Cavendish rubbed at his erection through his pants as he led Beatrice through to the hidden parlour beyond the covert door, eyeing the oaken stairs which led up to the comfortable room that he'd entertained her in last week. It had been she who'd recommended the venue, following his acquaintance of her through a fetishist club he'd been introduced to, and he was more than satisfied with the arrangement, his cock in a state of erection all week in sordid anticipation.
She knelt below him, naked and on a silver chain, her hands clasped delicately together, meek and apparently willing to be of service to his perverted needs; she had known the whip of the cane the week before, and the thought of another taste of it brought her cunt to a warm arousal as they awaited the house madam, though she knew of something he didn't, which brought her nipples to a hardness in erotic anticipation.
Cavendish had not penetrated her soft body after he'd whipped her with the cane and watched her orgasm as she squirmed on an inserted phallus in bondage, he'd stood over her and masturbated, sending his hot seed across her milky flesh, then knelt to lick it from where it ran into the creases of her flesh held tight by the cords. He had had little idea why he'd been so gratified by this base action, he'd been driven to it by some deep seated erotic bent, but the memory of it brought his cock to rigidity as he too anticipated a repeat of the thrill it had given him.
The bold madam gave the meekly kneeling Beatrice a knowing smile as she addressed the would be dominant Cavendish as his heart raced. She was curt with him, in defiance of his supposed masculine superiority; no male would better her, and she had watched his last performance covertly through a spy hole, recognising the signs which would be more in keeping with her status amongst men. Cavendish immediately felt a little sheepish as she looked him up and down, then spoke to him with a distinct air of feminine contempt, her eyes glancing down to the bulge which gave notice of his animal intentions.
"So, sir is ready to indulge his carnal desires once more, his little package looks up to it." He tried hard to dispel her remark as one of pure humour, but felt the truthful cut of it; the feeling of slight humiliation stimulating him somehow. She put him in mind of a family governess who had taken control of him, despite his being beyond the age necessary for the discipline that he believed she had been installed to apply on his family members. Her authority was recognised above all by his parents, and though already of an adult age, she had taken great pleasure in disciplining him too, with the blessing of his vacant father and strict stepmother.
Disciplined by her on his showing the slightest misdemeanour, with their full permission and often before the eyes of his cruel and matriarchal stepmother, the experience had been key in his developing a lust for revenge upon the female form - or so he had led himself to believe.
The memory of the canings and the humiliation remained annoyingly fresh in his mind but excited him when serving the same upon Beatrice's tender flesh, though he couldn't hide from the memories he tried to blur, of his fulfilling masturbation after being punished by the governess. He was a male, and male's are there to rule, his conscious mind told him, and he fought to subdue those subconscious thoughts of masochism and humiliation which haunted him, and gave him a perverse desire.
Little did he know, the governess he'd known would also haunt him once more. He pulled on Beatrice's chain, tilting her head back, and making her firm breasts point to the stairway.
"I am indeed ready to be amused by my pet again, she knows where a woman's place is." The madam grinned at his practiced pompous stance, seeing through to a weakness behind its thin veneer. He was no cocksure male with true masculine dominance, but she played to his tune; his feigned arrogance would add to the spice of his downfall, already set in place by the seemingly soft female whose arousal grew as the chain tensed about her neck, and his enjoyment of that downfall would be intense and mutually satisfying.
Beatrice Palmer enjoyed the whip, but was equally thrilled in applying it; she was a boon to the circle of women she worked with, her soft and feminine exterior luring males fresh to the bsdm scene into an initially mutual erotic enjoyment, then on into depths of pleasure more suited to please those women of her kinship. The males then found themselves willingly controlled by feminine authority through their own lust. They were then held to strict obedience, enslaved by their own sexual weakness and totally consumed with the pleasure of serving stern femininity. Beatrice was instrumental in perpetuating the cycle, and was expert in selecting males appropriate for moulding to the required design; Cavendish was ripe for selection.
Cavendish was new to active involvement in the bdsm scene, he'd long harboured a burning desire to air his fetish, but had never had the courage to venture into those dark areas of the community where debauchery was openly advertised. Then when consorting with a colleague from the lower echelons of the business he worked at, during a drunken evening in which the alcohol had allowed him to border on the edges of that desire during a lurid conversation on sex, he had found himself attending a venue he'd never have dreamed of visiting when sober.
His eyes and cock were treated to scenes of sordid open engagements which even the application of more cheap ale could not prevent his sobering up somewhat at the sexual intensity of what he witnessed. Women with acres of exposed flesh openly cavorted with eager red faced males in an effort to sell their services, and in one corner which caught his eye, more sedate parties sat. The females there had a certain elegance about them, and he noted the males in attendance had a more brash approach; their bravado expressed by the way they brandished their canes and riding crops.
Cavendish broke into a cold sweat as his eyes met with a soft and pert woman there, her eyes looking back like a lost puppy's as one of those gentleman lifted her chin with a crop. The alcohol did not deter his erection; her soft flesh and blonde hair gracing her feminine shape as their eyes broke while she curtsied meekly to the portly male, then glancing back at his with a warm smile unseen by her bumbling client. Cavendish left under cover of darkness, his colleague unaware of the direction of his companion's lust, the cold sweat still prevailing over his irregular drunken stride. He had broken the taboo though, he'd be back in a more sober state; those eyes had left a permanent impression and sealed his fate.
