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An Evening in the Lounge

A young lady discovers the darker side of her generous host.

I have been called into the lounge.   It is a large room with a fireplace, two couches and a number of easy chairs.   I have no idea why He wishes to see me but I have nothing to fear.   If he wished to punish me I would have been told to report to The Special Room that he has set aside for that purpose.

There are three men with him and they rise at my entrance.   He announces, "Ah!   The entertainment has arrived."   I am confused until He tells me to take off my shoes and leave them by the door.   My heart begins to sink.   The removal of shoes is a ritualistic part of my preparation for punishment whenever I enter The Special Room.   Nervously I do as he wishes and then I notice The Chair has been brought here and placed in the center of the lounge.   I stand, too frightened to move.   Surely he does not intend to spank me in front of these strangers.   He has come forward to meet me.   I try to read something in his face but it is impassive as always.   Although he is nothing more than a gracious host to me most of the time, he has often deemed it necessary to punish me in the Special Room and I have always submitted to it without question.   During those times he more my Master than my host and it is in that light that I see him now so I offer no resistance as he takes my hand and I am led like a lamb to slaughter.   He sits in The Chair and brings me down into an all too familiar position.   I lie there in a daze as he raises my dress and slip.   He grasps my waist and I instinctively take hold of the chair legs.

As I wait for the first stroke I hear him say, "When I am using my hand I prefer leaving her underwear on.   The texture of the material when I rub it against her firm backside is quite nice and there is a delightfully different feel to spanking her that way.   Of course it doesn't hurt her as much but its a good start I see no reason why we can't have a little fun before I get to the real spanking."      

If I could bring myself to speak I would correct him.   Keeping my panties on is slightly less humiliating especially in the present circumstances but they offer little protection and Yes, it hurts.   Not only that but I most decidedly disagreed with his other comment.   I don't think any of his previous spankings or the one I'm apparently going to get tonight are any fun at all but I remain silent.   I am too ashamed to be in this position in front of these men and besides, it would not do to contradict someone when they are about to punish you.   There would be nothing to gain and considerable to regret.   The spanking starts.   He is starting out harder than he usually does and I resign myself not only to the almost unbearable humiliation of being spanked for the entertainment of strangers but now to the pain which will build to an agonizing level sooner than normal.  

I am surprised when he stops.   I wasn't counting but I knew it was much less than he normally delivers.   He lets go of my waist and I quickly reach for the floor to steady myself.   I didn't see the little table where he puts the implements nor did I see any of them in the lounge although I must admit, I didn't have time for a thorough search.   Even so, I try to comfort myself.   He is a man of ritual and when he punishes me over his knee he waits to use his chosen implement until he decides that I have been properly prepared for it and that usually takes a lot longer than this.   There has never been a time when I have received such a short and relatively mild spanking.   I feel him returning my clothes to their proper place and my heart soars.   It has been most humiliating and I know I will still have to face the guests who have punctuated my shame by polite applause but maybe the entertainment he spoke of was just a demonstration of my submissiveness.   I hope I pleased him.  

He guides me to my feet and stands beside me.   I cannot bring myself to look up so I stare at the floor until he takes my hand and leads me to one his guests who has risen to greet us.   My hand is transferred and with it my fate as I am brought back to The Chair.   My guide sits and gently moves me to his side.   I want to look at the man who is truly my Master this evening but I don't.   I'm afraid it would be misconstrued as asking for mercy.   If he wishes me to be punished at the hands of another I will be.   It appears the evening's entertainment includes audience participation and I resign myself to be spanked again by the man who holds my hand.   I fear he will not be the last.  

My reverie is broken as the man in The Chair speaks.   "Personally, I prefer the feel of soft and silky skin.   Take your underpants off."      

I realize he is talking to me and it takes a moment for his message to sink in.   When it does I reach under my dress modestly, unsnap the garter straps, pull my panties down a little and reattach the garters.   I am told to take the pants off completely and I do as ordered.   My face is red with shame as I hold them in my hand, unsure of what to do and he says, "You may keep them until I'm done and then you can put them back on."    

I nod and with his kind assistance, find myself over his lap.   He does not grasp my waist but rests one hand on the small of my back so I must keep my hands on the floor and cannot hold the chair legs.   I mourn the loss of my anchor as he raises my clothes and spends a few moments gently rubbing his target.  

