Four and a Half Acre Wood
by Congressio

Lady Christina abruptly spurred her bay gelding into a gallop. A moment later, Anne followed suit. Heads flattened to their horses’ necks, the girls gave chase across His Lordship’s field, heading straight for Four and a Half Acre Wood.

No one knew why it was so called. It didn’t appear by name on maps dated before 1731; the area was shown as extensively forested and simply marked “HuntingForest”. An estate map of 1732 showed the name “Four and a Half Acre Wood”, but even allowing for vagueness of scale and draughtsmanship, it was clearly much larger than its name suggested. By 1985, however, it had reduced in size and the Ordnance Survey maps of around that time suggested it covered around five acres.

Lady Christina was His Lordship’s trophy wife. Twenty-seven years younger, she had married for money and position. He had married to have a beautiful woman on his arm at banquets and for sex. A prostate problem, exacerbated by too many of the former, had diminished his appetite for the latter, much to Lady Christina’s relief as she preferred younger, more virile men in her bed; and women too … especially her good friend and riding companion, Anne.

Unusually, given his public school upbringing, His Lordship had not discovered his wife’s other sexual appetite, that most English of sins: a good, long, hard spanking on the bare buttocks. Had he done so, he would doubtless have obliged her. And he would undoubtedly have had her flog him in return. The English aristocracy seemed to have spent much of their schooling with their bottoms in the air … receiving either a firm caning or a stout buggering.

Lady Christina eased the reins and stood up in the stirrups, slowing her horse as they approached the wood. She slowed firstly to a canter, then to a trot and finally to a walk. Anne reined down her chestnut mare similarly.

“Why are we here?” she puffed, slightly breathless from their careening ride across the fields.

“I’ve found the perfect place,” whispered Christina. “We’ll dismount here and walk in. It’s not far. Bring your whip.”

These last words started a fire in Anne’s stomach and immediately dampened the crotch of her riding breeches. She never wore knickers when riding.

They hitched the horses on long reins to some low branches, allowing them to graze on the sparse grass at the edge of the wood.

Christina led the way, carrying her riding crop and occasionally cracking it against the side of a riding boot. The whistle and crack stirred Anne’s appetite and the crotch of her breeches became even wetter. As Christina ducked under a low-hanging branch, Anne could see a damp stain spreading in the V of her jodhpurs and knew Christina was getting as turned on as she was. She shivered with delight and anticipation.

They halted. “There we are. What do you think?”

Anne looked around the small glade. It was some thirty yards in diameter, ringed by the deciduous trees that had typically made up Four and a Half Acre Wood since the late eighteenth century. She noted oak, beech and horse chestnut and a walnut or two. The floor was carpeted with last year’s leaves, slowly decaying into a rich leaf mould. Dotted here and there were the empty husks of horse chestnuts, so beloved of children for the quintessentially English game of conkers; she spotted several acorns too, turned brown by the passing year. Although it was now September, the canopy above their heads had not yet begun to take on its autumn colour but the fat tree seeds she could see hanging pendulous from the tips of many twigs would soon sprinkle the glade with their bright greenery amid the russets, oranges, yellows and reds of the falling leaves.

The sun struggled to penetrate the interwoven branches and leaf quilt above their heads, and what light made it through suffused the clearing with a green tinge. Moss covered several fallen trunks, adding to the greenness.

Ahead of her was an unusual branch. Around a foot thick it grew at right angles from the base of an oak tree, running parallel to the ground and at just the right height to be bent over for a spanking and more. She walked forward and saw just behind it another branch, similarly parallel to the ground and at the right distance and of the right thickness to be grasped while bent over the larger branch. Both branches were moss-covered, but the moss on the main branch was squashed and partly rubbed away in one place. Behind it there were two clear spots on the thinner branch, just where one would grip it when bent over the main branch. Anne turned to Lady Christina quickly to applaud her on her marvellous and fortuitous discovery, to find that she had come up close behind. They embraced and necked quietly for a while.

Anne broke away. “It seems you have visited here before, you little minx.”

“Just twice. I’ll tell you about it later. Both times were with men. But now it’s just you and me.”

“It looks so perfect. Let’s try it out.”

“Let’s. But who’s to go first?”

With that, Christina turned around, bent down and picked something up from the carpet of last year’s leaves and seeds. She put both hands behind her back, juggled something between them then presented her fists palm down for Anne to choose.

“Pick the acorn to go first.”

Anne didn’t really mind which order they went in, but played along. She laid both hands over Christina’s fists and struck a thinking pose.

“Hmm. Left or right? Right or left? I don’t know … yes, yes, right, right!”

Lady Christina turned over both hands and opened them. There was an acorn in each.

“Cheat!” shouted Anne. “Now you must go first. And you’ve earned an extra six for cheating.”

