Power Over Men

by Nickerlas

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© Copyright 2004 - Nickerlas - Used by permission

Storycodes: FF/m; MF/f; bondage; leather; cons; X

Power Over Men
by Nickerlas
Jackie's Surprise by Boundfellow
I first wrote this story almost a decade ago and it acquired something of a cult following in S&M circles for a while, particularly among women.  I even heard that a back-street workshop in Manchester was making saddle-stools!

Power Over Men by Nickerlas
1 Marble

Holiday clothes for a fortnight, typewriter, paper, sketchbook, walking boots, half the contents of the local Library – it all went into the back of the Traveller along with the jack, spare tyre, toolkit and starting handle.  I closed the rear doors with a cheerful air of achievement.  The old car started reliably first go, so I jammed on a pair of sunglasses, chucked my leather jacket into the back seat and let in the clutch. The car is important to this story, so I’d better describe it.  I once saw a clip of Dame Edna Everidge walking round Stratford-upon-Avon admiring the half-timbered buildings, when a Morris Traveller pulled out of a side street.  “Oh look, there’s a half-timbered car!” she chirruped.  It was one of those, the ash-framed van version of the post-war Morris 1000.  Mine was originally built in 1967 so was already an old lady when I bought her.  Owners call them moggy or woody but I called mine Bertha and loved her dearly.

There are many, many downsides to being a Maths teacher, like rotten pay, repetitive work and the constant struggle with opaque brains, but there are a few advantages.  You get long summer holidays and you don’t have to spend them researching new set books for next year.  I was off for a couple of weeks of total relaxation in a rented cottage in the north of England. Well, Bertha may have been eminently loveable but she wasn’t exactly zippy.  I ate my picnic lunch near Leicester and stopped for tea in a café under the walls of Richmond Castle.  Children were splashing in the Swale far below.

From Richmond I decided to take what on the map looked to be a more direct route on small roads over the hills that might suit Bertha better than the A1.  It proved to be an auspicious choice. We climbed up the side of the dale on a narrow road past old lead workings and were soon crossing vast expanses of empty moorland purple with heather.  That’s where Bertha died.  The engine just stopped.  Repeated use of the starter had no effect.  I rolled her downhill to where the road crossed a beck with a narrow stone bridge, pulled up on the verge and opened the bonnet.  Everything looked OK, but I haven’t a clue about engines.  I wiggled a few wires, checked the radiator water, shut the bonnet and tried the starter again.  Not a cough.  The fuel guage read three-quarters full, and I’d filled up in Leicester so I believed it.



The valley I was in gave sufficient shelter for trees to grow along the beck.  I used one for a call of nature and found a farm track and a rotten, once-painted board reading ‘High Withies’.  Then I went back and sat in the car to wait for a skilled motor-engineer to come by. An hour later, and no car of any sort had come by.  This was looking serious.  It was nearly eight o’clock and I was deep in the Pennines of North Yorkshire with only an hour or so of daylight.  And without food.
 I stuck on my jacket, locked up the car and set off up the track.  Tracks usually lead somewhere after all and quite soon I came to a little group of stone buildings on the hillside.  Even a barn would be more comfortable to sleep in than Bertha.

Another board nailed to a gate, in rather better condition, proclaimed this farmstead as High Withies, so I went through and scouted round.  Sure enough there was a farmhouse there, with a cable looping towards it.  Power, then, and new paint on the door, efficient-looking shutters on the downstairs windows and curtains upstairs, but it looked dark and deserted.  I knocked anyway, and was answered with some noises from behind the shutters.  Someone was there, I could maybe beg food and shelter.  I cheered up considerably and knocked again. The door eventually opened a few inches against a chain and a woman’s voice said ‘Yes?’

I was so relieved to have found a fellow human being that I rather babbled.  The car had broken down, I needed help, could I use their phone, etc.  When I stopped, there was a silence signifying thought.

‘We don’t have a phone here.  You had better come in’.  It wasn’t a Yorkshire accent – BBC, with perhaps a trace of Europe.  The door closed again, then opened fully to reveal a youngish, rather severe-looking woman with cropped hair, slippers, black trousers and a huge white pullover stretching almost to her knees.  ‘Come into the front room where I can have a good look at you, the hallway’s too dark’. 

It was only when she opened the room door that I got the first inkling that this wasn’t a normal hill-farm establishment.  Her trousers were skin-tight leather, polished to a shine that glittered in the bright light! In those days leather clothing was pretty uncommon and even jackets like mine were considered a bit racy in some circles.  I’d never seen anyone actually wearing leather trousers!

 ‘Sit down and relax.  Would you like a drink?  Tea, or something stronger?  We can do whisky or G&T, I’m afraid no beer.’  I chose the scotch with a smile oozing charm and gratitude and she disappeared into an adjoining kitchen.  The sofa she had indicated was wooden and heavily built, almost like a solid, domestic version of a park bench, and was smothered in cushions.  I sank into it and closed my eyes.  Bertha’s problems could wait. The woman reappeared with a tumbler a third full of whisky and a jug, and splashed in some water at my request.  I took a fair mouthful of the golden liquid and stretched out my legs.

 ‘Ahh…  Just what I needed.  You saved my life!’

 She grinned and pulled up a stool opposite.  ‘Now tell me the story again, starting with who you are, what you do and where you are going.’

 Her thighs had appeared from under the jersey, looking like polished black marble.

 ‘Harry Carpenter.  I teach maths in a secondary school in London, the East End.  I was on my way north for a couple of weeks’ rest, but it seems my car wanted it more than me.  Stopped dead.  She’s down by the bridge, probably chuckling to herself at having gained the upper hand at last.  I love your trousers.’

