Cyril looked up at the severe woman. Fear gripped him. He felt the need to pass water.
‘Answer my questions by nodding. One for “Yes”. Two for “No”. Understand?’
Cyril gave one nod.
‘Virgin?’
He gave two nods.
‘Swine! That’s what I thought. Recommendation - Founder’s severe thrashing. ’
He saw her lick her lips before the next question came.
‘Married?’
Two nods.
‘Live-in lover?’
Yes.
‘Man?’
No.
‘Who goes on top? She?’
Yes.
‘How many times a week? Three times?’
No.
‘More?’
He hesitated.
‘Subject lies. Recommendation - thrashing to be in public. ’
The woman bent over him and ran her fingers over his nipples. His bladder was at bursting point.
‘Delay in reaction - what did you make it, Sonia?’
‘Two seconds. ’
‘He’ll have to do better than that. Recommendation - ice-water baths twice daily. Now turn him over. ’
Dribbles of urine were coming now. His helplessness was starting to make him feel ashamed as Sonia obeyed the stern woman. He flushed.
‘Right. Get the spunk-meter ready. ’
He felt a cold slab pushed beneath his belly. Then fingers fitted a rubber cup to his tool, gripping it firmly like a rubber band. Even if he tried, he couldn’t now pass water.
While this was being done, the severe woman was pulling on a pair of surgeon’s gloves.
‘Stand by,’ she said. ‘Sometimes they jerk back under this. If he does, give him 500 volts in his cock. That should do it. ’
Cyril tensed himself, not knowing what to expect. He didn’t want 500 volts put through him, especially now he had a full bladder.
He felt his bum-cheeks pulled apart. A gloved hand was pushed into his anus and he groaned as his sphincter was forced open. No sound escaped through the gag.
‘Marvellous how none of them seems to know what to do, isn’t it?’ said the severe woman. ‘All men are babies. ’
‘Try to open your mouth and breathe through it, silly. ’
That was Sonia speaking. Evidently she at least had some feeling.
He could feel the hand clutching him inside his body. A sudden squeeze . . . and hot spunk shot out.
As the hand contracted and relaxed in rapid succession, his brain reeled while the come poured out. At last he could come no more. As his body drooped, a few drops of urine dribbled out. He was spent.
The rubber cup was removed from his cock, accompanied by a spatter of urine.
‘Turn him on his back now. What did he give?’
‘About 40 mils and some pee. ’
‘Huh! Like a little boy! Take it away, strain off the pee and weigh the come. He can be untied now and he’ll wait here till Irma comes to give him the first treatment. ’
‘Will it be all right to leave him alone, though?’
The severe woman laughed.
‘He’ll wait. He’s too exhausted to move, I can tell you. Men! The more you punish ‘em, the more they want. That’s the secret of humiliation. Make ‘em WANT it. ’
Chapter Three
The severe woman had been right. He was too exhausted to move. To his horror, he discovered she had been right on the other count, too. He WANTED to be punished; he WANTED to be humiliated.
But what had she meant by ‘the first treatment’? He glanced up at the ceiling.
“PAIN = PLEASURE”
He wasn’t too sure about that.
‘So de little man iss vaiting for hiss treatment, iss he?’
Someone had come into the room without his being aware of it. It must be Irma, he thought. And Irma was not English, to judge by her speech.
A soft hand ran over his member.
‘My, oh my! Vat a poor little man it iss, no? I teenk better ve start viss a little cock-whip, no?’
He could now see the face of his . . . what? His trainer?
She was blonde with a firm chin and a permanent smile showing glistening white teeth. Long fair hair hung down over her naked breasts which moved slightly from one side to the other as she turned her slim body, exposing firm little rose-pink nipples. Her grey eyes sparkled down at him, as though she found him slightly ridiculous. At the same time, she made it clear she would not stand for any liberties being taken.
‘Zo! First, ve tie heem . . . Zo!’
Irma quickly ran a cord around his cock, pulling it into a tight loop. She flung the free end up and around a hook hanging from the ceiling, tugged on it, and dragged his tool upright.
It was astonishing how quickly his lust returned. She had a magnetism that swept through him, making him yearn to fling himself on her helpless body and ravish her. To be at her mercy, though, was better. It was to be abased. It was a complete reversal of the traditional male/female roles.
He was beginning to understand the meaning of humiliation.
‘Now, liebchen, ve start. ’
From the wall she removed a short thin bamboo cane and swished it in the air a few times, listening to its vicious swish.
Satisfied, she came close to where Cyril was lying and, her eyes still smiling at him, brought it hard down onto the side of his upstanding member. A sharp pain ran through him.
Without pausing between the strokes, she continued whipping his tool. Had it not been for the gag, he would have been screaming, begging for mercy.
His cock was covered with ridges and welts.
‘Don’t vorry, my freint. Soon ve start. Ze lesson vill be goot, no?’
Irma was grinning as she gave him that assurance.
She selected a bundle of birch twigs soaking in a pail by the fireplace.
‘Here is goot,’ she said. ‘You haf had zees before? No? Ah, ees very nice. Bring cockie up goot. You vill see. ’
She flipped Cyril over on his face, his tied-up member being stretched out sideways from beneath his belly.
