Under the Lash

by Vashti La Soeur

  Brasher fell to his knees, a look of terror on his face.

  ‘It’s like . . . like . . . ‘

  ‘Yes, Brasher? What’s it like?’

  ‘. . . Like . . . the TORMENTS OF HELL . . . ‘

  ‘Is that all, Brasher?’

  ‘No, Mistress. Worse, Mistress. It’s like the Torments of Hell - NINE TIMES . . . then NINETEEN TIMES . . . then NINETY TIMES over. ’

  The Dominatrix gave a bark of laughter.

  ‘That was when you fainted, wasn’t it, Brasher? So you’ve got the rest to come someday, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mistress. I have the rest to come when it suits you. ’

  ‘Can you still wank, Brasher? When did you do it last?’

  ‘I haven’t wanked since my flogging, Mistress. Honestly, Mistress, I haven’t. ’

  ‘Hmm. Well, if we have time to spare we’ll see whether you can or can’t wank. ’

  The fat girl went up to the Dominatrix and whispered something in her ear.

  ‘I see,’ said Mistress Flayer. ‘So someone wanked on the journey here, did they? SOMEONE wanked. Well, after the party, we’ll look into that. ’

  There was a thud. Cyril saw Annie had collapsed on the ground.

  Mistress Flayer’s lips curled.

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Now before you are dismissed to your work stations I’m going to let each of you handle The Trainer. I want you to familiarize yourselves with it. Run its nine subsidiary lashes through your fingers and just imagine - if you can - ‘ she was drooling ‘ imagine what it - The Cat - would be like . . . across . . . your . . . NAKED . . . BODY. ’

  Gobbets of foam came in the corners of her mouth as she said those words. The fingers of her left hand played with the nipple of her right breast as the Cat was taken from her by the fat girl and passed from hand to hand around the assembly

  ‘NAKED . . . ‘ she whispered as though speaking to herself.

  When The Trainer had gone right round the group, it was hung back on the wall.

  ‘Look at it,’ Mistress Flayer whispered pointing to it. ‘On . . . your . . . NAKED . . . BODY. ’

  Flecks of saliva showed in the corners of her mouth.

  ‘NAKED . . . ‘ she whispered.

  Cyril and Annie were assigned to help in the main lobby. They had been shown their duties and it was impressed on them that whatever a guest wanted, no matter what it was, had to be done immediately and cheerfully.

  Lady Swisher then summed up the rules for all slaves.

  Slaves were not allowed to speak to a guest unless given permission to do so. For the duration of the party, they would not be allowed to sit. No trace of tiredness would be tolerated, of course.

  Each would have a small snack half an hour before the party started and a full meal after the last guest had left. No drink, except water, would be allowed at any time.

  Slaves would participate in exhibitions, whatever their nature, as required. If a guests required sexual services, they had to be provided.

  A guest’s word was never to be questioned.

  All guests had to be given complete satisfaction.

  ‘Finally,’ said Lady Swisher, ‘punishments awarded will be carried out by myself or any other person I designate in the place and manner I appoint. Difficult cases . . . Well, Mistress Flayer will handle those. ’

  Mistress Flayer’s glasses gleamed in the lamplight. Cyril saw her pubic hair was moist.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  By the time the clock in the main lobby showed half-past eleven, most of the guests had selected one or, in certain cases, two slaves for their exclusive use.

  Each room had a trio of naked male slaves to provide the music. Every request for a special tune was immediately satisfied. Cyril was amazed that there was never any hesitation about whether the trio knew the piece or not. There was no sign of any sheet music on the dais.

  Alcohol had been served in large glasses and several of the guests were drunk. As he passed by, holding a tray of fresh drinks or whatever else had been asked for, some of the women demanded special attentions which he was always careful to provide.

  At the other end of the long room, Annie was undergoing similar treatment. Cyril saw Annie was flushed, which made him wonder whether the little chap had stolen a surreptitious drink or two. Still, Lady Swisher had said guests had to be given whatever they wanted, so if a guest had wanted Annie to drink something, what could he do, except comply?

