Under the Lash

by Vashti La Soeur

  ‘I know what you were doing - publicly, too. What is the penalty for indecent behaviour, Reneti?’

  He trembled.

  ‘Public spanking, head mistress. ’

  ‘Correct. Maudine!’

  The young girl giggled and sat on the edge of the man’s bed.

  ‘Over,’ she ordered, pointing to her knees.

  Reneti’s cock had still not subsided when he bent over her knees. Feeling her firm thighs beneath him, he was unable to restrain himself from making a backwards and forwards movement.

  A roar of laughter went up from the watching men.

  ‘You’re not liked very much, are you, Reneti?’ Lashley asked.

  The miserable man blushed as he answered.

  ‘No, head mistress. ’

  ‘A good hard spanking, Maudine. As hard as you can. And you others, watch and see him humbled for his disgusting behaviour in public. ’

  Maudine clearly enjoyed her duties. Taking her tennis shoe from her foot, she started.

  Reneti’s shrieks rose as the shoe stung his bottom.

  ‘What’s it like being spanked by a girl, Reneti?’ someone scoffed.

  Reneti’s only answer was a lengthy drawn-out sobbing moan. His cock couldn’t hold the flow back any longer. He flushed with shame as his juice spent over the knees of his young mistress.

  On and on went the spanking. The room fell silent. Horror mingled with delight. The only sounds were Reneti’s cries and the continuous thwack of the tennis shoe on his bare skin.

  Lashley was satisfied at last.

  ‘Stop,’ she called.

  Reneti’s sobs had turned to hiccups. When the thrashing stopped, he tumbled off Maudine’s knees to the ground at Lashley’s feet.

  ‘For . . . forgive me . . . head mistress. Never . . . never . . . do it . . . more. ’

  Lashley’s eyes sparkled in her excitement at his misery.

  ‘He will be put on the chain back to front for seven days,’ she ordered. ‘When the men go forwards, he’ll have to go backwards on his knees. If he resists, the others will drag him backwards. ’

  ‘And after that,’ added Nanny viciously, ‘he’ll be sent into the wrestling ring oiled and naked for a match every night until his sins have been cleared. ’

  ‘His first bout will be with the gym instructress,’ Lashley broke in. ‘After that, I’ll choose another opponent for him. ’

  There was a murmur of assent from the assembled men at Lashley’s decision. Much as Lashley was feared, Reneti was hated.

  Chapter Nine

  Soon after the three Dominatrices had left, the gong struck three times. The inmates of the dormitory stopped their soft chattering and looked at one another apprehensively.

  ‘She’s back!’

  ‘Who’s it going to be this time?’

  A few men began to shiver and sob.

  The tension made Cyril give a nervous giggle which he hastily quelled.

  The door was pulled open. A naked mistress, dressed in shiny thigh-length leather boots with pointed toes and stiletto heels, a slender gold chain around her waist with a heart-shaped padlock dangling in front of her down-covered quim, a pair of long leather gloves that extended to her elbows and holding a bullwhip with the long lash curled into her left hand, strode into the room.

  She wore a half-mask that covered the upper part of her cheeks. Through the slits that formed the eyeholes glittered a pair of green eyes that forbade even the bravest man to think of the slightest disobedience. Her jet black hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and as she moved, her magnificent breasts swung tantalisingly from side to side.

  Without a word, every man fell to his knees before her, not daring to look up at her face. Slowly she paced the room, looking for her prey for the night. Occasionally she rested the bullwhip on a trembling man’s shoulder. Then, apparently having a change of mind, she passed on to the next man.

  What began as a low murmur gradually became a distinct chant.

  ‘The sole purpose of man is to be dominated by woman.

  ‘The sole purpose of man is to be dominated by woman. ’

  It was only when the chant had reached a crescendo that the naked mistress made her decision. She cracked her whip once. Immediately, the chanting stopped.

  ‘You! Name?’