Christina leant forwards and kissed Anne, slipping her tongue inside her mouth.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” she murmured, and handed her riding crop to Anne. “Your choice of weapon, madam.”

Christina walked to the horizontal branch, unzipped her jodhpurs and eased them down her legs to the top of her riding boots. Like Anne, she worn no knickers. Inside the crotch was wet and beautifully pungent.

She bent forwards across the branch, rising on tiptoes to grasp the far branch, then settling herself ready for whatever was coming to her. The twin globes of her creamy bottom were perfectly presented for a hand-spanking and for what would follow.

Anne stuffed her crop down her left boot and flexed Christina’s a couple of times before stuffing it alongside her own. She strode towards Christina’s prostrate form and positioned herself on the left. She stroked Her Ladyship’s smooth flesh. There were no traces from any previous flagellation, so she knew from past experience that it must have been at least a week since Christina had received the cane, although the marks of a hand-spanking would have disappeared more quickly. She ran her fingers lasciviously down the crack between Christina’s cheeks, her fingernails brushing the puckered hole and then dipping briefly between the lips of the coral labia peeking coyly between Christina’s thighs. They both shuddered from the sexual tension building between them.

“Ten each side to warm up,” Anne announced. Christina’s buttocks wiggled in anticipation. “There’s no need to count these.”

Anne drew her right arm back and delivered a stinging smack to Christina’s left buttock. The next fell on the right cheek.

Anne waited. A faint pink blush began to show on each rounded target. A faint handprint on the otherwise unblemished surface.

The next four smacks were delivered to each cheek in turn in short order. Christina gasped with each of the last.

“Wow! I’m warming up nicely.”

The pink blush was steadily reddening and covering the whole of Christina’s bottom. No longer could individual prints be distinguished; they were merging into a single broad stain of cerise flesh.

Anne shifted her stance and her aim. Now, instead of swinging her arm slightly downwards, she swung upwards, catching Christina from below and in the crease between her bottom and her thighs.

“Ouch! Ouch!” sprang from Christina’s lips as the pair of blows landed. The tops of her thighs were particularly sensitive. Anne waited until she saw them turning pink, knowing that as they did so, the accompanying sting was spreading upwards and downwards too.

Five more smacks then landed in quick succession, turning the underside of Christina’s bottom and the tops of her thighs cherry red.

“Double wow.”

Anne wetly kissed each cheek in turn, laving her tongue over the entire surface and dipping into the crack between them. Christina wriggled and sighed.

“Well, now! What have we here?”

The deep male voice was unexpected and unnerving. Engrossed in themselves, neither Anne nor Christina had heard any approach. They had thought themselves alone and unlikely to be discovered.

Anne spun around, but Christina remained prostrate over the branch, her pert and now very red bottom evidently on show. A slow smile spread across her face. She had recognised the voice.

“Good afternoon,” the intruder said, raising his cap politely above a weather-beaten face. “I’m Tom, the estate manager – Big Tom they call me. And this is my son, Tom.”

Anne was flustered. Tom the estate manager seemed unperturbed by the sight of his mistress half naked and showing the after-effects of a good spanking. For his son Tom this seemed to be altogether a different affair. His eyes were sticking out and, glancing at his crotch, Anne observed that his cock was too. If Tom the estate manager was Big Tom, his son certainly wasn’t Little Tom … at least not where it counted.

“Well, then,” Big Tom intoned, looking at his mistress’s reddened bottom. “It looks as though we arrived at the right time to lend a hand or two.”

He turned to Anne. “Give me your whip and give milady’s riding crop to Little Tom here.”

Anne meekly pulled them from her riding boot and handed both implements over. Big Tom was a broad-shouldered man, and as he rolled up his right sleeve Anne noted solid muscle on his forearms. His biceps bulged. Little Tom copied his father, but with his left sleeve. He too was well muscled. Together, they took station either side of Lady Christina. “How many was it to be?” Big Tom asked.

“Twelve. Oh, and an extra six for cheating in the draw as to who went first.”

“So, it’s eighteen strokes for milady, and how many for you?”

Anne quivered. She had expected Christina to spank and thrash her, not two brawny men. She became conscious that her breeches were now very obviously stained around her crotch, and was keenly aware that both Big and Little Tom had noticed.

“Twelve.”

The number came from the bent-over Lady Christina. Anne dumbly nodded in agreement. “Twelve.”

“Twelve it shall be then. Now, milady, I hope you’ve got a firm grip of that bough. Eighteen from Tom and me will test you sorely.” He chuckled at his joke.

Anne gulped. She’d expected twelve in total. Now it seemed it would be twelve from each man, twenty-four strokes all told. She rubbed her bottom, shivered and gulped again. “Oh my poor bottom,” she thought.

