Thrushton glowered at Cyril. Then he leaned forward, tapped him on the chest and said in a menacing tone,
‘I don’t like people what mucks me about, see? I don’t like bein’ jumped over, see? If I was you, mate, I’d make some sorta hexcuse and git off this bleedin’ game, see?’
‘What game? I don’t want to spoil anything for anybody,’ Cyril said anxiously.
‘Now you listen to me. ’ As Thrushton spoke he jabbed his finger with each word into Cyril’s chest emphatically. ‘It don’t matter whether you understand or not, git ORF, see?’
‘‘it ‘im, Thrush,’ urged the little man. ‘‘e’s askin’ fer it. ’
‘But I don’t know what you’re talking about. ’
Cyril was alarmed.
Thrushton breathed heavily. Then he came closer still and said in a threatening tone,
‘I’m not gonna let you or anyone else get in my way wiv Vesta. She’s MINE, I tell ya, see? So, take my tip. ’ His finger jabbed into Cyril’s chest again. ‘STEER CLEAR. Geddit?’
Cyril was annoyed. What right had this man to order him around, telling him to whom to speak and whom to obey?
‘Well, if you don’t like it, Thrushton . . . ‘
‘Steer clear, I’m telling you,’ Thrushton shouted, raising his fist.
The commotion attracted Lashley’s attention. Hurriedly she came out into the corridor where the pair were arguing.
‘SILENCE!’ she roared. Turning to Thrushton, she asked him what the trouble was.
He mumbled an explanation, not daring to look directly at her.
Her face darkened.
‘Every slave will recite College Rule No. 2 in front of me. After that, every Dominatrix will recite Rule No. 3. Form two lines - slaves to the left, mistresses to the right. Any mistake will be punished IMMEDIATELY. ’
There was a low groan as the lines formed up.
One after another the trembling slaves fell on their knees in front of Lashley and repeated Rule 2.
‘“All males must obey every order given without question.”‘
Then the Dominatrices stepped forward one after the other and, looking straight ahead at the wall behind Lashley’s head, repeated Rule No. 3 loudly and clearly.
‘“Any Dominatrix allowing her slaves to quarrel will be publicly thrashed.”‘
‘REPEAT it,’ Lashley ordered as each Dominatrix finished.
When it was Vesta’s turn, seeing Lashley’s unblinking eyes on her, she dropped her gaze.
‘You aren’t looking at me, Vesta,’ Lashley said quietly.
‘No, Great Mistress. I cannot. I am guilty. ’
‘Then you must be punished here and now. ’
With that, Lashley went to the throne on the stage at the end of the hall and sat facing the assembly, squeezing her knees closely together
Without a word, Vesta followed the head mistress. Once on the stand, she removed the cache-sex covering the fair hair over her slit. As she dropped the slip of material on the stage, a sigh rose from the parched throats of the watching assembly.
The silence which followed was intense as the preparations for the unusual sight of a mistress to be punished were slowly made.
A naked cherub, his little pink prick jutting forwards out of his shaved groin, ran noiselessly on to the stage. He bowed to Lashley, then adjusted the spotlight so that it fell across her thighs, afterwards turning up the brilliance. There would be no interference with what was to follow. Every person in the great hall would see the events about to take place.
Vesta turned in a complete circle slowly to expose her beautiful, completely naked body to the spectators. Gasps of appreciation were heard as the sheer beauty of Vesta’s secrets were revealed.
After completing the circle, Vesta placed herself face down across Lashley’s thighs. Raising her head proudly she said in a firm voice,
‘I have failed to observe Rule Number 3, Great Mistress. I humbly crave to be publicly tanned and humiliated. ’
Then she dropped her head forwards, waiting for the first stroke to fall.
Lashley ran her hand over the waiting Dominatrix’s bum-cheeks. A sudden surge of excitement thrilled through Vesta’s sex parts, making her press her groin down on her Great Mistress’s.
Lashley raised her right hand, palm downwards. When it was at its peak, she stopped for a moment.
