Chapter 4

Crawford could now taste the full flavour of feminine spite, as he was whipped to the makeshift courtroom by Ekua, with a robust enthusiasm that had him gasping with each stroke, the kiss of the lash on his flesh, and the promise of humiliation to come, having his cock teased deliciously by the spikes within the cruel cage as it hopelessly attempted erection. His anus squeezed hard at the generous plug as he thought on Agnes’s spiteful words, delivered with such tart enthusiasm - he was to be tried, found guilty ... then hanged, HANGED ... the reality of the situation now really began to dawn on him, and he knew he’d baulk at the site of the gallows ... but his cock boned as best it could within the spiteful cage at the prospect, his weakness in the pleasure of being dominated now open, and the thought of offering womanhood their ultimate pleasure, scaring but also exciting him.

A bustle of women, anxious to get into the room and secure prominent seating, were treated to a wonderful distraction on seeing the male to be tried, whipped in penitence to know his fate, the proud African woman, only too happy to have them see her prowess with the whip in making an example of the naked and guilty cur. Wearing no more than a thin lace body suit, her athleticism and deliciously physical presence was expressed to the full, and she took further delight in having Crawford sniff at her cunt, on reaching the door to where he’d know his penultimate humiliation.

The women took full advantage of their impromptu situation, goading and showering Crawford with utter contempt as he cowered on his knees before Ekua, and sniffed at the imperious woman’s suitably lubricated slot, his grasp on what he daren’t let his mind dwell on, his vain hopes now, that he was experiencing some nightmare from which he’d wake, dashed further by the spitefully bitching women.

“We can’t wait to see you on that rope tomorrow ... daring to cheat women, we’ll enjoy every moment of your torment, as you hang, HANG! ... High on display!” Crawford snorted involuntarily at the warmth of Ekua’s spicy cunt, as the truth was brought home to him yet again, and she edged her aroused slot forward while receiving the adoring smiles of the women, so obviously in admiration of her as one of the women who’d made tomorrow’s exquisite entertainment possible, and longing to hear here goad the leashed cur too. Crawford spluttered through the gag in seeking air, as she pulled his nose tight into the spice of her crevice.

“He cheated many women, but he’ll not cheat the gallows - I’ve tired of reducing him to tears and seeing him come when whipped ... I want to see him come his last, high on the rope ... Oh yes, he’ll not disappoint us, they never do.” Crawford’s bell inflated hard against the barbs in the cage, awarding him a spitefully masochistic thrill, generated by the genuine cruelty in her tone, and by the oozing of fresh arousal about his nose ... then amid the callous laughter of the women, he was jerked toward the room to face humiliation, the women offered a further treat by Ekua, as Crawford showed trepidation that required her whip, the women gleefully opening the door for her as she sneered cynically down at her charge.

“As you can see, he’s reluctant to face anything now ... he’ll be led to the gallows on two leashes tomorrow, by two of the women he cheated ... they’ll enjoy seeing he gets a good long view of the noose he’s led to.” Crawford’s anus gripped hard at the plug, the barbs in the wicked device now biting more in earnest than ever as his cock swelled to meet the spikes. while he was led in to face the array of dominant women.

Crawford was awed by the sincerely punitive feel of the oak panelled hall into which he was led, the spitefully vindictive atmosphere genuine, despite the outcome of the mock trial being already made known to him; he was to hang, but the women would have their sport of him. They’d take immense pleasure, in fully justifying that those who’d simply arrived for the pleasure of a hanging by invitation, would receive the knowledge of just why he’d earned the right to be snuffed on the rope, as he was humiliated with the sordid details. He grimaced behind the gag with masochistic pleasure, as the earnestly contemptuous looks from the array of women in pompous officialdom, had the barbs bite the flesh of his inflated bell in indulging their delight.

He was led across a gantry to the edge of the makeshift dock; a high platform at neck level to those women standing in smug anticipation behind an array of seated women, the platform bereft of any safety rail, so that his exposure was brought to a maximum, then a bespectacled photographer arranged her wooden tripod to have her camera face him. As Ekua posed regally with the penitent male kneeling naked and leashed, Crawford was captured in perpetuity for the first time wearing the shroud that had been put to good use by so many males upon the gallows. The photograph of him at trial, a delightful momento to accompany those depictions to come, where his presently caged cock would stand free as he suffered the rigours of the rope.

