Illustrated by - Giorgio VeronaWhen pleasure becomes business, it's a pleasure to serve!
A young man’s privileged education in the swinging ’60’s gives rise to a lifetime’s fascination with spanking. Maid Service follows the wickedly wilful Peter Finch through four decades of spanking, bondage and kink.
Illustrated by Giorgio Verona
Peter propped himself up against the bar and took a sip from his glass of brandy as he cast a critical and approving eye over the club. The take at the door had been good, so good that he could seriously consider giving up his job as a cab driver to concentrate on the club and party scene. Now that he was getting more people through the door he could also consider bigger premises, better equipment, hopefully building the reputation of Club S as the number one party night for fetishists in London. With that, and the regular spanking parties, he might eventually be able to give up renting and put a deposit down on a house. Meanwhile, it was a lot of fun.
Directly opposite him, fixed to one of the pillars supporting the premises’ basement ceiling, was a tall St. Andrew’s cross. On the cross was one of his regular girls, Michelle to her friends, Candy Doll to the rest. Her long, naturally blonde hair, petite frame and fleshy little bottom always made her a firm favorite. She was stark naked, which was fairly normal for her, her wrists secured to the arms of the cross with leather straps, and her legs kept apart by a spreader. Her luscious backside was pushed out to a flogger wielded by his House Domina, Miss Lash, otherwise known as Karen. Fairly slight in build but heightened by six inch heels, Karen was in a PVC catsuit that showed off every contour of her slender body, including a nicely rounded bottom that not even Peter was permitted to touch, let alone spank. A crowd had collected around the two girls, mainly men but with a fair sprinkling of women, watching in amusement and arousal as Michelle’s sweetly outthrust butt cheeks were slowly whipped up to a glowing red. Karen was good, using the heavy, suede-tailed flogger with skill and precision across Michelle’s bottom and up between her thighs. The technique made for an excellent show, with Michelle ensuring that each push of her rump gave a teasing glimpse of her pretty shaved pussy and the pink pucker of her ass.
Certainly the audience were fascinated, with one man’s cock already in his girlfriend’s hand and another couple kissing as they watched sidelong. There was more going on elsewhere: one sweetly plump girl draped over her boyfriend’s knee, her rubber skirt turned up as she was spanked; several men knelt before more dominant women, either licking and kissing at high-heeled shoes and boots or simply groveling for the sake of it; while in the shadows of one corner an enormously fat man who appeared to be dressed as Friar Tuck was having his cock sucked by a girl who looked for all the world to be less than half the friar’s age. Peter allowed himself a happy but complacent nod, pleased to see his guests enjoying themselves. His tastes had stayed the same since his days at Broadfields, first and foremost for pretty girls with well-turned bottoms, preferably spanked into endorphin-fueled ecstasy before receiving his cock wherever it would provide them with the most pleasure. Yet with one club and two spanking parties every month, mere voyeurism did little more than whet his appetite, allowing his arousal to build slowly until he could take his satisfaction at leisure toward the end of the evening. He was now ready, and keen to improve his acquaintance with the delectable Michelle.
He glanced at his watch. It was just past 2am, the time at which the bar license expired. But with a hundred people still having fun in the club it seemed foolish to close down. Outside, the streets of Putney would be quiet, with just a few late revelers heading home, while the music was only faintly audible from the door at the top of the stairs that led down to the basement. The bar manager didn’t seem to care in any case, still serving drinks while simultaneously trying to admire Michelle’s flayed and splayed rear. Michelle was truly in her element, her peeping pussy wet with excitement, and so very close to orgasm. She gasped and shuddered as the heavy suede thongs smacked up between her thighs to an even, purposeful rhythm.
Again Peter nodded, this time in admiration for Karen’s skill with the whip, and as Michelle at last cried out in ecstasy he joined in the applause before stepping forward to give her bottom a couple of firm smacks. She was in the dreamy, satisfied state she always reached after a good whipping, especially if she’d been brought to orgasm, and correspondingly vulnerable. Peter lost no time in taking advantage. Supporting her half limp body as he and Karen unfastened the straps of the St. Andrew’s Cross, he let his hands wander freely over her body. She merely purred in response, nestling against his chest and kissing at his neck, even when his finger slipped between her cheeks to tease at the mouth of her anus.
“I’ll take it from here, thanks, Karen,” he stated.
“Sure, have fun,” Karen answered. “You’d better pick up her keys and money.”
Peter picked up the small blue purse from behind the cross and Karen returned to the more casual work of whipping and tormenting those men who lacked regular playmates of their own.
“Are you going to spank me, Peter?” Michelle asked, her voice thick with arousal. “Why don’t you take me into a quiet corner and spank me?”