Under the Lash

by Vashti La Soeur

He clenched the muscles of his cock to prevent his spunk from coming. He dared not soil the buff-coloured leather of the stool. The effort made him tremble and he could hardly breathe as he saw her slowly raise the lash from her hand and point the whip towards him.

  ‘Here!’ she commanded.

  There was no need for him to be told he was required to crawl to her on his belly.

  He slid off the stool and, face down, snaked his way across the floor to her. When he had reached the correct distance from her, the whip cracked and he stopped.

  Cherub’s whispered order was precise.

  ‘Clean the ground and tongue the mistress from feet up. ’

  Feverishly Cyril obeyed. He licked a path on the ground towards the imperious beauty. Reaching her delicate feet, he gradually worked his way first up one boot to the knee, then up the other. From there he licked to the edge of the miniskirt, taking each thigh in turn.

  Then he worked his tongue from one thigh to the other as far as the middle of the black-haired nest in the centre. The smell of musk from her quim made his head reel. On reaching the centre, he buried his face in the wiry bush, without stopping in his frantic efforts to please her. His reward came in a slight tremor that ran through her as his tongue touched her inlet.

  He felt the hair at the back of his head gripped, his head was pulled back and he was staring into the eyes of Merciless Domination.

  ‘Where did you learn to lick like that?’

  Her husky voice was low but clear.

  ‘Answer, dog, or it will be the worse for you. ’

  He licked his lips, unable to think how he should answer.

  ‘I . . . ‘

  The whip came down across his shoulders twice, bringing a scream of agony from him.

  Cherub whispered,

  ‘You must NEVER start to speak with “I”. ’

  ‘Answer!’

  ‘M . . . Mistress,’ he stammered, ‘this humble dog was trying to please his mistress. This humble dog has never been taught. ’

  ‘Then you need lessons. You will be taught that the only role men play in life is to be subservient to women. To satisfy their wishes. That no man has any right to be other than a slave. This is Lashley’s College where you will be trained to fulfil your role. Women come here from all over the world to learn how to become Dominatrices and for that, creatures like yourself are trained to serve. ’

  She brought the whip down once on Cyril’s upturned bum, giving a short bark of laughter when he squealed.

  ‘Now you will be bum-ringed and put in a working party. ’

  At that he was grasped, flung on the floor and an iron loop was inserted into his right buttock. A chain was then run through the ring and he was joined to a burly member of a gang of other men who had been similarly ringed.

  ‘In case you have any ideas about attempting to escape,’ the woman sneered, ‘be assured no one has managed it yet. This will show you why none has ever done so. ’

  The whip curled once more into and around his buttocks, drawing a scream of agony from him.

  Lashley’s lips curled into another sneer.

  ‘The humble dog fears the lash, eh? It’s as well. ’

  She gathered the lash together again in her hand while she moved away. When she had gone, Cyril heard his burly neighbour mutter in a slow growl in his ear.

  ‘You’re MY girl - and don’t forget it. I’ll have ya later, I will. Reneti’s the name - what’s yours?’

  ‘Cyril,’ he sobbed.

  ‘Ya say “Sir” when ya speak to ME, Cyril. Get it?’

  ‘Yes . . . sir. ’

  ‘Good. You ‘n me, we’re gonna get on fine, ain’t we? Gotta a lotta bum-fillin’ ta do. I give the cock; you give the bum. See?’

  ‘Yes . . . sir. ’

  Wild excitement throbbed through him. Bum-filling! He would be brutalized. His mouth went dry and a shudder ran through him as he visualized the treatment.

  Chapter Five

  Lashley’s voice cut through the assembly.

  ‘I am now going to bring in one of our younger Dominatrices, Maudine. She is only 13, but she has great facility with the riding crop, and is expert at humiliating men who are getting on in years. Men who have not yet learned their lessons. A girl less than half one’s age gives more shame than one nearer to one’s own. ’

  A shudder ran through the assembly as Maudine danced lightly forward on the stage. She was a fair-haired slip of a girl with bright blue eyes and a rose-bud mouth set in a constant smile. Her cheeks were touched with make-up, reminding the men of their own daughters and younger sisters. As they drew mental comparisons, their faces flushed with embarrassment.

