‘Tell us how it went?’ Alexander said eagerly as he carefully brewed the coffee.
It was a Saturday morning two weeks after I had spent a busy Bank Holiday being the object of desire for a motorcycle club.
‘What do you want to know?’ I enquired mischievously.
‘Everything,’ Bert replied as he put the mugs out on the table, ‘Tell us all the dirty details you can.’
‘We want to know everything they did to you,’ Ernest concluded.
This time at Bert’s house, I had arrived to provide my monthly sexual service for these three old friends. Although I was being paid to entertain them with my body, I had become rather fond of these three very likeable aged men.
In some ways, they reminded me of Foggy, Compo and Clegg from the ‘Last of the Summer Wine TV series. They could be comical, there was no doubt; however, it was their friendship that made me think of the three television characters. Whatever happened, they stuck together and stood up for each other.
I opened my blouse to grant them a view of my bra, sat down with coffee in hand and commenced recounting my tale of what had happened in the motorcycle workshop.
The three men sat around almost transfixed by my rather seedy revelations of group sex, a little BDSM and then being totally greased at the conclusion of the event.
When I had finished telling my tale, they continued to stare at me before Alexander broke the silence, ‘I’d love to have been there.’
‘If only we had met someone as naughty as you when we were younger,’ Bert added, ‘We could have had some fun then.’
‘Rachel,’ Ernest said, thinking something through. ‘Would you be willing to do something similar with us oldies?’
I laughed, ‘Of course. Anytime you want.’
‘Do you really mean that, Rachel?’ Bert replied, ‘I mean would you consider such an event.’
I realised for the first time he was serious.
‘If you could get ten interested, I’d more than consider it,’ I boasted rather stupidly.
‘Why not just us three,’ Alexander questioned.
‘I’m not sure how to answer that,’ I smiled slightly embarrassed, ‘But, err.’
‘We are too old and slow to get erections hard enough often enough!’ Bert cut in.
I smiled again.
‘That’s it, isn’t it, Rachel? We are not like those hot young studs you play with back at University who are rock solid every ten minutes. At our age, our bodies need time to wind up again.’
‘I guess that’s a pretty good reason you would need ten,’ I answered, greatly relieved that it was not me that had to supply such an honest answer.
I did not dare say it but the thought of having to service ten men all over seventy, even if I was being paid, was not very appealing. I enjoyed being with these three; they had almost become friends in a funny sort of way. Trying to accommodate ten older men was not something I relished.
‘We’d never get ten guys together to do it,’ Ernest confided sadly.
‘Well, if you ever do, you have my number,’ I concluded as I prepared to leave in the full expectation that this was one event that would never get off the ground.
Nothing more was said about it during my subsequent visits, which took me past my birthday and to the grand old age of twenty-two.
‘You’re catching us up quickly,’ Ernest stated as he kindly handed me a present the three men had purchased for me. ‘I think your birthday calls for a celebration of some sort, but what?’
All three seemed to be playing the thinking game, gazing around as if deep in thought.
‘Got it! Let’s organise an over seventies Gangbang for you?’ Bert announced with a voice of triumph.
I laughed at his suggestion before replying, ‘That’s perfect. Just what I need now, I’m nearly only a third of your ages.’
‘We have the numbers for you! We have exceeded the required number by two. We have twelve men, including us, wiling to Gangbang you like the bikers did a few months back,’ Alexander added.
My face became a frozen blank. I stood looking at the three expectant men speechless.
‘You remember how you said if we could get ten, you’d agree to us organising using you for group sex?’ Ernest asked.
I did indeed. I nodded slowly.
‘After asking and cajoling, we have managed to confirm twelve participants Rachel. What do you think of that?’
I didn’t want to say what I thought. I just stood in stunned silence.
‘I bet you’re surprised at that, eh, Rachel. Never thought we’d manage it, did you? It took some doing, but we got there. Mind you, that striptease you did for our club helped… Are you okay?’
Bert suddenly realised that I was not sharing their great enthusiasm for the time they had so meticulously planned.
‘Is everything alright, Rachel?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I lied, ‘I’m just a bit shocked that you managed to get the numbers.’
