Chapter 1

Bartholomew Crawford boned rigid as the sunlight pierced the glass domed roof of Agnes Fairchild’s most hallowed chamber in her house of masculine correction, the bright rays having the array of death masks cast a pattern of eerie shadows down the walls as he quivered in naked penitence on a leash to a woman who’d seen to his partial breaking, and now sought the satisfaction of seeing his ultimate sacrifice to feminine justice.

He grunted pitifully through his gag, squirming his tightly bound torso and wrists under the delighted gazes of mistress and disciplinary nurse, as his eyes took in the serene looks upon the casts of men who’d granted that satisfaction he now faced, the yellowed plaster of those who’d known the pleasure long ago, emphasising the erotic expertise of a long enjoyed custom, and further down, in descending whiteness, the radiant alabaster crispness of one Thomas Creed, unknown to him, but whose ecstatic expression of having endured the pleasure of the rope was known and enjoyed by the women who witnessed his lusty fate, not least the woman who he’d now face.

The pleasure the women took in ridiculing the spent expressions arrested, following those long gone victims having been displayed in humiliation upon the rope, had Crawford’s anus tingling, and his cock pulsing with a curiously dark and surprising pleasure of his own, a teasing addiction to masochism having been whipped into him, whilst in torrid sexual arousal on countless occasions. Madam Beryl Frobisher had recently seen Creed and nine of the other faces there, earn their positions of permanent humiliation upon the wall, in pleasing exhibitions on the gallows, and as she mused over others anonymous to her, her cunt moistened in taunting Crawford, whose face would soon join them.

“Ohhh, look at this one Ekua ... it looks as though his face was frozen at the point of spending on the noose ... I’ll warrant his Mistress was enthralled with the capture, and still thoroughly enjoys it now.”. Ekua concurred with a wry smile, but pursed her sultry lips as her noble brown face sneered up at the all too fresh cast of Cuthbert Framlingham’s blissful resignation to the rigours of the rope; of the nine to hang before Creed, he was the one to offer the African woman the deepest satisfaction, his face making her cunt ooze in pert arousal, as it took her memory back to his shaming pirouette on the high gallows, sending his seed down to the boards in utter humiliation.

He had thought to continue his illicit trade in slave labour when presented with Ekua and her two African colleagues, but was whipped soundly by them, and delivered in total submission to the gallows, where the price for that indiscretion, amongst others, was paid in full. Ekua had since been taken on by Beryl, and now resided in a life of luxury, Abla and Naja, whom she still had close contact with, appointed likewise with other women of the circle. Ekua provided the perfect foil for Miss Frobisher; her shapely body and exotic promise, providing bait for wayward gentlemen who soon succumbed to their true station in life, taught their place by her expertise with the whip.

Both women sneered down with pleased eyes at the wretch that was Bartholomew Crawford, as the arched gothic door at the far end of the Hall of Faces opened, and the kneeling Crawford thrust his erect cock at the air involuntarily, quivering in humility as the bulbous but elegant shape of Madam Agnes Fairchild strutted through it; a full length black silk cape swept back to shimmer in the rays through the glass roof, her bare globular breasts poking their nipples high over a black basque, and her broad and bare hips below it, her shaven cunt framed exquisitely between broad thighs by full length black boots.

Displaying her femininity unashamedly, Crawford recalled having made her acquaintance, at Ella Hempleton’s residence on the fateful night of his capture. She’d been an exciting enough proposition when dressed formally, her confident matriarchal presence helping lure the submissive side from him, with all the other influences of the evening which had led to his downfall. Now scantily clad, he couldn’t stop his cock boning rigid in a sordid greeting, on seeing her transformed into a womanly grim reaper.

She acknowledged the women with no more than a smile, being perfectly acquainted with both, and stepped past her throne which sat centrally in the isle, and stood with legs slightly apart in majestic dominance over the quaking male. He dared look up to see the contented glimmer in her eyes which bore down on him from beneath the tight bun of hair which emphasised the severe look of authority, and grunted something inaudible through his gag, as her red lips pouted and released a pleased sigh.

