Chapter 4

I woke up late on Saturday. I reached out with my arm, to find Lynette, finding Jane instead. The memories of yesterday's events, and my later exertions with Jane rushed back and I jumped out of bed, waking Jane up in the process. She got out of bed immediately too. She walked gingerly to the bathroom, probably as a result of my attentions in the early hours of the morning. Throwing a bathrobe on, I went down to the kitchen, thinking of paying Lynette a visit.

Brett was already up and about; when he saw me, he poured me a mug of coffee. The clock on the wall read 11:00.

"What's the plan for today?" I asked.

"Yesterday we concentrated on her back," he said, "today; we will devote our attentions mostly to her breasts."

"I'll go check on her," I suggested.

"Don't bother; Olga is taking care of her needs, right now. Festivities start at two; you'll see her then, not before," he replied. "Unless you want to beat her, of course."

I shook my head.

Lunch was a light event, oysters on the half shell, truffle omelet and champagne. I decided to keep Jane nude, so we could all enjoy her beauty. It also allowed me to play with her breasts while she ate. I wondered how we would find enough things to do to Lynette's breasts to last us the whole afternoon and evening. Yesterday, her whole back and thighs received the kiss of the whip, with only her ass being spared and that only to save it for the spicy dildo. The surface area today was much smaller, and the time available much longer. Lynette's breasts were in for a long, hard day.

At one Olga excused herself to go get things ready. At my suggestion she took Jane to help her. As a matter of fact, Jane's spunky nature, as well as her looks and thoughts of tonight's show were getting me really horny and, had she stayed, I probably would, jump the gun, so to speak. Instead, I joined Brett for brandy and cigars while we waited for the show to start.

At two o'clock precisely, a nude Jane returned to call us down. We followed her down to the basement. They worked miracles on Lynette; she stood, in the lit center of the stage, looking, from the front, not much the worse for the wear. She stood, with her hands crossed behind her back which made her white, firm breasts jut out, crowned by her small, sensitive, brown nipples. Her curls fell on either side of her face in a cascade that might, just might, be natural. I felt an almost irresistible impulse to rush upon her and bite off one of those juicy, chocolate nubs that crowned her perfect mammaries. Her eyes were submissively looking at the hardwood floor in a manner that gave me an instant, raging hard on. I held on to Jane's shoulders while I lightly let the swollen head toggle across her round bottom. She turned her head to look at me and gave me a smile that was not entirely free from apprehension.

Lynette showed an image of a, slightly nervous, submissive girl, anxiously awaiting the opportunity to entertain her master. That image vanished as soon as I caught a glance of her back. Cords of blue and purple crisscrossed her formerly cream shoulders. I did not dare look at her thighs, afraid of what I would find there.

Lynette sat down on a high backed chair and crossed her hands behind the stair back. Olga tied her wrists together behind the chair and, to my increasing alarm, fastened her elbows to the upright sides with leather straps and her waist to the bottom of the backrest with a belt.

Brett pulled a device I hadn't seen before from the chest.

"A knotted knout," he said, showing it to me.

From a wooden handle, lengths of rope hung, each sported a series of thick knots about an inch and a half apart.

"It bruises terribly," he said, "but does not cut the skin."

"We shall start with thirty strokes of the knout," he said, "count them, Lynette."

"I am ready," she answered with a shaky voice.

By the third stroke, her legs kicked out so violently with each stroke of the knout that they threatened to overturn the chair.

"Fasten her ankles," Brett ordered Olga

By the fifth stroke, Lynette's pitiful screams had me almost over the edge. I bent Jane over the back of my armchair and plugged her puckered rear entrance with my painfully hard cock. Fortunately the spicy Vaseline I used yesterday (with a condom) on her had worn off; otherwise it might not have been pretty. Jane whimpered as I thrust, only a few times before my orgasm exploded in her bowels.

"Fifteen."

Brett paused while Olga gave Lynette some water and dried her tears with a tissue. She took a little time to compose herself before she announced she was ready to resume.

I saw her back bow in and out with each stroke, her screams getting shriller and shriller. The knout certainly did not cut the soft skin of her breasts, but there was no question about the deep red bruises it left in its wake. Olga stood behind the chair, preventing any accidental fall and, with her hands on each side of her head, she caressed the smooth skin on Lynette's cheeks.