  Cyril looked up at her. He swallowed. The whip was pointing straight at him.

  ‘Cyril, mistress. ’

  ‘Bind him for the lesson. ’

  Four eager, whispering men carried him to the triangle that had been placed in the centre of the room. His legs were spread apart and each ankle was secured to straps attached to the corners of the base of the triangle. His hands were drawn above his head to the apex of the frame where they were held in place by metal handcuffs. As the men worked, they gave nervous little squeaks of laughter, clearly relieved that it was someone other than themselves who was going to suffer.

  When they had finished, Cyril found he could twist his body in a small arc but he was unable to shield any part of it from the lashing he knew he was about to receive.

  Around him he could see the onlookers awaiting the promised exhibition with undisguised pleasure.

  He felt the lash touch his back slightly. An involuntary shudder made the nerves under his skin ripple. He felt the lash move slowly and lightly down his back. It stopped when it reached the top of his bum-cleft.

  A tiny dribble of urine came from his hardening cock, bringing a nervous, hardly-suppressed laugh from one of the spectators.

  ‘Be careful, slave,’ came the mistress’s hoarse warning. ‘You might join him. ’

  The lash was inserted between his legs and, with a twist, was drawn upwards into his scrotum where it wrapped itself around his balls.

  The thong tightened, making him sweat with fear. The lash was pulled away from its grip on his tender flesh. It felt as though a fiery hand was plucking his balls from their sockets, bringing a scream of agony from his lips.

  Hardly had the lash been pulled away, when he heard it being cracked behind him - once - twice - three times.

  Then it fell across his back, drawing a louder shriek from him.

  As each cut was given, the onlookers shouted the count aloud, letting him know how far his whipping had gone.

  At ‘Seventeen’ the lashes stopped falling. A mist was covering his eyes.

  ‘Make it the end,’ he prayed silently.

  A small band of men rushed forward, untied him and, turning him round, tied him to the triangle again - this time facing his whipper.

  The grey eyes behind the mask bored into him.

  ‘That,’ she whispered, ‘was just a taste of what’s to come. ’

  Again the lash was thrust between his legs, curling round his balls again.

  ‘It would be so easy to rip ‘em off,’ the mistress mused. ‘Shall I?’ she asked him.

  He groaned.

  ‘Please, no,’ he panted. ‘Have pity, mistress. ’

  She sneered.

  ‘Pity? Do men have pity when they rape? Or when a woman gives birth? Why should a mere slave be shown any pity?’

  She tugged the cord to make it grip him even tighter. A feeling of sickness swept over him. If he was going to be castrated, at least get it over quickly, he begged mentally.

  ‘But - ‘she continued, ‘it will be more interesting to see your fear of losing your balls as you try to protect them than to watch your agonies as they are plucked from you. You may keep them for the moment, slave, but know that you will lose them whenever I choose. ’

  The lashing re-commenced. As the strokes rained down, Cyril’s tormented body twisted from side to side. At last, when his cock refused to rise any more, when he had given the last of his spunk, he hung bloodily
on the triangle, a mass of criss-crossed weals and blood-stained patches.

  He slumped downwards from his bonds, no longer feeling the bullwhip’s cruel snap as it bit its way into his body.

  At last he knew what it was to be a slave - the slave of a cruel mistress whose glance provoked and terrorised him at the same time.

  ‘What have you learned?’

  The lesson was ingrained on Cyril’s memory; a lesson he would never forget.

  ‘“The p . . . purpose of m . . . man is to be dominated by woman,”‘he sobbed.

  As he stumbled over the words an expectant thrill ran through him, reviving his desires and hopes.

  Chapter Ten

  Except for the tall vaulting horse covered in worn brown leather, the gymnasium had been cleared of its usual equipment to allow the wrestling ring to be erected for Reneti’s match against the gym instructress.

