Chapter 7
The dining hall chairs and tables had been put back in place, and everyone was eating a delicious dinner. Everyone, that was, except for Cleve.
He had a bow of the usual filthy potato peels. But to add to the humiliation, his nick had been attached to a table leg with a very short leash, so that the potato peels were not quite, but almost, beyond his reach.
To get any food at all, he had to strain forward, the rope cutting cruelly into his neck, to try and snap at the vile morsels in front of him. Needless to say, his hands were tightly tied behind his back.
He had only been given a slight reprieve from his "very severe" discipline because of the approach of dinner. Augusta hated the schedule to be upset, even for something as much fun and as instructive as the humiliation of a male!
"Mr. Litchfield, you don't seem to be enjoying your food," Augusta calmly remarked.
Cleve's face crumpled in pain, and he started to cry, for he knew that when Augusta made a low-key, offhand remark of that sort, it usually presaged pain. It was humiliating enough to be staked out here in the same spot, almost, where he had suffered so terribly only a few minutes before, with all eyes hungrily upon him and he was aware that when the dessert plates were cleared away, a new episode would begin in "the unmanning of Cleve." Not that there was much unmanning that was left to do.
"Don't be such a baby, or you will most certainly be chastised! I simply remarked that you didn't seem to be enjoying your meal. Or do you think yourself above my dinner-table conversation?"
Cleve looked up in sheer terror now, for he knew what that meant when Augusta made one of those fake self-depreciating remarks. He dared not speak without permission, dared only look up at the splendid woman with the eyes a cornered deer uses to look at a wolf.
"Oh, don't worry. I was just wondering if you might like to help do the serving. Jane, help Mr. Litchfield get ready to do the serving."
That line was a dead giveaway, for the "help" could only mean some terrible hindrance.
Jane walked around to the front of the table, conscious of her grace and beauty, and untied Cleve's leash.
Cleve started to get up, for there was no way she could lead him on all fours with that short lead, and got a smart kick in the side for his trouble.
"Thinking," she remarked coolly, clearly trying to model herself on her heroine, and doing a remarkably good job at it, "is not something which men are capable of doing or permitted to do. I decide when you get up. Get up."
Cleve got up.
"Sit!"
Cleve sat.
"Good, now we're getting somewhere." Jane hoped that miss Kreel had approved of the way she had dealt with Cleve's impertinence.
On her order, Cleve got up again, and followed her into the kitchen. When he reappeared every one burst into laughter. A cord no more than three inches long connected his ankles together and his knees. Together he could only take mincing steps.
Furthermore, he had been placed in knee-hobbles, which Augusta had provided earlier out of her large collection of bizarre restraints.
The knee hobbles were leather casings which snapped over the knees. They were shaped like a pipe joint, and consequently compelled the victim to walk with his knees bent at an angle, the knees sticking forward, the body painfully maintained erect.
A tight rope wrapped around Cleve's chest held his elbows in firmly to the sides. In front of him he carried in his aching fingers a huge tureen of scalding soup.
"Faster, faster, or the soup will get cold and the slave will get punished," Augusta said with a chuckle.
Jane walked beside Cleve laughing heartily at the latter's attempts to walk, and giving him an occasional prod in the ribs with a carving knife that she had found in the kitchen.
Cleve gasped and staggered, hardly able to breathe because of the uncomfortable position into which his knees and legs were forced. With something between a rabbit hop and walk, mincing as if he were a woman in a super-tight skirt, he strained towards Augusta. It was like that time only the day before, when he had struggled to reach her distant figure on the playing fields as the three little girls had flailed the living daylights out of him. His "Clowning" then had led to the severe discipline of today. The rhythm of life for a man: one day of pain flows naturally into another, with the punishments of the second day being the natural results of the stupidity of the day before, and that stupidity being something inherent in being a man.
He was almost at the high table with the huge soup bowl when all of a sudden he felt an agonizing searing pain in his right buttock. With a shriek he bucked backward and fell, spilling scalding soup all over his body, steaming, almost boding tomato soup, which covered him a laughable red.
Inwardly, Augusta smiled at Jane's cleverness. The girl had waited until just the right moment before jabbing her carving knife into Cleve's vulnerable ass, right when he had least suspected it. It was the surprise that made him drop the soup, for the knife jab, though painful, was not that painful. In typically stupid male fashion, Cleve had thought that since he had been allowed to almost reach his goal he would be allowed to go the rest of the way. He had been most on his guard at the beginning, when the punishment had started.
