Chapter 1

"You male chauvinist pig! I'll teach you what real women think of penises!"

Hearing these words, Cleve Litchfield groaned, for as he lay trussed up on the cold stone floor, he knew that they could only be a prelude to further torture and humiliation.

Towering above him was a magnificent statuesque brunette, her huge breasts molded and shaped by a super-tight leather bra with holes to allow the soft pink nipples to peep through. Her breasts heaved with the difficulty she had breathing, for a leather corset had her waist cinched in from twenty-three inches to eighteen.

Leather panties and high leather boots ending in six-inch spike heels completed her costume. Even though the boots didn't need it, she had attached the garters of her corset to them as if they were some kind of weird stockings, just to add to the thoroughly kinky effect.

Some men would have envied Cleve, for as every psychologist knows, there are plenty of super-masculine guys who like nothing better than to be thoroughly dominated by an aggressive bitch, particularly one as lovely as Miss Augusta Kreel, headmistress of the Heatherrow Boarding School for girls.

Some men would have been happy to be in Cleve's place, alright, but Cleve wasn't. As he worked his strength in vain against the merciless bonds which cut into his wrists and ankles, all he could think of was how badly he wanted to get away from this nightmare of total female domination and rule, and how afraid he was of Augusta Kreel's firm, quiet voice.

"You're not listening, are you, you whimpering excuse for a man!"

Cleve tried desperately to look attentive, for he knew that although there was no way he could keep himself from being severely disciplined by this magnificent dominatrice, failure to pay attention could only make the punishment even worse, for there was no end to the imagination Miss Kreel had at her disposal when it came to showing a man what the proper and natural relations between the sexes should be.

As he gazed up, his eyes became fixed on the lovely nipples. The contrast was so amazing between the soft womanly flesh, so delicate and nice, and the cruel black leather. Augusta Kreel would be a wonderful woman to be with, if only she were like any other woman.

"You pig! You're thinking how nice it would be to get that tongue of yours, that slimy tongue, on my nice soft nipples, aren't you? Aren't you!? "

"N-no. I. . .I wasn't. Honestly, Miss Kreel."

"You dare deny it? You dare deny that you wouldn't like to get that ludicrous filthy hose of yours inside of me?"

"Well, perhaps...." Cleve hoped that the confession would be looked on as less serious than stubborn denial, and the way the riding crop in Augusta's right hand was trembling with fury, he knew that he'd better not be wrong.

"I'll teach you to have such filthy fantasies! How dare you pretend that you would be able to fuck a woman! How dare you impersonate a real man?"

And with that, she bent down and grabbed Cleve by the hair and yanked him off the floor. His feet were still dragging, and nothing could have been easier for him to simply stand up, but though the pressure of his weight on the hair roots was unendurably painful, he dared not move. If Miss Kreel wanted him to hang by the hair, he had to hang by the hair, unless he wanted to be very severely punished indeed.

Augusta, who was immensely strong, despite the elegant slenderness of her milk-white arms, kept his head at the level of her stomach. She was able to do it because his dragging, limp legs did take some of the weight off her.

Cleve writhed as the riding crop came down squarely on his cock and balls. He was only naked to the waist, but the trousers didn't do much to make the agony any less endurable. As he twisted and writhed, his hair roots screamed all the more.

After slicing three more times into his meat with the crop, Augusta simply let go of his hair and he fell back to the floor, jarring every bone in his body. The breath was so knocked out of him that he couldn't even writhe around on the floor, clutching his aching balls and stinging cock as he wanted to do.

He couldn't even groan, though this time Augusta had not forbidden him to do so, as she sometimes did in the course of the most unbearable lashings. All he could do was he there panting, helpless, passive, completely at the mercy, at the whim, of the gorgeous figure towering above him. And the sly smile on her face showed what she thought of having a man helpless at her feet Assuming, of course, that she would even consider him a man, so abject and helpless had he become.

How had it happened that Cleve Litchfield, successful lawyer, should be in such a position? Why was it that instead of being in the sack with his lovely girlfriend, Linda, he was reduced to being a whimpering pain object, tasting petticoat rule of the most utterly uncompromising sort, forced to beg like a dog for table scraps from thirteen-year-old girls?