  As Reneti was led into the ring his lips were moving soundlessly. It was clear he was both terrified and respectful of his opponent. His oiled body quivered under the spotlights which shone down from the high ceiling. The bulge in the crotch of his tight boxer shorts showed he had not been allowed the protection of a ‘box’. A heavily-built man, Reneti’s genitalia hung prominently.

  His nervous eyes darted from one corner of the ring to the other as he awaited the arrival of the gym instructress. Sweat poured from him profusely. Tonight was the opening match of the series.

  A spotlight swung towards the entrance to the hall as a hefty woman wearing a towelling robe entered.

  She climbed through the ropes and said something to the referee, herself a well-muscled woman.

  ‘Founder - Dominatrices - slaves!’ the referee announced. ‘Tonight we have a wrestling match between our gym instructress and the slave, Reneti. The loser will become the personal property of the winner. It is a fight until one or the other surrenders. Nothing is barred. ’

  The bell struck.

  The instructress immediately took a flying kick at Reneti who had not even taken up his ‘On guard’ position.

  The kick caught his chin, felling him. Like a flash of lightning, the instructress picked him up and smacked both his cheeks in rapid succession, sending him spinning him across the ring. Without allowing him time to recover, she grabbed his prominent willy. Squeezing and tugging at it simultaneously, she lifted him off the canvas with her other hand, swinging him in a circle while he shrieked.

  She let go suddenly and Reneti crashed into the ropes. Before he was able to rise, she leapt on him and, to the cheers and laughter of the spectators, pulled his shorts off. Humiliation was to be his lot tonight.

  She pulled his now-limp cock into her mouth and started to chew it as though it had been a cucumber. Her strong teeth ground hard on his flesh, making him scream. Without allowing him any chance to surrender, which would have ended the bout, she opened her mouth and pulled the agonized man up from the ground. A yellowish mess oozed from the tip of his penis which was now scored with tooth marks. Then she raised him high above her head, making it look as though she intended to give him an ‘Airplane Whirl’ before throwing him out of the ring. She spun round, his body rigid with fright across her raised palms.

  Lunging forward, her foot slipped in the yellow mess on the floor.

  Reneti fell to the canvas, his momentum pulling the instructress down at the same time. For a moment both contestants lay there, winded. Before the instructress was able to move, Reneti sprang on her.

  He began to twist her arms backwards, clearly seeking to disable her. Her eyes widened. Momentarily, a look of fear crossed her face.

  Grasping both of her wrists in one of his large hands, he ripped her vest away, exposing her loose breasts. A smile of triumph came over him. Now he would get his revenge for the pain she had inflicted.

  Swiftly he bent over her. He took a nipple between his teeth and bit hard. The instructress screamed. Her bosom heaved as she tried to throw him off, but his grip on her wrists tightened.

  Fiercely, he jerked her arms backwards again, making her breasts jerk forwards in a reflex action. He tore at the nipple and spat, his mouth seeking the other one.

  In a flash, she swung her legs up around his neck in a scissors hold. Her movement was magnificently timed, catching him with his neck outstretched and unprotected.

  The audience was spellbound. It was not necessary to understand much about wrestling to know what they were watching was a fight between experts. A fight which would only end when one or the other was either disabled or allowed by the other to surrender.

  The woman’s powerful legs were squeezing Reneti’s neck, shifting slightly as they searched for his carotid artery. The muscles in her thighs bulged as she exerted all the pressure she could manage in her effort to block the oxygen supply to his brain, so paralysing him.

  Reneti, for his part, was well aware of her intentions. He knew if he were to succeed he had very little time to fight back before he would succumb to her powerful attack.

  Taking his teeth out of her second nipple, he pulled his head back between her thighs and snatched at her cache-sex, ripping it away. A groan went up from the audience as his motive became clear.

  If he could sink his teeth into her exposed quim, he might be able to chew on her tenderest part, bringing pain no woman could be expected to withstand.

