Cavendish rubbed at his erection through his pants as he led Beatrice through to the hidden parlour beyond the covert door, eyeing the oaken stairs which led up to the comfortable room that he’d entertained her in last week. It had been she who’d recommended the venue, following his acquaintance of her through a fetishist club he’d been introduced to, and he was more than satisfied with the arrangement, his cock erecting all week in anticipation.
She knelt below him, naked and on a silver chain, her hands clasped delicately together, meek and apparently willing to be of service to his perverted needs; she had known the whip of the cane the week before, and the thought of another taste of it brought her cunt to a warm arousal as they awaited the house madam, though she knew of something he didn’t, which brought her nipples to a hardness in erotic anticipation. Cavendish had not penetrated her soft body after he’d whipped her with the cane and watched her orgasm as she squirmed on an inserted phallus in bondage, he’d stood over her and masturbated, sending his hot seed across her milky flesh, then knelt to lick it from where it ran into the creases of her flesh held tight by the cords. He had had no idea why he’d been gratified by his base actions, he’d been driven to it by some erotic bent, but the memory of it brought his cock to rigidity as he too anticipated a repeat of the thrill it had given him.
The bold madam gave the meekly kneeling Beatrice a knowing smile as she addressed the would be dominant Cavendish as his heart raced. She was curt with him, in defiance of his supposed masculine superiority; no male would better her, and she had watched his last performance covertly through a spy hole, recognising the signs which would be more in keeping with her status amongst men. Cavendish immediately felt a little sheepish as she looked him up and down, then spoke to him with a distinct air of feminine contempt, her eyes glancing down to the bulge which gave notice of his animal intentions.
“So, sir is ready to indulge his carnal desires once more, his little package looks up to it.” He tried hard to dispel her remark as one of pure humour, but felt the truthful cut of it; the feeling of slight humiliation stimulating him somehow. She put him in mind of a family governess who had taken control of him, despite his being beyond the age necessary for the discipline that he believed she had been installed to apply on his younger siblings. Her authority was recognised above all by his parents, and though technically of an adult age, she had taken great pleasure in disciplining him too, with the blessing of his vacant father and strict stepmother. Caned by her on his showing the slightest misdemeanour, with the full permission and often before the eyes of his cruel and matriarchal stepmother, the experience had been key in his developing a lust for revenge upon the female form - or so he had led himself to believe. The memory of the canings and the humiliation remained annoyingly fresh in his mind, but excited him when serving the same upon Beatrice’s tender flesh, though he could not hide from the memories he tried to blur, of his masturbation after being punished by the governess. He was a male, and male’s are there to rule, his conscious mind told him, and he fought to subdue those subconscious thoughts of masochism and humiliation which haunted him. Little did he know, the governess he’d known would also haunt him once more. He pulled on Beatrice’s chain, tilting her head back, and making her firm breasts point to the stairway.
“I am indeed ready to be amused by my girl again, she knows where a woman’s place is.” The madam grinned at his practiced pompous stance, seeing through to a weakness behind its thin veneer. He was no cocksure male with true masculine dominance, but she played to his tune; his feigned arrogance would add to the spice of his downfall, already set in place by the seemingly soft girl whose arousal grew as the chain tensed about her neck. Beatrice Palmer enjoyed the whip, but was equally thrilled in applying it; she was a boon to the circle of women she worked with, her soft and feminine exterior luring males fresh to the bsdm scene into an initially mutual erotic enjoyment, then on into depths of pleasure more suited to please those women of her kinship. The males then left themselves open to blackmail or ruin through their own lust, held to strict obedience, either in fear of losing their reputations or simply enslaved by their own sexual weakness, consumed with aplomb by stern femininity. Beatrice was instrumental in perpetuating the cycle, and was expert in selecting males appropriate for moulding to the required design; Cavendish was ripe for selection.
Cavendish was new to active involvement in the bdsm scene, he’d long harboured a burning desire to air his fetish, but had never had the courage to venture into those dark areas of the community where debauchery was openly advertised. Then when consorting with a colleague from the lower echelons of the business he worked at, during a drunken evening in which the alcohol had allowed him to border on the edges of that desire during a lurid conversation on sex, he had found himself attending a venue he’d never have dreamed of visiting when sober. His eyes and cock were treated to scenes of sordid open engagements which even the application of more cheap ale could not prevent his sobering up somewhat at the sexual intensity of what he witnessed. Women with acres of exposed flesh openly cavorted with eager red faced males in an effort to sell their services, and in one corner which caught his eye, more sedate parties sat. The females there had a certain elegance about them, and he noted the males in attendance had a more brash approach; their bravado expressed by the way they brandished their canes and riding crops.
Cavendish broke into a cold sweat as his eyes met with a softly pert woman there, her eyes looking back like a lost puppy’s as one of those gentleman lifted her chin with a crop. The alcohol did not deter his erection; her soft flesh and blonde hair gracing her feminine shape as their eyes broke while she curtsied meekly to the portly male, then glancing back at his with a warm smile unseen by her bumbling client. Cavendish left under cover of darkness, his colleague unaware of the direction of his companion’s lust, the cold sweat still prevailing over his irregular drunken stride. He had broken the taboo though, he’d be back in a more sober state; those eyes had left a permanent impression and sealed his fate.
Cavendish was not disappointed on his return the very day after, and though he displayed his cockiest and most chauvinistic side outwardly when confronting the meekly submissive Beatrice, she knew she’d see his balls ringed in ownership under female guidance forthwith. He twirled his ornate cane in a way which feigned menace as he made his move after a couple of gins to bolster his confidence, she having seen him and passing over a rowdier possibility by suggesting she was taken. Her cunt tingled as he strode over, unable to completely control his nervousness as he fumbled with the chair, she was in the mood to be whipped by one she’d see dominated most thoroughly at a date shortly after; the orgasms she enjoyed were so intense on the divine retribution being served, and her delight at seeing this one justly punished would be exquisite, her before and after orgasms would be pure ecstasy. She had soon had her feelings confirmed; he had hastily expressed his desire to cane her, but she had not the slightest problem in leading him to the Madam’s house of her choice, she would be bound and whipped but was always in control, not just of the present situation, but of his destiny.
The madam had watched with a sharply vindictive sexual lust as she viewed the display through the peep hole, an uncommon feeling in one so well acquainted with sexual acts; seeing a male brought down and made to pay for his actions was superbly arousing, and Beatrice’s ecstatic moaning as she indulged in an intense orgasm with the pleasure of being caned and knowing the same, had her nursing her budding clitoris. She had looked on with satisfyingly sweet contempt when he failed to mount her, and seen the twisted torment in his face as he masturbated. He had shot his mess liberally across her writhing body, and her contempt reached a high as she saw him lick his mess from the cords which bound the delighted Beatrice. She knew he craved something he’d not admit to himself, something she’d help ensure he realised, whether he wanted to or not. She and Beatrice were immediately in contact with the women who would aid in delivering him from that torment, one of whom would take exceptional pleasure in doing so.
Cavendish’s cock oozed pre-cum as it stood hard upright in his pants, the belittling scorn of the house madam had excited it further, but he refused to recognise why; he’d take solace in showing Beatrice extra vigour with the cane, the pleasured sigh emitted by the chained woman whom he’d arrogantly described as ‘his girl’ as he tugged her forward impatiently on the chain, excited him further, but not with the intensity that she felt. Her cunt was wet, and ready to know the service denied her last week. Cavendish made for the stairway, but his stride was halted with imperious precision by the madam. She pointed then strutted to a covert door beneath the stairs and opened it with a smile.
.... There is more of this story ...