Chapter 5
Following Bradford Hudson's first two days of classes, the school population was abuzz with speculation about the character of the handsome young teacher. Boys and girls alike attempted to size him up and gauge his mettle. Not very much of the speculation concerned his ability as an English teacher.
Hudson had found that his duties were relatively simple. Since English was a required subject for all--both upper and lower forms, corresponding to the last two years of high school--Hudson met all the students in the school during the four classes he taught daily.
He had been advised by Dr. Slade to be very strict, even aloof. He had tried, but it was a bit of an effort. His classroom manner had always been casual and friendly. It had always been his way to gain the students' confidence rather than to intimidate them. As a group though, the students reflected the discipline of the school. They were a model of quiet behavior. Of course, Hudson had done some sizing up himself.
The student body was especially good-looking. Dr. Slade had selected well. The boys tended to be smallish, soft, and clean-cut in a sissified way--which was only understandable, considering their exposure to homosexuality. On the other hand, the girls were ripe and smoldering. And there were no physical misfits. Their bodies and shapes varied, of course, but not to extremes; there were no fatties and frails. Some of the older girls were anatomical knockouts with mature bodies that belied their age. The younger ones were just on the verge of developing. All in all, a delightful selection. Hudson wondered if lesbianism was as rampant as male homosexuality. It was difficult for him to judge. There were no obviously masculine types. Of the female teachers, Adele Hutton came closest. Yet it was Elaine Duke who was the dorm supervisor. And Miss Duke did not fit his image of a lesbian. No matter, he thought with a mental shrug, there was enough to go around.
Hudson had kept to himself for a couple of evenings following his initial homosexual encounter with Warren Blake. After dinner on each of the nights, the math teacher had him for a drink and, not wanting to get too deeply involved at first, Hudson had used the excuse that he had to lay out his study plans and prepare his courses. It was not a lie. In fact, he used the time for just that purpose. What he had expected, thought, was some communication from either Dr. Slade or Madame Martel. Since the headmaster had made it a point to have him witness a whipping with overt homosexual trimmings on his first night at the school, Hudson felt like he was left dangling. Someone should let him know what was expected of him. It wasn't as if he were quartered in a students' dorm. The idea that the school was rooted in sexuality and that he was being temporarily ignored--except for Blake's overtures--bothered him considerably.
On the fifth evening of his residence, he was tempted to take up Blake's invitation. To his chagrin, though, the math teacher said nothing after dinner and went off with Dr. Slade. Miss Duke and Miss Hutton shortly left the dining room, and he found himself across the table from Madame Martel. He had learned her first name and he used it.
"Britt, just what the hell is there to do around here?"
She looked at him with mild surprise, then amusement. It was the first time they had actually spoken other than to greet each other. She did not return his initial familiarity, however. "Why, Mr. Hudson, are you bored? That would be a shame. You've only been here less than a week. You should have said something to Dr. Slade or myself. I was led to believe you spent quite some time with Mr. Blake the night of your arrival. I assumed you were continuing to see him." The little smile she gave indicated that she either knew or suspected what had happened.
Hudson reddened. "I haven't been back to see him. Warren's all right, don't get me wrong. It's just that I have a wider range of interests." He looked at her directly.
She met his stare and said with extreme coolness, "Really, how interesting. You must remember to tell me all about them someday."
"I'd like to tell you tonight," Hudson said, not backing down.
She sat for a time considering him. "My, you are really very bold and forceful, aren't you? Well, Mr. Hudson, let me see. This is Friday. Fridays and Sundays are movie nights. Saturdays, in case anyone hasn't told you, we have a dance. Since these are the only functions where the boys and girls mingle, they have to be chaperoned. You'll do your stint at it, too, but tonight I happen to be on duty. I could have you in for a glass of sherry afterwards, though, I suppose. Would you like that?"
"Yes, I'd like that," Hudson said gratefully. He stood up as she rose. He watched her tall, sensuous body walk gracefully across the room and out of sight. Who gave a damn about students when a female like that was close at hand? He kicked himself mentally for not having spoken to her sooner. It made him feel rather good that she had so quickly accepted his solicitation. Could it be that she had been waiting for him to approach her? There was a whole week wasted, he thought. Well, one thing for certain, he was going to make up for the lost time. He sat dawdling over a cup of coffee until one of the help interrupted. It was Bess, the middle-aged Negro woman who served their meals.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I have to get these dishes cleared off. Mr. Willis drives us back down the mountain at seven sharp. He just don't like to wait."
