[Note: this story starts at Golden girl #1.]
“About time, girl.”
Therese gazed down at Emma, who kept perfectly still, bent over the table with her arms and legs outstretched, and her bottom arched up, poised and posed. Therese’s expression was utterly benevolent. She reached down to caress Emma’s shoulder with the right hand that held the dog whip, letting the leather coils rub against Emma’s face.
Emma’s left thigh began its trembling again. Time was getting back to its normal speed. Therese pressed the whip to Emma’s mouth, holding it for Emma’s kiss, then placed it on the small of her back. She flicked her fingernails down Emma’s underarm, drawing from her a gasp but no movement, then reached under to take her nipple between her thumb and forefinger.
“Do you move when I’m whipping you, Emma?”
“No ma’am! Uh.” Emma’s voice told us that Therese had applied some extra pressure on that captive nipple, just after the word ‘no’.
“That’s right. And do you cry out?”
“Uh! Only – Yuh! Only if you tell me to, ma’am.”
“Good. Now show us how good you can be, dear. Not a peep out of you, now.”
Therese stepped back, holding the whip in both hands. She stepped to Emma’s left, measured the distance and swung. The stroke seemed slow, almost lazily applied, but the lash smacked firmly across Emma’s buttocks. It bit a little harder on Emma’s right flank, the fleshy part, without wrapping down across her hip. Therese was, after all, a professional. The stroke didn’t seem hard, but the clenching and clawing of Emma’s hands, her only movement, told us that it had reached her.
Debs, sitting beside me, said, “Christ.” I knew what she meant. I was almost completely hard, which is something I try not to be around people who probably don’t want to have sex with me. And the only reason I was “almost” entirely hard was that I’d been trying not to have an erection at all. Emma’s arousal was also obvious, visually and by smell, but then she was allowed. It was her show. I knew Therese was excited too, because I would be if I were in her position.
Debs, I supposed, was somewhere between excitement and embarrassment; she wasn’t into girls, and this sequence was very girlie indeed. But whatever Debs felt, or I felt, our presence was part of the heat, for Therese and Emma. I suppose I should have vaguely resented that.
But a few seconds after the sound of impact, Emma’s first stripe began to declare itself, soft and very slightly raised. That reached me, a sexual fist in the stomach, as much as the whip had reached her. I wanted to fuck Emma. She wasn’t mine but I wanted to watch the rest of her whipping. I’d lost the right to complain that this had been sprung on me without asking. If Therese had asked if Emma should be whipped I’d have said yes. I’d already chosen to stay. You can’t watch something like this without becoming part of it.
Therese raised the whip again.
To be continued