“Oh… oh… Greg… I promise I’ll be good… don’t, I implore you!
Please, Greg I… I… I’ll,do everything you and Marie want! Really, I will, I swear I will! Don’t don’t wh-whip me, please!”
He eyed Marie, who shrugged her shoulders.
Then, turning his gaze back to the cowering debutante, he said coldly, “to prove your sincerity and submission, get down on your knees before me, clasp your hands together as if you were praying and beg me nicely not to whip you!”
Marie’s face shone with a great joy of vengeance!
How significantly had Marcia’s words of threatening anger against her boomeranged against this snobbish, haughty jade!
Her widened eyes bespoke Marcia’s apprehension; and in Greg’s she saw no a spark of compassion. The whip reposed, dormant, terrible in its motionless, readied poise in his hand. The plaited tips were oh so ominously keen and acutely agonizing in her half-hysterical conjecturing.
So, groaning in fright and shame, she sank down on her knees before him and, tears brimming in her dilated eyes, clasped her hands tight together, held them up to him in a gesture of servile supplication.
“Let me hear your little declaration of obedience and then we’ll see whether you get twenty good lashes on your bottom or not,” he told her.
Tottering in her utter desolation and piteous, stark fright, she stammered, “I … I… beg pardon… Greg… for disobeying Marie. I promise with all my heart to obey whatever she tells me to do… Is is… that… like… what you want me to say?”
“Not exactly, Marcia. Marie, I think a quick dose of the whip wouldn’t mark her flesh too much. We don’t want to disappoint him with her,” he replied.
Marcia was maddened by terror; crawling forward on her knees, she grasped his naked. hips with her gloved, feverish hands and, oblivious to his obscene nudity, his virile manhood asserting itself in her very face, hysterically cried, “Greg… Greg… I’ll be your slave… don’t whip me… oh… oh… pity… I’ll try to serve you and Marie obediently… see, I’m kneeling at your feet… take pity on me… don’t hurt me!” And her fingers writhed against his naked flesh… Ah, had he not calculated his, revenge elaborately, lingeringly, he might have seized, mastered and possessed her cowering body!
But it was too delightful to watch the aloof and coldly patrician beauty cringe and writhe her enchantingly attired body in heartfelt entreaty- and it was sincere, this candor of hers, perhaps for the first time in her sheltered existence: fear of pain and humiliation had been unknown to her and their initial effect on her flesh and spirit was formidable.
He surveyed her coldly, observing how oblivious she was now to his nakedness and savoring Marie’s presence.
“Get up, Marcia!” he commanded sternly and raised the whip in feigned threat.
“Please… please, Greg… I’ll obey you… anything… don’t hurt me!” she groaned.
“Will you get up, you slut! Is this a proof of your willingness to obey? You are going to taste the lash!” said Gregory.
“No! Oh, God, no! I am obeying… see… I obey you!” And she rose, standing before him, terrified and trembling, her eyes widened and humid with apprehension, fixed on the flexible, thin lash.
“Turn around, bend over and give your hands to Marie to hold!” was his next, sinister order.
Marcia was half fainting with her fear, but the sight of the whip activated her and, sobbing, panting, she obeyed; she arched forward, tautening the magnificent bottom wedded so lasciviously to the lustrous satin and she extended her gloved hands toward Marie, who seized them without hesitation.
“But her head turned to one side, so that she might watch him in her palpitating emotion of imminent ordeal, for she was certain that this command meant the application of that demonic leather thong on her obscenely proffered body.
“Don’t… oh… Greg… darling… I beg you… I apologize for all the mean things I’ve done to you… don’t whip me… oh, I couldn’t stand it… and before Marie oh… please… please… Greg, don’t hurt me, I can’t bear pain!” she sobbed.
His face expressed his contempt; his lips curled in scorn, his eyes glowed hard and intently on her abject and cringing body.
“Turn your head around and don’t dare move till I order you to!” he said. “And your obedience will determine what you’ll get by way of merited punishment!”
She bit her lips, bowed her head, closed her eyes; spasmodic tremors rippled her bottom and were evidenced in the intimate sheath of satin which became, with this pose, a second skin on the ripe ovals of her bottom globes.
He noiselessly left her, went to the boudoir table and returned with the atomizer. And all the while she trembled, unable to control the contractions of her nerves and muscles, undergoing the torment, so that even the biting kiss of the whip would have been an anodyne to her in this tense expectation and prolonged torment of mind and psyche.