Beatrice Belvedere was not to be denied any element of pleasure in the showmanship leading up to the spectacle that every woman there lusted to see, and her stage management, with assistance from Beryl and the theatrically minded Ella, ensured that Crawford’s humiliation would be thoroughly enjoyed, and savoured long in the memories of all those women who witnessed it. She, Beryl, Ella, and Sarah and Anna, sat at an equal level to him, at an open table perched high on staging, his eyes open to the stern and vindictive smiles they wore above it, and the glorious array of womanly thighs, crossed in superiority, and waving daintily sandalled and heeled feet below it.

Smiling up at him from below, standing either end below the table, with one hand on hip in dominant poses, were Hope and Constance Templar; the strict severity of the former woman, contrasting but complimented by the plump spitefulness of the latter ... and what the canes in their free hands pointed down to, had those backward facing barbs in the device bite hard and hold his bell firm as it swelled with a masochistic promise. There for all the woman to see, were the two receptacles which had resided under his bed, closed at the moment, but the revelation of jewellery he’d stolen would soon be made evident ... and the underwear he’d sniffed and masturbated over ... that would see him sweetly humiliated, and earn him the rope on its own account, in the contemptuous eyes of womanhood.

Hope’s smiling eyes met with his as she tapped the bag of heavenly scented underwear with her cane. and enjoyed watching him squirm and grimace through the gag as he imagined the scent within, and the blissful ecstasy he’d know in shooting his mess whilst dreaming of being dominated and humiliated ... just as he was now. The barbs did their duty admirably, in punishing him for his weakness, having him writhe on the noble Ekua’s leash in masochistic penitence. Anna sighed as she studied his pathetic appearance and eased a finger through the slippery warmth of her cunt below the table.

“Oooh ... just look at him Sarah ... just think of how arrogant he was, and just look at him now ... I can’t believe this is really happening.” Sarah grinned, open mouthed, still trying to absorb the reality of the surreal and hedonistic world she was now in, herself. Her cunt blossomed into a lush tingling, on focusing on the defeated male, kneeling in obedience to the proud Ekua who’d whipped him with such pleasure, gagged, caged, anally plugged, and hobbled with restrictive chains which would ensure there was no chance he’d avoid displaying the short white silken shroud high upon the gallows tomorrow ... tomorrow, it couldn’t come soon enough for her.

“Oh yes Sarah dear, and just think of how he’ll take the sight of the gallows tomorrow, how we helped him earn it ... and after today’s humiliation, he’ll probably be glad of it.” The two looked at each other and grinned wickedly, shrugging their shoulders in a negative response to the quip of her last line; they knew he’d not fail to delight them, and his entire feminine audience, by showing a reluctance to know the noose, which would provide a tantalising and spiteful pleasure to be savoured eternally.

As the woman foremost in securing that pleasure to come, Madam Beryl Frobisher sneered smugly at her kneeling capture, her cunt buzzing as she thought on how far she’d come in such a short time; from her mundane life in spinsterhood, where masturbation over fantasies, following her viewing of the exploits of authoritative prostitutes was the epitome of her sexual pleasure, through that blissful chance meeting with the ladies of the circle, which saw her enjoy the domination of males ... then onto the hangings.

Thanks, in no small part to Ella Hempleton and Agnes Fairchild ... and thankfully to their association with Beatrice Belvedere, she’d had the supreme sexual excitement of seeing so many hangings in such a short time, and could now not get enough of seeing masculinity snuffed out high upon the rope. She unashamedly slipped a finger through the moist slot of her cunt, in full view of the kneeling and penitent male, whose eyes now pleased his audience with a wide bewilderment ... Beryl sighed as she stroked the nub of her clitoris in sexual triumph, tomorrow he’d hang just for her, and it couldn’t come soon enough. She smiled hazily at Beatrice.

“Shall we begin?” Beryl’s nipples jutted hard through her thin black lace dress, split up one side to the buttocks, in showing the generosity of her thigh, her own sexual excitement building as she sneered at the male and stood, bringing a silence to the murmurings within the makeshift courtroom, and made her dominant presence known to the cowering male.