Big Tom had Anne’s riding crop and Little Tom had Christina’s. Both ended in a D-shaped leather flap, but the shaft of Anne’s was a square section, whilst Christina’s was round. The effects of the thin whippy crops and the flat mini-paddle ends would be different. Despite her worries, Anne was intrigued to see the marks they would make on Christina’s cheeks and to feel for herself the different impacts. An observer for now, she drew closer to the three others and hugged herself in anticipation.

Big and Little Tom drew back their right and left arms respectively. Big Tom let fly first, followed a split second later by Little Tom. The whistles and cracks sounded almost together and Lady Christina’s bottom bounced from the impacts. Both men drew back slightly and waited.

Two thin white lines appeared, slowly turning red, each ending in a D of deep pink. There was a suggestion of a difference between the marks left by the round and square crop shafts … but not much.

“One,” intoned Lady Christina.

The arms drew back again and once more let fly, Little Tom a fraction ahead of his father this time. Two more white lines appeared, just below the previous ones. As they turned red it looked to Anne like a pair of railway lines, so straight and parallel were they.

“Two.”

Again the whistles and cracks were so close as to be almost undistinguishable. This time, however, the men didn’t pause and delivered ten more pairs of strokes in rapid succession. Lady Christina counted each one as fast as she could. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the bough ever more tightly with each stroke. One foot briefly left the ground as each of the final lashes cracked home. At the final pair of strokes her voice broke briefly and she called “Twelve” with a small sob at the end.

She started to rise, but Big Tom put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her down again.

“That’s twelve, Ma’am, but don’t forget there’s an extra six for cheating.”

Christina sighed and settled back down, but both men stepped back as Anne came closer and inspected the slowly blistering bottom. The marks were by now highly coloured and some lashes had fallen on top of previous ones. They were all clustered around her sit-spot. Riding back would be impossible and Anne was sure Christina wouldn’t be sitting comfortably for several days. She stroked the weals gently and bent her lips to each cheek, licking along each ridge. Out of the corner of one eye she noticed Little Tom adjusting the bulge in his crotch. Turning her head the other way, she saw Big Tom doing the same. A sly smile lifted the corners of her lips. This could be fun … after the pain.

During a pause of a few minutes Christina’s bottom steadily took on greater colour and from her continual shifting it was clear that the pain was sinking throughout. Nevertheless, she uttered no sound, nor did she make any attempt to rub herself.

The Toms resumed their positions and took aim again. This time the strokes fell some ten or so seconds apart, but they were not parallel to the previous twelve. Instead they landed somewhat crossways, with the leather ends smacking into the tender flesh at the top of each cheek. Lady Christina yelped with the first pairs of three, groaned at the next and screamed with the final ones. Anne noticed that her vulva peeking as it was between her reddened thighs glistened in the pallid, filtered sunlight. The scream had not been entirely of pain, but also of orgasm. Anne moved forward to caress her friend’s scalded bottom, but Big and Little Toms’ hands were there first, palms stroking along the lines. The fingers of both men dipped into the crevice below Christina’s bottom cheeks and brushed her wet vulva, then traced up the cleft to the puckered rosebud of her anus. Christina moaned and shuddered, and her vulva glistened more as she came once again. Anne was entranced.

“Now, Miss. Your turn, I think.”

Christina was helped up by Little Tom, who held her as she recovered from her twin orgasms and her whipping. Big Tom led the nervous Anne to the branch, unzipped her breeches and pulled them down to her knees.

“No knickers. I like that sort of readiness in a woman.”

Trembling, Anne bent over the thick branch and gripped the thinner one tightly.

“Relax, Miss. It’ll be easier,” said Tom in her left ear.

“Aye, Miss,” said the other Tom in her right.

She tried to relax. The bark of the branch was rough against her pubis. She gave a little wiggle and felt a little heat begin to build inside as she was stimulated by the mossy bark.

Regardless, she was still apprehensive. Unlike Her Ladyship, there would be no warming up of Anne’s bottom such as her initial hand-spanking had done. She was to receive the strokes on her unprepared flesh. Not a frequent submissive, her buttocks were soft and she felt the cane, crop and occasional birch most keenly. She gasped. The birch. She hadn’t seen any, thank goodness, but had noticed some coppiced hazel at the end of the wood where they’d left the horses. Perhaps another time.

Crack! Crack!

Away with her fantasies, she hadn’t heard the warning whistle of the descending crops and the blows caught her unawares.

“Ow! Ow!” she yelled. “Sorry, sorry. Wasn’t ready. That’s one.”

The sting began to seep through, countering the growing sexual thrill she was getting from rubbing her pubis against the branch.

Another pair of lashes fell, then two and four more. The sting became a definite pain, white-hot initially, then fading to red-hot, mimicking the change of colour she knew was taking place on her bottom.

“Si … sev … eight,” she shouted, unable to keep up with the counting, so fast had the lashes landed.