  She wore blocked ballet dancing shoes and a pair of short white socks turned over just above the ankles. Her straight legs disappeared under the hem of a very short pink frilly dress which had a tight bodice front and no sleeves. Her breasts as yet were undeveloped.

  Cyril noticed a white-haired man towards the end of the chain surreptitiously start to move his hand backwards and forwards between his legs. His lips were moving and an eager look appeared on his face, betraying him.

  The girl looked down from the stage and saw the man’s state of excitement.

  ‘That thilly man there,’ she lisped. ‘What’th your name?’

  ‘Cecil, mistress. ’

  ‘Thethil, eh? Well, Thethil, you’re going to be thrathed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Cecil gasped and moved awkwardly, not daring to disagree.

  ‘Little Thethil playth with himthelf a lot, doeth’nt he? Well, we’re going to give him thomething to remember when he playth again. You’d like that, Thethil, wouldn’t you? Come up here, Thethil tho everyone can thee you. ’

  The man’s face was a mixture of fear and exhilaration as he obeyed her command.

  ‘Now then, Thethil, how old are you?’

  ‘Fifty-six, mistress. ’

  ‘Fifty-thix. Have you been thrathed before, Thethil?’

  ‘No, mistress. ’

  ‘But you’re looking forward to it now, aren’t you? Ethpethially becauth I am more than four timeth younger than you. ’

  Maudine ran her hand over Cecil’s naked bum. Then she cupped his quivering cock and began to milk him gently.

  ‘Aren’t you athamed to be theen like thith?’ she asked.

  Cecil fell to his knees as the come started to ooze in her hand.

  He panted. ‘Yeth . . . I mean, yes, mistress. I am ashamed. ’

  Maudine laughed lightly.

  ‘Turn over on your handth and kneeth. We’ll do it like a little doggy-woggy. ’

  Cyril was close enough to the stage to hear the crop zing through the air before it cut into the trembling man’s upturned bum. Fascinated, he watched the quivering bum-flesh turn from pale yellow to pink; then to bright red before the stripes became purple and black. All the time Cecil’s shrieks pierced the air as the crop kept stinging down remorselessly. Tears streamed down the miserable man’s cheeks. His lips quivered and his supporting arms, planted on the stage, struggled to keep him from collapsing.

  ‘You like thith, don’t you, Thethil?’

  The man’s answer was choked by his tears.

  ‘Anther me, Thethil! Quickly!’

  He gulped and nodded.

  ‘Ye . . . yes, mistress. I like you to thrash me. ’

  She looked around the hall in triumph.

  ‘Everyone to laugh,’ she ordered.

  Laughter came weakly at first.

  ‘Louder!’ she screamed.

  The laughter rose.

  ‘LOUDER!’

  Each man was now screaming his forced laughter as loudly as he could, each afraid of being caught for not joining in.


  The thought going through Cyril’s mind as he bellowed in agreement was he was thankful she was not thrashing HIM.

  At last it ended and the laughter died away. The girl looked around the room, her eyes eagerly seeking anyone who dared to dispute her right to do as she had done.

  ‘You!’ She pointed to a meek little man standing at the end of the chain of slaves. ‘Come here!’

  The man fell to his knees and began to shuffle towards her, his face showing his fear of the riding crop she held. When he reached the full extent of the chain, he was unable to advance further.

  The girl flushed.

  ‘Come here!’ she repeated. ‘At once. ’

  In distress, the little man started to sob.

  ‘I can’t, miss . . . mistress,’ he wept. ‘The chain won’t let me go any farther. ’

  As he spoke, the chain leader freed the man from his bum-ring.

  ‘No excutheth now,’ she snapped, her little chest heaving. ‘I’m going to flog YOU . . . NOW. Bum high!’

  The man, old enough to have been her grandfather, moaned but dared not object.