“Bartholomew Crawford! You will now be tried, found guilty of crimes against womanhood ... and HANGED!!! Crawford felt the leash pulled taught by a smiling Ekua as the courtroom erupted into a frenzy of feminine applause, not least from the twelve women sat in prominence to his right, each having earned their place in the jury through a little contest held to decide placing, the most spiteful and vindictive toward masculinity, winning through. Though the outcome was a mere formality, Crawford’s painfully stimulated writhing was not reduced, on seeing some of the women who’d whipped him with particular spite, sat within the rank of dominance.

Crawford’s senses were taken to a masochistic pinnacle, the eroticism of the situation brought to a fine edge, and his grip on the reality of what was to become of him brought teasingly to the fore, on seeing the dominant smile of Madam Agnes Fairchild, the superior woman sat in a prominent position within the crowd. The smugness of her smile which greeted his gaze, wasn’t the only thing that had his cock teased so deliciously by the barbs in recognition of her prior promise of the noose; what she nursed in her lap, admired with lusty gazes from women either side of her as she gently stroked it, had him wanting to spurt his seed in masochistic awe.

The magnificent woman’s delicate but dextrous fingers, so skilled in their art with the rope, teased at the alabaster likeness of her first husband’s erotic termination upon the gallows, his death mask capturing the bliss of the moment forever, taken shortly after he’d spent his seed in utter surrender, bound and noosed in display on high ... bound, noosed, and hanged by the woman who now displayed his defeated expression with such lusty pleasure. She now directed the death mask’s serenely pleasured gaze toward him, her eyes displaying the curt excitement in confirming that Crawford’s mask would be the next to join her Husband’s in that gallery of defeated masculinity.

He writhed as his bell pulsed hard against the spiteful barbs in the cage in a masochistic bliss at the triumph of her teasing, unable to take his mind from the nose on that mask, a nose which will have sniffed at her gloriously aroused cunt before hanging ... the cunt he’d know the spicy scent of too, tomorrow, tomorrow when her ultimate pleasure would be realised yet again as he was hoisted high on display upon the rope.

Crawford’s tortured attempt at erection did not subside throughout the proceedings, as he was swiftly humiliated at every opportunity by feminine spite, made to re-live his crimes in utter shame. As he jiggered, prompted by the occasional taste of Ekua’s whip whilst kneeling leashed before his scathing audience, he wondered how he’d let it come to this; he’d been so clever, but had been outwitted by femininity, and now he was to pay with his life ... and that crowd of spiteful womanhood was to thoroughly enjoy the justice he’d do deservedly meet, when the revelations regarding the two containments upon the floor was opened to them, Hope and Constance delighting in pointing their canes to the bag and chest respectively, as Beatrice announced their relevance with regal pomp.

“Ladies! Not only did he take advantage of those unsuspecting women in effecting his vile conquest’s, he also took valuables on departing...” Constance stopped with a grin, keeping her legs near straight, and showing Crawford the magnificent curve of her broad buttocks, as she opened the chest and pointed her cane to the trinkets within, bringing scowling cries of almost theatrical derision from the massed feminine voices. Beatrice continued, contented by the uproar that those who were unaware of the intricacies which had earned him the noose, were now vehemently keen on seeing it so deservedly carried out, pointing to Sarah and Anna, who rose in pompous triumph to display items retrieved, now adorning the flesh of their ample cleavages, their barely hidden breasts poking nipples hard through black lace in arousal.

“Madams Sarah Randall, and Anna Gresham, two of the many ladies whom he cheated and stole from ... but two of the ladies who were instrumental in his capture, have since dominated him thoroughly, and will take great pleasure in leading him to the gallows.” Crawford jerked on his leash, the biting sting of the barbs having him grimace through his gag, earning him a taste of the proud Ekua’s whip for good measure, as the smiling eyes of Sarah and Anna bore down on him with a strange but spiteful adoration, the pleasure in those eyes, a further confirmation they’d lead him to spend upon the rope, taking him to a further masochistic high. He’d cheated them of the domination he’d lusted for at the time, and now they’d make him pay so exquisitely with his life.

