Chapter 5

 

 

I stared at him. “Automatic paddling machine? What is that?” I asked, thinking of the caning machine we had already built and used occasionally when a severe punishment was called for.

He grabbed a notepad and quickly sketched it for me, and as it took shape on the paper, my face broke into a broad grin. “It looks stupendous,” I said as I imagined a male secured in the machine and his bottom being vigorously paddled with the two leather instruments Bobby had drawn, similar to, but very different in its application to the caning machine.

It really wasn’t all that complicated; much less so in fact than the caning machine. Just a narrow bench on which the naked slave would be stretched and secured leaving his buttocks soft to enhance the spectacle of them being enthusiastically spanked with the stiff leather paddles.

Bobby’s inventive mind had obviously been working on it for some time, simplifying the somewhat complicated, computer-controlled aspects of the other machine. As you will by now have appreciated, both Bobby and I delight in designing, fabricating and constructing these machines and this one was going to be simple yet just as effective. It consisted of two square wooden posts set from floor to ceiling either side of the bench which was bolted immovably to the floor. The two paddles, one for each buttock cheek, were attached at the base of their handles to a steel rod set between the two posts and at a height that allowed the leather to attack the gluteal muscles perfectly.

Like the caning machine, they were activated by cams driven by an electric motor also affixed to the rod. As the motor spun, it drove the same gearing mechanism which converted the 1000 rpm of the motor’s shaft down to one revolution per minute and this was therefore the speed at which the two cams turned.

The cams’ function of course, was to slowly raise each paddle (first the left and then the right) up and off the slave’s bottom until the lug on the side of the paddle’s handle which was being driven by the cam reached the escapement when the powerful spring which pulled the paddle down onto the slave’s bottom, slammed the leather part of the paddle down onto his left buttock.

It didn’t stay there long however for the cam’s continued slow movement immediately began to raise it up off the flesh and start the cycle all over again. Meanwhile, of course, depending on where the second cam had been fixed in relationship to the first, it too released the second paddle which then vigorously larruped the right cheek.

The one motor drove both cams and this was made possible by appropriate bearings and journals fixed to the steel shaft to keep the whole mechanism secure.

“Let’s start straight away,” I said excitedly. “If we start now and make a list of what we want, Bunnings (our Australia-wide giant hardware chain) should be able to provide most of it and then we can make a start. With a bit of luck, it might be finished before we leave here.”

Bobby was just as enthusiastic and after completing the list, we quickly dressed, yes, him too although he said he didn’t much like wearing clothes after being stark naked for so long and drove down to the huge store. I won’t go into the minutiae of finding, fabricating and assembling the machine. Suffice to say we did it in only a few days during which time the other two pairs decided they were indeed right for one another and so once the machine was built, we were ready to leave the camp and go home to our respective houses.

First though, the machine had to be finished and tested. As with all such equipment we made, we lavished great attention to detail and to finish and so, like all the other punishment devices I or we had made down there, it was a thing of beauty as well as functionality.

Bobby again insisted on being its first victim and once more, I agreed. After all, he was the only one among us who was a true masochist and would relish the pain he was going to endure on it.

He laid his body down on the long bench and the other two boys secured his wrists and ankles into the restraints at either end of the bench, both being on small winches so that he could be stretched out nicely. This also meant we could adjust the victims’ position up or down the bench to suit his height to the attack of the two paddles, a much simpler arrangement than the motorised travel of the bench on the caning machine.

Of course in this position, he look fabulous (and yes, I was prejudiced but the others agreed, his well-stretched body now looked incredible), particularly his buttocks. On him, as on the other two, these organs were small – boyish is the usual expression, I believe – very narrow but well-curved and indented heavily on each outer edge and they reached well up into the small of his slender lower back.

Having attended to all this, I switched on the motor and we all watched with great interest as it got up to speed and the two cams began turning too, pushing the right paddle slowly upwards.

At this point, it was half way up its range of travel and the left almost near the top. The motor was spinning fast but the two cams seemed to be moving at a crawl. Of course we had built this into the machine so that the victim would have time to ‘savour’ the pain of each stroke before the next one struck.

I should here perhaps describe the actual paddles in more detail. What would have been the wooden handle on a hand-held version of the instrument was made of more of the stainless steel which I always used for the metal parts of my machines. Its end had been made so that once it was bolted to the main supporting shaft of the whole apparatus, it could travel only up and down vertically with no lateral movement at all.

