Chapter Fourteen

 

Cyril was exhausted. In spite of Reneti’s treatment and the disgust with himself brought by Erica’s actions, while lying on his bed in the dormitory he had a strange sense of satisfaction.

At last, he felt, he was beginning to discover himself. He thought back to the times when Andrea and he had lived together. He remembered how he enjoyed being submissive, being told what to do and what not to do. There had been times when he had resented her behaviour and had gone into a sulk. Now, though, being an inferior was acceptable. More than acceptable; he WANTED it.

Sleep came over him. He fell into a dream in which he was chained in a kennel like a dog. It seemed he was owned by a sadistic Dominatrix whose delight it was to lash him several times a day without giving any reason.

‘You’ve got to be cock-trained,’ she snarled. ‘Every time you see me you’ve got to get hard. But if you get hard with anyone else, you’ll be thrashed. ’

A troupe of attractive, nearly-naked virgins entered the kennel and began playing with his dangling equipment. Although he knew what the outcome would be, his member stiffened. No matter how much he tried to control it, he could not overcome the tell-tale hardness.

The Dominatrix returned. He saw a cruel smile come slowly to her lips as she ran the lash through her fingers, her eyes glittering coldly at his quivering body.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ she whispered.

The whip rose slowly, oh, so slowly, until it could rise no further.

‘I’ll control it,’ he sobbed. ‘Just give me one more chance. Please! No . . . more. No more. PLEASE!’

His terror-filled eyes were fixed on the lash as it paused above him.

In his dream-state, a faraway gentle voice sympathised with him, encouraging him to let his pent-up emotions run freely.

‘Don’t hold back, poor thing,’ the warm voice whispered. ‘I can comfort you. You deserve my comfort. ’

A steady, sticky exhilaration flooded him as he surrendered to the warmth of the hands that now fondled him. He would be punished, perhaps, but that mattered less than the pleasure he was receiving.

As he lay soaking up the sensuous delight given by his temptress, an enervating laziness came over him.

If only, he thought, he could stay like this; if only he could be freed from having to make decisions . . .

If only he were simply a receptacle to be used by those stronger than himself . . .

A sudden chill brought him back to reality. A raucous burst of laughter came to him.

He opened his eyes.

‘Puddings, eh?’ a voice scoffed.

Looking down at him was a female warder. A heavy bunch of keys hung from a chain around her broad waist; the skin of her face hung in folds giving her a double chin. Grey piggy eyes stared mockingly at his wretched, shrivelled cock.

She wore a dark blue uniform. No touch of colour relieved its drabness. Heavily-built, she wheezed as she walked around his bed. Two or three hairs sprouted from a mole on the side of her chin.

Her sleeves were rolled back above the elbows, revealing thick arms muscled like a weight-lifter’s. As she walked, her flat heeled shoes slapped the ground heavily.

He cringed as she stretched her hand towards his cock, touching the emission which had come from it. She scooped up a little of the juice and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.

‘Still warm, eh?’ she jeered. ‘Reckon it’s only just about happened. Who was it? Sheena? She’s a real sucker-off, that one. ’

He tried to hide his shame by crossing his legs.

Brutally, she pulled them apart, exposing his limp sticky member.

‘No you don’t, wanker,’ she gritted. ‘It’s the canteen for you. And your pansy friend. ’

Cyril heard a little sob at that. Turning his head, he saw Erica standing behind the wardress, slowly rubbing his flushed bare bottom. Evidently he had just been thrashed.

‘Get up and follow me. NOW!’ The wardress roared out the command.

She pushed them into the canteen and instructed them to lie face upwards on the long table that ran from one end of the room to the other.

Three or four cherubs came from the kitchen carrying trays of different foods. They shovelled the food on to Cyril’s body and then on to Erica, pushing some of it between their legs and up into their anuses.

After that, they poured peppery sauce into the navels of the frightened pair and built up small mounds of pepper and salt on their nipples. In the spaces between their rigid arms and sides, sticks of celery were inserted like electricity pylons. Dabs of mustard were daubed on their cocks, sprigs of watercress wound round their scrotums.

