The Whipping Club

By Angela Pearson

An Account of some of the Activities of a Number of Lovely Women who have Men in their Power. The very first title by M. Pearson. A multi-part narrative, it describes various members of the club, including a pair of incredibly enthusiastic twins, and their activities, culminating a wild orgy at the nicely-equipped Blakely Manor. If you read only one book by Pearson, make it this one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: Dec 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781608728299

Book preview

1958.

BOOK ONE. THE SEVEN LOVELIEST MEMBERS AND SOME OF THEIR ACTIVITIES

1. Caroline Nash

Caroline Nash stood in the sunlight at the window, examining two canes which she held in her hands. She was going to use one of them in a few minutes, and she was debating with herself which would give her the greater pleasure that morning. One of the canes was about three feet long, and very thin and supple; the other was shorter and, though still supple, thicker.

The girl swished them, one after the other, through the air. The shorter one, she knew, would give more pain, would bruise more deeply. The long, thin one, however, would more quickly bring the blood.

With another glance at them, she decided that she wanted blood. She put the shorter cane in a drawer of her dressing-table and kept the long, thin one in her hand. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes to eleven.

She examined herself in the long mirror, and was pleased with what she saw. Twenty-seven years of age, she had a figure that was the admiration of men and the despair of women: long, slender, shapely legs, a waist so tiny that no ready-made dress could ever be expected to fit her, firm up-thrust breasts, and breathtakingly beautiful features framed by silky naturally-blond and naturally-wavy hair.

She was wearing a dress of chocolate-brown silk crepe de chine which was very tight-fitting. It revealed the glory of her body to perfection. Under it she was not wearing a brassiere; her nipples showed clearly through the silk. Her legs were covered by the sheerest of silk stockings which were brought prominently into view, as she moved, by the long slit on the left-hand side of her skirt. On her feet were shoes with very high, and wicked-looking heels.

Caroline Nash was indeed a very beautiful woman. Being, by profession, a teacher of French, she found her beauty a great asset, for it brought her many pupils. She taught privately at her house, and she preferred male pupils who were married.

She preferred them to be married because, after she had allowed them to make love to her, she could blackmail them into doing whatever she ordered them to do. If they refused, she would at once inform their wives that they had been unfaithful. Only a very few told her to go ahead and be damned. The majority argued vainly for a while, and then submitted to her wishes. Subsequent lessons were given under the stimulus of the cane. These were her wishes.

Caroline was a sadist, but she was also a realist. She would have liked to use other instruments—particularly whips—and she would have liked to use them on her pupils’ backs as well as their bottoms. She knew, though, that a man would find it very difficult to hide from his wife a number of weals across his back; it was not so difficult for him to find ways and means of hiding the weals across his bottom; in any case, it was his responsibility to do so, if he did not want his wife to learn of his unfaithfulness... So she contented herself with thrashing the bottoms of her pupils with one or other of her canes. The lessons, of course, ceased to be effective lessons—though the pupils continued to pay the fees which had been agreed; Caroline employed them simply as periods in which the pupils’ mistakes gave her abundant opportunities of satisfying her daily appetite for sadism.

She called these canings her bread-and-butter flagellations; nothing very dramatic, nothing very thrilling, but satisfying all the same. For the more dramatic, more thrilling floggings, she had the weekly meetings of the Whipping Club, where she need not use any restraint over her choice of instrument or part of the body to be flogged. But the meetings were seven days apart, and her canings, two or three times a day, satisfyingly filled a gap. After some of the canings she sometimes allowed a pupil to make love to her again, and that was pleasant too.

The front-door bell rang.

Caroline glanced at her watch. Two minutes to eleven. She smiled. Her pupil was taking no chances of an extra caning for being late. She placed the long, thin cane on the dressing-table and gave her hair a final pat.

Will you come upstairs, sir, please? she heard her maid say.

Pupils who had not yet fallen under her power of blackmail were given their lessons in the living-room downstairs; pupils who were to have their lessons under the stimulus of the cane were brought upstairs to her bedroom.

There were footsteps outside her door and a knock.

Come in.

The door opened and a tall, good-looking man of about thirty-three entered the room, some notebooks and papers under his arm. His face was white and set. His eyes fell on the cane on the dressing-table, and he looked quickly away as though he had not seen it.