Cleve had been driving through a remote part of the country five days previously, when his car had broken down towards nightfall. The only building in sight had been the gloomy Heatherrow School, perched on a nearby hill like some sort of medieval castle.

Cleve, a man who loved comfort, had not particularly liked the idea of spending the night in his car, so he had climbed up to the school to ask if there might be some spare room where he could sleep.

Miss Kreel, who had seemed to be a thoroughly nice young lady, though with a rather strange cast given to her lovely face by her highly-arched eyebrows, had immediately agreed to put him up. She had been wearing an ordinary, rather expensive looking dress at the time, and when Cleve had talked with her, he had appreciatingly noticed the rise and fall of what were doubtless two really luscious globes under the tight fabric.

Mmmmm, not bad, he thought. He prided himself on being a real cocksman, and had chalked up a number of quick victories in his time. Way out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by girls and women-for the teachers, to whom he had been introduced at supper, were all women-she must get hungry for a slice of hard meat. Or so he had foolishly thought.

In fact, the instant she had set her eyes upon Cleve, Augusta's first thought had been to ask herself how she could change this self-confident male into a whimpering slave, begging for a mercy which, on account of the vile and ridiculous sex to which he belonged, he had no reason whatever to expect.

Cleve had sent wolfish glances over in Augusta's direction, and the shy glances she gave in return had seemed to promise hope.

Cleve liked his women demure and self-effacing, totally feminine, so his aggressive masculinity would be brought all the more into the open. Little did he know that he would be taught with a riding crop what femininity really was.

What a dainty chick, he thought droolingly.

That big dumb ox, Augusta had thought as she forced herself to smile in his direction. To her, anyone male was by definition dumb. The idea of having children didn't particularly appeal to her, but she kind of liked the idea of having a little boy of superior intelligence who could have had a successful career, but whose spirit she would break by constant taunting of his "dumbness" until his spirit was broken and he had to take some demeaning work.

Yes, that would be fun, but it would hardly be worth the degradation of having to allow a man to get his filthy cock up her sweet little cunt

Before I'm done with him, he'll wish he'd died when he was little, she told herself, glancing at Cleve.

So, all the time Cleve was laying out his plan of seduction, Augusta was laying out plans which would inevitably lead to absurd masculine pride ending up where it belongs-abased and crushed under the spike heel of feminine superiority.

During the rest of the evening, she had constantly brushed her silky hand against him, looked longingly at him, and generally behaved like a cat in heat. Which wasn't hard, because her clit really did stiffen, and her little snatch really did moisten at the sight of Cleve's broad shoulders. She could imagine them naked, reddening under the blows of a whip. She could imagine that handsome, arrogant face crumpling in pain and frustration, with shameful tears rolling down it, as her masterful domination stripped him of every shred of and revealed him as that which all men really are-silly, simpering little boys, selfishly unwilling to allow women to use their bodies as the target, the eminently natural target, for their pointed-toe shoes, their whips and their paddles.

It had been a long time for Miss Kreel, since she had seen the most wonderful spectacle in the world-the total absement and humiliation of a man. She had come out to the rather special school which she had headed because next to whipping men senseless, the thing she most enjoyed was getting her hands on the soft bodies and the unfledged little cunts of pubescent girls, teaching them what it means to be that most sensuous of creatures, a woman. And, after all, such pathetic creatures as man can hardly be expected to give a girl scope for her voluptuousness.

When she wants to be delicately felt and caressed, to have her breasts softly squeezed, her nipples tickled into a state of iron-hard rigidity, all a man can usually think of is where to stick his cock. While a woman, ah, a woman knows exactly what another woman wants, knows exactly which spots are the most deliciously tender and female.

So, Augusta Kreel had used her inherited money to found a very special boarding school where she could indulge her very special tastes. The girls, ranging in age from nine to eighteen, were all chosen for two qualities, which had to be combined-beauty and intelligence.

The beauty, of course, stood to reason. Augusta was turned on by any female body, including her own when she masturbated in front of a mirror, but there was something very special about the thrill she got from running her long soft fingers over really creamy skin, of planting her own pouting lips on a delicate little rosebud mouth hardly yet initiated into the pleasures of love, or to feel that same little rosebud pressed with eager curiosity against Augusta's labia, as some dear little thing first inhaled that smell that secretly all women think is the finest on earth, the smell of another woman's hole.