“Ohhh, there’s no going back now ... you’re going to the gallows, and I’m going to have the pleasure of hanging you.” He wriggled in his bondage, and grunted further, prompting Beryl to pull his leash taut whilst Ekua flicked his eternally striped buttocks with the horsewhip she carried, amid callous laughter from the three women, Agnes delighted to see his obvious reluctance to know the lush pleasure of the noose.

“I’ve had the reports from Madam Frobisher ... and you’re guilty of defying womanhood, defiling womanhood, and disobedience to womanhood ... and shall be rewarded for it accordingly.” She sneered as his immediate reward was several more flicks of Ekua’s horsewhip, as he continued to grunt a feeble protest, though his rigid cock dribbled pre-cum, as the masochistic pleasure of his fate began to sink in. Agnes showed no pity whatsoever, enjoying his predicament, and took spiteful pleasure in taunting him further.

“Only condemned males are allowed to view my Hall of Faces ... it’s only fitting to allow them to see where the pleasure of their execution will be exhibited ... you can see how each face yearns to have yours join them, and join them you shall.”. Crawford’s anus tingled incessantly as his eyes were drawn to the masks once more, each one seeming to taunt him with their serene and teasing pleasure at having succumbed to the dominance of womanhood on the rope. Agnes grinned wickedly and stepped close to the quivering male, first turning his head to the rows of masks on the wall to her left, which his bewildered gaze had not taken in.

“Those are the ‘reluctants’ ... each one had to be whipped to the gallows, or dragged fully bound to the rope in total humiliation ... but as you can see, their faces look even more pleasured than those on the other walls...” Crawford’s cock pulsed out a further dribble of pre-cum, on noting that the twisted mouths of most, seemed to exude a satisfied smile, rather than just the muted bliss of those elsewhere.

“ ... that’s because their humiliation had them appreciate the rope so much more ... once helpless and taunted by the jeers of their audience, their resignation to the lush grip of the rope was realised, and like every other face in this hall, they spent their last in shameful ecstasy ... that’s where your pathetic and petrified face will gaze down from.” Crawford continued to squirm, and grunt what were obviously pleas through the gag, as he took in the last face in the irregular lower row of faces, now knowing his would occupy the space next to it; a row of hooks which dotted a foreboding line from his space on, telling him his mask would soon know fresher company.

The tension on the leash from Beryl increased, standing proudly dominant, and in total control of him, transmitting her pleasure in knowing it will have been she who’d delivered him there - her lusty penchant for sado-masochism, so recently put to practice, peaking wonderfully - as Ekua sated her own by silencing his pleas with a few swift flicks of her horsewhip. Agnes grinned wickedly on pulling his face toward her sumptuous thighs.

“Sniff my cunt ... see how the prospect of seeing you so deservedly dance on the rope pleases me.” Crawford’s boning cock ached to come, as his nose was eased into her moistened slot, and the rich, spicy scent of her arousal at having another male grace the gallows, had him buck and thrust his cock in absolute submission, the overpowering feminine aroma, having him longing to spend in honour of defeat to her. She sighed with satisfaction, as she lifted his chin and had his nose slip against her clitoris in moving his face away. As his cock dribbled clear lubrication in the need to shoot the contents of his condemned balls, seeing her turn and step toward the throne, he might well have thought his mental ordeal now over, but far from it.

As he watched the magnificent orbs of her unashamedly exposed buttocks jiggle and twist, as she sat and splayed their glorious flesh upon the seat of her throne, crossing her legs to display her ample thighs and the long boots which complemented her dominance, she sneered at his cowering form and enhanced the severity of his predicament, with a tone of sadistic pleasure.

“As much as I’d like to see you hoisted upon my gallows here within the hour ... and your heinous crimes warrant it, I’ve already sent out invitations far and wide, to women who’ll relish your exhibition upon the gallows...” She grinned contentedly at Beryl, whose facial expression and heaving breasts betrayed the heat of her arousal, as she proudly held the bound and kneeling male to order on the taut leash, overwhelmed with the pleasure of officially introducing her first male victim to Agnes.

“ ... I’m sure that Ekua and yourself will be more than happy to have a liaison with old friends ... and many new ones, in the country, Miss Frobisher?”. Beryl sighed lustily, knowing exactly where, in the rural idyll beyond the smoke and filth of Victorian London.

