Under the Lash

by Vashti La Soeur

  A bottle was brought to the table. Through the glass, he could see a small black beetle scampering inside.

  His cock was lifted out of the icepacks and a razor blade laid against it.

  His eyes widened with fear. Before he was able to utter a word, the edge of the blade was dragged down his organ, the flesh was parted and the insect taken out of the bottle and pushed inside the cut. Then the edges of the cut were quickly sewn together. The procedure was carried out so quickly the chilled blood did not have time to escape.

  He could feel the beetle moving inside his member as it struggled to get free.

  Lashley laughed as she saw his futile efforts to ease himself. He begged for release.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she scoffed. ‘I want to see you in the grip of perpetual orgasm. ’

  His body twisted from side to side as ecstasy mixed with agony.

  She bent over him and ran her tongue over his nipples, bringing them alive. His shuddering squeals of delight pierced the air.

  Squeals of delight - but accompanied by the torture of unsatisfied lust.

  She laughed at him.

  ‘FEMINA DOMO HOMO,’ she mocked. ‘Woman dominates Man. ’

  Cyril panted his urgent agreement.

  ‘Cane me,’ he begged. ‘Make me suffer - but give me release. ’

  ‘No!’

  The reply thrilled him. He knew that the more he suffered, the greater his exquisite pleasure.

  He was not to know further degradation awaited him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The slaves suspected something unusual was brewing. All night long the Dominatrices had stayed with their favourites, stroking them, exciting them, giving them instructions in murmurs that could not be overheard.

  With Vesta’s consent, Black Garter had taken charge of Cyril. The insect in his cock kept him in a permanent state of arousal. The usual method of frigging himself with his thumb and forefinger soon palled, while lying face down on his bed with a pillow beneath his stomach, pretending it was a woman, simply left him dissatisfied.

  ‘Help me, mistress,’ he begged. ‘Be cruel to me. Make me tingle. Shame me. ’

  Her attentions were restricted, though. She would only wank him occasionally, but the beetle was forcing him to plead for constant relief.

  The slaves were too excited to sleep much that night. When they were brought into the yard outside the house the following morning, they did not resist when chained to the stakes that had been driven into the ground.

  Lashley mounted a stage that had been built in the yard and cracked her riding crop across the table to obtain everyone’s attention.

  ‘Today is our Sale Day. You have been through our preliminary course in Male Submission and, I’m pleased to say, there is not one of you who is unfit to take the final stage. You will be part of the great tradition of the College of Pleasure and you will be proud to be known as a servant to all females.

  You all know you have lost of your assumed superiority. You know that the slightest wish of a woman is a command.

  None of you will ever forget what you have been taught. FEMINA DOMO HOMO.

  You will always, and in all circumstances, obey your mistress. It is not your right or privilege to attempt to do things YOUR way. In everything you will do as your mistress commands. ’

  The slaves gave a loud sigh of contentment hearing this.

  ‘Although there remain a few more lessons to be absorbed by you,’ she continued, ‘it is only fair to whomever your eventual mistress will be that you should be trained domestically. To this end, you will be rented out in an open auction. At your new mistress’s house, you will be trained to carry out her desires and learn to give her satisfaction in every way.

  In EVERY way,’ she repeated in a slow, quiet voice that made every slave present tremble with a strange mixture of fear and longing.

  She turned to a young Dominatrix-trainee and ordered her to open the main gates of the yard and admit the would-be mistresses.

  A bunch of excited women of all ages poured in to the yard. They went from stake to stake, feeling each naked slave, weighing his balls, measuring his cock and stroking his nipples.

  A few had brought their own metal dildos which they thrust in the slaves’ bottoms, working the implements in and out to see how the slave reacted.

  Cyril noticed one old woman in particular as she walked slowly round the men bound to the stakes. She had a perpetual sneer on her froglike face. She wore a black gauze body-stocking which was drawn tightly over her flesh, and which was as revealing as if she had been naked. Her flabby tits and thick nipples expressed her age. The body-stocking fitted so tightly it showed her moist quim had been shaved. Flaps of skin hung from her thighs and belly; flaps which wobbled as she moved. Two little hairless dogs - chihuahuas, Cyril thought - followed her everywhere, snapping at the helpless slaves as the old woman passed by.

