing." Immersing my aching backside was a great relief, but only a brief one. "We don't want you getting numb," Peggy said, showing her cunning. She roughly prodded my genitals with a finger. "Not even these bits." And with that, I was bent over again, and the vicious caning resumed. "You'll have some beautiful marks," Peggy told me, stroking my back, as if in regret to not be applying the cane there, too. I sobbed helplessly, unable to move, with both sisters gripping me hard. Now she was seeking to make a pattern with her strokes, I realized. The pain when welts intersected was acute. Around eighty strokes, Peggy called a halt. "I think we're going to split the skin quite badly if I don't stop," she said sadly. "Still, there's always another day, isn't there? Even after you've gone back home, Roger, you'll still want us to keep your secret, eh? You wouldn't like me to tell your Mum about the way you expose yourself and play with your penis, would you?" "That's blackmail," I groaned. "Don't be nasty, Roger," she retorted. "Or I'll just keep going. Well?" "Alright," I gasped. "Whatever you say." "That's better," she smiled. "I think you should stop by once a week for a proper spanking, don't you? It'll do you good. Make a man of you." I nod, doubtfully. "I want to teach the girls how to use a paddle and cane, Roger. It'll come in useful as they get older, I'm sure." Suzanne and Diane simpered at each other, obviously having heard this piece of conversation before. "Let's say every Thursday, at 7, shall we?" Peggy suggested. The sisters grinned at me, and nodded their acceptance of the arrangement. "Good, now we need to deal with this dirty willy of yours," Peggy grinned. "So, sit astride the edge of the tub, and let's see what we can do." Awkwardly, I straddled the edge of the bathtub, hearing the water gurgling down the drain. "Hands on your head," Peggy ordered. "Pass me that scrubbing brush, Lorraine." And before I could protest, I was tightly grabbed by the other two sisters, and Peggy began a vigorous penis scrubbing, roughly jiggling my balls in her frenzy to brush me. It was very uncomfortable, in fact, painful. My sincere cries of alarm made her stop in a minute or so. "Bring a chair," she told Suzanne. "One from your bedroom." When Suzanne reappeared with a high-backed wooden chair, I was shoved into it. And within seconds, Peggy was roping my ankles to its legs. Next she grabbed my penis, and began to loop a long football lace around the root of the shaft. Within a less than a minute, I was snugly tied, with my cock pressed flat on the hard wooden surface of the chair's seat. Skillfully she rolled my foreskin back, commenting to the two older daughters: "Oh, look at this, now. If we didn't have proof that he was a wanker, what more would we need?" "None at all," Diane agreed. "Wankers can always pull their foreskins back without any fuss, can't they, Mummy? Just smell it! There's no use hiding it, is there?" "Oh, poo!" Lorraine added, wrinkling her nose, but bending very close. "Shall I get the ruler?" Suzanne grinned. "That's the one," she was told. They clustered round, grinning happily. Peggy had the initiative, and began smacking me first, paying particular attention to my glans, but beating a merry drum roll up and down my shaft as well. Inevitably, this only made me harder, to their communal glee. "I think he'd squirt if we kept on," Diane commented, to which Peggy replied sharply, "Oh, and since when did you become an expert on that subject?" "Oh, I'm just guessing, looking at his face," Diane evaded glibly. Stopping suddenly, just in time to avert a fountain of semen, Peggy clapped her hands. "We'll finish up with a chase. Diane, tie his hands behind his back, nice and tight." This done, Peggy told her daughters, "Now go and find yourself a nice leather belt or something similar. Tag time. We're going to chase him until he surrenders." "What about Daddy?" Suzanne asked. "Right, no running into the front room. Pa is watching television. And Roger, no running outside, please. We don't want to involve the neighbors, thank you." I stared, mystified, until both Peggy and Diane doubled the belts in their hands and lashed out viciously at my bare chest and back, striping the skin. Recoiling, I took my cue and rushed out on to the landing. Hot on my heels, Lorraine snapped off a shot at my calves that sent me tumbling downstairs. Whooping and laughing, the four women pursued me around the house for about thirty minutes, not missing any opportunity to thrash me viciously when cornered. I was on my back in the hallway, under a rain of blows from all four, when Pa appeared with a vague expression on his face, and his mug of tea in hand. "Ah, girls will be girls," he remarked. These girls were trampling me underfoot, whacking me with their belts, slapping and kicking me. When Peggy finally called a halt, I was trapped in a corner, covered in welts and stripes, but too exhausted to get to my feet. Partly from relief, I burst into tears. "What a mess," Peggy smiled. "Well, we'll say you fell off a ladder picking apples, and landed in a bramble bush. Does it hurt?" "Yes," I pouted. "Good," she