Chapter 5
As Augusta lay with Jane's sweet, graceful arms about her in the warm, soft bed, Cleve was suffering the torments of the damned.
Not that anything physically painful was happening to him, other than the usual discomfort of the flagstone floor. That was just it.
When he had groggily come to he was back in his cell. As he had felt the bruises all over his face, he had recalled the humiliations of the previous hours, and remembered with fear the threat hanging over him.
He thought he could remember Augusta's voice saying to him, "you will have to be taken stringently in hand, and severely punished."
That was a threat to strike terror into the hearts of anyone in Augusta's little empire, for the lovely dominatrice hated exaggeration, and usually just spoke of the various tortures she dished out as "punishment."
"Severe punishment" would be something much, much worse, Cleve knew, and the thought made the sweat stand out on his battered face.
In his agitation he had tried to get up and pace the narrow confines of his cell, but had fallen as soon as he had tried to put any weight on his injured ankle. His face ached, his arms and legs ached, his bruised balls felt as if someone were still hitting them. Throbbing waves of pain pulsated in them as if some lovely girl were using them for their natural purpose, that of punching-bag! Wearily, Cleve had lain back on the floor and tried to imagine what further agony would be in store for him.
In fact, unknown to him, Augusta had simply tossed off that line about "severe" punishment on a whim, and had at the moment almost forgotten about it.
Almost. Augusta never left a threat unfulfilled, as anyone who had ever had any dealings with her knew full well. But at the moment, giving Jane her reward, her thoughts were very far from Cleve. It was a typical example of idiotic male pride that the fool should imagine that he would be constantly in her thought. There is no freedom at all, if one spends one's time worrying about what to do with one's slaves. Not that women don't have to spend some time dreaming up new and exciting ways of punishing the arrogance of the cock, or that they don't love doing so. There could hardly be a more natural, healthy activity for a woman to engage in. But there are other things to think of too, and no man is worth worrying about that much.
Cleve, on the other hand, in the terrifying solitude of his cell, allowed his imagination to run riot, and could not help imagining tortures, each more frightful than the last, which he was sure Augusta must be plotting to inflict on him.
If she would only come and inflict them, he thought, that would not be so bad. Well, actually it would, for a torture session with Augusta was nothing if not unpleasant in the highest degree, involving as it did cruel chastisement of both the body and the mind. But Cleve in his fear had forgotten that it was one of her principles never to needlessly waste anything, and in consequence, never to permanently injure or in other way damage or wear out a victim. So the tortures that ran though his mind were even worse than the ones which he would in reality have to face, and surpassed the wildest dreams of the most sadistic inquisitor.
If only she'd get it over. Was there a trace of longing in that thought? Surely not, Cleve told himself, though it was hard to drive out of his mind the picture of the long, cool, utterly feminine and superior legs which had risen above him as he lay huddled breathless on the grass at the beginning of the sports day. And there was something about the firmness of the voice that had cut through the fog of his unconsciousness to warn him of the impending "severe" discipline which was in store for him.
But the emotion he really felt was fear-the kind of fear that utterly emasculates a man, would have emasculated Cleve if he had felt that he had any masculinity left after the drubbing which he had received from pretty little Jane.
He groaned as the memory of that scene surfaced: he relived his own pathetic hopes of freedom, saw the lithe, graceful figure of his tormentrice as she weaved in and out, skillfully hurting him with all the verve which a woman usually puts into hurting a man.
He saw himself on his knees, collapsing, saw the arm, the oh so lovely arm that he would have loved to kiss, had Jane been a normal girl, raised in triumph, raised as a symbol of his humiliation and defeat. Of his utter degradation.
"Oh fuck," he thought, "why do I keep dwelling on that?" It was an unmistakable fact that his cock had gone hard as a rock, and unconsciously he found himself reaching down to squeeze it. Mmmmm. That felt good.
He started to stroke his big tool as the image of lovely young Jane standing over him like a tigress over her prey came back to his mind.
