Under the Lash

by Vashti La Soeur

  Wanda was not satisfied, though.

  ‘What about that cock of yours? We can’t let it spoil the effect. Come here. ’

  She picked up a large pair of shears.

  Immediately, Erica fell on his knees. His expression had become one of terror.

  ‘No! No, please. Not THAT! Anything but that. ’

  Wanda laughed.

  ‘All right. Come here. ’

  She picked up a leather pouch and fitted it to his member. Then she padlocked it so it could not be taken off without the key.

  ‘You’ll stay like that - even should you want to pee,’ she said. ‘I’ve got the only key, and if I don’t want to be bothered to unlock it, you’ll have to manage as best you can in an emergency.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cyril finished the household duties he had been given for the day. As he put the dustpan and brush back in the cupboard below the stairs, he was surprised to see Vesta creep into the hall.

  He shrank back into the cupboard, not wanting her to know he had seen her. She would not hesitate to utilise her skill with the cane if she thought he was spying on her.

  Then she looked around to see she was not being observed. She crept up the staircase and disappeared into the short passage leading to Lashley’s study.

  He waited a few moments in case she returned. Then he followed until he was standing outside Lashley’s door.

  There was no sound of voices or movement from the room. He knew she HAD to be inside. He knelt down and peered through the keyhole.

  Vesta was on her knees in front of Lashley who stood astride her. The young Dominatrix had tilted her head backwards so that her mouth pointed towards Lashley’s exposed quim. A look of suppressed excitement made her betray her feelings as the Great Mistress slowly lowered her crotch until it was touching Vesta’s lips.

  Vesta’s tongue curled upwards and into the waiting orifice, flickering rapidly as Lashley started to move her body backwards and forwards.

  Lashley’s eyes closed in ecstasy. Her breasts began to heave. Her firm nipples stood away from the surrounding purple-coloured flesh. Cyril could see she was trembling with the effort to remain calm.

  Suddenly she bent down. Pushing her hands into Vesta’s armpits, she pulled the girl to her feet and flung her face upwards over the desk. Her hand reached between Vesta’s thighs and began to move slowly.

  Vesta’s mouth fell open. Her legs came up, encircling Lashley’s body, gripping the Great Mistress around the waist. With strong, regular movements, she pulled the head mistress’s lower torso down into her own. Then she released her and pulled her back again in rhythmical movement. The head mistress began a series of flowing thrusts and heaves, keeping time with the gusts of her passions.

  The two women were now rolling on the desk top. All attempts at discretion had now been abandoned. Their gasps and moans were unrestrained now.

  As he watched, Cyril’s cock grew to its full extent.

  Vesta said something to the Great Mistress, who nodded. Cyril saw the women move so that Lashley was now lying across Vesta’s thighs. He could hardly believe that he was going to see the submission of the Great Mistress; a submission that would never be believed if he were to mention it to anyone.

  The spanking he expected to see did not take place, though. Instead, Vesta carefully peeled a banana, reminding him of a rampant cock.

  Cyril’s imagination raced. The two women moved, cutting off his vision. The silence was broken only by gasps which came from the two women.

  No matter how he changed his position, the door prevented him from seeing what was happening. He wondered whether he dare risk opening it a little.

  He gripped the handle. The women were interested only in their own bodies. Gently he pushed the door open until he could see what was taking place.

  The banana had been inserted in the vaginas of both participants like a connecting rod. Face to face, the women pressed their sex nests against each other. Each gripped the buttocks of her partner, parting the bum-cheeks, probing each other’s hole, first pushing in, then drawing back when the body of the other came forwards.

  The beauty of the women engaged in mutual loving brought memories to him. He thought of Andrea; of how she had educated him sexually. He remembered her hot whispers; the dizzying smell of her freshly bathed and powdered body; the fragrance of the perfume she touched lightly on her inner thighs. It was there he was allowed to rest and recover his strength, his sanity.