An intelligent creature, on the other hand, such as a woman, would have seen that the whole point of the exercise was to allow him to expend limitless pain and effort in trying to accomplish his task, and then make all the effort wasted and useless.
But there was no time, Augusta realized, to muse over the situation. There was a clumsy male to be punished instantly.
"You pig!" she screamed," just because you men like to wallow in your own filth and crumminess doesn't mean that we women do. How dare you spill tomato soup all over the floor? I'd make you lick up every last drop, but you'd probably enjoy that too much. Go get a kitchen mop.
Cleve did so still stunned by the catastrophe which had come upon him-for the dinner had only been intended as a respite to further punishment anyway, and now to that would be added yet more punishment, and more and more.
His skin felt like it would come off, so scalding had the soup been.
He was back in a moment with a mop used to soap the kitchen floor. With that he began to wipe up the soup.
He had brought a bucket into which to wring the full mob, but just as he was about to do so, he heard Augusta say, "do that buster, and you won't believe what hit you."
Lying at the ready on the table was Augusta's riding crop, so Cleve had a pretty good idea of what would hit him.
"W-what am I supposed to do with it."
"That's perfectly obvious, but at least you're learning no to try and think. Wring it into your mouth and drink it."
Cleve's face was a mask of agony at the thought of the unpleasantness in store for him, and he knew that this was just extra unpleasantness, brought on by his own masculine clumsiness, and had nothing to do with the much greater unpleasantness which was waiting for him once the lunch was over.
Slop, slop, the mop, filthy with floor-wax and soap and the crud that collects behind stoves and things slurped up the soup. Cleve held it hesitantly over his open mouth for a second, until a glance told him that a second longer, and he'd wish he'd died when he was little, if he didn't already. Then he wrung the vile blackish-orangish fluid into his mouth, and drunk it down.
Oh Heavens, he thought, I'm going to puke!"
The diamond-like glitter in Augusta's eyes told her she knew he was too, and could hardly wait.
With a heave, the soup and water came up Cleve's throat. He tried to keep his mouth closed, but couldn't, and the vomit poured onto the floor.
Normally the girls would have been disgusted during meal time to see someone puke, but they had no thought for disgust now, because the possible punishments that could now be inflicted upon Cleve for doing such an unmentionable thing were almost limitless.
"Bet she makes him lick it up," one little girl said to her fascinated neighbor. And of course she was right. "And if you vomit up your swallowed vomit," Augusta said, "you will simply have to lick it up again. And for each time you puke again, you will get twenty-five lashes in a spot even you haven't dreamed of."
Gagging and choking Cleve liked the vile liquid off the floor. Every muscle in his throat and stomach wanted to keep him from doing so but so terrified was he by Augusta's threat that he somehow managed to get it all down and lick the floor clean.
"I hope you've enjoyed your dinner, Mr. Litchfield," she remarked. "We try to set a good table her at Heatherrow."
Cleve's action in keeping the re-swallowed puke down would have been a noteworthy feat of self discipline, if it had not been inspired by one. of the basest of all motives, fear. There was no more connection between Cleve's act and self-discipline than there was between masculine stubbornness and feminine determination.
What Cleve wondered was whether the threat of 25 lashes for every time he re-vomited meant that he already had twenty five on the books for the first vomiting.
He most certainly did!
Finally the agonizing meal was over, and the tables were cleared away. The girls gathered around like vultures, wondering what would be done to Cleve Now.
Cleve found himself tied with big leather things, that bound his arms into his chest, while Augusta was armed with a long, wicked looking strap, just right for teaching impudent men a thing or two.
These were the twenty-five lashes in an "unheard-of place.
Jane, who was currently Augusta's favorite and hence hencewoman, brought down form the headmistress' room a sort of curious band. It consisted of a strap with two large cotton pads on the inside.
Passive and helpless, Cleve waited to find out what the possible use of the strange object could be. He assumed that it couldn't be for beating. After all, why would a discipline-strap need cotton pads? And surely it was that more-normal looking affair in Augusta's hand which was going to inflict the twenty-five lashes.
Jane reached forwards and placed the strap over Cleve's head so the two cotton pads covered his closed eyes, then she fastened it in the back.
It was a strap to protect his eyes! He was going to be whipped in the head and face! that was the unhard place!
"NO! he screamed. "NO! You can't."