Caroline walked towards him, hand outstretched, a dazzling smile on her lips. Good-morning, Mr. Sullivan. You’re very punctual nowadays.

Sullivan frowned slightly. Yes.

Caroline chuckled. You’re so wise. Well, let’s sit down and see what you’ve made of your homework.

She walked to two deep armchairs beside the fireplace and sat down in one. Sullivan sat in the other and passed her one of his notebooks without a word.

Caroline read silently for a moment and then looked up. This is really very bad, I’m afraid. Very bad indeed. You’ll have to be punished a lot for this. She went back to her reading.

Sullivan sighed. I did my best.

A very poor best, said Caroline, without looking up. You’d better take off your jacket and trousers, and bring the cane to me.

Sullivan hesitated a second, sighed again, and got up from his chair. He took off his jacket and placed it over the back of an upright chair. He unbuttoned the top of his trousers and his flies, and removed the trousers. He put them, folded, over the jacket. Then he took off his underpants and tossed them on to the seat of the chair.

Clad now only in his shirt, socks and shoes, he walked to the dressing-table, picked up the cane with an attempt at casualness, and returned to Caroline.

Give me a pencil, please, said the girl. There’s one on the mantelpiece.

Sullivan stretched out an arm, took the pencil, and gave it to her. Caroline began to mark the mistakes in the homework.

The man stood beside her with the cane in his hand.

After a few moments: Four treble mistakes, six doubles, and nine singles, said Caroline. That makes —let me see— thirty-three mistakes and therefore thirty-three strokes.

Oh God, said Sullivan.

But that’s not all, went on the girl. Three of the mistakes have been made before, and that means eighteen more. Six extra for every mistake made more than once. You know that, of course.

Sullivan made no reply.

So, said Caroline, smiling at him, and taking the cane from his hand, die total is thirty-three plus eighteen. What do you make it. She rose from her chair.

Fifty-one, said Sullivan.

I’ll let you off the one. We’ll make it a round fifty. She pointed with the cane to the middle of the room. Over there, please. And bend over.

Please, Miss Nash, said Sullivan. I know it’s no good asking you not to do it, but, please, not so hard as last lesson. It’s absolute murder. I can’t stand it.

You’ll have to stand it, said Caroline. And this lot will have to be harder—

Please no.

Be quiet. This lot will be harder because your mistakes are really awful. You don’t seem to make any progress at all. Well, that’s up to you, of course. Either you make some progress or you’re thrashed. It’s as simple as that.

I’d certainly be thrashed just the same even if I did make some progress. You’d just find some other excuse.

Caroline’s eyes narrowed a little. Be careful—unless you want me to double the punishment. Go over there now, and bend over.

Sullivan gave his third sigh that morning, and walked to the centre of the room. He opened his legs a little, and then bent over and touched his toes.

The girl moved up behind him and lifted the tail of his shirt. She bit her tongue lightly as she looked at the naked stretched bottom in front of her, the weals of the last canings showing black and purple on the flesh. She ran her free hand over the bottom. It was cool to her touch. It would not, she thought, remain cool for very long.

Just one word of warning, she said. This is going to be extremely hard and extremely painful. Don’t forget that if you don’t stay bent over till I tell you that you can stand up, the whole thing is doubled automatically. Don’t forget that. I’m giving you fair warning again. Every time you stand up without permission—every time—the punishment doubles itself.

For God’s sake! pleaded the man. Not too hard!

Don’t be silly, said Caroline, and moistened her lips. Blood is going to flow this morning.

Oh, Christ! murmured the man, and set his teeth.

Caroline moved a little to one side of him and measured her distance with the cane. Here come the first ten.

She lifted the cane and brought it down with all her strength across the tightly-stretched buttocks. It descended with a savage compound of a hiss and a swish, and hit the flesh with a loud chuk. Sullivan gasped as the pain tore through him. The second stroke caught him in the middle of trying to take a breath and he coughed. The third stroke caught him in the middle of the cough. On the fourth stroke he felt that he could stand no more, and he thought of straightening himself, seizing the cane, and giving the girl a taste of her own medicine. The thought was pushed away as the fifth stroke hit him; his wife would be informed at once—he had no doubt of that; and furthermore, the fifty strokes would be doubled...