‘We did that. It’s taken us three months, but we got there.’ Bert paused, ‘You don’t seem very happy.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I ventured, ‘I just wasn’t expecting this. To be honest, I was only having you on when I said I’d do it if you got the numbers. I never thought you would get anywhere near ten.’
‘Oh?’ There was a hushed silence of profound disappointment at my statement.
‘You see,’ I tried to explain, ‘I enjoy sex, especially group sex, but… It’s not natural for a girl of twenty-two to be giving herself to ten or twelve men aged over seventy to use as they like. I’m not sure I could do it.’
The silence was palpable.
‘I guess your right,’ Alexander finally responded,’ ‘We were being very selfish and only thinking about ourselves. We never gave your feelings a thought. We just expected you to fall in and let us all abuse your body. I’m sorry.’
‘I am too,’ Bert added, ‘Alexander is correct. We didn’t think about you at all.’
‘I’m just as guilty as my friends,’ Ernest said, finally entering the conversation. ‘If you’d have heard how we described you and what we hoped to do to you… You’d never visit us again.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I responded, ‘I really am. I just don’t think I could let so many old men use me in the same way as I do younger guys.’
‘We know. We can see that. It’s a pity we didn’t see it before,’ Bert answered, ‘Our lusts just totally blinded us.’
I wasn’t sure who was the saddest as I left them that day, them or me. I knew they were devastated and would also lose face as they began phoning around their friends to tell them that the event they had tried so hard to bring together wouldn’t occur.
I had a bad night as I tossed and turned in bed thinking about what I had so rashly promised. Now, the men, having taken me at my word, were being badly let down. It did not sit well with me. My father had instilled in me that my word was my bond. ‘Don’t ever promise to do something you have no intention of fulfilling,’ he had said. Mind you, I’m sure he did not have in mind his precious daughter whoring herself out to twelve old age pensioners when he said it!
The following day I was on the phone with Ernest. ‘Have you phoned anybody yet?’ I enquired urgently. ‘To cancel the gangbang?’
‘No, we didn’t have the heart yesterday.’
‘Well, don’t. I’ll do it?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I’ll do it. I promised, and I’ll keep that promise to you.’
‘You will? Do you really mean that?’
‘Yes, I do on one condition.’
‘What?’
‘That all of you have a good shower the night before.’
Ernest laughed. ‘Are you telling me that Alexander, Bert and I smell?’
‘No, I’m not. Not you three anyway. But some older people do. It would help me greatly if you could promise that.’
‘Your wish is my command, me lady,’ Ernest responded with evident joy.
My next visit to the three men was occupied solely with arrangements for the ‘event.’ I was still nervous and felt it was something I would endure rather than enjoy. I knew, though, that my participation would bring some absolute delight to these older men.
‘Please don’t fight with us as you have done with your peers in the past at these things,’ I was told. ‘You’d knock our hearing aids and glasses off, make us swallow our dentures and cause those with pacemakers too many shocks!’
I laughed, ‘Okay, I’ll succumb quietly.
‘Not too quietly,’ Alexander replied, ‘We want to see a bit of fire in you. Just remember our ages. Our eyes are dim, our bones are brittle, our skin is thin, and we bruise easily.’
‘I will,’ I promised.
‘Now, Rachel, we want to enjoy ourselves, but we don’t want to hurt you either. How can we ensure we are not hurting you?’
‘If you want to spank me, whip me or slap my tits,’ I replied, ‘You are going to hurt me.’
‘Oh,’ and you don’t mind?’
‘What would most excite you on the day?’ I asked.
‘We want to do to you what you let those young hunks in your University do to you? Bert replied eagerly.
‘Then you want me to let you take control of me?’
‘I guess so. Is that when you become our sub?’ Alexander quizzed.
‘I think it would be better if I became, what my male friends call your ‘fuckmeat,” I replied.
‘Whatever is that?’
‘Just a slab of meat for you to treat how you want. Well, within my limitations,’ I added quickly.
‘So we just do what we want to do, how we want, where we want and with what we want?’ Ernest asked with a look of amazement on his face.
‘Basically yes,’ I replied, ‘I give you complete control of my body. You play with it how you want.’
