Chapter Two
He was alone when he became fully conscious. Lying on his back, he tried to rise but found he couldn’t move. His arms were outstretched and securely tied down. His legs had been pulled apart; around each ankle was a bond fastening him to the bed. A broad leather band encircled his waist, preventing him from turning over. He could only move his head, allowing him to see his immediate surroundings.
He appeared to be strapped down in the middle of a barely furnished room. At one end was a fireplace in which a log fire was burning. Above this was a large notice bearing the words “Lashley’s College of Strict Discipline. ” Beneath that he could see a large painting of a masked woman wearing nothing but a short leather mini-skirt from which a few dark pubic hairs escaped, a pair of pointed black leather high-heeled boots stretching up to just below her knees and a tightly fitting lace bra which threw her hardened nipples into prominence.
She held a riding crop across her body with one hand, its leather loop just resting in the palm of her other hand. Her lips were drawn back in a straight line which could only indicate her enjoyment of inflicting punishment and cruelty.
But it was her eyes, gleaming through the eyeholes of the mask, which made Cyril tremble. They were knowing eyes. Eyes that could penetrate a man’s thoughts. Merciless eyes; demanding utter and instant obedience. The eyes on the painting seemed to understand his predicament. They knew he lay there completely naked, at her mercy.
He shivered as his cock stiffened. This woman, Lashley, - for it could be no other - would not tolerate any show of independence. It was clear everything had to be as SHE wanted. The fact the painting had no title was indication enough that there could be no mistaking its identity.
Slowly he looked around the room. On the unpapered walls hung a large assortment of whips, canes and riding crops. In various places glass, steel and mahogany dildos glistened in the firelight. In one corner stood a tailor’s dummy on which a leather jacket with canvas sleeves had been thrown. There were no buttons on the jacket, but several long thongs of canvas hung from one edge of the coat, obviously its fastenings.
It was then that he realized that a hard gag had been put into his mouth, forcing his teeth apart and pressing on his tongue. Speech was impossible. Even if he grunted he would not be heard.
He looked up at the low ceiling. There, fastened above his head was a notice headed ‘REGULATIONS’. Below this was a short, clearly-written set of Rules.
“Rule No. 1. Males are thrashed regularly. ”
“Rule No. 2. All males must obey every order instantly. ”
“Rule No. 3. Any Dominatrix permitting slaves to quarrel will be publicly spanked. ”
Below the Rules was a short statement - “TO GIVE IS TO RECEIVE.
Stretching from one side of the ceiling to the other were the words “PAIN = PLEASURE” below which was a slogan “FEMINA DOMO HOMO”.
From memories of the Latin he had learned at school, Cyril knew this meant “WOMAN DOMINATES MAN”.
As he looked around the room he could see that the motto ‘FEMINA DOMO HOMO” had been painted in different places on the walls.
His cock was now rearing. Supposing Lashley came in now and saw his state? He wondered. What would be his fate?
He tried to quieten his emotions in the hope of getting his cock to settle down limply, but without success.
A door creaked. Turning his head he saw the young French maid who had admitted him enter the room. He was now able to examine her more closely. Perhaps she would realise it had been a dreadful misunderstanding on the part of the College to assume he had come here looking for discipline. If she would release him from his bonds, he would promise never to reveal what he had seen or what had happened in return for being given some clothes and allowed to leave.
The maid came closer and clicked her tongue several times as she looked down at him. Then, taking his erect organ in her hand, she said,
‘I’ll have to clean you up. You can’t meet the Founder in this state.
Unable to say anything, he saw her bring a bowl of hot scented water towards him. She then took a large flannel and a bar of pink soap and worked up a thick creamy lather on his body, paying particular attention to his tool.
He closed his eyes in ecstasy as she worked on him. He could not move his hips as his reactions made him want to, because of the leather waist strap holding him down.
Opening his eyes, he saw the maid bending down over him. Swiftly she placed her mouth over his, covering the gag that jutted out from his mouth, and kissed him.
He stared. To his amazement he saw something pink protruding from between the maid’s thighs. His pulses hammered.
The ‘maid’ was a man!
‘She’ laid her head against his ear.
