Chapter 18

Hope was particularly aroused by her control over Woodge, having him kiss her feet in the carriage while she sat with the hood he’d wear on completing his testament, on full view in her lap. He was evidently a clever man, being a solicitor, and she hoped the devious nature of his profession wouldn’t lead him astray when within the confines of the bijou and rural police station outside which the cab was stationed. He was the third of the trio to make his testament, and would have the last opportunity to undo the work of the women, so in order to guarantee achievement of the wholesale feminine desires to have he and the others please them on the rope, she stoked his arousal, and her own, as he kissed her feet.

“Remember that you’ll be suitably rewarded upon your return, the hood you crave is but an element of the pleasure that awaits you ... and I’ll take personal pleasure in awarding that reward.”

She lifted his head and had him taste the authority she had over him, enjoying her control of his destiny as he cowered at her feet, he, equally aroused by her strict tone.

“You’ll give testament as ordered, you will not deviate from what you’ve been told to tell ... it’ll be your pleasure to be under my control and authority when away from my side ... and you’ll know that control on your return, when I’ll personally whip you before the maids for this inconvenience.” Woodge’s anus gripped at the plug which would keep his mind keen to that authority remotely, as Hope released his head and pointed to her feet, smiling contentedly on his going down and kissing her feet more than willingly; the treat of being dominated by her personally assuring his obedience.

“Go ... I shall await your return.” Woodge felt an air of independence as he walked meekly up to the station door, but no urge to be free of the crushing control of feminine superiority touched his soul, his only desire was to be back at Hope’s feet as soon as was possible. He checked in with the desk sergeant, and was shown to a room where Blackett sat awaiting him.

Hope checked her fob watch as the horses jolted the cab, their impatience seeming to match hers in making the return journey to the hall. Some twenty minutes on, Woodge appeared at the door again, and made no hesitation in returning to the cab. He’d retold his story as commanded, word for word, and added the rider that he’d be vacating his practice in the town, following the trauma of his experience, and passing on a forwarding address up country, at which he could be contacted by letter if necessary. Unknown to Blackett of course, that address was an office belonging to one Madam Ella Hempleton, and unknown to Woodge at that point, any response would be made by Hope’s hand, as he’d no longer be around to respond himself.

Hope smiled wickedly as his obedience and desire to be whipped by her, had him return to the cab with an urgency to know her control, her cunt moistening with sadistic desire at the successful use of him, and the promise of using the whip ... when all three would know her pleasure and that of the other women, in learning that the gallows was to be their reward, their use expended. Blackett peered through the station window, and watched Woodge ascend to the cab, his testament filed with those made by the other two. He was still a little suspicious, as that came naturally to him, but there was nothing further for him to do now. He’d be in a cab himself within the hour, and on his way to more pressing duties, away from this rural backwater.

Blackett’s only real curiosity was toward the cabbie, a female with red hair; it seemed no occupation traditionally held the male was sacred anymore, they’d soon be asking to vote, even taking up jobs as police inspectors, he mused to himself with an air of humour. As the cab moved away, Woodge was immediately excited by the sound of the whip, and erected as an elated Hope smiled at it too; he couldn’t be back at Darkington Hall soon enough, Hope dangling the hood in her fingers.

“Strip off ... you don’t merit the pomposity of clothing anymore, we’ll have you know your true place now your brief return to the old way is over ... forever.” Woodge obliged eagerly and obediently, discarding his clothes and showing the rudeness of his erection, which stiffened on Hope’s graceful fingers slipping the hood over his head. Her contentment, and his servile willingness increased, as she buckled the leather collar to his leash about his neck, her spiteful eyes admiring the plentiful whip and cane marks upon his back and buttocks, which would shortly be added to. With the cab now going down a shady lane in the direction of the hall, she sneered as she took the bundle of clothes, and tossed them through the cab window into a deep roadside ditch, emphasising Woodge’s return to the erasure of his identity. Male Number Three was unaware of it, but he was now ready for the gallows.