‘It that what you usually do at these bashes’
‘Not always, but more often than not. I try to be totally submissive. I find playing that role satisfies my needs, and it seems to please the men using me too.’
‘That’s incredible. So on the day you are prepared for us to do whatever we like?’ Bert asked.
‘Yes, as long as it does not involve burning, cutting, piercing, puke or blood,’ I replied.
‘You have our word of honour on that,’ Ernest replied.
During the run-up to the set date, the men phoned regularly or set up meetings with me in coffee shops. The conversation always revolved around what they wanted and what I was happy to accommodate.
I had decided that I would try my hardest to please these men. Not only were they paying for the privilege (or otherwise) of my company, but their ages negated them sensibly finding any other young lady who might furnish their needs and fulfil their desires.
I became more determined than ever that I would go the extra mile in ensuring that the time we met would be one that they enjoyed and remembered to their dying days.
It was six weeks later that the meet took place. One of the men involved had started a business that was handed to his son. He arranged for the use of their large industrial premises for the gathering.
I was told that the men had purchased a second-hand wooden bed frame and a new mattress. When I pointed out that a mattress on the floor without a bed would have suited fine, I was told, ‘How do you expect folks our age to constantly get up and down to a mattress on the floor?’ They had a point. I realised why the bed frame was so important.
On the day in question, I let Alexander drive his friends and me from his house to where the action would occur. The three men clearly wanted the honour of leading me into the room as their prize catch.
I was assisted by being held in an armlock to walk from the car and into the industrial unit. Once inside, I saw the bed, a paddling pool and nine other men all looking pleased as punch that I had turned up.
The men wasted no time in getting down to business with their captive submissive. I wriggled and made a feeble attempt to free my arms as two of the crowd moved forward and commenced unbuttoning my blouse. The more I squirmed, the tighter the grip on my arms became.
Eventually, my blouse was undone and pulled off my shoulders. As agreed, they cut my bra off with scissors standing for a few moments to inspect the two little gems that they had just revealed. Nobody looked disappointed at what they saw.
I still struggled as the zip on my denim skirt was undone, and it was yanked down, revealing my stockings and suspenders that I had been requested to wear. The suspender belt was undone, and it, along with my stockings, was taken down to my trainers. These, too, were quickly untied so that I was standing just in my knickers.
After a brief lull in proceedings, allowing all the men to have a good ogle at my almost naked body, two guys moved in to perform the ‘coupe de grass’ and pull my knickers off, revealing my hairy pussy and pert bum.
There was stunned silence as I was still held firmly in place while the men contemplated the day of lust and debauchery that lay ahead.
I was marched to the bed and pushed onto it as a dozen or more hands reached and grabbed my arms and legs to get me into the correct position for what lay ahead.
A huge looking Speculum appeared, was seared in lubricating jelly and pushed deep into my pussy. I could hardly move as my legs were held apart, and a procession of old men made their way round to shine a torch into my now open cavity to take a look at where their prized possessions would soon be going.
Once all had gazed in satisfaction into my vagina, I was rolled over, ordered to kneel as the speculum was replaced up my bum hole. Once it had been opened, the procession commenced again to gaze deep into the more smelly part of the business end of my body. From what I could hear of the various conversations, all seemed very satisfied at what they had witnessed. I felt I had passed the first of many tests these Old Age Pensioners had planned for me that day.
Suddenly I was hoiked up off the bed and moved to the paddling pool with the speculum still held in place up my bum. I was placed into a kneeling position while a jug of water was brought and poured into my open bum hole.
‘Iced water,’ one of the men stated with seeming satisfaction.
‘You wanted to make sure we were clean,’ another added, looking down at me looking up at him. ‘We want to make sure you are clean before we start, inside and out.’
Once my bum was full of the icy cold water, someone commenced fingering my pussy using shower gel. As this was going on, another of the by now quite animated old men straddled me. He lifted my head opened my mouth, stuck a toothbrush inside and commenced to clean my teeth, mouth and gums with copious amounts of toothpaste.
As he finished, a bucket of icy water was poured over my head, and shampoo was applied to my hair.
‘If she lives in the university, she’s probably got nits,’ yet another of the men stated, ‘I bet she’s crawling with them!’
