Chapter 2

Crawford tested the lush feel of his bondage as he shot his load yet again, with his nose tight in the softly consuming anal cleft of the woman who now owned him, the taste of utter defeat to femininity, the mark of it, borne out by his caned and whipped flesh ... and the sordidly erotic pleasure of submission he could no longer escape. Each spurt of his seed was now given up in masochistic ectasy, taking him deeper into the unrelenting clutches of feminine dominance, and ever closer to the gallows he so richly deserved. And though he feared the rope, the promise of it had him spend liberally with every taunting gesture his feminine captors tormented him with, as he surrendered his seed.

Those taunts and torments had come as frequently as his taste of cane and whip, in those days which saw his capture and downfall, and the leather hood he was made to wear, reduced him to a faceless anonymity whilst his real name remained unknown, but the eyelets didn’t hide his tears as Rosie caned him. Even the girl could easily have had him confess his true identity, her youthful spite enjoyed to the full by Crawford, the delights of being punished by a mere girl while under the smile of her equally delighted Mistress, bringing on masochistic spends to match the tears in emission, but things were to be carried out in a lengthy and formal order; the pleasure of his confession of identity would be made where no room for duplicity would be allowed.

Beryl’s dominant vigour blossomed in the light of her personal victory over a male she’d see to the gallows, her ego rightfully inflated by the extolling of her virtuous act, by her mature and equally dominant counterparts while Crawford’s tongue savoured the whiffs and tastes of their aroused cunts; Constance, Faith, Ella, and Hope, being no strangers to Beryl’s residence since Crawford’s breaking had begun, and today he was to sample the whiffs of two more, who’d relish his freshly subservient service more than those seasoned dominants ever could.

Beryl rose from the bed with her cunt licked cleanly and satisfactorily, whilst Ekua looked on with a dark smile as Rosie mocked the hooded Crawford’s first liquid emission of the day, wiping the rod through it and having him suck on the punishing implement she’d wielded with her usual spiteful efficiency, making good use of him before he was gagged once more. Beryl alighted her splendidly broad backside and ample thighs upon the soft leather of the chair at her writing desk, crossing her legs before turning to the leashed and cowering slave, obediently sucking his own seed from the flexible cane which had performed admirably in assisting his emission of it.

“Bring him here Rosie, we’ll have him witness the tiresome but pleasing work he’s caused me”. Rosie withdrew the cane from the ghoulish gape in the hood which allowed him to offer oral service, and ushered him up with a few cursory strokes to kneel attentively beside his owner at the desk. He studied her smile as her hand penned yet another scented sheet of florally edged writing paper to add to the already growing pile:

‘Dear Madam Ella Hempleton, You are cordially invited to attend the testament, and due conclusion of the affairs of one Bartholomew ... At a grand event at Madam Beatrice Belvedere’s estate, Darkington Hall, on Saturday 10th of September, through to Saturday 17th September 1892. R.S.V.P. Miss Beryl Frobisher...

Crawford gasped at seeing the actual date on which he’d know the rope, the obscure wording of the invitation so patently obvious to he and to all those dominant women who’d receive it, but patently indecipherable to any third party whose hands might open it erroneously. He baulked on his knees at the chilling thought, but felt his cock begin to rise with masochistic trepidation ... and Beryl’s cruelly erotic enjoyment in making him aware of the proceedings. He motioned to make some pathetic plea, but was swiftly and curtly gagged by Ekua, enjoying his squirming as the strap was buckled behind the hood. Rosie’s cunt tingled as she poured over the softly scented invite, now added to the pile.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see those cages again ... I take it, I’ll be allowed accompany my Mistress?” Beryl smiled wickedly.

“I’m sure your Mistress will be most happy to oblige, given the assistance you’ve given me in preparing our exhibit”. She smiled contemptuously down at her captive’s perking erection, then smiled curtly at his face.

“As you can see, there’s a surname missing from all those invitations ... I think you’re good and ready to invite us to your residence, where it’ll no doubt be revealed ... along with any other secrets you’ve held from us. I’ve just two more invitations to write out for now, which you’ll hand deliver here at noon”. Crawford grunted through the gag, wanting to give up the name he’d been cursed with, and avoid the shame which lay within Southwick Street, but a swift stroke of the cane to his flesh, told him he was beyond hope. Beryl’s cunt tingled anew as she made sure he saw who the two invitations were for; Sarah Randall and Anna Gresham. Crawford erected fully on seeing the two names, the adoration of worship he’d wanted to show them, but denied himself and them of, would now be granted in vindictive and humiliating style.