Creed was now more than aware of his appointment with the rope, taunted incessantly and spitefully by a victorious Constance, the whippings that she. Ella, Beatrice, and the novice Beryl had awarded him, had been delivered with spiteful enthusiasm while Agnes and Julia prepared the placard he’d wear, and now Constance edged toward a supreme orgasm, Creed’s nose hard at her cunt, his tongue deep in the heat of the mature woman’s anus, giving his servile thanks for a whipping which had been enjoyed in very erotic circumstances, given the news.

Creed’s mind was now permanently twisted toward the masochistic euphoria the fateful destiny he’d been promised awarded his beaten psyche. He was fully aware of the delightful resignation to it that Lumsden had felt, as he sniffed at the bulbous and swollen cunt and tasted the acrid spice of the anal flavours of the haughty matriarch who’d been instrumental in earning him that final, humiliating pleasure. Each spend he was allowed to make before the week of celibacy he’d endure prior to his appointment with the rope, would be delivered with a submissive potency, as though it were his last, and Constance, more than any of the women other than Agnes, knew this.

As he squirmed in an urgency to know that ecstasy, she moved toward the pleasure of her own, lifting her broad thighs high, Creed now aware more than ever, that he was now the property of all the women equally, as much as Julia’s personal possession, now that his fate had been sealed. With his status now reduced to a male whose only purpose was to please womanhood upon the gallows, his short and remaining time was to be enjoyed in full by any of the women, their cruel pleasure in seeing him spend in the lust for the rope, awarding them an equally sexual high in their sadistic knowledge of it.

Creed’s disappearance from the society he’d known at the point of being captured by Julia, had long been investigated and closed, forgotten without conclusion; the assumption being that as per so many mysterious absences of males in that era, that he’d either taken it upon himself to seek his fortune covertly somewhere within the far flung empire, or he’d taken his own life by departing from one of the many all to convenient bridges in the city. The Thames often disposing of the bodies of witnessed suicides, without ever giving up their corpses for burial. As such, his insignificance was doubly guaranteed, and the rope would now be used to confirm it; his death mask and genitalia kept as tokens of his existence, masturbated over amongst the ranks of penitents by womanhood, and males brought to confirm their lust in adding to the just and victorious gallery of absolute feminine dominance.

Constance moaned in exquisite ecstasy, her toes pointing high, as another male she’d successfully been influential in earning an appointment with the gallows, brought her off willingly and in total submission to that dark honour, defeated. Creed lapped at the highly scented flesh, made taut by the mature woman’s exertions in the blissful pinnacle of her orgasm, desperate to shoot his load as he thrust at the bed sheets, but felt her feet drop to his shoulders in a command of denial, reducing his thrusting to a squirm, on her gasping to recovery.

She’d watched Madam Beryl Frobisher ply her fingers across her clitoris while witnessing Creed indulge Constance’s dominance, her long awaited dream of putting her spiteful desires into practice, now enjoyed with raw erotic enthusiasm. She above all, merited Creed’s surrender of seed under his novel and acutely enjoyed status. Beatrice and Ella sighed their approval, as they too stroked their cunts in total abandonment of any ladylike posture, on Constance beckoning the novice, still panting following her sordid achievement of satisfaction from the condemned male’s tongue.

“Your turn Beryl ... see him to the surrender he yearns before his adornment with the placard ... have him taste the limited pleasures his manhood will provide, each release to be coveted before his castration upon the rope.” Beryl flushed with excitement, and didn’t hesitate in sweeping her silken skirts up to ascend the bed as Constance departed it, sighing lustily as she slipped her cunt and anus forward on offering their perfumes to the squirming Creed. In the short time she’d known the thrill of sexual emancipation, she’d seen Creed coveted as a pet, whipped and chastised for pure enjoyment, and treated to privileges as his use was expended. Now she saw how that use of any male was cruelly limited, the purpose of every one of them, to fulfil the dark pleasures of femininity in the extreme, and nothing else. Her clitoris poked hard, as the bliss of having a male shortly to hang, rasped in servile enthusiasm at its eager appearance, the stimulation exquisite as her mind took him to the scaffold he’d soon adorn.

