Cyril was astonished.
‘Tell me about it,’ he said.
The old man looked at him.
‘I enjoy being a slave,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Can you understand that? Oh yes, the thrashing which goes with it hurts. How it hurts. But that’s only physical. I love to be humiliated. To be put where I belong. When I was younger, I used to enjoy having my come drawn off by several cruel women who stripped me and thrashed me. My cock quivered when they laid their hands on me. I could never get enough. Do you understand?’
Cyril nodded.
‘I think so,’ he answered. ‘I haven’t got a regular trainer yet, so I’m not sure. But Lashley . . . ‘
‘Lashley’s a genius,’ the old man broke in. ‘Look, why don’t you come over here? We can entwine. ’
Cyril saw nothing wrong with that and went over to the old man.
‘Now let’s keep quiet and just entwine. I’ll show you what to do,’ said the old man.
He put one leg over Cyril’s thigh and curved his other one around Cyril’s other hip. Then he pushed his fingers in Cyril’s anus.
‘Do me,’ he whispered. As he spoke, his body rose and fell, trying to rouse his own desire.
‘What shall I do?’ Cyril muttered as he felt the fingers going in and out of his rectum.
‘Let’s be naughty boys. ’
The two men, the young one and the old, writhed and rolled in their ecstasy. Their breathing turned to grunts as their passions rose. All inhibitions were lost. Never before had Cyril known the joy of being penetrated by a male. He knew he could not think of it as penetration by a MAN, since the old man was not hard, but he was certainly a MALE.
They exchanged kisses.
‘Wait,’ gasped the old man.
He let go and crept down to Cyril’s cock.
‘Put it in my mouth,’ he panted.
The spunk poured out, filling the old man’s mouth, running down his chin and on to his belly. Cyril became aware that the old man was toothless. Somehow, that increased his own pleasure. The gums were hard and the thought made Cyril’s cock grow hard again.
The old man wiped his fingers in the sticky fluid and crawled up Cyril’s shuddering body.
‘Lick,’ he whispered, putting his fingers to Cyril’s mouth. ‘It belongs to US now. ’
They fell asleep in each other’s arms, each lost in his own world of pain and pleasure.
Chapter Seven
Lashley looked intently at the grey-haired, grim-faced woman sitting on the other side of the desk. She saw there were no laughter lines in the corners of the woman’s eyes nor were there callipers indicating a sense of humour running down on either side of the mouth. Behind the oval steel-rimmed spectacles the woman’s eyes were unblinking and penetrating. The face was unlined and the impression given by her upright carriage was one of restrained power.
Her gaze fell to the woman’s hands. Lashley was pleased to see they were strong, hard hands, showing determination, stubby fingers with the nails trimmed short and kept scrupulously clean; the hands of a practical, unimaginative, straight-to-the-point active discipline-enforcer.
The woman’s dark-blue dress fitted her like a prison wardress’s uniform. It was the kind commonly worn by old-fashioned nannies. There was no hint of knees being shown, or calves revealed. The dress came down to just above the ankles. The swelling of the bust was rigidly held in.
It was certain, Lashley felt, that under the dress the woman wore unbleached cotton underwear and thick dark-coloured stockings. What else could they be when the sort of shoes, flat-heeled, proclaimed the wearer to be disinterested in the passing whims of fashion? The only concession was a starched white collar and cuffs.
In spite of its being a warm day, the woman had made no attempt to remove either her severely-cut long-sleeved jacket or the round black hat skewered firmly in place by a hat-pin.
‘And how do you impose discipline on your charges?’ Lashley asked.
‘The old-fashioned way,’ the woman replied.
It was as though the reply had cost her an effort to speak at all, Lashley thought. She looked at the woman’s narrowed eyes, enquiringly.
‘By hand,’ the woman barked. ‘In my experience, few men dare disobey when dealt with firmly. The determination of a woman is the deciding factor. ’She licked her lips. ‘No,’ her mouth was set in a straight line as if she was pursuing an argument, ‘any show of persistent misbehaviour is speedily dealt with by prompt removal of the trousers and underdrawers . . . ’
Lashley noted with approval the use of the old-fashioned term “drawers”,
‘. . . the offender being placed face down across the knees and a sharp smacking being given on the offender’s bare flesh. In difficult cases, such treatment in the presence of a female, preferably, the man’s wife or sister, or in suitable cases, the daughter, will bring the man to his senses. The scorn, the humiliation, is so great, that even the threat of it is enough to cow all but the most obstinate cases. ’
‘And in such cases?’ Lashley asked softly. She ran her tongue over her dry lips, listening carefully to the reply.
‘In such cases - which are few, I can assure you - ‘ the woman allowed a faintly mocking smile to cross her face ‘ - a WHIPPING in front of a selected group of spectators is the preferred treatment. That NEVER fails. Men are really cowards at heart. ’
‘A whipping?’
The woman nodded.
‘Dog- or horse-whip. Cane. Tawse. Birch. Strap . . . Whatever comes to hand. A WHIPPING . . . accompanied by laughter and ridicule from the women, of course. ’
Lashley was satisfied.