The shame of submitting to a spanking by a complete stranger is momentarily overshadowed by indignation.   How dare he take such intimate liberties.   Needless to say I keep my views to myself and listen to him complimenting the one who previously had exclusive rights to this part of my body on how nice and smooth he found the territory.   I pray for him to get on with the real reason I am in this position and then wish he'd go back to that nice rubbing as the first of his swats lands.   It hurts as much if not more than the last of the my host's demonstration.   The second one lands swiftly and I barely have time to catch by breath for the next few.   When he stops it is only to readjust my position.   The force of his blows has driven me forward and he pulls me back with the admonition to brace myself harder.   He strikes hard again and again.   I am trying to keep from crying out but each one is as bad as the first and I am about to lose the battle.   I long ago gave up trying to count my Master's strokes in The Special Room but now it seems important, however, the pain is getting worse.   Somewhere around the fifteenth swat I finally cry out and that encourages him to strike even harder.   Just as I abandon my efforts at counting he stops again.

I am crying and hoping he is done but I jump as I feel his hand again.   He is not hitting but has gone back to rubbing.   Even this gentle touch is a little painful but what was humiliating before is now soothing.   Oh, No!   Rub the pain away if you must but don't move your hand there.   I am ashamed to find my own body betraying me and I cannot close my legs to prevent his hand from sliding down there.   Please don't touch me there!   Please, please!   Too late.   He has found my secret and I moan as he explores further but just enough to satisfy himself that I have had the required response to his efforts.   He tells the assemblage what he has discovered.   I'm not sure if the applause is for him or me and I'm too ashamed to care.  

He helps me to my feet and tells me I can put my underpants back on.   I still have them in my hand but had forgotten them.   I step into them and the elastic hurts as it slides over my recently abused skin.   When I complete my task he takes my hand and leads me to the next man.   I am not sure how I will survive another onslaught much less two but I must do the best I can.  

I am led back to the chair and wait as visitor number two settles himself.   He informs (me or the group, I don't know) that he also prefers panties off.   I half expected as much but he doesn't stop there.   He also does not care for the business of moving clothes after I'm over his lap so (now I know he's talking to me) the dress and slip will be removed first.   With fresh tears in my eyes I unzip my dress and let it drop to the floor.   I pull the straps of my slip off my shoulders and it joins the dress.   I step out of them and a voice I recognize as having the power to stop this nightmare says, "You know better than that.   Hang them up."      

I look to see him pointing to the hat rack next to where I left my shoes.   I pick up my clothes and walk towards it.   As I put them on hangers I realize how close I am to the door.   Freedom is but a few feet away but I cannot even think of such things.   If I go now I might as well leave this house forever.   That is a price I am not prepared to pay.   If my humiliation and suffering are the payment for his hospitality then so be it.   I turn back to center stage as it were and walk proudly.   As proudly as I can with nothing on but my underwear and with the knowledge that as soon as I'm back at The Chair I have already been doomed to stand in front of them wearing even less.   As I put distance between me and my outer clothes I know it is unlikely that I will be allowed to put them on again before they're finished with me and I have little hope that they won't make strip me entirely.   The spankings I am being forced to submit to for their entertainment are, at best, only half over and I fear they will not be the full extent of the punishments I will endure before the night is over.  

Upon my arrival back to The chair I'm told to take my pants down.   I've already done this once but then at least I had the small modesty of performing this action under cover of my dress.   Now I am in full view as I go through the steps of undoing the garter snaps, pulling my pants down a little and reattaching my stockings.   I stand in readiness with my pants just above my knees and he informs me he is left handed.   I don't understand what he means till he guides me around to his other side.   In the process my pants have slipped down to my ankles and he decides it would be just as well if I took them off entirely adding, "Since you won't be needing them for the rest of the evening."      

Although not entirely unexpected I was not happy with this announcement.   Embarrassing as it was to take them off and then put them on again even momentarily at least there were a few moments where I could have the pretence of feminine modesty.   Nevertheless, I cannot refuse this last order I slip them over my feet.   As I rise he is holding out his hand to take them.   I must admit to a moment of hesitation, in spite of what I have already endured and will suffer relinquishing this intimate garment is frightening.   As they leave my grasp he does nothing but toss them to the side.   I don't know what I was expecting but his casual disposal of them is a shock.   It was an important display of my submission and he has totally ignored it.      