"I'm sorry, Bess. I was just daydreaming." He'd been trying to imagine Britt Martel naked. It was a sweet dream.
Hudson went to the movie by himself. It was held in the small chapel building that, since the school was no longer a seminary, also doubled as auditorium. He entered late and could not find Madame Martel in the dark. Nor did he see her when the lights went on. He asked the boy who was running the projector and was informed that she had left some time earlier. Quickly he returned to the main building and went directly to her door.
To his surprise, his knock was answered by a student. He dredged for her name and came up with it: Hope Fairchild.
"Come in, Mr. Hudson. The madame's expecting you. She'll be out shortly."
The girl was extremely pretty with straight, ash-blonde hair that came nearly to her waist. She was dressed in a miniskirt that was considerably shorter than the length girls were allowed to wear to classes. Hudson also noticed that she wore dark nylons and heels--two other items that were not prescribed school wear. Then he took a closer look at her blouse. No, he wasn't seeing things. Or rather, he was. The sheer fabric was almost transparent. Hope wore no bra. And her pert, unsagging breasts were plainly visible. The nipples were darker spots against the diaphanous material.
She closed the door and indicated a sideboard. "Would you care for sherry?" she asked. He nodded, watching her carefully. There was quite a transformation from the girl who sat in one of his classes. He had guessed her age to be seventeen and, though the sexy clothes didn't exactly add years to her, they gave her an exciting veneer of sexual sophistication. He accepted the drink and complimented her appearance.
She nodded demurely. "Thank you. Is there anything else I can get you? A cigarette?"
He pulled out his own, but she insisted on lighting it. Not shabby at all, he thought. Hope would be an asset to any man's apartment. But why was she playing hostess in Madame Martel's? He glanced about. The madame's place was considerably larger than his own. It appeared to be a suite with a separate bedroom. Off an alcove, there was even a Pullman kitchen and a small settee where two or three could eat. The furnishings of the main room were of tasteful and quiet elegance. It was a Victorian style but not heavy handed. He realized it was the kind of room that suited Miss Britt Martel perfectly. Yet her young friend seemed somehow in place. He did not know how carefully the room had been decorated, however, until Madame Martel entered the room.
Hudson was not shocked, but he was a bit stunned. The madame was the positive picture of sexual dominance. From the top of her head to her toes, she created a powerful image of raw, unyielding force. More than anything else, it was the boots. They were distinctly old-fashioned Victorian: pointed toes, a spiked heel at least four inches long, and shiny black patent leather laced to her knee. Above them were sheer, black nylons. These could be seen through a wide split in her dress. The dress itself was also black, made of a clinging material that molded to her body like a second skin. The garment was high necked and long sleeved, yet it revealed everything. Every contour of her fantastic breasts and nipples were perfectly delineated. It was an awesome sight. Her flesh seemed to ripple under the material as she came forward to greet Hudson.
"Welcome, Brad. I see you've met Hope." She smiled at the girl. "I've taken Hope under my personal supervision and guidance. I'm pleased to report that she's coming along quite nicely. Don't you think so, too, Hope? Tell Mr. Hudson."
The girl stood near Hudson and cast her eyes downward. In a voice quite shy, she said, 'The madame is too kind. There is still much for me to learn. All I can do is try to be worthy of the madame's attention."
That odd little exchange over, the madame showed Hudson to the sofa. It struck him as she took his arm that, with the extreme height of her heeled boots, she was a good three inches over his height of an even six foot. It was unnerving to have such a gorgeous woman come in that large a package. They sat and Hope refilled his glass and served the madame sherry. They made idle conversation for some minutes and Hudson let his mind wander beyond their words. He noticed the casual way that Britt Martel crossed her unbelievably long legs. On " many women, such boots would have been unwieldy and awkward. For her, they almost seemed natural. Hudson was not naive, of course. He recognized the dominance ,which the boots symbolized. Also that her other choice of garments carried out the symbolism in a more subtle way. He was familiar enough with the classical vixens of literature, and he was aware that sadomasochistic games, including bizarre costumes with boots and leather, were becoming increasingly popular across the country. He had never encountered it personally, however.