"What on earth," he said to himself, as he realized that he was fantasizing over his most utter and most recent emasculation. He was too excited to stop his hand from running down the length of his rod. It had been such a long time since he had had a come ... he tried to have a normal fantasy, tried to think of Linda, his girlfriend back in the real world that he had perhaps left forever. It was amazing that girls could be so soft and gentle, or such cruel bitches.
He tried to see Linda lying passive on his bed, waiting for his virile cock-he had had a virile cock in those days, he told himself bitterly-but it was no good. His erection went soft and to harden his penis up again he had to think of Jane, standing over him with the sweat glistening on the young breasts which he had not been manly enough to be able to hit, or Augusta's firm, lovely legs towering over him as he had gasped for breath like a fish out of water on the sports field.
"No, no, what's happening to me...? " He tried to think of something else, for he realized that to enjoy the kind of treatment women dished out at Heatherrow would be an indication that he could no longer consider himself a man of any kind at all, but would henceforth only be able to look upon himself as an abject eunuch.
The pressure in his rod had built up until now only a couple of strokes would do it. On ... two ... he felt the rings of pleasure running down the shaft as his palm rubbed the sensitive skin.
Jane ... Augusta ... Linda ... Jane ... LINDA....
He had already reached that pre-come state, that plateau where a guy knows that he's going to be blasting, where nothing can stop it, where its as a bowstring being coiled back, and the image in his mind had been the triumphant smile of Jane's delicate face. Knowing the blastoff was coming, he desperately shifted images to try and save some remnant of his manhood.
He failed utterly. As his penis fired in long spurts, though it was just possible for him to keep the image of the passive Linda in front of his mind, he knew damn well that it had been Jane and his humiliation that he had wanted to think about And it had been the image of Jane and his humiliation which had brought him to the pre-com plateau, after which everything was just mechanical, so that he could have thought of a newspaper if he'd wanted to without diminishing the force of the come.
As the goo spurted all over his belly, he felt a tremendous letdown ... a tremendous, final, irrevocable loss of his masculinity.
What was he, some kind of masochist? It wasn't the kinky angle of the idea that bothered him, as the fact that he couldn't yet see that it was possible to be a man and a masochist at the same time.
And then, as he turned the question of whether or not he really liked discipline, the memory of Augusta's frightful threat came back to his mind.
Funnily enough, the thought that he might really like punishment did nothing at all to relieve the abject fear he felt of what was impending. And what was worse, he had two things to worry about now instead of one.
Formerly, all he had to do was take what was dished out, and hope that some day his cruel tormentrice would relent. He still had to do that, for the idea of liking such utter petticoat domination and rule struck him as unnatural and degrading, and he had not yet developed to the point of enjoying this degradation.
But now, during the punishment, he would have to worry about whether or not he was liking it, as he feared he might. With every cut of the whip-assuming that such a tame instrument could be included in what Augusta had in mind-he would not only feel the outward pain of his tormented body, but would suffer the inward agony of fearing that he might really be enjoying it, and psychologically "repressing" the enjoyment. A man who liked pain-he was no man at all, he was even less of a man than Cleve had believed himself to be up to his beating-off, for that beating off was going to cost him dearly in peace of mind, he could see that.
And so, the whole day passed, with him never knowing whether or not at any moment Augusta would stride into the room, dressed in some utterly bizarre leather costume, to begin the next chapter in "The Unmanning of Cleve," and he desperately, hopelessly, tried to analyze his thoughts and feelings, to find out whether the hard-ons that he had experienced with increasing frequency during his week of captivity really were an indication of his having lost every last shred of the right that he had once felt so sure of to call himself a man.
And the worry continued on into the night, the abject fear, the mental pain matched by the physical pain in his body. Oh, if only he could sleep in a bed for one night, he had thought. Then he had said to himself, "If I want a bed, surely I'm not a masochist." And then he had realized the falseness of that argument, and so it went, with his tormented soul floundering in the mire.
