The Inner Circle

From Whispers 3, a.k.a. Musical Bottoms.

The lights were soft in the large living room, a fire blazed merrily in the wide hearth. All very cosy and English-looking; the ideal setting for a party.

‘Whose birthday is it?’ asked Bernard Hadley. He was a greying man in late middle age and sat on an upholstered stool set near the fire.

‘Nobody’s as far as I know,’ replied the dark-haired young woman slumped back in an armchair alongside him. This was Carole Mortimer, a close friend of their hostess, Rosie Leach. ‘But you know our Rosie; she doesn’t have a reason to give a party. It’s just as the mood takes her.’

‘Lucky for her friends,’ said Bernard, taking a good swig from the cut-glass tumbler of whisky in his hand. ‘Wonder what she’s laid on tonight?’ Aging as he was, and certainly past his best as a performer, he could still get very turned on by these ‘do’s’ of Rosie’s.

‘I’ve never known her to let us down yet,’ replied Carole, stretching long, shapely limbs towards the blaze. Bernard rather fancied her but knew he stood no chance. Plenty of young men were tumbling her far better than he ever could these days.

At the far end of the room, the door swung open and in came the portly figure of Colin Rudge (another of those getting on in years) accompanied by young Dave Roland, one of his protégés. Dave was a good looking young man and starting to make a name for himself as an actor; Colin was his agent.

‘Ahh… same old gang gathering, I see,’ said Colin, heading towards the drinks cabinet. Dave came across and gallantly kissed Carole’s outstretched hand — getting the kind of look Bernard would have liked to have had.

‘Good evening, darling… you’re looking ravishing.’ Why did theatricals always have to call everyone darling, wondered Bernard. It was irritating.

‘Thanks,’ smiled Carole, lowering long lashes. ‘You’re not doing so badly yourself.’ Dave sat in an armchair facing the girl and studied her outstretched legs with lustful interest. Colin seated himself next to Carole — and gradually, a close semi-circle around the fire was beginning to take shape. ‘Anyone else coming?’ he asked.

‘Stephen Proud, I think,’ answered Carole. ‘He usually does.’

Stephen was a TV producer who thought he was rather better than he actually was. Not that that was anything uncommon.

For a while conversation became general. Dave poured Carole a Pernod and then pottered about replenishing other glasses. He did not drink himself but smoked almost continuously. A fly on the wall would have had a view of a very typical gathering on a winter’s evening in a small country house. However, it would not have been aware of the tension and pleasurable excitement building up within the group.

As Carole had said earlier, Rosie Leach never let them down. It was simply a question of how enjoyably entertaining it would turn out to be.

Dave approached Bernard with a decanter but the greying head shook. It was best to keep moderately sober under the circumstances.

----//----

Stephen arrived, tall and elegant-looking. He was usually last, if not actually late. Almost immediately afterwards the door clicked open again and, as in a theatre when the curtain goes up, a hush fell on the audience. In came blonde, brash Rosie — ‘the hostess with the mostest,’ as they called her. Well, she was well-built but that was not what her friends were usually referring to. It was what she provided.

Immediately behind her came an enchanting young figure of a girl, most enchantingly clad. Or unclad, one might say. ‘Close the door, Sarah,’ instructed Rosie, a shade sharply. Keeping her head down and eyes averted, the girl closed the door. Bernard actually licked his lips, as if a delicious dish had been set before him, while his eyes roved avidly over the slim-waisted, girlishly curvaceous figure. A figure which, at the back, was naked from her shoulders to the top of her tiny briefs. ‘My God,’ he murmured under his breath, ‘where does she get them from?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said Carole, close alongside.

‘Just walk up and down the room, Sarah,’ ordered Rosie in that authoritative manner she adopted on these occasions. ‘I’ll call you over when I want you.’ Her guests were favoured with a dazzling smile. ‘Welcome again!’ she said, spreading her arms. Then she went and kissed young Dave.

‘Do you think she pays them?’ asked Bernard of his neighbour.

‘Maybe. Or maybe she’s got some kind of hold over them. It’s a real mystery.’

‘One that needn’t be solved,’ grinned Bernard, eyeing the lissom figure which moved with reluctant but graceful steps up and down the room. Over her small-rounded breasts, two little black patches had been fixed and from each of these a tassel swung. What a pretty sight! Bernard much approved, too, of the suspender belt supporting black stockings. Not to mention the tiny red net briefs which enhanced rather than concealed.