 That kind of throwaway compliment usually produced a quick grin but what I actually got was a half-smile and a steady, rather appraising look.  She was perhaps in her late thirties, not all that much older than me, and if her legs were anything to go by there was a pretty trim body hidden away under that sweater.

 ‘Call me Liz,’ she said.  ‘The East End sounds tough.  I teach too.  German.  Jane does PE and sport, mostly.  She’s upstairs in the bath.  This is our home from home.’

 ‘You own it?’

 She nodded.  ‘Jointly.  You are into leather?’

 The directness of the question embarrassed me.  ‘Just the jacket, and that cost more than I could afford,’ I said, trying for a weak laugh.  She gave a broad smile which reassured me not at all and got up with a delicious creak.

 ‘I’ll tell Jane you’re here, don’t go away’

 ‘Not likely.’ I was thinking of Bertha silent at the roadside.

 Again that cool look from Liz before the door shut behind her.


 The room I was in was very traditional Yorkshire hill farm, with a high ceiling spanned by a heavy central oak beam studded with iron hooks and supported on the chimney breast at one end and an oak post against the wall at the other. A fairly modern stove burned efficiently within the old stone fireplace and an oak-panelled thing that looked like a wardrobe stood against one wall.  Two tough armchairs matched the sofa I was sitting on, both equally laden with cushions, and a big footstool like an upholstered low table stood nearby.  It was a strange assortment.

 Then my attention was caught by two unusual objects in a corner, and I went over to look more closely.  They were high stools, converted out of office-type ‘draughtsman’ chairs, the kind that swivels round and has a ring a foot or so off the ground to rest your feet on.  The whole seat assembly had been removed and replaced with a narrow racing-type bicycle saddle!  The saddles and foot-rests were both adjusted to different heights, presumably tailored for each of the girls.
 I couldn’t help visualising Liz sitting on one in her tight trousers. Then I started wondering why they had done it, and what it would feel like.  I tried it; not very comfortable but strangely sexy, probably even more so if one was female.

 The stools were drawn up against a shelf built across the deep alcove beside the chimney breast, rather like a dining shelf in a seedy burger bar.  Apart from a pack of cards the shelf was empty.  Did Liz and her friend Jane really while away their evenings perched on deliberately uncomfortable stools playing cards?  And side by side?  What card games are played side by side?
 Liz was back in the room before I had time to climb off the stool so I swivelled round and tried to look as if I often sat on such things.

 ‘I see you are making yourself at home,’ she said, her eyes now positively twinkling.  ‘This is Jane.’

 Jane turned out to be a long white bathrobe with a pleasant open face showing under a towel turban.  She was taller than Liz and maybe slimmer but the clothing didn’t help precise analysis.  The face was grinning with a little secret smile that made me think these two had been planning something that in some way involved me.  I hoped it was supper, but somehow it didn’t look that way. I was wrong, however.  Liz was suddenly back to her efficient manner.

 ‘We have been discussing your problem,’ she said crisply, ‘and you must obviously stay here for tonight.  Have you eaten this evening?’  I said not.  ‘OK then, I will make some food for us while Jane gets dressed.  After supper we normally play a few games.  Please join in if you wish.’

 ‘Happy to,’ I said.  Most card games are better with more people and I knew a few card tricks that might amuse them.  Life was looking very promising just at that moment. They left, but Jane stuck her turban back through the door.  ‘Squirm about a bit,’ she said with a wink.  And disappeared.


 Supper turned out to be a hotpot of potatoes, mushrooms, tomato and German sausage, with fresh bread, salad and a cup of coffee to finish.  It was absolutely what I needed.  Jane was still wearing her wrap but had emerged from her turban and now had fair hair cut short to the neck which I thought very attractive and told her so.  Again the compliment didn’t quite work as I’d expected, and I began to wonder whether these two were perhaps lesbians.  I knew such people existed, but I’d never knowingly met one.  They seemed very friendly and attentive nevertheless and throughout the meal, eaten round a wooden table in the kitchen, we swapped classroom stories and assassinated colleagues in the way of teachers everywhere.  A bottle of cheap red wine had been produced and by the end of the meal I felt we were all the greatest of friends.

 Jane disappeared upstairs ‘to finish dressing’ and Liz started moving furniture.  The door opened, Jane walked in and I was struck speechless. From her neck to her high-heeled boots she could have been sprayed with gloss black paint!  Leather clung to every part of her body, and what a body!  That girl was fit!  High, rounded bum, flat well-muscled stomach, small but beautifully evident breasts and long, long legs to die for.


 She stretched out her arms and revolved slowly, giving me the full benefit.  ‘Like it?’


 ‘We got them specially made,’ she giggled girlishly.  ‘Liz has one too.’

 I turned then, following her gaze, and saw Liz was pulling off the sweater she’d been hiding in all evening.  The effect was equally stunning!  Liz had more of an hourglass figure, bigger breasts and hips and a sensational waist.  I looked from one to the other in total amazement, shaking my head slowly from side to side and saying Wow at intervals. The girls were obviously delighted with the effect they were having and I began to realise something of what they had been planning.  I started wondering what kind of ‘games’ Liz had meant, but just then she bent down in front of me to put on her own pair of high-heeled boots and every thought fled from my brain.  In a kind of trance I ran my hand over her bum and thighs, I honestly couldn’t resist the feel of that wonderful material!

 Liz snapped the last of her boot fixings and straightened up.  She seemed to have ignored my hand altogether but the twinkle was back in her eye and I was pretty sure she had orchestrated the whole thing deliberately.  It was Jane, however, who spoke next.

 ‘Carpenter,’ she murmured thoughtfully.  ‘Are you good at wood, Mr. Carpenter?’