The business part, that made of leather, was actually two sheets of two-millimetre thick polished leather sewn together, shiny side out making a four millimetre thick blade. Each paddle was twenty centimetres long and ten wide and depending on how strong a spring we used as the driving force for each paddle, so would the pain be commensurately reflected.

On this occasion, at Bobby’s request, we had used a medium strength spring so he could determine just how bad the pain was going to be when we used it for real on our future ‘clients’.

Just then the left hand paddle’s cam reached its escapement and down went the shaft or handle of the paddle while the blade bent backwards as it followed the handle. It struck with a resounding smack and as it did, Bobby’s buttocks clenched hard and I could see he was having difficulty in containing a scream. I did nothing, however. He had asked for this and in any case, all three of us girls were now in a high state of arousal. No way could we have stopped just because Bobby was in a little discomfort.

That he most certainly was. His face was red and his eyes were straining, as was every muscle in his body. He was shaking his head and sweat began to form in beads on his forehead. I wondered what he would have done if we had used the strongest of the three springs we had purchased for the machine.

The cam lifted the paddle off his left cheek almost instantly and now I stared at the splotchy red marks over its crown. Okay, I well know that even a mild slap brings blood rushing to the seat of the injury but this looked more than that. And the way he was clenching and relaxing his buttocks indicated he was in considerable pain. I moved round to his front and squatted down. “Too much for you, eh boy?” I said in as neutral tones as I could muster, not wishing to influence him by sneering at his pain or, on the other hand, trying to encourage him to go on.

“No mistress,” he said (he was in slave mode now, you see). “It hurts a lot but I do want to test it properly. May I have ten strokes to each cheek, please?”

“Certainly,” I said archly. “Ten strokes to each cheek it shall be.” I knew that he would be in a lot of pain by then but this is the reason the buttocks are such a perfect target for real punishment – the cane, still used in Malaysia and Singapore, is used with great effectiveness on male prisoners and there, up to twenty strokes at full force is the maximum. The paddle, while more widespread in its application to the flesh is therefore less severe on a particular part and he would not be damaged by it.

I stood up and now watched from a position near his head as the right hand paddle now approached its escapement. The left hand one was now half way up and I had a sudden thought. If we wanted to extend this punishment even more, we could insert a rheostat next to the switch and thereby slow down the motor itself. In this way we could make the paddles operate at any interval at all – even an hour between strokes.

By now its frantic clenching and relaxing of his bottom had slowed down. I think he had been counting the seconds and knew the second stroke was about to come. It did, and then with the same slight whooshing noise and the bending back of the leather blade, down it slammed onto his right cheek – with exactly the same reaction except that this time he did utter a sort of squeak as his right buttocks cheek was punished.

I glanced at the other two boys and was surprised to see a mixture of emotions on their handsome faces. First, there was horror at the pain we were inflicting on Bobby. Then there was sympathy for his plight – but I could also detect a degree of lust. I moved quickly round to Geraldine and wondered (in a whisper) about that aspect of their demeanour.

She stared at the pair of them and then grinned at me. “The pair of them are sadistic, too,” she said but she didn’t seem to be at all put out by it. “It’s natural, Angie. We’ve trained them to be sexually aware – and to a very high degree. Sadism lurks in all of us in greater or lesser degrees. They are just reflecting it. Look at their cocks. Neither is fully erect. They’re not full-blown sadists, believe me. Anyway, aren’t you too a little excited at watching Bobby spanked by this machine?”

I grinned back at her. “Yes, I am,” I said frankly. “It’s just I was worried the pair of them, and especially Anton, might be excited by Bobby’s body under punishment.”

“No, I don’t think it’s that. More just the rampant sexuality of what we are doing, I think. But look, the left paddle is about to let go again!”

As we watched, it did and now Bobby’s body really began to twist and squirm although he kept his mouth shut and his moans self-contained. And so it went on, each buttock coming in for another stroke every sixty seconds until he had indeed taken ten to each cheek at which I switched off the motor while Anton and Sunti released the manacles and he was able, sort-of, to get up.

His buttocks were now very, very red, although there was no broken skin. I touched them lightly and he jumped, winced and turned reproachfully towards me, frowning and smiling at the same time. “It’s very sore, mistress,” he said softly.

“Good,” I said unfeelingly (although I didn’t feel like that at all), “that’ll teach you to invent instruments of torture, won’t it?”