Her spiteful eagerness was not lost on Creed, she’d known him only a matter of weeks, and would now enjoy seeing him dance on the rope, and as his tongue slipped down to pay homage to the heat of her mature anus, on her finger sliding impatiently across that bulging clitoris, she and the fervour of the masturbating Ella and Beatrice ensured the thrusting of his cock resulted in its total surrender, a sated Constance priming Beryl’s divinely sadistic sexual enjoyment wonderfully.

“You’ve not witnessed a castration upon the gallows yet, Beryl dear ... it is truly something to savour ... hanged by a woman, the tokens of spent manhood removed by feminine hands prior to death ... shown the absolute power of womanhood before deserved extinguishment.”

Creed peaked in masochistic ectasy, the blissful cycle of orgasmic pleasure from the cock he was destined to lose, enveloping his senses as he thrust wildly at the sheets, and Beryl’s mature thighs rose in triumph while she added her spite at the point of her own lustrous climax.

“I can’t wait to see you emasculated on the rope ... you’ve so earned that humiliation ... ohhhh!” Creed’s homage to her cruelty was enhanced by the cynical laughter of the women who’d hang him, as he showed his truly masochistic pleasure at their taunts, shaming himself deliriously as a torrent of hot semen spat liberally from his cock. Their spiteful cynicism was sated, along with their sexual desires while they worked their cunts off at the sight; they knew he could no more escape his own pathetic lust for humiliation on the rope, than he could their spiteful demand for it.

Neither could he escape further duties with his tongue; both Julia, and indeed the formidable Agnes allowing him the rare pleasure of her taste prior to the gallows; both excited and in need of satisfaction as the former took exquisite pleasure in adorning her expended pet with the placard which confirmed the termination of his use to her, the latter showing the pleasure in her eyes that he’d witnessed give their personal desire to him, showing her keenness to have him know the rope at that prior execution, when he’d known his time was limited. Those eyes now scanned the placard with abject pleasure as the two let their skirts drop: ‘To hang, and be emasculated for your pleasure, in two weeks time’ ... the date emblazoned below it. Beryl gasped with a mischievous pleasure at the declaration.

“So soon? ... he has but little time left...” Julia sneered as she sat back and spread her cunt for Creed’s attention, careful to swing the placard round to adorn his back and have the women watch it bob as she was serviced.

“Oh yes, I’m anxious to seek out a new pet as soon as possible ... after this one has given over his balls for me.”. The curt comment and her heady scent, had Creed’s flaccid cock already pulsing again, and after tasting Agnes, then being led out for the eyes of other women, his cock would stand high again as he suffered under the humiliation of the taunts regarding the placard, his fate openly displayed and awarding him the fresh shame that the excited sadism of each would bestow upon him. He was ripe for the rope, and as he tasted the cunt of the women who’d noose him at the gallows, he lusted to know the moment.

Creed was allowed no hood to disguise his emotions; the women viewing the announcement he bore around his neck would certainly express theirs upon seeing it, and he was to illuminate the pleasure of their thoughts in taunting him, with an open countenance. However, he was smartly gagged as a token of the eternal silence he was shortly to earn, the inability to respond to the inevitable and plentiful questions about his own feelings on the appointment, delivered with spiteful lust, adding to the humiliation he’d so justly earned for his weakness. Nothing could match the aura of submissive arousal he felt, on being led out with dominant pride by Julia, Agnes astride her, Beatrice a couple of steps ahead as patron of the venue, to herald Creed’s appointment as the first society hanging, following the disposal of the three to enjoy occupancy of the remaining cages.

The pomp with which the women carried themselves, confirming the deep sincerity of their dominant pleasure in the matter, had Creed boning rigid in the inescapable masochistic lust he endured, matching the potency of their sexual euphoria as he was publicly shamed. From the moment he was led from the room to face deserved ridicule as the first male to request execution upon the rope, the wholly enveloping atmosphere brought his masochistic desires to an acute pinnacle, as he became the focus of attention which gave him the belief that this had been his one purpose in life. Julia had seen that he was relieved of all masculine dignity by her feminine power, dominated him, broken him, and now her whim was to see him hang for her pleasure ... and hang for her he would. The spiteful and pompous delight expressed by every example of femininity, on seeing the gagged male proudly exhibited by his Mistress whilst bearing the proclamation of her righteous punishment, took that masochism to an exquisite high.