A Femdom Saga

By

Hades and Finder

(If you would like to receive a free illustrated version of this eBook, please feel free to email me – Tanya.)

Disclaimer

This collection contains femdom erotica of an ultra-cruel nature and consists entirely of non-consensual activity including genital mutilation. If you may be disturbed by this form of erotic horror, it is recommended that you avoid reading any further.

Introduction

This collection is the result of two years work between two authors. The project actually began in 2005 in a short story entitled The Sinners. After some consideration, I abandoned it and replaced the Victorian setting with the 1950’s in a (much tamer) mirror tale called The Paramount Rule in 2006.

Three years later, The Paramount Rule became a published, full length paperback novel (currently available on Amazon.)

For fun, I went back and finished The Sinners – kind of. It ended on a cliff-hanger and I dropped the ‘The’ from the title. On the internet, it was a great success and led to countless requests for a sequel. Unfortunately, Sinners II fell to the bottom of the list that week on the BDSM Library and went virtually unnoticed.

And then – Finder found me!

Finder, a fantastic author of erotica, wanted to write another instalment with me and we decided to do a Sinners prequel entitled The Public Sentence. During the composing of this story, ideas came to us for yet another prequel.

Eight months later, we produced Sinners Origins: The Convent, which was chronologically the very first tale in the series.

However, by now, the story had got way out of control and it had picked up a few continuity errors along the way. Additionally, some of the flesh-tearing scourgings in Sinners would have been physically impossible to survive. This demanded the need to correct those absurdities in order to produce a half-credible narrative.

For the first time, and in chronological order, I have corrected, polished and defined the entire series in this 42,000 word novella, Sinners – The Compendium.

So – here’s to one of the wildest, most controversial stories I’ve ever been involved with!

Finder and I hope that you enjoy the results.

Tanya Simmonds

(Mistress Hades)

The Convent

By

Hades and Finder

Chapter One – The Unknown Saint

There are eunuchs that made themselves eunuchs for the Kingdom of Heaven's sake. He that is able to receive it let him receive it.

– The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 19:12

Sainteté

Southern France

1842

Late-afternoon sunlight streamed into the room. Marcel opened his eyes to behold the warmest smile he had ever seen as she stood looking down upon him. She wore the regalia of a nun and appeared to be no older than eighteen. He guessed she was a novice – new to the order. Marcel, a well-travelled man of the world, couldn’t help but notice that the young nun was also strikingly attractive.

“So you are awake, finally,” she said. She gently pressed her palm to his forehead, testing for fever.

Disoriented, Marcel looked around the humble, sparely-furnished room in which he unexpectedly found himself. “W-where am I?” he stammered hoarsely as he attempted to sit up. Instantly, he was forced to recline again by a stabbing pain in his right side.

“Be careful,” the young woman warned. “You’ve had a bad fall. Your legs, and possibly some ribs, are broken. You must not try to move yet.” As she spoke, he realized his legs were both confined to heavy plaster casts below the thigh. That, and the sharp pain in his abdomen, convinced him he was effectively immobilized.

He tried to remember his last moments of consciousness. “A fall?”

“You fell from your horse, two days ago. I found you when I was picking apples. Your horse is well; he is in our stables.”

Marcel’s eyes widened. “Two days ago! I had business in Marseilles.”

“I regret to say, monsieur, that you won’t be conducting business for some time.”

“B-but, where am I?” he asked, his confusion unabated.

“You are in Sainteté, in the convent of Saint Thenna.”

“Saint Thenna?” he asked, puzzled. “I am well-versed in Christendom and the saints, but I don’t believe I’ve heard of Saint Thenna.”

Their conversation was suddenly cut short by the distant sound of a high-pitched scream, echoing from the hallway adjoining their room. For a moment, a fearful look swept across the young nun’s face, but then she quickly composed herself.

“What was that?” Marcel asked, alarmed.

“I must go now,” the young nun replied firmly. “I will return, shortly.”

“But wait,” he called after her, his frustration and confusion building. “M-my name is Marcel – Marcel DuPont. Wh-what would be your name?”

As she reached the door, she turned to him and smiled again. “Sylvie,” she replied. “Sylvie Bourg.” Then she turned and was gone.

A severe-looking nun of perhaps forty-five years intercepted Sylvie as she entered the hallway from Marcel’s room. The elder woman wore a white habit with elaborate sleeve embroidery signifying her higher rank,

“What is the traveller’s condition, Sister?”

“He has awoken, Abbess,” Sylvie replied, deferentially lowering her eyes from the intense scrutiny of her superior. “Much time will pass before his departure from us, I fear.”

“He is handsome, n’est ce pas?”

“I – I cannot say, Abbess.”

The Abbess moved closer to Sylvie with sudden determination in her eyes. “A young, fair-haired man in his third decade is dangerous, Sylvie. You shall attend to his most basic needs only – feeding, treatment of his injuries, removing his waste and water, simple bathing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Abbess.”

“And of utmost importance, child – the attention of one such as you may summon the demon in the male. Be watchful that it does not arise and put you in temptation!”

“Of course, Abbess. I will be careful.” Sylvie had not the slightest idea of how a demon might ‘arise’ in a man and open the door to temptation.

“Good.” The Abbess looked down the corridor, then back at Sylvie. “Presently, I require your assistance.”

Nervously, Sylvie looked up at her intimidating superior. “How may I be of service, Abbess?”

“Sister Françoise was discovered in the act of the sin. Her punishment is severe. You must attend to her, following her penance. Come with me.”

The superior turned and strode away, leading her novice along the bare, dimly-lit wattle-and-daub corridor.

To Sylvie, these dreaded treks toward the place of punishment seemed endless. She knew not why, but often she felt as though their destination at the end of the corridor would someday be …different, in a terrifying way …as though it might be transformed into the very gateway to Hell itself, spewing sulphurous fumes and satanic howls.

According to the official doctrine of the abbey, her fears were not far removed from the truth.

At the end of the corridor, the Abbess guided Sylvie to a stone stairwell that spiralled downwards into near-darkness. As they descended, the periodic screams became shriller and louder, echoing off the hard stone walls and stairs.

They approached the chamber and the Abbess strode through the open doorway. Behind her, Sylvie seemed to shrink and hesitate before entering. Although she had seen this punishment before, it seemed to have not yet made its intended impression on her, as her youthful hormones occasionally overwhelmed her sincere and pious good intentions. She feared it was only a matter of time before she was apprehended, herself.

In the flickering candle light before them, a woman of about her own age was bent over and bound naked to a semicircular wooden structure, like the upper half of a wheel. On one side, her arms and head were stretched backwards and down, towards the floor. On the near side, her thighs were stretched wide apart and held fast by leg and ankle bindings. Her spread labia gaped, open and vulnerable, to receive the terrible bite of a small cat o’ nine tails. Between screams, she sobbed prayers for forgiveness, as she anticipated the next onslaught of knotted leather cords snapping across her tender and bleeding flesh.

The young Sister who wielded the instrument of punishment positioned herself for another stroke. As her whip slashed into the lacerated labia and the sensitive places within, the restrained woman spasmed violently, making her body appear disjointed. To Sylvie, her shrieks of pain were gut-wrenching.

“Ten more, Sister Chantal,” the Abbess commanded firmly.

Infused with regret, Sister Chantel, a quiet and deeply empathetic twenty-six year old, continued to apply the strokes to her dear Sister’s lacerated vulva. “Oh, ma Soeur,” she murmured, with tears in her eyes.

The bound nun continued to pray throughout her ordeal: “Oh, mon seigneur. Pardonnez mon péché terrible.” No amount of cruelty and abuse would shake her faith. She had knowingly committed a great sin. In the moment at hand, she felt honoured to be granted the opportunity to suffer so righteously for this long tortured moment, rather than to bear an eternity of torment in Hell. In her thoughts, she prayed that her compassionate God would accept each agonizing lash as penance for her recent sinful act.

Only three strokes remained, and she prayed for the pain to be at the limit of her tolerance: an almost-unbearable pain, for an unforgivable sin.

The knotted leather cords struck again. The stinging agony was now beyond pain, beyond tolerable suffering. Her heart raced and her limbs spasmed and trembled against their bindings. The penultimate stroke fell and within seconds, her consciousness began to fail her. The final lash revived her for a moment before she mercifully slipped away again.

“Enough!” the Abbess ordered. “Take her to the infirmary.” She turned to Sylvie. “I brought you here to impress upon you again the dangers of temptation, child. Never forget!”

“Yes, Abbess.”

“Now, go to the infirmary with them and tend to your Sister.”

As Sylvie and Sister Chantel began to remove the bindings from the half-conscious nun, the Abbess stood silently, watching and contemplating...

******

The Abbess entered Marcel’s room with her typically stern expression. Marcel felt an uncontrollable shiver roll through his body at the sight of her.

“You are not here by our choice, young man,” she said. “It is the Lord’s plan that has brought you to our abbey, and He commands that we care for you.”

“I-I understand,” he replied, cautiously. “Be assured I am a God-fearing man.”

“Are you now?”

“Y-yes,” he said, desperately trying to engage the fearsome woman in friendly conversation. “Y-your novice, who was just here, told me you are the Sisters of Saint Thenna and I must admit, I have not heard of that saint. Might you tell me something about her?”

Still looking upon him suspiciously, the Abbess approached the foot of the bed, and reluctantly began her history lesson.

“Thenna was the disciple of Saint Thecla, who was a follower of Saint Paul in Rome,” she explained. “She assisted him in his ministry, teaching the virtues of chastity and celibacy for all. Very few Christian writings mention Thecla. Thenna, in turn, was taught by her. After Thecla’s death, Thenna was blessed by a divine vision that showed her that not only was the marriage act evil, but the bodily crisis of pleasure as well, which is the portal by which demons enter our world.”

“I-I’m sorry, but I don’t follow you,” Marcel said, bewilderment showing on his face.

“The crisis!” the Abbess barked, impatiently. “That which, in a male, releases the seed of Satan!”

“The seed of…?” Suddenly, he understood to what she was referring.

“We are the gatekeepers of the Doctrine of Thenna,” she continued. “If the seed of a male falls within these walls, evil will be loosed a little season.” She leaned close to him, penetrating him with a chilling stare. “If the seed of your loins were to fall in this place, we would have no option but to…seal the portal.”

“Seal the portal?”

She did not answer, but turned and silently made her way from the room, as if in a trance.

Marcel shuddered. Mon Dieu, to where hast thou delivered me?

Outside Marcel’s room, Sister Chantel hurried towards the Abbess with her head bowed, then stopped and curtsied before her superior. “Abbess, the Bishop of the Brotherhood arrived whilst you spoke with the traveller.”

The Abbess held her subordinate’s eyes for a brief moment. “Take me to him!”

Sister Chantel, followed by the Abbess, arrived at the older woman’s secluded study at the eastern end of the building. “He awaits your presence within, Abbess.”

The Abbess stepped inside her office to be greeted by a tall, slender man wearing a long, black robe. His greying hair complemented his mature, wiry-yet-rugged countenance.

“One of the Brotherhood is ready for trial, Abbess,” he said.

Their eyes met, and a long look passed between them. There was an awkward pause before the Abbess replied.

“Bring him before us, then.”

The Bishop tipped his head deferentially toward the Abbess.

“We will meet you and your assistants at the Trial Chamber,” he said, turned and strode from the office.

Chapter Two – To Bind a Demon

Sister Chantel looked away, obvious distress on her young face, not meeting the penetrating gaze of the Abbess.

“What troubles you, Sister?” the Abbess demanded. “I insist: speak your mind!”

“I … I should not say …” the young woman stuttered. She glanced up meekly at the Abbess and realized, from the determined look on the older woman’s face, that she would not be leaving the room until the Abbess was entirely satisfied.

“So many of the Brothers … to be so cruelly tested, and found wanting,” Sister Chantel said softly. “Their punishment seems so … severe … for such a … a small failure.” She desperately hoped the Abbess would quickly abandon the subject, cursing herself inwardly for permitting her emotions to show so plainly.

“It is not a small failure, Sister,” the Abbess said firmly. “Every Brother knows his duty from the day he joins the Brotherhood. He understands that simple abstinence is not enough, that he must train and gain control over his body, that expulsion of demon seed under any circumstances is the greatest sin and shame for his gender. He knows he will be tested, and he knows the consequences of failure. He undertakes this life, and Her Trial, entirely willingly, for the glory of God.”

“But …for a man to endure life without …” the young nun protested.

“Sister Chantel! You must understand that, by removing the possibility of future surrender to temptation, the Trial of Thenna confers a blessing upon those weaker Brothers who fail her test. It is not a curse or a deprivation!”

“Yes, Abbess,” responded the Sister, still troubled. “But, to take it at … at such a moment …it must be … agonizing.”

The Abbess glared at her persistent questioner. “Saint Thenna knew well the moment at which the demon must be excised!” Then her face softened, momentarily. “I understand your concern, sister. I once felt the same, on first viewing the Trial of a Brother of the Order. Yet I tell you, your fears are groundless.” The Abbess paused a moment, seeming to summon patience from some deep reserve.

“Saint Thenna is wiser than you know, Sister Chantel. She was not without sympathy for those who fail her Trial. She understood that is precisely the moment when the male is most oblivious to the physical world, to corporeal suffering. When the Act is performed properly, there is little discomfort. I can assure you, the spiritual torment – knowing he has failed the Trial – is far greater than a few moments of worldly pain.”

“I understand, Abbess,” Sister Chantel said contritely. Hoping that the conversation was over, she bowed slightly and hurriedly left the room.

Sister Chantel was grateful not to be called this day to ‘administer the Brother’s temptation,’ as the Abbess obliquely referred to the task, although she was the Abbess’ star pupil. Each year, a young Sister was selected by the application of unknown, perhaps unknowable criteria – to be trained to participate in the occasional tests of young monks’ faith and devotion. She recalled her inward burst of pride and accomplishment when she learned of her selection – the anticipation and anxiety while waiting for the Abbess to begin the training and the shock and extraordinary electric tingle she felt race through her body, when, alone with the Abbess had opened a small locked chest and removed a wooden object from its velvet-lined resting place within. She had cradled in her hands an object of precisely-carved and polished beech wood: an exact replica of a man’s erect phallus. For a moment the young Sister did not even recognize its provenance, having only seen in her short life the private parts of her little brother, aged seven.

“Oh!” she had exclaimed involuntarily, upon the realization – and it was at that moment the tingle seemed to shoot into the nipples of her breasts, and into those secret regions between her legs. “Surely he cannot be so large!” She had instantly regretted her uncontrolled outburst, but the Abbess seemed entirely unperturbed, and had explained everything very patiently. Thus began Sister Chantel’s instruction.

Brother Reynard silently followed the Bishop along the narrow stone corridor. The floor sloped downwards, taking them deeper into a maze of chambers and connecting tunnels. The occasional slender windows admitting the last hour of daylight were replaced by torches mounted on the wall, which flickered and made their long, distorted shadows seem to dance before them on the worn and uneven cobblestone floor.

Reynard tried to focus on a calming inner image of purity and humbleness. He could not easily quell his anxiety, which rose as they descended into the bowels of the ancient nunnery. This was it: the final test of his obedience and resistance to worldly temptations according to the ancient requirements laid down by Saint Thenna, almost two millennia earlier.

They approached the chamber doorway. As he followed the Bishop in, he paused momentarily, taking in the torch-lit scene before him. He knew of this place, but it was the first time his own eyes had fallen upon it.

In front of them, two titanic oak posts stood about four feet apart, dominating the centre of the room. Each was equipped with black iron bands from which hung chains and shackles; more chains were fastened by huge iron rings set into the cold stone floor. Close to the posts was a large hourglass mounted on a floor stand. Above them, the tops of the oaken posts were invisible, lost in the dancing shadows and darkness of the high arched ceiling of the chamber.

Reynard carefully removed his sandals and set them down, side by side, on the floor under the nearest torch mounted on the wall. Both men turned to face the door at the sound of approaching footsteps.

The Abbess, closely followed by a young nun in a plain hooded cloak, swept into the chamber. It was immediately clear that she was in her domain, and in authority. She stopped directly in front of young Reynard and studied his face for a long and uncomfortable moment.

“Remove your robe, Brother Reynard,” commanded the Abbess, finally. Reynard reached down, arms crossed, and awkwardly pulled his robe upwards by its frayed hem over his head, and handed it to the Bishop. He stood naked, his lean and sinewy body reflecting the flickering light from torches on the walls. Since childhood, he had never been unclothed in the presence of adult women. Fully exposed to all in the group, and knowing that his genitals would be the centre of attention, he tried desperately to focus away from them, to find his calm inner self. Was he really ready?

“To the posts, Brother Reynard,” the Bishop said quietly. Reynard took a deep breath, stepped into the space between the massive oak posts, and turned, his face impassive. He raised his arms compliantly as the Bishop and the Abbess began attaching shackles around his wrists, then pulling and securing the chains so there was no slack. The pair then turned to his ankles. In response to a firm nudge by the Abbess to his inner thighs, he spread his legs more widely, and they fastened the floor shackles around his ankles.

Reynard felt a twinge of panic as, in the act of pressing against his inside thigh, the back of the Abbess’ right hand seemed to inadvertently graze the head of his penis. His concentration was shattered and the full sense of his exposure, his complete vulnerability, struck him abruptly. No woman’s hand had ever touched him there before. He tried not to think about his genitals, to disconnect his mind from the electric shock of contact that seemed to vibrate up the length of his penis. He felt a rush of warmth flowing into his groin, and realized, without looking, that his member was lengthening and filling and, worst of all, the three standing before him were all observing the transformation closely.

Within seconds, his erection was even more obvious, as his penis began to rise and stiffen, in defiance of his fierce determination to remain without arousal. It jerked unsteadily upward in discrete steps, synchronized with the thudding beat of his heart. The Abbess watched its upward progress with apparent satisfaction. She leaned toward the Bishop and spoke into his ear.

“See how impudently the demon rises in him!” she murmured. “I fear this does not bode well for the Brother.”

“Oui,” the Bishop agreed, concern etching lines on his face. “A distressing sign of weakness. But have patience. We shall see.”

The young monk tried to remain resolute in his determination. Erection was not failure. Why does she not begin the Temptation? he wondered. The exact nature of ‘the Temptation’ was a closely-guarded secret, but he was certain of its genital focus. Against that knowledge, the combination of dread and uncertainty seemed insufficient to reduce his arousal, and he felt his penis growing ever more rigid as it reached its ultimate altitude. He tossed his head from side to side, vainly trying to ignore the intensely pleasurable sensations of erection, the unexpected betrayal by his lithe young body in front of the three onlookers.

Finally the Abbess turned to the hourglass, mounted on a polished wooden floor stand. She removed a small towel from where it hung on the side on the stand and laid it carefully on the stone floor, directly in front of the shackled monk. Then she flipped the hourglass over and watched as its white sand begin streaming downward, forming a tiny growing cone on its floor. She nodded to her charge.

“Begin the temptation of Brother Reynard.”

The barefoot Sister Chantel hesitated, then stepped cautiously toward the shackled man before her. She did not meet his tormented gaze, instead keeping her eyes focused on the folded linen laid across the hard stone near his feet. Stopping directly in front of him, she knelt carefully, knees centred on the linen. Finally, she looked up at the tumescent object of her assigned task. His penis was now fully erect and pointing above the horizontal, nodding visibly with each heartbeat. She reached up with her right hand and carefully grasped it around the rigid shaft near the base, fingers and thumb not quite able to reach around its girth. Having only trained with the wooden replica before, she was surprised at the heat emanating from his engorged flesh. She leaned forward, opened her mouth as wide as she could, and took him in. Reynard gasped audibly as the soft liquid warmth of her mouth enveloped his erection.

“Remember your training – move your hand as well as your mouth, Sister,” the Abbess reminded her. Sister Chantel obediently began a sliding, twisting motion around the saliva-slicked shaft with her right hand, while maintaining a steady in-and-out stroke, as deeply as she could take him, with her mouth. Silently, the Bishop and the Abbess watched.

Within two minutes, the trembling monk threw his head back and groaned audibly, as his pleasure ratcheted up to near-unbearable. He dared to glance at the hour glass; with horror, he saw that only a fraction of the sand’s volume had streamed through the centre constriction into its lower chamber. He tightened his buttocks, concentrated intently on the mathematical equation for the volume of a cone, tried to disconnect from the waves of pleasure washing over his straining body. Another minute passed. The Bishop discreetly held his folded hands together in front of his plain cassock.

The Abbess seemed to come to a decision. She turned, strode to the west wall of the chamber, and pulled on a tasselled silk cord hanging there. Above the moans of pleasure and fear emanating from Brother Reynard, the jangling of a distant bell could be heard.

Returning from the bell-rope, the Abbess approached the struggling monk, stepped around the oak post on his left, and stood close behind him, slightly to one side. Carefully, she reached with her right hand between his tensed thighs, from behind. Her hand touched and then probed into his perineum behind the low-hanging testicles, fingers pressing upwards, identifying and lightly pressing into the deep internal roots of his engorged penis.

She looked past Reynard’s trembling flank and down, catching the eye of Chantel sucking hard on the plum-sized head.

“Don’t slow down!” she warned, then explained her intention to the young woman: “One may best detect the onset of the male’s emission in this way. And if I tell you ‘step away’, you must quickly remove yourself from his member and stand well clear. Do you understand?” The young nun tipped her head briefly in acknowledgement and continued fellating the shackled man, without pause.

For Reynard, the sensation of the Abbess’ hand, probing and pressing into the inner length of his penis behind his testicles, was at first a welcome distraction from the overwhelming pleasure emanating from the front portion. But then he felt her stroking and squeezing the hidden roots of his penis, a deep massage that added another dimension to the intense pleasure he was already feeling.

Reynard did not see nor hear the silent entry, through the darkened doorway behind him, of a slim shrouded figure. The Bishop watched, and his heart jumped as the distinctly feminine form entered. Passing through the flickering light of torches on the walls, her face remained in shadow under the hood covering her head. Her cloak was sleeveless, he knew, so there would be no impediment or interference as she performed her task. Barefoot, she silently followed a semi-circular path around the chamber’s centre, approaching the struggling man from his right side. Ten feet away, she stopped and waited, motionless. Flashes of torchlight from the long blade she held scattered across the walls of the chamber.

