Chapter 9
Cleve glanced at Linda with a touch of pity. He thought Linda probably had never had a Lesbian experience in her life. What could she know about love? Certainly nothing connected with the vile things she had been foolish enough to allow him to do to her in the past, things which were matters of male aggression, not love, and for which men weren't really well equipped at all. The only part man could possibly have in the love act was that of passive pain objects. They were too low to deserve any pleasure of their own. It was enough for them if by their suffering, inflicted at will and by whim, they should provide pleasure to women! It would not be too unreasonable to expect a man to have to give his life simply so that some woman should be able to enjoy a passing masturbation.
Poor little Linda. Cleve looked at her as she stood there with the limp belt in his hand, utterly confused, a picture of the feminine passivity which Cleve had once though so delightful and which now seemed to him utterly boring and repugnant.
"Okay, honey," he said to her, "I guess that wraps it up for tonight. Sorry I'm not in better shape."
And as he saw her walk weakly away from his front door, all he could think of was Augusta marching away on her pencil-slim heels! His mind was made up, and at the thought of what he was going to do, his prick hardened into attention. He had a host of fantasies whirling in his brain now that the distraction of Linda was gone, he desperately wanted to beat off.
In the bedroom again, he pulled and worked on his swollen cock as his mind whirled round. He saw Augusta's cool, shapely legs towering above him as he lay gasping on the playing field. He felt the leathering straining across his back as little Ermengarde proved that a ten-year-old girl is stronger than any man, even one who like Cleve had been in the Marines in Korea. He felt the pleasure build up in his tool until it quavered with anticipation, as his powerful fingers stroked and stroked. Then, the gathering of the muscles in the small of his back before with great pulsating gushes that seemed to come all the way from his balls, he spurted his goo in a great arc on his belly. He could be potent enough when he thought the right thoughts, and as he fired, he thought of the humiliating way in which, with her heel, Augusta had turned him on like a tap for the girls of Heatherrow.
A sharp-pointed boot slammed into Cleve's face, causing him to reel back on all fours.
"Love! A beast, an object, a nothing such as you dares profess love! for me!! You will be severely punished for that, I promise you! Punished so the 'severe discipline' you received here a while ago will seem at last even to your stupid masculine mind like the child's play it was!"
Cleve shivered in delicious but genuinely fearful anticipation, for the severe discipline had included the whipping of the head, the ants, the hideous night spent tied up for eight hours in a position so uncomfortable that in ten minutes of it one literally feels more pain than most people experience in a lifetime. She turned on her heels and walked in the direction of the dining hall. Even Cleve knew what that meant, and he trotted obediently behind her on all fours towards his own punishment.
The little girl who had opened the door had run to tell her fellow pupils that that punching-bag had come back, and they poured down the stairs in a joyous flood, then sweet faces glowing with anticipation of the male humiliation and torture that they were about to see.
"Show Mr. Litchfield how welcome he is, and how glad we are to have him back, girls!"