 My brain was swirling.  Why was she suddenly talking about carpentry?  I tried to focus on her question.

 ‘Reliable, mostly.  Hopeless with metal or engines, I’m afraid, but wood is a much more sympathetic, friendly material.  Why do you ask?’

 She smiled and drifted away to hang a cushion neatly over the back of a chair.  Strange woman.

 ‘As you see,’ Liz interrupted, ‘this is a leather evening and I’m afraid we must insist on proper dress.  You must wear leather clothes only, Mr. Carpenter.’


 Was she drunk?  Was I drunk, come to that?  This wasn’t real.

 ‘But I don’t have…’

 ‘Leather clothes only,’ she repeated in the sort of voice that quells chalkface riots.  ‘Jane, give Mr. Carpenter the clothes we chose for him’.

 Jane collected a bulging carrier bag from just outside the door and handed it over.  ‘You can change in the kitchen.’

 This was an impossible situation.  I laughed rather hollowly and spread my arms.  ‘No, I really don’t think, I mean, surely, I mean, you can’t really expect…..’

 Liz’s big, persuasive smile was back.  ‘Harry Carpenter,’ she said.  ‘Are a few clothes too much to ask?  We like leather.  We have a thing about it.  We’d really love you to join in.  Or perhaps you’d prefer to spend the evening in your car?’ she added sweetly.

 Well, put like that I could see it would be churlish to refuse.  Besides, I had another problem which had been growing ever since Jane made her dramatic entrance and I was afraid that one or other of the girls would soon notice the bulge.  To be honest, I was also rather turned on by the prospect of wearing the leather clothes.  The bag seemed mainly to contain a pair of trousers with some other things folded underneath.  I capitulated with good grace and a broad, easy smile.

 ‘OK then, but they probably won’t fit very well so don’t laugh when I come back!  And could I perhaps change in the bathroom, I could do with a quick wash or a shower?’

 ‘Top of the stairs on your right.’ They were positively bubbling with excitement at having won so easily.  ‘There’s a shower over the bath.  Don’t be too long.’


 Upstairs in the shower I wondered how I’d got myself into this weird situation.  Had we been talking at cross-purposes all the time?  What prompted these two extraordinary women to buy skin-tight leather body-suits and show them off to a total stranger?  What was the game?  Clearly there was high-charge eroticism going on, the air positively crackled with it, but like most men I had very little knowledge of female fantasies and hadn’t a clue where I fitted into the picture.  Was I going to end up in bed with one or even both of them, or was I just a pawn in some secret chess-game?  Did they even fancy me at all?  It was like a simultaneous equation with dozens of unknowns!

 None of this helped my personal problem which was rock-hard and projecting far out of the shower spray.  This could be exceedingly embarrassing.  I tried spraying it with cold water without any noticeable effect.  I’d better get dressed, two women were waiting for me downstairs, delicious, curvy, tight, shiny.…Oh, God!

 I tipped the clothes out on the floor.  The trousers turned out to be just legs and waistband, the front and back were missing!  Desperately I searched for something to cover my immodesty, and found a thong pantie and a pair of extra-short shorts.  The thong was utterly inadequate.  I’m rather more heavily endowed than most men and in my present state several inches of prime dick stuck out over the leather triangle; and although the rest of my family jewels were covered (just) I could see in the full-length mirrors that everything was exposed to side view.  I kept them on anyway, they at least helped hold things more or less in place. The hotpants would have been a perfect fit if the tailoring had allowed for the sort of excess baggage I was carrying in front – every detail was clearly reproduced through the thin stretched leather!  The central seam divided my balls into two distinct mounds then profiled my swollen member all the way up to its abrupt termination at the waistband.  It was completely, utterly indecent.  Damn those women!  Then some of the alcohol I’d drunk came to my rescue and I giggled.  OK, fair enough, I thought.  They exposed themselves to me, I can’t really grumble if they want to see me exposed too.  Let’s hope they’re properly impressed! 

“Good at wood”?  Could she possibly have meant….?

 The leather chaps must have been Jane’s, the length was fine and there was enough play in the belt to reach round my waist.  Above the knee they fitted skin-tight!  Just the idea that these were women’s clothes was proving quite a turn-on. Next came a waistcoat which fastened with snaps, but only one pair came anywhere near meeting over my chest and even they popped open when I took a deep breath.  I left it loose. The last item was a pair of open-toed sandals which I actually managed to put on reasonably comfortably by adjusting the straps, despite their being at least two sizes too small.  They had a built-up heel, not more than an inch or so but enough to encourage smaller steps than my usual lazy stride.  Perhaps I was being deliberately feminised?  The mirror reassured me on that point at least – no-one could be said to be feminised with such an evident erection straining to be noticed!  Actually, I thought, the overall effect complete with hairy chest and bare arms was pretty lethally macho.  I grinned at my reflection. 
 ‘Shall we join the ladies?’

2 Jaguar

 ‘Ta-Daaa!’  My grand entrance was greeted by a burst of clapping and excited smiles, but as I crossed the room towards them their eyes dropped to my crotch and they both seemed to go quiet.  Women with ample breasts and low necklines must have the same sort of experience entering male company. 
 The tip of Jane’s tongue slowly moistened her upper lip.

 ‘Impressive, Mr. Carpenter,’ Liz said, very quietly.  Perhaps she was wondering whether the game had gone a bit far, or maybe her familiarity with full-blown erections was slight.  She may even have been a bit alarmed.  Whichever, I was pretty pleased to have stunned them both so effectively. Changes had happened while I’d been away.  A high wooden stool had been found and squeezed between the cycle-stools.  The sofa had been pulled forward and the chairs turned round to face the wall, and all had big cushions draped over backs and arms.  The space in the centre of the room, under the beam, was clear.  Also the wardrobe doors were slightly ajar and the main lights turned off, leaving only corner lights and a spotlight over the card table. Liz recovered quickly, climbed up on the taller of the two cycle-stools and started sorting through the pack of cards.  Her bum, stretching the leather, looked every bit as enticing as I had imagined!