  ‘How old are you?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Sixty-five, miss . . . mistress. ’

  ‘And you want me to flog you, don’t you? Tell me. ’

  The old man looked tearfully at her without replying.

  ‘Thpeak old man. You want it, don’t you?’

  ‘If my mistress wants to flog me, I want it. But - but . . . ’

  ‘Yeth?’

  ‘Could my mistress please flog me in private? Not in front of the assembly. ’

  The girl clapped her hands delightedly.

  ‘In private? Why?’

  ‘My mistress is much younger than me. The shame . . . the shame in front of others . . . ‘

  The old man fell on his knees and wept, his flabby cock dangling in front of him like a wrung-out dishcloth.

  ‘Mitherable, worn-out old fool,’ she screamed, ‘I’m going to teach you to have rethpect for younger people. ’

  ‘Mercy, mercy, mistress,’ he moaned,

  Ignoring his pleas, Maudine ordered him to lie across the table, bum up.

  The screams of the old man as the crop flashed down on him, strokes that fell in rapid succession, made Cyril aware of why the girl was one of Lashley’s favourite pupils. He dared not think what she would be like in a few years’ time.

  At last the lashing was over. The old man lay writhing across the table, unable to rise.

  ‘Now, old man,’ panted the vicious little girl, her bodice stained with sweat, her unformed breasts heaving with exertion, ‘did you enjoy that?’

  The old man groaned.

  ‘Yes, mistress. I enjoyed it. ’

  ‘Every time you thee me you will kith the ground where I am thtanding. Underthtand?’

  The old man groaned again and nodded.

  ‘And are you athamed of yourthelf?’

  ‘Yes, mistress, I am ashamed. I shall never see you without remembering my thrashing - and being grateful to you for it. ’

  ‘Are you married?’

  The man sobbed.

  ‘Yes, mistress. ’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘Two - son and daughter, mistress. ’

  ‘Then you will write to them and thay how much you have enjoyed your thrathing. Tell them they muth come immediately and thee your bum markth. ’

  The old man nodded, too overcome to speak.

  ‘Any grandchildren?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Twelve, eleven and nine, mistress. ’

  ‘Tell them to come, too. Let them thee your bum ath well. I want them all to thee your dithgrath. Now get up. ’

  As the wretched old man staggered to his feet, his hands gently feeling his bleeding bum, his flabby cock oozing slightly, he looked pitifully at the harsh girl who stood smiling at him.

  ‘What have you learned today?’ she asked.

  ‘FEMINA DOMO HOMO,’ he gasped.

  ‘Now kith me,’ she ordered.

  She turned her back on him, pulled up her dress and bent double. She was wearing no knickers.

  As the old man sobbed and placed his lips on the cleft between her buttocks, her shrill laughter filled the hall.

  Chapter Six

  A huge black man strode on to the stage. Completely naked, with bulging biceps and thighs, his muscles rippled as he took his seat on the kitchen chair in the centre. His erect member gave Cyril the impression it was at least eleven inches in length with a circumference of about five inches. It was the most magnificent weapon he had ever seen.

  The man was followed on to the stage by all the Dominatrices. A nun ran from the side of the platform, her breasts hanging loosely out of her black habit.

  ‘You will all line up for break-time,’ her Irish accent emphasizing her excitement. ‘I will remind you that anyone swallowing Carter’s come before I blow the whistle will dealt with most painfully. ‘Tis I myself will administer the squeezer . . . ‘she held up something that looked like a large pair of nutcrackers ‘. . . and Sister Pieta, standing over there . . . ’

  Cyril turned to see another nun wearing spectacles, her habit pulled up revealing her knickerless skinny thighs, holding a ball of steel wool as she grinned and beckoned lewdly,

  ‘ . . . has the arse-scouring pad with which, as some of you will remember,’ the nun tittered at her own little joke, ‘she is very expert. Now then, in turn . . . SUCK. ’

  Cyril saw the man standing in the queue in front of him tenderly run his fingers through his cleft, evidently being one who had been scoured on a previous occasion. The others in front of him knelt down one at a time as they came up to the negro and took his rigid member in their mouths. They sucked it hard, their eyes almost popping out of their heads, not one of them daring to swallow a drop.

