I could barely walk the next day, striding about the house as though with an invisible pony between my bowed legs, vainly attempting to banish the world from contact with my reddened, raw, ravaged pussy. Fetishdoll, seemingly unscarred by her part in our love duel, revelled in my discomfiture, slapping my arse and stroking my tender breasts at every possibility, tousling my hair and making lewd suggestions the thought of which, at that moment, would have had me streaking naked down the street in terror.

Paul, too, could scarcely conceal his amusement at my state, and he and his sister spent much of the day passing humorous remarks back and forth at my expense. I was too weak to do anything in retaliation. Godammit, even my lips hurt...

But I made up for it the next day. You can't let these subs get too uppity, after all, or they'll start taking liberties, thinking they can get away with more and more. So it was with a glad heart and stinging hand that I dispensed a sound judgement on his bared arse, stretching him over my knee with his trousers rucked down at his heels, having him count out the strokes and thank his mistress for their dispensation. Thirty, he got, and I was getting better at dishing them out, my timing improving fast; by the pained squeals he was emitting with the last few spanks it was clear I was succeeding.

"Enough," I said, as I landed number thirty on his reddened rear. "And stop that noise, for God's sake, or I'll put a gag on you next time. If I'd wanted to listen to high pitched whinnying I'd have bought a horse." He was still resting on my lap, and I was aware of his hardened cock bulging against my thigh. His chest was heaving, and I could feel his heart thumping, signalling the exertion of his thrashing and his rising excitement at his predicament.

What to do? Well, truth to tell, I wanted that cock inside me. We had been interrupted a few days previously by the unexpected arrival of the innefable F. and had not, in the intervening period, had an opportunity to resume matters. Indeed, since the dear Fetishdoll had given her consent to her brother becoming my sub, I had had no opportunity to develop my domme skills until now, busy as I had been first in jousting with her and, latterly, in recovering from the aftermath. So this, it seemed to me, was my chance. Fetishdoll herself had vacated the flat, goodness knows for where or what, but we were alone. So, what to do?

"Damned great erection you've got there, buster."

"Yes," he mumbled. I dispensed another spank.

"Yes, it is mistress."

"Better. And what would you like to do with it?"

"Whatever you suggest, Mistress."

That's the trouble with these submissives: no ideas of their own.

"Well then," I said, pushing him off my lap and watching in amusement as he sprawled all over the floor, landing in an inelegant heap at my feet, "for various reasons, mostly to do with your mad sister, I haven't much chance to inspect it yet, so get over in that chair and start showing it to me."

He looked up at me, not fully understanding.

"You know, beat the meat, spank the monkey, toss the tadger. Let's have a look." For once, the normally unflappable, implacable Paul looked alarmed, as though this was something he hadn't expected. "Come on, come on, get on with it," I said, settling myself back in the sofa and waiting for the spectacle to begin. "And get rid of those trousers."

He untangled himself from the trousers draped round his ankles and settled himself in the chair opposite me. Self consciously, his hand dropped to his stiff cock. I raised an eyebrow coquettishly.

And he began. He gripped his hand round the girth of his cock, his first two fingers braced against it, the other two raised slightly upwards and away. He was a reasonable length, a good six inches or possibly more (I've never been much of a judge of length, and tend, I think, to underestimate; which probably explains the rapid turnover of men in my life...) and quite slender; very attractive actually, nicely proportioned, not fat and squat like some, nor too pencil-thin. Just right, in fact, and with a very attractive, purple and engorged helmet poking out above his fingers, slightly longer than average, taking up a greater proportion of his total prick than normal. Hmm, I thought, this was getting good. I could feel that I was distinctly damp, and I was getting hot.

"Take off your top as well," I ordered. He stripped it off and lay stretched, naked, on the chair in front of me. His chest was pretty hairy, and the hairs had gathered down the middle of his stomach, forming a thick, dark line, seemingly pointing downwards, drawing my eyes towards his exposed cock. He started a slow, regular motion with his hand, all four fingers now rested on his shaft, rubbing upwards and over his glans. It was sensuous stuff. He gradually became less self-conscious, less aware that I was watching him, and gave himself over to his pleasure. He was clearly taking it seriously, his eyes closed, concentration frowning across his face, his bottom lip drawn in between his teeth.

"Open your eyes," I said. "Look at me. Watch me watching you."

He did as he was ordered, and gazed into my eyes as he continued to stroke himself up and down, up and down. His strokes were getting longer, his palm extending over his tip, momentarily hiding it from my view, then sliding backwards again, revealing it to me once more. His pace was regular, but after a couple of minutes I discerned that he was speeding up slightly.

"Stroke your balls."

Stretching down with his left hand, he began to caress his testicles, his fingertips drawing circles around their base. His cock twitched a couple of times, and I could tell that this turned him on.

"Keep stroking," I commanded. "And stroke downwards. Down your perineum."

Once more, he did as bidden, concentrating his first two fingers on the sensitive line between his balls and arse. It seemed to me that his cock had grown; it seemed stiffer and longer in his grip, his head glistening more purple than before. He certainly seemed to like this. I allowed him to tease himself for a few moments longer.

"Touch your asshole," I said, adopting the American term. He looked at me for an instant, then slid a finger between his arse cheeks. The way he was seated, I couldn't quite get a view of what he was doing, but he seemed to be enjoying it. His prick twitched alarmingly a couple of times, and he let out a deep sigh.

This was too much. I was so turned on by now, watching Paul's display, that I needed instant gratification. I slid my hand inside my jogger bottoms; my panties were soaked, and I could feel the shape of my puffed lips through the fabric. My nipples, meanwhile, were boring holes through my tee-shirt. I needed something. And I needed it now.

"Enough!" I called. I slid my trousers down over my thighs and pulled them off. Yanking my tee-shirt over my head, I ushered him over.

"Get here, now," I said. "And if that bloody sister of yours walks in the door now, I swear I'll dump her head-first out of the bathroom window. Now, I want fucked..."