 ‘Please sit here, Harry,’ she said, a little breathlessly.  ‘Be quick, Jane!’  Jane was making for the door and I thought I heard her murmur ‘Reliable, mostly!’ as she disappeared.  Soon she was back, following the distant sound of the toilet flush, and joined us at the table.  We must have made an odd picture sitting packed shoulder to shoulder (and thigh to thigh!) like black sardines.  Somehow I seemed to have gained some initiative, and I used it to put my arm across Jane’s shoulders and whisper ‘Squirm about a bit’.  She gave me a wry grin and gently removed the arm. Liz dealt out three cards each from a much-reduced pack.

 ‘This is a game of luck only,’ she said.  ‘There is no skill.  That is very important, otherwise the outcome would not be…even-handed.  As a mathematician you will know about probabilities – after many games a player should win and lose equally.  We play only with one suit and turn our cards one at a time, like so.’

 She turned up her top card and placed it towards the centre of the table.  It was the eight of clubs.

 ‘I should say that there are no royal cards dealt, and the ace counts low,’ she added.

 ‘What’s the purpose of the game?’ I asked, turning up a three and placing it alongside hers.

 ‘The purpose, Harry, is not to lose!’ said Jane.  She added a ten and took the trick.

 ‘What happens if you lose?’

 ‘You wish you’d won.  Play again, Lisbet!’

 It didn’t seem much of a game to me. Liz had taken no part in this last exchange and seemed a little withdrawn.  She slowly picked up her next card and placed it as before.  It was a five.  Mine was a seven and Jane’s the four.  Clearly my luck was in.

 ‘What happens if we each win a trick?’ I asked.  ‘Do we count the pips, start again or play charades instead?’

 It was Jane who explained.  Winning that first trick seemed to have made her much more confident.  ‘Normally we play just the two of us, so three cards gives a clear outcome.  With three people you would probably need five cards each to guarantee a loser, but there’s only thirteen in a suit.  Besides, we prefer not to use the royals as they’re too distinctive.  If we get a trick each we’ll play again.  The loser,’ she added, ‘must submit to punishment.’


 ‘Severe punishment.’

 ‘How severe?’

 ‘Very severe.’ 

 That utterly silenced me.  God help me, this wasn’t a simple card game – it was Russian Roulette!  And I’d cheerfully joined in!  Perhaps it wasn’t too late, perhaps I could escape if I just rushed upstairs and grabbed my…

 ‘Jane,’ I said, trying to appear calm.  ‘What have you done with my clothes?’

 She giggled, and ran her fingertips slowly up my thigh and over the bulge in my shorts.  ‘Don’t worry, they’re safely put away,’ she cooed.  ‘But I’m sure you will enjoy your evening.  I shall call you Woody, I think.’

 No escape, then.  I was appalled, but at the same time thrilled in a way that was quite new.  Maybe I caught it off the girls.  The pressure in my shorts was as fierce as before and Jane’s fingertips weren’t helping. Liz played her last card.  Six of clubs.  I could feel a muscle in her leg vibrating. I played the ace.  Liz was still ahead.  The last card had to be either the two or the nine. It lay innocently, face down on the table.  Nobody moved.  I tried to ease the tension by leaning back a little and stroking both girls’ tight bums, but neither seemed to notice. Then, very slowly, Jane reached forward and flipped her card over.


 Suddenly, Jane was in complete control.
 ‘Get the loser bag, Lisbet,’ 

 Liz meekly eased off her stool and retrieved a black bag from the wardrobe.

 ‘Open it.’

 She did so, carefully laying out its contents on the floor.  There were four wide straps with buckles and rings, something that looked like a leather bag, and assorted ropes, chains, straps and clips.

 ‘Wrist and ankles today, I think.’

 Liz dutifully buckled on the straps.

 ‘Now the hood.’

 She pulled the bag thing over her head, tightened and tied strings at the back, and buckled straps round her neck.  It fitted perfectly.  Apart from two holes under her nose and another larger one at her mouth her head was completely covered.  The short haircut made sense.  She straightened up, blind and helpless. It dawned on me that this was not just a sexy dressing-up game, it was also about power.  Power and trust.  And, of course, powerlessness, anticipation, adrenaline, fear and pain.

 ‘What happens to her now?’ I asked, surprised to find myself referring to Liz so objectively.  The hood had somehow depersonalised her.

 ‘Whatever we feel like doing.’


 ‘Of course.  You won the game too!  Bring her over to the chair.’

 Taking an arm each we led our leather victim to one of the chairs, clipped her ankles to the back legs, stretched her over a cushion on the chair back and fastened her wrists as tight as we could manage to the front legs.  She looked wonderful – wonderfully helpless and wonderfully enticing.  What I felt like doing was fondling her, so taking Jane at her word I pressed my crotch hard into her bum and ran my hands slowly up her back, round under her arms and cupped her breasts.  The nipples were hard.  I pinched them both simultaneously and elicited a most satisfactory shudder and ‘Ach!’ noise from inside the hood.  Jane watched with a small, perhaps wistful smile, then marched over to the wardrobe and threw its doors wide open.

 It was a treasure house of torture equipment!  The doors were hung with leather straps of all sizes, some thick, some pliable, some split into thongs, some perforated, some glittering with metal studs.  There were canes of several thicknesses and multi-strand whips and riding crops.  There were shelves of leather garments covered in straps or lined with spikes and shelves with steel belts, collars and fetters.  I joined Jane at the cupboard and picked up one of the items.

