Chapter 9

Laura Wentworth had proudly received her husband back to the grand house his dubious businesses had provided her, after a week of severe conditioning by she, and the women of the society at Agnes Fairchild’s residence, the night before his appointment with the gallows. This was no reprieve though; Laura was to enjoy her big day to the full, and Wentworth had spent the night in bondage on a padded dog mat at the foot of her bed in what was once his master bedroom. His efforts to evade the noose had caused his wife no end of inconvenience in unearthing the ill gotten gains he’d hidden away, and his appointment with the gallows was now to be enjoyed to the full; his reluctance to face the deserved humiliation on the rope, adding a delectable spice to the occasion.

Wentworth cowered on the leash as his awkward descent of the stairs was completed under the beaming satisfaction of Laura, his travel made difficult by the humbling tethers to his wrists behind his back, hidden by the white silk shroud bound at the waist with a white satin sash, his nakedness below it complemented by leather shackles to his ankles, adjoined by a tether which allowed him to walk but not run. His neck was sore from a night where that tether had been tied to the leash, keeping his neck tensioned by his natural desire to extend his legs, and keeping him keen to the promise of the noose that awaited him. A padded leather gag ensured his near silence; only his muffled cries as Laura showed him her crop at any instance of disobedience, replaced the cocksure voice that had chided wife and servants prior to his fall from power.

Despite his fear at the purpose of the day, which Laura took pleasure in reminding him would be his last, he could not escape the erotic atmosphere generated by her euphoria at becoming a widow that day, a chillingly victorious feeling that was echoed in mutual unison by the entire female household staff, whose pleasure at seeing him bound and gagged in preparation for the gallows had him sport a rude erection he could not hide. He had known divine retribution from many of them, since being deposed as the head of the household and put firmly in his place by Laura, and his cock boned to please the female onlookers, at seeing them all lined up and smiling eagerly before a large mahogany boxed camera, standing tall on its brassed ringed tripod.

The sneers of spiteful delight at seeing Wentworth displayed in the humiliating attire that he’d wear on gracing the gallows so deservedly, were tinged with a pleased contempt at seeing his manhood stand in the impertinent sexual arousal that being shamed before women gave him, but no sneer was more radiant than that given by Charity, who couldn’t help but flex the cane she’d marshal him to the noose with, as maid of honour at his execution. Her impatient fiddling with the cane was belied by the sincere and pompous pleasure she showed in that sneer, her stern silence illustrating the deep contentment and restraint of her excitement at the delights to follow. Her look told Wentworth of her supreme pleasure in seeing him hang, and it had his cock pulsing rigid.

The youthful woman’s presence brought home the cold realisation of what was to become of him that day, her spiteful joy at the announcement that he was to know the rope, had helped him empty his balls in a masochistic heaven at her sadistic pleasure. As Laura took him to cower on his knees next to her, her arousal was teased wonderfully as she glanced down at him, knowing his spend on the rope would be generous indeed as he resigned himself to the pleasure of strangulation, watched intently by her. Laura stood in majestic pomp with her humiliated husband leashed and erect at her feet, thrilled by this day which would bring her the ultimate pleasure in her matrimonial association with the cur who knelt in defeat before her, that association ended most satisfyingly ... and most permanently.

She looked to her eager female staff, as they prepared to pose for the first of many pictures that would feature the widow-to-be, and the silken bound Wentworth, for it was his day too ... his last one. Charity flexed the cane impatiently as Laura took a deep breath to calm her excitement, the girl anticipating what her Mistress would announce in ensuring Wentworth remained firmly erect for the first picture. Laura hoisted the leash with a sneer, keeping it tight about Wentworth’s neck, and having his gagged face displayed in advertisement of the finality of pure defeat at the hands of womanhood.

“This day has been too long in coming, ladies, and that in itself has meant the savouring of it has become so much more pleasurable ... but that day has now come!” Wentworth squirmed and quivered on the leash, as every female there applauded with sincerity, their eyes savouring the demise of the kneeling male whose arrogance they’d known, and who’d now pay dearly for it.

