Chapter 3

Crawford was given no respite from humiliation, and the perpetual promise of the purpose for which he’d been brought to Darkington Hall, was kept keen in his mind by his being displayed for viewing by all female guests upon a stage erected in the grand entrance hall. a signboard proclaiming his crimes against womanhood, his upcoming mock trial at which he’d be found guilty, and the delicious confirmation that he’d hang for the pleasure of womanhood in lieu of the crimes he was guilty of.

A clock face also adorned the signboard, which made those delighted viewers aware of when a caning of the condemned cur would commence, each session bringing an eager and worthy crowd of femininity, viewed with enthusiastic sadism, and each session delivered with the fresh spite from a different woman in delivering each caning; the rod not spared in any respect, as each example of dominant femininity vented their sadistic ire upon deserving flesh.

That flesh quivered as Crawford’s eyes saw the clock tick round to the next appointment, a growing crowd urging the hands of the clock round with a spiteful eagerness. They’d seen him brought swiftly to tears and allowed no respite as the three African ladies, Ekua, Abla, and Naja, had made their mark in no uncertain terms, the display of naked flesh from each, adding spice to the vigour of his humiliation as he was soundly thrashed, but this next appointment - the finale to the canings before his week of absolute and enforced chastity began - was to be special indeed. Beryl Frobisher, his nemesis who had seen to his downfall and earned him just fate upon the gallows, would duet with Madam Hope Randall, as she would see to his enforced chastity once his tears had been displayed.

Crawford was already hopelessly erect with the taunts of women from the crowd, his cock standing high in defiance of the stance it would shortly be condemned to, the blissful humiliation of knowing he’d be allowed to spend in utter submission before a crowd of women, and the prospect of the gallows growing ever closer, ensuring his masochism peaked as the two women entered the hallway to rapturous applause. Madam Beryl Frobisher’s application of the cane would be spirited and vindictive, but Madam Hope Randall’s penchant for the rod, combined with her feelings toward this particular heinous excuse for masculinity, would see to his severest pain, long after his tears were released in utter defeat.

Hope’s cunt bulged, the slot slick with arousal and her clitoris up hard and stimulated by every movement of her broad thighs, as she strode into the welcoming throng in the black lace and silk gown she’d chosen, which expressed her femininity in a wonderfully revealing manner, and would offer her ease of movement in efficient usage of the cane. With her curt smile and nipples poking hard through her lace in expressing their freedom, her acute pleasure in showing the cheering crowd of femininity the crude anti-masturbation device she held high, was more than cruelly evident to Crawford. As both she, and the similarly attired Beryl, cut the air with their canes as they swept in, the former held the metallic object with its downward curved horn up high, its purpose in subduing masculine genitalia so patently obvious.

Crawford presented his arse high automatically, as Beryl teased the flesh of his cheeks with her cane, bringing derisory laughter and sneers from the audience, along with applause in admiration of the woman who’d defeated the male and would now bask in that victory, by punishing and humiliating him in preparation for the appointment with the gallows she’d personally seen him earn. If her ego was so rightfully inflated by the atmosphere of this surreal feminine domain, it was matched in every intensity by the rigidity of Crawford’s aching erection, on viewing the righteous smiles of the two magnificently dominant women, their divine right to punish and humiliate him made so spitefully natural and obvious by the baying female crowd, de rigueur.

His cock pulsed and wagged high, as if to defy the metallic contraption that the grinning Hope held high for the delighted crowd’s attention, his boning member more than indicating his full attention to it, and his submissive lust at the wonderment of just how the diminutive space within it would feel when his manhood was cruelly imprisoned by it. The atmosphere of absolute feminine dominance had been rigorously applied upon him, when made captive by the women of the society when up in London, but here at Darkington Hall the very walls seemed to exude that rigid regime, enhancing the spite toward masculinity, and diminishing the significance of that inferior gender within every woman there. Hope’s curt and scathing grin was accompanied by Beryl’s tartly vindictive tones.

“You’ll be seen to spend your last for a week, Crawford, I’ll have you think on that whilst you’re caned, as your next and last will be upon the rope ... and you know just how much we’ll enjoy seeing the fear we know you hold for granting us the pleasure of that display.” Crawford thrust his cock at the air, like an animal, still not quite believing the fearful gravity of what he’d let himself in for, and Hope seeming to sense his blind pleasure toward the masochism he’d been taught, but not the cruelly permanent outcome it would lead to. Her spite made sure his anus tingled in keeping with his erection as she played her cane against his poking member.