"THAKK! a band of fire seared across Cleve's left cheek and left ear.
"Oh I can't, can't I?" Augusta said with malice. She was perfectly delighted at this momentary show of defiance, for once can't fall unless one is high up, and it is the humbling of male pride which is all the fun.
"Not only can I, and will I, but you have just doubled the number of strokes for your defiance."
"Oh please-oh mistress, I wasn't defying you, I swear I wasn't. It'd so hard to learn to be an obedient slave, particularly for a man like me."
"Are you implying that a woman would ever be enslaved? That her proud nature would ever bend to servitude more quickly (if indeed at all) than you impotent slavishness. Take that you pig, and another ten in addition!"
Augusta's clit was as hard as a pebble as she laid the lash onto Cleve's cheeks and nose and bruised, battered mouth, and flame-red ears, one after another. The chains of her weird bra were digging into her own flesh as her breasts struggled for liberty and as her nipples objected in vain against the confinement of the little leather cups. Augusta always liked to be slightly uncomfortable when inflicting punishment, so as to be sure not to be too lenient with the helpless victim who found himself a willess object under the cruel discipline of her lash.
Cleve gasped in pain as the strap cut his face and neck. Being whipped on the head was like being whipped in one's innermost part, for somehow the head was the most central part of one's being. And the humiliation of being unable to see, of being deprived of that vital sense, so as to not even be able to make a show of trying to defend oneself in that humiliating manner which is the only property of the slave: ducking to avoid the blows of the incensed mistress.
"Sixteen ... seventeen ... eighteen..." Jane counted to herself, as she watched the pain bomb explode on the side of Cleve's head. Her own delicate fingers found their way down to her crotch, and she figured that with no-one looking she could give her clit a little squeeze. A furtive glance around showed that she was not the only girl who had had that idea, for many others were-likewise stimulating the flow of their pussy-juices in a similar manner, or were feeling their nipples, sometimes rather harshly, through the fabric of their blouses.
For Jane it was a special pleasure to watch Cleve receive this fearful discipline, for she could congratulate herself on being the cause of it. It was she who had given the prod which had sent Cleve flying with the soup bowl, just as it was she who had bound him in such an artful way.
But, of course she had to admit that really all the credit belonged to Miss Kreel, who had supplied the hobbles, who had ordered Cleve to 'help with the serving'-thus giving Jane's imagination a chance to show itself in carrying out and interpreting these orders-who had made him eat his own vomit, and who had had the idea of whipping him on the side of the head.
"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine. ... " Cleve's brain was all foggy and his head just one round glowing hot cannonball, unable even to express his emotions because every expression was immediately changed by the pain following another cut of the strap.
No, Jane though, Miss Kreel was really wonderful. She was sure Miss Kreel had enjoyed the way she had performed in bed the night before, and sure she had appreciated the way she had made Cleve fall. Maybe ... just maybe, for Miss Kreel was fickle ... she would invite her again into her bed for some more of the heavenly lovemaking she had given Jane the night before. Ohh, that would be delicious. Jane's hard little clit tingled between her graceful thighs, and her nicely shaped breasts strained out against the fabric of her blouse. (Bras were not allowed at Heatherrow, except for the kinky bras that Miss Kreel sometimes wore.)
If Jane was hot from watching Cleve get the business, Augusta was even hotter from giving it to him. She had decided what Cleve's final torture of the day would be, and knew that it would relieve herself and a little someone of whom she was really very fond.
Forty-four, forty five . . , . .
And if Augusta's genitals tingled to every Thack! Thack! of the strap cutting into bare flesh, the blind-folded Cleve, naked and choking for breath, unable to see anything because of the protective blinker but well able to imagine the feminine eyes greedily feasting on his torment, was even hotter, with his pick standing up like a hard banana.
So hard that Augusta couldn't resists the temptation to divert the direction of her blows and lay it on down there too, so that as Cleve shuddered with the horrible cutting pain as the strap curled around skin supposed to feel girls' soft cunts and not cruel leather, he lost count of the blows, and then had to wait on the rest of the flogging of his head, when it resumed, without knowing if the last blow given him was the last of the series, or just the forerunner of another, and another and another.