“I believe you’ve been more than well acquainted with these two ladies most recently ... they’re both more than eager to become re-acquainted with you once more, now that you’ve succumbed to the true desires of submission you held...”. She swivelled on the chair, uncrossing her broad thighs, slipping her manicured fingers across the moist folds of her mound, caressing the nub of her clitoris.

“ ... and their excitement at learning what’s to become of you, delivered by your own hand, and confirmed in your own words, will be so thoroughly stimulating.” Crawford boned erect once more, gazing at the fleshy example of what had earned him his fate and automatically sniffing for its dominant perfumes, as the cynical laughter of Rosie and Ekua echoed through his ears.

The red-headed Lizzy appeared as promptly as ever with her cab, she and her equally promiscuous assistant, Clarissa, delighted to see the once cocky male they’d been so instrumental in securing, tugged along on a leash by Rosie. With his hooded head bowed, wearing a shabby and dowdy, loose fitting suit chosen for him by his new owner which did not hide his erection, he was barely recognisable as the arrogant and cocksure male who’d ridden their cab just two weeks before. Led shuffling behind the strutting Beryl as she mounted the cab with a pompous air, their satisfaction was supreme in seeing he’d been reduced to a mere shell of the self-important male they’d had to endure.

Kneeling on the floor of the cab between the flowing dresses of his mistresses, Crawford peeped through the window of the cab at the world passing by, Beryl catching the wistful gaze of his eyes at the freedoms no longer open to him.

“Enjoy these opportunities to view the liberties of societies you’ve forfeited whilst you may, my slave ... there’ll be so few of them before you view the gallows on high, and appease womanhood within the grip of the noose”. Crawford shuddered beneath the smug and petulant laughter, so casually emitted by Rosie and Ekua, his imagination of how those gallows would look, bringing his cock high in a masochistic quandary as the cab clattered toward revealing just how much he’d earned that appeasement. He panted through the hood as the cab entered Southwick Street; once a secure haven for his masturbation, now a damning indictment which would more than justify his appointment with the rope. He quivered as he detected feminine hands at the leash’s collar, the gag, and the neck of the hood, and felt them removed, exposing his countenance to the light ... and revealing the stark fear in his expression.

“We can’t have any member of the public see you as you should be seen, can we? ... you’ll do just as you’re told, won’t you ... our Lizzy up top, is a very fit young lady, and it just wouldn’t do to see her run you down and arrest you with her horsewhip, would it?”. What was left of Crawford’s spirit, had indeed had the pathetic notion of escape touch an impertinent corner of his mind as the hood was removed, but he knew all hope had gone ... and he boned rigid at his own sense of utter defeat, as his mind deferred any thoughts of escape, when compared with how many more opportunities he’d have to lick the conquering woman’s cunt before she led him to the rope. He feebly nodded his obedience as the cab came to a halt.

Lizzy smiled as she watched the captive look in no direction other than at the communal door, which Beryl opened with the keys taken from him, the group unnoticed by any passers by. She winked at Clarissa as she began to alight from the cab seat.

“This is too good an opportunity to miss”. The two followed the women through, and Crawford trembled as the door was closed behind them. Beryl grinned at him, as he parted his lips and motioned to offer some information, but she’d not be cheated of the intrigue.

“Silence! ... on your knees!”. Crawford sank to the ground under the severe smiles of his feminine audience, as Beryl bent and picked up items of post in her gloved hand, and flicked through them, before turning to the vertical column of internal mail boxes, set within the flakily painted wall.

“Hutchings? ... no, Belhampton? ... no. Greaveringham? ... no.”. She posted the letters into the appropriate slots, then ran her finger down the array of names ... stopping at one with a confident smile.