He grinned then and, as always when he smiled at me, I literally melted, took him in my arms and kissed him, long and hard.

 

We left the camp a few days after that, each to go to her respective home and to apprise her man in her own way about her wealth, family and position. For my part, on the way into Brisbane from the Gold Coast hinterland, I told him some of it. That I was an heiress and lived in a large house with many servants, for a start. But I also told him of my fear of fortune-hunters and that we three had sort-of shunned male company for that reason.

He was immediately sympathetic, but he was also thoughtful and as he sat beside me as I drove the little car I asked him what he was thinking. He looked at me seriously for a moment or two but then voiced his concerns. “Angie, you are a billionaire-ess. I am just about penniless. I was hoping to make my way in the world on my own merits but given your circumstances, that would be ridiculous. I love you very much. I want to marry you, but apart from the camp and what we do decide to do up there in the future, what on earth could I do as your husband?”

That questions had been occupying my thoughts too for I knew him pretty well by now and was sure he would not be content living the life of the idle rich. But then, neither did I. I was then thirty-two years old and apart from my dabbling in physical training, I spent my time helping various charities and the like. But I didn’t think this would be his cup of tea.

I said so and he agreed. “So, how does the challenge of taking arrogant, chauvinistic and lazy husbands and correcting their errant ways appeal?”

“It does. As long as we cover the legalities, I’d love to help.”

“So, what say we see to the triple marriage, enjoy our honeymoon and then see what the other two couples think. If you wanted to dabble in designing houses and other buildings, you would have all the free time in the world to do so and then, if at some future time you found a cause you wanted to espouse, you could do that, too. The thing is, it is to be a marriage for both of us. I will have my pet things to do and so will you. I hope we can find many things to do together, such as this taming of recalcitrant males project, for example, but I don’t want my wealth to make you feel a second class part of the marriage. Yes, you are my slave and will be at home, but that has nothing to do with my money. It’s because we both delight in it and even that will probably die away as we find other sexual fantasies to act out.

“Phew! What a mouthful,” I finished.

Now he really grinned at me. “What a mouthful indeed, but it was exactly what I hoped to hear and I’m sure, given our joint aim of making it work, no matter what, we are going to be very happy.”

 

I’m not going into the marriages and our honeymoons, the former of which was a triple event and the latter spent individually, Bobby and I going to the Caribbean, Phoebe and Anton to the Whit Sundays and the other couple to Europe. Suffice to say the marriages were wonderful, held in St John’s Cathedral and presided over by the Archbishop himself; and our honeymoon utterly wonderful.

And we didn’t spend it all in bed, either. By this time, I had had Bobby for over six months and I knew every last nook and cranny of his beautiful body as well as every tiny little nuance of sexual pleasure to be had from it, most of which I had taught him of course.

But when we had all returned home and had come together for a reunion after our honeymoons, the subject got around to the camp and what we were going to do with it.

“Well,” said Geraldine, “if we are all still of the same mind, I know of a couple of marriages which are close to collapse for the reasons we all know about: failure by the male to act properly towards his wife in one way or another.”

We all pricked up our ears and asked for details which she gave. It seemed the two males had married their wives for their money but had successfully hidden that fact until after the marriages and had then descended into a life of partying, booze, lack of attention to the wife and the like. None of it was grounds for divorce but in any case, the two wives loved their men and would try anything to reform them. Geraldine had spoken to them in general terms, indicating that she might know of a cure but it would need the consent of the males concerned and would be hard for and on them.

We all grinned at one another and nodded our agreement. Geraldine would contact the wives and suggest they gave their husbands an ultimatum: accept the ‘training and reform course’ or suffer divorce and as they had been wise enough to demand pre-nuptial agreements which gave the men nothing if they divorced, we had every expectation they would agree.

They did.

We then arranged to view them without them seeing us so that we could assess whether we could help the two ladies concerned. To cut a long story short, we decided we could in both cases and as a result, Bobby and I and the other four went to Mary Carmichael’s home in Brisbane to meet and then perhaps collect her scumbag husband, Peter. He had become lazy and capricious, not at all caring of her and moody at best. But I had to agree with her that he was a handsome devil: tall with fine silvery hair, blues eyes and he had obviously had a good body – once. Now it was more than a little tubby but I could see why she wanted to try and get him back as the attentive, caring and thoughtful husband he had been for the first few months of their marriage. He was then aged twenty-six, the same as her.