It had not been until nightfall that a tap on the door of Augusta's bedroom told her of the pleasant task she had to perform. As she often told herself, she was not just giving a reward, but she was treating herself. Not that she had anything against rewards, as long as given after the good act accomplished, as a free gift, and as long as they were limited to members of her own sex. The idea of giving a reward to a male slave would have struck her as being totally absurd. They were lucky not to have their balls ripped from their roots and thrust down their throats, and it was only the constraints of a society inadequately, as yet under petticoat rule, which resulted in this not being the general rule as yet. The constraints of society, and the whim of women, perhaps.
"Come in," Augusta said.
The door opened gently and there stood Jane in a pale yellow nightgown. She looked so fresh and feminine, with her lovely hair falling over her slender shoulders, and her medium-sized but perfectly proportioned breasts poking out the fabric in twin mounds of delight in front. There was a smile on her sweet face, a smile of sexual anticipation, mixed with reverence for the magnificent woman, her idol in every respect, into whose bedroom and genitals she had been invited to enter.
Augusta's long fingers felt between her legs. She had been sitting in an armchair reading when Jane had come. She had only been wearing a completely see-through "Baby-Doll" nightie, with no panties.
Jane gasped as she drunk in the fantastic beauty in front of her. The massive white mounds, with the tips, the pink of which was only partly concealed by the transparent nightie, poking out the fabric in little peaks to which Jane longed to glue her mouth, and the luxuriant dark triangle.
The sight of Miss Kreel's hand playing with her own crotch excited Jane even more, for it meant that this glorious woman found her, slim little Jane, sexually attractive. And the gasp had been one of pride, too, for one of the nicest of the many nice qualities of women is that they are aware of what wonderful beings they are, and are never hypocritical to themselves about their charms. Jane had intense admiration for the full body in front of her, but knew that her own airy gracefulness was the othe side of the coin of femininity, and equally acceptable version, so to speak.
The women-or a woman and a girl-looking at each other at once, held back by no silly hang-ups about using each other to obtain the fullest measure of joy. Two twats, contracting in anticipation, moistening with female love-juice. Two tingling clits, waiting for the gentle but persistent pleasure of feeling woman fingers on woman-flesh. Four nipples budding like flowers, not so much in response to one another, as automatically at the pleasure of being in the presence of another beautiful woman, at the pleasure of knowing that breasts will soon be mashed against breast, hairy mount to hairy mount, long fingernails digging lovingly into the soft flesh of buttocks, girl-lips to girl lips, tongues exchanging the complete sweetness of lesbian enjoyment, the pleasure which no vulgar male would ever be able to afford to a woman. Some famous french writer of the nineteenth century had said that for a man to try and make love to a woman is like an ape trying to play the violin, and truer words were never spoken, though they were written by someone who had the disgraceful vice of being a man.
"Come closer Jane," Augusta's soft voice said, and the girl eagerly obeyed, moving lightly on the balls of her feet.
Augusta usually liked to call the shots when it came to love-making, but she was curious to see just how inventive and sensual the Jane really was. Augusta let her nightie fall on the floor.
Jane reached the chair and paused a second, then she sat down on Augusta's knees taking off her own nightie, and offered a gently, dainty, pink little mouth.
"What a delightful child," Augusta thought. Forward enough to let you know what she wants, but respectful enough of her elders to ask for something instead of taking it.
The something was something which Augusta would be glad to give, though she paused an instant to survey the soft lips, the pearly teeth, the small mouth-cavity, and the elegant features of the face, with the eyes half closed, the long lashes fluttering over brown pools which Augusta knew were as deep as her own.
Then Augusta leaned forward slightly. There was just the faintest contact between the two women's lips, each female exerting a slight pouting pressure to maintain the contact.
It was like some glorious slow motion movie in which all the pleasures of sex (that is lesbianism, for on any serious level the two are identical) were revealed. Open mouth to open mouth. Then Augusta's tongue slowly slid out and met Jane's half way. The two tongue-tips touched in a ginger, exploratory fashion, like two people who have just made one another's acquaintance. Then, they pressed against each other a little more boldly, before sliding past each other into the delicate pink mouths.
Meanwhile, Cleve Litchfield lay rolling and groaning on the hard flagstones of his cell, consumed with humiliation and fear of the most complicated sort.
