Under the Lash

by Vashti La Soeur

  Once clear, he started to run, hardly caring which way he was going. He simply ran and ran until at last he was out of breath.

  The lights of the house lay ahead. He ran towards them and hurled himself towards the French doors . . . through the doors . . . straight into the arms of Mistress Flayer.

  Chapter Thirty One

  ‘Can’t wait for your flogging, eh?’

  Mistress Flayer’s strong arms pulled Cyril close to her body. He could feel her rapid heartbeats as she pressed him against her chest. Her musky aroma made him giddy.

  Unable to pull away from her grip, his knees buckled and he hung from her like a rag doll. Close to fainting, he knew he was unable to resist whatever she wished to do with him. His pulse raced and his eyes closed.

  Her hand went between his thighs. Catching his limp member between her middle finger and thumb, she ran them along his shaft slowly, after a few strokes bringing it to the point of exploding.

  ‘What do they teach you at the College? “Pain equals Pleasure”, isn’t it? The more I flog you, the greater your pleasure, right?’

  Breathing was difficult. His lips parted.

  ‘You want me to flog you, don’t you? You want me to make you scream with agony under the cat, eh? I can do it, you know. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

  Her hand was no longer moving. Just as he had reached his peak she stopped.

  He tried to raise his crotch into the niche between her legs, trying to find a way to bring on the cascade of spunk that was clamouring for release.

  She laughed and thrust him away, knowing what he was trying to do.

  ‘No, poor fool. Not yet. I’ll flog you when it’s the right time, not when YOU want me to. I’m sending you back to the College now, and when your quarters here are ready, you’ll be transferred permanently. And THEN . . . THEN . . . ‘

  She laughed again and flung him face down on the ground.

  ‘Until then, wank away. ’

  ‘Mistress! . . . Oh, Mistress . . . ‘

  She kicked him in the ribs with her pointed boot and left him groaning and twitching on the floor.

  Groaning . . . wanting her . . . wanting her to do as she wished with him . . . to be her slave.

  He had learned what “Pain equals Pleasure” really meant.

  Erica was waiting for him at the College. Cyril’s haggard appearance shocked the little French maid who was too timid to ask what had happened.

  After the dormitory lights had been extinguished Cyril climbed into Erica’s bed.

  Erica began to sob his tale. He was monopolised by Fairy, he said. There was no satisfaction in the relationship, though, since she was so inexperienced. He envied Cyril, he said.

  In fact, he went on, he would do anything - anything at all - to get away from her; but he couldn’t see how it was possible to do it. She was draining him. He was just being emptied and was getting nothing in return.

  A walking corpse, that’s what he was.

  Cyril stared into the darkness.

  ‘Do you mean that really?’ he asked at last. ‘Would you really do anything?’

  Erica clung to his friend as the tears flowed.

  ‘Supposing you suggested that you should be allowed to recruit new pupils for the College? Do you remember Lashley telling us we had to go out and spread the message of Love? If you can persuade her to let you start, we could go together dressed as French maids. My quarters are not yet ready, so I could help you get new pupils until my new mistress sends for me. ’

  Erica jerked his bum backwards, spreading his bum-cheeks wide apart. Cyril’s hot cock spouted as he pushed it inside.

  ‘I do love you,’ Erica sleepily sighed as the burning juice flowed into his yearning hole.

  Lashley smiled as they stood on the step outside the College front door after they had been given their graduation thrashing.

  She watched them bond to each other with a deep kiss, their bums still tingling. Then they ran, hand in hand, down the path to the front gate, giggling like schoolchildren.

  As they reached the gate, Mistress Flayer appeared on the other side. The happy lovers stopped laughing.

  Their mouths fell open with fear as she raised the short-handled cat she was holding. Hardly daring to breathe, they watched her separate each of the subsidiary lashes one by one.

  She crooked a finger towards Cyril. Her steel-rimmed glasses sparkled in the wintery sun as she licked her thin lips.

  Cyril knew his time for ecstasy had arrived.

  ‘You first,’ she croaked in a barely-controlled hoarse whisper. ‘Strip. ’

  THE END

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