We looked him over insolently after greeting Mary warmly. So this is the scumbag, eh Mary?” I said, winking at her.

“This is indeed he. I’m not at all sure though whether I should bother with the expense of reforming him. Might be better to kick him out right now and institute divorce proceedings right away?”

“Well of course, that is up to you but maybe we can do something with him…? First, though, we would need to see him…” I turned to the tall and handsome young man and in a real snarl, ordered him to strip naked – right there and then.

He blushed magnificently and turned to his wife. “Please Mary, give me one more chance. You’ll see I can change…?”

“Be quiet, Peter…” She paused a moment or two but then went on in almost cogitating tones: “But of course it is up to you. Do I kick you out right now or are you going to strip for assessment by your new trainers?”

He sobbed once but then began to undress dropping his clothes on the floor around him.

“Stop!” I screamed and he pulled up short, now almost terrified by my demeanour. I grinned (to myself). This was going to be easy, I thought. I looked significantly at Bobby and winked. He gave me a similar reply and then I went on: “Fold your clothes neatly, scumbag, and place them on this chair. I will inspect the pile when you are naked and if the pile is not neat enough, I will cane you, here and now!”

He jumped to obey, squatting down and picking up his coat and shirt and folding each very neatly indeed and then took off his shoes and socks, placing them under the chair. He dropped his trousers and now I could see why Mary wanted to keep him. Clothed he looked like a handsome rake; naked, like an athlete (if you discounted the blurred muscles and the small ‘spare tyre’ around his waist). Oh yes, I was going to enjoy reforming this boy.

Once he had taken off his underpants, folded them and placed them on the pile, I inspected it. “Disgraceful!” I thundered. “The items don’t match in size, are not square on the pile and are in the wrong order. There will be five strokes of the cane to your naked buttocks, boy. You will now bend over the back of this armchair and reach down to grasp the front of the seat with your hands.”

Mary watched it all in awe – and in pleasure. I could see her eyes were sparkling and I whispered to her that after the first couple of weeks she might care to join us at our training camp and participate in his rehabilitation?

She jumped at the offer and I exulted again. This was going to be a wonderful new enterprise for us, I thought, and glancing at Bobby and the others, knew that they too approved of what we were doing.

Bobby produced the cane from out of the long bag he had brought in with us and handed it to me but I demurred. “No, Bobby, I want him to really feel these strokes. Lay them on as hard as you can!”

He grinned at us two ladies and then moved up to the boy but again I stopped him. “Perhaps you might be more comfortable without your clothes?” I suggested, again winking at him. We had already pre-planned this for I wanted the lazy scumbag to see just how muscular his ‘executioner’ really was so that he would be even more terrified of his coming punishment.

Nothing loath, Bobby quickly stripped but I grinned as I watched Peter note the way Bobby carefully folded each item – far better than he had.

The armchair over which he was now draped had a high padded back and for him to grasp the front of the armrests, his feet had to come up off the floor, which was just how I wanted it. I ordered him to keep them together and beside me, Mary was almost chortling as she looked down on her now naked, errant husband in such a humiliating position.

“Just wait till you see how he reacts to the cane,” I whispered to her.

“I can’t wait,” she answered and I knew at that moment we had another convert to our cause in her.

Peter had continued to watch us, but particularly my husband as he had stripped naked and, as I had surmised, his expression of worry indeed deepened as he beheld Bobby’s so splendid muscles and comprehended the pain he was about to experience and he again pleaded to be given another chance,

“Be quiet, scumbag,” Mary said, “unless you want another five strokes from me on top of what Bobby is going to give you?”

He subsided then, but I whispered my congratulations to her. “That’s how you must make it after we deliver him back to you, Mary. Make him your slave and you won’t have any more trouble from him.”

Bobby had now positioned himself to deliver the five strokes and the rest of us looked on with approval as he raised the cane and then slammed it down across the two nicely curved buttocks – at his full power – which was considerable.

Peter screamed: “Aaagheeeaaaghooowwwghaaagh!” His legs went every which way and he pushed himself up and off the chair then grabbed at his raging bottom, now sobbing uncontrollably.

Mary was mortified – but also very angry. “Get back down over that chair, you disgusting wimp, or I’ll throw you out right now, just as you are, stark naked and without a penny…”

I grabbed her hand and squeezed it briefly, whispering another ‘well done’, to her but now waiting to see how he would jump. It seemed his underlying love for Mary, or that he feared the loss of the good life, or both, won over his pain for he somewhat reluctantly resumed his place bent over the back of the armchair and Bobby took up position once more.