The Abbess glanced over to her, acknowledged her presence with a curt nod of the head. Sister Chantel felt a surge of stark terror as she saw the shrouded figure approaching out of the corner of her eye. She hesitated, then resolutely continued to apply her training. Whatever happens in this holy chamber now, she thought, is all in God’s hands.

Reynard’s eyes were closed and his entire body trembled. His lovely tormenter had paused momentarily, and he had hoped for a respite from her unceasing stimulation, but then she resumed with renewed vigour. Within moments, an involuntary spasm surged the length of his penis, and then another. He was certain the Abbess, with her hand squeezing and massaging the deep roots of his male organ, could feel them. With horror, he realized the Abbess was doing everything in her power to make him fail – to make him suffer the ultimate penalty. How she had delayed the start until he was fully aroused and erect; how she now, invisibly to the others, administered a deep penile massage that threatened to send him over the edge, too soon.

He glanced at the hourglass. It was half gone now, at best. Impossible! He tightened his buttocks, thrashed his chains with a great clattering, groaned loudly in his pleasure and agony. The hand around the base of his penis gripped him more firmly, and the sweet innocent face before him forced it deep into her mouth with an audible slurping sound. He felt a stronger surge coming on, and then it swelled to an overwhelming force beyond any possible human control. A ferocious tempest gathered within him. The Abbess felt the violent spasm surge forward from the roots of his organ.

“Step away!” she called out. She squeezed firmly again, synchronized to the greater pulse that she knew was coming. Chantel released her hold and jerked backwards, stumbling awkwardly as she tried to get to her feet and away from whatever horror might now visit. Reynard let out an almost inhuman cry that echoed off the cold walls, as a long jet of semen, glistening in the torchlight, arced high into the air from his suddenly-freed member. Droplets spattered against the side of Chantel’s face and rained down onto her robe. She managed to stand and turn away and found herself almost falling, clumsily, into the Bishop’s arms. He reached out and held her, pulled her close.

“Don’t look,” he said calmly.

The Abbess, behind Reynard, nodded to the silent figure standing at attention, two steps away to his right. Reynard’s involuntary howl of ecstasy and despair echoed off the chamber walls as he launched a second spurt high and across the room. The slender hooded woman glided into the light in the centre of the chamber with cat-like smoothness, simultaneously raising with sinewy arms the ancient sword, its glittering steel high above and behind her head. Semen splattered onto cold stone. Reynard’s penis visibly reared up to spurt again. She adjusted her aim minutely and struck.

No eye could follow the course of her steel, flashing instantly downward, past Reynard’s contorted face, his heaving chest, his hard flat belly, precisely striking her target, an inch from his body.

Reynard felt the abrupt absence of sensation, and a sharp stinging at the base of his penis. Unfinished, his violent ejaculation continued as his penis pinwheeled down, spraying blood and semen, landing in the centre of the white towel. Oblivious to its loss, Reynard’s body continued to pump semen, mixed with blood, from the short remaining stump of his manhood. Its force slowly diminished to a dribble, dripping into the dark pool on the stone below. Unseen by his closed eyes, the sword-wielding figure slipped into the shadows and was gone. Reynard sagged in his shackles, utterly spent and defeated.

He had failed Thenna’s Trial.

The Abbess sent her young trainee for assistance as Reynard hung, silent and almost comatose, from his wrist shackles. The young nun, after one horrified glance at the genital carnage before her, almost ran from the chamber. The Abbess and the Bishop together unshackled Reynard and helped him walk, unsteadily, to a straw-filled mattress resting on a litter alongside one wall.

The Abbess knelt down and applied a compress to Reynard’s wound to stanch the bleeding. In minutes, the abbey’s seamstress and occasional practitioner of minor surgery entered the chamber. With practiced efficiency, she unrolled a canvas tool kit, as the Abbess held a candle near to illuminate the amputation site. The seamstress inserted a short brass rod to keep Reynard’s urethra open, pulled out a large curved needle and silk thread, and set to work.

Chapter III – Unholy Matrimony

Twenty minutes later, the Bishop knocked softly on the door of the Abbess’ private office. She opened the door slowly, her countenance brightening as her eyes confirmed it was the Bishop.

“Ma chère,” he said. “I feel a great tension since the Trial of Brother Reynard.”

“Yes, my dear Bishop,” the Abbess said with a trace of a smirk. She opened the door wider to admit him, then closed and locked it behind him. “Your ‘tension’ was obvious, at least to me. I was pleased you had the decency to try to cover it with your hands.”

“That always happens when I observe one of your lovely Sisters demonstrating the excellent instruction you’ve provided her.”

“Yes, she was good, wasn’t she?” she responded. “And then the little fellatrix practically threw herself into your arms when the … the moment arrived.”

“Mais oui, but she was a bit upset, she sought comfort there.”

“And didn’t she feel your erection?”

“Well, she did press into it quite firmly … yet, I suspect that with everything else, she won’t remember it at all.”

“Let us hope so,” the Abbess said, curtly. “She might think it a peculiar thing; the demon rising so readily in the Bishop at the scene of the Brother’s unmanning.”

“No more peculiar than your obsession with Saint Thenna’s rituals, ma chère.” He paused for a moment, reflecting. “It was surprising that young Reynard felt the demon rising very quickly, n’est-ce pas? And he succumbed to the Temptation so early, as well.”

The Abbess arched her eyebrows in mock mystification. “The Lord works in mysterious ways, my dear husband.”

A decade earlier, the Abbess and the Bishop had discovered their common commitment to a strict interpretation of Saint Thenna’s doctrine – and their deep and abiding interest in each other. Being the reigning authority in a small and obscure religious order, the Bishop delegated to his office the authority to marry whomever he pleased, including members of the Order’s sister organization, the Convent of Saint Thenna.

Subsequently, the Bishop and the Abbess married in a secret ceremony at which they were the only parties attending. The ritual was immediately followed by a consummation of sorts, which had since been repeated hundreds of times, with many variations.

Through her carnal union with the Bishop, the Abbess gained a thorough knowledge of male genital anatomy. She undertook her self-education with all the fervor and intensity she had earlier devoted to the teachings of Saint Thenna. In the ensuing years she became proficient in techniques for stimulating the male orally and manually, and the means by which a man might be brought to his ultimate climax, in spite of all determination to resist. She diligently passed on this knowledge, without disclosing its provenance, to her acolytes. Her recent trainee, Sister Chantel, had shown great promise and had since become a sterling apprentice.

The Abbess’ education was complemented by the Bishop’s proficiency at pleasing her in a similar manner. And on some occasions, he obligingly and thoroughly filled the yearning, aching void between her thighs with his substantial and potent maleness – a satisfaction the chaste and obedient novices under her command would never realize in their long and tormented celibate lives.

“Now, I feel some unresolved tensions myself that you might assist in putting to rest,” the Abbess said. She slid forward in her wooden office chair and, with both hands, hitched up her embroidered habit to her hips. The Bishop took his cue by kneeling, on hands and knees, in front of her and applying his tongue in well-practiced fashion to the problem before him. In moments, barely-suppressed sighs and moans came from the Abbess, as she mentally recounted the Trial and Temptation of poor Reynard. Oh, how her labia had issued forth copious emissions of her passion at the sight and sound of his torment.

After several minutes her body began to tremble and she emitted a series of high-pitched cries, as she recalled Reynard’s last moments as a complete man – the onset of his violent ejaculation, the flash of ancient well-honed steel, the abrupt separation and fall of his doomed member. She let out a final, barely-suppressed gasp and sigh, then sagged back into her wooden office chair, eyes closed, dropping the hem of her habit over the Bishop’s head.

After a minute or two recovering, the Abbess straightened in her seat and reached for the Bishop, who was now standing and making no effort, this time, to hide the substantial protuberance tenting the front of his simple grey cassock. She grasped his member through the fabric and pulled him toward her. The Bishop stepped forward compliantly, beginning to unbutton the front of his garment to give her better access.

“Are you willing to receive the demon from me, my bride?”

Without answering, the Abbess undid the final button, opened his cassock wide below waist level, and leaned forward, enveloping his erection as deeply as she could take it into her eager mouth. She began a vigorous in-and-out motion, with periodic licking around the swollen head and along the underside of his rigid shaft. Her hands worked the out-of-mouth length with a firm massage, just as she had taught her young trainees.

In less than a minute, the Bishop, standing, began to tremble and shake in the throes of intense pleasure brought on by the Abbess’ expert manipulation and well-learned oral skills. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders to steady himself, head back and eyes closed, totally absorbed in his pleasure. So it was with a momentary shock – but no apparent alarm – that he suddenly felt the bite of cold brass across the base of his rigid member. For an instant, he looked down, and saw the Abbess holding what appeared to be a small but vicious-looking dagger, lightly pressing it into his hard shaft, a half-inch from its junction with his body. He groaned and trembled, in heightened arousal.

“Yes!” he gasped. “Take this vessel of evil from me. Remove it … take it now!”

“Mais oui, mon cher mari,” the Abbess said, almost in a whisper. “If it be your will, I will cut him from your body,” and she scraped the gleaming blade along the sensitive underside of his penis, the full length of the shaft, while continuing her oral ministrations.

Abruptly, she pressed it hard into the base of his penis and began a horizontal slicing motion.

The Bishop cried out once, thrusting forward into her, as gouts of semen splattered against the back of her mouth. She swallowed without hesitation and continued sucking vigorously, all the while slowly sawing away at his member with her blade. More semen spurted and she swallowed repeatedly, taking his full offering without spilling a drop. His hands clutched harder at her shoulders for support as his entire body shook with his ejaculation.

As she felt his spasms diminish, the Abbess continued sucking and then gently licking the swollen head, taking in all trace of his seed until only her saliva glistened on his still-rigid member. She discreetly placed the dagger – in truth, an ornate brass letter-opener – back on the desk. The Bishop let out a deep sigh that was almost a moan. The Abbess gazed up at him, a worried look on her face.

“Oh, dear Bishop, I hope I did not give you pain!” she said, fearing that, in her enthusiasm, she might have caused him hurt, or even done him some injury.

“Mais non, of course not, ma chère,” he reassured her. “You give me great pleasure, never pain. Besides, your little letter-opener is far too dull to cause any harm.” He leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth, savouring their mutual afterglow.

At a later time, the Bishop would fill her other needy orifice with his eager member and seed. Today, after poor Reynard’s unmanning, they had both felt a common but unspoken urgency to meet at the alter of the demon phallus.

Chapter IV – Fulfilment of the Lost Prophecy

Weeks passed, and young Sylvie Bourg found herself struggling with a maelstrom of emotions stirred up by the presence of the injured traveller. It was more than a physical attraction, although there was never any doubt that, even flat on his back, he was a handsome man. No, it was his character and personality that began to have its way with her young and innocent heart. Where most people in his situation might have been frustrated, or angry, or would have made her mission as caretaker more difficult, he always seemed in good spirits, always with a joke, or offering a kind comment of appreciation regarding her conduct in the course of her assigned tasks, or an apology for the less pleasant aspects of caring for him.

Marcel even apologized, red-faced and embarrassed, for the frequent occasions of his ‘demon rising’, which seemed to be an entirely involuntary yet reliable event. Nearly every morning, often before he was even awake, she would enter his room and see that his ‘little man’ was endeavouring to stand up proudly to greet her, energetically rising and making a tent of the top sheet.

At her first encounter, the unexpected transformation from a soft elongated conveyance for urine into a tall vertical column of rigid flesh –seemingly as hard as an oaken staff, with veins prominently traversing its length – had greatly alarmed her.

“Oh monsieur Marcel, he is all swollen and hard!” she had exclaimed. “What has happened to him?” After glancing quickly at the door to confirm it was closed, and they were alone, Marcel reassured her that this was a common and normal physiological event, although she might not have witnessed it with her little brothers, before she left home for the convent.

On subsequent days, as she thoroughly washed his body with a sponge and soap, she had the opportunity to view the miraculous transformation as it took place. As her task brought her hands, and the sponge, closer to his genitals, it grew and grew, then stood straight up and became astonishingly rigid. Rather than feeling threatened by the ‘rising demon’ the Abbess had warned her about, Sylvie was enthralled by it, and secretly felt it was Marcel’s sincere and unmistakable compliment to her – especially after he assured her that it responded that way to lovely ladies like herself.

Each day she entered his room innocently, resolving to be unmoved in his presence, but at the sight of him her heart raced with the same helpless excitement, never abating the entire time as she tended to him. And night after night she prayed for deliverance from the evils of her lust, but to no avail. The fingers of her right hand involuntarily found their way between the most sensitive folds of her flesh. Quickly, they rotated, inducing the most rapturous of delights, her mind awash with satanic images of his tongue probing the same places her fingers worked to relieve her nightly torment.

Oh, how she wanted to feel his hardness, to stroke him with both hands, to even take him into her mouth – to suck, to taste, to completely consume his precious masculinity. But she dared not, lest she suffer the sting of the whip: the viper of the mound. Already, her period of indoctrination at the Abbey had convinced her she must be a sinful harlot to conceive such lustful thoughts. Increasingly, her hours spent in Marcel’s presence had become an exhausting struggle to suppress her evil impulses.

Sylvie’s fingers caressed his body as she applied a paste of aloe, healing herbs, and olive oil to his inner thighs. His eyes rolled with frustration at the arousing sensation of her touch. Inches away, his tumescence swelled to the gentle ministrations of her holy digits, until it stood, resolute and rock-hard.

“Oh, Sweet Sylvie,” Marcel begged hoarsely. “You must grant me release, for I cannot expunge myself in my current immobility. My loins burn unbearably!” In her weeks with Marcel, Sylvie came to understand that a man could suffer the torment of denial at least as agonizingly as she did, but poor Marcel had no means to deliver himself from his misery.

“But suffering is our duty as righteous Christians,” Sylvie replied, even as she wondered if her voice betrayed her own growing doubts. “We must suffer this. We …must…”

As she spoke, her right hand – lubricated by the healing salve she had just been applying to Marcel’s legs – involuntarily drifted north of his thighs, as though possessed by a mind of its own, and wrapped itself around Marcel’s sterling phallus. She was momentarily shocked by own hand’s errant behaviour. Yet she could not will it to release its grasp of his hot, rigid member. She didn’t know if her action was necessary for Marcel’s physical recovery. All she knew was that he desperately needed it, that she felt compelled to help him this way, and that his throbbing cylinder of flesh in her hand felt so good, so right; so entirely natural. Her very fingers and thumb seemed to know implicitly that the vessel they gripped belonged there, regardless of her beliefs. Seemingly infused with a will more powerful than her own, her fingers caressed and stroked him, rising and falling with increasing rapidity.

Marcel’s whole body trembled as waves of intensely erotic sensation swept through him. Pleasure so overwhelming, relief so imminent, so merciful – and suddenly, there was more: he felt liquid warmth envelop his manhood. He awkwardly raised his head in surprise, the better to view this new source of pleasure. He beheld the head of the beautiful young novice rising and falling over his erection just as her hand had, moments before. In that moment he understood that she was tasting him, experiencing his essence with all her senses. Her devotion to his physical need was a revelation of worldly joy, the likes of which he – having lived a relatively chaste life for an unmarried gentleman in southern France – had never known before.

Within seconds, he felt his climax approaching as his seed rushed through his loins. He was helpless to stop, or even to slow, the onset of the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm his body and his senses.

Young Sylvie knew what was coming, as she had heard from her colleagues the occasional graphic description of the expulsion of the male’s seed – but none of them had ever mentioned capturing, savouring, tasting, swallowing it all down – as she realized she hungrily lusted to do, at that moment. More than salvation, more than life itself, she instinctively wanted to take in every drop of his gift to her, his sweet essence. She thrust her mouth down hard, almost violently, over his phallus, as if to consume him, to eat him alive.

Marcel exploded. He fought to suppress his vocal expression of delight, but a groan of pleasure escaped. A gush of semen abruptly filled the young maiden’s mouth, the frothy excess escaping her lips and running down her chin. Still she persevered, plunging her mouth down onto his full, rigid length, drawing every drop of his seed from him and swallowing it hungrily.

Behind her, an imposing figure in black suddenly burst into the room. In another second the Abbess was upon Sylvie, still bent over the convulsing form of Marcel on his bed. The open palm of the Abbess’ right hand smashed into the side of Sylvie’s head, sending the young virgin flying across the room, to land in a quivering heap in the corner by the washstand. The Abbess glared, with an expression of horror and revulsion, at Marcel and his obscenely-exposed erection. Nevertheless, she did not speak – and her silence was more frightening than any utterance she might have made. Marcel stared up at her in undisguised terror.

The Abbess wheeled and strode toward the huddled novice trembling in the corner. Kneeling down, she roughly gripped the young girl’s wide-eyed face between her hands. Her searching gaze immediately fell upon the white fluid dripping from the girl’s lips and chin. An expression of dread swept across the usually expressionless face of the Abbess.

“It is loose here, now!” she declared. She looked to Marcel and raised her voice, almost shouting. “We cannot permit the portal to remain unsealed, evildoer! Nor shall the sin of this novice go unscourged. Be witnesses, shall you both!”

An hour later, Marcel lay naked upon his back – not standing, in deference to his still-convalescing condition. He was lying on a crude straw-filled mattress, itself resting on a hastily-appropriated table in the centre of the subterranean room. His arms were pulled up and shackled over his head. His thighs were spread wide, legs bent at the knees over the end of the table, so that his ankles could be securely fastened by rope to the table’s legs. To his right, Sylvie lay pinioned and bent over backwards – wrapped around the half-wheel, with her thighs forced wide apart. The room was illuminated by the flickering light of a dozen torches, fixed high on the cold stone walls of the chamber.

Despite his recent ejaculation, and the horror of what he was witnessing, Marcel’s libido was still rampant. He couldn’t prevent his penis from standing like a miniature obelisk, so alluring was the sight of Sylvie’s naked form – her firm and prominent young breasts, her labia spread open, fulsome vagina exposed. But her screams echoed from the stone walls as Sister Chantel slashed the whip viciously across her tender orifice. Droplets of crimson spattered away with each impact of the lash. Sylvie was now experiencing first-hand the agony and horror she had witnessed countless times – the realisation of her ultimate fear.

At the far side of the room near the doorway stood the Abbess, the Bishop, and a wide-eyed young monk, observing the punishment underway.

“I think young Brother Claude is ready for the trial of Saint Thenna, Abbess,” the Bishop said. “The spirit of righteousness is profound in him.”

“After the correction, then,” she answered coldly, over Sylvie’s agonized cries and the sound of the whip snapping across her lacerated flesh.

Repeatedly the lash fell, each blow forcing Sylvie back to consciousness as quickly as it left her. Realizing her terror and pain, Marcel felt tears sliding from the corners of his eyes, down his face, falling to the mattress on which his head rested. Poor Sylvie was suffering this barbaric penalty simply because she had been caught showing him mercy. Yet – in spite of his shame, his pervasive sense of guilt, his empathy for Sylvie’s agony, and his growing anxiety – his penis remained resolutely upright. His male instincts were still in control of his genitals.

As Sylvie’s senses slipped away for the last time, the Abbess came to a decision: “Enough!”

With a deep sense of relief, Sister Chantel ceased the flagellation. Never before had the Abbess commanded so many stokes to be administered to a novice. The region above and between Sylvia’s legs was a triangle of bruised and torn flesh, blood dripping down her inner thighs and onto the stone floor. Sister Chantel could not look at the damage her whip had inflicted, unwilling to even guess at how long it would take for the wounds to heal.

“Sister Chantel,” the Abbess said. The young nun obediently turned to her superior, terror-stricken.

“Prepare the infidel for his fate, lest we all be doomed to damnation.”

Chantel carefully replaced the scourge to its station on the near wall and returned, then stepped toward Marcel. She noted his erection immediately and paused.

“But – but, Abbess, he already shows the sign…”

“Force the demon to surface,” barked the grim-faced Abbess. “We must catch it in its moment of vulnerability!”

Marcel abruptly tried to sit up as he heard the order, but a stabbing pain from his healing ribs – as well as reaching the limits of the chains and shackles binding his wrists - forced him back to the horizontal again.

“Wh-what are you doing to me?” he stammered. The cryptic command from the Abbess made no sense to Marcel, but Sister Chantel did not hesitate. She approached the end of the table where his ankles were bound to the table legs, and stood between his spread knees. From one side, the Abbess glared at Marcel with righteous anger.

“You are a devil, sent from Hell! Into our holy abode did you bring your curse to test our faith and in so doing, you corrupted one of our most innocent, our most vulnerable. You are a cowardly son of perdition!”

“No! No!” he cried. “I…I didn’t. I may have sinned, but I…I was injured…I was trapped here! I’m not a devil!” He had no idea what punishment the Abbess intended for him, but, if the agonizing experience of poor Sylvie was any indication, it was going to be worse than unpleasant. Marcel tried to quell his growing panic.

“I’m not a devil! You must believe me! ‘Love your enemy,’” he implored, desperately resorting to shouting out random scripture. “‘If a man strikes your right cheek, offer him your other’; ‘Bless those who persecute you’; ‘Serve not evil with evil.’”

Ominously, the Abbess was silent, not heeding his pleas. She nodded curtly to Sister Chantel, who seemed to be awaiting her order. “Proceed.”

Obediently, Sister Chantel leaned forward, bending over Marcel’s exposed genitals, and for the second time that day, he felt a woman’s warm, wet mouth envelop his erect member. The Abbess silently observed for a minute, noting with satisfaction how abruptly Marcel’s annoying outburst came to an end. She then turned, crossed the room, and pulled firmly on the tasselled bell-rope hanging near the wall. She returned to stand next to the Bishop, and together they watched Sister Chantel apply her training to Marcel’s helpless form, oblivious to his thrashing and faint groans of pleasure.