Since he thought highly of his own masculine, predisposition to be the dominant sex partner, he had always doubted that he would find such a woman attractive. It bothered him no little bit, seated the length of a sofa from Britt Martel, that she was causing a perverse excitement deep within him. It was as if no one had ever bothered to tell him that the first real dominatrix he would encounter would be such a stunningly beautiful woman. Without her boots or heels or anything else, she was imposing enough to cause a bit of a tremble in any normal man. And Hudson knew well enough that his sexual appetites were not considered exactly normal.
He found himself musing over the possibility of being sexually submissive to her. It was at this point that his lack of experience concerning the more ritualistic forms of sadomasochism came to the fore. He had no idea about the extent of her perversity. While the fun of playing games with her intrigued him, he certainly wasn't the kind of man who enjoyed pain--a prerequisite, he thought, to playing the masochistic role properly.
The closest he'd ever come to the complicated crossover between sexual pain and pleasure were those times when he was the passive partner in anal intercourse. And it was also true that the more often it happened, the less was the pain and the greater the pleasure. Unless the other person's cock was of fairly large proportions, there was no discomfort at all anymore. Someone like Warren Blake, he knew, would probably take his breath away. But he thought he could handle it if he had to. Even so, that kind of pain was different than the pain he associated with a dominant female.
He had heard the stories of their predilection for whipping. It was that aspect that left him cold. And, God knows, he thought, the whole faculty, himself the only possible exception, was hung up on corporeal punishment. He was quite sure that Britt Martel was equally disposed. Then, as if in answer to his thoughts, he heard the madame asking him, "The doctor and I have been wondering, Mr. Hudson, why you haven't had to recommend a student for discipline yet."
"I haven't had a reason to," he smiled. "I've never had a better-behaved bunch of kids in a classroom before. Apparently, whatever discipline they receive elsewhere is enough to get them through English."
The madame gave him a short laugh. "Ha! Well, you'll see. They haven't tested you yet. In time you'll discover that we have a number of children who go out of their way to get punished. They become absolute little savages just to get a taste of discipline. That kind of thing can't go unchecked, of course. The discipline is utterly important, but it must be channeled so that it is at our discretion, not the student's instigation." She sipped her sherry thoughtfully while looking at Hope who sat primly and still in a nearby chair.
"Now Hope is a good case in point," the madame went on. "She adores a good whipping. Don't you, child? Answer me."
Hope nodded her head solemnly. "Yes, Madame, I do."
"There, you see. An honest answer to a question. But Hope was one of those girls who would go out of her way to invoke punishment. She'd throw childish tantrums and the like. Under my personal tutelage, though, she's changed her ways. You see, Mr. Hudson, a sound whipping can be two things. It can be punishment for a thoughtless or disobedient act, yet it can also be a reward for good behavior. Hope, with my help, has just discovered that. Tell me the truth now, child. Would you like to be whipped tonight?"
The girl raised her eyes at once. She seemed about to answer, but kept glancing hesitantly at Hudson. Finally, she stammered, "Oh, I... yes, Madame. I'd love it for you to whip me tonight. I promise to be very good. I'll do anything you want!"
The madame sat back with a thin, satisfied smile. "Now do you understand, Mr. Hudson? It's all a matter of emphasis. It takes time and effort to bring them around, but the rewards are worth it, don't you think?"
Hudson had to clear his throat before he answered yes. The scene was very similar to that which he'd observed on his first night: young Bruce submitting to Dr. Slade after the paddling. But this, Brad thought, was even more profoundly perverse. He was witnessing true subservience. The madame didn't have to actually whip the girl, only promise that she would. Hudson stirred in his chair. A strange anxiety was growing within him. A whole area of sexuality, a no-man's land, was being opened to him. He found himself being drawn further and further inside.
The madame was shrewd enough to sense it. She noted the quick, nervous sip he took of his drink and the way he tried to keep his face from betraying his excitement. Inwardly, she allowed herself a moment of smugness. There was much about these vain, handsome young men that she disliked. Especially the ones who thought their cocks were an answer to a maiden's prayer. She had little use for any of them. So little use, in fact, that it had been years since she had deigned to give a man more than the time of day, much less allow one to think that she--was a sexual possibility.
