Gathering his courage, he tapped hesitantly on the heavy wood. From behind the door he heard muffled sounds of music. Roxy Music. Slave to Love. He wondered if it was meant to convey some kind of message. Whatever, it certainly signalled that the occupant of the room was a very different woman to the austere personage he was used to. He found it hard to believe that she would listen to that kind of music, and when the door swung open and he was ushered inside his wonder grew even greater. The room was nothing at all like he had imagined. Lights dimmed low, tastefully decorated and decidedly feminine, it was not the bolthole of a dried up old spinster. It was much more like the lair of a seasoned seductress.
"Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly."
It was her little joke and she laughed as she said it. A sparkling, tinkling laugh that sent the doubts scurrying from his mind. And when he got a good look at her, it was not only the appearance of the room that amazed him. Her version of informal dress was staggering. She was wearing a skimpy dress that finished halfway down her thighs giving just a hint of lacy stocking tops. Her shoulders were bare, two thin straps being all that supported it. And her breasts! Full and heavy they were clearly outlined, their bullet nipples sticking out through the material like thimbles. The dress was very thin, but not see-through, so as there was no obvious knicker line he could only imagine that underneath it, her sex was lurking in all its naked glory.
It was too much. His cock leapt to attention, creating a very prominent bulge in the front of his jeans. He had only taken two steps into the room and already he had disgraced himself. A crimson surge of embarrassment raced up his neck and covered his face. Her eyes dropped to the cause of his discomfort. She smiled.
"My, you are a big boy, aren't you Jools?"
He shuffled his feet, unable to answer and somehow uncomfortable that she had used his nickname. She had never done so before.
"We'll have to do something about that, won't we?"
His cock grew even harder.
"But not yet, I've prepared a little dinner party."
And so saying, she guided him over to the dining table. It was rather difficult for him because his giant of an erection was not only an embarrassment, it was also highly uncomfortable. Not to mention highly visible. He tried to cover it with his hands but she took them away.
"No need for that. I know you can't help it. Anyway I'll enjoy looking at it while you serve dinner."
While he served dinner? That fazed him for a moment until he realised that the table was only set for one. The napkin-covered neck of a champagne bottle poked from an ice bucket and a bottle of good red wine stood on the table, but there was only one champagne flute and one wineglass.
"But..."
And that was as far as he got before she interrupted him.
"The food's all ready in the kitchen. All you have to do is serve it. Properly."
He tried again.
"But I thought..."
And once more he was halted.
"Think nothing. Just do as I say. Take off your coat and put on the waiter's apron that I've left for you on the worktop. Serve the soup first."
He hesitated. Unsure.
"NOW."
That did it. He obeyed her command just as he had always done, although he was no longer under her charge. He was not a schoolboy any longer and could have chosen to ignore her. He could have gone back to his own room. He could have abandoned his dream of fucking her. But he did none of those things. What he did do was trot dutifully into the kitchen, don the apron and serve the soup.
"That's a good boy. Do as your Mistress tells you and you'll be happy. I promise."
He popped the champagne cork when ordered, watched her sneeze as the bubbles rushed up her nose when she drank, and accidentally rubbed his hard cock against her shoulder as he bent over her to remove the empty soup bowl.
"Naughty boy."
That was all she said. But it was not all she did. Laid on the table in front of her, set out with the cutlery was a short, ebony cane about eighteen inches long. Picking it up she smacked a wicked blow down on to his rigid shaft. His howl of agony would have roused the entire school if it was not for the fact that only a few pupils remained, most having left for the summer break over the previous couple of days. The soup bowl crashed to the floor, the remaining soup flowing out over the carpet.
"Oh dear, you have been careless. You'll have to clean that up before you serve the main course."
He still could not speak, jumping around clutching his cock and gasping with pain.
"No dramatics please, just do as I told you."
Again, he could have left, but he had just had his very first taste of genuine dominance. Of adult punishment. And the first spark of what would later become an inferno of desire for sexual, physical and mental torment was kindled. He picked up the bowl and headed for the kitchen. She stopped him short.
"Where are you going?"
"To get a mop to clean up the carpet."
"No you're not. Clean it up with your tongue."
"What!? I'm not doing that."
"I see. It's becoming very obvious that I shall have to teach you a proper lesson. You have to learn that a slave must do everything his Mistress orders him to. Without question."
"Well I won't do it. And you can't make me."
"You do want to fuck me, don't you?"
He did. And so he cleaned the carpet with his tongue.
And while he was down on his hands and knees, she opened her legs wide in order to allow him to lick up a small pool of soup that had settled beneath her feet. The fragrance tinged, musky aroma of her sex flowed through his nostrils and he looked up to search for its source. He had been right. She was not wearing any knickers and his eyes feasted on the curly bush of pubes that nested between her thighs. He paused, transfixed. Rooted to the spot with the utter impossibility of what he was seeing: The Headmistress' hairy quim. Warm and moist with long wavy labia. The soup was totally forgotten as the familiar surge of blood rushed through his veins to pump his penis into erection yet again.