 ‘What’s this for?’ 

 ‘Single arm glove.  It fixes to the shoulders and binds the arms together behind your back.  Your hands fit into this pocket at the end and the ring at the very end is for tying on a rope so your arms can be pulled up behind.  That’s called strappado, after the medieval torture.  Uncomfortable, but presents the bum nicely.  We’ve got a single leg version as well that we call the Mermaid, you can really package somebody.’

 ‘Liz was already dressed in her outfit when I arrived,’ I said thoughtfully,  ‘So this can’t be just for my benefit.’

 ‘You’re right, it wasn’t.’

 ‘Do you really beat each other up every evening?’ 

 She laughed.  ‘No, of course not!  You need a few days for the marks to go down.  Some days the loser just ends up tied naked in the barn all evening, or stands on a stool for hours, or has to do the housework in handcuffs and nipple clips.  Whatever takes the winner’s fancy.  But yes, we do play the game every evening when we’re up here.  Telly reception is terrible!’  She selected a wooden bat, like an elongated table-tennis bat.  ‘Let’s warm her up!’

 She delivered four sharp smacks in rapid succession, while I watched fascinated as the shiny leather flickered and shuddered.  Liz greeted each blow with a noisy gasp.

 ‘What if she can’t take it, or has cramp or something?  Can she stop you?’

 ‘Yes of course; we have safety words.  Like the traffic lights.  “Red” means undo me and end the session, “Amber” means stop what you’re doing and “Green” means I’m OK now, you can go on.  Any other words, expletives, cries for help etc can be cheerfully ignored.’  She raised her voice.  ‘I’m handing over control to Woody!’ and passed me the paddle. It reminded me of the airline pilot phrase and I responded accordingly.

 ‘I have control!’ and I smacked willow on leather.

 It’s difficult to describe what I felt, beating that woman’s delicious bum.  Imagine you’ve never owned or driven anything but old bangers and suddenly win an E-type Jaguar! Jane stopped me after half a dozen blows.

 ‘We don’t want to damage the suit,’ she said.  ‘Lets see what effect we’ve had.’  She felt in the seam somewhere in Liz’s lower back and uncovered two tiny zip fasteners. Soon she had removed a whole section of the leather exposing naked buttocks and shaved pubic area to full view!  The bum cheeks glowed a warm red.  The pressure in my shorts increased.

 ‘Something a little stronger now, I think.’ She swapped my paddle for a multi-thonged flogger, and selected a thin cane for herself.  ‘Alternate shots, Woody.’

 Soon the bum was cross-hatched with dark red lines and Liz was making a great deal of noise.  No safewords, though.  Then we unfastened her and took her over to the oak post.  A number of stout nails had been driven in each side and, after tying Liz’s knees and ankles together and her wrists to her thighs, we wound a long rope round these nails and across her body until she was completely secured.  Her sore bum was pushed tightly against the rough timber.

 ‘Could you release her tits, Woody?  The zip starts underneath.’  Jane indicated the position on her own suit.

 After a bit of groping I found the zippers and slowly revealed two delicious boobs with dark aureoles and pronounced nipples.  Somehow the nipples got pinched again in the process! The implement Jane selected this time was a short whip with a stout flap of leather at the end.  She passed it to me and started clipping wooden clothes pegs first onto the nipples and then in a horizontal line round the sides of each boob like a contour line.

 ‘Knock all the pegs off one by one.’ 

 After a couple of abortive (but probably painful) efforts by me, she suggested I try with an upstroke.  That worked better, except for one sharp blow that missed the peg but hit the underside of the breast causing a loud shriek.  Soon all the pegs were on the floor, Liz had a profile of red pinch-marks and we had been treated to some very unladylike language in both English and German.  I could see the advantages of this remote cottage. Jane seemed keen to show me the possibilities of their room, so we untied our victim without further damage.  She instructed Liz to remove her boots, then deftly stripped all that remained of her suit leaving her stark naked except for the hood.  It must have been very embarrassing for her, with a strange man present, but if she was blushing we couldn’t see it!  Using a stool, Jane hung a pulley on one of the beam hooks, fed a stout rope through it, tied one end to Liz’s wrists and handed the other to me.  ‘Pull her up until she’s standing on her toes, then make fast to the post.’  I complied, to squeals from Liz.

 ‘Over to you,’ she said and retired to watch from the discomfort of her cycle-stool.  She did an ostentatious squirm and grinned.  I was still holding the whip.


 ‘Anywhere you like, but stop if you get a safeword.’

 My E-type Jag took off.  I warmed up her thighs, brightened the colour on her bum, made a patchwork on her back, mottled her tits, aimed direct hits on her nipples and even lifted each foot to process the soles.  She shouted, screamed, cursed and ordered me to stop, but never mentioned Red or even Amber so I deduced that she must be enjoying it! Jane was certainly enjoying watching.  I saw her squirming for her own benefit rather than mine and she suddenly shouted in shuddering orgasm.  That stopped me, and I hung the whip back in the cupboard, not sure what to do next.  When I looked round again Jane was smiling rather sheepishly.

 ‘Natural break,’ she said.  ‘How about another drink?’

 ‘I could beat hell out of a cup of tea!’

 ‘I’ll make one.  Untie our friend and take her hood off, then handcuff her and bring her through.’ She went into the kitchen.

 Left alone with Liz I’m afraid I rather took advantage of her.  First I reached up and snapped a pair of cuffs round her wrists, then pressed up behind her and played with her breasts and finally slid my fingers between her legs and rubbed until she, too, exploded in a noisy orgasm that had her jerking on her rope like a marionette.  I let her recover for a few moments, then released the rope and unbuckled the hood.  She blinked in the light.