  Her animal scent filled his nostrils. He felt her wiry pubic hair roughen his tongue. The pressure on his neck increased still further, strangling him as well as putting him in danger of being paralysed.

  His chest heaved as he sucked what little air he could into his lungs. His teeth found her clitoris. Madly he bit as hard as he was able.

  The instructress’s frenzied screams rose, but she still did not release her neck-grip.

  Both contestants were losing strength. Reneti was beginning to black out from lack of oxygen. The instructress was being tortured by the ruthless way his teeth were tearing her quim.

  The need for breath brought a moment of weakness to Reneti, allowing her to pull one wrist free. She tried to grab his thrashing body with her released hand, but it was too weak to hold him. He had managed to pull her right shoulder out of joint when tugging her wrists.

  Now they were panting and sweating like two wounded snarling jungle beasts. Reneti knew he had to make one last effort before he became unconscious. For her part, the instructress had to cut off his oxygen supply before he chewed the entrance to her sex, mashing it into a mess of useless flesh. A mess that would no longer enable her to have coitus.

  Small animal-like grunts and whimpers came from the pair. At last, Reneti found his target and sank his teeth into their target.

  At the same moment, the instructress moved her thighs slightly up his neck. She was rewarded, feeling the frantically beating neck-pulse. Summoning her remaining strength and managing to overcome the excruciating pain in her vagina, she exerted her pressure on his neck still further.

  Reneti’s head fell forward. He had passed out. His enormous will-to-win had succumbed to his need for oxygen.

  With the last squeeze of her thighs, the instructress felt her opponent’s muscles relax. She knew she had won, although at a price. Never again would she be able to respond to her lover’s sexual attentions.

  However, her honour had been vindicated. She had obeyed Lashley and had beaten a man who was three times her weight and strength, who was her equal in determination and cunning.

  But in winning she had made a vicious enemy. An enemy who would not hesitate to get his revenge at the right time. In future, she would have to walk carefully, not relaxing for fear of attack coming from behind.

  Chapter Eleven

  A few days after the fight, slaves were crowding round the notice board in the hall. As a rule, orders were given during morning assembly. The fact it had been considered necessary
to make a formal announcement showed the matter was of prime importance.

  ‘PERSONAL SERVANTS’

  they read,

  ‘1. Each Dominatrix is allowed two personal servants.

  ‘2. No slave chosen by a Dominatrix as her servant shall have any right of appeal against any decision she makes.

  ‘3. Punishments will be awarded and executed by the slave’s own Dominatrix. In a case considered by a Dominatrix to require SPECIAL ATTENTION, the slave will be disciplined by the Founder.’

  A list of Dominatrices was attached to the notice showing which mistress had chosen each slave.

  Cyril quickly scanned the list. He had been allocated to Vesta, a proud, beautiful young mistress with long fair hair, who preferred bondage and the cane to the whip.

  His companion-slave was a strong young giant called Thrushton. Cyril was aware that Thrushton was a bully and a jealous person.

  As Cyril was walking away from the noticeboard, he heard a commotion. Not wanting to become involved in anything that might lead to another thrashing, his memories of the masked Dominatrix’s treatment still being fresh in his mind and his body still not having fully healed, he paid no attention to what was being said around the notice board and hurried his steps.

  ‘There he is,’ he heard someone call.

  ‘Hey, YOU! Come here! I want to talk to you. ’

  A rush of feet behind him made him aware that he was being spoken to. He stopped.

  Several hands grasped him and he was hauled back to the board.

  Thrushton was standing beside it, hands on his hips. His mood was ugly.

  ‘So you’re the swine who’s attached to Vesta!’ Thrushton’s voice was aggressive.

  Cyril was astounded.

  ‘Yes, but all I want is a quiet life. Everybody here knows that. ’

  ‘‘e’s lyin’, Thrush,’ urged a weedy little man. ‘‘e’s tryin’ to get in good wiv Vesta, you’ll see. ’