“Oh yes Miss Fairchild ... yes indeed...” She pulled back Crawford’s head on the leash, having him arch his back and fully display the erect excitement of his manhood at the morbid teasing.

“ ... and you’d so like to be hanged, out in the fresh air, before a large congregation of dominant women ... wouldn’t you Crawford.” She smiled wistfully at the thought of having a couple of guests of her own attend, who would thoroughly appreciate it. Crawford wagged his standing cock involuntarily, as if to concur, and his wriggling in fear whilst grunting his indecipherable protests, were met with swift strokes of the whip from the smiling Ekua. Agnes sneered at him as his ears took in the contemptuous laughter from all three.

“Good ... because you’re to be made a thorough example of, at Darkington Hall...” The mature woman showed excitement, unbecoming even for one so accustomed to the pleasures of seeing males to the gallows, slipping a delicately manicured finger to her clitoris and stimulating it, as the bound male writhed before her, his eyes filled with fear, but his cock high with the lush sexual masochism which would consume him on the rope, that cock duly acknowledging it with a final spend in absolute humiliation; the novelty of the open air and very public execution, so thrilling ... and his procession to it, was provide a new twist to the pleasures of feminine sadism.

“ ... you’re to be made to enjoy the hospitality of Madam Beatrice Belvedere whilst those invited guests arrive in number, to familiarise you in penitence in preparation for your death ... you’ll face a mock trial there, which will be mock only in its participants being guests and not being of the legal fraternity - but their feminine authority will be applied with enthusiasm, most justly, and most pleasurably...” Crawford squirmed on the leash, as his fearful mind had his imagination take him to the vision of a place he didn’t know, but his bell stood taut and high in the submissive exposure he knew he’d feel there.

“ ... you’ll be tried before a jury of totally biased women ... made to confess your crimes before womanhood in utter humiliation ... you’ll be found guilty ... you will be hanged!” The women watched with delight as Crawford bucked on his knees and dribbled pre-cum from his stiff erection, as though he’d already faced the pleasure of the ordeal to come; the rigours of the whip had served him well, as he thrust his cock at the air in submissive resignation to the defeat by the stern authority of womanhood he’d brought upon himself. Agnes sneered contentedly with a delighted satisfaction at his misery, then had him close to spending his seed spontaneously.

“As host, Madam Belvedere will reside in ultimate judgement, and though it will be noted that clemency in the form of a lifetime of enslavement might have been considered, no mercy will be shown you ... you’ll see her don the black cap ... you’ll see the contentment in her smile and hear the righteous jubilation of femininity, as your deserved appointment with death upon the gallows is confirmed.” Beryl’s cunt swelled with her pride, as her capture was reduced to whimpering through the gag, Ekua pressing her horsewhip against the flesh of his bucking cheeks, to have him know her satisfaction with proceedings too ... then as if to symbolise what had been so eloquently described by her, Agnes stepped down from the throne, picking a handkerchief sized square of black silk from it.

“Now we’ll see if you’re ready to accept what you’ve so thoroughly earned.” She lay the square of black silk on the floor in front of him, and stood tall on her heeled boots astride it. Beryl and Ekua knew exactly what was required, through the simple smile from Agnes, and as Beryl pulled the leash high and taut to emulate the noose, Ekua sank to her graceful haunches, and slipped her hand over Crawford’s cock. His mind was flooded with the sordid pleasures of submission as Ekua’s gracefully tanned hand stimulated him toward a humiliating oblivion; tightly bound and leashed by the woman who’d seen to his downfall, masturbated by the hand so adept with the whip, by the woman who’d vigorously seen to his submission, and facing the supremely dominant woman who’d take acute sexual pleasure in hanging him, his anus tingled lustily as the hot semen soon made its need to emerge in blissfully erotic fashion.

Crawford’s previous grunts through the gag in obvious pleading, were now replaced by mesmerised murmurings, as Ekua’s dark hand contrasted exquisitely against his white cock, and saw to his imminent surrender ... Agnes making sure that surrender was plentiful.