 ‘Gottfordamt bastard!’  She didn’t seem all that angry, however.


 Over tea, which Liz spent standing up holding her mug in both hands, I began wondering again how the girls thought the evening might end.  Part of me desperately wanted to screw them both, but my head warned against it.  I’d never tried fucking two girls in one session, but I suspected that in my present state the first would be disastrously quick and the second disastrously slow.  Besides, they were unlikely to be on the pill and I certainly hadn’t brought a condom even if I knew where my clothes were!  What did these women really want?

 That thought triggered the memory of a line I had once read in the Arthurian Legends: “What do women most desire in the world? Why, it is to have power over men.”   Power over men?  That made some kind of sense.  As a power game, the kick would have been to pick up a totally unknown man, get him to dress up in sexy clothes, use him to help satisfy their own erotic fantasies and then get rid of him.  I’d been right before – I was a pawn! But I had gained more. I had driven the E-type. That had been a priceless gift and they deserved something special for it.
 Power over men.
 I took a deep breath.

 ‘You’ve both been very kind to me,’ I started, rather shyly.  ‘You didn’t know me from Adam when I first turned up here and you’ve been very generous.  Exceedingly generous.’  I paused, not quite knowing how to say it.  ‘I’m not sure how best to thank you but perhaps……perhaps we could pretend that I’d just lost a game of cards?’

 There was complete silence for a moment.  Liz and Jane glanced at each other then back to me.

 ‘You really mean that?’ from Liz.

 ‘If you don’t find the idea distasteful.’  It was clear they didn’t.  Far from it.

 ‘I think Jane and I should retire to discuss this offer.’

 They returned a couple of minutes later, brimming with excitement and downright naughtiness, and I wondered what I had let myself in for.

 ‘We accept your offer.  Please put on the hood.’

3 Woody

 Somehow I hadn’t expected it to begin quite so quickly, but Liz and Jane were calling the shots now!  I obediently slid the leather hood over my face and the world went black and quiet.  The hood was lined with silk and slightly padded, with thicker padding over the eyes.  It smelled of sweat, make-up and perfume left over from its last occupant. Hands tightened the laces and buckled the straps, and I had a moment of near-panic while I fought to adjust my breathing to the reduced air supply.

 ‘Comfortable?’  Jane’s voice filtered through the thick fabric.  I nodded, then felt the straps being fastened onto my wrists and ankles.  The loose waistcoat was stripped off and my wrists pulled behind me and joined with a padlock.

 ‘Stand to attention, please!’

 ‘Hey!’  They were undoing the waistband of my chaps!  I thought I heard giggles.  Then first the chaps followed by the hotpants and finally the leather thong were slid down my legs and removed over each foot in turn. Now I was fully exposed!  This was wholly unfair! Gentle fingers began stroking my dick and fondling my balls! It crossed my mind that these two women might never have had the opportunity to play with a man’s genitals before – they were certainly taking advantage. I felt I was being used as an educational toy!  Soon the erection was back at full pressure. I was taken by the arms and led round to what turned out to be the sofa.  I felt the cushioned seat back pressing against my thighs.

 ‘Put your legs apart!’

 I shuffled them.


 I did so.  They were about three feet apart now.

 ‘Much wider!’

 I felt my toes touch the back legs of the bench.  This was thankfully far enough and they set about chaining my ankle straps to the timber.  I had to lean forward to keep balance. Efficient hands unlocked my wrists, adjusted the cushion under my stomach, pulled me forward over it and finally re-secured my wrists to the sofa’s front legs.  My weight pulled me right over forward with my naked bum high in the air and my toes hardly touching the ground.  I was utterly unable to move and my head began to feel dizzy.  This was the crunch moment.  Literally!  Would they use the paddle, or the straps, or maybe even the cane?  My mouth was totally dry. What happened was a gentle tap on the balls!  Then a little harder.  Then harder still.  Then…

 ‘AAAARGH!  Amber, Amber!’  The bloody women were testing me to destruction!  The safeword worked, at least.  There was a pause while they cooked up the next horror. It came with absolutely no warning, a searing pain right across my arse!  Shit, that must have been a cane!  I didn’t even hear the whistle of air!  There was another pause.  Perhaps they were waiting for me to safeword, but I was determined not to chicken again if I could help it. The caning resumed, but this time as a rapid series of taps on the lower part of my bum.  The sensation was really rather delicious at first, but the pain was cumulative and I was relieved when it stopped. Then I felt someone moving between my legs and a warm mouth closed over the end of my now-softened dick.  What was going on?  I faintly heard Jane’s voice from another direction, so this was Liz.  She must still be naked and handcuffed and, I guessed, sitting on the floor below me.

 Jane waited until Liz had restored the erection, then started a regular series of blows with a leather tawse while Liz kept working on my dick.  Somehow the sexual stimulus made the pain much more tolerable. Liz jerked between my thighs and uncorked her mouth. ‘Scheiss!’  Jane had evidently aimed a blow at her boobs!   That seemed to put an end to that part of the session and I was amazed to find I was quite disappointed!

 They untied me, led me to another part of the room and told me to kneel down.  I was against the padded footstool thing I’d seen earlier.  They pushed me over it, tied my knees to the back legs and clipped my wrist cuffs to the front.  The stool was high and long enough to support my chest.  Nothing further happened for a while.  Then something thick and slippery was pushed into my arse!  My shoulders were grabbed from behind and the dildo started pumping.  She must have had the thing strapped onto her crotch – I was being fucked by a woman!  Actually it was quite enjoyable, except that the toy was a bit too long for the space available and hurt at the top of each stroke.  Were they doing this to humiliate me or were they just using me for their own fantasies like a realistic doll?

