Chapter 11

"You amaze me, Bradford, you truly amaze me," Madame Martel said as she paced before him in her living room. "After all the time and effort I've expended on you. Now this bloody stupid thing tonight. You're not very bright, you know. It should have occurred to you long before you came to Mt. Arcadia that you were accident prone. I'm referring specifically to the useless thing that hangs between your legs. Both before and after your arrival here, it has given you nothing but trouble. You, of course, are too stupidly vain to see that. The joys of sensual pleasure, my foolish friend, are not found nestled in anyone's crotch. I refer to the supreme joys, naturally. The peasantry, the timid, the puritanical, common-minded riff-raff--yes, their idea of sexual ecstasy rests distinctly in their balls and clitorises. Few of them will ever have the privilege of knowing otherwise. But you, you were offered the opportunity to expand your sexual psyche to unlimited horizons. And all you have done is to persist in failing us."

Hudson sat rigidly listening to her lecture. What completely amazed and worried him was that she was very calm and rational. Dr. Slade, as he had promised, had brought him to her quarters and proceeded to relate what he had walked in on in the storeroom. The madame had listened to it all impassively. She told Slade that she would take care of it and to leave Hudson in her hands. Hudson had expected the worst as the headmaster left. But she hadn't even raised her voice.

Another , thing mystified him, too. The madame had sent for him without knowledge, of course, of the indiscretion that had been taking place. And yet she was not wearing any exotic or bizarre clothing. She was dressed in a skirt and blouse, ordinary hose and heels. She was stunning even in such casual attire, yet it was something Hudson never expected to see in her own sanctuary. Furthermore, she was calling him Bradford with a civility he had thought to be long abandoned. It added up to--no, the problem was that it didn't add up at all.

"I want you to realize how hard I've worked with you," the madame said. "I purposely arranged to have Hope Fairchild bump into you that evening and let it be known that Miss Duke served as an intermediary. You took the hint, as I intended, and you applied yourself quite well. Then I had the girls visit you during the week. Again, you acquitted yourself nicely. The same with Miss Duke that night. It was all planned, you see, even the detail of bringing down Jan Carlton at the end. She had been told early in the day to save her shit until it was needed. Now all that was done on your behalf. And how are we repaid? You intimidate two young boys into satisfying your sexual vanity."

Hudson could not think. His head ached trying to sort out her words. No matter how hard he tried, though, he could find logic in what she said. Yes, yes, he could see it. She had done it all for him. He had betrayed her. There was nothing he could say. His shame was too deep.

The madame walked to her sideboard and poured herself a sherry without offering him any. She took a sip and twirled the glass thoughtfully. "Well, Bradford, let's come to a decision about you. This last piece of news has been shattering, to say the least. I'll be frank with you. I don't think you're ready for Mt. Arcadia."

Her statement jolted him. He started to speak, but she cut him off. "Don't blame yourself entirely. After all, we investigated your background quite thoroughly. We even talked to that teacher who was involved in the sex scandal with you. A Miss Carter, I think her name was.

She was a great witness to your sexual appetite and your leanings toward more erotic expression. Naturally, we took such testimony into consideration. By the way, you may be interested to know we even offered her a job up here. Unfortunately, she's sworn never to teach again . . . and we couldn't very well explain what it would actually be like. She's a prostitute now, you know, and apparently building up quite a clientele in St. Louis. Anyway, as I was saying, it was our evaluation that you would work out here. There wasn't any real evidence, you see, of the accident prone tendency that I've been talking about. You offered promise, but promises and dreams are often meant to be unfulfilled, aren't they?"

Inexplicably and involuntarily, Hudson began to cry. Great tears ran down his cheeks and he shook in convulsions and sobs. He blubbered unintelligently. Pleading sounds came forth and his fingers groped fruitlessly to aid his meaning. It was a painful, pitiful sight, and the madame was not unmoved. She walked up to him and lifted his chin with her hand. Her expression was almost compassionate. "There, there now," she consoled him. "I didn't know you felt that deeply. Go ahead and cry. It's all right. Perhaps it's just made me see something that I might have overlooked. To see you cry like this is an indication that you've lost a good deal of your male sexual vanity. Perhaps it shows that you're willing to rid yourself of all of it."