Slade was the only one who understood her, yet he would never dare mention it. When she had set Slade up as headmaster of the school, it was with the understanding that he could play his own games with the little boys and keep out of her way. She preferred her present position to that of the figurehead. Slade played his part well, and no one was any the wiser. Certainly not the handsome Mr. Hudson.
Welcome to my parlor, she thought, bemused. She wondered how long it would take her to completely twist around his sexuality. He wasn't a sexually confused adolescent. He had his deviant lusts, to be sure, but on the whole he was an aggressive, egotistical male. It would be a challenge, she thought, something to amuse her during the rather dull winter. She had been toying with the idea for some time. But the only other male around was Warren Blake, and he was perfect for the position he held. Then that previous bitch English teacher had become emotionally involved with one of the girls and had run away with her. Well, maybe it was fortunate. It had brought Hudson to her. She recognized that she had already made up her mind or else he would never be sitting on her couch. It was time to pique his curiosity.
"Would you believe," the madame asked, "that just by mentioning a whipping to Hope, that it started her body aching for it? I'll show you what I mean. Come here," she ordered the child. "Lift up your dress and show Mr. Hudson your cunt."
The girl did as she was ordered. She wore only a garter belt. The lips of her young cunt were nestled in pale, silken hair. To Hudson, it looked delicious and unspoiled. Under any other circumstances, he would have loved to slide his tongue in it. Now he tried to be nonchalant with certain clinical curiosity. "It doesn't look particularly wet," he observed.
"Oh, it is," the madame said. "Look here." She reached out and wiggled two fingers between the blushing lips. Then she deftly slid them upward and twisted them. The girl allowed the violation without a quiver; she continued to hold up her skirt and look straight ahead. When the madame removed her fingers, they were indeed wet. "There." She held out her hand to Hudson so he could better see. He nodded seriously. The madame turned back to the girl and said, "Now see what you've done. My fingers are all messy. Go on, child, clean them up."
Without lowering her skirt, the girl leaned to the upraised hand and licked the fingers that carried her own cunt juice. When the madame was satisfied with the cleansing, she said, "Well, I have promised you a whipping and you shall have it. But we have a guest this evening, and we ought to be hospitable. Why don't you show Mr. Hudson how pretty you are without your skirt and blouse?"
Hope quickly slid out of the two garments, leaving on her garter belt, stockings, and heels. She stood before them once more, all her charms exposed. Hudson acknowledged her young beauty with a broad, greedy smile. Shorn of her blouse, he could see that both nipples were bright pink and swollen--the exact rosy hue, in fact, of the lips of her cunt. She was splendidly proportioned for her weight and size, which he estimated to be a hundred pounds and no taller than five three in heels. "Lovely, just lovely," he said aloud.
"Yes, isn't she? Let our guest examine you, child. Go ahead now, Mr. Hudson, see how exquisitely smooth her skin is."
Hudson swallowed hard as the girl stepped up to him. He wanted very much to touch her all over, but he didn't want to seem too eager. He began by stroking her arms and her hips and stomach. Then he cupped her breasts and kneaded them, pulling his fingers outward to stroke the hard nipples. His cock was growing hard by the second. He made no move to a position; that made it less obvious. He continued to caress and fondle the girl, working down to her pubes and teasing the soft bush of hair.
"It's all right, you can finger her," the madame said. "Her asshole, too, if you like."
The weirdness of it all was getting to Hudson. He had diddled with young girls before, but always with the idea of turning them on. It had always been just a mere preliminary to more involved sex acts. And there was always a reciprocal excitement. Now, as he tentatively stroked Hope's cunt and wedged his finger in deeper, he was faced with a submissiveness that he did not understand. In all respect to his past experiences, he should have not been finding much pleasure in probing the sex of a girl who, though hot and damp, did not move nor protest nor encourage--only allow. Yet it was exciting.
He filled her with two fingers and inserted them fully. He stroked up and down to see if he could get a reaction. Hope remained still though and only the increased flow of her cunt juices indicated that she even felt him. Hudson frowned. He couldn't believe that he wasn't turning her on more demonstrably. It was unnerving. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. It was a tremendous effort to try and retain any semblance of coolness.