  As Cyril was fetching a tray of fresh drinks into the lobby, he saw a young guest - about 19, he thought - come towards him. Thinking she wanted another vodka, he stopped to allow her to help herself from the tray.

  ‘Whash y’r name?’ she asked.

  ‘Cyril, mistress. ’

  ‘Shyrill. Funny name. ‘s like mine, Cheryl, innit?’

  He didn’t answer. The music had stopped, allowing every word said to be heard.

  ‘Wha’sh wrong? Doncha like me? Eh?’

  He ran his tongue over his lips.

  ‘Would mistress care for another drink? Vodka? Whisky? Gin?’

  ‘I asht you if you liked me. ’

  He broke out into a sweat.

  ‘Oh yes, mistress. I like you. ’

  ‘How much?’

  This was getting awkward.

  ‘A lot, mistress. ’

  ‘Prove it. ’

  He looked around desperately. Perhaps Lady Swisher - or even Mistress Flayer - would help him out of this difficulty?

  ‘PROVE IT, I shaid. ’

  The girl stamped her foot, making her tits swing.

  ‘Here,’ she said. She raised her right tit towards his mouth. ‘If you like me, suck my tit. ’

  ‘Mistress . . . ‘ he began.

  ‘SUCK IT. ’

  The room seemed to have gone quiet. He was aware everyone was looking at him.

  ‘Lahsh time, slave . . . SUCK IT. ’

  There was no escape. He put the tray down on the floor, took the proffered tit in his hands and placed the nipple to his lips.

  ‘Didn’ shay lick it . . . SUCK IT!’

  There was no doubt that it was a magnificent tit. Young, fully rounded, and soft. He’d never had such a soft tit before. But it was dangerous to do as she wanted . . . especially with everyone watching.

  He raised the tit to his mouth. The girl closed her eyes, waiting for the softness of his lips to come into contact with the perfumed lusciousness of her tit.

  The trio started to play. He recognized it as a dreamy love song. He heard the girl join in, her husky voice expressing her vibrant wishes.

  A wave of desire swelled within him. Throwing caution away, he pressed the tit gently and closed his lips over the nipple. He began to suck deeply, drawing on it until it touched his tongue.

  Automatically his own eyes closed, delivering him into the world of his imagination. He heard the girl sigh and he knew she was waiting for him to join her in that land of shadows.

  She whispered something he did not catch. He opened his eyes in time to see her sink to the ground.

  Not wanting to let her fall, he bent his knees and, still clinging to her tit, reached the floor at the same time as she did.

  ‘On top,’ she murmured.

  He placed his leg over hers. Her hand took his erect penis and guided him into her. Another sigh told him he had penetrated.

  ‘Do it,’ she ordered. ‘Do it now. ’

  He did not need to be told again. Furiously he rode the girl. She was now thrashing her legs about, moaning, jerking, even giving little shrieks of pleasure as he drove deeper and deeper into her. At last it was all over.

  Only then he became aware of the tension. He opened his eyes and saw they were surrounded by all the o
ther guests in the room. All were staring down at him as he lay on top of the girl. His cock had now slipped out of her and was dangling limply on her thigh.

  A harsh voice broke through the silence.

  ‘A case for the cat, if I’m not mistaken. ’

  Mistress Flayer had arrived.

  At the other end of the room, Annie was having difficulty with two guests. They were arguing about who should have him first: each claimed he was hers.

  They decided to ask the little slave himself.

  Which of them was the first? they wanted to know.

  Annie hesitated.

  ‘Like all slaves,’ one of the quarrelling guests sneered, ‘he’s unable to make a judgement. Let’s see which of us is the stronger. Winner takes him. ’

  They stripped off their G-strings and bras and circled each other warily, looking for a weakness in their opponent.

  They sprang simultaneously. Their hands flew to the opponent’s eyes and hair, poking, pulling, scratching.