“Oh yes you poor fool, only a week to go now, you’ll want to bone rigid when humiliated at the trial, but you’ll not be able to show us your pleasure at the decision ... not till the device is removed when you have sight of the gallows.” Crawford was not able to fully digest the sweet cruelty in her smiling tone, before both she and Beryl had him know the delightful flexibility of their canes, the sound resonating about the hall as the promise each heralded with the cut through the air, was complemented by the delicious thwack of just punishment. The cock that stood firm and high, soon wept pre-cum to match the shameful tears he was swiftly reduced to, before a thoroughly satisfied audience of women eager to see him hang, not least Madams Sarah Randall and Ann Gresham. Having been cheated by him, their vindictive pleasure was supreme, the latter toying with her leather braid riding crop as she stood close to the raised plinth and watched his tears flow, unable to resist goading him.

“Ohhh ... your hanging can’t come soon enough, you cheated me of dominating you personally ... but seeing you spend on the rope will more than compensate for that.” Crawford’s cock pulsed rigid with her words as readily as it did with the stinging rhythm of the canes, the pleasure of the two women who’d been instrumental in his downfall, equalling that of the two in their use of the cane on his flesh, as a sneering Sarah took his erection in hand. She’d little need to work his cock, as his bucking with the strokes of the cane had him thrust his bell through her delicate grasp; its stimulation and the delighted uproar of the feminine crowd at her act, taking him swiftly toward the blissful ejaculation which would see his cock cruelly caged. Sarah caught a whiff of his fetid bell as it slipped and thrust through her grip, bringing her cunt to a tingling ripeness and having her squeeze his rigid member a little tighter, anxious to see him spurt.

“Thrashed, milked, and caged by the women who’ll see you to the gallows ... your level of humiliation won’t be matched ... anyhow, not till you’re displayed high on the rope.” Crawford let out a high pitched whimper as the dark pleasure of that humiliation overwhelmed him, his automated thrusts at Sarah’s grip of his cock, somehow emphasising the grip of the noose to come in his mind, and prompting Beryl and Hope’s vigour with the canes as a wad of semen burst from his bell, the spiteful smiles of Sarah and Ann along with the delight of the feminine crowd at his surrender, increasing his masochistic ecstasy as the song of the canes had him empty his balls in utter disgrace.

Hope’s application of the cane in particular, saw to it that Crawford had Sarah’s hand and the watching crowd witness a more than worthy expulsion of semen, her pleasure in caning males to tears, emphasised to sadistic perfection in this most deserving case, Beryl’s worthy efforts acting as a delightful foil to Hope’s long acquired and practiced expertise which saw to his expulsion of every last drop of cream in surrender to feminine dominance. Spent and weeping, the crowd watched eagerly as the metallic device was offered up to his genitalia, with all urgency while it hung limp in defeat, the women knowing that Crawford’s level of submission would soon have him attempt a further erection as his mind savoured the humiliation he’d suffered.

The women applauded wildly as the perforated device with its diminutive and downward curved spout was fastened tight about the condemned male’s spent and defeated manhood, his gasps of exasperation emphasising its cruel restriction of the token of masculinity which had stood so proudly erect just moments before. With his scrotum and its seed bearing orbs locked tightly in the perforated cage, and his cock stuffed tight into the downward tube, the device mimicked his masculinity as at pre-puberty; miniscule, hairless ... impotent. Crawford’s still stinging cheeks expressed their raw soreness as his anus clenched at the obtrusive plug, the feeling of his cock squeezed tight in the cold metal, excited as much by his own submissiveness, as by the vindictive delight shown by the goading women, and Hope would ensure he fully appreciated the delights of the device ... which had seen a modification carried out just for him.

Crawford had noted that the last inch and a half or so of the stubby, downward curving horn, was of a shinier metal, and something inside was already offering discomfort to his bell as his cock began to attempt erection. Hope’s vindictive grin as she looked over her shoulder after standing with back to him and lifting her skirts, had him grunting with a little more discomfort, then the sight of her shapely legs, the contours emphasised wickedly by the tall ankle boots, and the spicy whiff of her dominant femininity on her pressing her bare buttock cheeks back to his nose, had his cock know the consequences of his excitement, much to the delight of his audience, many aware of the horn’s modification, their cunts tingling with vindictive spite as Crawford’s torso shimmered with masochistic realisation.