“Cranforth, Cranmer, Creasey ... CRAWFORD! ... Flat no .9 ... that’s the name for our invitations, isn’t it?” Crawford nodded his bowed head, quivering on knowing there was no escaping further shame now, and was marched unceremoniously up the stairs. Beryl’s cunt tingled with sweet anticipation as she put the key to the door, and swung it open, ordering Crawford through it, to be followed by his female betters. She sniffed at the musty air of the flat, which was exceptionally tidy, considering it had been the abode of a single male, then grinned curtly as she produced the hood and leash once more.

“Strip Crawford ... we’ll have you feeling at home in the way you’ve become accustomed to”. Ekua stood over him as he obediently removed his clothes, her nipples standing bold and hard through her tight bodice at seeing his pale flesh exposed, her enjoyment of the enslavement of a white male in what was once his own domain, more pertinent and satisfying than her counterparts could ever imagine, then taking great pleasure in buckling the collar handed to her, nice and tight. Crawford’s erection had nowhere to hide now, as she kept his head upright with a pertly authoritative tug, whilst the delighted Rosie was given the honour of slipping the hood over his head, rendering him to the faceless anonymity he so deserved.

Just the triumph of holding him captive and humiliated in his own home, had all of the women teasingly aroused, but as Rosie marshalled him around with the cane, there was more tantalising pleasure to come. Though he knew they were patently aware of the sordid and Ill gotten gains secured somewhere within the flat, he didn’t give up where those items were held, as he was not prompted to give them up; his recently revealed masochistic desires, having him perversely enjoy being prompted with the cane by a mere girl, almost as much as did they. Firstly to cupboards and draws, and then being treated to chastisement at each, with the flexible rod on nothing being discovered, keeping him keenly erect. At last, he was drawn toward the bed, and faltered in his approach, his obstinance rewarded with swift and stinging strokes to his tortured flesh.

His cock boned lustily as the jodhpur clad Lizzy, bent and showed him the feminine beauty of her pear shaped behind, on looking beneath the bed.

“Oh ... what have we here?” The grins of the women intensified as the redhead slid out the chest, and the overnight bag residing with it, she then trying to lift the lid of the chest, but finding it locked. She rose wearing a manufactured frown, one hand on hip, the other waving her horsewhip. Beryl pointed to the chest and sneered at Crawford.

“Key! ... Now!” Crawford crawled to the rug by the bed, and lifting it’s corner, picked out the key from the slot in the floorboards, and on handing it to the ginger girl, was rewarded with a smart stroke of her whip, which his flesh keenly accepted. Cowering to the floor, his ears heard the gasps of the women as the lid was flung open, revealing a veritable treasure chest of sparkling trinkets. Though Beryl had expected no less, the actual viewing of items, many of which no doubt of great sentimental value to their owners, filled her with an immediate vengeful ire. She looked sternly toward Rosie.

“Cane please.” Rosie gave a half sneer at the cowering Crawford as she passed the cane to her Mistress, and stepped clear. Beryl flexed the cane in her hands as she stood over the quivering Crawford.

“Arse up! ... High! ... Now!”. Crawford put his hooded head to the floor, turning it to face the smirking women, as he’d been taught to when punished in company, and lifted his cheeks high in submissive obedience for the attention of his obviously displeased Mistress ... with some trepidation.

“God how you’ve earned that noose ... I’ll have you begging for it!”. Without further ado, the mature woman twisted her elegant torso, and filled the room with the echoing sound of the cane and its impact against flesh, her cunt moistening with sadistic release in her stringent effort in seeing him to tears. Her small audience of femininity delighted in seeing her mature bust and buttocks swivel in the tight long dress as she pressed home her mark of authority on Crawford’s flesh, the accompaniment of the cane’s sweet song, music to their ears as he was thrashed soundly. They watched with spiteful pleasure as Crawford was quickly brought to a sobbing and sorry mass, as the sting of each stroke warped through his rapidly reddening backside, the sweet humiliation of seeing his audience’s enjoyment at it, and his own masochism, having him yearning to come in absolute surrender.

At last Beryl relented, her immediate ire now sated, and her cunt now also sorely in need of relief in the way of his thanking it with his tongue, but that pleasure would have to wait. She raised a wry smile and pointed her cane to the overnight bag whilst the quivering and weeping Crawford regained some sensibility.