The delighted murmurings of the feminine crowd in admiration of the two, hushed a little as Hope tapped her cane upon the accompanying bag impatiently, Beatrice’s eyes giving Crawford a haughty glance before turning them to Beryl, who rose, and found herself strangely at ease before the eager crowd, as Beatrice introduced her.

“This is Madam Beryl Frobisher, the lady who dominated the cur who now kneels in defeat ... and who’ll incur the justice of the noose when she relates what resides in the bag below.” Many of those women who were aware of Crawford’s sordid practice, rubbed their cunts at his writhing in lieu of the humiliating exposure, stimulation which they found spitefully delicious, as did he, on facing the contemptuous sneer of the woman who’d broken him. Her sneer broadened as Crawford’s tortured bite at the gag, betrayed the fact that a barb now hooked sweetly into the tender flesh of his frenulum, the barbs gripping his bell to the maximum and holding him in a masochistic zenith with the promise of the humiliation to come. Her clitoris poked in proud arousal as she saw to his degradation.

“Not only did he betray women of their trust in him and cheat them of their jewellery, he also cheated them of the true desires he held ... the desire to be dominated! ... and a desire he’ll realise absolutely tomorrow upon the gallows!” Ekua pulled his leash nice and taut, as the women jeered at him - and Beryl’s eyes went down to the bag, which Hope stooped to open.

“He cheated them of other items too, to aid him live out those desires in fantasy...” Hope’s spiteful sneer was accompanied by raucous jeers of utter disgust and sincere contempt, mixed with derisory laughter, as the stern women opened the bag to release it’s spicy fragrances, and lifted a couple of the soiled items of underwear high on her cane for feminine perusal. Crawford bucked on his knees as he imagined the scent which had brought him such pleasure, the whiffs of cunts which would now see to his penultimate humiliation. Beryl continued with a lusty pleasure in seeing to just that.

“ ... Oh yes ladies! He cheated women of their used underwear ... sniffed at the gussets! ... masturbated over them as he dreamed of being dominated! ... shot his seed at their scent without their permission!” Both Beryl and Beatrice were delighted at the uproar following her delivery, the eyes of those women who were not fully aware of any paltry reason why this male should have been chosen to hang for their pleasure, now flitting between the soiled garments held high on Hope’s cane, and the writhing and bucking cur, held to account on a leash. If ever any justification had been required for his appointment with the noose, it was now marked down indelibly in their minds, and the sneering contempt they now held for him, left the silk shrouded male in no doubt, as the noble Ekua pulled his head back on the leash to have him face and enjoy utter shame.

Ekua made good use of her short horsewhip, as Crawford shimmered and baulked on his knees at the intensity of the humiliation, his goading feminine audience making it apparent that the filthy act of gusset sniffing alone, was worthy of the noose. Beatrice turned to the jury of dominant women, with an exquisite haughtiness to her tone.

“Well ladies, are you satisfied of the male’s heinous guilt ... deserving of the gallows?” Crawford’s entire body stiffened as the forewoman’s spiteful smile leered right into his eyes, though he knew there was only one possible outcome.

“Oh yes, Madam Belvedere, it’s unanimous ... we want to see him sniff Madam Fairchild’s gusset, and suffer high upon the rope.” The crowd hushed for a moment, some sighing uncontrollably as Beatrice faced him in smug triumph.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?” Her mocking smile at the gagged male had Crawford please the vindictive feminine crowd by grunting in fear and submissive excitement through the gag, incurring a curt sneer from Beatrice as she slipped a black satin cap over the crown of her head, her sexual enjoyment immense in affixing the crowning adornment, giving her the pleasure of absolute power and authority over the male she’d condemn to death upon the rope ... her rope. Her cunt tingled wildly as she savoured the feminine crowd savour her position in turn, ripely jealous of her duty, though it had been a foregone conclusion.

“Bartholomew Crawford, you will be taken to my gallows at noon tomorrow, where you will appease womanhood in the only way possible ... You Will be hanged and displayed in penitence on high!” Crawford shimmered in the white silk shroud, his anus gripping hard at the intrusive plug, his pathetic groans of protest - more in pandering to the masochism brought on by her words than with any sincere hope of the mercy he’d never receive - drowned out completely as the feminine crowd saw him immersed in a scathing and contemptuous applause of spiteful delight. Their sheer pleasure in the hopelessness of his situation, gave him a perversely submissive pleasure of his own; he’d thoroughly earned the noose he feared, and he knew they’d enjoy his shameful cowardice before it, prior to knowing its comfort when he dropped.