After giving my hair a cold and vigorous washing, I was stood up so that my hairy pussy could undergo similar treatment.
The use of cold water did nothing to assist in lathering the shampoo as they rubbed away between my legs.
My arms were held aloft as other men took turns with sponges and washing up liquid to thoroughly clean under my armpits, over my breasts and across the rest of my body.
‘Hopefully, that’s cleaned the slut up a little,’ the first said as he commenced to pour another bucket of cold water over me to rinse away the shampoo and soap. ‘I think she will be clean enough for us now, boys!’
I was rubbed with towels until I was dry enough for the men to continue.
I was led to the bed and placed on it lying on my back. One of the men came towards me. He opened my cunt lips with his fingers and proceeded to squeeze the contents of a tube of lubricating gel into me. I had requested this in the fear that the sight of twelve slightly decrepit bodies would not turn me on or get my juices flowing.
Once I was on my back with my arms and legs spread and held wide, I saw the first participant getting ready to give me his flll.
I discovered afterwards that the men had drawn lots to decide in which order to take me. Climbing somewhat tentatively on the bed was the first out of the hat. Considering his age, his cock looked pretty solid as he prepared to thrust it into my available pussy.
He pushed in, gave a little moan of satisfaction as my flesh closed tightly around his and then began to thrust. During the many ‘Senior Citizen Gangbagns’ I have had the pleasure of attending, I have always been amazed at the vigour many of these men still have. This day was no exception.
One after another lined up, got onto the bed, positioned themselves correctly and thrust away as I lay still pinned in place by the other men. As one completed his work and fired his cum into me, another left his position on my arms or legs to take over. I was firmly held until all had entered and exited my now overflowing and sticky pussy.
I was now repositioned on my hands and knees to provide either a blow job, or for the more daring, anal sex. I opened my mouth to receive the first while feeling a finger, ensuring my back passage was well lubricated in readiness for rear-end shuntings.
I had no idea how sexually active older people can be when aroused. I did not know if I would receive a load of spunk in my mouth or not. I was keen to provide the best service and entertainment most of the men present had received in years. I hope I did not disappoint any of them.
I kissed, caressed, stroked, sucked and licked cock after cock, dick after dick. I had to work harder than ever before to see the results. Each man was slower than their younger counterparts, with whom I was used to engaging. However, the majority of them finally gave me an amount of cum that exceeded my expectations.
I had expected the men to want a rest to recharge after their exploits, but all were happy to continue. They wanted me to rim them. All of them!
I’m not sure how many had ever been ‘rimmed’ before. I would suspect that the majority would never have heard of such a practice had I not mentioned it to Ernest, Alexander and Bert during one of our pre-meet Tete-a-tetes!
When I was informed of what was required, I did wonder how wise I had been in ever revealing anything about rimming.
The men decided what order they would go as I breathed a sigh of relief that I had asked them all to wash correctly first. I just hoped they all cleaned out their anus’s properly too.
As number one took his place, the others excitedly gathered round to watch as I parted his bum cheeks and pushed my head between to access his bum hole and start work. As I did so, I stuck my tongue out, licked my lips and gave the men a naughty little grin as if I was enjoying what I was about to do. With that defiant act, I set to work rimming each of these old but horny guys.
I ensured that I pushed my tongue as far into each hole as I could, hoping that none of them would be so cruel as to fart in my face as I did so. Some of my contemporaries at University enjoyed surprising me when engaged in such a way by letting out wind. I could cope with twenty-year-olds doing it; however, those over seventy was a different proposition.
One by one, they came into position, and one by one, I worked with my tongue to give them all the thrill they wanted. It took over an hour before I had completed my task, and the majority had received their first rimming. As I stood up, I was thankful that there had been no nasty surprises for me as I accessed their back passages.
‘Put this on Rachel,’ I was told as a black French Maids dress was handed to me. ‘You can serve us all lunch but only dressed in that.
I smiled, ‘Where in the World did you get that?’ I enquired.
‘We have our ways,’ Bert replied with a broad grin.
I slipped the dress over my naked body and pulled it as far down my legs as it would go. It only just covered my bum.
