Cyril groaned and strained uselessly at his bonds. His cock reared and swayed.
Erica’s mouth hung open. Vesta turned and beckoned to him.
‘Come here, little girlie. It’s your turn now. ’
She grabbed his dangling cock and started to wank him. His head fell back as his cock began to stiffen, his breath starting to come in short gulps. As the tension rose, his knees gave way but he was held up by the grip she had on his little prick.
‘You like that, don’t you?’ she asked as her hand slid along his wet shaft.
Erica nodded.
She spread her legs widely apart.
‘Lick my pussy,’ she ordered.
Eagerly, the little French maid obediently stretched his head towards her. As he did so, she smacked his bottom hard with her free hand.
The indignity and sharp pain made him cry out like a naughty child.
The smacking went on and on. His cries grew louder. She laughed as she pulled him by his cock over her knees and dragged his cami-knickers down to his silk-covered knees.
‘I’ll be good,’ he sobbed. ‘Don’t spank me, please. I haven’t been spanked before . . . and I don’t know if I can stand much of it. ’
She laughed again.
‘But naughty children MUST be spanked, mustn’t they, Cyril?’
Cyril dare not argue with her.
‘You see?’ she said to Erica. ‘Even your lover says you must. You’ll get to like it. You’ll see. First, I’m going to redden your little bum for you. ’
A look of eager anticipation came over Erica’s face, contradicting his words.
‘No . . . Please . . . don’t SPANK me . . . SPANK me . . . ’
Tears ran down his face as the tanning went on. He realised that each time he said the word ‘SPANK’ the mistress’s hand slapped his bum.
‘ . . . SPANK . . . ‘ he blubbed.
‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.
The little man nodded, gulping back his tears. He burrowed in her lap, trying to relieve his urgent want.
‘I’ve got a treat in store for you, little man. For BOTH of you after this,’ Vesta laughed. ‘But first . . . ‘
The smacking went on until Erica was squealing.
‘Now tell me what you are,’ she ordered.
‘I . . . I’m a . . . naughty little boy . . . no, girl, I mean. Thank you for smacking me. ’
His voice was trembling in case he said the wrong thing and lead to further smacking.
‘And you liked it, didn’t you?’
‘Ye . . . Yes. I really liked it. ’
‘And your friend tied up there, is he naughty, too?’
‘Oh, yes. He’s VERY naughty. ’
‘Well, we’ll have to deal with him, won’t we?’
Cyril quaked as he remembered Vesta being spanked by Lashley in public. This would give her the opportunity to get her revenge on him. After all, if he had not quarrelled with Thrushton, she would not have been spanked.
Erica dared not say anything.
She let his cock go and picked up a long steel dildo with a strong flex attached to one end. After plugging the flex into a wall socket, she pushed the other end into Cyril’s bum and switched the electricity on.
The current surged into Cyril’s anus. His body jerked backwards and forwards several times, a movement he could not control. He had an urge to spout, but it was too cold for him to harden.
Little drops of come appeared at the tip of his cock.
‘Like it?’ she asked cruelly.
But Cyril’s passion was too far gone for him to speak. Madly, he moved his pelvis in response to the electricity surging through him. The drops of come turned to a thin continuous dribble.
‘Wank me! Wank me!’ he gasped.
His body lashed around in a violent attempt to relieve himself by masturbating against something. Anything would do.
‘Toss me off,’ he begged. ‘Rub me up. ’
The dildo was getting warmer as the electricity continued to run through it.
He was now jerking uncontrollably. His pleas for relief had become continuous screams. He began to make wild, lascivious promises, if only she would let the torture subside.
‘Fuck me!’ he begged.
‘See if you like this, lover,’ she scoffed.
She switched on an electric hotplate. He was horrified to see it starting to glow.
Then she pulled it towards him, ignoring his wild pleas and promises, and placed the hotplate close to his straining cock.
‘Now then,’ she mocked him. ‘Try rubbing yourself against THAT. That’ll take your mind off things. ’
He was terrified. The slightest touch would fry his flesh, leaving him scarred for life. Yet the pulsing dildo was maddening him, making him jerk backwards and forwards without stopping.
For the moment, the chain running through the ring in his bum was keeping him away from the plate. But, he thought, supposing the heat made the metal expand? Or supposing the flesh of his buttock-cheek tore away?
His body would droop nearer to the red hotplate. His cock would be roasted then.
‘I’m leaving you now,’ she said. ‘But I’ll be back to see how you’re getting on. ’
She picked up her G-string, pressed it against Cyril’s mouth and nose and wiped it slowly over his face.
‘Have a good sniff,’ she said. ‘It’s the nearest you’ll get to rogering me. ’
Cyril’s body came closer to the hotplate as the heat increased.
‘Erica,’ he whispered, ‘She’s gone. Pick up the hotplate and put it against the chain that’s holding me to the post. Try to melt a link or two. ’
Gradually, the heat made some of the links weaken. Cyril’s body drooped. The tip of his penis touched the plate, making him draw back with a scream.