  The most noticeable thing was her eyes. The lids looked like hoods reluctantly and constantly kept open. From beneath the hoods came a permanent, unblinking, piercing stare - a stare which defied any attempt made to deceive its owner. A stare which searched deep into a man’s mind and read what he had hoped was hidden; a stare which defied a man to endeavour to assert himself . . . and none dared try.

  The old woman had a rigourous method of inspecting each slave. Having raised the cock which dangled lifelessly in front of her, she milked it into a measuring jar, timing and numbering each jerk as it throbbed out. Timing until the juice stopped flowing; until the donor was unable to produce even a trickle of sperm.

  At that point, the jar was removed by one of her own slaves, the spunk was weighed and a chemical which changed colour on contact was dropped into it.

  Her next step was to have the milked slave released from his stake and make him kneel before her, His mouth was then drawn towards her vagina. In that position, he was told to suck her.

  As she stood over him, she brought her riding crop down again and again on the wretched slave. His screams and squirms gave her pleasure. It was not until she became tired of this diversion that she stopped the thrashing.

  Arriving at Cyril, the old woman fondled him slowly. The aroma of mothballs and unwashed body came to his nostrils.

  ‘You, lad,’ she growled, ‘are mine. I reckon a tanning will be sufficient to knock any idea of escape from your mind. ’

  She turned to the Dominatrix following her.

  ‘Give me a short bamboo cane,’ she said. ‘Make him turn to face the stake. Tie his hands to the upright above his head . . . That’s right . . . Now get him to raise his bum up high . . . Good!’

  She was too experienced to start thrashing him immediately. First his mind had to absorb what was going to happen to him. As he stood there, naked, wrists bound to the wooden stand in front of him, his cock dangled in front like a dishrag. The only part of him which moved was the insect in his pipe.

  He wanted to scream out loud. ‘Thrash me! Flog me! Give me relief from my torture!’

  But he dared not utter the words. He would become acquainted with his mistress’s abilities with the cane soon enough.

  The first stroke cut into his flesh, tearing at his nerve-endings lying just below the surface.

  The second stroke followed after about three seconds. The third, the fourth, the fifth . . .

  He could not restrain his squeals any longer. Not even the lashings given by the Great Mistress herself could compare with the sheer agony - and ecstasy - the old woman was imposing on him.

  Stripe after stripe fell across his buttocks. The burning sensation brought by the thrashing was continuous. His eyes clouded with tears. And still the old woman brought the thick cane down on his bared bum.

  To his disbelieving horror, he found his cock was rising. He was ENJOYING the punishment!

>   The thrashing stopped. Could this be the end?

  ‘What’s that?’ demanded the woman.

  Through his tears, Cyril was fascinated to see the exertion had hardly made her breath come faster. He could also see he was surrounded by admiring Dominatrices who were impressed by the professionalism of the old woman.

  ‘Release him,’ she said.

  When his wrists were freed, he staggered, nearly falling down. His legs would not bear his weight.

  Stand up,’ came the order.

  Quivering, he climbed to his feet, the beetle in his cock now running up and along his member.

  ‘What’s that?’ the woman asked again, pointing to the jumping flesh.

  On being told what it was, the woman laughed.

  ‘No need to have that. I’ll make it stand up and rubbed raw without any artificial means. Take it out of him. ’ Without waiting for the insect to be removed, the old woman cackled,‘I’ll call back for him soon. Keep him well-trained for me. When you whip him, make sure you don’t break the skin. That would decrease his value. ’

  Lashley was well pleased with the auction. Every slave had been sold and training could now continue.

  ‘We have some unfinished matters to deal with first,’ she said. ‘Prepare Reneti and Cyril for their return match. ’

  Cyril was led away by a grey-haired old man to be oiled for the fight.