Before he had time to clench his bottom, the birch descended. Again and again the bunch cut into him, giving him no respite.
There was no doubt Irma was a skilled mistress with the birch. And as she had forecast, ‘cockie’ was standing up ‘goot’ in spite of the previous spunk-removing operation.
She stopped.
‘If you goot boy,’ she said, ‘I vill take off ze gag. Zen you can enjoy better, no? But vun scream - and, oh, my gootness, vill come Pain, ja . . . but Pleasure? You vait. ’
She shrugged and then removed the gag, letting Cyril breathe more easily. He was moaning in a low voice.
‘I . . . can’t . . . help crying,’ he gasped. ‘Please . . . don’t . . . hurt me anymore. ’
Irma laughed softly.
‘Say again,’ she ordered.
‘Please . . . don’t hurt me anymore. Please. ’
‘You vant tittie?’
His eyes lit up. He nodded.
She placed a nipple in his mouth.
‘Suck,’ she ordered. ‘Make stand. Nice baby. ’
Eagerly he did as she said. He put his hands around her fragrant, luscious breast, holding it tenderly as though it were a ripe melon while sucking hard on her titty.
Perhaps if he pleasured her she would not punish him any further? He thought. Her softness soothed his pain. Even the cord gripping his tool did not seem to strangle so much.
As he sucked he ran his tongue around the nipple and he felt it harden. He stroked the globe gently, marvelling at its roundness; at its power to revive him.
‘Is goot tit
ty?’
He nodded.
‘Poor little man better now?’
Again he nodded.
She jerked it away from him.
‘Zen ve go on. ’
She flung him face down and continued with the birch while his cries for mercy came in a frightened stream.
‘Ach! Ze noise! Not goot. ’ She jammed the gag back in place and began to flog him without a stop.
At last she was finished, her breasts heaving, eyes flashing, body trembling with excitement. She wheeled a long mirror over to the bedside.
‘Look!’ she panted.
In the glass he saw his bum was a mass of bloody weals.
‘Look!’ she said again, pointing with the birch to the Rules above him.
He twisted round and read,
“Males are thrashed regularly. ”
The birch moved onwards like a pointer.
“TO GIVE IS TO RECEIVE. ” Then “FEMINA DOMO HOMO”.
‘Poor little man understands?’
He nodded.
‘Poor little man has much to learn yet,’ she laughed softly.
Swiftly, she bent over him, removed the gag and kissed him full on the lips.
Surprisingly, her action brought him a feeling of worthlessness. He knew that without her permission he was like dirt on the floor. He needed her consent, her approval, to do . . . to do ANYTHING.
He was gradually having his male pride destroyed. This was different from the treatment Andrea gave. Hers was to build up his self-esteem. Here his self-confidence was being undermined: he was being made to understand his inferior position.
Strangely enough, he welcomed the change.
Chapter Four
Irma had gone. As she had not given him permission to get up he still lay on the table. His cock, although painful, had not been tied up again.
A little chuckle made him turn his head. Standing by his bedside was a fat, naked little youth with tight golden curls all over his head and sporting a pot-belly. Beneath the belly a tiny prick jutted out between chubby thighs, reminding Cyril of a baby’s attractive immaturity. There was no sign of a scrotum.
‘Hallo,’ said Cyril. ‘Who are you?’
The little creature giggled happily and pointed to a pink sash thrown over one shoulder which had the word “Cherub” printed on it.
‘I’m your helper,’ Cherub said in a high-pitched voice. ‘I’m glad you’re able to speak because there is so much to do to get you ready.’
‘Ready for what?’
Cherub giggled again.
‘Silly!’ he said, poking a fat little finger in Cyril’s anus. ‘Come on, get up. We mustn’t keep Lashley waiting, must we? Especially on our first day. ’
Cyril rose, hesitating. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re going to be bathed and made pretty, aren’t we?’
‘We?’
Cherub looked hurt.
‘Of course, YOU won’t have to do anything. That’s MY job. I know how to bathe you, wash your hair and curl it the way Lashley likes, and powder you. EVERY-where. ’
He gave another giggle.
‘What’s Lashley like?’ Cyril asked.
The cherub pouted and looked upset.
‘Now you’re NOT going to be difficult, are you? I was SO looking forward to a nice, quiet little session in the bathroom. Oh, I DO love the smell of the scent and the powder. Come on now. We really mustn’t waste time. I’ll talk while I’m getting you ready. ’
Cyril followed the cherub into the bathroom where the cherub pointed to the steaming tub.
‘Now you get in, like a good boy, and Cherub will do what he has to do. You see,’ he said when Cyril had settled in the scented water, ‘I’m on probation. I lost my position when Maverley ran away. Oh, my goodness, that was a terrible affair. Terrible! I mean, I’d just got him nicely soaped and powdered - back, belly and between his . .. well, you know what I mean. And he just stood up, pulled the towel - one of our best pink bath towels, too - from me and ran downstairs. ’
‘Did he get away?’
The cherub stopped working up the lather on Cyril’s chest, his fingers lightly running over Cyril’s nipples, and stared incredulously.