Vesta was breathing audibly now. Waiting . . . waiting.
Several slaves had to pull on their pricks. Surely, surely it was too late for Vesta to be pardoned? The mood was willing Lashley to go on . . . to proceed with the promised punishment.
The audience saw Vesta’s bum-cheeks tighten.
With tremendous speed, so fast it was difficult to see the hand as it descended, Lashley brought her hand down on Vesta’s bared bum with a sharp ‘Crack’, bringing a groan of unconcealed joy to the assembly.
In spite of her resolution not to make a sound, Vesta was unable to hold back the shriek of sharp pain which coursed through her.
Again and again and yet again the hand rose and fell. With each spank, the slaves’ groans became wilder and wilder. There was no falling off in the vigour and sharpness with which the strokes were falling on that delicate bottom. No whip or cane could have inflicted greater flagellation. The hand was a living instrument of correction, one that sought and found the slightest tremor and the tenderest spot.
Soon, the hand of almost every spectator, slave and Dominatrix, was yanking and rubbing its own genitals. The masturbation came faster and faster; the longer the punishment continued, the more intense the wanking.
The hall was a writhing, gasping, spurting collection of wild-eyed, foaming love-devotees, some of whom, unable to stand upright in their excited joy, had sunk to the ground. This was no ordinary spanking they were watching. It was an exhibition it was a privilege to attend; an exhibition of complete mastery of the Ecstasy of Love.
Vesta’s shrieks were now coming almost continuously, drowning the uninhibited sighs and groans uttered by the spectators. It was apparent she was receiving infinite pleasure from the situation. The smarting cracks were bringing her to a climax which mingled strangely with the humiliation of having her pride broken in front of slaves - her own pair in particular.
The tears pouring from her eyes combined with the animal screams issuing from her lips led to one conclusion - her liking for bondage and the cane would from now on be supplemented by hand treatment. This, she realised, was the ultimate degradation.
Cyril and Thrushton looked at each other, understanding well what this meant to them being her own slaves. They could expect to be hand-spanked regularly, with or without provocation. Vesta would seize every opportunity to reassert her self-pride, her authority over her personal slaves after they had witnessed the punishment she had herself endured.
And Cyril was aware of another thing, too. In an effort to save his own bottom from Vesta’s undoubted desire to regain her self-esteem and redeem her pride, Thrushton would not hesitate to blame Cyril for the slightest infringement of regulations, whether it were true or false.
At last, Vesta’s ordeal was over. Lashley gave her a few seconds to recover.
Lashley’s hand, its palm crimsoned, dropped. Cyril saw there was no spot on Vesta’s bum which had not been spanked. In her torment, Vesta wriggled across the Founder’s steady knees, pressing her own throbbing twat against her great mistress’s.
Lashley placed the palm of her left hand, the one that had taken no part in the spanking, gently on Vesta’s smarting buttocks, acting as a soothing balm to the area. She ran the cool hand slowly over the whole surface.
‘What lesson have you learned?’ she asked softly.
‘Great Mistress,’ Vesta sobbed, ‘I have learned the lesson “To give is to receive”. I have
given my bum and have received my lesson. Thank you, O my Great Mistress. ’
Lashley raised the weeping Dominatrix and gently kissed the young girl’s eyes and quivering mouth. As Lashley parted her legs, Vesta kneeled between them, her face raised to receive another consoling kiss she craved so badly.
‘Each of us needs a mistress, my dear Vesta,’ the Founder murmured. ‘Few are strong enough to manage without one. ’
She pointed to her own quim.
‘Kiss!’
The sobbing, pain-wracked Dominatrix nodded and obeyed, inhaling the Great Mistress’s fragrant scent.
‘Thank you, Great Mistress,’ she sobbed again and again as she rose trembling with pain and joy.
She saw Nanny standing at the back of the hall, and wondered why the older, stern woman was smiling.