As for the intelligence, Augusta maintained that only two classes of people could benefit from discipline: those intelligent enough to understand its purpose, and one of the purposes, of course, was mutual pleasure, or those stupid brutes who could be cowed into servile submission. This class, of course, included all men.

Needless to say, discipline at Heatherrow was of the strictest and a girl who went more than two weeks without getting her little ass blistered was a rare bird indeed, while insufficient respect towards the headmistress was the cause of many a teacher learning that one's never too old to learn from pain.

But it had been a long time since Augusta had known the exquisite pleasure of reducing a man into a groveling thing, the delicate thrill that came when a really virile guy was dressed up in little girls clothes, including bloody panties, which he was obliged to show to "his" mommy as a sign of "his" first period.

Now, just the right victim had landed in Augusta's clutches, and she had been determined to make the most of it. Cleve, who was really hot for her cunt, made the usual clumsy manly advances. How much less subtle than those of a girl who's seducing another girl. And Augusta had egged him on until he felt that he had to bang off in her or burst.

She had given him a rendezvous in his bedroom. He had lain on the bed, waiting for her to come to him. He had looked down at his massive tool, which anticipation had turned into a sort of iron banana. He had run his hand along the length of it, sometimes giving it a convulsive squeeze that sent shivers up and down his spine and into his balls, which his tightening sac had lifted up against him.

He had squeezed several times, but had thought that he had better not jack off, even though his head was so full of the lovely Augusta that he was having a hell of a time keeping his paws off of his trembling meat. After all, he had great staying power, but it took him awhile to get worked up for a second shot.

A tap on the door. It had opened, and in she had come. Later, when he had seen her in all her dominating glory, bound by her tight leather clothes, he would hardly be able to believe that he had ever seen her looking so delicate and tender.

She had slipped off her wrapper and he had noticed the wonderfully proud line of her globes, with the taut nipples so gorged with anticipation that they looked as though they were going to burst the skin.

But anticipation of what? That's what Cleve Litchfield would learn later, at the time of his transformation from successful young lawyer to whipped cur.

Augusta herself had felt her globes swell, had felt the ache in her nipples, had felt the moisture in her lovely little twat, and the hardness of her tingling clit. She had been really turned on by the thought that she was looking at a man who was about to pass from freedom and happiness into the misery of life-time servitude under a cruel, implacable mistress.

Her hands had reached out, grabbing his cock. The response was a thrill that she could feel through her palms, as the massive tool somehow managed to grow even bigger and harder. She had leaned over and placed her soft lips on his, while his eager hands filled themselves with the eager flesh of her twin love spheres.

Augusta hated the thought of vulgar male hands being there, but she told herself that he would be paying for every second of undeserved pleasure with an hour of richly merited pain and degradation. Already, as she pretended to be intent on charging his batteries, her mind was full of projects.

Enjoy yourself, buddy boy, she had sneered to herself, because you may right now be in the last happy half hour of your life.

The idea of what it would be like to literally enslave a man for life, so that when he died at eighty he would have to figure that his life as a person had really ended half a century earlier, made her clit throb. She had had slaves before, of course, but they had been volunteers, so to speak, and though it was she who had turned them out when she got tired of them, she had lacked that feeling of real ownership which should be every girl and woman's by right

In fact, she sometimes dreamed about an amendment to the constitution which would read, "All males in the United States are in principle slaves. Any ownerless male may be claimed for life by any female who so chooses."

Now she was going to have a real slave. Not one whom she could introduce to the world as such, but one who had to obey her every whim just the same, who would have to sit with downcast eyes, or even agree when at parties she complained and joked about an entirely fictitious failure of his to perform in bed.

She wasn't going to be able to manage life-time servitude, but at least she was going to arrange for twenty years. Whether Cleve would have to serve the full twenty like some murderer, or would be allowed to change back from animal to man (not to human being, for Augusta was by no means certain that men counted as human) would, of course, depend on her merest whim.

Cleve had sucked a delicious pink nipple into his mouth, and had felt a quiver in his loins and cock every time he had pressed his tongue against the hard passion button. Funnily enough, it had seemed to him, although Augusta was clearly in real heat, specific things he did-as when he began molding the moist, buttery girl flesh between clit and slip, had not met with any real response.