The shrouded figure, face hidden in the shadows of her hood, slipped silently into the room. Torch light glittered from the steel she carried, sending sparks of light dancing across the dimly-lit chamber walls. Her eyes, cloaked in darkness, were turned toward the Abbess, awaiting a command. Looking at her, the Abbess raised her right hand, thumb and index finger carefully extended, showing a gap between them of three inches. The hooded swordswoman gazed at her for a moment, and then assented with a barely-visible nod of her head. Grasping the leather-bound grip with both hands, she turned slightly, surveyed her target, and slowly raised the Sword of the Guardian to shoulder level, preparing for a swift and horizontal sweep of her razor-sharp blade.

Sister Chantel’s warm, wet mouth ascended and descended upon Marcel’s rigid phallus, drawing him ever closer to the point of no return. As a dark shadow fell across Marcel’s tensed and trembling midriff, Chantel paused, trying to quell a wave of fear, and her eyes confirmed her intuition.

Marcel felt the momentary cessation of Sister Chantel’s oral attention, opening his eyes in time to see an expression of fright cross her face, and instantly perceiving the direction of her gaze. He looked to his right to see the dark and motionless, cloaked figure, lithe arms wielding a long-bladed weapon at shoulder height, flashes of torchlight reflecting from its Damascus steel blade. Suddenly, the formless threat he could only imagine before was real, and potentially deadly. His earlier simple fear was quickly supplanted by pure terror.

“Non! Non! S’il vous plait! S’il vous plait!” he screamed.

Yet at the same instant, his inevitable climax began to rush through his loins. Sister Chantel felt an abrupt swelling of the head of his penis, amply filling her mouth, and she sensed that emission was imminent. She quickly drew her head away, as with both hands she administered two final up-and-down strokes to his saliva-slicked shaft. Then she straightened and backed away from the table on which his thrashing form was bound.

Marcel groaned in ecstatic release as his body spewed a jet of semen, arcing high into the air above him. Immediately, the Abbess nodded to the silently-waiting cloaked figure on his far side. Her glittering blade drew back and then seemed to disappear from view, as it slashed with incredible speed in a wide horizontal sweep above Marcel’s bound and convulsing body. At that instant his body launched a second spurt of semen straight up, to be abruptly interrupted as the head and upper half of his penis appeared to simply vanish.

Marcel’s scream echoed from the stone walls as a fountain of blood sprayed from his truncated shaft. Yet his ejaculation continued, seemingly unaffected by the removal of half his penis. Across the room, almost next to Sylvie’s semi-conscious form, Marcel’s member landed with a gentle splat, drooling semen and blood onto the cold stone floor.

At the sound of Marcel’s cry, Sylvie – still bound and bent backwards over the half-wheel – had been aroused from her half-conscious state. Her eyes flew open, and she watched with horror as the upper half of Marcel’s penis spun across the room, landed, and came to rest near her, while his second ejaculation in as many hours continued to spurt helplessly from his mutilated, convulsing body. Sylvie saw the hooded swordswoman, task accomplished, slip into the shadows and vanish. She heard the Abbess coldly summon the abbey’s seamstress to sew up Marcel’s wound, knowing he would suffer this loss for the rest of his tormented life. Marcel would never again be the man on whom Sylvie had just bestowed her most loving, devoted attention. Silently, she began to weep, for herself, and for Marcel.

Deep inside the no-longer-innocent Sylvie Bourg, a seed of rage and bitterness was planted, and began to grow.

The Abbess looked up at the tall, youthful monk, staring chillingly into his inexperienced eyes. The horror of what he had just seen had clearly shaken him. “Come with me!” she commanded.

As he turned and followed the monk and the middle-aged Abbess, the Bishop savoured the moment, suffused in arousal. His erection, hidden by the folds of his cassock, throbbed in anticipation of satisfaction to come.

In her quarters, the Abbess pulled up the hem of her habit, pushed her hips forward, and moaned in pleasure, as the young monk’s tongue came into contact with her pudenda. “Lick,” she commanded. “Long strokes, up and down.”

He complied with a sense of combined honour, duty and growing revulsion at the musky scent and taste of her vulva. Every so often, one of her long pubic hairs would get caught between his teeth, causing him to almost wretch. Still, he persisted.

The Abbess’ desire had reached a pinnacle during the flogging of Sylvie’s vulva and Marcel’s sadistic un-manning. Guiding the innocent young monk’s tongue to her clitoris by pulling his head upwards, her crisis was achieved in a cacophony of rapture. Her very being shook, transcending into a form of euphoric shock. She sat there, shivering, as his tongue drew the last of her spasms from her. The halls of the convent echoed with her cry of delight.

Finally she pushed his head away. The fires of her lust had suddenly been replaced by the ashes of shame.

“Stand and show yourself to me,” she ordered with her first renewal of breath. “Show me your masculine strength!”

He stood, feeling a ripple of fear – as he felt of his all-loving, all-powerful God. For the Abbess was His agent, His representative on earth.

“Lift your garment for me to see,” she said.

Quickly, he lifted his robe to reveal his penis hanging, long and passive, between his thighs. She stared in surprise, her eyes fixed upon his non-erect manhood. “Can this be... truly...holiness?” she murmured.

The young monk didn’t know how to respond. How could he say to her that he found her most secret female parts grossly unattractive? That the scent and taste of her most intimate opening was a vile, repulsive experience?

“Or perhaps it is something else,” she said.

He looked her into her eyes. His fear emanated from his very being, and he felt that she was looking into his soul. Time froze. The moment lasted for an eternity. This instant was the place of the damned.

It abruptly ended when the Abbess shot her right hand out, striking the young monk’s left cheek. He recoiled, stunned. “Sodomite!” she spat, and then she stood and departed the room.

The young man fell to his knees in self-abasing despair. At that moment, he was devastated – if the Abbess could see it, so could the Lord. Oh, how he wished to plead to his Savior for the forgiveness for his evil. The lust which he felt toward his brethren in the monastery had plagued him, tormented his body and mind daily. For many months he had studied the scriptures, trying to find a loophole, a way to exist, a justification for his corporeal passion, without the horror of spending all eternity screaming in the fires of Hell after his passing. For such was the divine penalty of the God of love, compassion and great kindness that he had been taught: the God who had created him without his asking, imbued him with an overwhelming powerful libido and unruly genitals, independent of his own request – and who in his loving mercy threw all of the rules in opposition to those instincts, under the worst imaginable penalty, should he dare to transgress.

The young monk never did find his loophole, and so, in his trauma, continued to endure his daily crucifixion. Not once did he find the clarity of mind to question that which he had been taught.

Never once did he even contemplate the question – why?

*****

With a small handbag of meagre possessions, Sylvie limped away, banished from the convent. It had been two weeks since her flogging, and yet the soreness between her tender thighs persisted.

The Abbess and Sister Chantel watched as she receded into the distance. “Gone from here, she has,” the Abbess said. “Now it begins!”

Sister Chantel looked at her with trepidation. “But, dear Abbess,” she said, “what has just begun?”

“The Prophecy,” she replied. “The Apocalypse of Thenna, chapter nine, verse twelve… ‘The doctrine of the guardian of the gateway will be taken away to the Isle of Angels, to be delivered into the hands of the maiden of sins, who will use it to serve her own evil lusts, until she falls to the perils of solitude, and unto the isolation of Sheoul, where she will wallow, for all eternity.’”

“The Isle of Angels,” Sister Chantel repeated in wonder, with a true-believing stare, as she sadly watched Sylvie disappear into the horizon.

“Angleterre.

Chapter V – Voile

Sylvie had walked for days, surviving on berries and water from streams she crossed as she traversed the landscape of Southern France. Her heart was crushed and dark depression clouded her mind. Although she was slowly healing, the stinging in her groin refused to abate; despite the poultice the abbey’s seamstress had supplied her to prevent infection. Gradually the pain, the barren wilderness, and her own feelings of self-loathing seemed to warp and twist her reasoning. She thought she had been happy in her life as a novice at the abbey. It wasn’t until Marcel arrived that she had succumbed to her own weakness. Everything had been harmonious in her life – until Marcel!

In a steadily weakening state, she walked aimlessly, not knowing where she belonged, or if she belonged anywhere. Perhaps this was Hell, the place of retribution and perpetual suffering. Perhaps this was her terrible penalty: to wander the wilderness with constant hunger, physical pain, loneliness, and excruciating shame. Perhaps this was her destiny.

And then – just visible through a line of trees between wide fields of wheat – it appeared. Sylvie could barely make it out, but unless she was hallucinating from starvation and deprivation – a small village lay ahead. As she drew closer, she could make out a collection of low-slung buildings, and a church steeple. She moved through the farm fields bordering the village and made her way slowly into the town. As she approached the town centre she felt, for the first time in many weeks, a modicum of hope. Sylvie smiled. Perhaps, she had found a place to be: a place to live, an existence beyond mere survival. Perhaps her private hell could end in this place, and life could begin again.

The village seemed to be deserted. Her weakness and need for sustenance overwhelmed her usual caution and apprehension. Finally she stood at the end of a narrow alleyway looking, almost deliriously, into the desolate and dusty town centre. She slowly made her way forward when suddenly; her shoulders were gripped by rough, strong hands.

“Give us a fuck, whore,” a young male voice said.

Startled, Sylvie tried to twist and break away, unable to see the face of her assailant. As she turned she ran into another youth, head-on. He leered at her, seizing her arms. Desperate for solace and human comfort, she found herself being assaulted instead.

“S’il vous plait,” she said. “Aidez-moi. Help me, please!”

“We’ll help you alright. We’re going to help you to a good time, harlot.”

Sylvie felt herself being grabbed from behind by a third interloper, and in seconds she was helplessly pinned to the ground in the middle of the town square. She had no prospect of rescue – no citizens appeared, no gendarme came running at her cry for help.

“Don’t fight us, you can’t get away,” one youth said. “We rule Voile now.”

She stared at him. Voile: its very meaning was shrouded in mystery.

Its translation was veil or concealed: the hidden, the vanished, and the undetectable. Sylvie had found it, only to discover it represented a new form of damnation – a village in the clutches of sexual predators. At the abbey, floggings had been terribly cruel but applied under some predictable form of religion-directed logic, and controlled. Here in Voile, chaos and sexual anarchy had taken over, following what was apparently a total collapse of the rule of law.

Sylvie’s religious indoctrination still spoke to her, in her head taking the form of the stern voice of the Abbess: surely, she found herself in this plight because she was a sinner.

One of her assailants began to unbutton his fly. Quickly his erection projected through, and Sylvie recoiled as he thrust it towards her face.

“Please, leave me alone,” she whimpered.

Another predator appeared from her left as she pleaded for mercy. He pressed forward, and his penis pushed between her lips. She quickly turned her face, only to find an even larger erection thrust toward her mouth.

“Go on,” the youth said. “Give it a suck, you holy slut!”

The scent of masculine prepuce infused Sylvie’s nostrils. In that moment, her hatred of the male member was solidified, and she acted on it. She bared her teeth in rage and bit into the shaft of lust.

“Aaaaaghhhhh!”

“Do that again and we’ll kill you!” the first young thug said, and grabbed her head and tried again to force his rampant member into Sylvie’s mouth.

Suddenly there was a whirring of air, a loud thud, and the youth fell backwards and away from Sylvie, instantly unconscious.

A girl dressed in farm-woman’s clothing, of no more than thirteen years, leaped over his prostrate form, long black hair flying, expertly wielding a 2-meter oaken pole.

“Leave her alone, cochon! Prepare to die, pigs!” she cried out, and unleashed her pole across the skull of Sylvie’s second astonished assailant, who fell in a heap, clutching his head.

“Leave her alone!” The girl bludgeoned the youth again with all of her considerable strength, and there was an audible crunch as the bones of his forearm snapped. The third assailant turned and ran, in abject terror. The girl glared at his departing figure, then turned her gaze to Sylvie, sitting in the roadway in her dusty, bedraggled dress. Sylvie stared back in wonderment. She slowly, weakly, stood up, picked up her bag, and then they began to walk together, away from the two remaining groaning youths in the dust.

The young girl’s fervour went beyond righteous indignation. She was psychopathic. But she seemed to intuit the question in Sylvie’s eyes.

“They killed my father,” she said simply, by way of explanation.

Sylvie looked into the girl’s eyes. In that moment, she knew that this strange, invisible village had a story to tell, and she knew that she had just become a part of it. She simply didn’t know how or why.

“Thank – thank you, child. What is your name?”

“Doriane Lisle,” the girl replied. “Our law provider, Governor Jessup, protected us, but he died six months ago. Life in Voile has been horrible ever since.” She turned her eyes back to Sylvie, her anger and sadness showing plainly. “We live in fear. Les cochons – those pigs – think they rule the town.”

Sylvie gazed upon the brave young farm girl. Her own sad and vulnerable eyes suddenly locked with the eyes of a child. It was a cathartic moment. Sylvie, a woman ignorant of the world outside the convent, suddenly felt fiercely protective towards the young girl-warrior who had just saved her.

The girl nodded her head back toward the two thugs in the road 100 meters behind them, who were struggling to stand, shouting unintelligible curses in their direction.

“With me, you must walk quickly, sister,” Doriane said.

Sylvie stood weakly and slowly followed the girl’s lead.

“I’m very weak, but I will try,” she said. The girl took Sylvie’s hand and pulled her into a twisting narrow alley, out of the square and out of sight of the youths.

“The Phalos are evil. We must go before more of them arrive.”

“The Phalos?” Sylvie asked.

“That’s what they call themselves. They are so named after their choice of weapon.”

Shaken, Sylvie gazed upon the girl as she pulled Sylvie into yet another narrow byway between buildings.

“Come on,” Doriane said. “We must get away from here before the others find us.”

Sylvie nodded and followed her young new friend.

Doriane leaned her oaken staff against the building wall, and she and Sylvie stepped through a doorway into the humble farmhouse at the northern area of the town. To Sylvie, it appeared a strange and unfamiliar place for one to live, so different from the sparsely-furnished rooms and echoing corridors of the convent.

An older woman appeared from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Who have we here, Doriane?”

“This is my new friend, Sylvie. She said she used to be a nun.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“The Phalos attacked her and she has nowhere to go.”

The woman turned toward Sylvie with a look of horror. “Oh, saints preserve us. Those monsters! Are you alright, my dear?”

Sylvie smiled graciously. “There is nothing broken. I owe your daughter…my very life. She possesses the courage of the martyrs.”

“If only more of us were like her,” the woman said. “But since Governor Jessup died, we have become a town of mice, I am ashamed to say.”

Sylvie was puzzled. “Why has another not assumed the position?”

The woman bowed her head, almost ashamed that the answer would not be satisfactory. “We have always been a peaceful community. We became complacent…unprepared. We never expected anything like this to happen. No one is willing, or has the courage, to try and stop them.”

The look of shock upon Sylvie’s face was undeniable. She had just come from a place of religious righteousness and firm discipline to an environment of chaos and anarchy.

“Are you hungry?” Doriane’s mother asked.

“To be truthful, I am starving,” Sylvie admitted.

“Make yourself comfortable and I will prepare some food for you. Afterwards, I will introduce you to our group of survivors.”

“Thank you so much. You are very kind, Madame…?”

The woman smiled warmly at Sylvie. “Delphine.”

Sylvie sat with Delphine and Doriane in a small vestry which was all that remained of Voile’s church. Sixteen people sat with them – four men and twelve women.

A woman in her thirties recounted the history, as Sylvie listened intently. “The Phalos were young men, all troublemakers, who wandered into our village and soon realized we had no enforcers of the law. In a barbaric and well-planned attack, they butchered most of our men, so that they could have free rein to take us women. As Voile is a very remote, isolated town, there was no help from outside.”

Rage began to burn in Sylvie’s heart as she listened. Men, she thought. Evil men!

“We don’t know how to stop them,” the woman added, with a hopeless shrug of her shoulders.

Sylvie stood up with a renewed strength of purpose, and with passion that even surprised herself said, “I think I do.”

Gasps of surprise and looks of cautious optimism crossed the room. Sylvie had spoken the first words of hope the village had heard in months.

“But, you must be willing to follow my lead,” Sylvie asserted firmly.

“We will,” came a chorus of responses from the others.

“It will mean a complete change in the rules of life here.”

Delphine stood up next to Sylvie and smiled at her, ready to take on the young nun’s challenge, as were the others. Anything would be better than present conditions in Voile. For her part, Sylvie had only her novice knowledge to go by. The Old Testament was filled with stories of warriors and battles culminating in victories against insurmountable odds.

“If you have not the strength to fight them directly, you must use cunning,” Sylvie said, with an inspiring tone of conviction. “You say that your attackers took you by surprise.” She motioned towards Doriane. “This young maiden saved me from four of them – by taking them by surprise. You must recruit all surviving males, and plan surprises for The Phalos. Does your town have a gaol?”

“Yes,” Delphine replied. “But it is empty.”

“Not for long will it be so. Where I come from, the female can have authority over a male. So will it be here. The sisters of this town will become its new law enforcers.”

Cheers filled the vestry. For the first time, they were listening to words of hope. Sylvie’s passion was inspiring, as well as unexpected, coming from a nun. Sylvie now wondered if it was actually her destiny – her fate, or a divine plan that she was banished from the convent, ultimately to rescue this troubled village. Whatever the reason, she knew that she was more than ready and willing to embrace a new life in Voile. She found herself eager to take her place in this community, regardless of her lack of experience leading groups of ordinary citizens. Her anger motivated and drove her, gave her the courage and conviction to stand and speak out again injustice. She couldn’t deny that she had her self-doubts. Regardless, she immediately issued her first order:

“Let us go to war then.”

*****

Conquest of The Phalos took mere weeks. After much planning under Sylvie Bourg’s guidance, the townsfolk of Voile banded together to take control of their own village’s destiny. In one fell swoop, they took down the marauders, outnumbering them three to one. All eighteen invaders were captured, bludgeoned within an inch of their lives, and confined to the Voile prison. It was there that Sylvie imposed her most devastating penalty upon the inmates: they were sentenced to life-long incarceration, subjected to the doctrine of the Guardian of the Gateway.

As the years passed, male sexual offenders in the town found themselves condemned to the same fate as any would-be invader from outside. Under Sylvie’s leadership, the women of Voile became the dominant gender, taking control of most aspects of law enforcement, legal and domestic social policy.

But as her newfound power began to affect her decisions, Sylvie’s young libido – her voracious appetite for sexual pleasure – became intertwined with the rules of the prison, and of the village in general. Desiring to make an unmistakable public statement of the town’s intolerance of abuse by males, she ordered the construction of the most fearsome apparatus. Prisoners who disobeyed The Doctrine would face the agonizing ultimate penalty in a public setting, adding profound humiliation to their suffering. So terrifying would it become that even the free young men of the town eagerly sought out wives – or any available female, as partners, lest they fell prey to the temptation of the demon within.

*****

The young prisoner sobbed as he was led to the platform, bound and naked. The crowd cheered as he came into view. Moments later, Sylvie appeared, fully clad in her dark green uniform and brandishing her customary cane behind her back. Indeed, she was the most fearsome figure Voile had ever known, and certainly the most respected. It had been six years since her arrival in the town and now she was, for all practical purposes, its leader. She had embraced her position of Prison Governess with relish. With every cry that emerged from the young prisoner’s throat, she heard her own in her mind’s memory, as the lash had bit into her lacerated genitals so many years ago in the convent’s dungeon. With every pleading word that fell from his lips, she felt her own pain again as she had wandered the wilderness in disgrace.

In the doomed prisoner’s face, she saw Marcel.

Doriane appeared beside her, attired in the blue uniform regalia of a Voile prison guard. She held a tin of a slippery opaque, gelatos liquid in her hand. Now at nineteen years of age, she was ready and eager to serve her people with the woman who had saved their village. Her young lips glowed ruby-red with youthful libido.

Sylvie marvelled at what a beautiful young woman Doriane had grown into, and at how the prisoners would feel additional torment, having to gaze upon her daily as she exerted her authority over them. Sylvie suspected that Doriane had already begun to sample the pleasures of the gaol’s other disciplinary regime. Indeed, long since liberated from the sanctity of the convent, Sylvie had embraced the indescribable ecstasy of cunnilingus discipline imposed on hapless prisoners. Watching naked prisoners’ erections approaching, but never attaining, the point of orgasm as they caressed her most sensitive opening with their tongues, never failed to induce the most powerful release within her.

“Do you not think you may be perturbed by this procedure, Doriane?” Sylvie asked, concerned. “It is your first time, after all.”

Doriane smiled, desperate with sexual excitement. Unable to contain herself, she pressed her lips forward and kissed Sylvie, probing her mouth with her tongue.

“Worry not, dear Governess. I’m not the squeamish sort. You can’t imagine how long I’ve wanted to see this sentence carried out.” Hurriedly, she made her way up the steps to the scaffold. Sylvie followed, savouring the lingering taste of the young woman’s lips upon her own.

In the crowd, Delphine watched with pride as her daughter approached the quivering prisoner, while two other guards secured him to a stake.

Behind her, Sylvie arrived at the top of the steps and was motionless for an instant. She wanted to savour the moment, her ultimate revenge against the male gender. This day marked the first time her special public sentence was to be executed.

She gazed upon her intimidating creation with loving pride, for it was unique, and of her own design. Nothing like it existed anywhere else on earth, and now it stood prominently, ominously, dominating the formerly empty space in the town centre. It seemed to engender considerable excitement and pleasure in the villagers – males as well as females, since beautiful female pleasure workers manoeuvred among them, offering manual or oral assistance to those so inclined. In the village of Voile, no man dared to be seen spending his seed by his own hand – the gravest violation, according to Sylvie’s iron law. For that reason, she had permitted prostitutes to assist, so that ejaculation remained a consensual act between a man and a woman.

The prisoner’s penis quickly began to stiffen under Doriane’s expert ministrations, her hand coated with lubricant from the tin. In a few more moments, the stake to which he was bound would be rolled on a track to the device of Sylvie’s creation, his rigid erection at its most vulnerable.

Sylvie could not help but to grip herself between the thighs as anticipation overcame her.