Through his tears and sobs, Hudson managed to nod plaintively. "Pl-pl-please d-don't send me away!" he begged.

"If I agreed to let you stay, you would have to be punished quite harshly for what you've done."

"Oh, yes! Please punish me! I want you to ... I beg you to!"

"I'll have to whip you," she said. "It will be very painful."

"Yes, whip me, please! Painful, yes... I deserve it!"

"I'm gratified to hear you say that. It shows a definite loss of vanity. Very well, then, you've swayed me. I'll punish you and reconsider sending you away on one condition. You must agree that it's your cock and only your cock that's always given you trouble. You must not only agree, you must believe it. You must further avow that you will never again use it as a masculine symbol. If that ever happens, it will have to be punished severely."

"I agree ... I swear to you!" he wailed.

Her voice was suddenly in character: harsh and commanding. "Then prepare yourself for punishment. Get your clothes off and get down on all fours. When I get back I want to see at least three fingers fucking your cunt."

"My ... my c-cunt?"

"Your asshole," she sneered. "From this moment on, your asshole is going to be your cunt. Your cock no longer exists."

Hudson was indeed reaming his asshole with three fingers when she returned from the bedroom live minutes later. He looked up and felt accepted. She had changed clothes. It was by far the most bizarre, the severest costume he had ever imagined her to wear. A shudder of excitement ran through him as she stood imperiously over him. She wore the same, old-fashioned spike-heeled boots that he had seen the first time he had been humiliated by her. There were no nylons or garter belt, however. In their place, she wore a chain belt connected to another chain that ran from a point below her navel along the crease of her cunt and underneath and up the crevice of her ass and there attached to the belt chain. The most amazing aspect of the chain girdle, however, were the prominent spikes, three of them, that jutted out just over her cunt.

Her bra, if one could call it such, was also made of chains. It merely surrounded each monumental tit with a ring of links and was fastened both in the back and by a neck strap. Her entire tits remained bare except that the nipples were covered. Small metal cups, each adorned with a long, pointed spike, capped each breast. She was the ultimate picture of inviolate dominance. Any man attempting a sexual embrace with her would be mutilated.

She had brought along some implements, also. She put a heavy metal collar around Hudson's neck and snapped it shut. To its hasp, she connected a long, broad leather strap which passed under him and up between his legs. In her hand, she carried a whip with three leather thongs.

The madame slapped the center rein viciously. It snapped upward against his belly and cock and his balls. Then she lashed his ass with the thonged whip. Hudson shuddered under the sting but did not cry out.

"Move!" she ordered. "We're going to the bedroom."

A wicked slap of the rein, another vicious lash, and Hudson started forward. She whipped him at every move he made. The stinging of the slender thongs was excruciating. They struck indiscriminately. They hit his thighs and the cheeks of his ass--but they also whipped into his balls and asshole. He surged forward, but there was no escaping the blows. He headed toward the bedroom as the sharp lashes continued to rain down on him. Suddenly, the madame yanked the under-rein. His head jerked down and he tumbled forward. The whipping never ceased and he struggled to his feet and started again. At last he banged his head into the bedroom door and bumped it open. The lashing ceased. He stared uncomprehending at the awful room.