Man, had he been glad to be where he was, to feel the pressure of Augusta's soft globes against his flesh, the feel of the delicious womanly wetness and softness on his fingers as he probed them lip her hole while the masterful squeezes she gave to his cock, the tickling way she had run her fingers over the tight snood of his balls, made him feel like he couldn't hold his come back for another second. And yet, Augusta played and played with him, winding him up to ever more unbearably delicious peaks of randy delight without ever giving him the release he had to have.

He had to have it. He couldn't wait. He had grabbed Augusta's shoulders and forced her back to the bed.

"Open up kid, this is it," he had said in his best machismo voice.

At the time, he had misinterpreted the sly smile that had spread over her lovely face. He had thought at the time it was the submissive smile of the girl waiting for red meat. It was only later that he would learn it was a smile of triumphant womanhood, a smile of contempt for the silliness of masculine pretensions, with perhaps a hint of pity that this arrogance would soon and properly be crushed by the hard, undeniable fact of the superiority of women over men, of the dark, soft cunt over the laughable cock.

Cleve had hesitated for a second to prolong his enjoyment, but he knew that any further waiting would result in his firing his load on the bedspread instead of into Augusta's delicious dark womanly recess. He had been about to stick it in when, a knock on the door.

"Miss Kreel, are you in there chatting with Mr. Litchfield? There is sort of an emergency. You had better come as quickly as you can."

In a trice, Augusta had jumped off the bed and covered her magnificent body with her wrapper. She planted a playful kiss on Cleve's nose.

"I'll be back," she whispered in that funny penetrating voice of hers.

Cleve had been hard put to figure out what the voice's special quality was until he was given a chance to discover that it was the voice of a woman in command!

Augusta had swirled out of the room as Cleve had felt he was vibrating like a piano string She. had set his teeth on edge with the most delectable foreplay he had ever known, and just as he had been about to nail her, she had disappeared. He gave a squeeze to his tool, and nearly had it spurting. Careful. He had to save himself, but shit, how could he wait?

Another tap at the door. Was it Augusta? He said to come in. The door pushed open and there stood not the magnificent full-blown woman who had left him instants earlier, but a graceful little nymph of twelve or thirteen, whose new-budding breasts made just a slight impression under her bathrobe.

"Miss Kreel told me to come and keep you company," the sprite said, showing her pearly teeth.

Cleve had been utterly taken aback. Just what did the kid mean by "keeping company?"

He soon found out, for a delicate little hand half the size of a woman's was already kneading his sac, applying a gentle pressure to the hard nuts inside.

Hell, this was real jail bait if anyone found out. What if Augusta came back and found what he was doing to one of her charges? What if....

But all his reason was drowned by the mounting tide of passion that had his prick so stiff it literally ached. The nymph had drawn open her bathrobe, and Cleve felt himself go wild at the sight of the unfledged little cunt, completely bare of any foliage. He reached a hand down there and felt the tiny, delicate labia, the clit, little but hard, and all the rest.

And as his eager hand went to work, he felt responsive spasms make the little shoulders heave, unlike Augusta. Shit! He had to have this child, there was just no question of that.

The little minx guessed his thoughts and lay on her back. Shit, Cleve had thought, he had better just make it a sixty-nine, but the little girl had pulled one of his hands up to her budding breast, and as he felt how small it was, how full of promise for a womanly future, he lost all self-control.

A look of terror seemed to come over the child's face as he nudged the tip of his whanger against the maidenhead. What Cleve had not known at the time was that his nymph was just as terrified of what Miss Kreel had assured her the consequences would be if he did not fuck her.

"He breaks that maidenhead of yours," the child had been told, "or you'll get something that will make last Saturday's strapping feel like a soft breeze!"

With a sharp shove Cleve had gotten it in, and heard the little girl gasp, and felt the warm blood on his prick.

"Blood from girls' cunts," he had laughed to himself, "what could possibly be nicer?" Got the little snatch was small, though. At first the kid had gasped with each of his movements, but she had a nice juicy cunt, and soon things were going more smoothly.

"Right about now," Augusta had told herself, "he's probably enjoying the last fuck he'll get for twenty years," and with that exciting thought she had given her own clit a sharp pinch.