Mmmmm. The mouth-contact was good, but it was time for something more, each female's eager clit told her owner. Jane didn't want to be pushy, held back, was delighted when she felt the tips of one of Augusta's fingers lightly drag over her breast, moving under them, lifting them slightly, then letting them plop gently down.
Regarding herself as invited to do so, Jane imitated her headmistress, filling her smooth palms with the other female's opulent breast-flesh.
Ohhhhh. Jane felt Augusta's fingers tighten on her nipples. At first it was just a gentle pressure on the gorged flesh, but then it became ever more insistent, until both tips positively stung under the squeeze of Miss Kreel.
Jane felt unsure of whether she should do-likewise, whether or not it would be disrespectful to her headmistress to cause her pain-and it was the fear of being disrespectful in itself, not any crude male fear of punishment, which made her hesitate-but the hurting of her own nipples felt so utterly delicious that she longed to share it with this woman whom she, along with almost all the other pupils, secretly loved from afar.
The increasing pressure of Jane's fingers on Augusta's nipples brought a shudder of pleasure from the older woman which Jane regarded as a green light.
It was so utterly heavenly to be there, with her mouth actually glued to that of the Miss Kreel whom she had so admired, and to be engaged with her in a deliciously kinky nipple-hurting contest.
The pressure increased until Jane felt she could hardly stand it any longer-either the pain in the nipples, into which Miss Kreel's elegant fingernails were really digging, or the fantastic thrills in her cunt which this pain evoked. Each was wonderful, terrible, completely feminine.
All of a sudden, one of her nipples felt the fingers ease off of it. Jane knew what was coming next though it was something which she had never dared hope would come about before today, though when masturbating it had
"happened" to her in her fantasies a million times.
An electric thrill! The graceful teen-ager felt the soft, gentle touch of Miss Kreel's fingers on her most feminine part. Not hard like on the nipple, but tender, oh so tender. The other nipple was abandoned, and Augusta used the fre hand to stroke Jane's long, wavy hair as it fell down around her shoulders. A thorough going sensualist, Augusta believed that there was hardly any part of a woman's body that could not be used both to give and receive pleasure.
Jane took her hand off of Augusta's nipples, and gingerly moved one down to the mossy luxuriance of the headmistresses' totally developed womanhood. Jane's delicate fingers felt the cleft in fact, brushed passed the spike-hard clit-causing another shudder of pleasure to run through Augusta's body and causing her to reply in kind on Jane's clit, evoking a similar, equally feminine reaction.
"There are the labia," Jane said to herself, and "there is the hole," as she slid her fingers into the dark womanly recesses, feeling the moisture dripping on her fingers. Her other hand was stroking not Augusta's own lovely hair-Jane was too imaginative to want to be a mere copy cat-but her headmistresses cheek, as a sign of the most respectful adoration.
The two bodies were pressed close together now and the still-tingling nipples actually touched, brushing against each other's tender hardness.
Jane decided to be inventive though she did not want her idol to think of her as presumptuous. With one of the fingers inside Miss Kreel's cunt she pressed against the inside of the cunt wall rather hard, using the joint of the partially bent finger. A similar gesture from Miss Kreel told her that her action had found favor.
The tongues were still busy at work, caressing the inside of the mouths, so delicate and sweet and unlike a man's crude maw, usually stained as it is with nicotine. The hand that had been caressing Jane's hair was now used to press the head closer against Augusta's while Jane continued the cheek stroking.
Mouth to mouth, breast to breast, fingers in each other cunts, together Augusta and Jane floated up to the highest levels of feminine delight, their springs winding tighter and tighter, their twats aching for the final release of the come-spasms, yet hoping that the unbearable teasing count go on a little bit longer. Every nerve in the two females' bodies were quivering, and particularly those in the swollen breasts and the hot cunts!
All the while, although they had been doing similar things to each other, it had been Augusta who had been firmly in charge, as was evident from the hesitancy with which Jane had tried her sweet little experiments. And that was how it should be. And so of course it was up to Augusta to decide when they should both come.