  ‘Listen, son,’ said the old man as he rubbed the oil over Cyril’s body, ‘I’m an old hand at this. So long as you fight fair, you’ll never beat him. You gotta fight dirty. ’

  ‘What should I do?’ Cyril asked.

  ‘Blind him,’ came the reply. ‘Get your prick in his eyes and flog your meat. Do it fast and come before he can pull away. Y’r spunk’ll blind him.

  While he’s trying to clear his sight, turn him arse over tip and spank him like as if he was a naughty boy. He’ll never live THAT down. He’ll be so ashamed he’ll surrender. And when he does that, the fight’ll be over. Besides, don’t forget, the loser ‘ll be whipped by Lashley herself. So you’ve GOT to beat him. ’

  ‘Will you be my second in the ring?’

  ‘No chance of that,’ the old man replied. ‘That’s Jacko’s job. Watch out for Jacko’s tricks, that’s all I c’n tell ya. ’

  The old man led Cyril back to the ring. In opposite corners two large men were down on one knee.

  ‘This is Jacko,’ said the grey-haired old man. ‘He’s your second. ’ He gave Cyril a large wink.

  ‘Here’s your seat, dearie,’ Jacko said in a hoarse voice. ‘Make y’rself comfortable. We gotta bit a’ time yet. ’

  As Cyril sat down, he felt Jacko’s arm go round his body, pulling him so closely he was able to smell the big man’s sweat. Jacko’s hand dropped to Cyril’s prick and began to move along it in a slow rhythmic motion.

  ‘You got a lovely little cock. Think of me as y’r sweetheart,’ Jacko whispered. ‘Whatever he does to ya, I’ll make ya feel better. If he hurts ya, Jacko’ll look after ya. ’

  Cyril found his cock trembling in Jacko’s hand. His mouth was dry.

  ‘Jacko . . . ‘ he began. ‘Jacko . . . ‘

  ‘Just relax, me little darlin’,’ whispered his second. ‘All you need is a little love. ’

  Cyril’s prick hardened. It was true. He needed love.

  Reneti had not entered yet. There was time . . . Jacko said there was time . . . And Jacko should know . . .

  He could feel his second’s breath on the back of his neck.

  ‘Rest, me little darlin’,’ whispered the man hoarsely. ‘I’ll tell ya when he comes. He’s a big bully, that’s what he is. ’

  Cyril’s eyes felt heavy.

  After all, Jacko was experienced in this sort of thing. Jacko knew . . . and they loved each other.

  Jacko’s hand was now inside Cyril’s shorts, fumbling at his protective box. It was only natural - wasn’t it? - that he’d want to help him. And how better to help than toss him off?

  Electricity surged through him making him shudder. It was so good. So good.

  ‘Jacko . . . ‘ he murmured.

  He began to spurt. Hot, sticky gouts of come. Ah, it was good. He was coming in quick, hot, thick surges.

  A sudden roar from the spectators made him open his eyes.

  Standing in front of him in the ring, pointing down to his twitching cock in the last throes of being relieved, was the huge bulk of Reneti.

  Feverishly, Cyril started to jam his still dripping cock back into the box.

  Jacko had betrayed him. He had even taken his knee away so he could rest.

  Before he had time to pull up his shorts, the bell sounded. Someone gave him a sharp push in the back, sending him staggering towards Reneti who was waiting for him in the centre of the ring, grinning as Cyril was propelled towards him.

  ‘Come on, little man,’ Reneti laughed. ‘Come to Daddy, little cock-puller. Daddy’ll give ya another bum-fuckin’. Same as last time - only worse. ’

  He tripped Cyril and fell on him at the same time ripping down his partly-pulled up shorts and sliding his member into Cyril’s anus.

  Cyril struggled to remember the old man’s advice. But he knew having only just lost his spunk, he would not be able to blind his opponent.

  ‘Watch out for Jacko’s tricks,’ the old man had said.

  Well, Jacko had tricked him all right. All that talk about love . . .