“Now we’ll see what we have in here ... if you wouldn’t mind Crawford”. Lizzy toed the bag toward him, and a moment’s hesitancy in his opening it, earning him a further stroke to his already stinging buttocks from his Mistress.

“Now!”. The women smirked as he pulled the bag open to reveal its contents, his cock pulsing rigid with the further need to spend, as the ambient temperature of the room, had the waft of feminine spice from the soiled panties within, tease at his nose. Beryl took spiteful pleasure in illuminating his humiliation.

“Why, women’s panties ... and unwashed too, I’d say ... now whatever could a male want with those?” Rosie chipped in, with contemptuous spite, stating what was already more than patently obvious, whilst toeing the crestfallen Crawford with her boot.

“You’ll have masturbated over them ... men are filthy like that ... you did didn’t you!” Crawford gazed at the frilly and stained garments, unable to a avoid sniffing at their rich perfumes even now, their sight teasing his memory to the wads of semen he’d sent to the floorboards in their honour ... and in the heat of fantasies of being dominated, but never to the erotic reality to which he was now subjected. He nodded his head in shame, and with a boning erection at the delicious humiliation of being caught with the evidence of his filthy practice. Beryl would ensure that humiliation was carried a deserving and degrading step further. She grinned sadistically in lifting some of the silky contents of the bag with her cane, the wafts from the fabric beginning to permeate the room, raising smiles from the women at their familiarity with a likeness to the scent, Beryl smirking at a liberally stained gusset on show.

“It seems you had these ladies nicely aroused ... but that arousal will be as nothing, compared to that which all who witness you led to the gallows enjoy”. She let the panties drop, then prodded him with the cane.

“I believe there are two pairs which you’ll still be more than familiar with, despite the plethora of underwear you’ve thieved ... you’ll select those belonging to Madams Gresham and Randall ... I’m sure they’ll be more than delighted to see them again”. Crawford was indeed more than familiar with his most recently perfumed acquisitions, and sheepishly retrieved both from the assortment of soiled garments beneath the spiteful gaze of his vindictive audience, now as aroused as though each of them may have worn either themselves.

“Carry them in your mouth Crawford”. The vindictiveness was enhanced with the sheer bliss of Crawford’s humiliation, as the naked and hooded male who now knew his appointment with the gallows had been underlined indelibly, and ardently justified by means of this evidence, posed with the soiled underwear hanging from his hooded face, its fragrance mocking his crime as much as his feminine audience. Beryl took his leash and pulled his head back with curt satisfaction.

“Take a good long look at these rooms, it’s the last time you’ll see them ... and you’ll leave them as befits the callousness of your crime”. Even Rosie, as spiteful as she was, gaped in shock but with some delight as Beryl tugged him toward the door, naked and hooded.

“Come ladies, he has a further appointment today ... the chest and bag, if you will, but he’ll not be needing his suit”. Crawford followed in reluctant obedience, the hood only serving to hide the reddening of his face as he was led through to the corridor and down the stairs, to be exposed to the world for what he now was - the beaten slave of womanhood. The door of his dwelling was closed behind him forever; a drab and cheap suit upon the floor and the faint and musty whiff of feminine excitement, the only clues to his final visit.

Crawford quivered in horror as the front door was opened, the bright light of day which he’d so often welcomed on strutting out in arrogant style from his den of iniquity, now a curse upon him; his exposure to the world made brief by Lizzy moving out first, to open the cab door. His hands and knees felt the rough warmth of the flagstones as he was drawn out by Beryl in regal pomp, the broad daylight illuminating his defeated status in public, if only momentarily. He was spared the often crowded nature of the thoroughfare by the time of day, but not spared humiliation completely.

A single woman in the prime of her years, faltering in her step in astonishment at seeing a naked male led on all fours like a dog. Indeed her sight had at first tricked her into indicating some animal, it’s gender more than apparent from the rudely erect appendage wagging as it progresses across her path, hooded to ensure its obedience, and with some item of comfort displayed from its mouth. She gasped as the recognition of a human male was confirmed by her confused mind, her eyes then drawn up the leash which held him captive, to the regal and contented smile displayed by Beryl. Her cunt flushed with a lurid excitement such as she’d not known in decades, as the notion of what was happening took command, and returned Beryl’s smile with a wistful acknowledgement of pure pleasure as Crawford disappeared into the cab. Beryl then acknowledged her presence audibly, for Crawford’s benefit, to ensure he knew he’d been shamed.