‘When can you start? Today? Good. I have a case I can hand over to you. A miserable man called Cyril. This is the story about him so far . . . ‘
‘You, my lad, will call me Nanny. I shall call you “Cyril”. And I don’t expect to have to tell you anything twice. ’
Cyril nodded. He had been kept standing to attention for about an hour, his trousers and underpants hanging around his ankles, his short shirt protruding at the front like a tent pole on its side.
Standing like that in front of Lashley, who had been silently watching, made him feel foolish.
There was something about this stern woman which attracted and frightened him at the same time. Sexually, he craved to be dominated by her. But he was afraid of her; he had to admit that. It might have had something to do with the way she had ordered him to prepare himself for her inspection. Perhaps it had been the way she had run her cold hands over his private parts and the loud sniff of disdain she gave when he had hardened and had then, in spite of his frantic efforts to restrain himself, ejaculated.
But ever since he had been a child, he had always ejaculated when touched by a female, regardless of who she was. He blushed even now as he thought of those occasions.
The tight broad black belt she wore set his imagination soaring. What would it be like to be tanned by her, laid across her knees, his bum exposed, to have her firm hand or the belt thwack him ten, twenty, even fifty times, relentlessly? Ashamed of his thought, he almost wished she would do it.
There was a strong smell of disinfectant and military discipline about her, making him understand she abhorred dirt or untidiness in any shape or form. He was breathing more quickly now.
Suddenly he became aware she had asked a question.
‘Well?’ she asked. ‘I’m waiting. ’
He gasped.
‘Er . . . I . . . er . . . ‘
‘You weren’t listening, were you?’
Miserably - but somehow, excitedly, expectantly - he admitted he had not been.
‘Over my knees!’
In a daze, he obeyed. Within the first hour or so of meeting her, he was to be punished. His cock grew stiffer.
‘Twenty bare-bum spanks,’ she announced. ‘You will count in the usual manner. A mistake - and you know the consequences. ’
‘Yes, Nanny. I know, thank you. ’
Best not to annoy her at the beginning of the relationship.
He hardly dared to breathe while awaiting the first spank. His rigid, trembling member was lying across her unyielding thigh, aiming at the territory he was forbidden ever to encroach upon, pulsing, begging for relief. Would he shoot when the first smack fell? Would his cock unload with the shock? Would she even notice it or, perhaps, increase the number of stripes if it happened?
Crack!
She knew how to shape the palm of her hand to inflict the maximum suffering and pain.
He squirmed, proud that the sting and shame of the smack had not caused him to shoot.
Crack!
The next one fell slightly off the original mark.
Crack!
He realized she was deliberately aiming at a different place with each stinging spank. Her object was to redden every part of his exposed bum, rather like putting a backwash to a painting.
With the fourth crack he could no longer restrain his pent-up spunk. The hot sperm shot from his member in a pulsating, creamy stream, soaking her uniform. It was impossible for her not to know what had happened, its flow being so copious. He heard her sharply draw in her breath.
‘So that’s it, you filthy little man, is it?’ she gritted. ‘Very well. ’
She leaned over his body, her ample breasts bearing down on him, rallying his cock, although only to a shadow of its former glory.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pick up a short cane lying on the floor. Now she was really going to teach him something, he knew.
After three strokes, he was in tears, squealing like a naughty schoolboy. His ordeal had just begun, though. The strokes continued to fall, bringing the sting of the bamboo rod to his vainly-writhing bum-cheeks, and all the time his disgrace and shame mounted.
‘Please, Na-anny. No . . . no more. I . . . I . . . ‘
‘You what?’
The cane came down again.
He had no idea what he should say.
‘I . . . I . . . ‘
The cane slashed into him again.
His screams were muffled in the folds of her long dress. He heard Lashley’s amused laughter as his spunk started to come again.
At last she stopped, letting him lie quivering and moaning and spunk-welling across her knees for a short while.
‘Get up!’ she ordered at last. ‘Go and look at your bottom in the mirror. ’ A half-smile lay on her lips and she was not even panting.
When he reached the mirror he could see his bottom was shining bright red. He could see the outline of several handprints would appear on his flesh by tomorrow. Before then though, he knew his flesh would turn purple, then black and finally blue from the cane.
His cock had begun to rise once more. Guiltily he looked at the glistening patch on her uniform where he had been lying and could also see his cock was still oozing slowly in heavy driblets. With a mixture of horror and disgust with himself, he found he had enjoyed the experience.
‘Next time,’ she whispered to him, ‘you’ll get it in front of an audience of mocking women. Next time you’ll be shamed. ’
Chapter Eight
‘You’ve done well,’ Lashley breathed, her breasts heaving, after Cyril had left them. ‘It isn’t everyone who has such success on their first day. ’
She made no attempt to close the curtains of her study-bedroom, in spite of the late hour. She pointed to the iron-framed bed in the corner of the room.
Nanny nodded.
As the two women stripped, the silence was broken only by their eager breathing and the soft ‘swish’ as their clothes fell to the floor. To Lashley’s surprise, she noticed Nanny kept her pubic hair neatly trimmed. Then she lay face upwards on the bed and opened her legs. and held her arms up to the older woman.
