The Dominant Male

of the hem of that strange latex garment and pulled it up towards her head. The sound it made was quite extraordinary as it peeled away, an obscene, rubbery rustle drowned out by a strange sucking sound as the latex had stuck fast, the sweat forming an airtight seal between the rubber and her smooth, pink skin. Reluctantly, the latex relinquished its grip. Once he had pulled the rubber frills and pleats up past her breasts he gathered the soft latex and pressed it into her pinioned hands.
    ‘Hold this, and hold it fast,’ he said. ‘If you let it go and it obscures your titties I will start again from the first stroke. D’ye hear me, little Missy?’
    All Patience could manage in reply was a terrified squeak. Deliberately, his Lordship took off his tailcoat and threw it on the floor, then he bent to retrieve the little whip. He raised it and now she saw that it was a short, plaited affair, finishing in a thin, knotted, leather thong eight inches in length. The room being so small, he stepped back to the foot of the bed before raising his arm.
    Patience froze, her eyes fixed on the upraised whip. Even the radiator stopped gurgling for a moment as if it too were holding its breath. His Lordship, clearly in no hurry, took a long pull at his cigar, keeping his right hand upraised and ready.
    Finally he struck. The leather thong whistled dolefully in that bare chamber and then cracked across her right breast and Patience yelped in pain. She bucked and writhed in her taut chains as agony coursed through her, spreading from a single line of fire on her breast until it seemed to suffuse her whole body. Then, just as the searing sensation began to ease, at least a little, her master struck again.
    The punishment was not quickly completed. Nor did his Lordship show a shred of pity. He whipped her naked breasts with slow, methodical rigour, pausing frequently to pull at his cigar and complacently contemplate his handiwork, admiring the livid welts that bloomed on her naked, almost pneumatically upstanding breasts. Patience squirmed and shrieked and soon she begged for mercy. She yelped out promises, between squeals, to be a good girl and obey his every whim. Tears splashed onto her burning cheeks and her thrashing head flung them across the latex pillow, as her writhing body cast beads of sweat onto the rubber sheet. But nothing stayed his implacable hand.
    How long it went on, Patience could not have guessed. She entered a strange delirium of pain so all-pervading and intoxicating that when, finally, he halted, she hardly realised. Her big breasts had been whipped to a lurid scarlet – the individual welts melding into one scalded-looking mass. Amazingly, she saw through blinked-back tears that her nipples stood even prouder than they had before. She was not the only person in the room to notice this phenomenon.
    ‘Well, Mischief,’ his Lordship said with a deep chuckle, ‘it seems your dugs enjoy a bit of stimulation!’ He reached over and pinched a well-whipped nipple, provoking another moan. ‘And is that merely sweat between your legs girl?’
    It was not sweat. Patience knew it and she knew her master knew it. Now that the pain had eased a little she was once again aware of quite different sensations, an urge she did not know the name for but that was stronger even than fear of his whip or his disdain.
    ‘Pleas, Mu, Master…’ she moaned. ‘I need… I cannot bear, I need you to…’ She could not name her need in words but the slow writhing of her pelvis spoke eloquently.
    Lord Thundridge regarded the naked girl, squirming as much as she could in her bondage, with frank astonishment. ‘Good, God, you little trollops are all the same, it seems! Quite clearly I have been far too lenient.’ He walked to the door and bellowed, ‘ Snodgrass! ’
    There was a pause. Patience was unable to stop her desperate writhing. Lord Thundridge, however, was content to watch her, smoking his cigar and, with his whip hand, stroking the black fabric-covered bulge below his belly. At last came the hurried clopping of high heels down the corridor.
    ‘Sorry, your Lordship, Sir. I was… seeing to Constance. She—’
    ‘Never mind. This little hussy is it seems incorrigible. But I am not the man to give up easily. I intend, indeed, to corrige her thoroughly. Bottom may be better than breasts for this work, but there is no room here for whipping. Fetch me a Yankee paddle and give me the key for these!’
    Snodgrass clattered