‘If you keep this a secret,’ she whispered, ‘I’ll try to help you. You will suffer even more if you give me away. ’
It was only then that he became aware that ‘her’ skin was not as smooth as a girl’s would have been. He nodded.
She took the bowl of water and left.
The door opened again.
‘Ah! He’s awake now. ’ It was a female voice.
‘Time for his classification,’ said another, sterner, feminine voice. ‘I’ll examine him and call his specifications out to you. ’
A severe-looking woman holding a pair of callipers came into his view.
‘State of cock at start of examination - rigid. Diameter - 1 inch. Length - 7. ’
‘He’s expanded since he got here. ’
‘They always do when they’re fully awake. Now for his nuts. ’
She jiggled his sac in her hand.
‘Left - approximately 50 grams. Right - 48. Condition - tense. Diameter - left, 2 inches. Right - the same. ’
‘Is that good?’
‘About average. Nothing outstanding, I’d say. Still, under the lash, he may increase. ’
Under the lash, Cyril thought miserably. He wasn’t looking forward to that.
‘Hadn’t we better get a spunk sample?’
‘After he’s been fully measured. ’
The conversation was making him still randier. Why didn’t they get on with it?
The stern woman’s hands were cold, making his flesh cringe as she touched his tender flesh.
‘Put down this recommendation,’ she said. ‘Subject showed signs of needing attention. Recommended remedial treatment - frequent applications of the lash. Good candidate for public humiliation. ’ She paused. ‘You!’
Cyril looked up at the severe woman. Fear gripped him. He felt the need to pass water.
‘Answer my questions by nodding. One for “Yes”. Two for “No”. Understand?’
Cyril gave one nod.
‘Virgin?’
He gave two nods.
‘Swine! That’s what I thought. Recommendation - Founder’s severe thrashing. ’
He saw her lick her lips before the next question came.
‘Married?’
Two nods.
‘Live-in lover?’
Yes.
‘Man?’
No.
‘Who goes on top? She?’
Yes.
‘How many times a week? Three times?’
No.
‘More?’
He hesitated.
‘Subject lies. Recommendation - thrashing to be in public. ’
The woman bent over him and ran her fingers over his nipples. His bladder was at bursting point.
‘Delay in reaction - what did you make it, Sonia?’
‘Two seconds. ’
‘He’ll have to do better than that. Recommendation - ice-water baths twice daily. Now turn him over. ’
Dribbles of urine were coming now. His helplessness was starting to make him feel ashamed as Sonia obeyed the stern woman. He flushed.
‘Right. Get the spunk-meter ready. ’
He felt a cold slab pushed beneath his belly. Then fingers fitted a rubber cup to his tool, gripping it firmly like a rubber band. Even if he tried, he couldn’t now pass water.
While this was being done, the severe woman was pulling on a pair of surgeon’s gloves.
‘Stand by,’ she said. ‘Sometimes they jerk back under this. If he does, give him 500 volts in his cock. That should do it. ’
Cyril tensed himself, not knowing what to expect. He didn’t want 500 volts put through him, especially now he had a full bladder.
He felt his bum-cheeks pulled apart. A gloved hand was pushed into his anus and he groaned as his sphincter was forced open. No sound escaped through the gag.
‘Marvellous how none of them seems to know what to do, isn’t it?’ said the severe woman. ‘All men are babies. ’
‘Try to open your mouth and breathe through it, silly. ’
That was Sonia speaking. Evidently she at least had some feeling.
He could feel the hand clutching him inside his body. A sudden squeeze . . . and hot spunk shot out.
As the hand contracted and relaxed in rapid succession, his brain reeled while the come poured out. At last he could come no more. As his body drooped, a few drops of urine dribbled out. He was spent.
The rubber cup was removed from his cock, accompanied by a spatter of urine.
‘Turn him on his back now. What did he give?’
‘About 40 mils and some pee. ’
‘Huh! Like a little boy! Take it away, strain off the pee and weigh the come. He can be untied now and he’ll wait here till Irma comes to give him the first treatment. ’
‘Will it be all right to leave him alone, though?’
The severe woman laughed.
‘He’ll wait. He’s too exhausted to move, I can tell you. Men! The more you punish ‘em, the more they want. That’s the secret of humiliation. Make ‘em WANT it. ’