He turned her around and spread her legs slightly. Reaching under her, he dipped his finger in her cunt and spread her juices backward to her anus. Then he pushed a fingertip into the puckered ring. Instantly, he was surprised how easily his finger slipped in. He glanced at Britt Martel. She smiled at him but said nothing. Hope's cunt was average size for a girl her age, but her asshole was astounding. Hudson pushed in two fingers and, to his continued fascination, they fit without excessive pressure. My God, he thought, she's bigger back there than Warren Blake! He found it difficult to conceive of a young girl being looser than a practicing faggot. Deliberately, he bunched three fingers and shoved them home. Well, finally, there was the tightness. But it was an impressively thick bouquet of fingers he was using. He felt like pumping the fingers to her harshly to trigger some acknowledgement of what he was doing. But he held himself back. The anal examination was cursory. He finished by caressing the firm, rounded cheeks of her ass. Something else intrigued him at that point.
"I gather she's been whipped often, from what you said," he observed. "Yet there's not a mark on her ass. I would think otherwise."
"I'll show you. It's quite interesting," the madame offered. "Hope, thank Mr. Hudson for touching you, then go to my room and bring back a couple of your whips."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Hudson," the girl said with a surprisingly grateful note to her voice. "I enjoyed your hands and fingers. I only hope you enjoyed me." Then she was off to the bedroom.
In a moment she returned with three ugly-looking leather instruments--two whips and a broad strap. They were ugly, that is, to Hudson. The manner in which the girl carried them and presented them to the madame indicated that, to her, they were precious.
"Look here," the madame said, handing him one of the whips--a short, flexible quirt three feet long. "Notice the padding under the first layer of leather. And see that thick tip. Make no mistake about it, this is an extremely painful item, but it won't break the skin. It can damage one, naturally, if used to extreme. It will raise welts and bruise the tissue underneath. Those marks go away quickly, though. Cuts are forbidden here. We want no scars, temporary or permanent. After all, these are beautiful children, as you can see from looking at Hope. To discipline them and train them is one thing. To mark their bodies would be another--very unsatisfactory. With these specially designed whips and straps, they go unblemished yet suffer the most exquisite pain."
Once again Hudson found himself appreciating the strange thoughtfulness and thoroughness he kept encountering at Mt. Arcadia. He hefted the quirt for feel and flexed it. Yes indeed, it would most definitely be painful. He wondered when he would get the opportunity to use similar equipment. He looked at Hope's cute smooth ass and felt a tightness in his loins that was entirely new. The night he had watched Blake paddling young Bruce, he had been excited. But it had been a different kind of excitement. He hadn't mentally put himself in the place of the disciplinarian. Perhaps, he mused silently, I am moving into a very rewarding new phase of sexual experience.
"Very neat," he said, passing back the quirt. "I've never been around whips before, you know."
"So I gathered," the madame replied. "But you find them exciting, don't you?"
He shrugged, trying to be noncommittal. "Interesting."
"More than just interesting, Mr. Hudson. From the look of your pants, your cock must be near bursting."
Hudson flushed involuntarily. "Well, after all... I mean, the girl is naked .. . and I've been fingering her."
"I see. Just that." The curve of her smile mocked him. "Well, would you like to see her whipped?"
He wanted to say no to win his point, but he was too aroused. Hoarsely, he said, "I would."
"All right. Hope, tonight I am going to allow you the privilege of choosing your own painful device. Come quickly, child, what's it to be?"
The girl pondered a second. "The strap, Madame, if you please."
"Ann, an excellent choice." She flashed Hudson a superior smile. "The punishment strap is more terrible than most. They tell me it feels like hot coals across the flesh. As you can see, it isn't padded. It won't cut because the edges are well rounded. However, we will raise a few welts this night."
She cracked the two-foot long, five-inch wide strap against her boot with a sharp sound. Holding it by a braided loop handle, she swished it through the air and smacked it down on the sofa cushion between herself and Hudson. He flinched--and cursed himself for it.
The Madame appeared not to notice. She was contemplating her victim. "Will I need to restrain you, child? Or can you contain yourself? Answer me."
"I... I don't want to be tied. But with the strap, I... I don't know if I can ..."