smiled. "I'm pleased to hear it. Let's hope it stops you misbehaving. Because, if it doesn't..." We gathered in the kitchen for tea and biscuits, and a glass of milk for me. I was blushing, since Peggy blithely refused my request for a dressing gown or something to cover myself. No, to her, my nudity was trivial. Not to mention, a source of free amusement to her daughters and herself. That night, I went up to bed early. Fidgeting from the soreness of my backside, I couldn't put on my pajamas. And there was no way I could sleep except on my side. And, as you'd expect, my erection hadn't flagged for long, although some of the rough treatment during the chase had left it drooping for a while. So, there I was, in my narrow bed, stroking my cock with renewed ardor, murmuring the three girl's names under my breath. Because though I lusted after Lorraine, the charms of Suzanne and Diane were not lost on me. I decided I would not make myself come, not until I'd pursued all options for fantasies and dreams about them. Dreams in which these haughty girls suffered just like I had, perhaps even more horribly, even more unjustly. Dreams in which they were stripped naked in public, mocked by crowds, flogged without mercy. Given to me as playthings. It was going to be my best orgasm ever, since I'd suffered so much for it. Across the corridor I heard Pa's locomotive-like breath, and some excited female yelps. No doubt Peggy was getting her reward, and the creaking of their old bed carried on into the night, before being replaced by some locomotive-like snoring. And were the sisters playing? I don't doubt it, but I dozed off without hearing anything specific. Here's how I know I dozed off: Because I know I was awoken. Someone else was crawling into my bed! Someone as devoid of clothes as me. Soft, warm. A woman, I was sure, since the family didn't have a dog. "Who's this?" I murmured. "Peggy," a voice whispered. "Don't lie!" "No, it's me." I realized from the chuckle in the voice that it was Lorraine. "What are you doing here, you'll get us killed!" I whispered. She cuddled up close, and began to murmur in my ear. "Don't worry about that. Everyone's asleep." Her hands stroked my backside and flanks, sensing the welts. "Oh, poor Roger! Mummy really beat you horribly, didn't she? Well, I want to make it better. Let me get hold of your cock, please." Her hands were exploring, and from her sighs of pleasure, she did not regret the absence of my usual pajamas. "It looks sore. But this'll be better than wanking," she assured me. "Let me touch you," I begged her. "If you don't have sticky fingers, yes. I have to be careful, "she breathed in my ear. But she arranged herself, spreading her legs to allow me to slide my hand between her thighs. It basked in the warmth, before I began exploring. "I wish I could see better," I told her. "You have your light, your torch," she replied. Indeed I did, like all good schoolboys. Soon I'd turned myself around so my head was at the foot end of the bed, under the sheets, exploring the patient Lorraine's vulva. With her help, and with some initiatives of my own, I determined that there was indeed a 'hole', a tight, warm wet one that I didn't want to withdraw my fingers from, ever. And in turn, her own efforts to excite my cock were extremely effective. We kept our heads under the sheets, basking in the fabulous odors of our genitals, studying each other with great care. We licked and tasted, whispered our thoughts, earnestly in love. We scarcely noticed when the door creaked softly, and Suzanne crept in, to join us in bed. "Keep quiet, you two," she warned. Dressed in a long cotton nightshirt at first, she shed it after a minute or two, to allow me the thrilling sight of her large breasts, and the bushy mysteries of her belly. She wouldn't let me touch, but she brought me the perfect consolation prize for all the cruelty that preceded this as she bent to take my cock in her hands and began sucking on it, lovingly. "Let me show you how it works, Lorraine, sweetie," she purred. "But you're the one who'll get to swallow it, if you're a good girl. He'd want that." They were face to face over my rigid penis, Suzanne demonstrating, Lorraine copying. I was pressing my mouth to Lorraine's damp pubic bush, breathing in her scent, wondering how to respond in kind. I heard Suzanne say: "Don't worry, I'll teach you that in a minute. Concentrate on coming." And as Lorraine's sweet mouth engulfed me again, I felt my climax arrive, pumping her mouth full of semen. Next morning I awoke alone, of course. Perhaps a few minutes after dawn. I listened to the sounds of the neighborhood stirring and getting ready for work: the distant whistle of kettles, the chink of empty milk bottles being put out, the slamming of front doors, urgent footsteps. Every few minutes, the disembodied sound of a train whistle. All through this suburban symphony, a chorus of birds sang in the trees, while I, as conductor, stroked my cock, thinking of my amazing night of pleasure. The indignities of my punishment bath were still in the back of my mind, but I wasn't focused on it, despite the painful throbbing of my well-beaten