It was less of a bedroom than it was torture chamber. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room. It was, however, unlike any four-poster Hudson had ever seen. It was not ornamental and canopied. The posts were four-by-four beams that soared to the ceiling and were abutted by support and cross-beams at the ceiling. From both the beams and the posts, at odd and various positions, dangled numerous shackles and straps. The baseboard of the oversized bed was extremely high and split horizontally. It was, in effect, a set of punishment stocks that could hold two people at once. Mounted on one wall and covering an area nearly six-foot square was a board that held dozens of whips of various shapes and styles, dildos of all description, handcuffs, straps, and paraphernalia beyond Hudson's understanding. There were mirrors everywhere. An ominous-looking padded bench with pegs protruding round it stood alone beyond the bed. And the madame had not closed portions of her mirror-faced wardrobe when she had changed into her present attire. Hudson saw a mass of leather and vinyl and satin crowded on hooks above a rack of boots. In the entire room, there was only one normal item--a dressing table laden with cosmetics and feminine grooming items. It looked entirely out of place.

"Stand up, cunt!" the madame ordered. "Walk to the whips." He stood before the display of torment. "Now choose the instrument of your just punishment."

Hudson surveyed the terrible selection. He remembered that Hope Fairchild had selected the strap because she had considered it especially painful. Above all, he did not want to give the impression that he was hedging on his attitude toward punishment. "The strap, please," he said, still squirming from the initial lashing.

"So be it. Take it off its hook and put it on the bed." When he had done so, she positioned him at the side of the bed. "Spread your legs and hold up your arms!"

On the overhead beam he stood directly under, a pair of manacles hung, fastened to the wood with heavy chains. Near his feet were similar shackles. She clamped each wrist into an iron cuff. He was spread-eagled upright, unable to exercise any movement except to twist and sway. He faced the bed; his backside was completely exposed to the madame--and the strap.

"Tell me again, cunt. Tell me how you want to be punished." For emphasis, she whacked the strap across the black-satin covered bed.

"Whip me!" he groaned. "Please whip me and strap me! I need it... I deserve it!"

"Very well, you shall have it. Like ... this!"

His ass suddenly erupted in pain! The scream was out of his throat before he could even think.

"And . .. this!"

"Ahiiyee!" He twisted violently in the shackles and rattled the chains!

"Be still, you cunt... your mouth and your ass both," she spat. "This is only the beginning. Instead of pissing and moaning, your time would be better .spent learning to like it." She swung again. "Do you like it?"

He screamed! She lashed viciously. "Do you like it?"

His answer was a choked cry and a gurgle, as were his replies to the next dozen savage strokes. After each, she asked her question. Finally, his mind and senses flipped over and he mumbled, "Yes, yes, I... I like it!" And he was positive that he meant it.

The madame strolled around the bed and viewed him straight on. "Very good," she said, staring at his limp cock. "I see part of the lesson has sunk in already. You'll be a full-fledged cunt before you know it." She leisurely crawled on the bed and slithered across to him. When she knelt upright, his flaccid phallus was just below her spear-tipped, chained tits. She smiled at him seductively and cooed, "Remember how you used to love to rub your cock on big tits? Remember back in that town you came from? Miss Carter with the big tits? The first night you had her, you fucked her tits. You not only fucked them, but you came all over them and had her lick up your filthy slime, didn't you? Answer me!"

"I . . . yes, all right, I did that!"

"Don't you want to fuck my tits, cunt? Look at them! You see, they're every inch as big as hers and twice as beautiful. Go ahead, get a hard-on. Put your fat, dirty hard cock right between my tits. Or better yet, rub the nipples. Well, cunt, why do you hesitate?"

Hudson could not even keep his eyes focused on the sharp projectiles on the cups that covered her nipples. They would impale his cock like a pig on a spit. One slash and all the veins and cords would be sliced through like a straight razor cut a throat. His penis shriveled at the thought.

She laughed at the sight of the cock shrinking back into the folds of flesh "Perhaps you'll remember this when you find yourself thinking with your cock again. I, for one, would advise you simply to consider yourself the cunt that you are."

The madame took one of her beautiful tits in both hands and lifted it. Leaning down, she moved the tit to and fro, feigning and jabbing with the spear-pointed nipple.

Hudson cringed in horror. He jerked on his chains and tried to move his crotch backwards. "Good God! Don't! No!" he screamed.

She didn't laugh at him that time. She pulled away slowly. "Think about it, cunt!"