  Reneti’s cock had entered his passage and was rogering him. Rogering him in full view of the laughing, shouting spectators.

  Tears of frustration poured down his face. He’d have to surrender. Better Lashley’s whip than this brutal rogering . . . the PUBLIC rogering he was getting.

  He had to beat the canvas floor three times to surrender.

  But his arms were pinned back by Reneti. He couldn’t surrender.

  ‘Had enough, girlie?’ Reneti was mocking him.

  Cyril nodded, too ashamed to speak.

  ‘When I let you go,’ hissed the man buggering him, ‘you’ll fall down in front of me, take my prick and kiss it. That’s the signal for me to spank you in front of the crowd. O. K. ?’

  Cyril couldn’t answer. The shame . . . the shame.

  ‘I’m gonna spank you, anyway,’ Reneti said. ‘It’ll be easier for you to do as I say. Or shall I roger y’r mouth?’

  Cyril heard the man laugh.

  ‘O. K. ,’ he replied weakly. ‘I’ll suck you. ’

  The end came as Reneti ordered. The spectators howled with laughter when Cyril, red-faced, was turned upside down and spanked, his bare legs waving wildly in the air.

  ‘Cry, baby cock-sucker, cry,’ yelled some of the onlookers.

  ‘You will report to the Refrigerator,’ he heard Lashley order. ‘You lost the fight deliberately. ’

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the Refrigerator Room a chain through Cyril’s bum-ring spread-eagled him to a whipping post. It was so cold he wanted to pee, but he thought it better to suffer discomfort as long as possible than risk his water turning to ice and clinging like an icicle to his cock.

  He heard a gasp. Turning his head, he saw the door opening slowly.

  A well-shaped leg in a silk stocking eased round the door. Then came a hem of lace. This was followed by a frightened face that peered round the edge of the door.

  It was Erica dressed in his French maid’s uniform.

  ‘Ooh!’ Erica shivered. ‘It’s so cold in here. Is there something I can do for you?’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like . . . like keeping you warm. ’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I could breathe warm air on you. You know, on your cock, for instance. It’s blue with cold. ’

  ‘If you really w
ant to help, you get me off this chain. ’ Cyril shivered as he spoke.

  Erica shuddered.

  ‘No. I daren’t do that. They’d know it was me and we’d both be punished then. And with my delicate constitution, it’d be more than I could stand. ’

  ‘How else can you help me?’

  Erica looked shyly down at the floor.

  ‘I could suck you off. The warm spunk ‘d help you. Besides . . . ‘ He paused.

  ‘Yes?’

  Erica blushed.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to suck you for some time now. ’

  ‘How would that help ME, though?’

  Erica fell on his knees in front of the shivering man.

  ‘It’d warm you, you know. ’

  He took the shrivelled cock in his mouth.

  A tremor ran through Cyril as he felt Erica’s tongue run over his member. No sooner had it died away than a second, more violent spasm replaced it.

  Erica was now sucking, biting and rolling the cock between his teeth, making deep ripples run along Cyril’s freezing body.

  The two men were lost in their excitement. They did not hear Vesta arrive.

  ‘I see,’ she laughed happily. ‘Little gays, eh? Playing together. Well, we’ll have a little game of our own. ’

  She pulled off the short fur jacket she was wearing. Her only other article of clothing was a skimpy G-string. Without hurrying she undid the fastenings, twisted her hips, took the string off and flung it away, high in the air.

  ‘Now,’ she called, ‘I’m ready. First, the lover on the cross. Are you getting it up yet? Look at me!’

  The command came out sharply.

  She pulled back the lips of her pussy, exposing the delicate pink membrane between her thighs. Then she turned her body around so that Cyril would have a full view.

  ‘Got it up yet?’ she repeated.

  Cyril, his widened eyes fixed on her quim, shook his head.

  ‘Right! What you need, my boy, is a lesson. ’

  She ran her icy fingers across his nipples. Immediately, they sprang to life, drawing a groan of pleasure from him. Then she wiggled her fingers in a tin of fragrant body oil and worked them over his cock.