I was led to a tiny room which I was told was the kitchen. It was the smallest kitchen I had ever seen in my life. It had a double cupboard below a sink with room for a kettle to one side and a microwave perched on a shelf above. I realised it was used for tea making and warming up food as opposed to producing full-blown meals.
On the drainer, I found several paper bags containing sausage rolls and pork pies along with Chelsea buns, Danish pastries and other types of sweet buns.
‘Do you want the sausage rolls warming in the Microwave?’ I asked.
‘Of course not,’ one of the men answered, ‘We don’t have time to waste waiting for things to warm up. We have already boiled the kettle to save time. There’s a sausage roll, pork pie and bun each plus tea or coffee. Be quick about it, girl. We need to get back to work!’
As quickly as I could, I placed one of each item on the plates provided, brewed the tea and made a pot of coffee. I realised that we were one sausage roll too many and one pork pie short. When I was told that I had two sausage rolls and no pork pie, I realised something was happening.
While I had been busy in my little outfit in the kitchen, some of the men had obtained some plastic stacking chairs and were sitting on them waiting for me to provide lunch. As there were not enough chairs, two men and myself had to sit on the bed.
‘Show us how you eat a sausage roll, Rachel,’ I was told. I knew now why they gave me two. I had to entertain them by eating it seductively as though it was a penis. This was another little secret I had let the men in on.
I took the sausage roll in my hand and commenced licking the pastry as though it was an ice cream. I then inserted it into my mouth ad toyed with it as if providing a blow job. The men seemed most impressed as they looked on while I worked away with my sexy eating show.
Once lunch was over, I was asked to take off my uniform, sit on the bed and play with myself. Here was an idea that was utterly their’s as none of the young men I had enjoyed sex with previously had ever asked to see me masturbate. It was something I had hardly ever done previously. I did not need it as I so often enjoyed the real thing!
‘Play with your tits,’ I was ordered. I commenced rubbing and massaging them and playing with my nipples rolling them around between my fingers.
‘Kiss them,’ someone else commanded. Such an instruction is perhaps easier to follow for a woman who is much better endowed than me. Trying to pull my breast up high enough and push my head low enough is quite a feat. I managed it though, providing the show they required.
‘Stick your fingers in your pussy,’ yet another told me. ‘Open your legs wide and rub it for us.’
Opening my legs as wide as I could and commenced to finger my cunt and push my index finger inside.’
‘Look as though you’re enjoying it.’
I attempted to put a more sensual look on my face as I slid my fingers between my legs and my damp cunt lips.
After five minutes, a voice told me, ‘Now turn around, kneel down and stick your finger up your arse.’
I immediately obliged, changing positions so that all received an eyeful of my pert bum as I reached around and pushed my index finger into my anus.
‘Push all your fingers in one at a time, and fuck your shitter.’
I obeyed and attempted to finger my bum hole as provocatively as I could while all the old men stood around the bed, ogling intently at the scene.
‘Now clean your fingers,’ I was instructed, ‘In your mouth.’
This time, sitting on the bed, I placed each finger between my lips and sucked and licked them clean as seductively as I could, ensuring that all the onlookers were suitably impressed at the naughtiness of their slut.
‘I want to see you rub your pussy again,’ one of my clients said, ‘It was so hot.’
I opened my legs and began vigorously rubbing my pussy for him.
‘I can’t wait any longer,’ he responded, ‘I must fuck that pussy of hers again.’
With that, he literally threw himself on me with abandon and, sticking his now hard manhood into my pussy commenced to pump me for all he was worth.
His actions signalled the commencement of another round of vigorous fucking of my three holes. Time after time, I opened up to the continual demands of ridged cocks seeking fulfilment inside a twenty-two-year-olds young, sexy and available body.
It was nearly two hours later that I had seemingly managed to fulfil the requirements of all present. We all collapsed exhausted into chairs or onto the bed, two lucky men managing to lie alongside their naked slut on the bed.
It was ‘cup of tea’ time again; however, this time, I was waited upon like a princess as my tea and bun were brought to me. As the men drank their mugs of tea and nibbled on their cake, they catted continually about what a great time they were having with me. As evening fell, I knew, though, that my biggest test was still to come.
