Over Christmas, we rented a lovely place in Ireland with EJ’s family. Play wasn’t much on the agenda, other than briefly before her folks arrived: “If you’re going to spank me in this house, you’d better do it now” – before a switch was cut from the conveniently-provided bamboo plantation in the garden; six cuts were given on the bare as she bent over the large dining room table; and photographs of her stripes duly taken for posterior-posterity.
Frustrated at the lack of potential for kinky fun (on one level – albeit family time was far more important and meanignful than play can ever be), my thoughts did drift to imagining the ideal rented place for a weekend’s group fun – and hence on to what one might do.
Four girls, I think. A similar number of gentlemen. A cellar: dark, with suitable furniture to which a girl could be tied in various positions. The men appearing in the room, and seizing one of the girls roughly: “You’re coming to the cellar with us.”
The others wouldn’t dare try to escape, even though they knew their turn to be abused would surely come. For not only was the place remote, but they’d been told very clearly: “If you try to run away, we will flog each of the other girls until they break. And then we will come and find you…”
The girl would be gone in the cellar for, perhaps, an hour – returning broken and tear-stained, marked, unable or unwilling to describe what they had done to her. That they would each have had her in the most intimate ways went almost without saying.
The other girls’ first thoughts would be of shock at what had happened to their friend; of trying to comfort her. And then they’d realise that the weekend was still but young, and that their own turn would presumably come…
Nice! Are you taking reservations yet? 😉