I am reminded of what my purpose this evening is as this left-handed man pulls me down to his lap.   It seems odd to be lying in this direction but I do not have long to reflect on it.   He wastes no time in making me more uncomfortable.   No intimate caress from this guy.   Just a lot of pain as he starts right in with no ceremony.   If he is trying to outdo his predecessor he is succeeding but lest he feel too smug, he's striking on territory that has been well prepared and the humiliation regarding my state of dress or undress makes each stroke even more acute.   I am giving voice to every spank and crying continuously.   It takes every effort but this time I count and on the twentieth swat he stops.   My ass is on fire but his turn is over.  

He is nice(?) enough to let me revel in my humiliation and pain for a few minutes before he helps me up.   At least he didn't put his hand where the other man did but I speak too soon.   He has me stand in front of him and tells me to open my legs.   In shame, I do and he reaches in to grasp my most private area.   His finger enters and all I can do is moan.   He doesn't stop immediately but continues to stroke and probe.   My body is torn between the pain behind and the heaven in front.   My knees are getting weak and there is no doubt about the state of my arousal.   I lean forward and put my hands on his shoulders to support myself.   Suddenly he stops.   I shamelessly move my crotch to follow his hand but it is gone.   I want him to do more and don't care who knows it now.   I hear them laughing and the memory of where I am comes flooding back.   I hang my head and feel the tears forming in my eyes.  

I jump as he touches my thigh.   He is not finished with me yet.   Apparently he feels he should give me to the next man with even less clothing on as he unhooks the garter snaps and peels my stockings down.   I lift each foot in turn as they are removed.   He puts his fingers in the garter belt and pulls that down.   He is dragging the elastic over my sore bottom and it hurts but I hold my position as it too is added to the growing pile of my underwear.   The only clothing left is my bra and I have already resigned myself to it's departure.   I am slightly comforted that if I am to be stripped in front of these men, at least it will be at their hands.   He has risen and turned me to face the other men as he unhooks my only remaining garment and with agonizing slowness, exposes my breasts to them.   I look at the floor as I listen to more applause.   He steps to my side and gazes on what he uncovered.   Not satisfied with just looking, his hand completely engulfs one of them.   He squeezes a little and pinches the nipple.   Does my entertainment value include such liberties?   The one who has that decision remains silent and so I have no choice but to endure them.   However, I am embarrassed to admit that endure is not the right word.   In spite of the humiliation of being played with in such an intimate manner in front of an audience, my body is responding to his touch and I find myself leaning into his hand.  

This seems to amuse them but I'm beyond caring.   I'm led to the next man but not by the hand.   He is still holding onto my breast as he guides me.   With a smile that bodes no good to me, the last guest puts his hand on my free breast and I feel my previous spanker's fingers slipping off.   The transfer is complete and we go back to The Chair.   He never lets go as he sits so I am pulled down with him and since he is right-handed like my host, I am back in the more traditional position.   I had almost forgotten about the spankings in the heat of the last few minutes but he finally releases his handle and I have my rear end sticking up in the air, ready for what I hope is the last entertainment spanking.  

Oh!   That one hurt.   He's not holding anything back.   The next is just as bad but I find my attitude changing.   I have shamed myself in front of these men and have little doubt I won't do so again before the night is over.   I want, no, need to be punished severely.   I am trying to raise my ass higher as the third hard swat lands.   Yes, make it hurt.   I have made a lot of noise since I came into the lounge but they were sounds of pain or moans of sexual delight, frustration and humiliation.   For the first time I say an actual word.   "Harder."

He hits again and a recognizable voice tells him to stop for a moment.   I'm staring down as footsteps approach.   There is a quiet thud as one of his favorite implements lands on the floor by my hands.   I don't know where he had it hidden and part of me wonders if he intended to use it himself or if he knew I would want it.   There is silence in the room and I realize the decision regarding its use is mine.   I am afraid to think about it so I quickly pick it up and hand it back to the stranger who presently has ownership of my bottom.   I hear a slight chuckle as he asks if he should continue his count at five or start at the beginning again.   The question may not have been put to me but I answer anyway, "Start again."  

Part of me (the rounded part pointing up) regrets my decision immediately.   This tool is designed to hurt and I scream and writhe in agony.   After the next few I give up counting.   If their limit was twenty I no longer care.   Any number is incomprehensible when that thing is being used.   Each stroke is being applied forcefully and my whole world is bounded by pain.  