As we took a break, my mind was busy contemplating the next session that lay ahead. I knew from my conversations before the event that one of the biggest thrills for the men was that I would allow them to try some BSDM with me. From my friendship with the three main organisers, Ernest, Bert and Alexander, I knew that this was something none of the others had ever tried before. I played safe and suggested that they only used various forms of corporal punishment, each of which I had provided.
I was shown three large sweet jars, each containing pieces of paper.
The first jar contained pieces of paper, each naming a part of my body — back, bum, pussy, breasts, legs, all over.
The second jar listed implements — cane, flogger, hand, whip, willow rod, tawse etc. Each of these various pieces of apparatus was listed in the jar twice.
The last jar contained dozens of pieces of paper containing numbers from the six times table, six, twelve, eighteen and twenty-four. These would be the number of punishments inflicted. The number six was chosen so that each of the twelve men could try and use most of the equipment on me.
I was blindfolded and had to take one piece of paper from each jar. Whatever I chose formed my punishment for that part of my body.
To ensure the men were not cheating, I placed all three papers chosen into a bag and held it while I did the same with the next three. This was repeated until I had six bags, each with three pieces of paper.
As I pulled each paper out of a bottle, one of the men wrote out on a huge cardboard sheet what was written on each piece.
As I pulled the various pieces of paper, my efforts were met with either silence, a titter of delight or a sharp intake of breath.
‘What’s it like choosing your own destiny?’ one of the old-timers quipped.
”Yes, self-inflicted punishment sounds so hot,’ another chipped in.
When I had completed my task, I was allowed to remove the blindfold and look at the cardboard nicknamed the ‘Punishment Board.’
As I was lifting each piece of paper, I remembered a similar event several years before. At that time, I had somehow managed to obtain the maximum number of punishments available. It had been a painful occasion.
Now, as I cautiously lifted the blindfold, I had visions of each item being used a maximum of twenty-four times on my body. I was, therefore, quite relieved that this was not the case. As I read the list and, on the request of the men, double-checked what I had placed in my little bags, I breathed a slight sigh of relief.
Back — Willow Rod — Six
Legs — Tawse — Eighteen
Pussy — Cane — Twelve
Bum — Cane — Twelve
Tits — Willow Rod — Eighteen
Body — Flogger — Twenty four
I was somewhat startled at the thought of my pussy being caned, and also, eighteen strokes of the dreadful Willow Rod across my chest filled me with some trepidation.
‘Well, boys, at least I chose right for the flogger,’ I laughed nervously, trying my best to put on as brave a face as possible. ‘I could have chosen twenty-four for everything.’
‘Don’t worry, Rachel,’ Bert replied, ‘We will not be as hard on you as you say your peers are. We are all too old to be cruel and too inexperienced to want to hurt you too much.’
‘Thanks,’ I replied, forcing another smile, ‘We shall soon find out.’
‘What order do you want us to punish you in?’
I looked again at the list. ‘It’s not easy to say. It’s all rather painful. I think body flogging first and tits and pussy last. ‘Does that sound acceptable?’
‘It most certainly does. Who’d have thought that at seventy-six, I’d be taking up a new, what do you call it, a fetish of trying some BSD on a beautiful young lady.’
‘You mean BDSM,’ I corrected.
‘Oh sorry,’ he replied, ‘I learnt the word ‘fetish’ a couple of days ago, you know.’ He paused and added, ‘So I have no idea how you expect me to get all those letters correct. Why don’t they just call it ‘Pain and Punishment?’ He had a valid point.
My hands were tied together with a rope which was thrown over a metal cross member in the roof. Four men pulled it tight from the other side raising my hands above my head. To keep things simple, they decided to hold me in place.
All twelve gentlemen were given two opportunities to use the flogger on my stretched and prone body. I held myself taught in expectation of the usual force applied when my peers had similarly flogged me. These men in their seventies had no desire to inflict a lot of pain on me. They were more like naughty schoolboys playing truant from school and getting up to mischievous high jinks.
A few of the men put a little more power into their task of whipping me, but on the whole, I felt the twenty-four flogs that I had to count out were half-hearted affairs.
