Peeping Tom Photographer Punished

Samantha and Amanda, both attractive early-30 singletons, shared a rented house in a picturesque village on the south coast of England.

Hard-working professionals in the stressful world of marketing, they didn't get to spend a great deal of time in the home they adored.

But when they did, they made the most of the opportunity to forget about work and relax in their tranquil surroundings.

They particularly enjoyed sunbathing in the semi-secluded, spacious, lawned garden of their medium-sized, detached Georgian home.

But the arrival of a new next-door neighbour a few days earlier during that sweltering summer was posing a problem.

His name was Derek, he lived alone and he was roughly their age. That was all they knew about him.

They hadn't spoken to him yet but had gleaned this information from another neighbour, who had briefly met the new arrival.

The problem was that the girls were becoming the object of his unwanted attention.

Samantha had spotted him on two occasions staring at them from his attic window as they lazed in the garden, sun-protection lotion glistening on their bikini-clad bodies.

The second time he had had a large camera strapped around his neck.

On both occasions, Amanda had been dozing so hadn't noticed a thing, but Samantha convinced her friend that their new neighbour was a Peeping Tom.

"He just stood there for ages in the window. He didn't realise I was looking back at him because I was wearing shades. OK, I didn't actually see him take a picture but that camera - what I could see of it - looked like the real deal, very professional."

The women decided to confront their new neighbour and the following Saturday afternoon knocked on his front door.

Derek appeared shocked by his neighbours' accusation.

At first, he flatly denied spying on the girls but, after continued interrogation by

Samantha, he admitted: "Well, I suppose I might have caught a glimpse of you once or twice, and, after all, you are both gorgeous."

Derek had intended this as a compliment to placate the girls, and thought he had succeeded when Samantha replied sweetly: "I hope you don't have any plans for tonight?"

Derek smiled broadly and said: "No plans at all."

"Good," said Samantha. "We'll be back at eight o'clock."

With that, the girls returned to their house.

"What the hell was that all about, Sam?" Amanda asked her friend.

"I've got an idea to teach that creep a lesson he'll never forget," replied Samantha.

The pair returned to Derek's place at the appointed time, taking a large plastic bag

containing several items.

As Derek opened the door, his eyes lit up. Both women were wearing short, black, low-backed cocktail dresses and high-heels that accentuated the sensual curves of their tanned legs.

Samantha had done her auburn hair up in an intricate, interwoven style while Amanda's strawberry-blonde tresses cascaded naturally over her slender shoulders. They both looked stunning. Derek hardly gave the bag a second glance.

As he poured them all drinks in his dining room, Samantha said she needed to go to the toilet.

"Of course," said Derek, "turn left at the top of the stairs, then it's second door on

the left."

Samantha had no intention of using the bathroom. She quickly located Derek's bedroom and after a minute found what she was looking for in a big bedside cabinet.

Meanwhile, Amanda's job was to keep Derek distracted. But as she engaged him in small-talk, an uneasy feeling began to worm itself into her mind. It wasn't exactly déjà vu but it was its first cousin.

Derek broke her train of thought before it had time to pull out of the station.

"Look, I've got something important I need to tell you," he said.

It was at that point Samantha reappeared, in her right hand a digital single-lens reflex camera with a powerful telephoto-zoom.

She brandished the device's display window in Derek's face. The stored image she had selected showed the girls in their bikinis, stretched out on loungers on their lawn.

Derek's face flushed. "I ... I ... I always have my camera handy," he stammered.

"I'm a professional photographer. I can explain about this."

"Save your explanations for the police," cut in Samantha. She took a mobile phone out of her handbag, and added: "I'm going to call them right now."

"Please don't," pleaded Derek.

Samantha gave Derek a withering look. Camera in one hand, phone in the other, she seemed to be weighing up options.

Then she said: "Well, I think it's only fair we get to take some pictures of you, but we're going to have some fun first."

She issued Derek with an ultimatum. Either he agreed to accept his punishment immediately or he would be reported to the police as a 'perverted Peeping Tom'.

Derek knew he daren't risk police involvement, although he believed he had done nothing wrong, nothing criminal anyway.

Samantha didn't bother waiting for a reply. "I'd like to show you what we've brought with us," she said, emptying the contents of the plastic bag onto the dining room table.

A long, heavy, wooden-backed clothes brush; cat o' nine tails; a stout bamboo cane; and several lengthy birch twigs, tied together at the base (the girls had a birch tree in their garden).

"Can you guess what we're going to do with these?" Amanda asked Derek.

"Uh ... uh ... I don't know," Derek replied. But he was definitely getting the picture.