backside. In the Wentworth household, Pa left at some unearthly hour, before daybreak. I'd missed this departure, fast asleep. But there was a busy tramping of feet, up and down the stairs. Peggy's voice carried up the stairs, and I realized she was talking with Diane in the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard Peggy's voice call up the stairs: "Listen, you lazybones! Di's leaving, and I have to go run a few errands. Hello?" "Yes, Mum," Suzanne's voice answered, sleepily, from the top of the stairs. "So, you'll find the breakfast things out. Plenty of bread for toast. Make sure Lorraine gets up, Suzy. And wake up Roger too, he's such a sluggard." "Yes, Mum." The front door had barely closed, and calm been restored, when my bedroom door opened a few inches. It was Suzanne, peeking in. "Not up yet?" she smiled brightly. "In a minute," I told her. But she stepped in, and walked swiftly to the side of the bed. Pulling back the covers in one smooth motion, she exposed me. "Oh, you are up," she chuckled, bending to kiss me of the forehead. She grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away from my cock. "Let's go downstairs and have breakfast, shall we?" I looked around for my pajamas, but she tugged on my arm. "No, come downstairs like that. Don't be such a prude." On the landing, she raps on the next bedroom door. "Come on, Lorraine, out you come." Lorraine appeared, sleepy-eyed, wearing just a pair of panties. Her eyes widened as she saw me naked, with her sister. She stepped forward to kiss me tenderly, and I felt her soft breasts press against my chest, the nipples hardening as our tongues touched. Suzanne draped her nightshirt over the bannister railing, and suggested: "Take those knickers off, Lorraine. I don't think they're very clean now." Naked, the three of up tiptoed downstairs, and entered the kitchen. Suzanne tilted the shades so there was no clear view for any house that overlooked it. While Lorraine put the kettle on, Suzanne was studying my welts and bruises, especially the angry, swollen ones on my backside. "Oh, you got a fantastic thrashing," she breathed, bending to look closer, running her fingers gently over my welts. Lorraine joined her, and I saw that she was stroking herself as she looked. Suzanne took my cock in her hand, and told me: "You'll never forget this though, will you?" "No," I answered. "It hurt." "That's not it," she said, shaking her head. "You'll always connect sexual arousal with having your backside spanked, from now on. And, the other way around. You wait and see, Roger! Look, she knows." Suzanne tilted her head towards Lorraine, who was grinning, and nodding her head. "Mummy's good at this. She's made us that way. Me, Diane, Lorraine here. And she'll do it for you, too. Every Thursday, remember?" "Oh," is all I could reply. "Imagine it. Every Thursday, with your clothes off, waiting for her to decide what to do to you. While we watch, or join in. Perhaps you'll be blindfolded, or tied up. Who knows? That's part of the fun, not knowing." I licked my lips, nervously. Both her hands were on my cock now, and she was doing an excellent job of stiffening me up. "You like this, don't you? And you'll get to like being spanked, Roger. It's inevitable. Now, what would you like to do? Come for me?" "Or me?" Lorraine intervened, with a sweet smile, before I could reply. "Whatever you wish," I replied. "Good boy. You're learning. Let's go in the front room," Suzanne suggested. "It would be irresponsible to let you two have sex, but I can show you something you'll find useful for ever." Before I knew it, I was on my back on the long settee, and Suzanne was encouraging Lorraine to kneel with her legs on either side of my head, turned so she was facing my feet. Suzanne explained, naively: "This is called the sixty-nine position. I don't know why, cos one through sixty-eight are missing. Anyway, the idea is..." We didn't need a lot of explanation. But we did appreciate it when Suzanne added: "Always set an alarm clock or an egg timer, or something. Because this is as addictive as getting your backside spanked. I'll nudge you in twenty minutes, see if you need a break." As Lorraine lowered her gorgeous pussy to my mouth and wrapped her mouth over my glans, I took a sideways glance at Suzanne, walking away to the kitchen. Faint bruises and stripes adorned her bottom. She was not kidding, in any way. So, now you'll see why Lorraine and her family stuck in my memory, for so long. This girl at the club tonight, she's very similar. Small, sweet, all in black. No bondage wear, just a plain cocktail dress, and high heels. But she lacks that submissive look. She's a quiet top, maybe a switch, maybe bisexual too. I like complexity. The guy she's with, he's a new sub. I can tell by her possessive looks, the way she shepherds him around. His adoring gaze. How she prompts him to give her soft kisses on shoulders and throat, and her melting reaction. Later this evening, she and I must talk, I decide. Copyright (c) 2000 by MrSpraycan. All Rights Reserved. visit Erotica_2000@eGroups.com for more 'content' -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+