I gradually become aware that he has stopped and is now emulating the first man's actions by rubbing my bottom.   I have no shame now so I open my legs.   Oh good.   He's taken the hint and moved his hand lower.   That's it.   Touch me there.   His fingers are probing in and out but I can feel something else.   I think it's his thumb but where's he going with it?   He's pushing it in but not in the same hole as his fingers.   He commences moving it in and out like his other fingers are doing.   No one has ever done this to me before and I am surprised to find it a not unpleasant experience as long as he has no ideas of putting anything bigger in there.   His other hand is sliding under me near my shoulders and he lifts me up as he stands.   His grip on my lower anatomy is a little painful but I have no fear of falling as he transports me to the couch.   I am placed over the arm and he steps back.   I'm very aware that my position is such that it could invite more attention as a target for their hands or the painful implement.   With a small hope that I can encourage them in the direction I desire, I spread my legs in open invitation and am gratified to hear the sound of a zipper opening.  

I grimace as I feel hands on my ass but it is only to steady me for the impalement I crave.   I raise myself a little higher to facilitate his entry and it is done.   He has filled me quickly but stays still long enough to compliment me on how nice it feels.   I cannot bring myself to answer but respond by moving in a manner to suggest he might do more than just stand there.   Yes!   That's the idea.   He is using me forcefully.   He stops.   Why?   Please continue.   A blindfold is put over my eyes and he goes back to his actions.   Harder and harder, faster and faster.  

When he is finished I am moved to the floor on my back.   The rug hurts my rear end but I accept it as more punishment for the way I'm acting.   My legs are wide open for whoever wants me.   I don't wait long.   I can feel his clothes against my thighs but all I'm concerned with is if his fly is open.   It feels like it is as he plows in.   I don't mind that he doesn't take the time to give me any compliments as I buck to meet his every thrust.   His hands are mauling my breasts and pulling the nipples but so what if it hurts, it spurs me on to more action down below.  

All too soon I feel him reach his goal and then I'm flipped over and pulled to my knees.   Almost immediately, another takes his place and he's pushing so hard I'm moving across the floor.   I brace myself and thrust back to meet him.   Our activities are bordering on violent and I'm not complaining.   The pain is forgotten and I am no longer even aware of what kind of spectacle I'm making.   He slams harder and finishes.   I slump to the floor but they are not done yet.  

I'm on my back again and filled again.   Again my breasts are squeezed and pulled but wait, this is the fourth man to take me.   My Host/Master has never used me in this manner before.   Is this him or was he one of the others?   This is not the time for such musings as I respond to my present ravisher's manipulations with all the enthusiasm I can muster.  

He finishes his turn and I lay exhausted but they are not through.   I am picked up and put back over the arm of the couch.   Oh God.   My bottom is in the air again and they have all had their turn.   Am I to be spanked again or worse, whipped with the implement to the extent I have come to expect in The Special Room?   My answer come quickly as I feel a man inside me.   I am so grateful that I'm not getting punished that it takes a few minutes for me to wonder who this could be.   Are they each going to try another round.   If so, I'm all for it but this guy comes to his climax too quickly to be one of the ones who just had their way with me.   Hands grab me and I'm spun around leaning backwards over the couch and here comes another one.   Yes!   Do it hard like that.  

At last he goes away and I am moved to the floor again but they put me on my knees with my body raised.   I am not in any position for more of what six men just used me for.   Someone cuffs my hands and the blindfold is removed.   I am shocked to see the butler and chauffeur standing with the four men who spanked me.   They all have their penises out of their pants and are standing in a line.   One by one they step forward and I must clean my residue from them using my mouth.   My Master is first and I perform this service lovingly.   Then the guests and finally the employees.   I was never sure if they were aware of what their employer does to me in The Special Room but if they were, they have never said anything within my hearing.   Now there is no escaping that they see me for what I am and as I grudgingly clean them I wonder how I will ever be able to walk through the house with any pride ever again.  

The question of me walking through the house is immediately answered and my world shatters as the man who will never again be considered to be just the host to a young houseguest tells the butler, "Take her to the basement.   We can fend for ourselves for a while so gather the staff and let them have their way with her.   She will be more than happy to service them in any way they wish.   That includes the women and these gentlemen's drivers.   They may all spank her but limit them to five swats each.   That ought to be enough to keep her in the proper frame of mind.   You may have her for an hour and a half.   Clean her up and bring her back here when you're done.   We should be ready for another round by then."    

Turning to me he says, "Welcome to your new life.   Would you like to take this."   He is holding the implement so recently used on me.   I look down and say "Yes." as I accept it and follow the butler out of the Lounge.  


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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