“See the pleasure in those masks ... the spirit of each, knows that you’re to join them in eternal humiliation ... now show them just how much you relish your image joining theirs”. He tensed against the lush bondage that held him, felt the grip of the leash tease his throat, the hand of Ekua command him beyond the point of no return, and beyond the cruel smile of Agnes, saw the space that awaited his mask ... the moaned through the gag in pure submissive ecstasy as he shot his wads of seed across the black silk and beyond it, the contemptuous laughter of the women at his surrender, ensuring he spoiled the black silk with his seed most liberally in blissful humiliation; he’d more than earned his position of eternal humiliation, and the raw pleasure of a soundly masochistic orgasm, had him jet his seed high in defeat.

Even as he squirmed in the dying throes of his orgasm, Ekua’s hand ensuring the last dribbles of his defeated potency were given up, Agnes picked up the messy silk, and strutted to the Reluctant’s gallery. No longer requiring steps, due to the multitude of masks that hung there, she stretched her plump elegance up to hang the semen spattered silk upon the hook next to the last blissfully serene expression ... his place reserved.

Though still fearful of the rope, and he’d remain so upon approaching the gallows, the teasing masochism of it, had him continue to awkwardly pulse out semen at the demand of Ekua’s hand, and as he watched his semen dribble from the silk on the hook, his mind went back to what had earned him the pleasure to come...

Bartholomew Crawford made good his escape from a woman at Reading he’d been fucking, having raided her cashbox and relieved her jewellery box of several items a wealthy woman like that would not miss ... or not that she’d disclose the loss to anyone, given the circumstances. He sat back down in the seat of the railway carriage as the train rattled back to Paddington, having masturbated in the toilet compartment over his latest escapade, but remained incessantly aroused on viewing the women amongst the passengers; his sexual deviance was insatiable.

Whereas most men of his promiscuous nature, in that staunchly prudish Victorian era, would satisfy their needs with discreet liaisons with prostitutes, Crawford enjoyed the wicked challenge of gaining the confidence of women who were otherwise upright in society, and seducing them; he having an eye which detected those who might just stray from their rigid paths, due to the disinterest or inadequacies of husband’s ... some of whom no doubt making use of said prostitutes, no longer excited by the needs of their mature wives - that maturity exciting Crawford more than any younger woman could, he was not sure why - he was In a sense, blind to the pomposity and matriarchal sternness that many exuded on initial contact, but it was this that subconsciously attracted him to them - and it would be that, which would lead to his eventual downfall, but with his cock more rigid than ever.

It was that choice of lifestyle, which dictated he couldn’t have availed himself of prostitutes even if he’d had the inclination, as he didn’t have the regular income of a profession or trade which may have led him into that routine after working hours, he was a free agent, and it was the challenge of seduction that drove him, the only means by which he earned a despicable income. Not that he was ever short of money, had ladies of the night been to his taste; he had paid the rental on his cosy bolt hole near Paddington well in advance, to ensure he always had the safety of a retreat, and his landlord asked no questions, given such generosity, neither did he find it his business to question why Crawford was often absent from the premises for weeks, sometimes months, at a time.

Crawford was returning from just such an escapade; though there were many rich pickings to be had from women residing within the capital, it could sometimes advantageous to prey on rich women outside it - especially the single ones, as divulgence of such a scandalous liaison would be difficult to explain without revealing their need for sex - and paths were less likely to cross once their virtue and their belongings had been pillaged. But this was not always the way; the more liberal social attitudes of the city, meant that women of social standing would often attend theatres and the like alone, viewing some of what was considered the more Avant Garde or risque productions, bringing them to the very fringe of where decent society met with a darker one - Crawford seeking out those who showed that they were thrilled by that mingling alone.

As the train jerked to a halt at Maidenhead, Crawford’s leering eye thought how aptly named the station was, as a regal looking matriarch and what was obviously her daughter or niece, were assisted by a guard up the step into his compartment to sit facing him. His recently milked cock stirred in his underwear, as his casual ‘good day ladies’ was met with a masked but superior smile from the plump older woman, and a more open and youthful smile from her shapely companion. His eyes watched both pairs of breasts jostle in their restrictive full length dresses, as the carriage lurched, on the train pulling out, the paltry but ungainly incident giving him fuel to allow them to hear his voice again, feigning indignance at the movement.