Surely the Penis Guillotine was her most glorious achievement…

The Public Sentence

By

Hades and Finder

“For a time, executions by guillotine were a popular entertainment that attracted great crowds of spectators. Vendors would sell programs listing the names of those scheduled to die. People would come day after day and vie for the best seats; knitting female citizens (tricoteuses) formed a cadre of hardcore regulars, inciting the crowd as a kind of anachronistic cheerleaders. Parents would bring their children. By the end of the Terror the crowds had thinned drastically. Excessive repetition had staled even this most grisly of entertainments, and audiences grew bored.”

Wikipedia

Chapter 1 - The Invisible Village

Voile

Southern France

1873

Margot Colette stepped out into the market square. The sun was warm and bright as befitting a typical summer’s day in the South of France. She was a beautiful and elegant lady, adorned in the finest of Parisian dresses. Her auburn hair was concealed beneath the rim of a sun hat. She smiled as she noticed the sign affixed to the lamppost along the path. It was the announcement of yet another sentence that was to take place in only half an hour’s time.

She made her way around the corner, to the centre of the market square, and gazed upon it. She was possessed of more than a hint of excitement – such a magnificent piece of apparatus. Patiently, she waited...

******

Chuck Carter was an American visiting France; a traveller who loved the country. A large inheritance had spared him the need to work. He hesitated as he entered the village of Voile. It was so remote that its existence took him by surprise. One moment he was walking through the trees of rural Southern France and instantly, the town appeared as though by magic. He took his area map from his right pocket, uncrumpled it and took a moment to study the terrain. There was no indication of any kind of settlement in that area. The map displayed only fields and forestry.

He was a handsome man of thirty-two and had long since fallen in love with everything French, especially the women. He had a particular penchant for their long dresses and their delectable forms that seemed to radiate femininity everywhere he looked. The perfume, the colours and their skin, all seemed so sensually perfect.

As he immersed himself in the mystery of the town, he noticed a sign on a lamppost in the centre of the town square. The rendering of the guillotine caught his attention, and as he saw the flyer, his heart began to flutter. He suddenly felt his member begin to stiffen in his pants. When? He thought to himself with a cruel lust.

The flyer stated four o’clock that afternoon! Oh, God, he thought. As soon as he realized that it was going to happen shortly, he knew that he had to see it, and hurriedly made his way around to the centre of the square.

There it stood, before his very eyes. As he gazed upon it, his erection throbbed in his trousers.

The machine was of formidable size. The paired vertical posts were carved oak, towering ten feet above the platform. Between them, horizontal supports of forged iron braced the two posts and held them rigidly in place. On the inner face of each post was a vertical slot running its full height, a brass-lined groove that guided the angled blade in its gravity-powered traverse from top to bottom of the device. The brass-inlaid grooves were polished, lubricated and shining in the afternoon sun, to direct the blade on its descent toward the victim waiting below. The diagonal steel blade was larger than Chuck had imagined. It hung at the top with a steel plate bolted to its upper surface to provide additional mass. Its cutting edge was keen and shiny, ready to slice through any impediment as inconsequential as a human neck.

He tried to imagine that heavy steel blade falling, the angled knife accelerating relentlessly as it fell, and at the end of its travel, slicing cleanly through anything in its path. As a killing machine, the guillotine exhibited unparalleled efficiency. The surgically-sharp blade could smoothly slice through a man’s neck with so much force and speed that it wouldn’t slow in the slightest degree. In a fraction of a second, the victim’s head would be tumbling down, even before his brain registered the shock of separation.

And yet, there was something curiously different about this particular guillotine. Many thoughts passed through Chuck’s mind. Was the condemned supposed to wait for execution on hands and knees? Yet if so, the lunette was much too high. Or, would he be standing? For that it was far too low!

Chuck was baffled.

Moreover, unless his eyes deceived him, the circular aperture of this lunette was too small to accommodate a human neck! He could only conclude that he didn’t understand at all how this guillotine was intended to do its fateful work. Perhaps it wasn’t the lunette at all that he was gazing at. And then, thinking about the separated head tumbling into the traditional basket, he saw that there was no basket. Instead there was only a medium-sized silver bowl, perhaps 12 inches across. Perplexed, he looked away from the machine, wondering if there might be a sympathetic, English-speaking Frenchman there to answer the growing cascade of questions forming in his head.

As his eyes searched the crowd, he noticed Margot standing next to him. Instantly, their eyes met. She glanced at him, with a bemused smile. Chuck felt his face flush in confusion and embarrassment.

“You came to see the youths unmanned?” she asked in very good English, with a clearly French accent. “I too am looking forward to watching it happen.”

What? Chuck’s brain seemed to go blank. He stared at her, uncomprehending. What was she talking about?

“But what are you saying?” he asked, bewildered. “I thought the poster said there would be... will be... executions today!”

Margot listened with apparent amusement, a smile dancing in the corners of her mouth. She glanced again at the guillotine, and then abruptly laughed. As her eyes returned to Chuck’s, she said quietly: “Not today, mon ami. Not executions, but punishment enough. Although for these...these sex...how do you say? Sex criminals… they may someday wish it had been an execution.”

Chuck shook his head, not understanding. If not executions, what was all of this about?

“What happens here, then?” he asked, trying to quell his growing frustration.

She continued: “The accused are prisoners from our gaol in the village. A unique gaol.”

“Oh?” Chuck replied, his curiosity growing.

“It is a prison where sexual offenders, rapists and such bad men or youths are sent. It is run completely by women as a means of impressing upon them that women are to be respected.”

“A-and is this sentence because of their crimes?”

Margot laughed again. “In part, yes. But there is a more important rule in the prison and I suppose they broke it. Most of them do eventually.”

“What rule?”

She smiled at him, sympathetic of his ignorance. “The penis guillotine is the penalty for masturbation.”

Chuck’s face registered the simultaneous combination of shock and excitement. He was momentarily at a complete loss for words. To hear the beautiful young lady say the words ‘penis guillotine’ so matter-of-factly, as if she were describing a new kitchen tool for paring apples, or for slicing carrots, suddenly struck him as intensely and overwhelmingly erotic. He felt a vibrating, tingling sensation race from his head down his spine, to finally explode, with a burst of heat, directly in his genitalia. He felt himself swelling uncontrollably again, with a rush of blood and heat.

Looking at him, she burst out laughing, and he found himself laughing too, overwhelmed by excitement and physical arousal. His mind raced, his heart beat faster with the prospect of what was about to take place, and the simple knowledge that so many women, including his charming guide, were there to watch the proceedings.

Margot watched him, gauging his reaction to the village’s seemingly-brutal system of justice. “A man must not be ruled by his genitals,” she explained earnestly. “He must learn, first and foremost, restraint and obedience to social standards. The wardens of the gaol enforce such a rule and the male is expected to obey, to learn how to restrain and control himself. That is his test. If he fails, he does not deserve a penis – he is a danger to himself and to society.”

“I see,” Chuck replied, uncertain of how to respond.

“In the gaol,” she added, “the prisoners are required to pleasure the Governess and the guards with their tongues, each day.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she explained. “It helps to ensure their submission … and arouse them beyond reason – part of their test.” She smiled. “Just imagine – so young, so virile … and having to lick vagina every day while being permitted no relief. It is so delicious.”

Aroused beyond description by the beautiful woman’s perverse words, but equally speechless, Chuck looked back to the guillotine. Suddenly all that initially seemed wrong appeared eminently practical. The man naturally would be standing at the machine, his groin pressed firmly against the lunette - which had been modified to hold a man’s genitals, instead of his neck. In fact, a closer look revealed a three-part lunette, which created two circular apertures, one just above the other, when the three parts were brought together. With the lunette sections clamped down, whatever protruded through them was trapped for the blade to take. As if to confirm his guess, his enchanting companion explained:

“His penis goes through the top hole, and his testicles – through the lower, if he is also sentenced for castration.”

“But it’s such a huge guillotine!” He exclaimed. “Surely a machine this large wasn’t built just to ... to only remove a man’s genitals!”

“It was indeed,” she replied, patiently. “Our little town makes a strict code of justice for sex offenders.”

As Chuck stared at the machine with growing comprehension of its new function, he heard a commotion to the left of the platform. They looked over just in time to see three very scared Frenchmen – a man, and two youths - half-walking, half dragged by women in official gendarme uniforms, being escorted toward the guillotine platform. It was immediately obvious these were the condemned.

Chuck stared at them, trying to guess at their crimes and life histories, and as he watched them being dragged toward their fate, he felt the familiar firmness in his pants once again. He couldn’t take his eyes off the doomed man and the two strapping youths. He didn’t know what he was expecting to see. The two French boys out in front just seemed like normal teenage males, possessed of the type of perfect adolescent bodies that every woman longs for.

He turned back to Margot with a gnawing question. “You may have noticed that I am a stranger,” he began.

“Yes, of Course.”

“But I must ask you – what is this town? There is no indication of it on my map.”

Margot looked at him and smiled, devilishly. “There won’t be. Voile is a world unto itself. We are our own society. We are our own law.”

Upon hearing her words, Chuck was infused with intrigue. “But how can that be?”

Margot smiled again. “Out there, the revolution continues,” she said, indicating the tree-lined dirt roads that led to the outside world. “But Voile has been here for thousands of years. Very few have discovered it and of those few, none have ever wanted to leave...”

‘“None have ever wanted to leave’?” he questioned. “But what of the criminals who are to lose their...you-know-what’s, today? Don’t they want to leave?”

“Let me re-state that,” she replied. “None who obey our laws have ever chosen to leave.”

Chuck turned his head uneasily back to the guillotine as the woman’s words sank in. He watched a crowd begin to gather. He questioned the reality of what he had just walked into. Was he dreaming?

Where on earth had he found himself?

Chapter 2 - Execution of the First Sentence

The two young male prisoners stood at the front of the platform shivering with fear. The elder of the two was nineteen year old Henri Lechasseur: a beautiful young man. He had bright green eyes, and curly black hair that fell to his neck. His cheeks were smooth with only the slightest dusting of a moustache on his lip. Four female prison guards escorted him, holding his arms and pulling him forward whenever he faltered. His hands were tied in front of him with a rope which ran around his waist and back to his wrists. His eyes were wide with fear, and he kept looking at the crowd and the excited faces staring back at him. “Non! Non! Non!” he muttered as he came closer to the guillotine.

The other boy, Leon Aymard was only sixteen. He had long black hair that grew down over his ears. In the crowd, Chuck Carter studied him closely. Perspiration rolled down Leon’s face. His smooth upper lip and sparkling eyes made him look more like a boy than a man. His baby-faced cheeks completed the look and seem to flush almost crimson. Chuck could see the terror in his eyes clearly as they brought him by, only a few feet away. The pants that he wore were tight, and seemed to accentuate his muscled rear and his legs, strong and firm with the power of a youthful male. He too was tied tightly, with his hands bound in front.

Chuck just couldn’t associate him with a sex crime. He thought it was almost a shame to unman him as he was so full of life and his budding sexuality seemed to be exploding throughout his body. His face had already lost the rounded cheeks, and his eyes were dark, with long lashes and the enlarged pupils that all the women love.

Chuck turned his attention to the third prisoner in the line. He was older and his slimness had gone with his youth. His name was Georges Moreau, an unattractive man of forty-seven with a round protruding belly. It was hard to imagine him doing anything of a sexual nature anymore. The balding process had begun and there was some greying in his temples. Nevertheless, most of his hair remained. He was unshaven and had the plump face of a man who had enjoyed a life of sloth. He stared at the ground, with the look of shame he had brought upon himself.

Sylvie Bourg made her way onto the platform. She had become a stern-looking woman of fifty two, slender and well-groomed and yet, to Chuck’s eyes, enormously attractive. Her hair had grown a little darker during her twenties.

She had led an intriguing life. She had always maintained that her reason for leaving the Sisters of Thenna was because she had suffered a crisis of faith and didn’t feel that she was suited to the vocation. However, many felt that there was more to the story than she had let on. She seemed to enjoy her new vocation just a little too much. In the gaol, she was known as La Vipère – The Viper!

She stepped forward proudly, attired in her officious, intimidating uniform and addressed the crowd, holding the decree documenting the first prisoner’s punishment:

“This prisoner, Georges Moreau, sentenced to five years for rape, found in the act of masturbation whilst under the detention of the town of Voile is therefore sentenced...” there was a tense pause before she concluded her recital: “...to be unmanned!”

Chuck, not well-learned in the French language had no idea what she was saying. However, her declaration certainly seemed to stir up the crowd.

“Who is that?” he asked Margot.

“That is Governess Bourg,” she replied. “She is a wonderful woman. She wandered into our village somehow, as you did, some thirty years ago, before I was born.”

“How did she come to be Governess?”

Margot recalled the boon to her society Sylvie Bourg was. “She was welcomed into the town and she decided to repay the people for their hospitality by introducing an effective system of justice. Beforehand, there had been much social unrest here.”

“I see,” Chuck said with keen intrigue.

“She was soon appointed Governess of the prison and our court judge.”

Fascinated, Chuck turned his attention back to the proceedings.

The three prisoners shuddered as they listened to the words of the Governess, whilst the crowd was giddy and excited. The contrast between the noisy crowd and the doomed prisoners was stark. As the audience shouted at them, Henri, the youngest of the three, had urinated uncontrollably. Suddenly, the two boys were dragged to a post by the guards, and ropes were looped several times around, firmly restraining them.

George Moreau was pulled towards the machine.

Chuck suddenly noticed that all around him, beautiful young women were approaching the males in the crowd. Money changed hands as at least half of the men in the audience handed cash over to the young ladies and walked away with them.

“What is going on with these young ladies?” he asked.

“Oh, they are our local prostitutes,” Margot replied. “Public floggings, executions and the penis guillotine mark their most profitable times. Men become extremely aroused by it and the ladies take them onto the balconies behind us.” She turned and glanced upwards, indicating the spectacle.

Chuck looked upwards to see a man sitting in a chair on one of the balconies with his trousers around his ankles. The head of a young whore moved up and down rapidly between his thighs.

“The excitement gives them the need for release and so the prostitutes suck them as they watch the sentence.”

Chuck was truly stunned. He asked himself, what kind of a village this was? It was incredible – beyond anything he had ever imagined. Looking to his left, he saw another whore unbuckling a man’s pants and taking his ample penis into her hand. He was already as hard as rock as she began to masturbate him slowly at the back of the crowd.

“Some of the locals are not terribly wealthy,” Margot giggled. “They can only afford the hand.”

Suddenly, a deliciously beautiful girl with raven black hair and the warmest smile approached Chuck and asked him something in French. He looked at her bemused.

“She wants to know if you would like her to relieve you,” Margot explained.

“Non,” he replied instinctively, overcome with embarrassment. “Non, merci bien.”

“You are going to regret that,” Margot said, with a chuckle.

Up on the platform, George Moreau didn’t struggle. It was almost as though he knew he deserved his punishment, or was at least resigned to it. As the crowd watched, one of the female guards grabbed his shirt at the nape of his neck and jerked it hard, backward and downward, the cotton tearing as she did so. In seconds he was shirtless and his fat belly was on display. They untied his pants and removed them. It all took less than a minute. His penis was just a nub and his testes were drawn up with fear. He had hair on his belly and chest, and his fat thighs accentuated his lack of appeal. He was clearly embarrassed by his nakedness. The crowd laughed as they saw him and his exposed member, naturally adding to his humiliation.

The rope that bound his wrists was looped up through a ring at the top of the vertical beam and then pulled so taut that it stretched his arms up high over his head.

Chuck could see Georges’ perspiration running down his sides. As they forced him against the post, the guards began to secure his ankles. They brought up a tie between his legs and around his thighs, and another was placed around his waist. As they tightened his bonds, boards protruding from the post under his backside forced his hips out toward the lunette with its two waiting holes.

Finally, he was secured. He was silent, but his lower lip continued to quiver as he fought to maintain control.

Doriane Lisle approached him, holding an open can of grease. She had become a hardened-looking woman of forty-two whose position of prisons’ Preparation Officer had stolen her youthful beauty from her. Strangely, however, Chuck found her as attractive as the Governess.

Doriane coated her fingers with the grease, reached out and started to apply it to Georges’ manhood. “Come on,” she said to him, curtly. “Let’s get you ready.”

As she grabbed his organ, he gasped. Slowly, she worked the lubricant into him, sliding her hand up and down the shaft.

Chuck was again astonished at such a public display of sexuality – this time, directed at the prisoner. He looked at Margot again with confusion and more questions in his eyes.

“Yes, he should be … erect … when she takes it off,” she explained in her lovely French accent, nodding toward the guillotine for emphasis. “This is not for his pleasure, of course! But that way, she takes …” She made a quick chopping motion with the edge of one hand, into the open palm of the other. “She needs it erect to make a cut.”

Good lord, thought Chuck. He’s going to be at full erection when the guillotine removes it! He felt an empathetic swelling in his own groin as he contemplated what was about to take place. He continued to watch Doriane’s hand on the prisoner’s phallus, stroking proficiently, rotating her wrist as she pumped it up and down. The nub began to betray its owner and was visibly swelling in her hand. Doriane was clearly experienced in the art of pleasuring a man.

As she worked on him, Georges could not help but recall the countless times he had been ordered to perform cunnilingus upon her in the gaol. It never failed to bring him to a turgid solidity.

Suddenly, he began to jerk against his bonds, trying to move, trying to prevent his manhood from responding. But his efforts were fruitless, and as Doriane caressed him, his penis continued to grow and stiffen, almost as though it wanted to be cut. He groaned with the irresistible compulsion of her expert manipulations.

The crowd was cheering as they watched his erection grow, until it was stiff and eager. Nevertheless, Doriane seemed to want it harder, and she continued to work in the grease, even faster than before. As she did so his appendage continued to swell. In only a few minutes it had made the transition from a shrivelled, terrified nub of flesh to a rampant, thick and throbbing vessel of over seven inches. One could easily imagine it was eager for the blade – even if Georges himself was not. Doriane skilfully brought him to the brink of ejaculation with her hand, and then abruptly ceased. She glanced across to the Governess, who shook her head gravely.

“He’s nowhere near handsome or well-endowed enough to deserve that,” Sylvie said, coldly. “Bring him to the edge again, and then execute the sentence.”

In response, Doriane laughed, as did the other guards. She took hold of his member once more and began to slide her lubricated fingers along the length of his slippery shaft. Georges moaned involuntarily, with delightful desperation. Perhaps, he thought, if he could avoid making a sound, he could trick this sensual guard into taking him over the edge, to sweet release, before his unmanning. However, Doriane was far too experienced in such matters. His penis assumed an even greater rigidity in a few moments, and then she cruelly withdrew her lubricated fingers. Georges’ eyes widened with fear and desperate anxiety. He couldn’t bear the frustration of being so close to what surely would have been his final orgasm.

A pair of leather cords were bound around the base of his penis and high on his scrotum above the testicles. Doriane reached down and pulled them tight, then tied them. With that, it was obvious that he was ready and the crowd sensed it was time for it to be done.

The guards pushed the beam he was tied to along the metal rail it was attached to, and slid him toward the vertical supports of the machine. Another guard opened the lunette, and after he was firmly pressed against it, they pulled his testicles through the bottom opening. They lowered the middle piece of wood and clamped it in place, trapping his testes. Through the upper opening they pulled his thick, rigid penis, lowered the lunette’s top section onto it, and clamped it in place. Everything that made him a man now protruded through the apertures towards the sadistic crowd.

Georges started to struggle again after he was secured. His desperation was clearly apparent as he realized it was really going to happen, and he was powerless to stop it.

Chuck glanced at the two teenagers, and the look of horror on their faces was almost priceless. The crowd was euphoric as they watched. A slow drum roll began, and then suddenly, Doriane reached for the lever on the side.

Georges Moreau yelled, “Non!” The release was tripped; even as he screamed, the blade made its rapid journey past his face, did its work, and slammed into the stops at the bottom of the guillotine.

The entire machine rocked from the impact as the blade came to rest. Chuck stared at the silver bowl, which suddenly held his thick penis, cleanly removed. Under it, his large testes rested, still wrapped in their wrinkled scrotum. . In less than an instant, where his manhood had been there was only a bloodied stump. Georges’ expression was one of total surprise, his mouth agape and eyes wide. He looked down at the bowl. The shock had somehow anesthetized his excruciating pain.

“Non!” he screamed again, before the embrace of Morpheous took hold of him.

The crowd roared their approval. The guards pulled his post back, and as they did, Chuck’s eyes were transfixed, staring at the point where George’s genitals had once proudly hung.

The leather tie around Georges’ short stump of penis was still intact, and the skin that had once attached his scrotum was tied off with another tight loop of leather cord. The only evidence of George’s former genitals was two red circles, centred within the loops.

The man on Chuck’s left suddenly ejaculated under the skilful ministrations of the prostitute’s hand. Thick globules of creamy-white seed fell to the ground in short spasms. His legs almost gave way beneath him.

The guards unceremoniously dragged George’s unconscious form away.

The blade was hoisted back up to the top of the guillotine again, and the lever on the side was reset. ‘Madame Guillotine’ was again ready – to unman the next prisoner.

Chapter 3 - Young Henri Loses It

As the guards seized young Henri, he began to scream. His face was flowing with tears. “S’il vous plait!” he cried. “S’il vous plait!”

The crowd loved his begging, and fed on the youth’s desperation. They especially enjoyed his stained pants, and seemed to relish that he had urinated in fear; having just witnessed the older man’s unmanning. He fought the guards along the way, and as they ripped his clothes off his youthful body he seemed to convulse in a frenzy of unbridled panic. Every muscle in his body rippled. His slim, sinewy form in stark contrast to the fat belly of the previous prisoner. His patch of pubic hair was small and defined; his chest was smooth, and the hair under his arms still sparse. As his pants were pulled down, the crowd could see his testes hanging down, loose in their hairless sac. His penis was already rising eagerly, aroused by his abrupt nakedness before so many women. It was long and thick, even larger than Georges’ had been.

The guards looped the rope up over the ring on the post. He was begged like a child, incessantly. The tears flowed from his eyes like a river. He struggled as they secured his ankles and ran the leather ties up between his legs and around his thighs. The boards behind his rear jutted his hips forward towards the machine where the holes were waiting for his genitals.