He returned to her, approached her as noiselessly as he had left her and then, slowly, with infinite deliberation, extended his right hand toward the satin sheath which molded the enticing summits of her bottom hemispheres…
And then his fingers lightly grazed the resilient crest of one magnificent bottom cheek.
She did not know the whip lay at his feet, but in her terror believed that he was gauging the quality of her flesh to determine its endurance under the thong-caress! “Ohhh! No, no, don’t, in God’s name!” she groaned.
“Don’t dare to move and let me hear not another word from you!” was his reply.
Maddened by torment, but dreading the lash more than the shame of palpation, she allowed him to continue his exploration of her charms; bent over, panting, her face flushed and stained with the initial tears of woe-yes, the first to be shed in her new regime of downfall-and Marie felt Marcia’s patrician wrists jerk convulsively against her constraining grasp, sure sign of Marcia’s apprehensive dread.
His fingers now pressed against the lustrous satin and followed the breathtakingly sensual curve of that delectable bottom cheek… and he heard her choked gasps, felt her bottom contract and shiver.
And with the utmost calmness, his hand continued its leisurely promenade over that beautiful bottom cheek and then passed to the other, which he. pressed, grazed and palpated with a dominance that astounded and confused and terrified her.
At last she felt his hand recede from her shuddering hindquarters and he spoke.
“The satin becomes your big behind better than I had expected. It is agreeably thin, so that the lash will carry a good sting to your insolent naked seat!”
“Ohhh! Pardon! What have I done to deserve a whipping! I… I’ve obeyed you in everything you commanded, Greg! Oh, I beg of you… I I… will… give myself to you… if if you’ll… let me go… after… after-” and, breaking down, unable to hide her shame and desolation any longer, she burst into tears.
Marie felt the beautiful hands clench, the wrists tense and jerk, but sternly she maintained the unhappy debutante prisoner as her lover had requested.
When the tempest of tears and groans and sobs had subsided, Gregory spoke coldly and contemptuously, spitting out his words: “I always knew you were a bitch and now I am certain of it. The fact is, I have not the slightest appetite for your body, my dear, though that may seem surprising to you in your blind vanity. And what happens to you will be through others; I am solely the motivating agent in your behalf. Now then, Marie, if you will continue to hold her, I shall apply a little perfume where it will be most enticing.”
And picking up the atomizer, he sprayed a dash of the captivating jasmine against Marcia’s bare, creamy knee hollows, her ankles, compelled her to lift up her arms-though still to hold them out to Marie-so that the perfume might scent her raven-downed armpit niches.
As a finale, he sprayed a little of the jasmine right against the split of the panties in the back, remarking lasciviously, “In case your lovers want to take the maidenhead of your bottom, you won’t smell so bad!”
Marcia’s ears were buzzing with her anguish; she reeled, exhausted, overcome by shame and emotional suffering. And the consummate fact which blazed through her mind and made her bite her lively red lips in an excess of the deepest chagrin was that at last she had offered him her greatest charm, her most zealously guarded treasure-and he had scorned her! Scorned her, who was far more appealing than the shameless trull Marie!
Then, returning the atomizer to the boudoir table and retrieving his whip, Gregory made her don the last part of her prostitute’s attire: an orange silk negligee, beautifully designed and ornately decorated with lace.
And he said to her, “Now, my sweet, take whatever pose of welcome you consider most enchanting, that you may have success with your first fucker… au revoir! Be diligent, skillful and Marie may give you a little tip from that five hundred all for your very own.”
And he burst into laughter, which Marie joined in merrily and, the lovers left the salon, locking the door behind them.
They went into the adjoining apartment, where a hidden mirroring panel allowed them to look into the bedroom and beyond into the salon where Marcia was, seeing but without being seen.
The debutante trembled so piteously that she tottered as she walked to the divan, there to sink down, bury her face in her hands and weep, racking sobs shaking her beautifully adorned body.
“At least,” she thought, “they have locked the door… they have the key and perhaps when when… that… man comes in with them, I can denounce them to his face!”
Her eyes were swollen with tears; she brushed them away with gloved fingers that trembled and, a vestige of her coquetry returning, she arranged the negligee in unmarred folds on her provocative, svelte body, so that she would retain all her delectable and desirable charm when the would-be seducer entered. She would beguile him, make an ally of him. She would escape this fate and condemn her abductors! Marie should pay dearly and Greg would be blackened forever in the social world!
Suddenly, interrupting her thoughts, she heard an ominous sound.