  Women! He marvelled. Mysterious, inexplicable creatures! Sometimes tender, sometimes harsh. Sometimes both at the same time . . . Cruel - and yet . . .

  So immersed was he in his reverie that he failed to notice the women inside the room had stopped their lovemaking.

  Suddenly the door was pulled open, revealing him on his knees.

  ‘So! And what are you doing?’

  The ice in Lashley’s voice cut into him like the slash of a dogwhip. He could find no answer but none was needed. His erect cock, his flushed cheeks, the quivers of his belly, all combined to indicate he had seen things no man should see - female lovers in the extreme of passion.

  ‘Answer!’

  Terrified, Cyril could think of nothing. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no plausible explanation came to him.

  ‘You deserve to be thrashed. We could de-cockle you. But I don’t see that would be any punishment - you’d probably enjoy that. We have to get rid of your male pride . . . and that calls for ridicule. ’

  ‘French maid, Great Mistress?’ Vesta suggested.

  ‘Get Erica,’ was the reply.

  While Cyril waited apprehensively for Erica’s arrival, Lashley carefully removed the stone from the centre of a ripe mango, taking care not to spoil its shape.

  When Erica slunk into the study, he dipped to the floor in a deep curtsy. He saw Lashley thread the mango over Cyril’s cock and run it slowly up and down the shaft several times.

  Cyril gasped as his spunk rushed towards the tip of his member.

  But the mango continued to slide along his rod. At last, he came to his climax. Great gouts of sperm throbbed out in thick creamy gushes.

  While he was still coming, Lashley peeled another banana and pushed it into Cyril’s anus, leaving it protruding as though she was taking his temperature.

  ‘Now then, Erica,’ she ordered, ‘clean him up with your tongue. If you leave just one drop, you’ll be treated similarly. ’

  Erica started to obey the command. Beginning with the mango, he ran his tongue around the sticky member as he slobbered up the mess of fruit and come. The sweetness of the sperm surprised him.

  The banana sticking out from Cyril’s anus was a different matter. Not only was he faced with the problem of getting the fruit out of Cyril’s bottom with his teeth, but it tasted sour.

  During this time Lashley was stroking Cyril’s nipples, keeping him at the point of ejaculation. He found himself wanting to commit the unthinkable - to take her. That he, a slave, one in the process of having his pride humbled, should desire the Great Mistress . . . ! It was unforgivable.

  If his thoughts were discovered, he dreaded to think of what would follow. He lay twitching under her ministrations and Erica’s cleaning process, frightened at the thought of his mind being read,

  ‘We’ll see how far you’ve got with your training, Cyril,’ said Lashley. ‘Get Reneti. ’

  Vesta went out to obey.

  Even Lashley admitted having a certain amount of admiration for Reneti. Although the gym instructress had overcome his fierce opposition, she had not broken his spirit. Lashley knew he could have left the College had he so wished, but to have done so would have seemed to him as though he was running away, and it was not in his nature to do that.

  ‘Reneti,’ she greeted him. ‘You have
pleased me with your show of courage. I want you to give me a demonstration of your attachment to our principle, “PAIN = PLEASURE”, while at the same time conforming to our motto “FEMINA DOMO HOMO”.’

  ‘How can I serve you, Great Mistress?’ he growled.

  ‘This slave,’ she said pointing to Cyril, ‘has violated my privacy. He has seen the love that only a woman can give a woman. He has witnessed a woman’s weakness and may well broadcast it to other males undeserving of the knowledge. I want you to teach him that men, too, have their weaknesses, and that while a woman can undergo her desires in silence, a man, being the weaker sex, is driven by his emotions and is helpless prey to them. Can you do that, Reneti?’

  A cruel smile came to Reneti’s lips.

  ‘Yes, Great Mistress, I can. And will be pleased to do it. First, though, get this imitation French tart off him. ’

  Erica gave a little cry of alarm as Vesta pulled him away from the unhappy Cyril.

  ‘Now, my boy,’ Reneti gritted, ‘I’ve warned ya before. You’n me, we gotta a lotta bum-fillin’ to do. Remember what I told ya?’