Doriane took the can of grease again, and began to work it into his erection. He gasped with the sensation of her touch, so long had it been since a woman had touched him there.

Watching, Sylvie gazed upon his appendage with unholy lust and traced her tongue across her upper lip, hungrily. So aroused was she, that she was unable to restrain her right hand from falling towards her crotch.

As Doriane slipped her fingers around the throbbing dome, palpating the nerve endings with the utmost skill, Henri groaned suddenly as the essence of his manhood began to issue forth.

Doriane was surprised, but it was too late to stop what she had started. She decided to continue to masturbate the last few drops out of him. An act of final mercy perhaps?

As Chuck watched, the boy’s organ throbbed as it shot his last teenage ejaculation into the air.

The crowd cheered.

The guards were in a hurry, not wanting to lose the lad’s erection, and so bound his organ at the base with the leather cord and rolled the post onto which he had been bound toward the machine. His penis violently twitched with its final ejaculatory spasms.

Henri didn’t stop struggling and his tears continued, relentlessly. His member remained rigid, seemingly oblivious to its just-completed ejaculation. It jutted proudly through its hole, pointing up at a forty-five degree angle, and a long thin line of semen drooled from the tip toward the rough wooden floor of the stage.

Sylvie stepped forward once again.

“This prisoner, Henri Lechasseur, sentenced to two years for repeated indecent exposure to women, found in the act of masturbation whilst under the detention of the town of Voile is therefore sentenced...” once again there was the tense pause: “...to be unmanned!”

The drum roll began. With the sound of the drums, Henri panicked and screamed like a madman. He stared around the rowdy crowd, wildly, and then suddenly he was bending his head forward, straining to look over the lunette for a final glance at all that made him male. Behind him, Doriane reached out and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and out of the path of the blade. The boy arched his back, heaving and struggling, as she restrained him. In doing so he jammed his genitals further forward, through the machine’s apertures and towards the crowd.

At that instant, the lever was tripped and the blade made its speedy journey to unman him.

The entire machine rocked again as the blade slammed to a halt against its stops. Henri’s scream changed in intensity, wild and desperate. He thrust his hips in and out but it was a useless gesture, for now there was no penis to move, and only blood spurted out in its place. Doriane released her hold on his head and then slid the beam back.

Henri looked down in horror at the new emptiness of his crotch. His consciousness instantly failed him.

The tip of his severed penis glistened in the bowl from the last of his spending.

Chapter 4 - A Lesser Sentence?

Leon Aymard, the last prisoner, had watched the execution of the two previous sentences. He was almost mad with fear as Henri had been. He struggled against his ropes and fought desperately. He kept looking at the silver bowl and the genitals it contained, and it was obvious that he would do anything and say anything to keep from adding his own manhood to the collection. Listening, Chuck wished that he could understand what the boy was saying.

As the guards ripped off his clothes, a group of teenagers watched and burst into laughter. They knew him and were joyous at bearing witness to his fate. He looked up at his former schoolmates and as he locked eyes with them his faced flushed red with embarrassment. One of the girls blew him a kiss, cruelly. Leon began to beg for mercy, his words babbling out onto the deaf ears of the guards and to the merciless crowd.

As he stared out wildly at his one-time friends, the guards finished removing his pants. Suddenly unbound, his enormous penis sprang out, free and eager, already half-erect. He was the perfect model of an adolescent male – the largest of all three prisoners. The guards had clearly saved the best, and biggest, for last. His stiffening penis bobbed and trembled as it steadily rose, pointing toward the watching and jeering school girls. They giggled sadistically as it bounced. His chest heaved; the veins of his arms and along the shaft of his penis bulged visibly as he strained against the ropes that restrained him. His chest heaved and he was panting for air, as he fought with all of his strength.

The guards soon had him tied in place, against the vertical beam, his legs well-spread and the leather throngs coming up between them and strapping his thighs into position. Another strap went around his slim waist and held him tight to the beam. The boards behind his rear forced his hips forward, like the others, and his huge erection jutted out towards the crowd. His foreskin was retracted and his glans was exposed, reddish-purple, for all to see.

Leon was fighting with all of his might against his bonds. His desperation was intense and he thrust into the air, moving as much as possible and struggling to be free from the pole. When the guards tied his scrotum with the leather cord, he grunted and then began to scream: “Non! S’il vous plait!”

Doriane added a head strap, pulling his head back and tying it to the beam to keep it safely in place. As they secured him, the procedure seemed to intensify his desperation. When they pushed him forward toward the guillotine he screamed with a new level of fear and intensity.

Doriane looked to the Governess who gently touched her right forefinger to her mouth in a gesture of executing the order. In response, Doriane eagerly knelt down and took the young man’s erect penis into her mouth. The irony of the situation could not escape Leon. It had been following a cunnilingus session with Doriane that he had been driven to near madness with desire, inducing his act of self-abuse. Now he was paying the ultimate price for it. The very recipient of his tongue was, at that moment, preparing him for a life without any such pleasure...

In the crowd, Chuck was overcome with bewilderment by what he saw and turned to Margot. “W-what’s happening now?”

“They do that with the most handsome males before sentence,” she replied. “I suppose they see it as a prize for being beautiful.” Her gaze then travelled down to Chuck’s eager, bulging crotch. “Are you sure you don’t want a prostitute to help you?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“N-no, I will be fine.” The truth was that Chuck Carter was far from ‘fine.’ His desire for release was causing him to shiver. His hands were trembling from lust and his mind began to lose its reason.

“If you decide to take care of it yourself, there is a good chance that you will end up in the guillotine,” Margot said in an almost warning tone. “Self masturbation is strongly discouraged in Voile.”

“W-why?” he asked, suddenly frightened. It seemed anything could happen in this strange town, and he wasn’t eager to add his manhood to the collection in the bowl.

“We try to encourage male-female unions and masturbation betrays that ideal,” she explained. “We believe that all young men should understand that clearly, or suffer the consequences. It’s important and helps to build character.”

“I-I see,” he replied, simultaneously aroused and frightened.

She suddenly looked at him with an intense but unreadable expression in her eyes, and then openly stared again down at his crotch. Abruptly, she asked: “May I see your penis? I would like to see how hard you have become.”

Chuck was stunned and bewildered by the strange woman’s brazen question, but something overcame his normal inhibitions. She was such a sensual woman, with a hint of perverse cruelty. What kind of woman enjoyed watching penises being chopped off? – And he was suddenly overcome with lust and desire to show himself to her. After all, around them at least a dozen penises were openly displayed and erect for all to see. Eagerly, Chuck unbuttoned his fly and his throbbing nine-inch member sprang forth.

Margot watched, completely focused on his penis. Chuck’s heart was pounding incessantly and his penis felt like it might explode.

Suddenly, she reached across and took it into her hand. “You’re very large, are you not? I would estimate a nine-inch erection,” she whispered. “I will not accept anything below eight inches. Now, don’t say a word.” With that, she began to masturbate him. The crowd was oblivious to her action, lost in their own pleasures and in the excitement of the show. Cries of delight could be heard above us as the mouths of one prostitute after another were filled with the semen of their customers on the balconies.

Margot’s hand moved more rapidly upon Chuck’s erection. He looked down to see the large bulbous dome of his penis shining under the clearly experienced hand of the wondrous stranger.

“Watch the punishment,” she whispered. “This is the last one.”

Chuck looked up to see Doriane still fellating the young man. The expression on the face of the youth indicated that he was about to reach orgasm – and then suddenly, Doriane withdrew, cruelly leaving his unsatisfied penis twitching helplessly in the warm summer air. On this rare event, however, she had miscalculated – she had taken him too far. Abruptly, he groaned, his penis jerked upwards, and a jet of semen spurted out to strike his fellatrix, squarely on the lips. She didn’t seem upset or surprised, but quickly moved forward and threw her mouth back onto his spurting erection to capture and coax the remaining seed from his loins. The crowd laughed and cheered at the young man’s abrupt oral ejaculation.

When his violent spasms had largely diminished, Doriane backed away and licked her lips, savouring the flavour of his youthful, final spending.

Oh, what was a glorious punishment it would have been if she had denied him, Chuck thought to himself. Did she do it on purpose? Or was it accidental?

Rapidly, the other guards tied off the base of Leon’s penis with a leather cord and opened the lunette.

Margot continued stroking Chuck’s erection as they watched the boy’s dripping erection – which showed no signs of flagging – being pushed into the hole through which two previous doomed penises had just made their one-way journey, never to return. Leon was so large it looked like he might not fit, but the guards finally pushed down hard on the upper lunette section and were able to latch it down. Unlike the others, Leon’s testicles remained safely on the far side of the lunette.

“His offence is not so great,” Margot explained. ‘She’ – here referring to Madame Guillotine, Chuck inferred – “she only takes his penis, not … not his balls. Cock only!” and with that she gave him a mischievous grin. She encircled the base of Chuck’s rigid penis with thumb and forefinger, clamping down with surprising strength, as if pretending to be a blade coming down on him.

“Oowww,” complained Chuck, insincerely, laughing and incredibly aroused by the way this woman was playing with him. If she kept that up, he knew he would spend soon.

In the guillotine, Leon was thrashing and heaving but constrained by the leather straps, so almost no motion was possible. He repeatedly tried to pull away, but his penis only moved a half-inch or so within the lunette.

Sylvie stepped forward again. “This prisoner, Leon Aymard, sentenced to three years for multiple counts of unwanted physical advances towards women, found in the act of masturbation whilst under the detention of the town of Voile is therefore sentenced...to be unmanned.”

“Poor bastard,” muttered Chuck. The kid might be better off if they took his balls too, he thought. Imagine life with teenage lust, and no cock …

The drum roll started, and Leon’s eyes widened with horror. His thrusting motion became rapid and even more desperate. He jerked wildly, struggling and fighting frantically to move his penis from the tight confines of the guillotine’s lunette. His continued thrashing generated some slack in his bindings, and Chuck could see that Leon had gained perhaps an inch of additional free motion. Of course, given the size of his penis, it was hopeless – nine inches, more or less, of doomed penis extended past the plane where the blade would fall. Leon’s frantic forward-and-back jerking continued, however, and suddenly Chuck realized Leon was fucking the machine – thrusting into the tight confines of the lunette as the only, the ultimate, the final erotic sensations he would ever feel from his too-young penis.

Doriane, her hand on the lever, seemed to savour the moment. The desperate youth continued to thrust violently into the machine, in and out, seemingly oblivious to the crowd around him, the guards, and the blade above that was about to sever his source of lustful joy forever.

Suddenly, his mouth flew open and his eyes glassed over. His involuntary moan was audible to all in the crowd, as the throes of climax began to swell again deep in his loins. He thrust forward in that instant, one last time, his hips pushing himself and his penis deep into the machine and he felt himself exploding with his second release. He pushed with everything he had, as if desperate to fertilize the guillotine itself. Just as his erection was in as far as it could go, Dorian tripped the lever and the blade began to fall.

As the blade descended, Leon’s enormous penis convulsed, reared higher, and launched a long jet of semen high into the air, arcing out over the nearest onlookers and into the crowd. As the razor-sharp slab of steel passed his contorted face, a second spurt shot from his penis, then stopped abruptly – interrupted by the blade passing through his member.

An instant later a spray of semen and blood emerged from the hole where his penis had been. His severed member at that instant was tumbling down end over end, landing ignominiously on the pile of balls and cocks previously taken by the guillotine.

At that moment Margot knelt down, unable to contain her cruel passion, and took Chuck’s erection into her mouth. Her soft lips and snaking tongue swirled around his dripping manhood.

On stage, Leon’s body seemed oblivious to the missing sensations from his penis and – astonishing the crowd of onlookers – continued to launch pinkish sprays of semen, through the upper lunette hole. Chuck stared at the empty hole where once Leon’s manhood had stood.

The crowd flew into frenzied applause and cheering again at the spectacular fall of another penis. Chuck felt Margo’s teeth rake up and down his shaft, her tongue slithering along its underside. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by his own imminent orgasm, coming on like a freight train. As he looked down helplessly, he felt the ejaculation of thick lashings of hot, white seed shooting into Margot’s mouth. He tried to contain himself and stand steady, but the orgasm shook him as he gasped and trembled, oblivious to the onlookers around them. He couldn’t have stopped it for anything in the world, so aroused was he and so delightful was the mouth of the beautiful stranger.

She slowed her pace in accordance with his abating climax, proficiently drawing the last of his seed from him, moaning delightfully as she did so.

On stage, Leon’s outpouring slowly diminished to a dribble, and his body sagged. The guards held him up as they un-strapped his bindings, and supported him as he walked unsteadily across the stage.

Margot was sucking and licking Chuck clean, taking in his last drops as he underwent the final spasms of orgasm.

Finally she ceased and stood, carefully stuffing his still-hard erection into his pants, and then taking his hand into her own. She raised the hem of her flowing dress upwards and guided his fingertips to her slippery, dripping sex. “You’re not the only one… can you see what the guillotine does to me, also?”

Chuck nodded, not sure what constituted a safe response in the strange town of Voile.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said quietly, into his ear. “As I said, I only take eight inches and larger, and you more than qualify. But I want you in me for a long time – not shooting off too soon, comprends-tu? That is why I gave you my mouth. Would you care to join me?”

“A-are you serious?” Chuck asked, almost in a delirium.

“I am aroused by punishments,” she replied. “The guillotine, executions, floggings. I become a true woman when I see such things...”

Infused with passion, Chuck interlinked his fingers with hers.

“My name is Margot,” she said. “Margot Colette.”

“It is a true pleasure to meet you, Margot. I am Chuck Carter,” he replied as she led him away, past the crowd.

Chapter 5 - Chez Margot

Margot and Chuck, two people from very different worlds, yet sharing an uncommon fascination with certain public spectacles, walked together across the square and down a narrow alley in the town of Voile. At the end of the alley, they turned left and followed the wheel-rutted road south for about a half-mile. Ancient village houses and stone walls gave way to dusty tree-lined farm roads and buildings. Margot led Chuck toward a carriage house at the edge of an immense field of growing wheat. In the quarters above, where once a stable boy or two had lived, Margot now occupied three small rooms.

“I am a writer,” she explained as they arrived at the stout nail-studded wooden door to the building. “Here…it is quiet.” She opened the door – no locks, he noticed – and led him up the unpainted wooden stairs to her rooms.

“Here,” she continued, “I can write without interruption. There is complete privacy. Nobody knows or cares who is here with me.” Despite their different cultures, her command of English and informal style made Chuck feel instantly comfortable with her – as if they had known each other for years.

In the little kitchen with a table for two, Margot brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses. She uncorked the bottle, poured both glasses half-full, and raised hers to her lips. She sipped carefully, gazing intently at Chuck all the while over the edge of her wine glass.

“If we are honest,” she began, “you and I will acknowledge that we are aroused by certain forms of cruelty. In truth, I do not wish brutality on any man…or woman…but I do not apologize for such an erotic interest. If we witness such events as you and I partook of, today, we cannot deny that a certain ...physical response…takes place – the response of sexual arousal.”

Chuck nodded mutely, raised his glass to hers and took a long gulp, half-emptying the glass. This French woman is growing ever more fascinating, he thought. “You are a very astute woman,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“In the square today,” she continued, “I discerned that we possessed a mutual interest in various forms of punishment. A woman can hide it, if she wishes…” She pointedly glanced down, to somewhere below his belt “… For your part, your interest was more obvious.” Chuck felt a flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks, and simultaneously the heat of new arousal pouring into his groin.

Margot looked beyond him, and waved her hand toward the shelves of books lining the walls, and at a small desk near the north-facing window, where paper manuscripts, with fountain pen and ink bottle ready nearby, lay neatly stacked, apparently still in process.

“As I said, I am a writer,” she continued. “I am kept by no man, but provide for my own needs,” she explained. “I write, usually under a nom-de-plume to avoid the wrath of certain factions in Paris. I write political tracts that are published anonymously. I also write fiction, often of a sexual nature, which seems to attract as much anger and hostility as my politics.”

She laughed, sipped at her wine again. “I am an advocate of freedom in all its forms – political, social, religious, and of course sexual. For some reason, that upsets the authorities – particularly those with an interest in denying freedom to others.”

Chuck’s mind was seething, anxious to learn more about this fascinating woman.

Over the course of the next hour, he peppered Margot with questions. He learned a great deal about French politics, her rise to the attention of top literary critics and officials in Paris and Marseilles – “sanctimonious keepers of moral purity” she called them – and the strange history of the unknown village of Voile, in which she had lived for most of her adult life.

In what seemed a very short time, the wine bottle was empty. Chuck felt the room was threatening to spin around him, and decided not to stand up too quickly. Margot watched him with apparent amusement.

“Now Mister Carter,” she began with a mysterious-but-mischievous smile playing across her face, “Although I am an advocate of freedom in all its forms, I request that you surrender a modicum of your own freedom with me. We will enjoy each other, I assure you. You must trust me on this.”

Carter rose carefully and walked over to her, kissed her long and deeply upon the mouth; “I am entirely yours, ma chère Margot. Do with me as you will.”

“Très bien” she said, “Then you will please accompany me to the bedroom.” She took his hand and stood, then led him through a short passageway to the next room. Chuck had to duck his head going through the doorway. It was an open, airy space with two small windows and a collection of unrecognizable tools hanging on the whitewashed walls; he noticed several whips and canes of various sizes hanging there, and two pulleys fastened to the sturdy ceiling beams over the end of the bed nearest the wall. The bed was a low wooden frame with a thin straw-filled mattress, covered with fresh linen sheets.

“Now, Mister Carter, if you would remove your clothing, I would like to view the rest of you.” As she said this, she pulled her long frilly dress up over her head, then slipped it off and hung it on a hook near the door. Chuck needed no further encouragement, and in seconds his shoes were off, covered by an untidy pile of pants, shirt, and undershirt. Margot, in a short camisole that hid nothing of her superb female form, appraised Chuck Carter’s nakedness.

“You have more than met my expectations,” she said approvingly as she observed his substantial penis beginning to rise. “Now, please lie on the bed, and be at ease. It is time to restrain you.”

As Chuck, trusting but with more than a little anxiety, cautiously reclined his long sun-bronzed body across the sheets, Margot busied herself pulling a collection of short thick ropes and straps from a corner cabinet. She approached the bed and, one limb at a time, expertly immobilized the man. Within two minutes Chuck was spread-eagled across the bed, naked and bound by wrists and ankles, a broad strap binding his midsection. He found he could only turn his head, or raise it a few inches. Below the neck, only his penis seemed capable of moving – which it did, perversely growing longer as it languidly extended across his muscled thigh.

Margot knelt down on the bed, near his head, kissed him quickly on the mouth, and then swung her leg over his head. Suddenly he was in half-darkness under the skirt of her white camisole, the scent of her sex all around him, her thighs against his ears, and he heard her muffled voice:

“My turn, Mister Carter. Demonstrate the talent of your tongue for me.” Chuck needed no further hints; her light pubic hair was tickling his nose. He tilted his head up, extended his tongue, found her already-slippery-wet slit within reach, and began licking up and down vigorously. Approving sounds came from somewhere above, encouraging him. He probed higher, circled his tongue around her delectable little nub, began licking and sucking on it gently and then with more force. His practiced effort brought forth heavy sighs, erratic breathing and soon, little cries of passion from Margot.

As he pleasured her, he felt his penis lifting off his thigh, stiffening and rising with his own growing excitement. After Margot had apparently undergone two or three shuddering orgasms he felt her shifting above him, and the warmth of her hand wrapped around his shaft, gently squeezing and stroking. Then suddenly the wet heat of her mouth came down over the end of his penis, and her tongue and lips were sliding, licking and sucking hard on the engorged head. In response Chuck licked her wildly, almost frantically, and she cried out again, overtaken with animal passion, and pushed her mouth far down onto him, teeth scraping the delicate skin, and as her orgasm crashed through her, she suddenly bit him hard, halfway down his shaft.

Chuck groaned in simultaneous pain and pleasure, imagining she was capable of biting it off, if she decided to. Her mouth abruptly left his penis, and he felt her long hair sliding, tickling, across the wet skin.

“Oh!” she cried. “Excusez-moi, I’m sorry! Most men don’t like teeth on their penis. But then, I think you might be the exception.” He felt her move higher, the better to examine him, he guessed. She might be right about teeth down there, he thought. The pain had dissipated; moreover, at that instant he wanted nothing more than to feel her bite him again.

“Look at that!” her voice came from above. “You have a word… ‘indent?...indentation,’ do you know the origin of that word, Mister Carter? Here’s a clue: it has something to do with teeth. My, what good indentation I make on you! Would you like some more?”

“Mmmmffff,” Chuck said, nodding vigorously. His nose, and then his tongue, stroked vigorously into her dripping-wet vagina.

“I take that as a ‘yes,’” she confirmed. “But I will make certain you do not come in my mouth, this time!” He felt her teeth again, nibbling on the head and then down the skin of his shaft. “I have other ideas for that.” She commenced biting him with greater conviction. Chuck groaned, lost in pleasure and pain. True to her word, she ensured he didn’t come. Any time she sensed he was close, she gave him a particularly hard bite on his plum-shaped head, and the urge was quickly gone.

Chuck saw daylight through closed eyelids and opened his eyes, squinting in the unaccustomed light. Margot had turned around and moved down his body, squatting over his thighs, facing him. She shucked her camisole, pulling it over her head, and tossed it onto the bed beside her. Half-standing over him, she leaned down and spread her hands across his muscular abdomen for support, and then began to lower herself carefully until the tip of his penis was poking between her labia. Using one hand to guide it, she sank down another two inches, until the purplish-red distended head was fully inside her.

“Aaahhhhhh,” she breathed out gently, eyes closed, as his thick member began to fill her. Slowly, steadily, she lowered herself onto him, quietly appreciating every millimetre of his extraordinary length disappearing into her most secret regions. Her care and slowness was tantalizing torture for Chuck, who desperately wanted to thrust upwards into her – but was entirely prevented from doing so by the broad leather strap tight about his midriff. Truly at her mercy, he groaned in helpless lust. She took a full minute, which seemed an eternity to Chuck, but finally ‘reached bottom.’ Her eyes fluttered open again to look down at him, and he realized he was entirely inside her. In his extensive romantic encounters, Chuck had known no other woman who could do that, without some degree of pain or actual injury.

