Wheals of Fortune Ch 05
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Wheals Of Fortune Ch. 01 free porn video
Everyone who figures in this fantasy is over 18 – and so must you be, to read it! There is a website that offers cash to young women for caning – it isn’t called ‘Rear Wheals’ – though that’s a pity.
*
My finances, to put it mildly, were at a low ebb. I had foolishly invested in an apartment I thought I could afford, bought a car which was going to keep me in debt for just about the rest of my life, as far as I could see – and all because of Paul.
Where was he now? Fuck knows, but he’d gone, anyway, and, frankly, I didn’t care where – just so long as he didn’t come back. But I did care about being in debt.
‘You’ll be OK,’ he’d said, ‘no sweat, Julie, honest, they’ll just love you! Fifty grand a year, more in no time at all, you’ll see.’
Yeah, I saw all right. The film company who were bound to ‘love me’ had gone down the toilet, together with the film I had auditioned for, and where was my half-completed course at drama school going to get me now?
Where I was, at that moment, trying to make impossible figures stack up, was in the grotty office of a big video rental empire, which had thirty stores in nearby towns.
‘What’s up, sweetheart?’ asked Carla, my work-colleague, a spiky-orange-haired, much-pierced Goth wisp of a girl in a black shift over black tights, ‘you look proper pissed-off!’
‘I am, Carla,’ I said, and gave her a brief run-down on my fiscal status.
‘Shit!’ she said, then went off to answer the phone.
When she came back, I was filing away papers.
‘Hey, Julie,’ she said, ‘can you stand having your arse caned?’
‘What sort of a question is that?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m serious. Do you think you could stand your arse being caned – hard?’
I looked at her earnest little face and burst out laughing.
She turned half away. ‘If you’re not going to take my question seriously, I’m not going to try and help you,’ she said, ‘only I know how you can earn five hundred dollars in a single day.’
She suddenly had my attention.
‘For having my arse caned?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘You’re not serious, really!’
‘Never been more serious. There’s this web-page that pays ten dollars a stroke, plus travelling expenses. Minimum ten strokes. They only want attractive women – I reckon you’ll do.’
‘Gee thanks!’ I said, sarcastically, then: ‘you into all that stuff, then, Carla? I suppose you must be, or you wouldn’t know about it.’
‘Me and Mark, we belong to a BDSM Club, like,’ she said.
‘Oh!’ I replied, and just then, we were interrupted by the boss, who rang to ask for some figures.
After lunch the same day, Carla called me over to her desk, and after looking furtively around to make sure the doors were all shut, she said, ‘here’s that web-site I told you about.’
A series of small photos showed a powerfully-built but attractive forty-something woman in a skimpy silk dress laying into the naked buttocks of a young woman with a thin cane. Her flesh was streaked with red wheals.
‘Those wheals could be faked,’ I observed.
‘Wait!’ said Carla, and typed in a password. The screen went blank for a few moments, then the film started. A different young woman, this time slimmer and younger than the first, undressed, removing her skirt and panties sexily for the camera. She got down on all fours on a mattress, and the same older woman appeared, now in a black dress and boots. She immediately started to lash the young girl’s arse hard with a thin cane, causing red wheals to be raised, and the girl to scream at each stroke.
When she had given her about twenty strokes, I thought, she threw down the cane, and walked away, leaving the girl writhing on the mattress.
‘Now you can see it’s not faked,’ said Carla.
The oddest thing was, that I noticed that not only was I feeling agitated, but when I returned to my desk and at down, my panties were soaking.
Nothing further was said that afternoon, and we were too busy to talk about what I had seen.
Next morning, before I set of to work, the postman came, and what he brought with him was not very pleasing – a bill for my car-insurance renewal, half as much again as I had hoped for. I was in deep shit.
Carla had a coffee for me when I got to the office.
‘You gonna do it then?’ she asked, and I knew what she meant without her having to explain.
I nodded, and she came around the desk and kissed me, bringing an odd scent of musk all her own.
‘Come on then, and sign up,’ she said, ‘all you have to do is send them an email.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ I procrastinated, ‘are you into this stuff, Carla?’