Cleve tried to hold back to give the little girl a good time, but soon the constant squeezing pressure on his rod, the feel of the little tight breasts with hard nipples had him almost ... almost ... almost ... THERE. His gun went off in a series of shudders as he pumped his male goo into the little twat. And the girl had come too, with short, convulsive shivers that shook her slight body.

"There was an experience!" he said to himself, as he pulled the big tool out of the gorged little hole, and gazed at the ecstatic little girl. Then she was up with a bound, pulled on her bathrobe, and ran giggling out of the room, with a slight limp that made it clear she was a bit sore.

"Sex with little girls! Dangerous, maybe, but perhaps I should try it more often," he had thought.

Another tapping at the door. Shit, it was Augusta! In she had glided with an expectant smile on her face.

"Shit," Cleve had thought, "How on earth am I going to be able to get it up for her in such a short time. And if I don't, maybe she'll suspect something...."

Maybe he could have gotten his prick back in action without too much trouble in other circumstances. He was a pretty potent guy. But fear of being found out, of being suspected of something or regarded as a complete flop totally unmanned him-an excellent preparation for the thorough unmanning which was due to start soon.

Augusta pressed her swollen globes against him, while one of her hands went to work on his limp prick.

"So soft already?" she murmured, putting an end to a slight rally that had started to declare itself. She loved the feeling of taunting a man, of ridiculing his manhood. She always figured that any woman worth her sanitary napkins should be able to get a guy so worried about himself that he would never be able to have a regular fuck again.

And what could be a more sensible thing for a girl to do than to disarm a man's vulgar pistol. And she knew from personal experience that once a man's faith in his sexual prowess was destroyed, his spirit was half broken, it was easy enough-with the aid of the whip, or as she called it, "the girl's best friend"-to reduce him to a mass of blubbering jelly, as soft as his useless prick.

Not, of course, that she would want to completely break his spirit too soon. There was something so touching, so amusing, about the struggle that some men put up to keep from admitting to themselves that they were no longer men but simply absurd pain objects.

Cleve desperately tried to get his cock stiff, and the harder he tried, the more he worried about it, the softer it became.

"Shit, what an embarrassment," he had thought, unaware of what was to follow.

WHAMMMM! He found out the next instant as Augusta gave his face a slap that made his head ring. So astonished was he that he didn't even try and duck the return blow. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! That silky smooth hand exploded against his stinging skin like dynamite.

"You impotent bastard! How dare you humiliate me like this?! " Augusta snarles. "How dare you! Don't you think I'm good enough for you? Or pretty enough? You seemed to like my nipples half an hour ago, you pig! That's your style, huh? All take and no give? Well let me tell you one thing, you're going to be giving plenty from now on, starting with your so called manhood!" WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

Taken completely aback by this pretended fury-for if Augusta was angry it was not with his non-performance, so carefully planned by her, but with the ideas of anyone daring to be a man-Cleve could only say, "stop, stop, I'll explain," without Augusta stopping for a moment laying ringing slaps on skin that felt like it couldn't take even one more, but in fact had to take ten more, each harder than the last.

Augusta's hand was burning, but she didn't mind, because she knew the unbearable agony it was inflicting with each blow. There was something satisfying about slapping a man, because traditionally society has made women the recipients' of slaps. But tradition knows nothing of all the glorious dominant women of this world, who would rather humiliate men than eat breakfast.

Cleve tried to rise but couldn't Augusta had placed her knees on his shoulders and had him securely pinned, like a butterfly in a collection box.

"Please," he groaned, "I ... I got so excited about you that ... when touching men cock in your absence ... it ... went off...."

This lame excuse was offered in between slaps. Augusta's hand was now going back and forth with the regularity of a pendulum, for after all, pain and humiliation would be regular, if not indeed constant, features of every man's life.

"Oh, so you masturbated did you, you filthy, nasty boy! Didn't your mother spank that out of you when you were little, like all good mothers should. A mother who doesn't inflict constant discipline on her little boy is making a terrible mistake, for it is only by constant application of discipline of the severest sort that the rebellious male spirit can be tamed into proper submissiveness and obedience towards women!"

"I ... couldn't help it ... you were so lovely...."

WHACKKK!