Margot began slowly sliding back up his aching and over-worked member, until she was almost off him, and then pushed down with a long, deliberate stroke, gathering speed. Periodically she gazed down at him, grinning mischievously at his feverish frustration, and then closing her eyes to focus inwardly on her own pleasure. Unconsciously, as she did so her vaginal muscles worked their magic on him, kneading and pulling on his slippery length, squeezing him at times with almost crushing strength.

Chuck had never been with a woman possessing such sexual athleticism. When she rose up from him, her vagina clasped his organ with such a grip that he felt its pull all the way to the roots of his penis, as if she were trying to tear it from his body. It was almost painful, but intensely pleasurable at the same time.

“Tu comprends – you understand – you must not spend, Chuck. You will stay hard for me, for my pleasure, but no ejaculation!” she commanded sternly. Chuck could only moan in frustrated pleasure. His entire body begged for release, and she was determined not to give him that pleasure – not now, anyway. For a moment, she stopped moving, but her inner muscles continued kneading him, like three or four strong hands simultaneously massaging his thick shaft. Chuck groaned, eyes closed.

“If you spend too soon, I will take it!” She raised herself up an inch and Chuck’s eyes flew open at the sudden bite of cold steel at the base of his penis. He cried out in momentary panic; Margot had lifted off him slightly, and her right hand held a petite dagger, the blade pressed against the shaft of his penis near the base. Her unconcealed grin of amusement betrayed her mischievous intent, and she reacted to the shock on his face with a peal of laughter, leaning back and dropping the weapon to the floor.

Chuck seethed and struggled, “Damned woman, I would fuck you within an inch of your life if I could only escape these … !” He writhed in his bonds, helplessly. For all his momentary terror and exertion, his aching erection did not flag.

“Oooh, I like that!” Margot encouraged him. “Move some more, mon chéri Chuck, it tickles me inside!” Carter ceased his struggling; sweat beading up on his chest and arms, running down the sides of his face from his forehead, soaking into the thin bedding beneath him.

“And,” Margot pointed out, “you are hardly the one doing the fucking now; it seems to me that I am fucking you, n’est-ce pas? Peut-être, I will fuck you to die, or maybe until your poor cock falls off!”

So saying, she resumed her vigorous up-and-down motion on his shaft, slicked with her juices, this time with her eyes closed and rubbing herself with rapid circular motion with her right hand, just above the place where his penis plunged into her depths. Her motion became more frantic and erratic, faster and faster, for more than a minute, and then suddenly she screamed out in ecstatic cries, flung her body backwards, and then collapsed forward, with sighs and heavy breathing, onto Chuck’s sweat-soaked chest. Her long auburn hair spread over his shoulders and part of his face, tickling his nose.

Normally such frenzied fucking might have sent Chuck over the edge, launching his seed into her depths, but Margot’s knife-play gambit had shocked his level of arousal down a few notches. But he remained resolutely hard, more excited than he remembered ever feeling in his life…

Chapter 6 ‘Pièce de Résistance’

Satiated finally, Margot rested on Chuck’s broad chest, breathing heavily, feeling him still hard, still filling her. She finally raised her head slowly and smiled at him. “That was good. Don’t you think so?”

“Uh huh,” Chuck nodded, his head being the only part of his body which he could move voluntarily. After a few minutes, Margot seemed to recover, and carefully lifted herself off Chuck’s rock-hard penis. He groaned in frustration, desperate for release.

Rolling off the bed, Margot stood and surveyed him for a moment with apparent amusement. She reached down and tightened the strap about his midriff, then went back to the cabinet in the corner of the room.

She brought out a strap and pad assembly, and threaded the first strap under his neck, around the back of his head. There was a broad and soft leather pad that covered his mouth completely and then another strap went over the top of his head. She fastened the buckles and cinched them down, tightly. Chuck found quickly that he could only breathe through his nose. He tried to quell his rising anxiety. He started having second thoughts about his decision to come to Margot’s remote abode, far from the village and from other people.

“You can still make noise, Mister Carter,” she said.. “But, I don’t want you to scream. A man screaming is most unpleasant and pains my ears. So I make certain you are quiet, yes?”

Chuck’s eyes rolled wildly and he made a stifled “Mmmfffff!” sound from under the thick leather pad covering his mouth.

Margot stood next to the bed and regarded his immobilized and gagged form for a moment with obvious satisfaction.

“Now Mister Carter – Chuck – it is time for what we say, the ‘pièce de résistance’, what you have been waiting for; that which you desire most. The English borrowed those words from us, do you Americans use it also?”

Chuck nodded mutely,

“Now, you should be standing for this. No, don’t get up, Chuck,” she laughed. “I will do it for you.”

She checked his straps again, and began to pull on the rope passing through the system of pulleys attached to the ceiling beams above Chuck’s head. The head of the bed began to rise smoothly into the air, tilting up. As it rose, the foot of the bed began to roll toward the wall on its wooden wheels. Chuck realized that the whole bed, with his supine body firmly bound to its frame, was tilting, rising toward the vertical, as Margot continued hauling on the rope.

In less than a minute, the bed – with Chuck securely attached – was vertical, his sun-bronzed body spread-eagled across the bed frame, feet now flat on the rough wooden floor so he was standing, legs widespread. Chuck’s massive, still-erect penis, projecting above the horizontal from his bound form, suddenly seemed terribly vulnerable.

Margot secured the rope end to a nautical-looking davit on the wall, approached him, and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek. She lightly stroked his rigid penis with her right hand and squeezed it firmly to assess its hardness.

“I’m certain he will like this,” she assured him, with a laugh, “…but you look doubtful.” Chuck mutely stared into her eyes, trying vainly to learn if this woman was offering him rapturous release, or unknown terror.

“Have you heard of the Marquis de Sade?” she asked abruptly. “I find his works intriguing, in many ways. He was surely a most … open-minded writer, do you think?” Chuck’s eyes bulged at the mention of the Marquis, and his head shook violently from side to side, with more “Mmmmffff!” sounds coming through the leather pad of the gag over his mouth.

“I don’t know why you respond so,” she said, firmly. “Have you actually read what he wrote? Monsieur le Marquis wrote many political works, as well as treatises on sex – as do I. Among you Americans I am sure he has an awful reputation. And, I detest how he behaves toward women – but I can’t help but take pleasure in applying some of his ideas to a willing male. You are a willing male, are you not? You came with me of your own free will. You permitted me to bind you.

“We have a great deal in common, you and I. We are both aroused by certain forms of cruelty and … genital abuse. One may find joy and release in pain, and seek pleasure so intense it brings pain.”

Margot gave his still-rigid penis a playful squeeze. “I can see he likes this, bien sur. Your face displays anxiety, yet he is quite eager, isn’t he?” She struck his rigid member from the side with an open palm, and watched with satisfaction as it swung side to side from the impact.

She walked away. Chuck watched her lovely backside sway as she walked. He was confused, yet more aroused by this woman than he had ever felt in his life. His penis ached now from her bites, the violent intercourse, the intensity and duration of this prolonged erection. His whole body was infused with the need for release,

Margot opened a tall closet door. She pulled out something large that he couldn’t see clearly at first, until she turned around and rolled it, on its four caster wheels, toward him across the smooth wide floorboards.

Chuck’s eyes widened with astonishment, and the first twinges of genuine fear clutched at his heart. With a smile of anticipation on her face, Margo was wheeling toward him nothing less than a miniaturized guillotine!

The machine reached nearly to the ceiling, its twin vertical posts higher than the top of his head. Below the top crossbar hung a steel blade with horizontal edge, a rope and pulley holding it suspended at the top of the device. Chuck’s eyes could make out the release mechanism to one side of the blade, with a cord hanging down most of the way to the floor.

There could be no doubt as to its intended function: the two-part lunette appeared to be precisely the right height and size – for a large man’s erect penis.

Chuck began to struggle, but in vain. Margot knew her straps and knots well. He belatedly realized that, blinded by his lust, he had fallen into the lair of a madwoman. His only hope lay in escape – and if he didn’t succeed at that, he was going to be violently emasculated, very soon. Unprompted, the scenes he had so recently witnessed in the village square began playing in his head – the victims’ hopeless struggles, doomed genitals projecting through the lunette; the huge blade dropping, the abrupt tumbling of a severed penis, the spray of blood and semen from where it had once been attached to its terrified victim.

Margot worked quickly, seemingly oblivious to Chuck’s struggles and muffled protests. She pushed the apparatus toward him until the lunette’s lower section was directly under his erection and carefully maneuvered it closer until the machine was lightly pressing against his thighs and his hard flat belly. With her foot, she pushed a pedal on the base of the machine, applying a brake that prevented it from rolling.

“Bien,” she said, as she pulled the hinged upper half of the lunette down over the base of his still-rigid penis. It latched with a loud clicking sound. The cold brass lining the lunette aperture, pressing against his skin, was a physical shock to his member, and the utter hopelessness of his position struck him like a thunderclap. The woman was determined to go through with it!

Margot stood in front of him and gazed directly into his eyes, through the frame of her infernal machine,

“I know you very much want to come again, so I will grant you that pleasure,” she said calmly. “You will greatly enjoy this, I’m sure.” With that, she knelt down in front of Chuck and the apparatus, and took him into her mouth again. With her right hand, she began simultaneously stroking the length of his shaft, nearer his body, that wouldn’t fit into her mouth. With her left hand, she grasped the brass ring at the end of the cord hanging down from the machine’s release mechanism.

Chuck thought his fear would render him flaccid, finally – but Margot’s expert manipulations put an end to that idea, and she felt him grow hard again in her mouth, and in her hand. She proceeded to vigorously fellate him, this time not holding back in any way – although her teeth did make occasional new ‘indentations’ in the process. Chuck’s head thrashed back and forth, eyes wild, realizing she was going to pull the cord at the onset of his ejaculation.

He tried madly, but in vain, to suppress his growing arousal. It was hopeless; Margot was too good, knowing precisely what would bring him over that terrible edge, to his final ejaculation. Suddenly he ceased struggling, overwhelmed by the sensations of imminent and long-delayed orgasm. His entire body went rigid, and his midsection – although confined by the broad leather strap – suddenly thrust forward, pushing his erection out another half-inch through the machine’s lunette. Margot glanced up at him quickly, continuing her oral attentions, while compressing the base of his penis firmly with her right hand to detect the onset of ejaculation.

Chuck groaned, finally surrendering to the inevitable. She felt his penis swelling abruptly in her mouth and between her fingers. She took her mouth away and began rapid full-length strokes with her hand. Chuck’s cock seemed to rear up, almost tearing itself from her firm grip, and launched a powerful jet of hot semen that splashed against the side of her face, spraying droplets past her into the room.

“Oh, good Chuck!” she exclaimed in encouragement. “Encore, more…” and he complied with another spurt that shot past her left ear.

“Now,” she said quietly. She pulled down sharply on the brass ring, as his cum spattered to the floor behind her. Chuck heard the loud click of the release. His eyes widened in horror as they followed the heavy steel blade beginning its descent, accelerating rapidly, relentlessly, and then out of his field of vision.

Margot stroked quickly again in synchrony with his rhythmic spasms, as Chuck’s body jerked violently. His body launched a third jet of semen toward her. He heard the blade sing a rising steely note as it accelerated down its guide channels toward his trapped member. His just-launched seed splattered against Margot’s arm.

The blade hit its stops with a deep thudding sound, and Chuck felt an abrupt flash of pain at the base of his penis that vibrated through his entire body like an electric shock. He convulsed in his bonds and realized he was still ejaculating helplessly, like the last youth emasculated in the village square. An overwhelming surge of pleasure rose again, deep in the roots of his penis, and coursed outward like a growing and unstoppable tidal wave, and he saw another spurt fly away, toward Margot’s jubilant smile. It struck her on the chin.

Margot’s right hand was still firmly wrapped around his throbbing member and she stroked him again. Chuck realized he was feeling the coolness of her hand sliding the full length of his erection. He could feel the intense pleasure of his continuing ejaculation, all the way to the tip. Margot was not pulling his severed member away from his body, and there was no blood.

She leaned forward and he felt the warm wetness of her mouth, the artful swirling of her tongue around the swollen throbbing head as she accepted his fading offering, gently sucking it from him and swallowing it down. His body sagged in his bonds as his spasms died slowly. For the first time in his adventurous life, Chuck fainted.

Chapter 7 - Postscript

“Oh dear, I fear my machine has failed!”

Chuck carefully opened one eye, squinting guardedly into the fading daylight coming through the bedroom window. He moved his arms carefully, then his legs, wiggled his fingers. He was naked beneath a coarse linen sheet. Nothing bound him to the bed. A woman dressed in a simple white camisole looked down on him with apparent concern.

“Hummmm?” he asked. His throat felt sore. His whole body hurt.

“Well Mister Carter, you seem to be all in one piece. Je ne sais pas … I do not know what is wrong …”

The events of his last conscious moments flashed into Chuck’s brain. He sat up abruptly, shock sweeping across his face. He stared at Margot. Her ill-concealed, mischievous smile gave her away.

“You … you …woman!” he roared. He couldn’t find the right words to convey the anger, embarrassment, excitement, and lust he felt toward her. “Damn you! What a trick to play on a man!” He did his best to maintain an angry glare.

“Oh, Mister Carter” she soothed him. “But I think you liked it. I know he liked it” she added, nodding pointedly toward a place about a foot below Chuck’s navel. Chuck’s attention was momentarily diverted toward his genitals. He reached down in panic, clutched at his tired, flaccid penis to verify it was still there. The sudden touch brought stabs of pain to his male appendage.

“Ow! Damn, what did you do to me, woman?” he shouted.

“No permanent damage, Mister Carter” she reassured him. “I had a close look at you while you … you were resting. Some bite marks, perhaps a bruise at the base of your penis. He will be fine in a few days, I assure you. And, I think now he needs a little rest, n’est-ce pas?”

Margot left him recuperating in her bed and prepared a light supper of bread, cheese, and wine.

That night, Chuck and Margot slept soundly in each other’s arms. Before they succumbed to sleep, Margot assured him that she had other adventures in mind.

He responded with a gentle snore…

Appendix: Carter’s Notebook and Diary

14-August 1873

While Margot was in the kitchen, my curiosity about her infernal apparatus was mightily aroused. I got up from the bed and quietly found my way to the closet from which she had withdrawn the machine. Following a quick examination, I deduced that:

1. The device’s thick iron “blade” is not at all sharp; its lower edge is in fact machined to a gently-rounded profile, unlikely to separate a man’s member from its owner.

2. The blade is brought to a full stop after compressing any object confined by the lunette to about a half-inch in thickness.

3. Thick pads of rubber, above the blade stops, return the blade to a position about an inch above the full-stop limit, after its descent and the termination of downward travel.

In summary, the falling blade will momentarily compress any object in its path to about a half-inch in thickness, then return upwards another inch, and remain there, at rest. In other words, it will slam quite convincingly (and painfully) onto the base of a man’s erection, compressing it momentarily, then rebound upwards and remain, where it does not compress the organ – so it makes no impediment for the male issue of seed.

Infernal device! I don’t doubt that Margot had a hand in the machine’s design and construction. The woman is very intelligent for a member of her sex, and she seems capable of anything she sets her mind to. She is a thoroughly bewitching lady.

Tomorrow, Margot invites me to visit the gaol of this strange town, administered harshly by the same woman who conducted the public unmanning of three prisoners – this Sylvie Bourg, with whom Margot seems to be well-acquainted. I have no doubt I will witness more extraordinary practices there. This village has more surprises than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.

I only hope that, as we view Madame Bourg’s facility, I can keep my body under control and not display that obvious symptom of arousal Margot’s eyes alighted on yesterday in the public square. It’s difficult to know what constitutes a crime in this village, but I do not want to be a male on the wrong side of the law here.

15-July 1783

Margot and I leave for a visit to the gaol later today. I need not have been so surreptitious in my examination of the device she used on me – she gave me a guided tour this morning! In fact, she encouraged me to make measurements and renderings in order to document its design and mechanism of operation.

There was, of course, a purpose in her doing so; when I mentioned I would be going to London in September to look after some business affairs, she insisted I should visit her thirteen year old sister Alice at St Augustine’s school in Canterbury where she was attending. Margot is convinced that Alice would be fascinated by the device lurking in her closet and of what lies in the town center of Voile.

With an older sister so committed to corrupting the mind of her minor sibling, I might only imagine the fate of the young man who may fall out of favor with Alice Colette when she comes of age!

Margot has insidious yet enchanting ways of engaging a man’s compliance. In spite of my better judgment, I agreed to convey her letters to young Alice. God knows what horrors may be visited on her future romantic interests. And I will be complicit in whatever consequences unfold, guilty of treason against my own gender. I must confess to an odd mixture of dread, anticipation, guilt – and supreme arousal…

(End of entry from the journal of Charles M. Carter)

Sinners

The tale that started it all

By

Mistress Hades

Chapter One – The Wages of Sin

June, 1893

Canterbury, England

Alice Colette was thirty-three years of age, not particularly attractive and typically matronly for a lady of her day, especially in view of her position: the headmistress of St Augustine’s mixed state school for orphans.

Attired in an unassuming dress that was seemingly ‘headmistress,’ she smiled as she perused the extensive number of files in her office. The file that was the focus of her attention at that moment was that of Lady Elizabeth Chantelle, a wealthy noblewoman who was due to visit the school that day. Alice’s intention was to persuade Elizabeth to become a patron: a lucrative and calculated move.

As with all of her prospective patron's, Alice had learned of Lady Elizabeth’s sexual interests and was delighted to learn that she was a sadist. She took every opportunity to punish and torment youths during her many visits to correction centres for wayward youngsters. Alice had decided not to reveal to Elizabeth that she was aware of her sadistic activities. However, she intended to tempt the lady by offering her an opportunity that she would find difficult to resist.

Alice had learned of Elizabeth’s country residence, Parkland Manor, set in eighty acres of parkland in Surrey. It offered many rooms, some of which had been turned into special punishment rooms, although Elizabeth was growing tied of abusing offenders and wished to find new victims. Through an influential friend, she had learned about St Augustine’s and Miss Colette’s plans to introduce new patrons into her entourage.

Alice turned to a report regarding two pupils. The first was young Ralph Parker. According to Miss Jones, the matron and punishment administrator of the school, she had caught him in the act of masturbation. For the first two such discoveries, discipline was meted out with severe whippings. However, Miss Jones’ discovery marked Ralph’s third time.

The second offender, Juliette Cotter was a very attractive girl, lithe and slender. She had been discovered pleasuring herself under her bed sheets in the dormitory for the first time.

Both victims, like so many others had been detained at St Augustine’s long after they should have been liberated. Most of the pupils had been duped into believing that they had nowhere else to go. Of course, it had all been one of Alice’s many ploys in the service of her own sensuality.

Alice had been persuaded by the cultural views of masturbation as influenced by health reformers the likes of John Harvey Kellog and Sylvester Graham. The idea that the act was so damaging to physical, mental and spiritual well-being provided endorsement for Alice’s great sadistic pleasure in banning it and applying severe punishments to offenders.

This view was further encouraged by the delightful tales of cruelty, which came from the French town of Voile. Such reports had been conveyed to her in many letters sent to her over the years, by her sister, Margot.

A copy of the eighteenth century pamphlet, ‘Onania, or the Heinous Sin of Self Pollution' rested upon Alice’s desk for all who entered to see.

St Augustine’s was a place that truly lived up to the values of the one after whom it had been named: St Augustine of Hippo. Augustine had been a man who was obsessed with all things sexual and taught self-flagellation as a means of beating the sexual urge from out of the body. His cruelty and neurosis led to so many tearing their own bodies to shreds. Masturbation was the most abominable crime of all in his eyes. His famous prayer said it all: “Lord, deliver me from the evils of my lusts and grant to me the gift of chastity…but not just yet!”

St Augustine’s School & Orphanage: a place of insidious cruelty and madness. Somehow, it all fit so well.

Alice’s visits to punishments were always a pleasurable experience for her and a chance to relieve her pent up lust. It had been her childhood dream to, one day; preside over the wards of St Augustine’s – the very establishment that she, herself, had once been a pupil of. However, before her ‘rise to power,’ it had ceased to be an orphanage – and the disciplinary regime reached the height of cruelty. The deficiency of sadistic imagery had always left young Alice wanting. Witnessing the occasional caning just simply did not suffice…

*****

Elizabeth Chantelle chose to walk up the long drive after what had been a very bumpy last few miles in the old carriage. She was thirty years of age, breathtakingly beautiful with her raven-black hair concealed underneath an elegant sun-hat. She strode very quickly; clearly excited by the prospect of new victims. She arrived at the front door of St Augustine’s and was greeted by a smile from Alice and Miss Jones who took Elizabeth’s coat. Alice showed her into the office.

They spent a few minutes exchanging pleasantries about the weather and Elizabeth’s journey before addressing the key issues regarding St Augustine’s. “We focus upon the highest standards of education here,” Alice boasted, “and we enforce exemplary behaviour through harsh discipline.”

Elizabeth smiled and sensed a certain twinge in her nether regions at the sound of the words ‘harsh discipline.’

Alice turned to Miss Jones with a smile. “Florence dear?” she asked. “Would you bring in Ralph and Juliette, please?”

“Certainly ma’am.”

Seconds later, the two young pupils were led naked into the office.

At the sight of them in their youthful vulnerability, Ralph’s lean physique and such an enormous appendage hanging between his thighs, Elizabeth was suddenly seized with the urge to masturbate.

"These two have proved themselves particularly fond of touching themselves,” Alice explained. “Both are compulsive masturbators, an act which is always severely punished at this school."

"What will you do to them?" Elizabeth asked, stirred by their apparent submissiveness.