“Must be a novice driver ... let’s hope we arrive at Paddington in one piece.” The younger woman, not so restrained by the unwritten laws of etiquette which prevailed over the older one, in not conversing with unacquainted males, was all too happy to engage the comment.

“Oh, I should hope so, we shouldn’t wish to miss our theatre show tonight.” The older woman smirked more readily, at the girl’s enthusiasm, quietly glad of it, though with a tinge of jealousy as Crawford’s focus was now purposely directed at the younger woman ... as he hoped it would spur the mature one. Unknown to Crawford of course, Madam Sarah Randall had recently become acquainted with a certain circle of women who’d meet to innocently discuss their womanly needs, prompted by the dormant and infrequent companionship of her now mostly anonymous husband. The fact that he had a mistress was never openly discussed; she daren’t confront him on the subject, though scent she’d never used was often apparent about his clothing when he returned from ‘business ventures’ which regularly necessitated his absence from their Bayswater home for weeks at a time.

Her niece, though unaware of the true purpose of her outings with the older woman, acted as a perfect foil for the mature woman, her shapely figure attracting attention, which Sarah then hoped could be diverted to her, more experienced and womanly virtues. One of the suggestions of the circle, in her making herself noticed, was the promenade circuit of the Thames at Maidenhead, with its numerous waterfront cafes. Several of the women had enthused on its popularity, including an attractive mature lady, one Miss Beryl Frobisher who’d recently joined the circle, and unbeknown to Sarah, was looking for women of a certain disposition who might be interested in another circle, which was openly explicit to womanly needs of a more commanding nature.

Though their day had been fruitless in the intentions of the mature woman’s actual needs, the glances and brief encounters with masculinity, had excited her imagination, which in turn had aroused her sexually, and feeling short changed by the experience, this chance meeting with the apparently amiable Crawford ... who later gave his name as Cranforth, send an impetuous rush of blood to her head.

One thing led to another, and he attended the theatre with the two women, and within just a few days was privy to the sultry whiff of her mature cunt. He spent liberally within her mature folds as he became familiar with the intimacies of her Bayswater home, and in no time at all. had also effected a secret liaison with Penny, her niece who also lodged there. It was to be ‘their secret’, kept from her Aunt, and when the girl professed her need to keep her virginity intact until the engagement he promised, he convinced her to allow him to indulge her anally, which he did in bestial triumph, while her tears mingled with a sordid but lusty orgasm. Within a day or so of his carnal conquest, he was gone ... and so were several valuable trinkets, which though coveted by Sarah, would never have been noted by her ignorant husband. With the liaison so obviously at an end, and the items missed by Sarah, the distraught Penny confessed all. The forgiveness of her Aunt was exemplary, as she’d brought the misfortune upon her, and the two thought they’d never set eyes on Cranforth ... or Crawford, again.

As becomes all miscreants eventually, Crawford was to be dealt the damning hand of fate, due the recklessness of his couplings. Cocksure beyond sensibility, he made the mistake of perfecting another capture at a theatre close by to the one he’d attended with Sarah, no more than three weeks after the event ... it were as though he wished to seal his own fate. On leaving the very same theatre, Sarah’s heart missed a beat as she saw the rogue get into a cab, and help a woman she recognised instantly, into its confines after him, and it drew quickly off. He didn’t see her, thankfully, but the monthly meet of the circle of women, due in a fortnight, couldn’t come quickly enough. The woman was a Mrs Anna Gresham, who like Sarah, kept the details of her station in life, as incognito as possible, whilst happy to divulge the issues that brought her, but Sarah had no idea where she lived.