“A lovely day Madam”. The woman returned her smile warmly, and with obviously genuine admiration.

“Oh yes, a lovely day indeed ... I don’t think it can get any lovelier”. Beryl nodded her head and mounted the cab, watching the woman pass with a fixed smirk. The thought of that male would remain vivid in her mind, and the warmth of her slot would be reminded of it further, by the vigour of her fingers on returning home.

Crawford felt a sense of total defeat as the cab moved away, his eyes looking up from his kneeling position upon its floor, to catch a last view of the window to his abode, from which he’d viewed the world in a liberty which was no longer his, a vista which the gallows would ensure he never viewed again. His cock retained a perverse rigidity at the thought, the seductive scents of the garments within the grip of his teeth, haunting him with a sense of erotic wonderment at how the noose would feel, as the sight of the jewel chest on Rosie’s lap confirmed his submissive resignation to a fate so well deserved.

Beryl had one smirking eye on the clock, as she had Crawford kneel beside her while she completed the invitations with his name, each penning of that inglorious title, taking him closer to the pleasure she’d have of him, and having him visualise the joy on faces he was yet to see, at receiving them. His breath increased steadily, as the minutes closed in on the hour, Beryl smiling wickedly as she selected two invitations from the pile, and placed them on the edge of the bed. He’d succumbed to his Mistress’s penchant for sadism, and quickly developed a masochistic taste for it, but facing the wrath of two women he’d cheated, filled him with a submissive foreboding ... but kept him erect just the same.

A few minutes away, within a cab approaching the street where Miss Beryl Frobisher’s residence lay, sat Madam Anna Gresham, facing Madam Sarah Randall, both smiling serenely in silence on the final leg of their journey. They’d been full of excited conversation at the outset, but were now indulging in their own thoughts, thrilled with what was to follow. It were as though Christmas had come, and had coincided with the news of their inheritance of a fortune, such was the thrill each felt. Their visits to Beryl’s house since making her acquaintance, had always filled them with a lusty arousal following their initial visit; the sordid debauchery involving the sexual domination of masculinity, freely practiced there, and well indulged by the two since releasing their inhibitions, always had them more than eager to return ... and it had been a long two weeks since Cranforth or Cranmer, or whoever he was, had made the error of falling into their hands, and how they both relished seeing what he’d been reduced to.

Anna had taken to riding her horse astride the saddle in public now, something she’d only enjoyed on secluded outings before, but since allowing her dominant thoughts to be nurtured by Beryl, now pressed her cunt hard to the saddle with impunity on every equestrian outing, sidesaddle forgotten, and enjoying every physical aspect of her wielding of the whip as males scattered from her path as she rode high in superiority. This morning’s ride had been special indeed with her later appointment in mind, and she’d ridden herself close to orgasm against the pommel, the feel of the whip ... her favourite now stored and awaiting her at Beryl’s, so extra sensual that morning.

Sarah, for her part, had become extra daring, and spitefully enthusiastic in her pursuit of the new found sexual liberation which now enlightened her life. Whilst her husband was away, she had installed a new ‘maid’ through Beryl; a forcefully feminised male, whose utter humiliation was enjoyed by both her ... and her maids, who were equally enthusiastic with the appointment. Not only was the incognito position a bold move in her fully liberated but incognito domestic situation, the maid had remained present when the oblivious ‘Master’ of the house was in attendance; the acute humiliation of his unnoticed transformation of gender, when in moments of service to that party, thoroughly enjoyed ... by both Mistress and servant, and indeed all other feminine parties. On her husband departing once more, the cane being applied liberally whilst the other maids looked on, for any miniscule shortcomings in obedient service being noted.

Thus primed and suitably aroused in expectation of what was to come, both elegant matriarchs stepped regally from the cab, the pomp of today’s circumstances, and the sadistic pleasure they sought, would be no disappointment when they learned of what justice the women of the circle had decided for the male they’d been instrumental in securing. Sarah rang the bell, then rapped on the fine oak door in impatience. Crawford erected hard at the sound, and Beryl’s curt smile at Rosie, telling her she’d have the honour, had him follow her to the door on all fours with a sharp tug on the leash, her enthusiasm as keen as that as that of the women beyond the door. She couldn’t resist taunting him as he was led down the stairs to the door, the heat of sadistic arousal already warming her cunt.