“ ... I shall return this evening a widow, for today my husband hangs, hangs for his crimes against women ... and hangs for my pleasure!” The black uniformed dresses of the women, shimmered as they applauded heartily, many of them noting with satisfaction, the way Wentworth bucked on his knees and poked the symbol of his defeated masculinity high, at the sheer bliss in his wife’s tone; he feared the grip of the rope, but the absolute dominance of her promise, and her pleasure in it, thrilled his submissive desires beyond conscious control. Other eyes looked on at Charity with some jealousy; oh how they wished they could attend and see him led to the trap by her, then experience her lush arousal as she witnessed him struggle to extinguishment on the rope he’d so thoroughly earned. Their jealousy would be appeased just a little, by Laura’s next words, as she pulled the leash tight.

“ ... this is his last time at the house he’s so generously passed on to us, and I know we’d all like him to leave it with the fondest memories ... after we’ve posed for the first picture, you’ll all transmit your final thanks to him ... with three strokes of the cane each!” Wentworth arched his back and bucked his standing cock at the air, as the heartiest applause yet, rang through his ears. Laura sneered down at him in glorious triumph, her silken underwear already beginning to spoil with the rich arousal that would be perpetual that day.

“Oh yes my dear, you’ll be humiliated by every girl and woman here, before being taken to hang for me, and you’ll feel the wholesome delight in their seeing you go ... unanimous from each and every one of them.” The female photographer’s bulbous curves, bustled at the camera as the women settled down, leering with her own pleasure as she prepared to make the first capture, illuminated by the delighted faces of the women, contrasting with the bewilderment on the face of the male, but his expression confounded by the stiffness of his cock which betrayed his inner feelings of eroticism at his predicament. Her professionalism in completing the task, couldn’t mask her own rich arousal as she made sure that all were within the shot.

Laura Wentworth stood tall in the full pomp of her dominance, dressed appropriately in black silks, as befitted a woman about to become a widow, though the cut of her dress which exposed her cleavage daringly for a woman of that period, and the unashamed expression of her raised nipples through the sheer silk, illustrated the tart sexual enjoyment she felt at the imminent disposal of a husband with no further purpose. Leashed, gagged, and kneeling bound and ready for that disposal via the noose, her husband, dressed appropriately in a white shroud which indicated his coming marriage with the gallows, a brief but permanent union which would never be dissolved, the taut rope acting as pastor, in ensuring that the union was made satisfactorily permanent to all those women who witnessed it, none more so than the newly appointed widow.

The wholly female staff, who’d embraced the sexual enlightenment promoted by Laura, on her husband’s downfall and her rightful ascension to power, and seen him put to good use, each wore a vividly joyous expression as they too, stood tall in their long black dresses, uniformly dominant. They had been instrumental in the breaking of his spirit; he’d sniffed at the cunt of scullery maid and governess, each equal in their superiority over him now, as the application of their dominance was shown him rigorously, to match the arrogance he’d shown them before his reduction to his proper place. Revenge had been sweet, and most erotically charged indeed, but as per Laura, he was of no use to them now. Laura had sourced several males through the society, to further the sexual enthusiasm of her staff; they languished in obedience in other parts of the house, not privy to the erotic exhibition of the male they’d heard being summarily reduced to tears, his begging for mercy unheeded and drowned out by the song of cane and whip.

No, they had no use for him now. Their only regret being that they would be cheated of seeing him receive the delicious reward of the rope, but the pleased illumination of their faces in the pose, showed that that disappointment would be tempered by the array of photographs, whose hanging was as certain as Wentworth’s, in the covert Ante Room where Laura received males of a certain disposition, to test the suitability of their submission. They’d pour over the rich pageant of captures there, culminating in the vista of the woman they’d thank endlessly for their enlightenment, as she stood proudly in dominant triumph next to the spent corpse of Wentworth, hanging lifeless after pleasing her with the ultimate price of submission, his day brought to a blissfully erotic end before her ... and those males now secured by the household would be brought to masturbate over them too; their orgasms lusty indeed, on the visual evidence that all males are expendable.