"Juliette will be given a sound whipping on her thighs, breasts and vulva," Alice replied. “This is Ralph’s third time for being caught in the act of onanism and so, for the sake of his very soul, he will receive the maximum penalty.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Elizabeth urged with intrigue.

“All in good time.” Alice wanted passionately to see the look on Elizabeth’s face at the moment of revelation. "I wonder? You wouldn't consider helping with the punishment, would you?"

"Of course, I'll help as much as I possibly can," Elizabeth replied in a somewhat regal tone. "We owe it to the next generation, to bring them up in the best way possible.”

Alice smiled at Elizabeth, delighted by her enthusiasm, knowing that she was truly ensnared and turned to the matron. “Miss Jones, would you please show Lady Elizabeth and these two sinners to the dormitory?"

“Certainly ma’am.”

"I will see you for Ralph’s punishment later,” Alice said. “Please feel free to enjoy yourself.”

"I will," Elizabeth replied with an excited smile.

Miss Jones offered a smile to Elizabeth as she led her and the two hapless pupils out of the office and up the broad stairs.

"Is the dormitory far?" Elizabeth asked.

"No ma’am, we are nearly there."

Within moments, they reached the first floor where Miss Jones opened a large door.

It was a long, broad room with tall windows to either side that let the light in to illuminate the large space between several large beds. Hanging on the walls were many menacing instruments of punishment and a large whipping post in the centre of the room. It was Alice Colette’s method of impressing punishment upon her wards at all times. With the whipping post in the centre of the dormitory, punishment was their first and last thoughts of the day.

"We have some clothes for you to change into. We don't want you soiling your own during their discipline,” Miss Jones said as she guided Elizabeth towards the bedroom just across the hallway where a loose-fitting black dress was laid out upon the bed.

"I will leave you to change while I get those two self-abusers ready.” With that, she left Elizabeth to her privacy.

Within moments, through the door, Elizabeth could hear groans coming from Ralph and Juliette – a curious drone which inspired more than a little curiosity. Once she was fully attired in her loose-fitting dress, the prospective patron could contain herself no longer and stepped outside to see Miss Jones gently masturbating Ralph and stroking the fires between Juliette’s thighs.

"Dear Lord!" Elizabeth’s vagina dripped at the sight of his astonishing size in full erection. She estimated that he was perhaps nine inches in length and thickly girthed.

Miss Jones was pleased to see Ralph and Juliette’s lack of control over their genitals and their outright willingness to be masturbated which made certain that their punishments would be severe and wholly justified.

“Right, let’s get them ready,” Miss Jones said abruptly, letting her hand slide along the length of Ralph’s erection, once again. "Now your punishment really starts.”

Ralph and Juliette began to cry out in earnest as they were harshly pushed and prodded by the matron into the brightly lit dormitory.

Following closely behind, Elizabeth was determined not to miss anything as the two victims waited in anticipation of their penalties. It was the reason she had come and she was going to make the most of her opportunity. She was smiling as she looked firstly at the whipping post and then at Ralph and Juliette who presented a most erotic spectacle standing naked and in a state of fright.

The post had been arranged so that when secured, the pupils would be facing their chastiser with large mirrors mounted in front so that the expressions on their faces could also be seen by the audience.

"Would you like to give Juliette her whipping?" Miss Jones said in a very low voice.

"Nothing would give me more pleasure.” Having Juliette completely at her disposal gave Elizabeth great pleasure. Ralph and Juliette caused her to become weak at the knees with sadistic lust.

Ralph's penis remained fully erect and Juliette's nipples stood out profoundly despite her predicament. Elizabeth excitedly watched the matron shackle Juliette to the post, which was cruelly decorated with rings and shackles.

“What do you intend to do with him?” Elizabeth asked, motioning towards Ralph.

"He will be secured to bear witness to Juliette’s whipping. Believe me, he is wishing so desperately that he could join her.” Miss Jones replied before stepping over to Ralph and pulling him towards an overhanging beam close to the entrance. It sported two shackles on the far sides, into which Miss Jones clasped his wrists. Within seconds he was held fast, crucifixion-style to bear witness to the perverted display before him.

Licking her lips, Elizabeth was thrilled that she was going to be able to whip Juliette severely and knowing that there was nothing to stop her.

Of all the instruments of correction displayed in the racks on the walls, Miss Jones chose a small leather whip. She wanted Juliette to feel her whipping and enjoyed watching the effect that the tails would make upon her skin. "Here at St Augustine’s we use such instruments to whip the genitals and they don't half smart if their screams are any indication to go by."

Elizabeth had an expression of delight as she gripped the handle, drawing her hand over its length in anticipation. Even though they were no longer than twelve inches in length, the pupils viewed them as living vipers.

"Now, it's up to you of course,” Miss Jones explained, “but I would whip her thighs first, then her bottom. That's the best time to begin whipping her privates.”

Elizabeth smiled and flicked the whip hard into the air and she felt a surge of power sweep through her.

A chill flowed through Juliette. She had witnessed flagellation before but she had never experienced it. It had always been a ghastly sight and the thought that she was about to flayed in like fashion caused an uncontrollable panic to seize her. “I am so sorry,” she sobbed. “By all that is holy, I beg you, don’t do this to me. Please matron. Please.”

“It is ‘by all that is holy’ that you are to be flogged,” Miss Jones replied icily. “The demon of lust will be flayed out of you that the Almighty may find it within himself to forgive you.”

In despair, Juliette surrendered to the tears which flooded from her eyes.

Slowly, Elizabeth stepped over to the naked young girl as she stood with her arms stretched upwards, shackled to the post. After an agonizing moment of silence, she drew her arm back and lashed the cats across the young girl’s bare thighs. The impact immediately raised a spattering of deep red welts to the accompaniment of a high-pitched cry of anguish.

"Don't be put off by that noise," Miss Jones warned.

Encouraged rather than ‘put off,’ Elizabeth repeated the stroke across the same section of skin. In a frenzy of masturbatory delight, she slapped the whip hard against Juliette’s young and tender inner thighs. In a short time the contrast in skin tone was remarkable, from the fair, unsullied pink of tender young skin, to bright red, inflamed flesh. Elizabeth made a point of ensuring that she varied the time intervals between strokes in order to keep Juliette in suspense. She gradually worked her way up to Juliette’s buttocks as the young ward screamed uncontrollably, jerking and squealing with each new stroke.

Juliette cried continuously. The stinging soreness was unbearable and yet there was no mercy to found in the dormitory that afternoon.

Relentlessly, the flagellation continued and the sound of Juliette’s cries permeated the room. Her young muscles distorted the shape of her legs as they tried fruitlessly to free her from her torment until finally, it came to an end.

“That’s enough,” Miss Jones called out. “I’ll turn her around.”

Elizabeth stood back, breathing heavily as Miss Jones re-attached Juliette to the post facing her; her breasts and vagina totally revealed once again.

Miss Jones nodded towards Elizabeth who took her position again. Moving around to Juliette's front, she mercilessly brought the whip down hard across her breasts until her nipples hardened. Her screams were ear-shattering.

The whip landed twenty-four times upon her tender breasts. She began to shudder uncontrollably. As was common among many of St Augustine’s flagellation victims, she was sinking into shock, rapidly.

“Alright, enough of that,” Miss Jones said and moved forward to take two small benches, placing them at either side of Juliette’s thighs. Very quickly, she swept the young girl off her feet and secured her legs, thighs parted onto the benches with ropes.

Ralph winced as he watched the brutal proceedings. It brought to mind his own chastisement after the first two times that he had been caught in the act. Miss Jones had flayed him on both occasions. Nevertheless, despite the terrible tribulation he was experiencing, the sight of Juliette’s beautiful vagina caused his penis to swell and lengthen once again. Oh, how he had so wanted to slide his member into her.

Seeing his arousal, Elizabeth smiled; a welter of pleasure rising within her as she watched his tumescence swell.

“It’s time to lash her sex,” Miss Jones said.

Elizabeth’s heart was pounding as she looked at Juliette’s vulva and bulbous clitoral hood. She slowly stepped over to her once again and eagerly brought the whip down onto the tender vaginal lips. The stinging cut of the lash on such a sensitive and unprotected orifice re-awakened Juliette from her trauma-induced semi-consciousness into another episode of harrowing agony. None of the strokes were heavy at the outset and yet they struck the girl’s tender lips; a dozen leather bands landing to painfully scour her genitals.

Elizabeth gasped and watched Juliette’s reaction, adoring the response so much that she quickly struck again, then again and again, each strike followed by a short pause to watch her victim’s reaction. After twelve strokes, Elizabeth began to strike upwards, the direction making it easier, she hoped, to strike the head of Juliette’s exposed clitoris. A loud squeal of anguish told her that she'd succeeded and immediately tried for another; panting in her excitement. Juliette’s vulva began to bleed as Elizabeth passionately flogged her. The sexual secretions oozed from between Elizabeth’s thighs in response to the power her victim’s screams gave to her until, exhausted, she finally ceased.

Miss Jones returned and handed a special device to Elizabeth which was to be fitted over Juliette’s tortured genitals. It was a chastity belt which had needle barbs on the inner surface. “Would you care to fit this onto her now?” she asked as though she was offering the younger woman a glass of wine.

Elizabeth smiled, took the chastity belt into her hands and placed it at the apex of the young, pink vulva. She secured it tightly around the bound girl’s waist and smiled as the barbs came into contact with her stinging vagina. Juliette would need to walk with caution. If she attempted to touch herself, the lightest contact would cause excruciating pain. She squeezed her thighs together in an effort to avoid the barbs, but to no avail. She sobbed as they punctured the soft flesh of her lacerated clitoris and immediately she spread her legs to afford herself some relief; her eyes telling Elizabeth and Miss Jones how successful they had been in delivering her torment.

“Now it is time for his delightful penalty,” Miss Jones said, cruelly as she unshackled Ralph. “I will alert Miss Colette and have all of the pupils assembled on the courtyard.”

The young man trembled in the knowledge of what was going to happen to him. It was the most terrible and horrific of all punishments and yet there was simply no escape!

Chapter Two – Maud’s Treachery

Elizabeth Chantelle stepped out into the bright warm summer’s day to see thirty pupils lined up on the courtyard of St Augustine’s. Ahead was Alice Colette standing upon a raised platform next to a sight that was truly stunning to Elizabeth’s eyes. It was not as narrow and not quite as tall as she would have expected but nevertheless, there it was: a French guillotine!

Miss Jones led Ralph up onto the platform. He was naked and his arms were spread low at his sides with his wrists bound to a wooden beam which pressed against his buttocks.

“Lady Elizabeth,” Alice called. “Please come up and join us.”

The young noblewoman required no further prompting and hurriedly made her way through the crowd of pupils and up onto the platform.

At either end of the wooden beam to which Ralph was bound were protruding, up-turned iron hooks. Alice took the far right end of the beam and guided the hook into a clip that was attached to the top of one of two short wooden pillars positioned at either side of the guillotine. She then took a four- foot length of cord from her pocket and handed it to Elizabeth. “Would you mind binding this loosely around the base of his penis and then guide the prepuce through the hole in the guillotine, dear?”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement with total amazement. “Are you really going to cut his manhood off?”

“I certainly am,” Alice replied with conviction. “Masturbation is a life-threatening condition and this boy is compulsive with it. I have all of the endorsement of the medical community.”

Beaming with excitement, Elizabeth did as she was asked. As she drew Ralph’s penis through the lunette, Alice stepped around to the left of him and attached the opposite side of the wooden beam to the pillar. Trembling, he tried to pull himself out but the beam was secured, forcing his buttocks forward and he had not the strength or the leverage to tear two wooden pillars apart.

Alice moved around to the front of him and picked up a small lantern from the platform at the foot of the guillotine. With her free hand, she carefully stroked his penis as it hung long and pensive through the hole.

She smiled at him momentarily before pouring oil from the lantern onto his length. Once a sufficient covering had been achieved, she proceeded to smooth the lubrication into him.

Ralph gritted his teeth, trying valiantly to avoid coming to erection but the delightful sensation of the headmistress’ fingers combined with the oil was irresistible. Within seconds his huge phallus rose to its great length and girth.

He contemplated upon why he had done what he had done, despite knowing the terrible penalty. The floggings had been bad enough and yet he simply hadn’t been able to help himself. The urge to masturbate had been so overwhelming that it had almost been an involuntary action.

Having seen two of his fellow pupils undergo the same punishment, he knew that it would be agonizing. The screams of the former victims had been enough to make the toughest amongst them tremble with horror.

Oh, how cruel was life at St. Augustine’s.

The pupils watched from the courtyard with fascination. The male pupils all came to erection at the sight of what Miss Colette was doing to Ralph.

“Your abnormal size is an indication of the demons within you,” Alice said as she continued to coax the nerve endings along the surface of his shaft. “An immodest manhood will always inspire a young man to self-effacement but don’t worry. Your curse is about to come to an end.”

For long minutes she rotated her wrist around the oil-coated vessel of rampant flesh; its veins proud and its rigidity like unto steel. “It must be nice and stiff in order for the blade to make a clean cut, Ralph,” she said in a clinical fashion.

“Please don’t do this, Miss Colette,” he pleaded. His heart pounded violently in his chest as the fear and dread possessed him completely.

“This is for the sake of your health, Ralph,” she replied with conviction. “If you continue to masturbate you will surely die. You must begin to learn the virtues of punishment.”

Alice looked up at Elizabeth who was still holding one end of the cord.

“How did you manage to come by such a device?” Elizabeth asked with morbid fascination.

“Well, following numerous medical reports regarding the health implications of masturbation, the department of education agreed to have it built for me.”

“You actually managed to gain authorization for this?”

“Of course.” Alice’s right hand continued to work the oil into Ralph’s desperately stiff erection. “How could they refuse authorizing a punishment which saves souls?”

Elizabeth marvelled at Alice’s resourcefulness and another stab of lust went through her as she gazed upon the young man’s voluptuous weapon. She fantasized about how marvellous it would feel inside her. Nevertheless, such was not to be. That particular morsel was for the blade and that was that!

“Elizabeth, please stand behind him and take the other end of the cord,” Alice asked politely. “On my word, pull the two ends as tightly together as you can. It will prevent excessive blood loss after the blade has fallen.”

Elizabeth nodded and stood in position.

In the courtyard, devilish young old Maud McCann stood watching the proceedings with profound interest from the back row.

She noted that all of the male pupils sported sensual protrusions from the front of their grey shorts, despite the terrifying spectacle they were watching.

To Maud’s immediate right, her pier, Albert Dickson, offered his lust in like fashion. Extremely carefully, she reached her right hand across and slowly unbuttoned his fly. The young man struggled to suppress a gasp of surprise and lust as Maud’s fingers located his thick and throbbing member. Despite his fear of discovery, he simply could not resist the pretty girl’s teasing hand as she secretly masturbated him, concealed from view by the crowd. It had been weeks since he had been able to achieve orgasm in the outside toilet and his libido was agonising beyond description. With her own breathing laboured, her hand increased in pace as she passionately watched Miss Colette cruelly apply more oil to Ralph’s erection.

Euphorically, Alice looked up and smiled at Elizabeth; her hand autonomously sliding back and forth along the pulsating vessel.

“It looks to me as though he is dangerously close to sin, my dear,” Elizabeth warned her.

Alice looked back down again at Ralph’s erection, suddenly distracted from her lustful trance by Elizabeth’s words. In that moment, Ralph cried out as the delightful contractions began within his loins. Alice’s hand pumped thick curds of hot, white seed from his glistening shaft, his voluminous ejaculation striking Alice squarely in the mouth. So stunned was she that for the briefest of moments, her sensuous hand continued to masturbate him, causing a second geyser of youthful semen to spill out onto her silk blouse.

“You filthy animal,” she scolded him. “That’s the last time you will ever experience that satanic sensation. Please pull the cord Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth did as was asked of her and Ralph winced with the pain of the constriction that suddenly bit into the base of his manhood.

Alice stood and subtly licked her lips, savouring the erotic flavour of Ralph’s semen. She grasped the rope at the side of the guillotine and unravelled it from the hook. Tears fell from Ralph’s eyes as he clasped them shut, too terrified to see the blade fall. Elizabeth looked on wide-eyed with sadistic, lustful fascination.

The pupil’s in the courtyard were transfixed. The males were infused with both lust and horror and the females, mostly horror – all save for Maud who continued with her masturbation of Albert as he approached the point of no return. She wanted so badly to see Ralph’s penis fall and to savour his scream. Her vulva throbbed with sadistic passion as Miss Colette released the rope.

All of the pupils aside from Maud averted their eyes in revulsion at that instant. Within the blink of an eye, the razor-sharp blade sliced through Ralph’s huge erection and fell to the surface of the platform; blood spattering the back of the blade.

Ralph screamed a chilling sound of pain and anguish.

In that moment, Albert’s erection became ultra-ridged in Maud’s hand. Sensing his release, she snatched her hand away leaving him on the edge of orgiastic release. His penis throbbed, naked, unsatisfied and unattended in the air.

“Please Miss Colette,” Maud cried across the courtyard raising her arm to catch her headmistress’s attention.

“Yes, Maud,” Alice said. “What ever is the matter?”

“It’s Albert, Miss. He’s been doing it right next to me.”

Albert looked on in horror as the crowd of pupils instantly parted to reveal Maud standing next to him with his eight-inch erection poking through his fly, the head coated with glistening pre-ejaculate.

“Miss Jones,” Alice called to the matron. “Please help Lady Elizabeth to release Ralph and take him to the infirmary.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Alice stepped down from the platform and ominously approached the quivering Albert. “So! Seeing one of your fellow pupils losing his manhood causes some arousal, I see.”

“I-I didn’t, Miss,” he pleaded. “It was Maud. She handled me.”

“Oh, did she now? Is that how far along the road of sin your lusts have taken you? Bearing false witness against an innocent young woman?”

Albert knew that protesting his innocence further was futile. Maud had manipulated him because she wanted the pleasure of seeing him in the guillotine and it seemed as though that was exactly what he faced.

Alice reached out and took hold of his organ. His penis twitched in her hand as she smoothed his juices across it. “Would you like me to cut it off for you, Albert,” she asked in a sensual tone.

“No, please don’t Miss,” he cried. “I beg of you.”

“Mmmm. Perhaps there may be a way in which you can be spared.” Alice released him and stepped back to stand before the pupils. “All male pupils drop your shorts this instant.”

The mortified boys did as they were told and row after row of erections suddenly came into view. Alice smiled and walked along the rows paying particular attention to the erections. She noted four who were without penises – lost to the guillotine during their time at St Augustine’s. However, it took her mere seconds to make her selection.

Arthur Rowe had just turned eighteen and he was very handsome with an erection that was easily eight inches in length.

“Arthur, you come with me,” she demanded.

The young boy trembled and pulled his shorts back up as Alice returned to Albert and Maud.

“Albert, you will first show contrition to Maud for the way in which you disrespected her.” With that, she made her way back into the building with Arthur, Albert and Maud in tow.

Chapter Three – The Torment of the Damned

Within thirty minutes, Alice was seated behind her desk when she heard a knock at the door. "Come in."

Miss Jones entered with Elizabeth.

"Do take a seat," Alice smiled.

“I shall return to Albert and Maud,” Miss Jones said dutifully and departed hurriedly.

Alice gestured with a nod of her head to Miss Jones. "Do you feel that discipline here is satisfactory, Lady Elizabeth?" she asked, surreptitiously.

"Oh ye I really enjoyed it. Thank you for arranging it for me," Elizabeth replied with elation in her tone. "I was very impressed with the guillotine. What a marvellous idea. Masturbation is such a disgusting habit and you have employed the use of a complete cure."

“I have a sister living in France. She gave me the idea for the penis guillotine. Prior to mine, the one in her town had been unique.” Alice looked at Elizabeth, slyly. “You really don’t want to leave just yet. Do you?”

Elizabeth had no idea what Alice had in mind.

“Come.” Alice stood and made her way to the door. “I have something to show to you.”

Minutes later, Elizabeth found herself, led by the hand into a small, windowless room, which offered two cushioned benches with two sets of upright poles running from floor to ceiling on either side of them. Young Arthur looked on from the corner of the room as Miss Jones presided over Albert’s task.

Elizabeth was both stunned and lustfully inspired by what she saw. Albert’s face was firmly affixed in the bare crotch of young Maud. The girl lay back on the near-side bench, naked and with her head resting upon the cushion. She groaned as his tongue skilfully drew the woman from her.

“That’s it, Albert,” Miss Jones encouraged him. “Use the tip of your tongue upon that small nut at the top.”

He obeyed with an ambivalence of dread and extreme arousal. How he had always lusted after Maud. She had so often been in his thoughts when he had masturbated. She was a young woman of the most delicate beauty and yet the most sensuous coldness. The act that he performed upon her at that very moment was erotic beyond even his most exciting sexual fantasy of her, although it was also the most insidious of torments. There was simply no relief this time. Only excruciating, lingering arousal.

Maud had always been a libidinous, avid masturbator and sadist. St Augustine’s was far from the easiest of places for her to have found herself, given the masturbation rule. Nevertheless, at that moment the only word which came to her mind to describe the experience was sheer – ecstasy.

Elizabeth looked on, wide-eyed with her mouth open. “I thought that you forbade such behaviour here!”

“Oh, my dear,” Alice replied, “This isn’t an enjoyment. It’s a punishment.”

“For whom?” Elizabeth asked as she watched Maud’s eyes continue to roll through the raptures of orgasm.

“For him.” Alice looked over at Elizabeth and noted the look of bewilderment upon her face. “Look at his privates.”

Elizabeth noted the throbbing appendage between his thighs and the droplets of pre-ejaculate which continued to fall from it.

“He wants to spend so badly, but he can’t,” she continued, cheerfully. “And his ordeal has only just begun.”

“That’s it Albert,” Miss Jones said, directing him. “Allow the flat of your tongue to slowly coax the last traces of release from her.”

Albert complied with his instructions and within moments, Maud was completely satiated.

“That’s good,” Miss Jones smiled. “Now, Maud. Get yourself dressed and return to the dormitory.”

“Yes Miss.”

Alice eased her way closer to Elizabeth to gain closer proximity to the younger woman’s ear.