"Get the bonds then and be quick about it."
The girl ran to the bedroom and was back in a flash with a set of leather straps with buckles. Next, she moved a heavy ottoman with ornate curved legs from in front of a chair to the center of the carpet. She set a strap by each leg and positioned herself, belly down, over the piece of furniture. It was not precisely a crouching posture. Her knees were bent awkwardly and drawn up so that her legs were spread wide apart and her ass was higher than her shoulders. Hudson had a full, unobstructed view of her ass and cunt.
The madame allowed the girl a couple of moments to anticipate the impending whipping, then leisurely arose and went to her. Hope's wrists were each strapped to an ottoman leg and two straps were used, above and below each knee, to secure her legs and retain the same grotesque position. That accomplished, the madame flashed the strap and stepped back.
"Keep a close eye on her cunt, Mr. Hudson," the madame explained. "Her cries and pleas won't be a true indication of the intense sexual experience that will occur."
Her eyes flashing, her booted feet firmly planted, the madame arched the strap through the air and struck the first blow. The resounding smack of leather against flesh jolted Hudson. Compared to a paddling, it was a frightening sound. And the girl, though she was probably desperately trying, was unable to prevent herself from crying out. The strap flew again. Again the girl cried out and started pleading with the madame to stop.
"Shut up your whimpering! You'll be begging for extra strokes before I'm through with you, you miserable little cunt!" She struck two quick blows in succession, each striking the upper thighs on the band of flesh above the girl's stocking tops.
Hudson gripped the edge of the sofa and leaned forward. The madame's sudden vehemence had surprised him. Her expression was one of utter imperialism. And Hudson peered at Hope's cunt. As had been promised, it was beginning to glisten. He grasped his cock through his trousers and squeezed to alleviate the tension that had arisen. In fascination, he watched the strap fall precisely, measured blow upon measured blow. It was apparent that the madame was a true expert. As the ass turned bright red and angry welts appeared, she laid her blows down so that no one part of the ass or upper thighs received too much punishment. And the effect was plainly obvious. As had been foretold, despite the girl's screams, the cunt juices were literally dripping out of her gaping slit.
The sound of choking sobs was loud when the madame turned away from Hope. "That will do for the moment. It'll give her something to think about." Her eyebrows went up as she noticed Hudson holding his pants. She curled her lip smugly. "Don't be embarrassed, Mr. Hudson. I'm rather glad you appreciate the view, to say nothing of the action."
"I've never seen a cunt get so wet," he admitted. "I watched it snapping and twitching. Did she have an orgasm? It was hard to tell."
"An orgasm?! Why, she had a climax on nearly every stroke. You have to appreciate the difference in sexual response between a male and a female, Mr. Hudson. She's capable of a few more, too, but not immediately." She looked at Hudson's crotch and pursed her lips. "Whereas, it appears you would be satisfied with just one, wouldn't you?"
Oh, yes--Hudson thought--with you, dear madame. He looked up at her searchingly. Her nipples had become engorged during the whipping and they poked out against the tight bodice of her dress like hard plums. How he would love to get his hands on those, push them together, even come in between them. With her, he'd settle for just that. He refrained from being presumptuous, though. This was her show. He said, "Yes, I'd love to come off. I'm open to suggestions."
"I don't think that would do," the madame said with a note of displeasure. "I wouldn't want to make a suggestion and then have you refuse it. You would have to promise to follow my instructions. I, in turn, will promise you your gratification. And you need gratification, I might add."
She was quite serious and Hudson realized it. She wasn't about to let go of the situation for a second. If he didn't agree, he would most likely be shown the door. He looked over at the bound girl and her sopping sex. He imagined that the suggestion would somehow involve her. It was a bizarre trap. A small voice told him to lightly refuse her dictate and leave with his masculinity intact. But another voice, louder and more compelling and more deeply rooted in his psyche, urged him to agree. He did so.
"Excellent, excellent," the madame smiled lewdly. "I was hoping you were the adventurous sort. For a start, you may take off your clothes. I'll be right back."