The camera shutter was removed, and even Wentworth managed to control his trembling as the take caught the sincere pleasure of all but he. Laura gave Charity a nod, and the excited girl moved a low-backed padded chair into the view of the camera, Wentworth pulled to it and made to straddle it with his chin on its back, his knees low, either side of the seat, the bare cheeks of his arse poking clear of the seat to provide an inviting target. Cook gleefully handed Laura a wooden rolling-pin from the kitchen, thrilled by her previously choreographed part in the proceedings, Laura slipping the pin under the shaft of his erect cock, ensuring the bell was free from the stimulation of the seat, and just clear of his belly. His physical desire to spend through stimulation on the seat while under the cane was removed, if not his mental one. She enjoyed his bewildered looks as the long revered symbol of feminine authority in the domestic situation was used in this unique way.

“You’ll have but one spend today, my husband, and it’ll be given up when many more women than these few are there to witness it, and it’ll be given up most satisfyingly by you ... on knowing it will be your last.” Her sexual pleasure grew by the moment, as he squirmed on the pin, the hard wood offering the shaft of his cock much discomfort, but perfect in offering the camera a clear view of the contour of his poking bell through the gap in the chair; his excitement at the immediate submissive pleasure to come could not be hidden, though the purpose of today’s proceedings, illustrated with profound and tormenting pleasure by his wife, kept his fear keen as she pulled the leash tight and posed with Charity who stood proudly with the cane.

The photographer, no stranger to the household of Madam Agnes Fairchild and many brief encounters with males whose masks now adorned the hallowed walls there, sighed with pleasure at this novel sequence of captures which would lead to those for which she’d normally be employed. The heady sexual arousal she was granted in very pleasurable part payment for her services was rich enough in the usual routine, of pre-hanging and post-hanging takes, but the torment she was allowed to witness on this occasion was exquisite. Her sordid indulgence was gratified beyond compare, as the entourage of serving women lined up behind the wistful young woman with the cane, her spiteful smile radiating through the lens, as the Mistress of the house held its former Master to obedience with the leash, to know the social humiliation of being thrashed by his former servants before being taken to hang.

Wentworth knew humiliation indeed, as Charity, the former maid less than half his age, and who’d lead him to the gallows, confirmed her ownership of him with her three strokes; each served with the vigour that reflected that this would be her last opportunity to inflict physical pain upon him, a lush aperitif to the mental pain he’d know when he was led reluctantly to the rope by her, his shame immense.

Laura smiled with satisfaction as she held the leash tight and enjoyed the sound of each delivery which had him buck on the seat, his muffled cries through the gag exciting her arousal to the outcome of the day, as Charity’s energetic three stripes commenced his misery, his eyes watering in a prelude of the torrents to come. Her sadism peaked as Charity passed the cane to the kitchen maid, so meek and timid on her arrival, so bold now, and expressing the supreme feminine haughtiness of her openly sexual pleasure as her slender arm wielded the cane against his flesh. Laura grinned cruelly as Wentworth’s tears began to flow, defeated, and the gallows his reward for the masochistic pleasure he was sinking into the depths of.

“Oh yes husband, you’ll know your place before you go to hang, and can’t you just feel the delight of each of these ladies in seeing you go there? ... you’ve thoroughly deserved what’s coming to you, and each stroke takes you closer to it.”. Wentworth bit hard at the leather gag and grunted the blend of despair and lush masochistic pleasure he felt as he was thrashed soundly,. The feeling of being dominated was ominously different today though; he’d enjoyed being broken and humiliated in many ways by his wife, her sadistic friends, and the maids, safe in the knowledge that those sessions would continue indefinitely. Yes, he was still master of the house in one respect whilst his secret was kept from Laura, despite her and every other woman’s efforts to whip and cane a confession from him, but now he was nothing, and this humiliating punishment from the maids would be the last from them.

His anus tingled with a lush foreboding as he was thrashed, but his standing cock dribbled pre-cum from its taut bell ... the fear of the rope teased his balls to a new masochistic high as he tried vainly to prepare his mind for it; the thought that his wife would soon covet those balls in a jar and exhibit them in pompous triumph of her absolute dominance of him, had him edge close to coming despite the cruel prevention of physical stimulation, and the notion that only a white clay mask which captured the bliss of his expiry in her moment of triumph would look down on the following day, compounded an erotic feeling of utter submission as he was caned from maid to housekeeper. He had been an irksome problem to his wife in bringing him to this day, and her pleasure in the achievement of it, and his stubbornness in delaying her desire, ensured he’d be made an example of in every moment of it.