  Cyril knew there was no escape.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he quavered.

  Reneti laughed.

  ‘Right. Over. Ya want it, don’cha?’

  ‘Yes, sir. ’

  ‘Say it, then. ’

  ‘Please stuff me, sir. ’

  As the thick cock entered his anus, Cyril felt his excitement rise. The thrusts were slow and deliberate, making him writhe as they tore into his delicate membrane. He began to choke.

  ‘Breathe through the mouth, slave,’ Vesta murmured.

  Cyril felt the cock penetrate deeper and deeper, making it difficult to draw breath. He thought it would soon come up his gullet into his mouth.

  Reneti’s weight pressed him down on the desk. He could feel thick fingers holding and squeezing his cock, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing.

  Without warning, streams of hot come jerked from him as he was rogered. Over and over again he came until, unable to spend any further, he was weakened and was unable to resist as he was turned over on his back.

  Reneti’s coarse mouth descended on his, sucking and tonguing him, making him understand he was being mastered.

  A warm flame ran through him. He came to realise he was in love with a dominant male as well as with a superior woman.

  Never before had he understood his own nature.

  ‘Now suck me off, boy. ’

  The thick, veined member was thrust in his mouth, filling it with the meat of manhood. Eagerly he sucked the tool, drawing sweetness from the heavy scrotum hanging above him.

  A heavy hand smacked the side of his jaw.

  ‘That’s ta teach this ain’t no pleasure exercise,’ Reneti roared. ‘Ya’ve gotta be AFRAID o’ me, see?Ya gotta shiver ‘n shake every time ya see me, see? You gotta beg me to do ya whenever ya see me, but be scared in case I do, see?’

  Cyril could not answer because of the meat that was filling his mouth. He nodded.

  Another smack, this time on the other cheek.

  ‘Suck. Harder! Harder! I don’t want to tell ya again. ’

  Cyril swallowed the flow and continued to draw heavily. His breath was coming in sharp bursts. His tears fell on the hunk of throbbing meat in his mouth.

  The cock was pulled from his mouth and he was turned face down again. Once again the thick penis was thrust inside him, its length scraping him, tearing at him.

  Fingers were now touching his nipples, rubbing them until they were sore. Then they moved down to his prick, sliding up and down his shaft.

  In quick succession, he was rogered, masturbated, nipple-twisted and milked. He was gasping for air, sore in his anus and raw along his cock. His nipples felt on fire.

  But still Reneti had not finished.

  ‘Open y’r mouth. ’

  A hot stream of yellow urine filled him. Then Reneti clamped his jaws shut and a fist struck him in the belly.

  Involuntarily, he swallowed the fluid, gagging as he did so.

  ‘You, Frenchie,’ Reneti called. ‘Now sit on his face and poop. ’

  The terrified Erica hurried to pull down ‘her’ cami-knickers and obey the instruction. It was useless for Cyril to struggle. Reneti’s hold was too powerful.

  He turned to Lashley.

  ‘Ya won’t have no more trouble with these two,’ he said. ‘A right pair o’ jokers, they are. ’

  ‘What have you learned?’ Lashley asked Cyril.

  She smiled as she heard the terror in his voice as he sobbed.

  ‘WOMAN DOMINATES MAN. ’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cyril was exhausted. In spite of Reneti’s treatment and the disgust with himself brought by Erica’s actions, while lying on his bed in the dormitory he had a strange sense of satisfaction.

  At last, he felt, he was beginning to discover himself. He thought back to the times when Andrea and he had lived together. He remembered how he enjoyed being submissive, being told what to do and what not to do. There had been times when he had resented her behaviour and had gone into a sulk. Now, though, being an inferior was acceptable. More than acceptable; he WANTED it.

  Sleep came over him. He fell into a dream in which he was chained in a kennel like a dog. It seemed he was owned by a sadistic Dominatrix whose delight it was to lash him several times a day without giving any reason.