On the tenth stroke, the girl lowered her cane. You can stand up now for a moment.

Sullivan painfully straightened himself. Pain was tearing its way though his body in great waves.

No blood yet, said the girl. There’ll probably be some in the next ten.

Sullivan made no reply. He massaged his buttocks with his hands as though, by doing so, he could in some way reduce the pain.

Over you go again, said Caroline.

She gave the next ten strokes very quickly, and with all her force. Her heart was beating fast. She was enjoying herself very much. Blood still did not come. She was surprised, but decided that her previous thrashings of this particular bottom had probably hardened its skin.

Blood appeared, indeed leapt, on the thirty-fifth stroke. Three deep weals, very close to one another, melded into one as the skin broke. Blood welled out of the cut and began to roll down the man’s legs.

Caroline began to feel the sex pounding in her loins. She knew that she would not reach an orgasm—to do that she needed the whips and other instruments of the Whipping Club—but this feeling was tantalizing and delicious. She thrashed on with all her force and did not stop at the fortieth stroke to give her pupil a rest. She thrashed rhythmically and fast, swinging her body with the downward lash of her cane.

At last it was over.

You can lie down for a few minutes, if you want, said Caroline. But I must first put a little iodine on your bottom. We don’t want you to get any blood-poisoning, do we?

She walked to the dressing-table and took a bottle from a drawer as Sullivan straightened himself.

Bend over again, she said, while I put it on.

The man bent once more and Caroline poured iodine into the wounds. The pain from the caning was still so intense that the bite of the iodine went unnoticed.

Now you can lie on the bed, she said. No, wait a minute. Let me put something down. You’re very bloody. She returned to the dressing-table drawer and took out a large sheet of plastic material. She took this to the bed and spread it over the covers. All right. Five minutes. Then we’ll get on with the lesson.

Sullivan staggered to the bed and flopped down upon it upon his face. Caroline lit a cigarette and regarded him with a half-smile on her lips. That may help to teach you to be more careful with your homework for next lesson. Otherwise it’ll be repeated. I’ll thrash some French into you sooner or later. She sat down in her armchair, glanced at her watch, and crossed her legs.

Five minutes later she got up from the chair. Come on. We must get on. This morning we have pronunciation practice. Lie over the arms of the chair.

Sullivan stood up. Caroline took the plastic sheet, now very bloody, and draped it over the arms of the chair that Sullivan had so briefly sat in. Sullivan looked at her reproachfully.

Down you go, she said.

No more, said Sullivan. Please no more.

If you have no more mistakes, you’ll have no more punishment, said Caroline. But this is pronunciation practice, and I want you in the usual position—just in case.

Sullivan lay, face downwards, across the arms of the chair.

Caroline stood above him, looking with interest at his bottom.

It was very damaged, very lacerated, and very bloody.

Not bad, she murmured, caressing the length of the cane with her free fingers. Not at all bad.

What’s not bad?

My aiming. Except for two or three, the whole fifty went on more or less the same place. And the result is quite an exciting sight. You’ll find some difficulty in sitting for a while, I think.

She looked at the cane she was caressing. I don’t think I’d better use this again this morning, though. I’ll use the other one. And I’ll aim lower. She touched the fleshy part of his legs just below his buttocks. Here. It’ll be very painful again, but I don’t think I ought to put any more across the wounds just yet. So it will be here. Unless, that is, you can do your pronunciation practice without any mistakes.

You know perfectly well that I can’t.

Then that is just too bad for you.

Caroline went back to the dressing-table and exchanged the long, thin cane for the shorter, thicker one. I’m feeling very sexy, she said, as she returned to the chair.

That caning excited me. Perhaps we’ll have a little sex when we’ve finished the practice. She put her hand between his legs and took hold of his penis. How is my toy today? The penis leaped to life at her touch and grew at once into a great erection. Very nice, indeed.

She put a small stool beside the chair, about nine inches below Sullivan’s eyes, took a book from the mantelpiece, found a page, and placed the book on the stool. Read from there, she said, pointing to a paragraph with her forefinger. She stood facing the armchair, her pupil stretched out before her. She swished the cane experimentally. Go on. I’m waiting.

