I have fled London for another relaxing weekend with Abel and Haron, which give me the excuse to hijack their blog again! (You may recall that I posted some recollections during my Easter sojourn.)

My visit began with a relaxing evening in: good food, drink, kinky conversation and the right rugby result. It continued in relaxing style when the girls lay in till 11am this morning - mmmm, needed that! And then the relaxation clean ran out in the shower.

I let Haron go first: after all, that would be a few more minutes in bed for me, right? Wrong. No sooner was she safely in the bathroom then Abel came looking for another girl to chivvy into the queue. He was armed with an evil device that seemed to have something of an identity crisis, unsure whether it was a strap or martinet. The handle gave way to four leather tails, an inch or so wide, lying one atop the other which made it crack most satisfactorily on impact. So Abel thought. I wasn’t so sure as I was harassed from my pit, my appetite for disobedience having been extinguished.

So to the bathroom, which also signalled the end of Haron’s peaceful shower! Abel flicked back the curtain and flicked back the strap. She yelped delightfully. Hey, that looked fun! I asked if I could have a go too. Now anyone who knows me will also know that I lack a toppish instinct. Apart from the odd colleague, I rarely feel any desire to whack people.

I think Haron was a little miffed that I should choose this particular moment to fancy a crack at the other side! Abel was more than happy to share his wife, however, and cheerfully passed me the strap. I took aim and landed it squarely across her wet backside. Yep: definitely fun! I gave her another half-dozen or so, making her dance under the jets. Her protests became louder but I’m not as mean or as practiced as Abel so I’m sure she’s suffered plenty worse.

I sensed that my own shower would not go unmolested after this! Sure enough, the soap and hot water (see, it could’ve been worse!) were liberally added to by Abel’s reclaimed toy. I only got some respite after making a very amateur mistake: with him in full, rhythmic flow, I put my hand back to shield my rear. Unfortunately for me, the next stroke was already in its unstoppable descent, so I took that across the knuckles instead for my pains. And received as much sympathy as you would expect me to! Towel-clad Haron then glided back in with the digital camera to capture my fresh stripes for, um, posterity.

But this is a blog based on the written word, right? So you wouldn’t want to see that.

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