"Were?? You mean you don't think I am now?"

In all honesty Cleve could hardly have rejoiced to that question as he had not yet grown to love the sight of a woman tearing over him, inflicting pain on him. He had not yet come to see how wonderful it is to look up and see the underside of the heavy globes, the cruel, haughty face, the soft lips drawn back to reveal a row of sharp pearly teeth looking as if they would like to do nothing better than bite through his male sac. But like all tastes for good things, a taste for female domination must be acquired slowly, and in his own case, painfully, particularly as the dull male mind long resists the simple biological fact of the superiority of women.

"Ah? What's this?" Augusta said, as she spied on the bedsheet the blood left behind by the little girl she had sent "You ... you've been raping one of my pupils, haven't you?"

"N-no..." stammered Cleve, who, Augusta said to herself, must be particularly dim-witted to have not yet realized that denial to a dominant woman is like oil to a fire-it consumes her with a passionate desire to crush out every last trace of masculine pride and independence!

"Denials will do you no good in court, you filthy pervert!" It wasn't slaps that Cleve was now getting, but blows with a clenched fist that made his head swim. Each one, he felt sure, would dislocate his jaw. Although Augusta had minutely planned this scene, she had gotten so carried away with her pretended indignation, and with the sight she had missed for so long of a man utterly at her mercy, that she was on the point of losing control of herself. Cleve could feel against his chest the wetness of her dripping cunt, and the fiery nipples, of which he could only see the underside, stood out angrily from the creamy globes.

"I ... didn't mean to, honest...."

At this moment the door opened and the little nymph came in. Augusta thought she could read a glimmer of pity in the little girl's eyes for the man whom she had helped put in such a position.

"That'll never do," Augusta thought with a bit of disappointment. "Still, she's only very young, and hasn't yet learned what being a woman means. Maybe if I let her participate in torturing this lummox, she'll start to understand."

"Miss Kreel?"

"Yes, Sheila?"

"You know when you sent me to tell Mr. Litchfield you would be delayed a few minutes?"

"I'm all ears, darling." Augusta often called her charges darling, to help them understand that when they were punished-and that was often and severely-it was done out of love, as part of the basic training indispensable to anyone, even a future dominatrice.

"Well ... Mr. Litchfield grabbed me ... and held me down on the bed, and ... did something awful to me." Sheila told this with a bit too much relish for it to be completely convincing, at least as far as the awfulness went, but a little coaching would have her in much better form in the event of a trial.

"You know what the penalty is for rape, don't you Mr. Litchfield? It was wonderful to say Mr. Litchfield, to savor the thought of the male independence which had lasted too long and was about to end now, if it hadn't already ended under Augusta's stinging slaps. Henceforth the forms of address would perhaps be "pig", "animal."

"you", "impotent bastard."

"cringing excuse for a man."

"slave," etc., though it might be fun too to continue to mock him with "Mr. Litchfield."

Augusta had stopped slapping him and had now grabbed both his cheeks in her hands. The cheeks were so tenderized by the slapping that they would have hardly been able to bear the lightest touch, let alone the vicious pinching they were getting, pinching that made Cleve feel as if the flesh would be torn from the bone!

"I didn't rape her. I didn't even seduce her. She seduced me." It was hideously humiliating to confess, but Cleve felt that anything would be better than the present pain.

"You dare pretend that I teach sluts in this school?" Augusta pinched harder, and started to twist the flame red cheeks. "You dare pretend that this angelic little girl came and voluntarily offered her sweet little cunt to your flabby cock? Answer me?"

Cleve was starting to realize that anything he said would be used as an excuse to hurt him some more, so he contented himself with murmuring through bloated lips, "I don't know...."

"Well, buster, that stands to reason, because there's nothing dumber than a man-or than the male of any species, for that matter-but you'd better learn this: the penalty in this state for rape is death, and at the school infirmary they'll be able to find out pretty quickly that this little angel has been fucked by you. After all, yours is the only sperm for miles around. Here at Heatherrow, we don't like filthy males with their big bad guns!" And to vary the routine she gave another slap.

Cleve was really panicked now. Even a statutory rape rap could cost him thirty years, and the way that little angel's eyes had started to glow in the last few seconds, to become hard and pitilessness, he wasn't at all sure that the charge would be statutory rape. A guy had been given the high dive only a year earlier for raping a college girl.