Erica worked frantically. At last he managed to force the link apart and the chain slipped out. He was just able to catch Cyril as he fell, dazed, to the ground.
When he groaned, Erica kissed him deeply.
‘Run,’ he whispered to the freed man. ‘Get out before she comes back. ’
‘What about you?’
‘I dare not. ’ Erica’s face turned red. ‘Besides . . . they’re good to me here. I shouldn’t be able to live anywhere else. I’m happy here as a French maid. . . . and . . . and that spanking . . . well, you know . . . No, you go by yourself. Just give me a kiss, and go. ’
Chapter Nineteen
In his anxiety to escape from the College of Pleasure, Cyril did not stop to collect any clothes.
Having little idea of the layout of the building, he ran along the passage, hoping he was going in the right direction towards a door opening to the outside.
The house was a maze of corridors with several rooms leading off. Coming to a junction, he pressed his back to the wall and slid warily around the corner.
As he passed one of the rooms, he heard voices coming from inside. One of them was a man’s, excited and highly-pitched. It seemed to be pleading for mercy. The other voice was a woman’s. There was a note of scorn in the tone, a note of mockery.
Then he heard a ‘swish’ - it was either a cane or a lash - followed by a scream.
He shuddered. It had to be an omen of what lay in store for him if he were caught, he thought. He crept past the closed door, his heart beating hard.
A succession of wails and sobs came from the next room he came to. Again there were two voices. This time, though, both were female.
Unable to resist knowing what was happening, he knelt on the floor and looked through the keyhole. He saw Lashley fingering the twat of a young girl he had not seen before who was lying, stripped, on her back across the table. He could see Lashley’s fingers moving between t
he girl’s legs. The girl was writhing, at the same time begging to be brought on.
Lashley stopped moving her fingers and brought the riding crop down across the girl’s thighs. The stroke drew a wail and a sob.
‘You must learn the meaning of Pain,’ Lashley told the girl. ‘It is the most important lesson every Dominatrix must learn. ’
She resumed the fingering and the girl began to moan.
Cyril dared not stop any longer. His luck might run out at any moment.
He remembered seeing a staircase running down into the hall. If he could reach that, he might be able to find which way to go.
He had not gone very far when he heard someone coming towards him, humming softly. He flattened himself in a nearby dark alcove.
The humming drew level with his hiding place. He hardly dared to breathe.
Now the singer was level with him. A long cloak with a cowl drawn over the head obscured the face, but the figure reminded him of the nun with the bare breasts who had flogged him. She had spoken about having a friend with a squeezer and an arse-scraper, Sister Pieta. Perhaps they were on visiting terms with each other? They certainly would not want their friendly session interrupted.
When the singer had gone by, Cyril slid quickly round the corner and was delighted to see a heavy wooden door ahead of him. The door was heavily chained and bolted, but it did not take him long to get it open.
Free at last!
Without troubling to close the door, he ran quickly down the stony path. Pebbles cut the soles of his feet and the cold night mist ran icily over his naked flesh, making him wish he had not been so hasty.
The moon was hidden and the stars could not be seen. Remembering that the house was surrounded by marsh, it was important to go carefully.
He heard dogs barking. Anxiously he looked back and saw lights shining blurrily in the house. A brilliant searchlight suddenly cut through the greyish swirls of mist. Shouts were coming from the woods surrounding him.
It could only mean his escape had been discovered.
Erica? Had the little man given him away to save his own skin? Or had his disappearance from the cellar been discovered? There was no time to lose.
He started to run again, crouching down each time the searchlight swung in his direction.
He did not see the boulder. His foot struck it with a sickening thump and pain shot up his leg, paralysing him, making him stumble.
He pitched forward - head first into soft, yielding ground. He had fallen in the marsh. A sharp pain in his ankle told him it would be lucky if he had not broken it.
The searchlight swung round and over him again, making him press to the ground. It would be a few minutes before the light returned, so there was a short time which he would have to use advantageously.
He tried to stand up. Useless! A sharp pain ran up his leg. He couldn’t run any further.
Looking about him he saw the dark outline of a bush. He dragged himself towards it. He crawled under the bush, fighting to quieten his rapid gasps for air.
The chilly dampness of the night was starting to affect him. If he stayed out like this much longer, he’d catch pneumonia. Better to give himself up.
He heard footsteps approaching along a path. The light of a torch danced on the bushes. He’d be flogged, he told himself. Publicly and mercilessly.
Patches of gooseflesh rose on his skin.
‘Oh!’ he heard a female voice gasp.
Not knowing whether he had been recognized or whether she was merely surprised to find a stranger, he said nothing.
‘So you’re the one they’re after? That’s why the searchlight is on, is it?’
From what he could see, she was wearing a short, thin dress and had no stockings or shoes.
She repeated her remark.
‘I - er - I suppose so,’ he replied.
‘Running away, are you? Was it bad in there?’ she asked.
‘Yes, very. ’ He saw no need to lie about it.