 Whichever, she tired of it quite soon.  Yeah, I thought, hard work isn’t it girls.  All very well lying back and thinking of England but there’s some bloke up there burning the calories. ‘OW!’  The blow came vertically across my left bum cheek followed almost instantly by another to match it on the right.  They stung like hell!  I found out afterwards that they were using riding crops and had divided my backside into hemispheres of influence.  Whoever had the left side had a real score to settle! Frankly, I came precious close to using the safeword again but after a dozen or so strokes each they evidently decided I’d suffered enough and untied me.  My backside was humming like it was generating electricity.

It wasn’t cup-of-tea-and-a-biscuit time yet, though.  Next stop was under the beam, and I soon found myself standing with my arms pulled up on the pulley and my legs pushed wide with a stretcher bar. They let me stand there for a long time while they went off to do something else.  Bathroom, perhaps.  Or more plotting.  Or washing-up supper, who knows?  Long enough, anyway, for me to think that the session was over.  Long enough for me to find I was regretting it was over.  The adrenaline high was subsiding.  The pain had dulled to a tingling awareness of my own body surface. Pretty soon, of course, I was regretting that it wasn’t over.  It’s almost impossible to remember how painful pain really is, until the next time a knee crushes your balls or a cane bites your arse.  The girls had armed themselves with multi-thonged whips and were working over all the exposed flesh below my chin.  I twisted and writhed and gasped and howled, but it wasn’t until I felt a hand firmly holding my shaft that I realised the stimulus had turned me on!

 Once again I felt a mouth gently fellating me while one of the whips continued its assault on my back and thighs.  Hand and mouth were now working together, working in rhythm with the whiplashes, working with determination, with a purpose, an agenda.  Irresistible. I yelled when I was coming to warn her to pull away but the mouth stayed clamped in place as a tsunami roared up my dick.  I could feel her throat desperately working to deal with it, then her tongue lazily licking up the last oozing drops.  I sagged on my ropes. They untied me then, and blessedly removed the hood.  I stood, dazed, exhausted, and opened my eyes slowly.
 Both women were standing there wearing only their boots, grinning! Then they skipped forward, threw their arms around me and kissed me all over the face, neck and chest in a kind of orgy of delight!

 ‘Wunderbar, leibchen, you were terrific!  We must celebrate!  But first come and see what patterns we have put on you!’ and they led me back up to the bathroom.  The array of mirrors showed a bright pink body covered in red lines and blotches like the work of a frenetic action painter. I noticed that most of Liz’s marks were still very evident although the redness had subsided.  Some of the heavier strokes were showing signs of bruise colours.

 ‘That’s two out of three of us decorated,’ I grinned wickedly at Jane.  ‘Maybe we should complete the picture?’

 ‘Of course, that is only fair!’ Liz joined in enthusiastically.

 Jane looked from one to the other of us, then sighed.  ‘Oh all right, then.  Just a couple to keep you company, damn you!’

 I quickly followed the girls downstairs again.  Jane bent herself over the chair back and Liz and I selected canes from the store. We gave her six each, and I honestly believe that all three of us loved every moment of every stroke.


 Sitting rather gingerly on the soft cushions with a hot coffee I could hardly believe that only this morning I had been a boring maths teacher.  Now I was a sex object deeply into sadomasochism!  The girls had disappeared upstairs to get my bed ready and left me, still naked, to come to terms with events. Why had I suddenly volunteered to be disciplined?  Liz and Jane had loved it of course and I’d genuinely wanted to please them, but part of me had envied Liz the pain, the stimuli; the attention, even.  They hadn’t forced me, I’d chosen to do it myself and that gave me a stake in the power game.  I felt I was back on equal terms.
 Equal terms didn’t last long.  While Jane relieved me of my coffee cup from the front, Liz slipped a blindfold over my eyes from behind and buckled it firmly.  The straps then went on my wrists and ankles again.

 ‘Bedtime, now,’ Jane cooed.  ‘You’re sleeping with us so we felt a little restraint on your part would be in order.  Come on.’

 I let them lead me upstairs.  This could be interesting!  They manoeuvred me into the middle of an enormous double bed and started locking thin chains first onto my ankle straps and then my wrists.  There wasn’t a lot of slack – if I straightened my legs and moved up the bed, I could just pull my hands down to my chest.  More comfortable was to lie with my legs slightly bent and my hands on the pillow. The blindfold wasn’t a full mask, more like a highwayman thing without eyeholes and with padding inside.  I could probably get it off if I wanted, but that seemed like spoiling the game.  It would be more interesting to find out what the girls were cooking up. They both climbed in with me and snuggled up each side, with much giggling.  Clearly night-dresses were not part of their otherwise extensive wardrobe!  Breasts pressed into my back and a warm bum into my front.  I tried to guess who was who, but without the use of my hands found it impossible to tell. The girls, however, had full use of their hands.

 They started by fondling each other across me, then rolled me onto my back and began gently stroking me.  By the time soft hands had reached my dick it was rock hard again and I heard a delighted chuckle.  There was enough voice to identify Liz; I was getting my bearings.  She climbed onto me then and started kissing me open-mouthed.  Naturally I responded in kind!  The other girl worked her way down the bed and was soon between our legs using her mouth to stimulate both of us in turn.  Then Liz’s thighs clamped around my erection and with a rapid series of jerks she climaxed with a loud wail.  Jane prised her legs apart and freed me – she obviously didn’t want me to come so early, if at all.  I was back in the role of sex toy again and wondered how long I could hold out.  These were repressed single women in a seriously excited state, determined to make the most of their opportunity!