Just in case the situation needed clarification, Samantha announced: "We're going to give you a damn good flogging. You're going to take six of the best on your bare arse with each of these punishers."

She paused briefly, then added: "That's six strokes from each of us, by the way - a

total of 48. Extra lashes will be awarded for any insubordination."

Amanda chimed in: "And when we've done thrashing you, we'll use your own camera to take photos of your naked, battered backside. Then we'll print them out and stick them on lamp-posts all over the village, with a note saying 'Peeping Tom punished'."

Derek remained silent, the blood draining from his face.

Samantha continued: "We've decided to be lenient by letting you have a ten-minute break between each set of 12 strokes."

As far as Amanda was concerned, that was the end of the scenario the two of them had worked out. They were only going to scare Derek, not actually hurt him.

But Samantha - a veteran BDSM practitioner - had other ideas. She ordered Derek to strip to the waist, and took four lengths of red ribbon out of the bag,

Amanda was taken aback. "What are you doing, Sam?" she asked nervously.

"Teaching him a lesson," replied her friend, "just like we decided, remember? I'm

preparing him for his lashing."

"Come on, Sam," said Amanda, "we've already put the fear of God into him. That's enough, that's what we agreed."

"Well," replied Samantha, "I've decided it's nowhere near enough."

The two friends argued for five minutes, Derek looking on in growing trepidation during the exchanges.

"OK," Amanda said eventually, "I'll go along with it." Part of her really wanted to

sample the experience of punishing a man. She had enjoyed being spanked by several ex-boyfriends; now the boot was on the other foot.

As Derek took off his shirt, the girls tied a ribbon to the upper part of each of the dining room table legs.

They made Derek stand at one end of the table and pushed him flat down onto his stomach, stretching his arms and tying his wrists with two of the ribbons.

Samantha reached under him to undo his trousers while Amanda removed his trainers and socks. Then both women grabbed the waistband of his jeans and yanked them off, repeating the process with his boxer shorts.

"Right, almost time for your beating," said Samantha as she bound Derek's thighs to the table legs.

The girls agreed that Amanda should 'open the batting' so she positioned herself behind Derek, cat o' nine tails in hand. Samantha stood at the other end of the table, in front of their naked, tethered victim, ready to keep the count.

Amanda raised the whip to just below shoulder height and brought the leather thongs down across the centre of Derek's arse.

"One," called out Samantha, gleefully clapping her hands.

By the time Samantha announced "six", Derek was moaning softly.

The women switched positions for the final six with the cat. Amanda laid the strokes on harder than her friend, and Derek's moans became more vocal.

After the 12th lash with the cat, Derek cried out: "Aaah, aaah, no, no!"

"How dare you say 'no" to me, you little bastard?" shouted Samantha, giving Derek

an extra stroke. He moaned loudly but otherwise kept his mouth shut.

The girls untied Derek but ordered him to keep his hands away from his reddening arse. They weren't going to allow him the luxury of rubbing his backside to soothe it.

Derek soon discovered his 'break' consisted of kneeling on the floor, facing the wall, hands on head, so the girls could admire their handiwork on his rump while they sipped more of his wine.

After the allotted ten minutes they re-tied him to the table. Next was the clothes brush, a substantial implement that would administer a searing sting.

Amanda swatted his bum six times in quick succession, alternating from left to

right buttock. Derek was now crying out after each stroke, but he knew better than to use the word 'no' again.

Samantha delivered all her six strokes on the same spot, right on the crown of Derek's arse. This had him screaming continuously and his behind began to develop a life of its own, his buttocks quivering like twin jellies.

"Twenty-four," said Amanda quietly. She was beginning to feel sorry for this man.

After all, what had he done to deserve this sort of treatment? Taken a snap of a couple of girls in bikinis; hardly the crime of the century.

During Derek's next spell on his knees, Samantha began to taunt him.

"Your arse looks nice and hot," she purred. "By the time we've finished with it, it'll be sizzling." She hissed the last word to emphasise her point.

"Do you reckon," she added to Amanda, "that it's because his dick's not very big that he resorts to his Peeping Tom perversions?"

Derek didn't think his penis was particularly small and he certainly didn't consider

himself a pervert, but, fearing extra lashes, he stayed tight-lipped.

Amanda thought Derek's cock was cute, so she didn't reply either.

Samantha assigned strokes 25-36 to the bamboo cane, which the women had found in their garden while cutting down the birch twigs. The rod was much broader and heavier than the usual rattan switch favoured by disciplinarians.

With Derek again lashed to the table, Amanda prepared to cane him but she resolved to go easy this time.