Thack! Thack! Augusta had guessed that he must have lost count, and so she would lay three on extra hard and fast, as if they constituted something of a finale, and then wait for several seconds, until Cleve had begun to hope that this particular torment was over, before beginning again, harder than ever. Sensing what her beloved Miss Kreel was doing, Jane darted forward during one of the pauses and started to tug on the straps of Cleve's eye-guard so that he really thought the pain was finished, only to dart away again so that further discipline could be rained down on the absurd male head.
Thack! And it was over. Really over. Though Augusta stayed silent and left the guard on for a while so that Cleve would have to think that there might be at least one more coming. So typical of men, to see complexity where everything is simple to fall into traps which are obvious, and to suspect traps when there are none.
Off came the mask and Cleve fell in a half-faint onto the floor. His head was ringing, his nose bleeding profusely-and he feared that he would have to lick the blood off of the floor-his ears mangled and swollen, his lips so puffy that he could hardly have spoken even if given a direct order to do so.
A bucket of ice water, which had been cooling in the freezer for the purpose since dinner time was thrown over him to bring him to his senses, it cut like a knife, and was a cruel torment, because being brought fully to his senses simply meant that he would have to be aware that all the future held him was pain, and all the immediate future held was the prospect of immediate pain.
"Mr. Litchfield seems to like blood. Can any of you girls oblige him? I can't at the moment, I'm afraid."
One of the girls nearest the door darted out to the bathroom and came back in a second holding a bloody sanitary napkin which she had just been wearing.
"Excellent. I was thinking that Mr. Litchfield might oblige us by serving as a horse, and of course every bridle need a bit.
And of course, there was a bridle handy, a man-bridle, from out of Augusta's bottomless treasures of dominalia.
Cleve looked aghast at the red-soaked thing, with that special reek which is at once unpleasant and mfinitely delightful. What could be more logical than that Cleve, a man, should be tamed and directed by a sanitary napkin, when the sanitary napkin is one of the clearest indications of the female's biological superiority over the male.
"Open up, if you know what's good for you," Augusta's firm voice said.
Trying not to gag or vomit, Cleve opened, and the moist, bloody tasting thing covered as it was with fluid from a girl's most wonderful and private parts was crammed in his mouth. He felt himself choking as the weird "bit" was attached to the bridle, which was fitted over his head.
Cleve felt Augusta sit on top of him. She was heavy, but not too much heavier that the three little girls who had ridden him mercilessly out to the sports field.
"Alright girls, someone get on my shoulders."
A weight on Cleve's ass, then a heavier weight where Augusta was sitting told Cleve that a girl had climbed up and then climbed onto Augusta's shoulders. Having someone on your shoulders isn't painful at all, but having the weight of two females on the sag of your back is quite another matter!
"Giddap!"
Cleve lurched forward, and all the girls in the room followed him in a happy feminine torrent, kicking him in the ribs, flailing him on the bare ass with the riding crop, pulling his swollen ears.
Yank! A sharp pull of the rains and of the sickly-tasting bridle, symbol of man's abasement. Cleve turned the direction indicated.
"He didn't turn fast enough, Girls, lay it on!"
And they did with a vengeance.
Another turn, equally unpleasant, and then the staircase. Cleve could hardly believe that Augusta expected him to climb that with her and another girl on his back. In fact he was partly right, for Augusta was afraid that if he fell, the other girl might go over the banister, so she had her get down. But the remaining eight was terrible enough when it came to climbing stairs.
Step at a time Cleve struggled up. Augusta had her legs bent all the way back, so that the heels could give nasty little prods in the groin.
Gasping and panting, Cleve reached the top of the stairs. A yank on the bridle turned him in the direction of Augusta's bedroom. The other girls followed, giggling, for not all of them had seen the wonderful private chambers of Miss Kreel, though all had seen the office where the discipline was administered.
All this was Augusta's idea, and none of the other girls had any idea what this final torture of Cleve's was going to be, though they could imagine it would be worthy of its inventrice!
There was a knowing, womanly smile on Jane's pink little lips though, for she was sure she had guessed. She was bright as a button a real credit to her glorious sex.
In the bedroom, Augusta dismounted. Grabbing Cleve by the wrists, she forced him to get up. Although she preferred often to simply rely on her will and the hold she had over men psychologically to make sure her commands were carried out at once and to the letter, every now and then she liked the feeling of power she got from physically "womanhandling" a man.
The stunned Cleve got up, noticing that Augusta was twisting his wrists far more tightly that was necessary to restrain him, even if he had dared try and run away.
