The Dominant Male

this person tried first one and then another and another. It was only at the fifth or sixth attempt that the correct key clicked in the lock and the heavy door swung open with a creak.
    A huge figure filled the doorway. The little cell was pitch-black but the corridor beyond blazed with light, casting the hulking form into silhouette. Patience stared, transfixed by the sight. It looked more like a devil come to claim her than any mortal man. Something long and thin and flexible swung at his side, just like a devil’s tail. And then – it nearly made her heart stop with sheer terror – the thing opened its mouth to reveal a fiery orange glow, and Patience let out a shriek.
    The light switch clicked as she was still giving full voice to her fears, and the demon out of hell was revealed. Lord Horace Caldecotte, Marquis of Thundridge, stood contemplating her. He wore full evening dress and was puffing on a fat Havana cigar as he waited for the girl in the bed to collect herself. It was some measure of the fright that he had given her that, on realising that the ‘devil’s tail’ was a cruel-looking, black, plaited whip swinging in his hand, her chief emotion was one of pure relief.
    ‘Well now,’ the deep voice of his Lordship boomed into the tiny room. ‘So this is our little masturbatrix! By God, it’s like a furnace in here! I know Snodgrass likes to cook you little chickens, but I need a bit of air.’
    There was a small window high in the wall behind the bed-head. It was barred but behind these there was a small casement which the Lord opened up, letting cool, fresh air into the room, all the more welcome because his Lordship’s cigar had filled the cramped space with acrid smoke in seconds. Having opened the window he sat down on the bed beside her, this being so narrow his meaty buttocks pressed hard against Patience’s side. He turned, took a long pull on his Havana cigar and contemplated the chained girl’s face ruminatively.
    ‘Well, now. Let’s see what the old termagant has done to you, shall we?’
    Patience was far too awed to speak and anyway, as far as she could tell the question was rhetorical. Certainly, his Lordship did no wait upon her answer but reached out with his free left hand and grabbed the top latex sheet, pulling it down with a smooth, unhurried motion.
    ‘Aha!’ He grunted, ‘they have you in one of those infernal rubber nightgowns too, I see. Makes you sweat like a plough-horse in this heat, I warrant. ‘He chuckled, ‘or, rather, I should say, “as I can see”!’
    If Patience was red faced from the heat and the excitement her cheeks now burned as hot as his cigar in sheer humiliation. The long nightdress of yellow latex was soaking wet with her furious perspiration, making it cling to her body but also making it even more transparent. See-through rubber fabric stuck fast to her full breasts and, as she glanced down, she saw with despair her nipples sticking up like thimbles. Dry, the garment was indecent. Wet and slick with sweat like this it was no better – indeed, she thought it worse – than being naked.
    ‘By Christ, girl, that is the finest, fattest pair of titties I have seen since Christmas! Are you in foal, by chance?’
    For some moments Patience was too confused to answer and he took hold of her left nipple between finger and thumb, twisted and pinched.
    ‘Aaaoooow!’
    ‘I asked a question, chit. You’ll find it best to answer. Are you in foal, I said?’
    ‘No, Sir,’ she managed.
    ‘Really?’ Releasing the nipple, Lord Thundridge grabbed her whole breast and squeezed it hard. ‘Damned fine, firm, udders for you not to be in milk, my girl.’ He said and took another pull at his cigar. ‘Now then, I have to whip you for your wickedness. Whip it out of you, d’ye see? But big firm titties like these beauties, well, they are fairly crying out for it, don’t you think?’
    Patience flicked her glance over to the whip which he had thrown down on the floor. His hand had made her all too aware how sensitive her breasts were, the latex-encased nipples quivering in response to his touch, vibrating like tuning forks made flesh.
    ‘Now,’ his Lordship continued. ‘I am going to have to pull your nightie up. Nothing indecent, mind, we are not all slaves to wantonness like you with lust and lasciviousness boiling in our brains, what! Purely disciplinary, you understand. Quite proper!’
    He stood and, putting the cigar between his teeth, took hold