The Dominant Male

sandwiches, sausage rolls, triangular samosas, things on sticks, caviar – no it’s lumpfish roe , she thought, but Wendy was far too nervous to be interested in food at that point.
    She realised she’d been relaxing slowly, from when she’d met Louise, but now the panic was rising – now or never , she thought.
    Then two youngish men, in their thirties perhaps, came in.
    One was immaculately dressed, in a camel-hair coat with fur collar, brogues, long socks breeches - Wendy groped for the word – plus-fours, buff – again she groped for the word – moleskin waistcoat, cravat and a checked flat hat. There was something very familiar about him.
    The other looked equally debonair in a blue pinstripe three-piece suit, bowler hat, and – again she struggled for the word – spats, over patent leather, two-tone shoes. ‘I’ve never seen spats for real, I never knew anyone still wore them.’
    The other gentleman helped him off with his coat and hung it up. Bertie Wooster and Jeeves, 1930s golfer and his ‘man’ , she guessed. It must take confidence and nerve to walk around in public like that, they look really dishy, but I bet that with my luck, they’re both gay.
    At that point the Earl brought the gathering to order, and invited the gentlemen to sit down. She did a quick head count, about twenty-five men, and maybe ten or eleven girls. The gentlemen sat down, carefully positioning themselves to give space to spank.
    The Earl invited the girls to begin and Wendy looked for the dishy golfer, whom she realised she really did fancy quite a lot; but one of the other girls was already across his lap. His ‘valet’ had not sat down, but stood chatting to the Countess. Perhaps only he was gay.
    So she picked an elderly-looking blue-suited gentleman at random, and noted that Louise positioned herself with ‘her’ gentleman to the right of the one she’d picked, where she could keep an eye on her, and she felt reassured.
    ‘Hi I’m Wendy, and this my first time here, so please go easy at first.’
    ‘Yes, my dear Wendy, I’ll be a gentleman.’
    She lay over his lap, his left arm grasped her across the waist; his right lifted the hem of her skirt. True to his word, he gently patted her a dozen or so times across the knickers, and then eased them down. He stroked her upraised bum, then the legs, and then set to with a little more force. He didn’t cup his hand properly though, so it wasn’t very hard at all. He spanked one bum cheek, then the other, but varied randomly not getting into a regular pattern, it hardly hurt and felt rather good. She couldn’t feel any reaction from him down below: past it? she wondered.
    Just as she was relaxing into it, he cupped her shoulder with his hand and went as if to lift. Wendy realised he wanted her sat on his lap; she turned over and felt his arm around her waist.
    Careful of a wandering right hand , she thought. But he really was a gentleman. Sitting like that, with her right arm around his shoulder, took her back to sitting on Daddy’s lap, aged twelve. She kissed his forehead.
    ‘A man can sometimes take being a gentleman a little too far!’
    ‘A nod’s as good as a wink.’
    He had her turn back over his lap and applied himself to the task with rather more vigour. She began to really quite enjoy it, and from what she felt, so did he, though ‘a vigorous erection’ would be overstating it, until interrupted by the whistle.
    The next guy, to the left of the first, was the one in a tracksuit, and whereas the first guy was probably in his late seventies, this guy, Justin, was maybe in his late twenties and fit-looking. But he had no idea how to spank a girl; Wendy realised he’d probably never been spanked in his life.
    He was patting her knickers like a security man looking for something concealed in them. This one did have a stiffie, not a big one, but hard. The nice feeling was draining, and she wondered what to do.
    She deliberately twisted off his knee and fell in front of him.
    ‘You can spank the dust out of the knickers if you like!’
    He took the hint and put much more effort into it, with a lot more enthusiasm, though not much more skill, but didn’t even ease her knickers off.
    ‘That’s better,’ she thought.
    Then the whistle blew.
    Next was Rory, in the creased grey suit. Built like a builder, wide and probably strong. He knew what he was doing, a few over the knickers with gradually increasing weight and a cupped hand, then ease the