Before she could administer the first stroke, however, she heard Samantha bark at Derek: "Are you staring at my legs?"

Samantha was standing right in front of Derek's face; he couldn't help but look at the shapely thighs on show beneath the short dress.

She grabbed a handful of his medium-length dark-brown hair and rapidly jolted his head from side to side, causing his teeth to rattle.

In a bid to divert Samantha from her head-shaking torture, Amanda gave Derek's arse six fast - but light - strokes. "Thirty," she called out.

"What the fuck was that?" Samantha asked her. "You call that a caning?"

Amanda made no reply as Samantha snatched the length of bamboo from her hand and laid into Derek's arse with a vengeance, producing shrill shrieks from him with each of her six strokes.

"Now, that's what I call a proper caning," declared Samantha, grinning, congratulating herself on a job well done.

This time when the women released Derek from his bonds, they didn't have to order him to his knees; he simply slithered off the table onto the floor, but he did remember to put his hands on his head without prompting.

Amanda was becoming increasingly uneasy about this punishment session. It was dawning on her that it wasn't just pity she was feeling towards Derek; it went deeper than that, although she couldn't fathom out why. She gazed at his battered backside and her heart started to melt.

She turned to Samantha and said: "Look, Sam, this has gone too far. We've got to stop. He doesn't deserve this."

"You're going soft on him, aren't you?" said her friend.

"Well, uh ... maybe, just a little," replied Amanda. "Please, Sam, no more of this, for my sake, please."

Samantha reluctantly agreed to call a halt to the proceedings. "I'm doing it for you,

not him," she told Amanda.

"Thanks, Sam. Would you mind leaving us alone?"

As Samantha let herself out, Amanda went into the kitchen and found a couple of packs of frozen veg in Derek's freezer. She gently eased him back over the table and held the ice-packs in place on his buttocks.

"Aaa," sighed Derek. "That's better, thank you. And thank you for getting her to stop."

"Least I could do, in the circumstances," said Amanda. "I'm really sorry we hurt you so much. I should never have gone along with it, but Sam can be very persuasive - not that that's any excuse."

She suggested Derek might need medical attention, but he replied: "No, I'll be fine,

really."

Amanda was grateful. She wouldn't have to make any embarrassing explanations to a smirking doctor in the local Accident & Emergency Department.

After a while, she helped Derek off the table and back into his clothes.

Later, while the pair were sharing a bottle of wine on the sofa in the living room, Derek asked the question Amanda had been expecting.

"Do you remember me?"

Amanda replied: "Yes and no. I've had the vaguest of feelings that I know you from somewhere but I just can't place you."

"Well, it's been a long time," said Derek, shifting slightly in his seat to take a little

pressure off a particularly painful spot on his right buttock.

"A long time since two 18-year-olds lost their virginity to each other during a drunken one-night stand at a party being thrown by a mutual friend."

Amanda's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "Oh, my God," she said softly, "that was you! Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I thought it was you but I wanted to make sure before I approached you," Derek replied.

"That's why I took the photograph, but I still wasn't certain until you turned up in your dress and I saw that small heart-shaped birthmark in the middle of your back.

"I was trying to tell you but Samantha didn't give me the chance."

He added: "I'm surprised I didn't realise who you were right from the start."

"Well," said Amanda, "we both looked very different back then. You had long hair

and a moustache and my hair was cut short, urchin style, and it was my natural

colour, light brown. And, of course, we're a lot older now."

"You still look terrific," said Derek.

"You don't look too bad yourself," replied Amanda.

She set her glass on the table and added: "Would you fancy carrying on from where we left off that night?"

"The pleasure would be all mine," replied Derek.

"I doubt that," said Amanda, giggling like a schoolgirl. "But are you sure you're up to it after everything you've been through tonight?"

"Up to it and up for it," replied Derek, taking Amanda by the hand and leading her towards the stairs.

"Wait a minute, Derek," said Amanda. skipping into the dining room to return with

the four pieces of ribbon and the hairbrush.

Derek looked worried. "Look, I don't want to disappoint you," he said, "but I think I've just about taken all the punishment I can for one night."

"No, no, you've got the wrong end of the stick," exclaimed Amanda. "These are for you to use on me. After's tonight's performance, if ever a naughty girl deserved to have her bottom spanked, it's me."

"Are you sure?" Derek inquired.

"Of course I'm sure," replied Amanda. "A good spanking really turns me on."

"Well, in that case, I'm at your service," said Derek. "Now, let's get that pert little arse of yours into the bedroom!"

"Yes, Sir!" said Amanda, curtseying in front of him at the foot of the stairs. "Your wish is my command."