  By the time it was Cyril’s own turn, the negro had reached the pitch of frenzy. His body was twisting and jerking as he shot his sperm into every man’s mouth. His face sweated and an acrid odour came from his armpits.

  As Cyril knelt in front of the man, his head was grabbed and his face pushed forward into the man’s crotch.

  He opened his mouth and the huge pulsing penis was roughly pushed into it.

  ‘Suck, baby. ’ The voice was deep and scratchy. ‘Suck, baby. Suck hard. Plenty juice to spare for all. ’

  He moved his lips over the nobbly veined skin, feeling it come to life as he drew on it, treating it like a cigar. The emission flooded into his mouth before he was ready. As the hot fluid poured into him, the nun’s warning came back to him.

  He tried to retain Carter’s come, but the flow was both too strong and too profuse. At last he was compelled to swallow some.

  Perhaps, he thought, they won’t notice a little bit. The threat of the squeezer and the arse-scraper was still fresh in his memory.

  It seemed the flow would never end. Driblets escaped from the sides of his mouth, leaving sticky trails down his chin and on his chest. The cock throbbed between his teeth and spurted in rhythmical beats rapidly on to his tongue.

  He lost all sense of time. His mouth was full, a mixture of naked black cock and yellow spunk. Still the flow did not stop.

  After his release from the Negro, Cyril was flogged after being told it was a favour, as it was his first time, instead of being squeezed and scoured. It was a lengthy, drawn-out process. Nothing was hurried, everything was done methodically. Lash after lash striped his flesh, leaving him a sobbing, tear-sodden wreck.

  ‘Next time,’ panted the nun with the nutcrackers as she lowered the whip, ‘it’ll be the squeezer and arse-scraper for ye, me bhoy. Sister Pieta must not be deprived, must she?’

  Although it was
no consolation to him, he saw all the others given the dreaded implements.

  At the end of “break-time”, no one had escaped punishment and the hall was filled with screaming, writhing male subservients, each begging his respective trainer to intervene on his behalf while clutching his nuts and his anus.

  The two nuns were running wildly up and down the hall, squeezing balls and scouring arseholes time and again, laughing happily as they went.

  ‘Cyril, as you have not yet been allotted a trainer, I shall look after you myself. ’ It was Lashley. Her lips curled with scorn and Cyril’s heart sank. ‘Aren’t you pleased about that, little man?’

  Cyril hastily assured her he was VERY pleased.

  ‘Then we must remedy that, mustn’t we?’ she smiled.

  She drew her steel-shod boot back and drove it straight between his legs. A flame of pain shot through him, reaching outwards and upwards from his balls. Nausea gripped him, coughing and retching as he rolled helplessly on the ground, his hands feebly trying to protect his scrotum area as her foot continued to drive into him. Again and again his stomach heaved.

  He looked up at Lashley and saw she had dissolved into a ring of women’s laughing faces, naked quims and cocks, whips, canes and riding crops. Around the muddled vision there was a smell of sweet sickly musk, while in the background he could hear screams, cries and groans.

  He lost consciousness.

  It was daylight when he came round. He was lying face upwards on a cot, a single sheet across his shoulders, his genitals exposed.

  A groan attracted his attention. He turned to face the direction from which the groan came. It was the old man Maudine had flogged.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Cyril whispered. As he didn’t know who might overhear him, he was afraid to talk normally.

  ‘Yes, but I still have to tell my family,’ wept the old man. ‘The shame of it! The shame!’

  ‘Well, they’ll probably understand it wasn’t your fault,’ Cyril encouraged him.

  ‘Yes, but to have been whipped by a young girl - and in full view of others . . . Oh, the shame of it!’ After a few moments, the old man said, ‘But they’re right, you know. Men ARE inferior. I actually enjoyed being whipped by her. I felt the old urges come back as the crop came down. I wanted to be young again. To have a hard on again. If only someone like her would let me FEEL her. POKE her. Or even . . . ‘