Both Beatrice and Beryl watched in pompous triumph, their arousals in need of the oral attentions of suitably submissive pets, as a thread of pre-cum was seen to dribble from the cruelly down-curved horn which held Crawford’s cock to tortured obedience, confirming his inner lust to know the fate he outwardly feared. Crawford wanted to spend in submission as Ekua’s deft use of the whip, and a tug on his leash saw him drawn away through the ecstatic feminine crowd, both he and they knowing the next time they saw him would be when on his way to the gallows.

The cur that was Roger de Bonforth, sniffed hard at his Mistress’s cunt while he was caned for good measure by a more than obliging maid who’d known his former arrogance at Chaddington House, but now owned him as equally as Beatrice or any other of the previously subservient female staff, now well and truly in control of that property. Her cutting pleasure at administering the cane was matched by the acutely erotic pleasure de Bonforth was rewarded with by the stinging pain, both physically and mentally since being broken by Beatrice. When he was taken in defeat to beg punishment at what was his own property, the maid had caned him with excessive vigour before the entire feminine staff, bringing him off wonderfully with curt spite; his new position confirmed in blissful humiliation as her cane had him send his tears and seed to the sheets before a vindictive and thoroughly pleased female audience.

On the morning of the execution, and with that pleasure firmly in her mind, her vigour with the cane was as ripe as it had been on that first thrashing, and Beatrice noted that element of extra spice shown by both maid and pet, as the rapid thrusts at the sheets were complimented by the intermittent and delicious song of the cane descending to punish flesh. The dominant woman eased her broad thighs back with a sneering smile, and had her pet sample the spice of her anus as he whimpered through the hood toward a lusty orgasm, which she’d ensure was satisfyingly potent for him.

“You’ll be the only other male there, and the only one to recall the pleasures awarded by the rope my pet, I want you to take in just how rewarding the exhibition of a male upon the rope is for femininity ... and how you might provide that pleasure yourself one day...” The hooded male’s thrusts at the bedding increased in intensity, as did the maid’s rapidity and effort in the applications of her cane, showing de Bonforth her own approval of the teasing possibility of the pleasure in seeing him hang too. The scent of a pucker his tongue was all too familiar with the tart taste of, combined with the delight in the tone of the woman who’d broken him, in words which heralded her dark desire in possibly seeing him displayed high upon her gallows ... and the maid’s obvious approval of it, transmitted through her cane, brought the thrusting surrender that all three sought, as his seed was given up to the sheets.

Both women sighed cynical laughter with the satisfaction of their triumph, though the younger woman’s was cut short by her continued exertions with the cane, ensuring de Bonforth’s surrender of his balls was absolute. He sniffed hard at the sweet scent of the pucker he knew he’d soon be licking while his Mistress masturbated over his defeat to the cane, and grunted in pure ecstasy as the sting of the cane had him pulse out his pathetic tribute to the maid’s ownership of him ... that exquisite ecstasy boosted no end by the thought of the hanging he’d witness, the sheer sadistic pleasure he’d see on the women’s faces at that deed ... and that he might one day witness it from the noose itself. The last thought had him writhe in complete ecstasy under the cane, the spiteful maid now more than ready to have her cunt licked too, as her wielding of the cane was influenced by what she’d see at noon, also.

Madam Beryl Frobisher shivered with the intensity of her excitement, at seeing the fear and anticipation in Crawford’s eyes for the first time on this lustrous morning, the morning of his execution ... the last morning he’d know. Ekua had already long seen to her ablutions, and stood in regal pose with her whip, the magnificence of her athletic feminine shape, shown in her unashamed nakedness; a constant and erotic reminder to Crawford as to the power of womanhood, and his defeat to it. Her black nipples poked hard and high from her silky brown breasts, she having enjoyed taunting him mercilessly, now that the day of his disgrace had come, and Beryl would do likewise; she’d not miss the opportunity for sadistic pleasure on this day, which was hers as much as his. Her spiteful smile illuminated her appetite for the day in Crawford’s mind, as her eyes enjoyed the trepidation in his, as the white silken shroud rose and fell with the urgency of his panting.