  Blood streaks appeared first on the cheeks of one, then on the other. With a scream, the blonde sank her teeth in the top of the brunette’s breast. As soon as she had grasped a bit of flesh she shook it as though she had been a terrier with a rat.

  The brunette went pale with the pain and shock but retaliated by ramming a fist in the other’s quim. The force behind the blow drove the closed fist into her opponent’s vagina, bringing a gasp of surprise and pain from the blonde.

  Now they were screaming, rolling backwards and forwards on the ground. Threats and curses flew between the fighting women, while Annie looked on, bemused.

  ‘Who started this?’ demanded a hard voice.

  The fighting women untangled themselves.

  ‘He did,’ said one, pointing at Annie.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ confirmed the other. ‘He could have stopped us any time. ’ she went on.

  ‘If he’d had any respect for women, he WOULD have done,’ agreed her opponent.

  ‘Another case for the cat. ’

  Mistress Flayer’s face showed her eager anticipation. She had a good night so far and now it was showing signs of further improvement.

  Chapter Thirty

  Mistress Flayer went towards Annie, her hand reaching out to grab him.

  ‘You’re first,’ she said. ‘A catting is highly recommended in cases like yours. ’

  In her excitement she almost purred.

  Annie twisted his body away from her clutches and, with a short scream, ran out of the French window and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

  ‘After him!’ yelled Mistress Flayer. ‘He mustn’t escape!’

  Everyone in the lobby, including Cyril, ran into the garden. They split up on the terrace, some going to the left, others going right.

  Cyril hesitated, uncertain which way to go. He felt he had to get to Annie before anyone else did. Hearing a muffled scream come from his right, he ran towards it.

  It was a pitch black night. The cool breeze was making him shiver. He wished he had thought to look for a torch, but there was no time now.

  He swore softly as his bare foot struck a sharp stone. Since he could see no lights anywhere, he thought it a safe bet that no-one else had a torch either.

  He would have to be quick to find Annie if the little man was to be saved.

  By now he was limping badly. Bushes whipped him as he passed by, while the stones that made the path cut into his feet.

  He stopped. The cry he had heard worried him. He felt sure it must have been Annie.

  He started off again in what he thought was the direction the cry had come from. Bushes were growing everywhere, their entwined branches slowing him down.

  At last, he broke through the vegetation. Before he had time to recover his balance, his foot was caught by a noose which tightened around his ankle. A rabbit snare!

  He tugged at the trapped foot. Suddenly the snare gave way. He stumbled. Unable to stop himself, he pitched headfirst into water. Cold water. He gasped at the shock. He was a poor swimmer. Best to let the search party carry on and try to save himself than be captured. He had to avoid making a noise.

  Something solid bumped against his arm. He could see nothing but a greyish blur.

  He had found Annie - and unless he was badly mistaken, Annie was dead.

  Poor Annie. Afraid of the cat, Mistress Flayer’s words had frightened him into running. While running he had slipped into the pool. And now Annie was dead. Drowned.

  ‘Well, Annie,’ Cyril whispered, ‘you’ve saved yourself. But what a price!’

  Had the price been worthwhile? Cyril wondered. He didn’t want to stop to find out.

  Pushing away from the floating corpse, he discovered he could just touch the bottom with his toes and managed to struggle to shallower water.

  Soon he was able to stand. It wasn’t long before he could climb out.

  His immediate task was to go back to the house and get his clothes. Then he would escape.

  Three or four lights bobbed up and down ahead of him: some of the searchers must have gone back to the house for torches. Before long they would find the water and Annie’s body.

  He doubted whether they had found yet that he was missing. Advantage, therefore, still lay with him, but it would not be long before that advantage would have been lost.

  He had to escape NOW!

  Circling slowly around the oncoming lights, he managed to keep away from them. The direction from which the lights were coming showed him which way to go to reach the house.

  A sudden touch on his thigh made him jump.