The subtlest tortures, Augusta had always thought, are those with a large element of psychological as well as physical suffering involved. She ordered Cleve to haul a small table next to her bed, and then to lie flat upon it. Grabbing his feet, she raised them straight in the air. Then taking hold if his hair she yanked his head and shoulders back, while Jane tied a cord to one wrist, passed it around behind the legs and tied it to the other wrist.
Another cord ran from the ankles down to the first one, which passed above the knees, bending the legs down in a painful fashion. A final cord, attached to the sanitary-napkin bit which had been replaced in Cleve's mouth bent his head back as far as it could go.
The result was that Cleve was lying on his belly, with his legs bent up and around towards his head, and his head and shoulders were bent back toward the legs, he formed, as it were, a sort of painful, "O."
The agony of this particular mode of discipline was, of course, intense, but that was not all there was to it. From where he was Cleve could not help looking directly at Augusta's bed.
"AH right girls, you may go to bed now. Jane, you stay behind with me."
Those few words told everyone of the magnificently ingenious punishment through which Cleve was to be put. He would have to spend the whole night in an acutely painful position, and what was more, he would have to spend it with his face inches from a soft, warm bed, inches from a couple of females enjoying all the physical pleasures, including those of physical love, which were permanently denied to him. Further, the way in which he was bound he had no possible way of touching his prick, of easing the-tremendous longing to masturbate that would surely build up there as he say the two females at play. Even masturbation, a low form of sex indeed compared to the sweet delights which women can offer one another would be denied him, as would be comfort, sleep, everything except the chance to meditate on his own hopeless situation and upon the degree to which he fully deserved it for being "a male.
With a sigh of relief, Augusta undid the fastenings on her kinky chain-bra. With another sigh she pulled off the skirt, which was sufficiently tight to have cut into her flesh somewhat. She sat down and tried to pull her boots off. She couldn't quite manage it so tight were they.
"Jane dear, would you please help me with my boots."
In those few words were contained all the difference between being a man and a woman. Although the request would have had to be obeyed, it was a genuine request, and not an order, for Augusta knew perfectly well that Jane would be delighted to obey, and the order, given that way to another female, had nothing degrading about it. Had it been Cleve to whom she had spoken, however, a special harsh tone would have been used, and the giving of help would have been interrupted by insults and beatings.
Jane smiled and kneeled in front of the older woman, grasping the boot in her hand.
Cleve, gasping for breath and wondering how he would ever be able to spend the night this way when he was sure he "couldn't take" another five minutes of this, realized that Jane, as she kneeled, must be looking directly up into Augusta's warm, moist cunt. His prick tingled as he thought how much he would like to be doing the same, instead of being bent over in this painful pretzel position and deposited on a table with less thought than one gives to the placing of a lamp of a vase. They, after all, can be attractive and useful, while no man can be either.
It wasn't just the sight of Augusta which made Cleve's balls pull up in a tight little snood. Jane had already taken off her blouse, revealing her exquisitely formed breasts, with the pink nipples already pouting at the prospect of another night with Miss Kreel. Jane knew from experience, however, that they would pant a good deal more once they felt the skilled touch of her heroine!
Augusta was smiling as she gazed down at the fresh young face with its super-refined features. As Jane pulled off the second boot, Augusta couldn't resist placing her hand right under Jane's breasts, clasping the chest, and then sliding the hands up the chest wall, so that the lovely globes bulged on top of them.
"Golly, how I'd like to be doing that," Cleve thought. "Shit, I'd be satisfied with a chance to beat off!"
But although as he looked at Jane he could easily imagine himself in bed with her having a good old fashioned fuck, there was another image which kept creeping into his mind as he looked at the lithe young body: that of Jane standing triumphant above him, wearing nothing but shorts and boxing gloves, the sweat glistening upon her breasts, those breasts on which Augusta was lavishing such loving attention.
"Here, darling, you helped me, I'll help you with your skirt." And so saying, Augusta, now a picture of naked loveliness, rose and unzipped Jane's skirt.
As the garment fell away, to reveal a pair of filmy panties which hid nothing of Jane's pubic moss, Augusta reached inside the panties from the top and poked a finger inside the fun cleft, while he stood somewhat behind Jane, cupping one of her breasts in the other hand and lightly kissing a perfectly formed ear.
Cleve yanked desperately against his cutting bonds, not out of hope of release, for he knew that was impossible, but out of sheer frustration at the contrast between the voluptuous world of sexy pleasure into which the two girls were entering, and his own world of sodden pain.