‘Get away? Of course he didn’t. NOBODY gets away from here. Not without Lashley’s permission. ’
‘Well, what happened then?’
The fingers started moving more purposefully, working up the lather again.
‘Oh, he was flogged, of course. I mean, you’d expect that, wouldn’t you? Flogged in the hall in front of the whole college and sent to the Refrigerator Room afterwards. I haven’t seen him since, but I believe he is now working in the Pig Sty . . . moving . . . er, well . . . you know. ’ Cherub looked embarrassed.
‘What about you? I suppose you were given another client in his place?’
The cherub stopped working again, his mouth hanging open in surprise.
‘I was punished, of course, and my privileges were taken away for quite a time. Oh, it was painful, I can tell you. You’re my first client since then. So I have to do a really good job on you to show I haven’t lost my skill. You see, Tessie - she’s my trainer, you know - spent a great deal of time on me, and I mustn’t spoil her reputation, must I? Why, at the very least, she wouldn’t play Mummies and Daddies with me any more if I did. Now then - turn over on your hands and knees. Bumsy up. ’
Without thinking, Cyril obeyed. When in the required position, Cherub ran his hand between Cyril’s bum-cheeks, dragging the soap tablet into the cleft and working up a thick lather. Then he scrubbed it with a soft nailbrush.
‘We’ll soon have you ready now,’ he gurgled. ‘Oh, I DO love this, don’t you?’
Cyril wasn’t quite so certain.
‘Tell me about Lashley,’ he said. ‘Who does she sleep with, for instance?’
Cherub ignored the request.
‘Bumsy-upsy. ’
As he spoke, he grabbed Cyril’s balls and squeezed then lowered his face to Cyril’s.
‘Another remark like that,’ he hissed, ‘and I’ll rip ‘em right off. And I’ll get you sent to the Pig Sty, too. ’ He smiled and without giving Cyril any time to recover, kissed him on the lips. ‘There, there! All better now. All forgiven. Now step out and I’ll dry and powder you. ’
When Cyril followed the cherub into the hall the first thing he noticed was the complete silence. Although there were about thirty men there, not one of them spoke.
The cherub placed a finger to his own lips and pointed to a small circular buff-coloured leather stool in the front of the hall near the stage. Cyril nodded his understanding and sat on the stool.
He heard several sharp intakes of breath and looked enquiringly at the cherub. The latter shook his head in dismay and in sign language indicated that Cyril was intended to lie face down over the stool.
Then the fat little boy looked at his left wrist as though he were wearing a watch. In dumb show he urged Cyril to hurry. Fearful of having broken some rule, Cyril obeyed the instruction.
Hardly had he assumed the position indicated when a low-pitched groan came from the audience around him. He noticed all heads had turned towards the centre.
The groaning grew in intensity as a woman appeared at the back of the stage. She came to the front, enabling Cyril to examine her closely.
She was dressed in a black satin bra drawn tightly over her breasts, making her nipples stand out like pear stalks. Around her waist she had a black leather mini-skirt exposing her navel and barely reaching down to the top of her pubic hair. A pair of steel-tipped high-heeled black patent leather knee-high boots and a pair of long black leather kid gloves rising to her elbows completed her clothing.
Her jet black hair was drawn back in a tightly-scr
aped chignon around which sparkled a circlet of blueish-white diamonds. On the tip of each nipple sat a richly-coloured ruby, rising and falling as she breathed. An emerald set in her navel moved as her body moved, never being in any danger of falling out.
The irises of her deeply-set eyes were coal black; the pupils had an hypnotic yellow-orange tinge like a puma’s, holding a man in terrified silence when she looked at him with scorn. The eyebrows above, perfectly shaped arcs, followed the facial bone setting exactly. Her aquiline nose ended in flared nostrils, revealing the hot passion lying within the magnificent creature that she was. Her luscious lips, the ones every man would willingly have died for just to have them touch his own - to press them in a kiss would have been unthinkable - matched the rubies on her nipples in colour, with the advantage of pulsing with the thrill of Life when compared with the deadness of the precious gems.
Her cheeks formed two depressions of softness, while her chin spoke of firmness, precision and clarity of thought. Her carriage, her posture, denoted more than unchallenged Leadership. More than Royalty. More even than Imperialism.
She was, Cyril - lost for words - admitted weakly, sheer Beauty. Sheer Perfection.
And yet . . .
And yet . . .
She was holding a short dogwhip in her right hand, the stock gripped between her long, sensitive fingers, while the lash curled into a slumbering instrument of coiled excruciating anguish in her left hand. A lash that would reduce the strongest man to a gibbering heap of humiliated obsequiousness.
And, Cyril did not doubt, she would not hesitate to use it, and what was more, use it effectively.
Without any doubt she was the woman in the painting. The masked unnamed woman who had made him desire her just by looking at her portrait.
Undoubtedly, she was the woman who had drawn up the Regulations of the house; whose motto was “FEMINA DOMO HOMO”.
Seeing her in the flesh made it clear she was . . . LASHLEY.
And he - naked - scented and powdered - face down across a leather stool - was at her mercy.
Under the Lash Page 2