Rosie did her round of the semi-circle, patting Bernard on the head, pressing her mouth rather passionately to that of Carole, informing Colin that he was still too paunchy, and asking Stephen if he’d got a part for her in one of his productions yet.

‘No point,’ grinned Stephen. ‘I couldn’t match the productions you put on here!’

‘Thanks,’ said Rosie, a shade smugly. She turned and faced her guests. ‘Guess what,’ she laughed. ‘Tonight we’re going to play a new form of that popular children’s party game pass the parcel.’

‘What on earth’s that?’ enquired Bernard, diverting his eyes from Sarah for a few moments. How delicately that soft young flesh quivered as she moved!

‘Oh you must know that, you silly old sod,’ said Carole. ‘The kids pass around the parcel, with lots of wrappings on it, taking them off as fast as they can while the music plays. The one who finally is left with what’s inside, when the music finally stops, is the winner.’

‘Oh… is that so…’

‘Only,’ said Rosie, ‘as you see there’s not many wrappings on our parcel.’ She laughed again. ‘And the game will be played a little differently. In turn, each guest will be handed the ‘parcel’ to deal with as he or she thinks fit.’ She opened a cabinet and took out an armful of corrective instruments which she tossed on the floor in front of her guests; a paddle, straps and several canes. ‘Take your pick,’ she invited.

Five guests dived in and Bernard found himself left with a black leather paddle. Not too bad, but he would have preferred a cane. Rosie, he noticed, had retained for herself a rather wicked-looking strap which had several ‘air’ holes in it. Made it easier to wield more vigorously, of course.

‘Sarah… I want you over here. Stand in front of the fire,’ she spoke in a crisp, commanding voice; one that seemed never to expect to be disobeyed. Almost as if hypnotised, cheeks pink with embarrassment, the girl edged between the chairs and stood forlornly before the roaring fire. Warm as it was, Bernard saw that she was shivering. If he had put out his hand no more than a foot, he could have touched her — and almost did so. He patted the paddle on his palm. It was going to sting nicely: redden up that tautly-rounded bottom a treat.

‘Stephen, would you mind tinkling the ivories.’ Rosie nodded towards the grand-piano to one side of the large, well-furnished room. ‘I’ll give you a signal when to start and stop.’

‘Just as you like,’ he said a shade sourly, giving the impression he would rather have remained in the semi-circle — which was now latently expectant. All eyes on the pathetic little ‘parcel’ which had been presented to them. As everyone had expected, Rosie had turned up trumps once more.

‘Bernard, since you’re nearest, you can deal with her first. Sarah, stand in front of Mr Hadley and bend slightly forward.’ She nodded to Stephen, who began softly to play Claire du Lune.

Bernard, pulses pumping rather too fast for his age, took a firm grip on his paddle. There, right before him, was that young bottom, so conveniently presented for his attentions. Delicious round cheeks, scarcely covered, so creamy and tender looking. ‘Been a naughty girl, have we?’ Bernard enjoyed a few verbals.

‘I… I don’t know, s-sir…’ came a whisper.

‘Get on with it,’ advised Carole. ‘The music might stop at any moment.’

She’s got a point there, thought Bernard… and laid the paddle hard across the girl’s right buttock cheek. This produced a loud gasp and a juddering little squirm. Nice! The left buttock cheek got the same treatment and produced similar reactions. Pity I can’t rip these tiny knickers right off, he thought, as he continued to ply the paddle right and left, and was much tempted to do so. However, he was well aware that Rosie liked to keep control of affairs — and he certainly had no wish to fall out with her. Claire du Lune continued as did the fall and rise of Bernard’s paddle.

‘S-stop… oh, please… stop!’ came the pleading gasps as Sarah twisted this way and that.

‘You amaze me,’ said Rosie sardonically. ‘Keep your bottom presented to Mr Hadley, girl!’ However, she knew that Sarah still had a long row to hoe so decided at once that Bernard had had his fair share. She signed to Stephen and the music ceased. Bernard, however, managed to get in two more stinging whacks.

‘Unfair!’ called Stephen. ‘Just like a kid!’ laughed young Dave. Bernard felt somewhat miffed, but he had to admit he had enjoyed himself no end. Now was the time to observe, which had its own special appeal.

