Paul Gable - Whipped wife

"Oh God, if you only knew. The Dean of Women, half the Fine Arts faculty, almost the whole English Department – the list goes on, not to mention the students," Jennie confessed. "And I'm sorry about that night," the girl apologized hesitatingly.

"It's all right," Diane said, wincing mentally as she thought briefly about what had happened to her.

"No, it's not all right. I was really into that scene – and probably would've still been tripping out on it if your husband hadn't done this to me," the girl said, breaking down again.

"Come on. We've got to get out of here," Diane said, realizing that if Jennie were left down here like this, someone must be coming back shortly to finish off what he'd started.

"How many men did this to you?" Diane asked, pulling her trench coat off and wrapping the naked girl in it.

"It all happened so fast. Your husband, Professor Art Dickenson, Doctor Eisenberg – ohhh, I can't remember. I really can't remember," the girl said in a high-pitched, strained voice.

"All right, all right. Let's just get out of here," Diane said, helping the girl up out of the chair and heading toward the stairway.

"That's really touching!" Matt's voice rang out in the chamber.

Diane's blood froze in her veins as she found herself staring at her husband's angry face. Jennie let out a low moan and sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably as the big man stepped down slowly to the floor. Behind him were three other men. The first was taller than Matt – about six-four – with black, curly hair that seemed to point in every direction. His eyes gleamed evilly under his bushy eyebrows as he stared at the two cringing women.

The second man was older, about forty-five and had long, silver hair. Still ruggedly handsome, there was an air of complete degeneracy about him as he moved behind Matt and stared at Diane and Jennie.

The last man to enter the room could have been Diane's younger brother. The blonde guessed that he was a student in one of Matt's classes. He had long blond hair that hung down to his broad shoulders. His broad, tanned face was slightly pink, and he smelled strongly of after-shave lotion. Patches of light body hair poked over the top of his clean white T-shirt. Both the undershirt and his faded bell-bottomed Levi's were stretched tightly over his muscular frame.

"I guess Jennie's been filling you in on what's been going on," Matt said, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

"Just let us go," Diane finally said, knowing how foolish her words must sound.

Matt stared mockingly at her, then moved to one side to let the other men by.

"This is where it all starts," Matt said seriously. "And it's here where it all ends." His face looked dark and gloomy. Diane felt herself growing faint as her husband's final words rang in her ears.

"What are you going to do?" Jennie said in a small voice.

Matt didn't say a word. Turning to his right, he walked over to one of the dressers that lined the wall and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket.

"The problem with most women is that they're completely disobedient to their husbands and masters," Matt said in an even voice. "I'm just trying to even out the situation, that's all."

"Oh please, not again!" Jennie wailed, leaning against Diane's trembling legs and staring with horror as Matt took out one key from the pile and opened the door to the cabinet. Diane stared with horrified fascination as she saw a collection of whips and riding crops.

"I just use what the Spanish Inquisition called disciplina," Matt said matter-of-factly, taking something from a hook on the inside of the door. Diane soon realized that it was a whip. It was nearly two and a half feet long from the end of the handle to the tip. The handle itself was made of black ebony, ringed with silver bands and marked with some kind of crest at the bottom of the handle. The grip piece was about nine inches long, tapering from about an inch diameter at the end to half an inch where it joined the whip itself. That was made of plaited leather, woven over a center core of thin, flexible spring-steel rod. It tapered down from the handle almost to a point at the end.

Matt held the whip in his right hand and slowly walked over to the still-kneeling Jennie.

"We both know what happens to people who disobey, don't we, Jennie?" Matt asked in a low-pitched, threatening voice that trembled with emotion.

"Oh God, no, not that one! Please, not that one!" the girl begged, almost laughing hysterically as her eyes bulged out with terror.

"Matt, you're crazy. I won't let you touch this girl!" Diane said protectively, dropping down to her knees and putting her arms tightly around Jennie's shuddering shoulders.

"Nice to know there's still friendship around," Matt said mockingly, raising his foot quickly and bringing the heel of his black boot down across Diane's right cheek.

"Ohhh!" the blonde cried out, crashing backward on the floor. Diane was dazed for several seconds. Her brain buzzed with the pain and a collection of what seemed like shouts and screams.

When she focused her mind again, the blonde saw that the young blond boy whose name she found out was Chris and the tall dark-haired man whose name was Art Dickenson were holding Jennie by either arm. They'd stripped off the trench coat and were holding her in such a position that her body bowed outward gracefully. Matt slowly brought the whip close to her body, until he traced a line from her welted shoulder blades with the tip down to her butt cheeks. He moved it down to her inner thighs, then down to her trembling knees, obviously enjoying the mute horror he was giving the struggling girl. Jennie stared at the whip, her eyes wide and her mouth dry with terror. Diane could see the girl trembling as the terrible thing moved across her thighs again, finally resting on her pussy.

"Please, Matt. Don't please," Jennie pleaded, trying to force a weak, submissive smile on her face.

"It all begins here," Matt said mysteriously, looking at her sore, bleeding pussy. "It all ends here too," he murmured, repeating the words he had said several minutes ago.

Diane shuddered as she watched them. The girl had obviously been beaten around the snatch area earlier. He'd kill her if he did the same thing again. "Don't, you animal!" Diane hissed as Matt raised his right arm, obviously getting ready to flog the moaning Jennie again.

"All right, baby. If you're so anxious to save her, you take her place," Matt said, nodding to both Art and Chris to fetch her. The two men let go of the girl, moving quickly toward Diane, who was trying to scramble to her feet.

"No, you bastards!" Diane hissed through her tightly clenched teeth as the two men grabbed her by the wrists and pinned her arms tightly to her back. Jennie had fallen helplessly to the floor, kicked unconscious by Matt while his two henchmen were dragging Diane toward the center of the brightly-lit underground chamber.

"You'll be whipped tonight. But not unprotected. I want to save you for a lot more than she got," Matt said, turning around and landing another hard kick into the girl's back.

"Want the leather shit out, Matt?" the silver-haired man asked as he moved toward a dark wood cabinet at the other end of the room.

"Yeah, might as well. Strip her down," Matt ordered, stepping back and crossing his arms over his broad chest as he tapped the end of his whip against the toe of his left boot.

Diane fought the men, but without any success. Their strong hands tore at her blouse, ripping the cotton material open as if it were paper and stripping that article of clothing off in seconds. Art dug his big fingers behind the strap of her bra and yanked down, snatching the halter off in a second and sending her thunderous boobs down on her chest.

Chris worked on her skirt, unzipping it and pulling it down with her pink sheer panties. He dropped to his knees, pressing his thick, sensuous lips to her ass and sucking on her bunghole while he ripped open her garter belt and peeled off her nylons. Diane arched her body forward, trying to pull away from that shit hole-probing tongue. But Art held her tightly by the other arm while Chris still had a firm grip on her legs. And then there was Matt, jabbing the end of the whip hard against her belly button.