‘One day,’ Lashley whispered, ‘you will understand the needs of a strong woman. You will one day enjoy the pleasure that can only come from a softly-yielding woman. That is what you want, isn’t it, Vesta?’
The punished Dominatrix looked up at her mistress adoringly.
‘Thrash me, Great Mistress. Bring me the joys of being a woman.’
Lashley buried her face in the girl’s fair hair.
‘Everything in its proper time, child,’ she whispered.
Chapter Twelve
Lashley looked around the wilting audience.
‘Grown-up Cherubs,’ she called. ‘Come and sing to us. ’
A line of tubby, naked, giggling little teenagers. each with a coloured sash over one shoulder, with gently-rounded hips, pouting red lips and whose pubic hair had been shaved off, danced happily on to the stage.
Their little cocks waggled up and down as they jiggled. Some of their cocks brushed lightly against the thighs of the one next in line as the dancers twisted and twirled. On making contact, they threw their arms around each other and kissed on the lips with a smacking sound.
Nanny came to the front.
‘Cherubs will now sing their party song,’ she ordered.
She raised her arms to conduct the song, waiting until the dancing line had re-assembled.
‘One - two - and three!’ she called.
‘I off-er my na-ked bum’
they sang,
‘To those who want to come.
‘Just take my cock and rub it, please,
‘I beg you on my bended knees,’
at this point the rhythm grew faster
‘My prick is yours to rub and feel,
‘For wanking par-ties I’m ideal.
‘My balls are neither small nor great
‘But I can-not e-ven ‘jac-u-late!
‘To serve you is my delicious fa-ate.
‘Oh, come and ro-ger me!’
Various slaves reached towards the dancers as their song ended, dragging them off the platform. Some of the Dominatrices slashed at their slaves until the cherub who had been caught was released. In most cases, though the slave was allowed to turn the fat giggling little tempter over on his face and roger him eagerly on the spot.
Cyril found the prick of the cherub he had caught was throbbing but no sperm came out. The cherub squealed with rage, causing others to chatter angrily as the same happened thing to them.
‘Too much noise,’ called Lashley. ‘Every cherub found making a noise will be spanked and sent to the Refrigerator. ’
The youngsters squealed happily.
‘Spank me!’
‘Spank me! I’m ready for it. ’
Cyril shook his prey.
‘Do you want me to spank you too?’
‘Oh, yes,’ sighed the little fellow happily. ‘You’ve no idea how it will satisfy me. I’m sick of being picked up and treated like a dolly. I’m a red-blooded man and I want release. ’
When the youths had been sent away, Lashley said she now had to deal with a special case.
‘Erica!’ she called.
A slightly-built man with stooped shoulders, round spectacles, a bald head and a frightened expression on his moonlike face came on stage. He was wearing a pair of white running shorts, a white vest, white socks and a pair of rubber tennis shoes. He stood beside Lashley, squeezing his crossed legs together, simpering and looking rather foolish while she addressed the audience.
‘Now Erica here has been naughty - and we all know what happens to naughty boys,’ she turned towards the shivering man, ‘don’t we, Erica?’
Erica nodded dumbly.
‘Tell us, Erica. What happens to naughty boys?’
He swallowed. Seeing there was no escape, he croaked,
‘Naughty boys get the crop, Great Mistress. ’
‘What was that, Erica? I don’t think everyone heard you. ’
Erica repeated his words.
‘The crop, eh?’ Lashley said.
Erica nodded.
‘Ah. The crop. And who gives naughty boys the crop, Erica?’
Erica looked on the verge of tears.
‘His mistress, Great Mistress. ’
‘Shall I call your mistress, Erica? Who is she?’
‘Mistress Wanda, Great Mistress. Please call her to give me the crop. ’
A burly woman with bulging muscles in her arms and thighs came forward, holding a riding crop.
‘Wanda, has your slave had the crop before?’