The willow rod, I knew, would be a different proposition across my back. How I had managed to pick that and eighteen strokes with it across my breasts, I had no idea. I have never been very successful with lucky numbers!
I was let down and tied face down on the bed. The first contact the willow made with my back brought a shrill cry from my lips that shocked everyone in the room. I don’t think the man using it first had any idea how hard a flick of it could impact on its victim. I had everyone immediately checking to ensure I was alright.
Another five strokes and with six red lines later, I was ready for the terrible tawse. This dreadful leather implement, measuring about half a meter in length, is a peculiarly Scottish invention. Imagine a short belt sliced up the middle to form something akin to a snakes tongue, and you get the picture. It is excruciatingly painful.
I decided to split the strokes to nine on the back of my thighs and nine across the front. These could be divided by five and four over both legs. I knew despite the maths, it would be painful and that my thighs would be red and burning all night.
As I waited, the men debated who would have two strikes and who would only have one. The men lined up one-timers first, followed by the two timers.
The first man took the tawse in his hand swished it through the air a couple of times before bringing it down hard across the back of my legs. I gasped at the impact and let out a short sharp scream. This seemed to suddenly excite everyone in the room; it was as if a light had been turned on, and the men realised that lying before them was a young lady happy to be the recipient of their corporal punishment.
The second person to take the tawse in hand moved around the bed to ensure my other leg received similar treatment. It did, and again, I could feel the excitement flowing through this aged group of men like an electrical current. For some reason, as I lay spread face down on the bed, receiving strokes from the leather tawse, the men became animated.
Each man took the tawse and enjoyed giving my legs of his best as I gasped and cried each time it struck home. After nine shots, I was untied and repositioned, facing up, legs still apart but able to look my tormentors in the eye.
This action seemed to deflate the men a little as they struggled to ignore the gaze of the one on whom they were inflicting pain. I felt that the strokes imposed on the front of my legs were moderate compared to those behind. My thighs, front and back, felt as though they had been stung by a hundred wasps. I knew, though, that worse was to come.
‘Are you happy for us to continue?’ I was asked.
I nodded my approval.
‘What next, ABC, Arse, Breasts or Cunt?’ Bert enquired, showing that he had mastered the basics of sexual language.
‘I’ve forgotten what you were using where and how many,’ I stated truthfully.
‘Pussy, twelve with the cane, Tits, eighteen with the willow and bum, twelve with the cane,’ one of the men read out from the cardboard sheet.
‘Ouch!’ I said, grimacing, ‘Eighteen on my tits? That will hurt.’
‘If you want to stop..?’
‘No. I promised I’d let you, and I will. I love it. Honest,’ I lied. ‘Bum next, please.’
I was again released and given a pillow on which to kneel. I rested over the bed with my bum exposed and ready for one strike each.
A couple of my friends at University had told me I was mental. As I knelt in expectation of caning by twelve men, all seventy-plus, I had to agree that they were probably correct. How many twenty-two-year-olds would allow old men to use them for their sexual pleasure and then abuse them with whips and canes? It was true. I was nuts!
My thoughts were rudely interrupted as my backside received a stinging blow which caused my body to spasm in response–one down eleven to follow.
I could feel my backside becoming raw as the cane was used time after time, each contact with my naked bum causing me to scream and shudder from the impact.
The men moved round to watch my face grimace from what was taking place at my rear. As they did so, I could see that they were getting hard again at the thrill of inflicting such pain on my naked body. These old men were enjoying their first real taste of BDSM.
Once my backside had received its quota of twelve and felt the painful results, I decided I needed a rest before offering my breast and pussy to similar treatment.
‘If any of you want to use my pussy or mouth once again, now is the last opportunity. I will be too sore after you have finished with me,’ I stated.
My offer was not refused. On this occasion, however, I was asked to mount each of the men while they lay on their backs and entered me from below. This position also allowed each of the men the further opportunity to passionately kiss my breasts as I dangled them over their heads.
Eventually, all the men had been satisfied by firing differing degrees of their seamen into my expectant pussy. I knew that once again, I would have to grin and bear another dose of painful punishment, this time on my two most sensitive areas.
