The very first title by M. Pearson. A multi-part narrative, it describes various members of the club, including a pair of incredibly enthusiastic twins, and their activities, culminating a wild orgy at the nicely-equipped Blakely Manor. If you read only one book by Pearson, or her sister Greta X, make it this one.
One of the other pansies giggled. “These women, darling! You'll have
to do as she says, the bitch.”
“Unless,” said Anne quietly, “you want a whipping instead.”
“Oh, all right,” said the first pansy, petulantly. “But this wasn't
in our agreement, and I'm going to complain to Mrs. Collett.” He walked
to the chair and knelt on it. He put his head low. His naked bottom
reared itself upwards. Anne moistened her lips and took up position.
She put the head of her great erection against his inflamed anus. She
gave a sharp thrust. The dildo plunged into the passage. A sweeping
flood of delight coursed through her loins as her own end of the dildo
pressed itself far into her vagina.
The maids examined the straps at the four corners of the rack and
found them secure and tight. One of them went to the geared ratchet
wheel on the left of the machine; the naked one went to the wheel on
the right. Together they turned their wheels a few inches. The ratchets
clicked as the upper half of the rack moved upwards, and further
tightened the straps around Williamson's extremities. “That's enough, I
think,” said the naked one. “He's ready now.” She picked up the rope
that came between his legs from the leather strip around his scrotum.
She gave it a little pull and then laid it on the black rubber, letting
it hang downwards in the middle of his spread-eagled legs. “Let's go
and get the whips and things.”
Williamson lay, at his forty-five-degree angle, against the soft
padded rubber. His arms and legs were already stretched very tightly.
He wondered how much more his torturers would turn the ratchet wheels.
He wondered how much he could stand of what was going to happen. He
prayed that he would faint if it became too horrible.
Richard Blake had gone up to Sally and Jane Lambert. He wasted no
time on polite preliminaries. “I'd love to poke one of you—but you're
both so beautiful, and so exactly alike, that I don't know which one of
you to ask.”
“Why not poke us both?” said Jane.
“If you can, that is to say,” smiled Sally.
Blake grinned. “If you were quins, I could poke all five of you!
You're electrifyingly lovely, you know. And you're electrifying my
“Nicely said,” answered Sally. “But will you pay our price?”
“What is your price?”
“While you're poking the one of us, the other will be electrifying
your bottom with a whip. And then the other way round.”
“Two pokings, two whippings, eh?”
“Two electrifications—of one sort. Two electrifications of another
“All right. It's a deal.”
“Go and get a whip for us, then. You can choose which one you'd like
us to electrify you with.”
“Must it be a whip? Wouldn't a cane do?”
“Oh, yes. A cane would do perfectly well. A lot of electricity can be
got from a cane.”
Blake walked away to find a cane.
The maids had brought a number of whip-racks near to the rack. They
were putting the various instruments tidily into their places. “Do you
think he'll faint?” said the naked one, as she disentangled the lashes
of a blood-stained leather cat-o'-nine-tails. “He's sure to,” said one
of the others. “Although he looks fairly tough.” The naked one glanced
at the man on the rack. “He doesn't know it, but he's going to fuck me
before he leaves here. He'll be no good for a day or so, but after
that...” “But it's forbidden to go near the sick-room,” said the other
one. The naked one shrugged her shoulders. “To hell with it. I want
him, and I'm going to have him. And I'm going to have a little suck
now, too.” She turned and walked with deliberate casualness to the back
of the rack. Williamson's penis and tightly constricted testicles,
lying freely in the crack of the machine, were on a level with her
face. She put her lips to the tip of the penis. She kissed it and
licked it. It gave a little tremor and grew hard. She put her mouth
over it and sucked.
Helen Collett looked up and saw her behind the rack. “Send that girl
here,” she called. “The girl who's behind the rack.”
The naked maid jumped away from the penis and came guiltily from
behind the machine. She walked up to Helen. “You wanted me, madam?”
“What were you doing there?”
“Just—just kissing his prick a little, madam.”
Helen frowned. “You know perfectly well that you're forbidden to
touch a victim once he's on the rack. You know that, don't you?”
The girl hung her head. “Yes, madam.”
“A punishment, then,” said Helen. “Go and get a whalebone switch.”
The naked maid turned and walked away.
One of the men said: “Can I do it, please? Can I give her the
“Certainly,” said Helen. “If you want to.”
“How many strokes?”
The man licked his lips. “Fifty it is. Fifty strokes.” He held out
his hand for the switch as the naked maid returned. “Bend down and
touch your toes,” he ordered. “You're going to have fifty from me.”
A shadow of fear crossed the girl's face but she made no reply. She
bent her beautiful body and touched her toes with graceful ease. The
man raised the switch.
“We'll leave you to it,” said Helen. “It's time to get started on