It was quickly remembered as a stinging blow from the flat of her hand smashed across his cheek.
"My vagina is none of your concern at this moment; get on with your job."
His tongue leapt back to the thick pile in a pure reflex reaction, the speed of which defied belief. That time he never even considered raising a protest, the lusts of his body overriding his brain and propelling him into instant action.
It was not pleasant. Fibres stuck between his teeth and rolled up into little balls on his tongue. He tried to spit them out.
"Stop that at once. It's disgusting."
"But it's horrible. All these rotten bits of fluff are choking me."
The Headmistress let him finish the sentence and then got up from her chair.
"Stand up!"
He did. Slowly and red faced, sporting an erection which blatantly pushed out the apron.
It did not go unnoticed. It was a very satisfactory cock indeed. So much so that it caused her to consider amending her planned agenda once again. When he had been admitted to her rooms, she had swiftly abandoned her original plan, coming to the conclusion that the best way to treat Julian would be not to let him actually fuck her, but to excite and discipline him to distraction. He would suffer more that way. And enjoy it more. She was a good judge of character and had pinpointed his exactly. That cock though. It made her think twice. But there were other ways to get her goodies, and in any case he had to be taught another little lesson. She picked up the cane, and he immediately covered his manhood with his hands.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to risk damaging that promising little bundle again. But the punishment for insubordination is six strokes of the cane."
"You can't do that."
"
I can do anything! And don't you forget it. And for your continued insolence the punishment is increased to twelve strokes."
His mouth opened - and then closed as she lifted the hem of her skirt to give him another look at her fabulous sex. She said nothing, but the inference was obvious. He could take his punishment and be in with a chance of dipping his prick deep into her honeypot, or he could refuse and just fuck off. He did not fuck off. He did exactly as she had ordered him to do, although not with the best of grace, for which he received another stinging slap. Dumb insolence would not be tolerated.
"Drop your trousers and bend over the settee."
He hesitated. She did not. A clenched fist landed on his crotch. Not too forcefully, but with enough venom to make his eyes water. The apron was removed in a flash, followed instantly by his jeans, which fell in a crumpled puddle around his ankles. He bent over and The Headmistress' eyes roamed over his bottom.
"The underpants. Take them off."
Hooking his thumbs under both sides of the elastic waistband, he did as she ordered, sliding the cotton garment over his hips and down his thighs, until after passing the barrier of his knees they dropped onto the crumpled denim below. If he had not had such a giant hard-on, his cock would have swung down between his thighs and she would have had another target to work on. She could have landed a strike between his legs to smack on his bloated, purple bell-end. But his cock was a rigid pole sticking straight out in front of him, so there was no chance of that. But she had all night, so there was always later to look forward to. Perhaps when he had learned to control himself a little better the opportunity would arise again.
The Headmistress stretched out an arm and ran her palm over his buttocks. He was in good shape, they were firm and rounded; excellent targets. She examined the cane. It was very short. But it was also rigid, inflexible and for his first real chastisement it would suit admirably. Lifting her arm, she smacked a fierce stroke across his buttocks. There was very little sound, the rod did not cut through the air with the same resonance as a longer, thinner cane or a whip would do. But the impact was equally as vicious. More so. His arse was taut and firm, but the blow itself landed with a flesh-rippling thud. A short, crimson welt flashed over the surface of his rump, beginning to darken almost instantaneously into what was obviously going to develop into an agonising purple bruise.
His head spun and his eyes glazed. He yelped. He could not help himself, the pain was indescribable - infinitely worse than anything he had suffered at her hands before. The schoolboy beatings he had undergone paled into insignificance. This was the real thing. A second blow fell, his heels lifting from the ground and another scream catapulting from his lips as it struck home. Another shortish welt welled up close to the first.
"OOoow! Jeeeesus Christ!"
His agonised wail brought a swift response. Another blindingly painful stroke and an angry comment from The Headmistress.
"No blasphemy in my presence if you please. Save that kind of talk for your little heathen chums in the dorm."
She tapped his shoulder with the rod.
"Well, what do you have to say?"
Tears dripped from his eyes but through the blubbering he managed to mutter out a reply.
"I'm sorry Headmistress."
"That's better... And?"
"I promise to do better."
"Good! Let's get on with it. And remember from now on it's just Mistress."
She stood scrutinising his backside and measuring her stroke, his continuing whimpers of pain providing confirmation of his agony. She dropped her arm.
"All this whingeing is pathetic. I'm going to do something about it."
Ordering him to remain exactly as he was, she disappeared into the bedroom, only to emerge very quickly with what from his view, looking backwards between his legs, appeared to be a rubber ball clutched in her grasp. With one hand under his chin, she lifted his head and stuffed it into his mouth. He now realised that it had two straps attached to it, which she looped around the back of his head, buckling them tightly and gagging him most effectively.