  ‘Ritchie?’ he heard a woman ask. ‘That you, Ritchie? I’m waiting for you, darling. I’m here. Waiting. ’

  He made no reply.

  ‘Don’t make me wait any longer, Ritchie. You promised you’d give it to me tonight. Ritchie, I can’t keep it up any longer. ’

  The hand moved between his legs and began stroking his skin. Any second now she would find he was a man and expect him to give her whatever had been agreed.

  Now the fingers had found his balls and were running along his shaft.

  ‘You’ve grown, my dear,’ the voice said. ‘I said you would. Didn’t I say you would? Now, come on top and take me, my darling. ’

  Unable to get away from the grip around his member, Cyril decided to carry out what had evidently been a pre-arranged plan. The fact that the size of his cock was longer than usual seemed to be an advantage.

  ‘Come, darling man. Get on top. ’

  He slid himself over the prone body while the grip on his cock did not slacken. He felt a hand run up and down his organ, rousing him still further.

  A hot, panting mouth clamped on his. Hands clutched him around his waist, drawing him down. His sweat mixed with that of the person below him.

  A few urgent grunts showed him he was bringing his companion to completion. Furiously, he drove into his willing co-operator. All he had to do was copulate.

  At length, he heard a sigh from beneath him. The sigh was followed by a shudder.

  ‘Ritchie! Ritchie,’ the voice sounded excited, ‘ go quickly, Ritchie. We may be found. I’d have to whip you then, Ritchie, and we wouldn’t be able to meet any more. Just give me our usual ‘Goodnight’ - and go. ’

  Cyril was alarmed. What was their ‘usual Goodnight’?

  Thinking of as many possibilities as he could, he decided he had to do something out of the ordinary. He slid down the woman’s body and fastened his mouth on the spot where thought her bush would be.

  But . . . She had no bush!

  A rancid taste came to his mouth.

  ‘Ah!’ he heard. ‘Ah! It’s so good. SO good. ’

  He tried to raise his head, but found it was being pressed down.


  ‘SUCK, Ritchie. Don’t stop. ’

  Each time he sucked, more love juice entered his mouth. Each mouthful was bitter.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve decided to do it again, Ritchie. The specialist says I’ll never be really cured, but the ointment certainly keeps the rash away. ’

  Rash? What rash?

  ‘But we don’t care, do we, Ritchie? Your cock hasn’t withered off yet, either, like they said it would. The worms haven’t eaten it away completely, have they? At least, not yet. And you’re braver about it now, aren’t you, Ritchie?’

  Two legs wrapped themselves round his waist. He was unable to move. She was pinning him to her diseased body.

  ‘Do it again, Ritchie. Come on. It’s been so long since we’ve done it. And the discharge isn’t as bad tonight. That silly little man - well, he served his purpose, didn’t he? I mean, if it hadn’t been for him running away like that we’d never have had this chance to do it again, would we?

  I mean, you know how strict Flayer is about oozing Dominatrices not infecting slaves. She wants all the fun herself, does that Flayer. I mean, YOU don’t mind being infected by me, do you, Ritchie? We KNOW we’ll be taken into the laboratory for experiments, but you won’t mind that, will you, Ritchie? After all, we’ll be together and we’ll rot away together.

  Oh, Ritchie, I do love you. You’re the only slave I’ve had since . . . well, since Oliver caught it from me and died. It was so . . . so horrible.

  Hold me tightly, Ritchie. Please!’

  The strength of her grip frightened him as she clasped Cyril to her. He was unable to rise or even shift his position. His head was pulled down into her groin and the taste was so bitter.

  His stomach began to heave. He heard her whisper,

  ‘Don’t worry, Ritchie. It’s only the worms. We’ll be together from now on, even if I DO have to whip you. You know it’ll only be a love-whipping, don’t you?’

  She settled herself more comfortably. Her hands relaxed and she gave a small snore.

  Gradually he managed to ease himself from her arms without being detected. Hardly daring to breathe, he was able to slide out from her embrace.