And to his credit, he stifled his noise at the next stroke, which Bobby delivered just as hard, criss-crossing the first welt to make a large ‘X’ on his buttocks. Of course he clenched them hard – and that made me think of something I had read of in my researches into the discipline of the recalcitrant male: figging! I’ll bet you’ve never heard of it?

The term apparently comes from the word ‘feague’ which was a practice used of inserting a ‘fig’ of ginger up a horse’s anus to make it raise its tail and so appear more lively. In the British Army a hundred years ago, it was also used during the corporal punishment by caning of other ranks soldiers to enhance the punishment, for the ginger oil exuded by the fig around the sensitive nerves of the anus made the victim clench his buttocks and so enhance the pain of each stroke.

I made a mental note to discuss this idea with my colleagues but then settled down to watch as Peter, a lot more stoical now, took the remaining three strokes without a murmur but naturally still waving his legs around and squirming his body at each one, and then, again to his credit, he waited to see if his wife was going to carry out her threat of adding another five strokes to those he had already suffered. She looked at me and I shook my head slightly.

“Alright, Peter, you may rise and thank your discipline master,” she said and once again I had reason to admire her newly-found mastery over him. We hadn’t decided on a term for our three husbands but I thought ‘discipline-master’ sounded good.

Of course I would see what the others thought. We were a partnership of three and now that our husbands had come on board, they too would help make the decisions although we three ladies would be the final authority.

Bobby had made it clear to me that he thought of me as his loving wife first, but behind that, I was also his mistress and he wanted that to continue. When he seemed really genuine in that I asked the others about their husbands and they too were apparently of like mind. It really was incredible that in a couple of months we had turned these three wayward young men around so completely, but we were also sure it was real and not a sham.

Anyway, the upshot of this little introduction was that we took Peter there and then. He came just as he now was, stark naked and without any adornments at all. We told him he was now, and for the foreseeable future, a slave, in fact if not in law and that he would be treated as such.

“As a slave, scum, you have no rights,” I said. “None at all. You will remain naked for the whole period of your training and, since your wife desires it, you will be depilated nude, just as Bobby here, is. And even after your training is completed, if your wife takes you back, she may wish you to go about the house in that state, even in front of her servants.

“You will be subject to instant discipline every time you fail to carry out a task properly or are in any way disobedient, slovenly or cheeky to us. You will be worked as you cannot even imagine and you will be trained in the domestic as well as the sexual arts for your wife may wish to punish you by making you carry out some of her servants’ functions – naked of course – while they watch.

“We will be honing down your body, too. You have let it go badly but we have the means of bringing it back to its former athletic state and perhaps even better than it was…

“None of this you will enjoy but at the end of it, we will make you proud to be Mary’s husband and will wish to serve her as a man should…”

Mary had listened to all of this with approval and then whispered to me that she would like to come with us right then. I replied that it would be best if she didn’t. “We are going to subject him to a very bad time, Mary,” I said. “If he had your presence as a prop, it would make it all that more difficult. How about if you leave it for a couple of weeks and then come up? That would give us time to initiate him and I’m sure you will be pleasantly surprised at the progress we will have made by then?”

“Okay,” she said. “A fortnight, it is.”

 

We stowed him in the boot of the car, trussed like a chook. This was easy. We merely made him sit on the floor with his feet pulled in to his buttocks, passing a rod up under his knees as he drew his feet in. The rod poked out either side of his knees and then we made him pass his hands under it on either side whereupon we locked his thumbs together in front of his shins. He was now perfectly immobile.

Moving him was easy. Bobby and Anton merely slipped little handles over the ends of the rod and hoisted it up. Of course his body fell backwards as they did so but they were careful to do it slowly enough that his head was not in danger – and then they carried him out to the car and stowed him in its rear compartment.

As the six of us now needed to move around together at times, I had purchased a Toyota Tarago, a sort of mini-bus which was ideal for our needs and while the other two pairs went up to the camp in their own small cars, we were taking the Tarago for use when we all needed to go places together.

We threw a rug over his body – to hide him, not to keep him warm – and then took off for the camp. We were all really looking forward to taming, conditioning and training Peter to be as good a husband as each of ours were.