He watched as the slim figure was hauled over Carole’s long limbs. There was a cane in the dark-haired young woman’s hands and, as the music began again (Deep Purple, this time) it began to whack across Sarah’s bottom. And whereas she had gasped while Bernard paddled her, now she squealed as she squirmed and kicked out involuntarily.

‘Ohh… ooowww… ooohhh God… I can’t bear it! Oooowwww!’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ snapped Rosie, eyes gleaming. ‘We’ve only just started on you. Don’t forget what I told you before I brought you in here.’

I wonder what that was, thought Bernard, watching the cane continue to raise, pink, twin-tracked weals over the creamy flesh. Luckily for the girl, he reflected, since Carole was seated, she could not get a full swing on the cane. Intended by Rosie, doubtless. Still, it seemed to be quite passably painful. Once more the music stopped and Sarah was left sobbing. Colin grabbed the weeping girl almost greedily but Rosie gave no signal for the music to start. It was best to give a little time for recovery. Colin didn’t mind a bit. The feel of that lightweight, soft body over him was doing great things for him!

‘You haven’t got an implement,’ said Rosie.

‘What’s this?’ grinned Colin, raising a broad, rather gnarled-looking palm.

‘Suit yourself,’ nodded the hostess. Many a man, she was aware, preferred to spank rather than anything else. She raised her finger. Stephen began to play one of Chopin’s Etudes and Colin’s hand began to slap heartily on the tight-rounded bottom before him.

‘Yyeeeooowww… yeeeooowww! Aaghhh… oooowww!’

Bernard was most appreciative of the way that young rear bounced and twisted — just as were the rest of the guests. My God, he was making her yell! But, in a way, Colin did himself a disservice, for Rosie was forced to call a halt a little sooner than she intended. After all, other guests had to be satisfied, not to mention herself.

Once again Rosie allowed the girl some little time to recover. Colin’s hard palm could be no laughing matter, especially after what had gone before. But that was the fun of this kind of session. Driving the girl on to take more and more than she thought she could. Both in the way of pain and immodest exposure.

‘Stop blubbering, Sarah, anyone would imagine you have been severely dealt with.’

‘Oh… oh… my p-poor bottie… oh how it’s burning…’

‘It will burn more yet, girl. Bend over and touch your toes. I’ve got a nice meaty strap here.’ Obligingly, she showed it to the youngster, who flinched back, hand over her mouth. ‘Come along, bend over, I won’t warn you again about your behaviour!’

Has she got some hold over this frightened kid, wondered Bernard? Or is she paying her a load of cash? He watched as the girl bent tremulously, now heaving with sobs. Oh this was the stuff to give the troops, was it not?

Thwacckkk!

The strap descended resoundingly and Sarah jerked up, mouth gaping, a gasping cry bursting from her. ‘Ohhh… no… I can’t… I can’t…’

‘Do it, Sarah…’

Bernard suddenly realised that Rosie had not bothered with any music. She could keep hold of her ‘parcel’ just as long as she wished. Once, twice, thrice, the strap cracked down on the soft, young bottom. Oh how it made her squirm and yell! Delicious to watch.

Thwacckkkkk! Thwwaaacckkkkk!

Rosie was really giving it to her, thought Bernard. Compared with his paddling, this was pure murder. Rosie must have realised it for she tossed the strap to Dave. ‘You give her a few, handsome,’ she said. By that time, Sarah was up on her feet, hands clamping to her tormented flesh. She staggered about in front of Dave.

‘Hands away!’ he barked as Rosie signed to Stephen once more. The sound of I’ve Got You Under My Skin floated through the room, half drowned by Sarah’s groaning sobs. Hesitantly she removed her hands… and Dave laid on the strap at once. Back came the hands as the girl waltzed from side to side.

‘No more… ooh… no more…’

‘Hands away!’

Once more that curving bottom was left unprotected, once more the strap scalded across it. ‘Aaahhhhh! No… no… ooooo!’

‘Yes, Sarah! Our young master David has not finished with you yet,’ said Rosie.

Nor had he. The sobbing, weeping girl received half a dozen resounding whacks before Rosie raised her finger and the music faded away.