Whereas the now hanged former wearers of the device had simply known the pleasure of denial for the week prior to their appointments with the noose, the cold metallic smoothness warming to their desires to come but seeing to their teasing denial when their minds were wickedly and eternally stimulated by vindictive femininity, the device was now barbed to ensure an exquisite masochism was indulged with every attempted erection, and Crawford would know many when humiliated throughout his trial. Downward and inward, needle-like spikes saw to the pleasure of his inflated glans, while forward facing barbs which had so pleasingly graced his bell as it swelled, now cut in behind its flange to hold the bell in a blissfully sadistic grasp which ensured the masochism of impotence was fully appreciated ... and teased the maximum masochistic delight by holding his cock so near to pleasure, but so far.

Crawford longed to come again, as he writhed his torso in discomfort whilst sniffing hard at Hope’s dominant scent, the spite of the women almost succeeding in willing the seed from his captive balls, as his discomfort was openly mocked with vindictive delight. But he knew relief would now only be offered by the rope ... and the barbs bit harder amid the feminine laughter which confirmed that relief was a pleasure the women relished most earnestly.

As he grimaced beneath the leather hood, Crawford was led away by two grinning maids whom he’d service orally, ensuring his bell was kept hung exquisitely in its spiked dilemma, whilst Beryl retired with some satisfaction to the luxurious lounge where Beatrice was entertaining her guests. She was delighted to see that her hooded and servile pet was also entertaining guests new to him, proudly shown on a leash for the submissive cur he’d been reduced to, his absolute obedience to femininity was marked by their contempt as he sniffed and licked the boots of women whose novelty to his position had his thong endowed cock rigid with the bliss of humiliation. Beryl’s cunt tingled with a righteous arousal on surveying the balls hanging on display beneath the tightly thonged scrotum neck, that mark of ownership mirrored by a wrap about the base of his owned cock, bobbing erect as he gladly showed he knew his position beneath all women, whilst in turn below the cynical smile of the woman whose property he’d become.

An atmosphere of contented perfection resided over the lounge, an air of just how things should be, as the pet was ridiculed and taunted at the feet of sexually aroused women, many asking Beatrice a question, being out of earshot when the same had been asked of her several times, but Beatrice responding with equal vigour on each occasion, though in a nonchalant and matter of fact tone at each asking, never tiring of making a response which delighted her.

“Is he to entertain us upon the gallows at some point?” Beryl’s cunt blossomed with a pert peak of the need for physical stimulation, at the male’s extra impetus in the adoration of the asker’s feet, and his Mistress’s curt smile as she responded.

“He knows his time is limited, as all women tire of pets eventually ... and he knows his only purpose in life is to please me.” She pulled the leash taut, and stroked his poking backside with the cane she carried, as his faceless and hooded head was turned to her in obedience.

“ ... but you’d willingly die for me that way, wouldn’t you cur?” The pitiful slave that had been Roger de Bonforth, nodded in genuine affirmation of the fact, and grunted through the circular gag which allowed the exit of his tongue in service, but curtailed his unwanted and insignificant speech, his muted offerings given out to deliberately emphasise his gagging and further excite his feminine audience ... and their pleased murmurings at its pathetic tone, ensuring the rigidity of his erection in submission. Beatrice’s spiteful smile at reducing him to the shell he’d now become, was only interrupted by her acknowledgment of Beryl, who slipped her boot forward to receive the adoration of tongue at leather, sighing longingly with her need for his further humiliation.

“Oh do tell how you came by him, I do so hope he was proud and arrogant once ... and that he’ll follow my capture to the gallows one day.” Beryl felt the extra effort of his tongue at her boot, the audience of women delighted in seeing his tethered cock pulse and bob in anticipation of his shameful history being disclosed by his Mistress ... and in the hope that she’d confirm he’d one day spend on the rope at her pleasure. Beatrice kept his leash nice and taut, ensuring he appreciated his position of permanent enslavement, and felt the vibration of her sadistic tones through the unrelenting cord of ownership.

“What you see in utter obedience before you, was once Roger de Bonforth, former Master of Chaddington House and its country acreage in Staffordshire, its former use just a distant memory to him, now mine in every respect, and he a mere servant to womanhood under what was his own roof, on those occasions we visit there...” She grinned curtly as she pulled him back on the leash and had him display his poking erection; every woman within eyesight would witness the pleasure he felt in his own downfall being retold, and that pleasure eas evident as her total command had him arch his back and thrust his cock at the air, pathetic and beaten.