Creed had also been put to use that morning, Julia having made it excitingly clear that the hanging they’d enjoy today would be especially rewarding; he’d had the pleasure of a somewhat tortuous evening and fitful night, pleasing not only his Mistress, but Lizzy and Bella. The two girls having stationed their cab at Julia’s stabling behind her grand house, in preparation for their role in the day’s dark but thoroughly pleasing spectacle, Creed’s familiarity with their lithe naked bodies now warranted his services in helping dress them. Julia sat on the huge bed in the main bedroom, formerly known as the Master, and watched contentedly as the two girls chided him on any element of clumsiness, their pleasure at dominating a mature male in such a luxurious and strictly feminine domain, still an excitingly sexual novelty for them since their recent introduction to it. Julia was also pleased to see her pet remain keenly erect as he was bossed by the two girls, both acutely aroused by their duty that day.

“You make sure you get things just right for the young ladies my pet ... you’ve me to dress when they’re done, and they’ll have no hesitation in showing you their riding whips if you delay our schedule with your incompetence.” She grinned at his haste in helping both girls into their things, specially commissioned by Lara Wentworth for the day; everything was to be uniquely memorable for her.

“Just be thankful that you’ve been granted the privilege to view today’s event, as a confirmed submissive male ... you’ll witness the pure delight of womanhood today, as a male faces the rope he’s cheated for too long, and with the added spice of reluctance to suffer what he so fully deserved.” Creed felt the chill sadism in the resonance of her voice, perking his cock in his own thrill of hearing it; his recent erotic rendezvous with the noose, teasing him with a perverse enthusiasm for seeing it’s lush grip used in exacting its full purpose as he helped Lizzy into her tight jodhpurs. His cock stood in full display as the black velvety material enveloped her pert backside, the soft cheeks and broad thighs inviting the worship of his nose and tongue as they were secured at her slender waist, the tight material silhouetting her gracious form like a second skin. With their short black jackets, equally tight in expressing the femininity of their breasts, the flare at the waist accentuated their pert bottoms to perfection.

Julia took pleasure in leashing him as he tended the laces of the girls long black boots, a task he always enjoyed performing for Julia, and doing it for the two young ladies who’d dominated him so vigorously since their introduction while she buckled the symbol of his submission, was especially invigorating. Both girls flicked their horsewhips in studied indignance as he fumbled with the laces, peering up at their peaches, pronounced so daringly and unashamedly in the tight material; the taste of both still gratifyingly fresh in his mind. As he buttoned the back of Julia’s black silk dress, the two stood over him and posed, smiling at each other in the black top hats with veils, which complemented their outfits; Creed’s only disappointment was that he’d not be able to witness the pure youthful arrogance of the two from inside the cab.

The cab clattered through the streets, coming to a halt at Madam Constance Templar’s residence, then again at the residence of Madam Ella Hempleton; Creed noting through the cab’s lace curtain that a gagged and leashed male, held proudly on a leash by a haughty maid, motioned to kiss Ella’s feet before being tugged away as she strutted out, with studied indifference to the obviously insignificant male’s attentions. Constance smirked with satisfaction at seeing the disposal, as Ella stepped up to the cab.

“Is Gray not to witness the hanging, Ella? ... I know how you’ve been spoiling him ... surely he’s out of favour by now, and ripe for the attentions of Agnes?” Ella smiled curtly at her perverse humour, laced with a wanting for male disposal which came so naturally with it, the curt and sincere tone of Constance’s quip, making Creed’s anus ingle excitedly as he knelt on the cab floor between their skirts.

“Oh really Constance, there’d be no males left to be entertained by, if you had your way ... Gray has an appointment with Hope at Arachne House, he’s to know domination at the hands of some novice governesses ... he is still of much use to me, and womanhood in general.” Both smirked at each other, acknowledging the satisfactory humour which bonded them, then Ella’s smile looked to Julia.