Not that the moment could be long delayed. Everything was in suspense as the long fingers probed deeply. Something had to give soon. It was ... toooo ... unbearable.....
Augusta suddenly moved her fingers out of Jane's slick little cunt, being careful not to injure the maidenhead, and went for the aching little clit. Jane, realizing that the time had come did the same.
The sudden attention to the pleasure-seat, the almost vicious way in which the two female's grabbed at the most tender spot the other had, was enough to break the dam, and wham! Wham! WHAM! They both shook violently in each others arms in the weird sitting position they were still occupying. The breasts quivered against each other like jelly, and the mouths felt the extra pressure.
But it was in the hot little twats themselves where the action was, as spasm after spasm passed down the inside of the cunts like rings of fire, and as the girl-flesh quivered as if it were a living animal.
Whooooo! Ohhh that was fantastic, both females though in unison, as they felt the moisture covering their fingers. Then, gently, they pulled their hands and their mouths free and for the first time in several minutes opened their eyes and looked each other squarely in the face, smiling, as if astonished at the amount of pleasure they had succeeded in giving to one another.
"Now that really was fun, wasn't it darling," Augusta said cheerfully. Jane's only reply was to half close her eyelids and sigh.
"OH, Miss Kreel, that was ... just heaven. It ... it ... " she was evidently searching for superlatives "it was ... even more fun than that beating up that fool Cleve today.
And that was saying a great deal, for however soft and tender she was when being loved by another woman, Jane had already shown herself that she could be an implacable bitch-and bitch was a word girls were proud to use at the. Heatherrow Boarding School-when it came to disciplining a saucy man.
The only thing that worried Jane was that she was afraid that after Miss Kreel's fantastic lovemaking, she would have a hard time getting used to the stuff she had to be content with in the dormitory and at the hands of those teachers who liked her.
Augusta looked admiringly at her young pupil. What a pure bundle of femininity! Soft and graceful, yielding in love, but hard as iron when it comes to stripping a male of his last vestiges of self-respect. And a good boxer, too. That would serve her well in later life when she married. For although the graduates of Heatherrow were pretty much lesbians to a woman, most of them got married. There was something so solid feeling about knowing that your slave is bound to you not merely by the natural ties which bind the weak, inept, male to the domineering female, the drone to the queen bee, but also by legal ties which were hard to break. They could always be broken by charges of cruelty, but the absurd, stubborn obstinacy of most men made them prefer a lifetime of petticoat rule to the humiliation of admitting in court that they were physically no match for their wives.
"Divorce is one of those things which we women will have to abolish when we really bring our rule out in the open, "Augusta had often told herself.
As it was, divorce on grounds other than cruelty could only usually be obtained with difficulty in many states, and even then the crushing alimony which a wise society imposed upon the impudent male who sought to escape from his rightful ruler and mistress was usually a form of servitude almost as bad as direct female domination! To wear the same old shabby suit for years, and be laughed at for looking like a ass, while all of one's hard-earned money goes to buy one's ex-wife fantastically expensive hand-made leather garments of the most bizarre cut was abasement indeed!
Augusta gave Jane a little pat on the ass. Understanding what was meant, she scooted off of Augusta's knees. Augusta took her by the hand and gently led her to the big double bed, with the most comfortable of mattresses, as if she were leading a bride! Jane was just a passing imagine, but an awfully nice one.
Meanwhile, shivering on the merciless floor of his cell, Cleve cursed the day he was born, and tormented himself with endless questioning of his own masculinity, and vain efforts to avoid facing the simple fact of female superiority.
And Augusta and Jane passed the night in each others arms, cuddled against each other, soft breasts against soft breasts, waking up in the middle of the night for a dreamy half-asleep fuck, and then dozing gently off again.
And so as Augusta lay with Jane's sweet, graceful arms about her, Cleve, who had not yet received the punishment he was due for trembled in the momentary expectation of terrible discipline-for he had it in the middle of the night many times before-and suffered the largely self-inflicted tortures of the damned. And damned he was, too, to a life spent under the rule of haughty women!