She left the room, and Hudson hurried to undress. His skin was prickly with hot flashes as he anticipated--what? It was the element of the unknown that caused the tightness in his balls. He felt his cock and found it to be as rock hard as he had ever known it. He could feel the blood pumping furiously through the length of it. He stepped closer to the girl and stared closer at her uplifted, crimson ass. All he had to do was kneel down. Either at the rear or at her head he could momentarily relieve at least some of the sexual strain. He looked over his shoulder toward the bedroom door. It was closed. Then his eyes switched back to the cunt which seemed to draw him like a beacon. He wasn't thinking clearly at all, so he acted. Quickly, he dropped to his knees. The girl was breathing rapidly and making no sound. Her long hair covered her face and he couldn't see her expression. She was probably in a daze, anyway. Swiftly, he pushed his cock into the folds of her cunt and shoved forward. She made a throat sound, but that was all. Feverishly, Hudson stroked! One, a couple, a half dozen--that was all he needed to relieve the unbearable strain. He wouldn't come, though, he would save that for the madame.
"You cocksucker! What do you think you 're doing to that girl! Get that filthy cock out of her!"
Madame Martel stood above him, hands on hips, her face a mask of fury. Hudson gulped and withdrew his cock. He hadn't even heard her come in. What a stupid, stupid trick to pull. He castigated himself. He glanced up and over his shoulder, an explanation on the tip of his tongue. "I couldn't help it..." he started to say.
The rest never came. He gawked at the sight of Britt Martel. While he had been sneaking his quick, thoughtless fuck, she had been removing her dress. All she wore, save the boots and dark nylons, was a black satin garter belt. His gaze swept upward. His tongue thickened at the sight of her hairless, thick-lipped cunt. His eyes boggled at the tits that loomed out, firm and stupendous. Oh, Jesus, he moaned inwardly, if I screwed up my chances with this magnificent creature, I'll never forgive myself.
Without warning, she slapped his face with an open hand. She silenced his protest by hissing, "Shut up, you faggot! Whatever gave a cocksucker like you the idea you could touch this girl? That asshole fucking cock isn't good enough for her! And what do I get for my troubles and hospitality? I get a sneaking, lying, ungrateful male whore! I get you!"
Hudson was crimson. His mouth worked but no words came. He was hypnotized by her furious, magnificent spread-leg presence above him. Finally, he found his voice. "I'm sorry! Please, please forgive me! I'll do anything, anything to make up for it!" The words rushed out. His blinking gaze focused on her smooth-shaven cunt. He had to have it, to kiss it, to taste it, whatever the cost. "Give me a chance to prove it to you!" he pleaded.
She walked around him, glowering down, her hands still on her hips. "Untie the girl," she ordered. Gratefully, Hudson scrambled around the ottoman and loosened the straps. Hope got to her feet slowly, numbed from the restrained position. Hudson started to get up also. "You stay where you are! You owe this child an apology, too, and not in words either. And I'm going to see that she gets it. Since you took advantage of her while she was tied down, I suggest it's only fair that you be treated likewise. You do agree, don't you?"
Numbed and churning with confusion, Hudson nodded. He paid no real heed to the possibilities of what could happen to him. He only knew that he did not want to be cast away and scorned by Britt Martel.
"Since you're built differently than Hope, however, we'll have to make an adjustment. Get on the ottoman, on your back."
Hudson obeyed, and Hope was directed to strap him down. His hands were bound underneath the flat, broad stool and his ankles were strapped in such a way that his knees were doubled and his ass protruded over the edge of the cushion. It wasn't until he was firmly secured and unable to move that he realized what an utterly exposed and helpless position he had been subjected to. His confusion and chagrin were suddenly replaced with a massive dose of fear. By bending his neck up, he could see his unprotected erection and he knew that his balls and ass were equally vulnerable.
"Don't whip me, please! Don't do that to me!" He pleaded with a tremor in his voice.
"But it's what you deserve," the madame said. "However, I'll reserve judgment on that for the time being. It may not be necessary if you do as you're told. First, there's your debt for your insidious assault on Hope. For a start then, you're going to eat the cunt you soiled. Go ahead, child, squat over his face. Mr. Hudson would be very grateful and honored if you did that. Wouldn't you, Mr. Hudson?"
Hudson realized that an answer was expected. Painfully humiliated, he said, "Yes, Hope, I would be very grateful if I could lick your beautiful cunt."