  ‘You’ve got to be cock-trained,’ she snarled. ‘Every time you see me you’ve got to get hard. But if you get hard with anyone else, you’ll be thrashed. ’

  A troupe of attractive, nearly-naked virgins entered the kennel and began playing with his dangling equipment. Although he knew what the outcome would be, his member stiffened. No matter how much he tried to control it, he could not overcome the tell-tale hardness.

  The Dominatrix returned. He saw a cruel smile come slowly to her lips as she ran the lash through her fingers, her eyes glittering coldly at his quivering body.

  ‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ she whispered.

  The whip rose slowly, oh, so slowly, until it could rise no further.

  ‘I’ll control it,’ he sobbed. ‘Just give me one more chance. Please! No . . . more. No more. PLEASE!’

  His terror-filled eyes were fixed on the lash as it paused above him.

  In his dream-state, a faraway gentle voice sympathised with him, encouraging him to let his pent-up emotions run freely.

  ‘Don’t hold back, poor thing,’ the warm voice whispered. ‘I can comfort you. You deserve my comfort. ’

  A steady, sticky exhilaration flooded him as he surrendered to the warmth of the hands that now fondled him. He would be punished, perhaps, but that mattered less than the pleasure he was receiving.

  As he lay soaking up the sensuous delight given by his temptress, an enervating laziness came over him.

  If only, he thought, he could stay like this; if only he could be freed from having to make decisions . . .

  If only he were simply a receptacle to be used by those stronger than himself . . .

  A sudden chill brought him back to reality. A raucous burst of laughter came to him.

  He opened his eyes.

  ‘Puddings, eh?’ a voice scoffed.

  Looking down at him was a female warder. A heavy bunch of keys hung from a chain around her broad waist; the skin of her face hung in folds giving her a double chin. Grey piggy eyes stared mockingly at his wretched, shrivelled cock.

  She wore a dark blue uniform. No touch of colour relieved its drabness. Heavily-built, she wheezed as she walked around his bed. Two or three hairs sprouted from a mole on the side of her chin.

  Her sleeves were rolled back above the elbows, revealing thick arms muscled like a weight-lifter’s. As she walk
ed, her flat heeled shoes slapped the ground heavily.

  He cringed as she stretched her hand towards his cock, touching the emission which had come from it. She scooped up a little of the juice and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Still warm, eh?’ she jeered. ‘Reckon it’s only just about happened. Who was it? Sheena? She’s a real sucker-off, that one. ’

  He tried to hide his shame by crossing his legs.

  Brutally, she pulled them apart, exposing his limp sticky member.

  ‘No you don’t, wanker,’ she gritted. ‘It’s the canteen for you. And your pansy friend. ’

  Cyril heard a little sob at that. Turning his head, he saw Erica standing behind the wardress, slowly rubbing his flushed bare bottom. Evidently he had just been thrashed.

  ‘Get up and follow me. NOW!’ The wardress roared out the command.

  She pushed them into the canteen and instructed them to lie face upwards on the long table that ran from one end of the room to the other.

  Three or four cherubs came from the kitchen carrying trays of different foods. They shovelled the food on to Cyril’s body and then on to Erica, pushing some of it between their legs and up into their anuses.

  After that, they poured peppery sauce into the navels of the frightened pair and built up small mounds of pepper and salt on their nipples. In the spaces between their rigid arms and sides, sticks of celery were inserted like electricity pylons. Dabs of mustard were daubed on their cocks, sprigs of watercress wound round their scrotums.

  A gong was struck. A horde of eager slaves ran noisily into the room, ready for the meal. There was no sign of cutlery or crockery, each slave being expected to pick at the food with his fingers; Cyril and Erica were the serving dishes.

  Feeling fingers running around his sensitive parts in the search for tasty morsels, Cyril’s cock hardened. He could hear Erica squealing with unrestrained pleasure.

  Every now and again a rough tongue slid along Cyril’s cock as its owner sought mustard. His scrotum was pulled from side to side as sprigs of watercress were plucked from him.