“Not long now Crawford ... Madams Sarah and Anna - the last two women you thought you’d cheated successfully - will soon be here ... think of their pleasure in leading you to the gallows, they’ve not seen one before, never mind the pleasure of seeing a make hang ... but then, nor have you...” Crawford whimpered through the gag as Ekua laughed cynically while bending her lithe body to pull in the restraining chain between his ankles by a few links.

“There ... we can’t have you bolting at the sight of the noose, and that’ll give everyone plenty of time to take a good look at you ... and for you to take in what awaits as you’re led to be displayed.” Crawford quivered in the short shroud on feeling the African woman’s fingers about his neck, as she collared him with the second leash; he already wanted to shit with fear, but the broad anal plug which would stop him defecating on the rope, already held his anus as wide as it would go, keeping that sense of fear, keenly sharp. He’d not been allowed to evacuate his bowels that morning either, Ekua enjoying telling him that it would increase his sensual appreciation of the noose, and he now knowing it as his anus gripped at the plug with his appointment growing ever closer. Beryl sneered down at him, as he writhed; the erection which mocked his fear, now having his bell teased by the barbs.

“We’ll see how those spikes have entertained your cock when the ladies arrive ... and we’ll see just how ready you are to have it know that final pleasure upon the rope we all know you secretly desire.” As Crawford’s cock began to try the barbs for what would be the last time, the dull sound of applause from beyond the closed door had his bell test the cruel spikes in earnest.

Beyond the door, a crowd of mature women had gathered, the way anonymous women do outside a church where a wedding is taking place. Each eager to get as much out of the occasion, their sneering smiles greeting the arrival of Sarah and Anna, applauding the approach of the two women who’d see the male so deservedly to the gallows. Their arousal would grow as they followed the punitive entourage leading the male to his death, taking in the moment of fear in his eyes on seeing the gallows for the first time, and the sexual excitement in the eyes of those women leading him to it; each of those watching matriarchs, spitefully jealous and lusting to be in command of the leash or whip seeing him to the noose. They knew they’d not long to await those spiteful pleasures, with the arrival of the two women so recently enlightened to the eroticism of feminine dominance, and about to enjoy the epitome of power over the male, showed their appreciation of the adoring applause with smug smiles before entering the room that was the condemned cell.

Crawford’s erotically submissive nightmare-come-dream was drawn ever closer, as those eyes of the watching matriarchs leered through the open door to catch a glimpse of the penitent male as Sarah and Anna entered, that door now left open to allow them to feast upon his coming humiliation ... left open to have him enjoy the fact that he’d soon go through it on his way to the noose. He couldn’t avoid seeing the absolute pleasure in the eyes of those mature women, each longing to see him displayed in bondage high upon the rope, as the two women he’d cheated sneered down at him, their confident and haughtily dominant personas, a million miles from the meek women he’d accosted at the theatres.

Their dress was also an antithesis of the staid and prudish figures they’d cut back then, in their formal dresses; both had chosen to wear black silk capes, giving them the appearance of the ‘widows’ they were about to become, the flowing black silk would contrast beautifully with his white shroud, illuminating him mockingly as he was led to his death by them. Both untied their capes with a smile, and had Crawford witness their high boots, black silken stockings which clad their ample thighs ... and deliciously profiled camel-toes in their black satin panties, which illustrated the heat of their arousals already. Beryl grinned with conceit and due pride, at the superior women she’d helped them become, their reward for opening up to their desires, soon to be realised in full beside the gallows. She knelt and unhitched the metallic horn which caged Crawford’s manhood with such spiteful efficiency.

“There ... we’ll see just how ready you are for your noose.” Crawford squirmed in a mixture of discomfort, fear, and erotic anticipation as the barbs in the horn scraped at the inflating flange of his glans on its removal, and his long confined cock began to rise erect, hard, and wanting. Despite his fear, his masochism and the hotly erotic atmosphere, had his boning erection serve to humiliate him, and ensure its rigidity. The leering crowd of women scoffed and taunted with righteous contempt as his bell stood high, free from the torture which had left the flange marked by the barbs, but about to face a torture his entire body would appreciate. Beryl sneered victoriously.