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His first bisexual experience is with a close friend.
The other five joined in.
"Now Alysha, pass me his identification picks and I'll announce how he's done," she said, as her daughter handed over the sheet on which she had jotted my selections.
"Right," said the busty millionairess, clearing her throat and preparing to read out the results.
"Wine number 1 was my own piss, according to the Peeper," she said. "In fact, I'm afraid it belonged to Carmel's sister, Rachel. Oh dear, Peeper - one wrong."
"Wine number 2 was, according to our wine expert, Rachel's. Well we know that can't be right - it was, in fact, Carmel's. Not looking too good for you, is it, Peeper?"
Was I expected to comment? Keisha ignored me, anyway, and moved on: "Peeper said he thought wine number 3 was Helga's. Sorry, Peeper, I'm afraid it was my piss. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"
"On to wine sample number 4, which the Peeper said he thought came from my darling daughter, Alysha."
Keisha paused, then smiled at me: "Fuckin' amazing. You got one right, Peeper!"
"The fifth wine you said came from your lovely wife, Barbara. Well, if there's anyone here who's piss you should be able to identify if should be your wife's, eh Peeper?"
I nodded, shyly, feeling stupid still enshrouded by my cape.
"Oh dear," said Keisha, looking mock mournful. "Sorry, Peeper, it was Helga's! You can't even identify your wife's piss, eh?"
"And so we come to wine number 6, which you said was Carmel's. Well, that can't be right, can it Peeper?"
I nodded. "No, Keisha," I whispered.
"Precisely, because it was Barbara's! Oh fuck, Peeper, you got one right and five wrong. I make that 50 strokes of the lash, plus 50 penalty strokes. What does that add up to, Peeper?"
I mumbled: "100 strokes, Keisha."
"Speak up and shout it '100 strokes of the lash, Keisha'," the lush black beauty snapped.
"100 strokes of the lash, Keisha," I almost yelled, much to the amusement of the assembled domination group.
"That's more fuckin' like it, Peeper," she said, after I had humbled myself before the group.
"Now to our award winners," said the Mistress of Ceremonies. Carmel, you win the bronze medal and here's your prize."
Alysha stepped forward and presented the young blonde with a bottle of Moet et Chandon champagne.
"The silver medal goes to Rachel," said Keisha. "Quite a little family affair, isn't it?"
Alysha handed the 23-year-old a bottle of Dom Perignon champange.
"And the supreme award, the gold medal, goes to my dearest daughter, Alysha," said the busty black woman. Alysha waved a bottle of vintage Krug above her head and everyone applauded.
"Now we'll move on to the punishment section of the afternoon's entertainment," said Keisha. "If you'd all like to have some sandwiches and some drinks, Alysha and I will get Peeper here prepared downstairs, and then we'll call you all downstairs for his 100-stroke flogging - plus his extra little surprise."
The black beauties escorted me, still sweating in my cape, down to the basement level of the large house. There, a room set in the middle of a long corridor had been equipped sparely but luxuriously with two couches, a couple of easy chairs, a refrigerator, all draped with lush red velvet curtains. The carpet was thick pile and obviously expensive.
But none of that really registered with me for a while. What did, was a wooden flogging frame set in the middle of the torture chamber. It consisted of two triangles made from brightly polished wooden posts, the triangles joined together at the base and the tops by two wooden bars.
Set into the corners of the triangular frames were straps, at the bottom for my ankles, at the tops for my wrists. Keisha ordered me to remove the ridiculous red rubber cape, and I stood nude before the two bikinied black women. Despite of what was in store for me, my penis was stiffening into hardness.
I was then strapped into place, until I hung at a 45 degree angle to the floor. It was then that I noticed a small stool which had been placed beneath my semi-suspended body.
"Right, you will be the first flogger, darling," Keish