Augusta designed to spare a glance at her unwilling guest. She too was struck by a contrast-that between the elegance and beauty represented by Jane, and the insolent ugliness and crassness of Man as represented by the hapless Cleve.
How good it was to have her in her power! How good it was to humiliate him thus, while at the same time being able to taste the sweetest fruits the female sex has to offer-and those are sweet indeed!
Jane felt the prying finger of Miss Kreel fingering the pink skin of her girl-parts, and reveled in having been born a woman, in being able to enjoy the delights reserved for women.
Cleve, twisted like a face cloth being wrung, cursed the day he was born. He wasn't specifically cursing the day he was born a man, but that would come in the course of the night. When every second is so painful it seems like a minute, and every minute like an hour.
The night goes very slowly by.
Augusta withdrew her hand and whispered, "I must just attend to the lights, darling."
She turned them off one by one, leaving on a night light that she had in her drawer for some reason or other. The pale bluish light was just enough for Cleve to be able to see almost every detail of female loveliness, and to guess what he couldn't see.
When she turned to pull Jane into bed she burst out laughing. The little minx was already kneeling on the bed, and holding a luscious breast only millimeters away from Cleve's frantically stretching tongue.
"Go on, taste it," the graceful sixteen-year-old was saying in a silvery voice. I won't punish you if you do!"
The punishment was that no matter how he stretched out his tongue, till it was straining at the roots, the slightest fraction of space remained between it and the delectable rosebud.
"What a generous thing for you to do Jane," Augusta laughed, "offering yourself to our guest like that. But perhaps you should be even more generous
Jane picked up the cue and threw herself down on the bed, spreading her long, lovely legs up in the air. Her cunt was hardly an inch from Cleve's face.
"Oh shit," he thought it's been so long since I've had any, I'd kiss it if it were to cost me my life!"
How typical of strange, masculine desires, that a man should wish to press his lips and tongue against that delightful spot which is the symbol of the female sex and consequently a symbol of his own irrevocable inferiority!
At least he could breath in the smell of pussy fluid. If only he could touch, just once.
He dared not beg for a touch, not merely because begging rarely got one anything at Heatherrow, but because he realized the enormity of his request. Imagine, a male slave asking to be allowed to place his slimy lips upon a girl's nicest part! If a girl decided to present it to him as a matter or torment, that was quite another matter!
Augusta had crawled on the bed now, and was kneeling there, watching the proceedings and stealing glances at Jane's little cunt.
Jane now had her finger down there and was playing with her clit, right in front of Cleve's nose! Even by the limited light of the night lamp he could see the pussy fluid glistening in the mysterious feminine recessed.
"Save yourself for me dear," Augusta chided gently. Jane, who had been resting on her back did a neat little backward roll that ended with her sitting on the bed rather farther from Cleve, who had thought he was going to die when he saw the way the little breasts had bobbed during the somersault.
Augusta was still kneeling on the bed, and Jane copied her, aware of how much could always be learned from the mistress of pleasures.
There were things which Cleve could learn too, but they were harsher lessons-the abject status of the male! female superiority! the hopelessness of disobedience!
The two kneeling females were side to side, now, their asses and their cunts both facing Cleve as if too taunt his helplessness. They were pressing side to side, each with an arm around each others' shoulder heads turned to allow soft lips to meet soft, pink lips, in a lingering kiss of the kind that only lesbians-or rather, only women, for all women are fundamentally lesbians-know of.
Cleve felt as if his lungs were going to burst, so short was his breath as the action of the two women worked him up into a frenzy of hopeless lust which he couldn't even satisfy by touching his quivering penis. He was sure it would go off if he touched it just once of course he had already had a come once today. His cheeks burned as he remembered the humiliation of Augusta making him come in front of a school full of girls with a press of her heel as if she were touching the accelerator pedal of a car.
Both Augusta and Jane felt a swell of tenderness inside them as they gently mouthed each other. More serious pleasures could wait! And the thought of Cleve's tortured body and tortured soul bound only a foot away for them made their lesbo fun all the more exciting.
Augusta reached her arm all the way across Jane's slight back and was able with her finger tips to fondle the side of the hanging breast.
It was so good to be a woman, and to have breasts! each girl thought. It must be so vile to be a male and have a penis!
