Dorinda weeps sweetly. Her tears are jewels. She tries hard not to cry. I think she is afraid of tears that are shed because of pain. You can watch her fighting them. They usually well up just after that time, which I suppose is pretty awful for a girl, shen she realises the pain is more than she can bear and that she is going to stop smiling and begin the little moans and gasps by which I know she is living intensly in the direction she has to go. Tears seems better suited to punishments other than the whip. I watched Dorinda cry while she was hanging on the bar. She was so exquisite it hurt. A poignancy of the heart.
I shall have to watch the two of them. They’ll plot against me and plan small ways to ‘manage’ the man in their lives. I think there is an element of wife in all females. Since the beginning wives had wheedled whatever they want out of their husbands. It had become an inborn instinct. They couldn’t stop if they tried. It’s their greatest challenge. Men held the line for centuries by keeping a whip or a cane around, and there where the scold’s bridles and the ducking stool. But now we’ve become so enlightened we wouldn’t dare say whip to a wife any more than we dare to shed blood for things we believe in, so they ride over us rough shod: the woman and the barnbarian! Our race is lost. But not on Kyrexos! I will have the most fulfilled women in the world.
The miracle of Dorinda has thrown a wrench into our plan. My plan. But Terry was all for it. She still is. But was for one girl. Now we have two. What in blazes am I going to do with Mabel?
I’ll admit young Terry got one up on me shen she came proudly marching home with Mabel more or less on a leash. I’m damn sute the little so and so thought she’d get off scot free as reward for her coupe. But allowing herslef to be released I had chained her was unforgivable. You can’t just let her get away with something like that. Obedience must be maintained. So I gave her ten of the best. Her teras were not so much from pain but from disappointment that she had not managed to slip me a twist. Ten swift ones are a bit much for her, even with a cane. She wasn’t happy with the last five at all.
You should have seen Maebl’s face! She watched the cane sinking into Terry’s bottom as though she did not believe a word of it. I think that anything Mabel learns here will have to be whipped into her lovely skin. If something does not conform to her idea of lower suburbia she just fails to comprehend. She has the most mervellous body. But she’ll never come near touching Dorinda.
Next day I started her training. I was stuck with her, so I had to do something. I took her down to the room. It went something like this: "I want obedience from you, Mabel. If you don’t get it I’ll whip you until you do."
"Fuck you!"
She was naked, her wirsts tightly handcuffed behind her back. I splatted a good one across her seat. She yelped and leaped away. I followed, catching her with the whippy crop wherever a bit of Mabel showed to advantage. She had nice skin. The marks were very satisfactory. We went round and round the room. She kept repeating over and over: "You bastard… You bastard!" in between yelps. I’d have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t been so stupid. Finally she slowed a bit and muttered, "Tell me what you want."
"Kneel at my feet and kiss my shoes."
Pretty stereotyped, I know. But simple.
She looked at me as though I was raving. "Up your arse!" she suggested cordially.
She started to leap about again. But I’d had enough of that. I got her to the rope and had her arms up in a jiffy. She seemed surprised that I could handle her so easily. Then I stood at the winch and took her up an inch at the time. She bent further and further, watching me all the time with a sideways look of pure disbelief. I did not stop until her heels were in danger of leaving the floor.
"Here’s the drill. I’m going to cane your bottom. You’ll notice it’s nicely stuck out. Wehen it has had enough we’ll progress to other parts. You have several. I’ll cane slowly. When you feel cooperative you will ask for the next stroke and when it is delivered you will say ‘thank you’. Both in a pleasant and respectful tone."
She did not answer. But the position was giving her food for thought. It also did wonderful things to her incredible torso.
I wrapped the cane round both cheecks. She went as wild as she could.
"How old are you, Mabel?"
"Tenty. one. Why? What’s it got to do with what you’re up to?"
I gave her one, lower down.
"Oh please, don’t! Stop it!" She was ordering me.
I gave number three well on the top. It was her best yelp yet.
"Don’t be so cruel, you seemed nice…"
I did not aim number four. Just let it go. She started to cry. If you stay impervious to tears they are a good sign. Number five brought a few gasping words. "I’ll do what you want."
"Do it then." I gave number six."
"Please whip me once more." She shot it out like a bullet. Not a bit elegant. Besides, she had use the word ‘once’.
"Not good enough. Don’t quote the number. Call me Sir. Say it slowly and distictly."
I managed number seven before she had time to collect her thoughts.
She was quite beautiful now. Wet with perspiration her whole body glistened. Her breasts were not oendulous. They stuck out, two lovely cones accentuated by her wracked shoulders. She had a nice bush. Nothing like Dorinda’s, but good. Her spherical bottom was now delightfully wealed. From now on the cuts would besect. Her features had become more appealing. The absence of four letter words helped. Vulgarity deminishes beauty. I wondered if I’d ever achieve a Pygmalion with her.
"Please sir, give me another stroke."
She did it fairly well this time. No soul. But correct. I gave her a real scrocher that lapped her hip. She held back the gap and then managed: "Thank you very much, sir."
The damn thing fell flat. What more did I want? Mabel had done as told. It was a victory. But I didn’t feel I0d won. I knew, as a terrible revelation, that if it had been Dorinda I would have been quivering. Poor Mabel. It wasn’t here. No electric current. No nothing. Neither fault: mine. I tried another track.
"Would you like your breasts whipped?" It was shock therapy.
She was equal to that one. "But sir, no one whips a girl’s breasts." All the weight of lower Suburbia was in her pronouncement.
"I do."
I could see her grappling. It was like telling someone a thousand years ago that the earth was round. I didn’t wait.
It was a lovely upward stroke. The cone jounced and bounced. It was quite lovely. I wanted to bite it. Mabel howled, a long mournful cry of desolation. "No. No… No!"
"You have two of the lovely things."
"Oh please. Alright. I’ll do anything." There were gaps in her utterance where the four letter words would normally have been. She was learning. But I felt no victory. I was having thoughts of handing Mabel over to Terry as something to play with. Keep her properly chained and they couldn’t get into trouble. But even there good old class conciousness popped up. Mabel’s grammar was not that good. I didn’t want Terry pick up the wrong words…
I moved round. She really had wonderful breasts. She whimpred constantly as I tapped into her unwelted nipple with the cane. One more could do her no harm. I swung.
There is something magic about a girl’s breasts. You can call ‘m mammaries and hint about their utilitiy. But just the same most men would die for a pair. I’ve been adoring Terry’s for years. She knows it, the little minx.
The cane connected with a quite different sound from the way it splats on the bottom. This touches the soul. Whipping a girl’s breasts is likle reaching out and touching a Rembrandt or the first chords of something from Chopin. Few women realise the power of their breasts. Just as well, actually. A woman’s breasts are man’s Achilles heel. A woman with fine breasts can make a man do anything. Remember the joke ‘It takes nine months for a man to get out of the vagina. He spends the rest of his life trying to get back in’. It’s true, of course. But I’ve alsways resented the compulsion. I always think of some poor clerk getting twenty quid a week. Poor little bastard. How lucky I am to have Terry and now Dorinda. Wouldn’t it be awful not to be able to