"No, no, please, I beg of you," he blubbered, tears of fright welling up in his eyes, clouding his view of the magnificent female animal kneeling over him like a tigress about to devour her prey and of the excited little girl who was going to be responsible for his losing his life.

"The electric chair would do you good. Maybe a little juice would put sone life into the lamentable prick of yours. As for your begging for your life, you can be sure that what I decide in that respect will depend not upon any feelings of pity for you, but upon my mearest whim. And it happens that my whim is that you live as my utter slave. In twenty years, the statute of limitations will be up and you will be able to go. Until then, you are going to live in a hell you had never imagined was possible. Every minute you will risk my choosing to inflict some new torture on you, and if at any moment I am dissatisfied with your service, off you go, to the electric chair. So how do you like that, buddy boy, huh?"

"W-well enough, I guess," Cleve said, trying to be conciliatory. The reply he got was another resounding slap.

"I hate hypocritical slaves."

"M-miss Kreel...."

Whappppp!

"You call me mistress!" ' M-Mis ... tress, why are you doing this to me?"

"Normally the impertinence of asking a question would be severely punished indeed, but this time I'll content myself with an ear-flick because I like nothing better than talking about the relations between the sexes. That women are biologically and intellectually superior to men is a matter of no dispute. Women live longer, little girls do better in school, and once the timidity which the present organization of society is stripped away, women have iron wills twice as hard as those of men! Further more, while men have a hard time indeed getting their silly tools to work, women have a multiple, an infinite capacity for orgasm."

At this moment, little Sheila, who was listening to all this wide-eyed but with usual female intelligence was catching on fast, punched Cleve in the balls with her little fist. All he could do was groan.

"So," Augusta went on, "women being so clearly superior, their duty is clearly one of reducing men to the most abject servility. And the task is an easy one. Beneath all the bravado and bluster most men are just nasty, snotty little boys, who really crave nothing half so much as the pleasures of slavery. Women's liberation means necessarily men's enslavement. Andonce women realize what femininity means, what task will men have except to feel pain? Girls' fingers and tongues can procure for each other ten times the pleasre to be had from any male, even the most "manly." And, of course, most men aren't that manly. A surprising number are crawling worms like you, already crying just because they're going to have to provide some females with some fun. Well, tough luck, cause you now have no say whatever over your life!"

And with this she had recommenced the slaps, while little Sheila, following her advice, had begun pinching his bare ass unmercifully, every now and then making a little fist and slamming it into his flaming balls. And that had gone on until the big arrogant he-man had fainted.

So that was how it had started. That had been days ago, and as he lay gasping for breath on the stone floor onto which he had been dropped, he could only hope that something would call Miss Kreel away before she could continue that day's torture any longer. He still thought in terms of days, but less and less now, for Augusta was an insomniac, and sometimes he would have just managed to doze off on the freezing flagstones when she would burst into his cell, and kick him awake, so that the horror could begin all over again.

Sometimes he thought of escape, or defiance, even of sacrificing his life just for the sake of being able to give his lovely tormentor his fist right in the face, but then he would think of the electric chair and calm down.

Not that he could really speak of one tormentor. Augusta had formally given him to little Sheila, and that angelic little girl had proved herself as cruel as her lovely headmistress. At first, she had been reticent, but had come to enjoy her slave more and more, until she had come to spend all her time dreaming up new humiliations for him. Many indeed had been the times that he had had to lick little feet only six inches long, only to receive a sharp little kick in the fac.

This time he was in luck, though. Augusta looked at her watch and ordered him to stand up.

"Hold out your hand!" Trembling, he did so.

Thakkkkkk! Down came the crop on his upstretched palm. In the old days he would have instinctively dropped his hand, but pain is a good teacher, and he had learned to grit his teeth and keep the burning flesh in place for a second blow.

Thakkkkkkk!!

"That's all I have time for, pig. But just because you didn't get your proper dose of discipline today, don't think I won't make up with compound interest later!"

And with that she turned and strode majestically out of the room, balancing perfectly on her towering heels.

As he heard the door lock behind her, Cleve Litchfield burst into tears at the thought of a lifetime of female discipline stretching out before him.