Slowly, Cleve was coming to think the same thing. He noticed the delicate tenderness existing between the two females, and he began to wonder wistfully what it would be like to be not a 39-year-old man, but slim, sixteen-year-old Jane in the bed with Augusta.
It wasn't just that that would give him as chance to make love to the magnificent Augusta. The very idea of being a girls, of having soft breasts and a softer cunt, and little monthly periods, all appealed to him immensely.
As before, his male pride surged up to make him stop thinking such thoughts, but every surge was weaker than the one before, as he slipped slowly deeper and deeper into true mental servitude. Such is the meaning of female domination when it is properly conducted.
Jane gently withdrew her lips from those of Augusta and planted them on the side of the older woman's neck in a gesture of respect and love. She loved to feel the dark locks cascade over the side of her face as she did so.
Augusta gently took the wrist on which Jane was supporting herself and pulled it away, so that both females fell giggling onto the bed.
The soft springs gave gently under them.
The hard wooden table didn't give at all under the dead weight of the parcel Cleve.
Now that they were both lying on their sides on the bed, they could snuggle close to each other, soft breasts to soft breasts, hairy mound to hairy mound. Their hands were already at each others' cunts, pulling the flesh that is the tenderest spot of a girl, feeling the juiciness of the hole, delicately touching the ! nerve-bomb which is the clitoris! Clit and slit! Girl fun!
Cleve had thought that girls had fun with men once, but now that he saw Augusta and Jane in action, he wasn't so sure that any girl would really be able to appreciate a man's clumsy, fumbling advances, his aggression with his big cock. Oh to be a girl!
Later, perhaps, Jane and Augusta thought, they would sixty-nine. But for the present nothing could be nicer than to lie facing each other, nipples pressed to nipples, mouths to mouths, exchanging secret love messages with their fingers.
Jane would give a particularly insistent feel to some particularly tender spot of her headmistresses' woman-flesh and revel at the thrill she would feel shudder through the other woman's body. Then one or the other of them-usually Augusta-would start some of the pleasant hurting, and this would continue until one or the other, usually Jane, would indicate by letting up on the other woman's labia that she liked what they were doing, but would like some tenderness too.
Slowly, in continuous pain, the facts of life were dawning on Cleve. He had glimpsed them before, when he had crawled forward to offer his tortured body to Augusta by licking her boots, and also when hanging from the ceiling doing the frightful splits. But in each case the pain had let up, and he had been able to partly forget, to resist the lesson. But now pain was part of his whole being. As an added torment, Augusta had placed a clock with a glowing dial where Cleve could see it, so he could watch how slowly the night was passing. Only ten minutes had passed so far, in parcels of five seconds, each of which seemed to Cleve the maximum time he could bear. Though, of course, there was nothing he could do even if he couldn't bear it, for the sanitary napkin stuffed in his mouth prevented him from even groaning.
Now, then, with pain coursing through his every joint, with pain, the only effective teacher of the dull male mind, accompanying his every second, the lesson he had learned before could be re-learned until it was permanently engraved on his memory, and the lesson consisted of four words: the superiority of women.
As he looked at the incredible tenderness with which Augusta and Jane were working their way up to orgasm, he felt ashamed of the crude aggression which he had committed on
Linda and other girls. As he remembered the sweet little cunt shown to him by Jane-a cunt which in a few weeks, or even a few days, would once again be menstruating-he felt ashamed of the vulgar meat which passes for the male sex-organs. He could never be a woman, however much he might like to, but at least he could obey woman, however much he might like to, but at least he could obey women, be their slave, show by his unquestioning obedience how well he understood the fact of his own necessary and natural subordination.
Jane and Augusta were reaching the point of climax now, and there was a dreamy quality-nothing jerky or frantic-about their motions as they fingered each other the rest of the way to the mutual come. It was a gentle come, with the two female bodies quivering against one another, with the two twats contracting on the long, silky fingers.
That was just the beginning of the night's fun, for certain. They would perhaps doze off now, and then one or the other of them would wake up in the middle of the night, conscious of the other's sweet presence, and with gentle fingers would call her partner to further delights.
Cleve, bent double on his table, exposed like and object desperately longed to be free. To touch the female bodies, though he was not sure he was worthy to do so, so spread his aching arms and legs. For no matter how much one recognizes the necessity of male pain, it is hard when it is inflicted not to wish that it was over. But it is just a hard when it is not being inflicted not to ardently desire it.
Cleve gasped and suffered as he lay on his table. But he also was beginning to understand.