Nanny went towards her and stretched herself over the prone Headmistress. Her mouth sought Lashley’s in a hot kiss which spoke of wanton, sensation-seeking desire.
As they lay embracing, Lashley’s hands slowly ran down Nanny’s back, not stopping until she had reached the cleft. Her long fingers parted the other woman’s bum-cheeks.
Nanny shuddered as she nodded her willingness.
‘Grease,’ she murmured, stretching a hand out to pull the dish of butter towards the bed.
Slowly Lashley dug her fingers into the emollient, covering them with the slippery fat. Then she put her hands back into Nanny’s cleft and began working them into the woman’s sensitive anus.
Nanny’s body heaved up and down rhythmically as Lashley’s fingers penetrated her tight sphincter. Her spasmodic intakes of breath were smothered as Lashley clamped her mouth over Nanny’s parted lips.
Nanny, on top, slid her hands between their bodies, searching for Lashley’s mound. At last, guided by the wiry pubic hair beneath her, Nanny inserted a finger in the twitching vagina below. Two or three times the finger was dragged in and out. She listened with satisfaction as Lashley gave little whimpers of joy. Judging the time to be ripe, Nanny stopped and withdrew her pleasuring finger.
‘Go on! Don’t stop,’ gasped the woman beneath her.
‘Head mistress,’ said Nanny softly, ‘too much pleasure is bad for one. Remember the school’s motto - “PAIN = PLEASURE”. Before I can give you more pleasure, I must give you pain. ’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Flog you as if you were a little girl. The way my Mother used to flog me. ’
Lashley moaned.
‘What did she do?’
Nanny gave a brief, humourless smile before answering.
‘I was stripped naked, head mistress, and was made to lie on the bed face down. Then a small towel was soaked in icy water and placed over my bare bum, being pulled taut. ’
Lashley gave a little moan.
‘What then?’ she gasped.
‘I was then thrashed with the towel on top of my bottom. That increased the pain but left the skin unmarked. ’
She could hear Lashley’s breath shuddering as excitement gripped her.
‘Go on. ’
‘The pain would last several days,’ Nanny continued. ‘Sometimes it was a week before I was able to sit comfortably. My mother was harsh, but she taught me how to give pleasure while having pleasure myself. She told me that was how HER mother had trained HER. ’
‘If I agree, Nanny,’ Lashley was panting now, ‘it will be on the condition that the Rules are observed. “To give is to receive”. Agreed?’
‘Agreed, head mistress. ’
The silence which followed was only broken by the heavy breathing and little cries of the two women as their fingers worked on each other, bringing them to orgasm simultaneously.
‘Now I’m going to lash you,’ Nanny whispered.
The face at the window withdrew. The watcher ran silently back to the dormitory where the other inmates were waiting.
They crowded round the watcher as he described what he had seen and overheard. As he told his story, one by one the men in the dormitory lay face down on the beds, heaving and jerking as they let their imaginations run free.
At last they lay exhausted. In the silence broken only by an occasional sigh, sleep began to bring its own consolation.
The door opened. Maudine entered the room and snapped on the electric light.
Her nostrils twitched as she went slowly from bed to bed. She slipped her hand under the prone body of each man as she came to him, feeling him and fondling his member. Each was brought swiftly to a peak.
Occasionally some of the men would try to touch her. This was ended by a slash of the ridin
g crop.
‘Where’th little Thethill?’ lisped the young dominatrix. ‘I’m going to whip him - like a little doggy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Thethill?’
Without a word, Cecil dropped his pyjama trousers and went on all fours, lifting his bum up high.
The crop came down again and again on the wretched man’s bottom, drawing squeals from him. When the girl had finished, Cecil was a blubbering wreck.
The girl’s face was flushed with excitement.
‘Any other wankerth here?’ she asked.
The old man in the corner trembled as she drew nearer. Flinging himself on the ground in front of her, he started to kiss the floor.
‘No time for that tonight,’ she laughed. ‘It’ll have to keep. Meanwhile, here’th thomething for you to think about until I’m ready.’
She kicked the old man in the stomach, making him retch.
‘FEMINA DOMO HOMO,’ he groaned.
‘Very good, old man,’ she nodded. ‘We’ll turn you into a proper thlave yet. ’
As she was leaving, Reneti mumbled something. Quick as a flash, Maudine turned on him.
‘Reneti, eh? What did you thay?’
Reneti quivered.
‘Young mistress, I only admired the way you treat that old fool. ’
‘Really? Well you can let us thee YOU wank now. NOW! I thay. Drop your panth and DO it!’
Reneti’s body shook as he obeyed. He undid his pyjama cord, letting his trousers slide to the ground. Taking his cock in his hand, he started to handle it. The organ sprang into life as the dominatrix watched. He was running his closed hand along his shaft when Lashley and Nanny arrived.
‘What’s going on here?’
Reneti looked at her in terror.
‘Head mistress,’ his voice shaking with fear and expectation, ‘I was . . . ‘
Under the Lash Page 4