I opted for my breasts to be whipped first. The men kindly offered to reduce the number by six so that they all had one go across my chest with the thin, flexible and excruciating willow rod. I half-heartedly protested, but secretly I was delighted to be spared six extra lashes. I knew that twelve would be plenty, especially if they landed across my sensitive nipples.
I was loosely bound to a long and high industrial shelving unit that contained an assortment of boxes. I gripped the ropes around my wrists in my hands as I prepared to face the rod.
Even the men shuddered as they heard it again cut through the air with a ‘whooshing sound before it hit my chest. I screamed and danced a little jig on the spot as the rod was passed to the second user.
‘Was that too hard?’ I was asked by one of the men, who was clearly concerned.
I smiled through gritted teeth and answered, ‘It might be in a few strokes more. I’ll let you know.’
Thankfully for me, the men decided that they had no intention of inflicting more pain on me than necessary, and all kept the use of the rod to manageable proportions. In the end, my breasts baring the red marks of my whipping felt like a kettle of hot water had been poured over them.
‘Would you like us to stop Rachel?’ Someone asked me.
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘As soon as you have caned my pussy.’
‘You really want us to do that to you?’
‘No, but I know you want to.’
‘Yes, most of us do, but if you’ve had enough…’
‘Just get on with it, will you,’ I replied, possibly a bit tetchily. I have never enjoyed having to confirm again something I had already agreed beforehand. I’d rather get the whole thing over.
On my last visit to Bert, Ernest and Alexander, I had shown them how to position me for a pussy whipping. I had not counted on it being a pussy caning, however, and I knew that twelve hits with the unforgiving piece of wood was going to be more than a little uncomfortable.
I was laid on the bed. Then my legs were parted and raised so that my pussy was nicely available to the first in line. He lightly tapped me before whipping the cane neatly between my legs. My body responded as if it had been stabbed with a sword as I kicked, hollered and squirmed.
Two others replaced the two men holding my legs as the next person took up his position with the cane.
‘My wife will turn in her grave today if she sees me doing this to a young lady,’ he commented before striking me neatly and accurately on my cunt lips. Again I cried, bucked and writhed.
I knew that none of the men was particularly vicious towards me. I had received much harder from my male friends at University; however, the continual striking of such a sensitive area does ensure it becomes incredibly sore after a while.
By the time the ninth man was stepping up and taking the cane in his hand, I could no longer hold back my tears. Every sinew of my body ached, and it felt as though my pussy had been sliced in two with a carving knife.
‘Let’s stop,’ Alexander offered as he saw my discomfort, ‘You’re in too much pain.’
My three regular friends had kindly agreed to take places ten, eleven and twelve, knowing that I might be struggling by the time we reached the higher numbers. I was indeed. The constant and unbending force of the cane was taking its toll.
‘I’ll take one more, and that’s all I can manage. I’m sorry,’ I confessed.
‘No problem Rachel,’ Ernest replied, ‘You might let us finish you on your next visit to us?’
I closed my eyes as the last for that session took up his position and brought the cane down gently on my pussy.
‘I could not hurt you anymore,’ he said, ‘I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.’
As soon as I was released, I was placed on all fours to apply the various soothing ointments, lotions, and potions. The men nearly fell over themselves, attempting to rub some part of my anatomy to relieve the multiple sores and aches I was experiencing.
It was comforting and cooling to feel all the hands gently rubbing balms into my breasts, bum and back. Other fingers ensured that my pussy lips were adequately looked after as well as my thighs. It was like having twelve masseur’s all working away on you at the same time. In fact, that’s precisely what it was!
I managed to dress without underwear and was taken out for a sumptuous meal at an expensive hotel. I’m very sure many guests wondered what a pretty young thing was doing with a group of old age pensioners.
As we parted, each man kissed me on the cheek and thanked me for the day’s pleasure. Four wanted me to meet them again for more sexy and kinky fun, which I was able to provide in time.
Finally, I was presented with a massive bouquet and an envelope with my payment for providing the day’s entertainment. Later as I counted it out in my student accommodation, I attempted to evaluate it in terms of British pounds versus Bodily pain. All in all, I think I had come out rather well!