A gong was struck. A horde of eager slaves ran noisily into the room, ready for the meal. There was no sign of cutlery or crockery, each slave being expected to pick at the food with his fingers; Cyril and Erica were the serving dishes.

Feeling fingers running around his sensitive parts in the search for tasty morsels, Cyril’s cock hardened. He could hear Erica squealing with unrestrained pleasure.

Every now and again a rough tongue slid along Cyril’s cock as its owner sought mustard. His scrotum was pulled from side to side as sprigs of watercress were plucked from him.

The constant titillation made Cyril rise again. In vain he tried to control his ejaculation, but was unable to do it. Squeezing his thighs together was useless. At last his come mixed with the food, turning it to a porridge-like paste.

Seeing this, the burly wardress picked him up as easily as if he had been a baby. She turned him over on her lap and spanked his bottom with her bare hand. He howled as tears spurted from his eyes.

‘Dirty little man!’ she bellowed. ‘Can’t keep from wanking, can he? Like a monkey in the zoo. Right! He wants to be treated like an animal, he can act like one. ’

She threw him on the floor on all fours where scraps had fallen.

‘That’s where you’ll have your food from now on. On the floor. And don’t use your hands to pick it up. Eat it up!’

The steel in her voice warned him he had better obey.

When the meal was over, Cyril and Erica were sent to the Junior Recreation Room. They found the room occupied by trainee-Dominatrices partly-dressed in closely fitting leopard skins. Their long pointed nails, like claws, and sharp white teeth that glistened as they opened their mouths, were a threat to the manhood of anyone foolish enough to oppose them. .

‘Here’s fun, girls,’ called one of the trainees. ‘A couple of wanking lovers. ’

She looked at the two men.

‘Let’s have a race,’ she called, ‘and we’ll lay odds on them. This one is Frenchie,’ she said pointing to Erica, ‘and this one is The Come-Queen. ’

‘I’ll lay 5 to 1 on Frenchie,’ called a young trainee whose right tit dangled loosely out of her leopard skin.

‘Done,’ called another.

When the betting had finished, Cyril and Erica were placed face to face and ordered to hold each other’s cock.

‘When I say “GO”!’ said the organizing trainee, ‘you will start wanking one another. The winner will be the one who comes first. As for the loser . . . ‘she laughed, ‘. . . we have ways of dealing with him! Interesting ways, haven’t we, girls?’

A laugh went around the room.

The race was won by Erica who had not been milked as often as Cyril.

‘While their come-banks are re-filling,’ said the leading trainee, ‘we’ll have a display of lesbian-love. ’

A naked long-haired Dominatrix-trainee stepped forward, followed by another trainee with a closely-cropped head. Both women wrapped their arms around one another as they gazed intently in each other’s eyes.

The closely-cropped girl lowered the other slowly to the ground. A deep sigh came from the long-haired one as her lover mounted her and spread her legs widely to accommodate her partner’s hips. Cyril saw both sets of fingers seeking love spots, probing, stroking, pressing the sensitive places.

Full, deep kisses followed. The long-haired girl on the ground began to move her body up and down, giving little moans, while the upper girl uttered a series of animal grunts as her pelvis jerked into her partner.

Now the lower girl began to scream.

‘Yes! Ah, yes! Do it! Oh, my love. My only love. ’

The yearning bodies were thrashing about wildly. The girls rolled over and over in ecstasy, legs sliding over partner’s hips and back again.

First one bare, rounded bum was on top, then the other. Muscles clenched and relaxed as their passions rose and waned with the rise and fall of their imagination.

The onlookers were silent as the scene built up.

‘Squeeze her cunny,’ a trainee near Cyril breathed. ‘Make her squirm. ’

As if she had heard, the long-haired beauty pinched her partner’s quim-lips, drawing a gasp of pain from the girl on top.

‘Bitch! Oh, you lovely bitch,’ she cried.

She pushed her hand between the other girl’s thighs. Cyril could not see what she was doing. Soon the long-haired girl was squealing also.

Their mouths sought one another’s in a final hot kiss which left them lying exhausted, wrapped together in a limp embrace.

Cyril could not keep his eyes open any longer. His breath was coming rapidly - coming in short bursts as thrill after thrill ran through him.