"Try whingeing now you useless little wimp. You may as well know that you are disappointing me. Not coming up to expectations. Your conduct is more like that of a first year than that of a grown up young gentleman about to make his own way in the world. Do better - or else."
'Jesus fucking wept! Or else what? What did she expect anyway, she was murdering him!' She imagined the unspoken responses that were sweeping through his mind. He would be convinced that she was crazy. Deranged. Some kind of depraved pervert. But she knew that he still wanted to fuck her. And so when she told him that if he tried harder then maybe there was still a chance of his dream coming true, his response was exactly as she expected. He spluttered against the hard ball of the gag, but nothing but incomprehensible glooping sounds found their way around the solid rubber to escape from his mouth.
"Good, you've decided to try harder. Very commendable. Do you want to go on?"
For the chance of a shag he did. He desperately nodded his head in confirmation.
"A wise decision. I would have completed the thrashing in any case. This way, if you come up to scratch and conduct yourself properly you still stand a chance of a fuck."
Julian had never heard a woman use that word before. Fuck! She had said it several times now and somehow coming from her lips made it all the more erotic. He tingled. He wanted to hear her say it again. Fuck, fuck ,fuck. He repeated it to himself, his prick twitched and she saw it.
"So you like me to talk dirty?"
He nodded again.
"All right fuckface, you've got nine more coming. I'm going to whack your fucking arse until it's the colour of a shit heap. Then I'm going to torture your cock and squeeze your bollocks into walnuts. Take it like a man and we'll decide whether or not you get that shag."
What happened then was that he immediately shot his lot. All over the settee. He could not help it. The Headmistress talking like that; it was unbelievable! It was mind blowing and bewilderingly sexy. And The Headmistress was furious, he could tell. But she did not lose her self-control and the ensuing strokes fell in measured, calculated precision over his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. They were just delivered with a lot more force that was all, and the welts were highly visible to say the least. And the pain was exquisite - a fact he became aware of about halfway through the beating. He began to anticipate the next blow, waiting for it to fall and then savouring the resulting flash of agony as it radiated to his nerve endings. And as the pain intensified, the blood pumped into his cock and it began another rise into erection. As the last blow fell, the sensitive underside of his glans caught against the settee - and he did it again. That one touch propelled him into another jerking orgasm. Unfortunately for him, it also propelled further gouts of sperm all over the velvet of her favourite piece of furniture. Or so she pretended.
"You disgusting, filthy little monster. You've ruined my settee."
He had not of course. Gallons of semen had been spilt on it over the years and for that reason it was covered in a special, easily cleanable fabric. But he was not to know that. And she was most certainly not going to let him into her little secret.
"Clarke, you are a pathetic, dismal failure. If I were marking your performance, at this stage your grade would be E minus. You're hopeless."
She had reverted to using his surname, as she had always done before that night. For him, the signs were bad. He had blown it. Big time. How was he to know that secretly she was extremely satisfied at the way things were turning out? He had been made to accept the fact that he liked pain. And without a doubt, later he would come to love it. Her scheme continued.
"However, every dog deserves his day, a second chance, and although at the present moment I rate you on a level somewhat below that of a Dachshund, I am prepared to give you that chance."
/>
Julian's spirits soared as much as they could through the pain and humiliation and he began to hope once again. But his hopes were changing. He still wanted to fuck her but other desires were creeping in. The pain for a start. It was addictive. And the humiliation. So was that. He now longed for them as much as he did for actual physical sex. It was confusing.
His gag was removed and he was allowed to pull up his underpants and his jeans, until in a seemingly flash amendment to her purpose, The Headmistress ordered him to discard them altogether. And so it was that her meal was resumed and he began to serve the main course naked from the waist down. His enormous balls bumped against his thighs and his penis swayed back and forth as he carried the meal out from the kitchen. His testosterone level must have been sky-high, because if not actually sporting a rock hard erection he always seemed to have some stiffening of his cock.
She finished off the Dom Perignon and took the glass of red wine from his hand. He had managed to open that without causing a major catastrophe and he stood dutifully by the kitchen door as she toyed with the meal and drank the wine. She could put away a staggering quantity of drink and it did not seem to be affecting her in the slightest.
"Sunshine from the bottle."
She held up the wineglass, licking her lips and taunting him as she savoured the grape. It was good. Julian knew that, because his father kept a fine cellar and from an early age he had encouraged his son in an appreciation and knowledge of wine. What he did not know was that the wine had in fact come from that very cellar. His father did much more for The Headmistress than just pay her exorbitant fees for the extra tuition Julian received in his weakest subjects. The huge premium his father paid was really just a blind, and was actually remuneration for the services she provided to satisfy his somewhat unusual sexual requirements. And The Headmistress was not unhappy with the arrangement. Her own tastes matched very nicely with his. Julian knew nothing of this of course, his father's visits to the school were clandestine and many was the time that he had been engaged in highly questionable activities with her, while only a short distance away his son was wanking himself silly, in his imagination doing to her what his father was doing in reality.
The Daughters of de Sade Page 5