 The bedspread had mostly fallen off us by this time and both girls knelt up and straddled me, face to face.  Liz was moving slowly on my chest while Jane squatted over my face.  I was evidently expected to apply my tongue and did so to mounting enthusiasm above.  From the muffled noises I guessed she and Liz were kissing up there.  Liz began moving faster, pressing hard against me.  Jane was positively vibrating, then jerked violently with her full weight on my face and howled.  Liz came moments later; they both just clung together and rocked from side to side.  I was meanwhile suffocating under Jane’s deliciously muscled buttocks, damp from her juices.  I had to wiggle my head to remind her that I was still alive, if only just, and she lifted her bum to allow me some air.

 The next bit was rather weird.  One after the other, they lowered themselves down onto my dick and sat for a moment with it inside them, immobile except for rhythmic squeezing of their vaginal muscles.  It felt terrific, if rather frustrating.  I wanted to thrust and fuck and come in gallons but I lay there silent, trying to make my brain go blank.  I went through the thirteen times table and as many decimal places of pi as I could remember and survived intact.  They were playing dangerous games!  I wondered if they had ever been with a man before – it seemed as if they just wanted to know what it felt like.

 I lost track of who was who around then.  One of them lay on me on her back with knees bent and bum tucked under my chin while the other knelt over her in the 69 position and they began gently tonguing each other.  The one on top occasionally broke off to kiss me instead, as if to reassure me that I hadn’t been forgotten.  The movements became more violent as they brought each other towards climax – this was clearly familiar ground, spiced by doing it on top of a helpless naked man.  Fingers were added to tongues and soon both were shouting in simultaneous ecstasy.  Making a heck of a lot of noise was evidently part of the fun!  I was forgotten, crushed and impotent under a collapsed heap of woman!

 Soon they rolled off, restored the bedspread, curled up each side of me and went to sleep, leaving me with an unsatisfied erection and bursting balls.  I lay there for a while until I was sure they were both breathing deeply, then gently explored my wrist bonds.  They’d forgotten to lock the strap buckles!  I undid them and moved the chains away as quietly as I could, then turned my attention to the mask.  That came off by pushing firmly upwards. What to do now? I thought about sliding down to the bottom of the bed without waking anybody and managing to undo my ankles.  I thought about grabbing one of the girls and fucking her senseless.  I thought about getting rather more comfortable, and the next thing I thought was that a naked woman was drawing the curtains and flooding the room with sunshine. As I sat up the chains yanked at my ankles and I quickly unstrapped them.  Jane turned with a lazy smile.
 ‘I see you managed to escape.  Lisbet is making breakfast.  Did you sleep well?’

 She looked absolutely stunning silhouetted against the window and I strolled over to her, slid my arms under hers, held her head in both hands and kissed her.  She opened her mouth to me and wound her arms round my neck.  It seemed a defining moment.  I stroked my hands down and cupped her buttocks, pulling her against me.
 ‘Breakfast!’ Liz called from downstairs.

 We relaxed apart, reluctantly.  Jane pointed to a carrier bag under the bed.  ‘You’d better put on some clothes, Woody.  Lisbet will suspect we’ve been up to something.’  She gave my erection a quick squeeze and left the room.


 There’s something very surreal about eating a normal meal wearing normal clothes on a fine, normal morning in the company of two entirely naked women.  They were so unembarrassed about it that I assumed they usually went nude in the mornings and I had now been accepted as part of the family.  They asked me about my car and Jane sat up delighted when I identified Bertha as a Morris Traveller.

 ‘Woody!  You’ve got a woody!  How wonderfully apt!  My brother had one.  It sounds like the petrol pump jammed, his kept doing it.  You bash it with a hammer.  I’ll look at it as soon as we‘ve finished.’

 ‘What’s the petrol pump?’

 ‘I’ll show you.’

 They dressed in sandals, shorts and vest tops with an evident lack of underclothing and followed me down to where Bertha still rested quietly by the side of the lane.  I unlocked her, released the bonnet and went round to peer in at the engine. Jane pointed to a cylindrical object in the top right-hand corner with her hammer.  ‘That’s the petrol pump.  Switch on the ignition but don’t try and start her.’  That done, I watched Jane tap the device.  It immediately gave a rapid series of clicks and Jane grinned victoriously.  ‘That’s it, you can go now!’

 The words saddened me.  I realised I didn’t really want to go.  The girls seemed to be having similar thoughts as we strolled back to the house.

 ‘How far away is this cottage you’re renting?’ Jane asked suddenly.

 ‘About three parts of an hour for Bertha,’ I replied, my hopes rising rapidly.

 ‘Then…if you’d like….you could come and see us again in a few days?’

 I gave her the biggest, slowest smile in my repertoire.

 ‘When the stripes have gone!’ Liz added enthusiastically.

 ‘And bring some condoms.’


 The story doesn’t quite end there.  I called twice more on my holiday and again on the way home, and spent much of the rest of the break poring over the Guardian Education advertisements looking for a school in the North that needed a maths teacher.  The experience had changed me or at least drawn out a part of me that I hadn’t known existed, and I couldn’t bear to lose it.

 It had changed Jane and Lisbet too.  Both had straight boyfriends within the year, but never invited them to High Withies.  The three of us met there for half-terms and a week or so most holidays, and sometimes I would go by myself to fit out the barn with pulleys and pillories and even a rotating X-frame. It was wonderful for two years, then Lisbet started coming less frequently and finally moved to Germany to marry her boyfriend. I proposed to Jane.

 ‘Woody, darling, I thought you’d never ask.  I was planning to beat it out of you!’

 She did it anyway.  And I loved her for it.