Crawford knelt by the side of his bed, having slunk back to his cosily appointed flat that day, and dressed in just a silk nightshirt, as the legitimate world clattered by in its toil to earn a crust in the street below, he grinned as he pulled the small chest out from under it, and having unlocked it with the key that resided in a slot in the flooring beneath the rug, lay the necklace and some gold items he’d relieved Anna Gresham of, to the fore of the array of valuable trinkets it was filled with. Pulling out some sparkling items from its rear, that had been filched on earlier escapades, he lay them on the bed, ready for dispatch to one of the unscrupulous jewellers he’d become acquainted with, to provide sustenance for the things in life he enjoyed. Closing the chest and pushing it back under, his cock erected as he pulled out an overnight bag which also resided under the ornate bed.

The trinkets were not the only trophies he removed from his victims residences; he also availed himself of items of used underwear from those women’s boudoirs and laundry baskets, to remind him of those conquests. His fingers sifted through the intimate garments, as the combined scents of mature womanhood wafted from the bag, as though each were there, coming back to haunt him. Some of the items were long and open crotched, some buttoned at the slot, and others were of the silky and frilled leg kind, which had become so popular with women of late. All were blessed with the spicy scents of those women, and his cock eased to rigidity in lusty honour of them.

He selected the frilly pair so recently obtained from Madam Sarah Randall, and sniffed at the gusset, the richly erotic aromas secreted from her seasoned and mature cunt, having him strop and stimulate his cock wildly. Their was something about her haughty acceptance of his sexual advances that had stirred his orgasm to a profound enjoyment, as had other matriarchs he’d sampled, but he’d never lingered long enough to discover just what it was ... it was though his departure was an unconscious escape from something else, other than the excitement of conquest and the ill gotten gains obtained from it. As he spurted his seed in lush ecstasy at the scent, he couldn’t know that that very woman would be key in having him realise what it was ... and the pungent aroma of her cunt would truly come back to haunt him, from something from which there’d be no escape.

Madam Beryl Frobisher was keenly aroused at again attending the covert meeting of otherwise ordinary and respectable women, who’d come together to brave discussing intimacies they’d never have divulged elsewhere. Her recent and obviously unknown accession to the circle of feminine dominance which she so thoroughly enjoyed the liberty of, held her in good stead with this circle, as they only knew her to be a meek spinster, whose needs to find some element of passion in her life, they assumed to be even greater than theirs. Her mission however, was to seek out those who’d held their true sexual feelings at bay, all too long as she had, and would relish the liberation of holding the whip hand over masculinity.

She’d had some good signs already, with several of the women showing indifference to the welfare of their husbands, edging toward the desire to see some physical mishap, or punishment befall them ... Sarah Randall being one such case. She became more curious, on seeing Sarah and Anna Gresham, locked in an obviously intense conversation in a corner, away from the ears of the other women assembling there. She ventured over cautiously, and just caught Sarah’s last line.

“ ... and of course, he never came back.” The two faltered in their conversation and looked furtively about for other ears, before beckoning Beryl to join them; they just had to tell someone else. Both looked flushed as Sarah gave her account of her erotic meeting with Cranforth, and Anna hers with the man who called himself Cranmer. Though both were vengeful about his appalling tricking of their confidences, they were both excited about their sexual encounters and the intrigue of it, now they’d aired it with another woman. Having gone through the basics, both were keen to exchange intimate details with each other, while Beryl listened, Sarah smiling a little more, in a sense relieved that it wasn’t just her that had been used by the rogue.

“ ... and did he entertain you ... the, err ... the ‘French way’...”. Anna blushed but maintained her haughty composure, but obviously excited at the memory of having her cunt licked.

“Oh yes ... and he did so most willingly.” Beryl feigned ignorance at the term; being a spinster, how could she possibly be aware of such practices.

“The French way?...”. Anna looked about her, to ensure no-one else was looking, and pointed down to her crotch.

“He put his face down there...”. She sighed, obviously more than glad to have experienced it.

“ ... and licked.”. Sarah grinned contentedly.

“He did the same for me too.”. Beryl maintained her mask of innocence, fanning her face as though overcome with shock at such a lewd act, though her interest in the sexual tendencies of this male grew by the moment.

“My god! ... and he did this without prompting?”. Both women looked at her with an air of indignation, but we’re charmed by her apparently innocent remark, Sarah putting her straight with a smile.

“Why of course not, we’d never dare make such a request...”. She then tittered furtively, and fanned her own face.