‘I’ll waive my rights,’ said Stephen, getting up from the piano stool. ‘She looks just about done in. It’s been a pleasure to watch, anyway.’ He poured a large measure of brandy and handed it to the weeping girl. ‘Drink this,’ he advised. ‘You’ll feel better.’

‘You make such beautiful music, man,’ half-sneered Carole.

Bernard was faintly annoyed. Another good spanking, or a touch of the cane, could have rounded off things nicely. However, at these parties, guests had a free hand in such matters. Anyway, there would still be some more fun to come.

----//----

After ten minutes, pink-cheeked, tearful Sarah, had recovered something of her composure. Even if her poor bottom did seem to be on fire. It did not help matters when she was ordered, once again, to stand facing the guests with her back to the fire. That heat only fanned the flames. She saw the lecherous, gloating eyes upon her. Oh how she hated them! But she was powerless to break the web which had been woven around her.

‘Step forward…’

She did so and felt the man on her left fondle her burning flesh, then snap one of her suspenders. That hurt, too. Oh Lord, how long was it going on for?

 ’Let’s have her knickers off!’ cried one of them.

‘Make her do it,’ suggested another. Then Sarah found herself pushing down those tiny briefs. What difference did it make? Had she not been shamed enough? There were other hands pawing and pulling. The grey-haired man on her left snatched up the red briefs as they fell to the floor. Obviously the old bastard loved girls’ knickers!

Bernard certainly did. This was a little item he was going to treasure.

More hands pawing. Now, laughing and making ribald comments, the guests were changing places. Oh the filthy things they said! How they enjoyed revealing and humiliating her! Her suspender belt and stockings came off. Everyone seemed to be wanting to take a hand in stripping her stark naked. Then, with a painful suddenness, the two little tassels over her nipples were pulled off… amidst gales of laughter. Oh how that had hurt! Did they know how much it had hurt? Did they even care?

They were quite decadent…

‘Get nearer the fire, Sarah. I don’t think that backside of yours is quite warm enough yet.’ That was Rosie Leach’s voice… a voice which could hypnotise her into obedience. Sarah moved back, feeling the searing heat.

‘Oh Christ… it’s too… hot!’

Laughter… jokes… comments.

Clapping even.

‘Right back, my girl. Arms along the mantelpiece. Stick those pretty tits out…’

‘Please… please… I… aaaahhh… I’m scorching!’

‘Legs wide, Sarah. Wide I said! Show us all you’ve got!’

‘Ooooohhh… ooohhh… let me off here! I can’t stand it… I just can’t!’

‘Show us… show us… show us…’ they were all chanting.

She knew she had to. Or they’d never let her go. Crying out with pain, Sarah spread her limbs as wide as she could and thrust her belly and crotch forward in blatant abandon. For three seconds… five, maybe… she had the will to hold her immodest pose. Then the fierce heat finally overcame her and she collapsed to the floor.

‘Up, Sarah!’ came Rosie Leach’s relentless voice. ‘Show us all that red hot bottom of yours. Come along… up… up… and turn around.’

Somehow, the girl forced herself to do it. Sobbing with pain and bitter shame, she thrusting her agonised posterior out towards them all. To hear a rippling roar of loud applause for her performance.

‘I think she deserves another brandy,’ suggested Stephen. No one seemed to care either way, but Stephen went and got the semi-exhausted girl one anyway.

‘Well done, kid,’ he said, as he handed her the glass. ‘You put up a great show.’

Sarah looked at him with dull, despairing eyes. ‘Well… I had to…’ was all she said.

Bernard had taken Rosie Leach aside in a quiet corner of the room. ‘That little darling has quite taken my fancy,’ he said.

‘Mine too,’ smiled Rosie. She had guessed already what this old lecher was going to suggest… and she didn’t mind a bit.

Perhaps we could organise a smaller and more private party, eh?’ leered Bernard.

‘Perhaps we could,’ nodded Rosie. ‘Give me a bell tomorrow, will you, Bernard… you fruity old bastard.’

Bernard seemed to accept the remark as a compliment. ‘I sure will, Rosie, my dear. Not a word to the others, eh?’

‘Not a word…’

As Rosie turned and moved around her guests again, she noticed Stephen running an ice-cube over Sarah’s bottom, the girl lying face down over one of the pouffes. Ah well, she thought, no harm in that. As long as he was enjoying it.

Continued in A Private Session…