Chapter Three

 

The severe woman had been right. He was too exhausted to move. To his horror, he discovered she had been right on the other count, too. He WANTED to be punished; he WANTED to be humiliated.

But what had she meant by ‘the first treatment’? He glanced up at the ceiling.

“PAIN = PLEASURE”

He wasn’t too sure about that.

‘So de little man iss vaiting for hiss treatment, iss he?’

Someone had come into the room without his being aware of it. It must be Irma, he thought. And Irma was not English, to judge by her speech.

A soft hand ran over his member.

‘My, oh my! Vat a poor little man it iss, no? I teenk better ve start viss a little cock-whip, no?’

He could now see the face of his . . . what? His trainer?

She was blonde with a firm chin and a permanent smile showing glistening white teeth. Long fair hair hung down over her naked breasts which moved slightly from one side to the other as she turned her slim body, exposing firm little rose-pink nipples. Her grey eyes sparkled down at him, as though she found him slightly ridiculous. At the same time, she made it clear she would not stand for any liberties being taken.

‘Zo! First, ve tie heem . . . Zo!’

Irma quickly ran a cord around his cock, pulling it into a tight loop. She flung the free end up and around a hook hanging from the ceiling, tugged on it, and dragged his tool upright.

It was astonishing how quickly his lust returned. She had a magnetism that swept through him, making him yearn to fling himself on her helpless body and ravish her. To be at her mercy, though, was better. It was to be abased. It was a complete reversal of the traditional male/female roles.

He was beginning to understand the meaning of humiliation.

‘Now, liebchen, ve start. ’

From the wall she removed a short thin bamboo cane and swished it in the air a few times, listening to its vicious swish.

Satisfied, she came close to where Cyril was lying and, her eyes still smiling at him, brought it hard down onto the side of his upstanding member. A sharp pain ran through him.

Without pausing between the strokes, she continued whipping his tool. Had it not been for the gag, he would have been screaming, begging for mercy.

His cock was covered with ridges and welts.

‘Don’t vorry, my freint. Soon ve start. Ze lesson vill be goot, no?’

Irma was grinning as she gave him that assurance.

She selected a bundle of birch twigs soaking in a pail by the fireplace.

‘Here is goot,’ she said. ‘You haf had zees before? No? Ah, ees very nice. Bring cockie up goot. You vill see. ’

She flipped Cyril over on his face, his tied-up member being stretched out sideways from beneath his belly.

Before he had time to clench his bottom, the birch descended. Again and again the bunch cut into him, giving him no respite.

There was no doubt Irma was a skilled mistress with the birch. And as she had forecast, ‘cockie’ was standing up ‘goot’ in spite of the previous spunk-removing operation.

She stopped.

‘If you goot boy,’ she said, ‘I vill take off ze gag. Zen you can enjoy better, no? But vun scream - and, oh, my gootness, vill come Pain, ja . . . but Pleasure? You vait. ’

She shrugged and then removed the gag, letting Cyril breathe more easily. He was moaning in a low voice.

‘I . . . can’t . . . help crying,’ he gasped. ‘Please . . . don’t . . . hurt me anymore. ’

Irma laughed softly.

‘Say again,’ she ordered.

‘Please . . . don’t hurt me anymore. Please. ’

‘You vant tittie?’

His eyes lit up. He nodded.

She placed a nipple in his mouth.

‘Suck,’ she ordered. ‘Make stand. Nice baby. ’

Eagerly he did as she said. He put his hands around her fragrant, luscious breast, holding it tenderly as though it were a ripe melon while sucking hard on her titty.

Perhaps if he pleasured her she would not punish him any further? He thought. Her softness soothed his pain. Even the cord gripping his tool did not seem to strangle so much.

As he sucked he ran his tongue around the nipple and he felt it harden. He stroked the globe gently, marvelling at its roundness; at its power to revive him.

‘Is goot titty?’

He nodded.

‘Poor little man better now?’

Again he nodded.

She jerked it away from him.

‘Zen ve go on. ’

She flung him face down and continued with the birch while his cries for mercy came in a frightened stream.

‘Ach! Ze noise! Not goot. ’ She jammed the gag back in place and began to flog him without a stop.

At last she was finished, her breasts heaving, eyes flashing, body trembling with excitement. She wheeled a long mirror over to the bedside.

‘Look!’ she panted.

In the glass he saw his bum was a mass of bloody weals.

‘Look!’ she said again, pointing with the birch to the Rules above him.

He twisted round and read,

“Males are thrashed regularly. ”

The birch moved onwards like a pointer.

“TO GIVE IS TO RECEIVE. ” Then “FEMINA DOMO HOMO”.

‘Poor little man understands?’

He nodded.

‘Poor little man has much to learn yet,’ she laughed softly.

Swiftly, she bent over him, removed the gag and kissed him full on the lips.

Surprisingly, her action brought him a feeling of worthlessness. He knew that without her permission he was like dirt on the floor. He needed her consent, her approval, to do . . . to do ANYTHING.

He was gradually having his male pride destroyed. This was different from the treatment Andrea gave. Hers was to build up his self-esteem. Here his self-confidence was being undermined: he was being made to understand his inferior position.

Strangely enough, he welcomed the change.