There was a pause. Strangely, the pain in her bottom seemed no worse, whilst her vagina was hotter than before. She wondered if she had reached that plateau submissives speak about.

The final four pairs of strokes landed close together, both in time and on her bottom. With the final pair she came, hard, squirting from between the lips of her vulva as she did so.

“Wow!” yelled Christina, who had recovered her balance and had been crouching down level with Anne’s bottom, watching closely. Her breeches were pulled up, but only as far as the top of her thighs where they met her throbbing bottom. She was still too tender to pull them over her ridged cheeks. She washed her hand over her face and licked each of her fingers in turn. “You sprayed me! Wonderful!”

“Way to go!” shouted Little Tom, his hand stroking the lump in his groin.

“Fantastic!” thundered Big Tom, who had his hand down inside his moleskin trousers, trying to create some additional space for his penis.

Christina helped Anne upright and hugged her. “You OK?” she asked. “Silly question, really. I’ve never seen you come so hard before.”

Anne shuddered. “I’ve never come like that. I’ve never squirted, only read about it.” She rubbed her bottom, feeling each ridge with tender fingers. She counted them. Nineteen, but five ridges were higher and sorer than the others. They must be where a second lash had landed right on top of a previous one.

“Are you ready for the finale?” asked Christina.

“What finale?”

“Shagging both Toms together.”

“What? One each?”

“No. Both together. For you, my darling. My treat. You see, I’ve had them before!”

Anne turned back towards the branch. Slightly further along from the spanking place, both Toms were sitting facing each other. They were naked from the waist down, their penises pointing skywards a few inches apart.

“Hop up here, Miss. There’s a rock either side for your feet.”

It was a perfect place, Anne thought. One branch offering opportunities for spanking and sex.

“Which way round?” asked Christina.

Anne looked closely at both men’s penises. Big Tom’s was around seven inches, thick and knobbled with veins. Little Tom’s was longer, but slimmer and circumcised.

“I’ll face Big Tom,” announced Anne, fearing to have his fat penis in her anus. Little Tom’s would be enough.

Christina boosted Anne up between the two men, spat on her fingers and applied them to Anne’s anus, then licked Little Tom’s penis. Anne found that the rocks Tom had mentioned were of a size and shape and handily placed for her to put a foot securely on each so as to stand with her crotch about two inches above Little Tom’s long penis.

She bent her knees and lowered herself onto the pair of cocks. Little Tom spread her bottom cheeks, his hands reigniting the fires of her caning. He pushed into her first, slowly and gently. Big Tom entered her easily; she was so wet with her previous spend and other juices.

Lady Christina began to clap slowly and Anne rose and fell in time with the clapping. As her bottom slapped onto Little Tom’s thighs she felt again the sting of the riding crops and this spurred her towards a second orgasm. Christina clapped faster and faster. Anne rose and fell faster and faster. It didn’t take long. As she came, she felt first Little Tom and then his father explode inside her, drenching her both front and back and extinguishing her inner fires with a deluge of cum.

After a rest of some thirty minutes, the men helped the ladies manoeuvre their riding breeches over their bottoms. The tight fabric smoothed out most of the welts, but several of the double ridges were clearly noticeable from behind. “A variation on VPL,” commented Little Tom, earning him a playful cuff from his father.

The girls walked the horses back to the manor house. Neither could face riding. Both their bottoms were too sore and Anne was additionally sore from her double penetration. But, she reflected, it was a nice sort of sore.

Before dinner that evening, they changed into more formal clothes. Both chose loose-fitting gowns and French knickers for the most comfort they could achieve. They changed together in Lady Christina’s room, taking the opportunity to inspect and compare their weals in several long mirrors arranged so that every side could be seen at once. Both bottoms had turned the black red of a Chateau Palmer Grand Cru Classé, with raised welts criss-crossing like the lines at a major railway junction. They stood naked, bosom to bosom, kissing deeply whilst gently but firmly rubbing a soothing cream into each other’s bottom, their fingers tracing the lines and dipping into anus and vulva as they did so. The gentle frigging took their minds off the coming agony of sitting down to dinner on the rush-seated ladder-back chairs.

In the hall, before they went in to dinner, the butler whispered discreetly, as he poured a 1998 Blanc de Chateau Prieuré-Lichine, “The Estate Manager suggested that I place an extra cushion on your chairs.” There was no change in his expression as he said this. Anne looked daggers at Lady Christina. “Does everyone know?” she growled. “Don’t worry,” grinned Her Ladyship. “Charles has a strong right arm and a stout cock too … and he’s very discreet.”

Despite the extra cushion, dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Anne wriggled from time to time, partly with the ache in her bottom, but also because she was remembering the feeling of a pair of cocks inside her and fantasising too about Charles’ strong right arm and stout member.

Another day, maybe … when today’s scars had faded.