‘Not exactly,’ she said, and hesitated, then said, ‘come with me!’ and headed for the toilet. I followed her in there, and as soon as I was inside with her, with no trace of shame, she lifted her shift up over her head.
I was taken by surprise, to say the least. What I had assumed to be her black tights were, in fact, hold-up stockings, and she was completely naked as she stood with her pale back to me. And her back was patterned with a crazy criss-cross of red stripes, all the way from just below her shoulder-blades to just above her buttocks. Slowly, she turned to face me, and her face had an odd, almost defiant expression, but my gaze was drawn downwards, to where three more livid red welts showed, just above firm young breasts.
‘Now you see,’ she said simply. She was putting her dress back on, and, as she did so, I caught the glint of metal from just below her clean-shaven mound. She was obviously pierced in more places than could normally be seen!
I looked around to check that no-one had come in when we went back into the office. We were alone.
‘And Mark did that to you?’
‘Most of it, yes,’ she replied, enigmatically.
‘But….but, it must hurt?’
‘Of course, but sometimes I cum just thinking about it, even before he puts my nipple clamps on.’
‘Nipple clamps? Oh shit, Carla, what the fuck are you?’
‘I’m a slut, Julie. I’m getting wet just talking about it to you!’
At that moment the phone rang, and we then got busy for a time, with calls and paperwork, but every time I looked across at Carla, I saw her with new eyes, now knowing she was naked under her dress, and wondering what it felt like. I toyed with the idea of giving it a try.
When things quietened down at lunchtime, Carla came over to me.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘OK,’ I replied, and let her enter the webpage again. I did so desperately need the money, and couldn’t believe the caning would hurt that much. I had plenty of my photos stashed away in my disc, and sent one off with a request to join in their programme as soon as possible. Immediately I got a reply saying they would phone me to make an appointment in the next few days.
That evening, I told Carla I wanted to stay a bit later, to write a few personal letters. After she had gone, I ‘Googled’ BDSM sites, totally fascinated by what Carla had told me, and also my reaction to it. There was an awful lot of rubbish, and posed pictures, which did nothing for me at all, but I was captivated by a website called ‘Slave Girls in Love’ – it featured pretty young girls being subjected to cruel tortures by their masters – and apparently enjoying the experience. I found other sites, too, including ones looking for ‘submissives,’ and offering serious money. I surprised myself, not for the first time in the last few hours, by getting very excited, and masturbated myself to a groaning climax before I switched off the computer.
The next morning was Saturday, and my mobile phone rang just as I was about to go shopping.
‘Hello,’ said a pleasant male voice, ‘this is ‘Rear Wheals’ – I believe you’d like to come and do a session with us?’
‘Well, yes,’ I said.
‘How would tomorrow suit?’
I was a litt
le taken aback, not expecting anybody to work on Sundays, and said so.
‘Oh, we work 24/7,’ he said, and, when we had agreed on a time, proceeded to give me directions to the studio, which was in Manchester, some fifty miles away. My nerves started to flutter like mad from that moment on, and I knew they would get no better until I arrived at the studio.
That evening, I rang Carla, and told her what I was doing the next day, and she was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Julie, can I ask you something?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘Do you shave?’
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Then you should, it’ll look much better on film!’
I took her up on the suggestion, and carefully removed every vestige of pubic hair, using a mirror to ensure that there was not a scrap left around my labia or anus.
I slept badly, but next morning dawned warm, and all thoughts of chickening out went when I thought about my debts, against what I could earn in one day.
I decided that I would wear a silk slip, which would be soothing against my sore arse after the caning, so a pleated full skirt and silk blouse seemed about right. I had dwelt a good deal on Carla’s lack of underwear, and decided she certainly had a point where panties were concerned. When I walked about the flat without any, my newly-shaven pussy felt wonderful naked, and I could see no point at all in wearing panties. My breasts, however, were larger than Carla’s, and I wasn’t going to go without a bra, just yet, anyway. I compromised, finding a black platform bra I had once bought for a party, out of which my nipples could easily be teased. It felt good enough under the blouse, and would look alright when I undressed. I threw a light jacket around my shoulders, slipped on a pair of heels, the highest I had, and went off to catch the train.
Up two flights of stairs, and a glass door was emblazoned with gold lettering:-
Lesley
- 04.08.2020
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