“You must bring your pet to Arachne Julia, I’d so love to see him entertain hope, and see how masculinity is being prepared en masse for the way ahead.” Julia smiled and stroked Creed’s head.

“Why, that would be delightful ... and I’m sure Creed would benefit from seeing that the minority that he’s a part of, is fast on its way to becoming the majority.” Creed’s balls tingled at the prospect of seeing the house of feminine correction that he’d only heard of in passing comments from society women, as the cab continued its journey through the affluent streets toward Agnes’s house of a more permanent solution for masculinity.

His eyes peered through the laced window at the promenading couples walking by, the pompous males holding their heads high as they presumably led their female counterparts. He smiled to himself as he noted many casting leering glances toward the whip wielding female cabbies who transported him in submission to witness the just punishment of one of their kind; the sight undeniably erotic to any male, without knowing the reason behind the smiles upon those bold young women’s faces, as they flexed those whips upon their duty that day. His cock pulsed on noting the occasional covert smile from the women they accompanied, and wondered just how many of them, perhaps knew the delight of using the whip in owning their outwardly superior charges.

Constance was evidently already in a state of high arousal, with the promise of the lusty sexual spectacle to come, heaving her full breasts as she leaned forward and stroked the hair of the kneeling Creed as he was taken in obedience to watch a member of his gender displayed by the noose for her pleasure.

“Just think how Wentworth will feel as he kneels where you are now, taking in the sights of people oblivious to his fate and unable, and oblivious, to help him as he rides on to his death ... wouldn’t you just love to experience that feeling?” Creed meek!y nodded his approval, his anus tingling at the sublime depths of submission that ride would take him down to, Julia smiled and closed her eyes.

“ ... and just imagine Laura Wentworth’s feeling of supreme victory, as she rides on to know the freedom they’ll both know ... she widowed to order, and he doomed to confirm it publicly as he dances for her pleasure ... a more erotic and sexually gratifying conclusion to their union could not be imagined.”

The cab clattered to a halt on its first visit to Agnes Fairchild’s residence that eventful day, and a party of excited matriarchs greeted them, as Bella Crick descended from the cab to view one of their member in particular, a broad smile crossing her face. Creed was led down from the cab on his leash to the accompaniment of applause from Julia and the two women, as his eyes took in the party that Bella sought. There, looking absolutely thrilled with the prospect, was a plump woman of mature years, dressed identically to Bella and Lizzy, the latter offering applause while she remained atop the cab. Creed watched as a crowd of women gathered about her, both gleeful and openly jealous of her attire, and what it meant. Faith Davenport strode from the rear of the melee, grinning as she greeted the women.

“This is Madeline Fotheringham, a regular to Agnes’s hangings in recent times. As Ella will know, her philandering ex husband now resides in the far East, gifted permanently to a suitably severe woman who’ll ensure his correction. The women were so taken with the liberated exhibitionism of your cabbies, that the more daring of them entered a lottery after agreeing the idea with Laura ... Madeline drew the lot, and now you see her, ready to display herself with pride in bringing Wentworth to the gallows.” The women watched her enthusiasm as Bella showed her to the cab. the mature woman’s face beaming from below the dark veil from the tall hat which helped preserve her anonymity from any member of her less covert circles, who might see her journey in sexual pomp through the city.

Creed’s already potent erection, maintained an earnest stiffness at the sight, the broad arse and thighs in the tight black jodhpurs, emphasised so erotically by the tight jacket which flared above it, threatening to have the full mature breasts it barely contained, burst from it in feminine splendour. The girls looked exquisite in their outfits, but the full and mature shape of the haughty Ms Fotheringham took it several steps further as he watched her cunt displayed in the material, her broad arse poking as those high boots ascended the cab with such pride. The women applauded again as she sat high above them and had the horses jostle nervously as she cracked her whip in the air, her pleasure infinite.