‘Well, you’ll never find your way across the marsh. Bad enough by day, but to a stranger like you, it’s impossible at night. And if you knew the history of the marsh, you’d never want to try crossing it at night alone. ’
He gulped, not knowing what to say.
‘I could show you the way myself. You’d be saved then,’ she went on, ‘but, before I do, you must promise me to serve my mistress forever. I must warn you my mistress is very cruel to escaped prisoners.
‘Still,’ she continued, as if she were thinking aloud, ‘if you pretend to be my cousin, I might be able to save you. ’
‘I promise, honestly and truly,’ he babbled, clutching at what seemed to be a lifeline. ‘I’ll say I’m your cousin and serve your mistress for as long as she wants, once I’m away from this wretched place. ’
‘Come here,’ she said.
The girl ran her fingers over his trembling body without comment.
‘Of course,’ said the girl, ‘you’d be fastened to the others in the chain gang. I see you’ve been bum-ringed already. But it’d be better than going back to the College, wouldn’t it? There’s only been one man who got away. He was re-captured and all I’ve heard is that he’s tied permanently to a cross in the cellar and is used as a whipping object for new trainee-Dominatrices. There’s never any shortage of those, you know.
They say his cock has been ripped away by the lash and sewed back again many times. You wouldn’t like that, would you?’
Miserably, he agreed.
‘If you come to my own mistress you’d have special privileges,’ the girl said. ‘For instance, as my cousin you’d have the privilege of being spanked by ME instead of by the gym mistress. She HATES all men, you know. In my case, spanking is a hobby, not an obsession. Although I AM good at it. Many’s the man who’s begged me to go on after he’s had his sentence of 50 or 60 spanks. They all enjoy it, coming from someone young enough to be their own daughter. I think it’s the thought of being humiliated, being spread over the thighs of a girl who is of an age to be spanked by them brings them on.
It’s painful while it’s going on, but they love the shame and the sore bum afterwards. And they get such a hard on . . . !
But I don’t let that influence me, you know. Hard, swift and often. That’s my way.
And my mistress likes to hear them break down and cry like babies. So I get a bonus every time I break a man’s spirit.
What’s it to be, then? Return to Lashley College and have them deal with you? Or be my mistress’s slave and be spanked regularly by me?’
He saw he had no real choice. He agreed to serve her mistress.
The girl was pleased.
‘Still,’ she said, ‘I can’t take any chances with you. First of all, I must make sure you’re a suitable candidate for my mistress. She’s very particular about the men she accepts. Many’s the time I’ve not had any commission. ’
‘Commission?’ he asked.
She did not reply straight away. Taking a leather thong from round her waist, she quickly wrapped it round his balls and ran it around his ankles, preventing him from running away.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘if you run the thong will tighten on your balls and bring you down. I’d better have a look at that cock of yours, too. ’
She led him to a tree and passed another thong through his bum-ring and fastened it to the trunk. As she worked her hair brushed against his nipples. To his shame, he felt his cock rising.
She took the member between her hands and stroked it.
‘It’s got blisters on its tip,’ she said.
He nodded and told her about the hotplate.
‘Oh, you HAVE got yourself in a mess, haven’t you? I’m not sure my mistress will want you since you’ve been injured. You must have been VERY naughty. ’
&
nbsp; A spasm of fear ran through him.
‘Can you help me at all?’ he begged.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she replied. ‘First, though, I’ll see if I can do something about those blisters. ’
She scooped up a handful of marsh mud and applied it to his drooping member. The smell from the mud was sickening.
‘I must see if my mistress will pay my commission before I hand you in,’ she went on. ‘No commission - no booty. After all, you wouldn’t work for nothing yourself, would you?’
She left him bound to the tree. Struggle as hard as he could, there was no way of escaping.
Cold, tired and aching, his prick-blisters beginning to sting from the girl’s handling, he had to wait miserably.
Chapter Twenty
The damp mist clung to his skin. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he released his pent-up bladder in a long, warm stream trickling down his leg. He felt abandoned. Miserable.
He began to weep like a little child. His body shook, unable to control the huge sobs that welled up from him. It was almost a relief to hear dogs barking excitedly and women calling one another.
Out of the mist came a few deep barks. They were nearer now. Soon he saw several shapes rushing in his direction. The dogs had found him.
Three dogs warily circled the tree to which he was bound. One, rather bolder than the others, came closer and began to sniff him, its long tongue lolling from its jaws. He tried to pull back, fearing for his exposed cock and balls dangling helplessly.
An uncontrollable thrill ran through him as the animal began to lick the traces of urine on his thigh. The animal growled, making him close his eyes as he waited for its sharp teeth to sink into his unprotected flesh.
Nothing happened.
The suspense was cruel. He parted his thighs as far as he could. If it was going to happen, he thought, the quicker it does, the sooner it will all be over.
A woman’s laugh came to him.
‘Looks as though he WANTS to have it chewed up,’ she sniggered.
Under the Lash Page 10