Sullivan focussed his eyes and began to read: Je sais bien que —

The cane hissed down across the fleshy part of his under-buttocks.

No! No! No! said Caroline, lashing with her cane to emphasize each no. How many times must I tell you bien, bien bien—lash! lash! lash!—not bianne. Now start again.

Je sais bien —

Lash!

Bien?

That’s better. It’s not perfect but I’ll let it pass. Go on.

—que je—

Caroline brought the cane down again. Not ze. Je.

—que je ne suis pas un—

Oh, you’re really asking for it this morning, said Caroline. Can’t you even say suis properly? Oh, you must have six for that! She raised her cane, took careful aim, and gave him six very hard strokes, one on top of the other. Sullivan grunted with each lash.

Now say it properly, ordered Caroline. And if it’s not correct this time, you’ll have twelve.

Sullivan hesitated. Then: Suis?

Lash!

It’s not a question, said Caroline. Again.

Suis.

Yes. Now go on. And be careful. You’ve put me in a bloodthirsty mood.

The pronunciation practice continued for a quarter of an hour before Sullivan reached the end of the paragraph he had to read. During that time he received seventy-two more strokes of Caroline’s cane.

That’ll do for today, said the girl, and threw down her instrument. Now we’ll have a little sex. Turn over. I want to kiss my toy.

Painfully, Sullivan turned on the arms of the chair, keeping himself stretched flat in order to avoid any pressure on his lacerated bottom. Despite the pain in his buttocks, which seemed to send white-hot needles into his nerve system, his penis erected quickly at Caroline’s words.

Oho! she said, as she saw it. So you’re sexy too! And after all that caning. Well, well, I shall have to do it a bit harder next time. You seem to have enjoyed it.

Sullivan snorted. Enjoyed it! My God!

Caroline knelt and cupped her hands around the now enormous erection. Here’s the proof, my dear! With her thumbs she gently pressed upon its tip and opened the slit. The penis throbbed under her cool touch. She put her mouth to the slit and kissed it. My toy’s lips on my lips. She put out the tip of her tongue and licked the sensitive central nerve. Sullivan’s body quivered with the thrill. She licked slowly up the nerve and then played with the edges of the slit with the tip of her tongue.

Sullivan put out his hands and caressed the nipples that showed through the silk of her dress.

Get up, said Caroline. Sullivan obeyed. Caroline took the plastic sheet back to the bed and spread it again over the covers, bloody side up. She began to take off her dress. Come and help me.

With Sullivan’s help she pulled the dress over her head.

As she put it over a chair, something about it caught her attention and she peered closely. Damn! she said. It’s all spattered with your blood. What a nuisance! It’ll have to go to the cleaners again. I must remember to wear something plastic or rubber next time. Why do I always forget?

You’re too impatient, said Sullivan, with a wry grin. Now that the thrashing was over, at least for that lesson, he was beginning to regain his sense of humour.

Caroline was very quickly naked, and the glory of her figure was magnified a hundredfold by her nakedness. Sullivan slipped out of his shirt and took off his socks and shoes.

Caroline looked down at the plastic sheet, still wet with blood, that lay across the bed. I’m going to roll over in your blood, she said, and lay down upon her stomach on the sheet. I’m going to cover myself with it. It’s mine, isn’t it? It’s I who brought it. She rolled over on to her back. The blood now clung to her body in patches, reddening her loins, her stomach, her breasts. With her hands she massaged her breasts, as though to rub the blood into herself. Her eyes were shining, her lips moist. This, she said softly, is very exciting indeed. Come on. Lie down.

Stiffly, because each movement of his buttocks caused pain, Sullivan lay down beside her on the plastic sheet. He moved her hands away from her breasts and began to caress them himself. She quivered under his touch.

We’ll have to be quick, she said. I have another lesson in fifteen minutes.

Another caning one?

No. Unfortunately not. Not till this afternoon.

However will you manage to wait?

Caroline closed her eyes. Perhaps I can’t, she said dreamily. Perhaps I’d better give you another little thrashing yourself before you go.

Sullivan put his lips to her left breast, then to her right. He realized that the safest thing for him to do would be to satisfy her to the full, to exhaust her. Otherwise she was quite capable of thrashing him again. He ran his