“Oh, you’re to be caned and whipped in earnest today ... I’m so looking forward to this”. Her sneer remained as she pulled the door open, and gasps of delighted satisfaction, cracked the studied haughtiness of the two mature women as they stepped inside without need for invitation. Though hooded in a position of worthless anonymity, the naked and leashed male who was Cranforth to Madam Randall, and Cranmer to Madam Gresham, was immediately recognisable by his body shape, in their recollections of their bedroom encounters. Both women’s cunts tingled with vindictive spite, and pertly erotic satisfaction at seeing what he’d been reduced to, cowering on a leash under the absolute command of a mere girl ... they couldn’t have hoped for him to have a more humiliating reunion. Rosie enforced her already obvious authority over him with spiteful aplomb.

“Kiss their feet ... beg their punishment, before you’re gagged again”. Rosie had no intention of seeing him gagged till they’d had their audience with Beryl, but her emphasis on what was now routine, demonstrated to the delighted women, stimulated her cunt wonderfully in showing her control over him. The two women heaved their breasts in almost frantic anticipation as the hooded male plied his lips to their sturdy boots, defeated, then had them hear the voice which had been so cocksure on prior occasions.

“I ... I beg you ... beg you to punish me for my crimes...” He boned rigid at the delectable humiliation as both women cackled scornfully at the request which they’d readily oblige, and Rosie then imposed her spite further.

“Good boy Crawford ... that’s his true name ladies, and the last he’ll use”. She pulled his hooded head high with the leash, and had the women view the standing cock which confirmed the level of masochistic desire beaten into him, and received their sneering contempt as she furthered his initial humiliation before them.

“ ... we’ll not have him beg for mercy, that would be pointless ... he’ll not receive any, and Madam Frobisher will confirm that”. She tugged him toward the stairs, and the two mature women followed, their cunts moist with arousal as they studied Crawford’s quivering backside as he ascended obediently on all fours, they yearning to add to the array of stripes displayed so liberally across his flesh, the flat base of an anal plug, sparking their libidos all the more. They’d expected no less from Beryl’s ownership of him, but witnessing his reduction ripened their dominant urges to a supremely erotic level, and that dark eroticism would shortly bring both women’s cunts close to orgasm without the influence of any physical stimulation.

Beryl’s curt grin greeted the overwhelming excitement in the eyes of her two newly adopted prospects, who unknown to them at that point, would soon be privy to the company of women whose lifestyles went beyond any liberation, and sexual dominance over masculinity, they could ever have imagined, at a gala event which would be retained vividly within their minds forever. His Mistress’s grin was edged with elated satisfaction at the renewal of their association, under such blissfully erotic circumstances, as she welcomed them.

“So good to see you again ladies ... isn’t it Crawford?”. She took his leash from Rosie and led him to the edge of the bed, drawing the eyes of the two women to it. They gasped with a curious excitement at seeing their items of underwear lain upon it, which had disappeared along with the now dominated male, their blushes warming them to the reassociation, rather than having them feel any sense of embarrassment at the exposure. Their contempt for Crawford was enhanced as Beryl pointed her cane to each, and Crawford dutifully sniffed at the soiled gussets, his cock perking at the scents and with the lush humiliation of his exposure.

“Tell the ladies what you did whilst sniffing their underwear Crawford”. They grinned with further contempt, and pert arousal, as he was jerked to face them and displayed the standing cock which betrayed his perverse pleasure in being humiliated, his balls tingling with the yearning to be punished by them.

“I ... I masturbated ... masturbated over their scent...” Beryl gave his flesh a sharp swipe with the cane, to ensure he didn’t hold back any of the sordid details.

“And just what was it that you yearned for, as you spent your seed?” Crawford’s cock pulsed pre-cum, the vengeful eyes of two of the many women he’d tricked, and now faced in utter defeat to their gender, bringing him ever closer to a spontaneous orgasm.