‘No, Great Mistress. I think we’d better put him in the jacket. He’ll be more manageable then. And gag him as well. I intend to cock-thrash him. ’
Two slaves ran on to the stage with a short leather jacket. They pushed the terrified, pleading Erica into position and thrust his arms into the long sleeves which had long tapes at the cuffs. Then they tied the cuffs behind his back so that he could not use his hands, and pulled off his shorts.
One of the slaves jerked a zip fastener down to the bottom of the jacket and pulled the man’s penis and balls through the opening. The other slave opened two flaps covering the man’s nipples and pushed a leather gag in his mouth. They then pulled his legs apart and tied them to two wooden blocks on the floor.
Wanda stepped forward, switching the riding crop gently up and down. She reached towards Erica’s dangling penis and held it for a few moments while it throbbed. Then, with the hand holding the crop, she weighed his balls.
‘Such a pity,’ she sighed. ‘To think it could have been used as Nature intended. Now, it’s going to be thrashed. It’s going to swell up. You know that, don’t you, Erica?’
Erica could only grunt and nod, his eyes pleading for mercy.
‘But you’ve been naughty, haven’t you, Erica?’
The man’s eyes grew moist behind his glasses.
‘You know what’s going to happen, don’t you, Erica?’
Wanda raised the crop. Without any more chatter, she brought it down hard on the frightened man’s cock. His bum shot backwards with the strike.
Wanda laughed.
‘That was just a test shot, Erica. It doesn’t count. Now . . . ‘
Again the crop came down, this time on the exposed balls.
Erica writhed. Tears ran down his face.
‘Another test shot, Erica, I’m afraid. ’
His buttocks were wriggling.
The crop came down again on his balls. Again on his cock. Then on the cock again. Again on the balls - on the balls again - again on the cock - the cock - and the cock yet again.
The strokes were coming fast now. Sometimes on the cock, other times on the balls. Erica was twisting under the punishment, trying to avoid the strokes but his movements were futile. His face had gone a sickly greenish tinge.
At last his ordeal was finished. Tears ran down his cheeks even though the punishment was over. Dribbles of urine came from hi
s battered organ.
He had been thoroughly cock-thrashed and it was certain he would never dare to disobey his mistress again. He moaned as the gag was taken from his mouth. The jacket was removed.
‘Had enough, Erica?’ asked Lashley with amusement. ‘We can arrange for another few strokes if you wish. ’
‘En . . . enough, Great Mistress,’ he sobbed. He cradled his cock and balls. ‘I shall never be naughty again. ’
Lashley pushed his hands aside and stroked his bruised penis.
‘Poor little man,’ she said. ‘Let’s see how much you have suffered. Wanda!’
Wanda smiled grimly.
‘Spank me, Erica,’ she said. ‘Put me over your knee and spank me.’
Erica looked doubtfully at her.
‘Do as I say, Erica - or perhaps you want another cock-thrashing?’
He shuddered. Then he sat on the chair on the stage and Wanda lay face down over his knees, drawing a yelp of pain from him as she pressed down on his parts.
‘Let’s see if you’ve got the spunk to spank me, Erica. ’
Erica raised his trembling hand.
‘I . . . can’t,’ he mumbled. ‘Please . . . I can’t. I daren’t. I’m too afraid. ’
Wanda laughed.
‘Really? So you’re really a little girl, aren’t you?’
Erica nodded.
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘In that case, it’s the uniform for you, little girlie. ’
Wanda stood up and snapped her fingers. A slave ran on the stage carrying a short black skirt, black cami-knickers, a pair of black stockings, high heeled shoes and a white lace cap.
‘Put these on, girlie,’ Wanda ordered. ‘From now on you’re a French maid. Understand?’
Erica nodded and giggled with embarrassment as he put the uniform on. Having pulled on the stockings, he smoothed them over his thighs and down his calves. He went over to the long mirror, thrust his chest out like breasts and ran his hands down his sides at the same time raising his pelvis. A sigh of satisfaction came from him and his face lit up as he turned from side to side, watching his reflection. He put his hand on one hip and, swaying his bottom, he puckered up his lips as though about to receive a kiss.
Under the Lash Page 6