Madeline Fotheringham’s sexual arousal knew a blissful peak, which heralded the intensity of her next orgasm as the tight material teased at her cunt. A short time in her life before, she’d been yoked by the intolerable and artificial dominance of masculinity; having ascended to her rightful place in absolute victory over her now disposed of husband, through assistance from the ladies who now showed a united adoration of her, she’d now be instrumental in delivering a deserving male to be spent upon the gallows, whilst enjoying the thrill of a sexual exhibitionism she could never have dreamed of when chained to her former household tasks. Her smile was sublime as Lizzy adjusted herself on the sprung seat next to her.

“Are you ready to ride to Madam Laura Wentworth’s residence, Ms Fotheringham?” She pursed her lips in a state of high dudgeon, and looked down at her admirers whose continued applause suited her grandiose and elevated position.

“Oh yes Miss Lizzy, I’m more than ready to bring a male back here for execution.” Lizzy grinned and cracked the whip, and Madeline took in the lush panorama of the open street as they passed through the gates.

Lizzy was selective of her route to the house now owned by Madam Laura Wentworth, taking in some of the busier and more fashionable thoroughfares, allowing Madeline to delight in her exposure. Every moment of the journey thrilled her; often keeping her legs slightly apart, the feeling of pure sexual liberty as the breeze wafted over her pronounced cunt was so stimulating, the thought of the task ahead keeping her as aroused as the physical enjoyment she felt on cracking the whip to attract attention. She saw leering males, many of them senior in years, swiftly kept in check by their outraged and pompous feminine partners, on catching them ogling the action of her whip; her satisfaction constant, in knowing she left behind a plethora of erections in honour of her passing.

The two provided a pleasing spectacle which would remain in the thoughts of those males, and many a female, so jealous of the liberty demonstrated in a mode so dominated by males in that profession. Seeing females dressed so provocatively, where normally demure and dowdy males went by unnoticed, created an erotic stir which would remain with all who witnessed them. Lizzy made sure that Madeline was well and truly aroused, before adding further delight to her day.

“We have to make one stop on the way, we’ve someone to pick up who’s most keen to attend the justice meted out to Wentworth... “. Madeline smiled at her, her face full of intrigue.

“Her name is Madam Charlotte Stack, she uncovered Wentworth’s covert scheme that earned him today’s display on the rope ... her presence will taunt him wonderfully to that fact when he sees her, and fulfil her satisfaction too, in attending his hanging.” Madeline heaved her breasts with a wistful sigh, and cracked the whip in honour of the thrill the notion gave her; the day had been planned exquisitely, and just got better at every moment.

The cab halted outside a smart but modest residence, and a tall woman in black silks sauntered out, her face displaying a quiet contentment which hid the thrill she felt below her skirts. Lizzy grinned and asked her the destination, warming her to what was already patently clear to all three.

“Madam Laura Wentworth’s residence, Madam?” Charlotte smiled broadly at the confident ginger girl, And as passers by leered up at the full figure of the mature woman who sat next to her, she too, marvelled at her bold and commanding presence before responding.

“Why yes, young lady ... I do believe there’s someone there who’s to pay a final fare, and he’ll be honoured to give it up, I must say.” Madeline gave her a knowing smile as she entered the cab, and they clattered off to have Wentworth face his destiny.

Laura sneered at Wentworth as the camera was lifted outside by the photographer and two enthusiastic maids, to be erected outside in the rear courtyard, which would receive the transport within the privacy of its walls; the other household staff taunting him with their looks as he panted nervously through the gag whilst Laura toyed with his leash, they relished his red eyes and the fresh stripes his cheeks illustrated, all lusting to award him a further three stripes as he cowered in humiliation over the masochistic pleasure their caning of him, something his cock could not hide.

Though the fear of the rope haunted him, the lusty caning by the maids in showing their approval of the promise of it, had him wallow in a submissive defeat which teased him to an erotic high, giving him a cruelly ironic pleasure at the situation he faced. Laura stood in spiteful dominance over him, bereft of the remotest semblance of pity, enjoying seeing him whimper at being soundly beaten, the spectre of the gallows drawing ever closer. His erect cock boned in earnest as the bell to the rear gate rang out, announcing the arrival of his ride back to Madam Agnes Fairchild’s residence for the final time, and a spontaneous applause heralding the pleasure in seeing his permanent departure was given resoundingly by the female staff.