“Being exposed to extreme sexual stimulation without relief is a harrowing ordeal for a young man,” Alice whispered. “Dr Kellog wrote that suffering has a salutary effect upon the mind which encourages the avoidance of future lustful thoughts.”

“I see,” Elizabeth replied, immediately sensing the gross hypocrisy in the headmistress’ words.

“It was he who advocated castration and circumcision without anaesthetic as a means of curing masturbation.”

“Really?” Elizabeth ventured in an attempt to sound convinced by Alice’s attempt at justification for her perversions.

“Yes. When I learned of that, I arranged for the construction of my penis guillotine and it was authorised almost immediately.”

“How did you manage to arrange such a thing so quickly,” Elizabeth asked, intrigued.

“It didn’t take much. I have the Minister of Education, the Minister of Health and five members of the House of Lords as patron’s here.”

“Yes, I know,” Elizabeth interjected. “I first learned of St Augustine’s from Lord McMillan. He speaks most highly of you.”

“And I keep him very well…entertained,” Alice grinned, slyly. “Just as I act in the - how do I say? - best interests - of all of my patrons.”

“I would very much like to become a patron,” Elizabeth offered, requiring no further prompting.

“Oh, I am so pleased to hear that,” Alice beamed. “I think that that calls for a celebration.”

“ Oh?”

“Yes. How would you care to sample the fringe benefits of our establishment?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Alice turned to Albert as Maud walked out of the room fully dressed and with a warm glow upon her face.

“Albert,” she snapped. “Now that you have expressed your apologies to Maud, you will serve the needs of our new patron, Lady Elizabeth, is that clear?”

With his penis jutting out excruciatingly before him, he nodded sullenly.

Alice turned her attention to Arthur. “I will take you, Arthur.”

Arthur’s erection was also throbbing; protruding eagerly from his thighs.

“Do you feel comfortable stripping naked for some ‘tipping the velvet,’ my dear Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth’s eyes glowed with desire as she began to disrobe without any further encouragement. “I couldn’t be more eager.”

Alice closed her eyes and bit into her lower lip with passion before beginning to disrobe, herself.

Within minutes, the two women were completely naked. Elizabeth lay upon the bench that Maud had been serviced upon and spread her thighs wide open, unashamedly.

“This is for their discipline,” Alice affirmed as she lay astride her bench next to Elizabeth. “Now, kneel down, both of you.”

Albert and Arthur obeyed and fell to their knees in unison before the twin visions of Venus before them.

Lord give me the strength, Arthur prayed silently before easing his face forward into his headmistress’ vulva.

How will I cope with doing it again? Albert thought to himself with desperate arousal and a sense of hopelessness.

Her scent brought him to full erection as it always had done, for it marked his fourth experience of forced cunnilingus.

Alice groaned as his tongue began to rotate around her soft lips, gradually making circular motions until momentarily, the tip of his tongue brushed against her clitoris.

Elizabeth lay on the bench next to Alice; her knees bent and spread with her feet curled around the edge of bench. She grasped Albert by his hair and impatiently forced his face onto her dripping wet lips. She was a little more vocal that Alice and cried out with the lustful euphoria that the tongue brought with it. Albert licked away at the pink lips which were framed by the covering of light brown curls. She continued to moan her cries of delight as his tongue came into contact with her protruding clitoris. “That’s it, just there,” she said, in-between gasps. Her mind was awash with the contrast of him not being permitted any sexual relief at all and her own delight at his tongue. As Albert stroked her clitoris with his tongue, spurring her on to a shattering orgasm, thoughts of the penis guillotine flooded her mind. The sight of the blade falling and taking Ralph’s enormous, throbbing erection, the blood, the scream of agony. It was simply priceless. With that thought, she threw back her head and spent herself, repeatedly.

Albert’s face was smothered with the juices of her climax; his ears ringing with the sound of her unashamed cries.

Oh, how Elizabeth loved the fruits of St Augustine’s. “You beautiful boy,” she said, lovingly.

Alice was breathless as Arthur drew her closer to her culmination. Noting that Elizabeth had spent herself so quickly, she pushed her servant away from her, momentarily. “My, that was quick,” she said, astonished. “You must have really needed that.”

“I certainly did,” came the breathless response.

“Do you think that you can go again, my dear?”

“I should think so. Why?”

Alice looked over to Miss Jones who stood close to the entrance watching the proceedings.

“I will have one of them service you shortly, dear,” Alice promised the matron. “In the meantime, do you think that you could take that cane from the wall next to you?”

“Certainly,” Miss Jones replied, obediently. Her eyes moved across, located the fierce-looking weapon and seized it with her right hand.

“We are going to play a game now, Elizabeth,” Alice said, devilishly.

“What game?”

“Stand up boys,” the headmistress ordered.

They both stood in unison to reveal their quivering shafts.

“Just look at how aroused they both are. Can you see the evil dripping from their organs, Elizabeth?”

“Indeed I can.”

“Boys,” Alice ordered. “Your manhood depends upon your control.”

The two young men looked at one another, ominously.

Alice raised her knees up and back, spreading her vulva wide open for Arthur. “You will put those organs inside Lady Elizabeth and I and you will satisfy us well.” She looked directly across at Miss Jones again. “If either of them seems to slow down their pace, I want you to apply the cane to their buttocks.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Miss Jones eagerly took her position between the two young stallions smiling cruelly and stroking the cane with loving attention.

“Boys, grip the poles,” Alice ordered.

As they did so, Elizabeth moved her knees up and back as Alice had done. At that point, Albert and Arthur’s erections were practically touching the wet lips of their cruel torturers.

“Insert yourselves!

The two young men eased their way forward, their body weight supported by their grips upon the poles at the sides of the benches. The sensation of the hot, wet juiciness of Alice and Elizabeth’s orifices were almost too much for either of the desperately aroused boys to endure. It was a divine sensation, transcending description.

It was at that point that Alice revealed the nature of her sadistic torture. “If either of you spend, you will go to the penis guillotine!”

Albert and Arthur’s hearts came into their throats. There was simply no way for them to survive such an ordeal. With Miss Jones right behind them, they didn’t even have the option of pacing themselves.

The evil of Alice Colette knew no boundaries.

To make matters worse, Elizabeth went into an internal frenzy upon hearing the nature of the sick game.

“Begin,” Alice commanded.

Albert and Arthur pulled back and then thrust themselves in again, repeating the same motion over and over as they held onto the poles for dear life.

Groans of ecstasy came from both Alice and Elizabeth as the rampant, stiff young erections pummelled their cruel, feminine depths.

“Faster.”

Perspiration fell from Albert’s brow. He could endure it no longer and knew that he was going to ejaculate. Instinctively, he slowed down his pace and immediately, a white hot pain slashed across his hindquarters.

‘“Faster,’ Miss Colette told you,” Miss Jones snapped at him. ‘“Faster!”’

“Please Miss,” Albert begged her. “If I do, it will happen.”

“Then you will lose it won’t you! Faster! Faster! Faster!”

Alice and Elizabeth relished the sound of Albert’s distress. Elizabeth thrust her hips forward to force his penis further into her channel whilst Alice luxuriated in the smooth eight-inch erection. It was the reason that she had selected him in the courtyard. He was well-endowed, handsome and sensual. She wanted him and she saw the erotic beauty in cutting off such a specimen. “Faster,” she barked again as she sensed her climax approaching.

Albert held back as the contractions of his ejaculation began again. Miss Jones thrashed him across the existing stroke. He screamed and hurriedly increased his pace.

“Faster,” repeated Alice. “Faster! Faster! Faster…!

Part II

Chapter Four – Eight years later

February, 1901

Alice Colette sat at her desk, making entries in her diary. It had been another taxing week for her but a sexual delight, nonetheless. Her libido had been raised to a height from which she could not descend; a true addiction to her selfish lusts. At forty-one years of age, the change of life had still not stolen her fire from her and neither had she permitted her body to fall to the plagues of weight.

She wore only a night gown with the right shoulder strap having dropped slightly, revealing her pert breast.

A knock at the door suddenly distracted her from her work. She hurriedly pulled her nightgown strap back up. “Come in.”

The door opened and a stunning young lady stepped into the office.

“Yes, Maud,” Alice said, officiously.

“Lord McMillan is here to see you, Miss Colette.”

Alice’s face lit up with greed as the impact of Maud’s words fell. “Send him in, by all means.”

A tall man in his late fifties and fully suited entered the room. His presence had an immediate aura of authority as he approached Alice.

“Geoffrey,” Alice greeted him as she stood. “What a delightful surprise. And at this hour. How long has it been?”

“Over six months, I do believe,” he replied with a powerful, deep resonance. “And how have things been for you?”

“Absolutely wonderful.”

Lord McMillan took Alice’s knuckle and gently raised it to his lips. “I have missed our little gatherings so, I can tell you. I have been so busy in the House with one thing or another.”

“As have I,” Alice replied. “But I can imagine how taxing your position in the House of Lords must be.”

McMillan took the seat in front of the desk and Alice returned to her own. “I trust that my last gift to you found its way to good use.”

“It certainly did, sir,” Alice beamed with excitement. “We now have two penis guillotines. One in the yard and one in the punishment room for winter executions. Since Maud joined us as the new matron, she has been so extremely proficient.”

“‘New matron’?” McMillan repeated with a start. “What on earth happened to Miss Jones?”

With a sullen expression, Alice explained the former matron’s absence. “She left us three months ago. She had fallen in love with Arthur Rowe, one of our former pupils. She had met with him again on the outside and they decided to marry.”

“She married a pupil?!” McMillan gasped.

“Well, he was twenty-six, by that time,” Alice said as a means of reminding him that the pupils do grow up and move out of the orphanage. “It is unusual for the man to be the younger of the woman, I know. But Arthur was so extremely apt in the art of…making a lady…happy!”

“What a pity! I was most fond of her.”

Alice had not been surprised by Florence Jones’ decision to marry

Arthur Rowe. She could never forget how much stamina he had shown after he had been compelled to vigorously screw Alice following Ralph Parker’s penis guillotine sentence. Miss Jones had witnessed his power as she waiting with the cane should he have slowed down his pace. His fellow pupil, Albert Dickson had been forced to do likewise with Lady Elizabeth Chantelle under the same rules. It was a game that they referred to as ‘Fuck and Flog.’ Arthur had succeeded in bringing Alice to a shattering climax without ejaculating. Unfortunately, his friend Albert did not possess such control and spent the lava of his lust across Lady Elizabeth’s torso. Consequently, Albert had been the next victim of the penis guillotine.

Arthur subsequently acquired a taste for submission as a result of his experiences at St Augustine’s. Miss Jones had found her ideal partner.

Alice suddenly realised that Lord McMillan’s patronage was likely encouraged by his attraction to Miss Jones and she knew that she must quickly speak, lest she lose his support. “I am sure that you will love Maud,” she offered. “She used to be a ward here also, if you remember.”

“She was?”

“Yes. She was the most wonderful pupil we have ever had here. She caught more masturbators for us than anyone.” Alice chuckled as she recalled the fruits of Maud’s ‘help.’

“Very few males left here with their manhood intact during Maud’s reign. She’s twenty-six, herself, now. She just couldn’t stay away.”

McMillan’s eyebrows suddenly rose. “And delectably lovely, also. Is she willing?”

“Oh, good heavens, Geoffrey,” Alice said, with elation. “She is eager. She loves her work. As a matter of fact, I am administering correction tomorrow morning, if you would like to attend.”

“I most certainly would,” he replied with bombastic enthusiasm. “What is the correction for?”

“A pupil called Elsie,” she replied. “There were signs of secretion on her nightgown and we want to nip it in the bud, before it conquers her.”

McMillan’s heart began to flutter with sexual urgency. “Oh, I am joyous that you are so committed to stamping out that abominable practise among the young. Saving their lives and immortal souls, you are.”

“In that case sir, Maud will accompany you, herself. I presume you will be staying the night?”

“I certainly will,” McMillan smiled, cruelly. “I sleep well at night knowing that this country has people like you administering discipline and deterring the young from destroying our great country with their self-destructive lusts.”

******

At nine o’ clock the following morning, Lord Geoffrey McMillan and Alice Colette entered the punishment chamber of St Augustine’s. The environment never failed to fill McMillan with the most profound excitement. They stepped to the side and into a secluded alcove where two comfortable cushioned seats were positioned against the wall at the rear.

McMillan immediately noticed the new penis guillotine and securing posts positioned proudly in the centre of the room and slightly to the right so as not to obscure the view of the whipping post.

“Please make yourself comfortable, Geoffrey,” Alice invited him. “They will be with us imminently.”

“Oh, how I have missed this, Alice,” he said with a voice weakened by the effects of his passion. “Such a disgusting, dangerous habit.”

“Indeed.” Alice looked across at him beyond his notice with a sly grin. She found the hypocrisy in his words to be most amusing as she sat in the seat next to him.

Minutes later, Maud arrived, leading the young Elsie, naked into the chilling chamber. Her black velvet correctional gown flowed with ominous intimidation, highlighting her shining, fair hair. Neither Elsie nor Maud noticed the two figures secreted away in the alcove.

“Just get yourself over to the whipping post, you disgusting little sinner,” Maud demanded.

Elsie was sobbing with hysterical terror. “I didn’t do it Miss McCann. I really didn’t.”

“Lying will only make it worse,” she retorted. “You are going to suffer dearly for your self-abasement.”

McMillan’s penis began to twitch in his trousers as he watched Maud harshly bind the arms of the beautiful, budding young woman, naked to the post. He caught a glimpse of her pubic hair from where he sat; thick dark curls to match her raven black hair.

Alice walked over to the wall and took the heavy bundle of springy birch twigs from their cradle. She smiled in sadistic anticipation and returned to Elsie with the cruel weapon and readied herself. With a brief glace and a grin to Maud as the younger woman made her way over to McMillan, she reached her arm backwards and beat the twigs viciously across Elsie’s tender back followed by a scream from the trembling victim.

As Maud reached the cruel Law Lord, her eyes fell to his crotch. She noticed the swelling of an erection growing before her very eyes. Previously, Miss Jones had always been the one to assist him with his discomfort during such occasions. Now, with Alice handling the flagellation, the dastardly task of keeping the dirty old man happy had fallen to her. “Are you comfortable, sir?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Completely dishevelled, McMillan, with laboured respiration, turned and looked Maud in the eye without saying a word. He had desperation in his eyes, almost pitifully.

Maud smiled and reached down to unbutton his fly. She instantly felt his rampant solidity and proceeded to draw it out of its confinement.

The room was filled with another cry of anguish as Alice applied the second stroke to Elsie.

“Oh, my dear,” McMillan mumbled. “T-thank you. Thank you, so.” He was suddenly thrilled at her touch; a new touch.

Maud leaned over to take his uncircumcised, eight and a half inch tumescence into her mouth at the moment when Alice inflicted the third stroke to Elsie’s back. Suddenly, Maud became alarmed. The man’s genitalia emitted the most pungent odour. He clearly hadn’t washed himself properly for days. Perhaps even in weeks. Momentarily, she considered Miss Jones and all the years she had fellated the filthy pig to a crisis during whippings and guillotinings. “Sir,” she whispered; a new plan having taken form in her mind.

“Y-yes,” McMillan sputtered.

“It has come to my attention that some gentlemen prefer a more robust form of comforting: a method more in-keeping with the preferences of one’s senses.”

“I-I’m not sure that I follow you.”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” She reached into her pocket and took out a small glass bottle. She unscrewed the lid and poured out a generous amount of an opaque, off-white liquid into the palm of her right hand. Easing her hand onto McMillan’s throbbing vessel, she proceeded to massage the oil into his organ of passion with firm-but-gentle handling.

“Oh…oh…m-my…Miss McCann,” he whimpered. “T-that feels s-so wonderful…ah….ah…” He suddenly realised that what he was experiencing was what the boys who went to the penis guillotine must have felt as their members were prepared for destruction. It was the most marvellous sensation in the world: the slippery lubrication of a woman’s mouth complemented by the added strength of the fingers.

The air was alive with Elsie’s screams as Alice continued to flog her back and buttocks.

Maud used both hands on McMillan’s erection, rotating her grip in circular motions; her fingers sliding easily around the pulsating flesh by virtue of the oil.

“T-tell me that y-you never let them spend, Miss,” he begged.

“We don’t, sir,” she replied, calmly. “Miss Colette is extremely strict in her prohibition of sexual relief.”

“ T-tell me that they are tortured by their urges, each day.” With that line, he betrayed his feigned justification of morality. His passions had clouded his mind and he may as well have confessed to being a sexually sadistic hypocrite.

“They are tortured by their urges, daily, sir,” she affirmed for his pleasure. “After punishments, Miss Colette and I force the able pupils to tip our velvet and be as men with us without allowing them to spend.”

“Oh….ah…ahhhhhh…..”

“Accidents come at a heavy price,” she informed him seductively as her hands continued to pleasure his lubricated shaft.

“W-what do you mean?”

Maud smiled. “They are caned during the thrusting if they slow down. If they spend…it’s the penis guillotine!”

She sensed the sudden sexual urgency in McMillan’s solid member and slowed her pace a little.

Alice untied the senseless girl from the whipping post and turned her around, securing her again, facing her superiors.

The ears of all present were filled again with cries of extreme pain. Alice beat the breasts of the innocent young girl repeatedly as Maud pleasured McMillan in unison with the strokes of the birch.

Fifteen lashes had been delivered to Elsie’s breasts and torso when Alice cast the cruel weapon aside and lifted her victim’s legs off the ground. She secured them onto the two benches set at right angles before her, with ropes. Elsie’s vulva was wide open for all to see.

Alice took a small leather whip from another cradle on the wall and retuned to Elsie with it.

“This should wake you up.” With that, she brought the whip down hard onto Elsie’s vulva, her most sensitive sheath of flesh. Elsie instantly screamed the howl of the damned.

Maud poured more oil onto McMillan’s penis and set about him again with zenith. “We ensure that their bodies burn with passion and the desperation for a release that will never come,” she said as a means of accentuating his evil delight.

He gasped and shivered, burning with lust. His eyes gazed upon the whip as it fell repeatedly onto the fresh, young pudenda. The screams penetrated his soul, urging him onto his climax.

Cruelty, oh cruelty, he thought to himself. How I love you.

Five, six, seven, eight, the lashes continued…

Maud’s hands brought McMillan to the point of no return. He simply didn’t care any longer and in plain view of Elsie and Alice, he cried out as a fountain of hot semen jettisoned from the shining slit in his member.

The lash fell to Elsie’s womanhood one last time. Her scream chorused with McMillan’s cry of delight; four more spurts of seed flying from his convulsing loins.

Maud’s right hand was drenched in his spending as it moved up and down on him, draining the last traces of his offerings. She slowed her pace and waited for his erection to wilt.

Alice began to untie Elsie and prepared to help her out of the chamber.

“W-when you said that you get the pupils to ‘tip your velvet’ after punishments,” McMillan said whilst trying to catch his breath.

“Yes, sir?”

“D-do you use the male or t-the female pupils for that?”

Maud smiled again, her hand still working his length. “Both.”

With that, and without warning, another eruption of semen shot out of him.

Chapter Five – The Gathering of Evil

The following day, Lady Ethel Montfort joined Alice Colette and was guided along the row of naked young men and women in St Augustine’s orphanage. Alice was adorned in the most elegant gown: dark, flowing and oppressive.

The wards shivered with fear as the over-weight patron perused them with derisive study. Ethel was a sadist who had a penchant for young men. At forty-seven, she was visually unappealing, although highly libidinous. As she strode along the line, she came upon Joshua Shaw. He had all that Ethel had ever wished for. He was handsome, slender and his terrified, flaccid penis showed promise.

“How large does this one become, Alice?” Ethel asked as though she was examining a piece of fruit.

“Oh, please, Ethel,” Alice replied. “Help yourself.”

Joshua shivered as Ethel took hold of his length in her right hand. She gently stimulated him to erection with slow sensuous strokes. He had found his way into St Augustine’s after he had run away from his abusive mother at the age of twelve. His father had died in a mining accident and his mother had used her abuse of Joshua to assuage her grief. He was found starving in his attempt to secure employment on the streets of Canterbury. St Augustine’s offered him a sanctuary, or so it seemed. Confined to the dormitory with his fellow pupils, the windows set high, well out of reach and the grounds locked up like a fortress, there was simply no escape.

As his denied adolescent penis rose to her touch, Ethel stood back and observed his throbbing length with derisive interest. “Now that is a bloody good one,” she remarked. “I would love to see that fall to your glorious blade, Alice.”

“I could arrange that,” Alice replied, nonchalantly. “But we have another exploration at hand, for now.”

Joshua’s heart returned to his chest as he heard Miss Colette’s words, for he knew that it wasn’t going to be his penis that was to fall that day. Nevertheless, he did know the innocent young man who was to face that terrible penalty that day.

“I will take him after the presentation,” Ethel said.

“As you wish.”

Ethel touched the young male who stood next to Joshua. “This one doesn’t show much between his legs, but I will take his tongue during the proceedings.”

“Certainly, dear,” Alice said, permissively. “Shall we go in?”

Ethel smiled and followed her advocate into the chamber of evil.

The patrons lined up in the punishment room in anticipation of the thrill to come: Lord McMillan, Lord Banford, Lady Ethel Montfort and, as always, Lady Elizabeth Chantelle.

Alice entered the room with grandeur, adorned in her gown. “My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,” she announced with the most histrionic expression. “It gives me the greatest pleasure to introduce you to the most severe of punishments for the sin of onanism.” She gestured towards the smouldering vat of hot coals set to the side of the penis guillotine, a rod of iron buried within its midst.

“The greatest agony I will inflict for the furtherment of our cause,” she exclaimed. “The ultimate eradication of sexual release among all of our wards!”

The cheers of jubilation rung in the air as Alice concluded her speech. It was as though De Sade had been reborn in that room at that very moment.

Elizabeth Chantelle stepped into the punishment room filled with lust and anticipation. The condemned young man was so handsome; tall, dark, slender and well-endowed. His name was Rodney. He was eighteen years of age, easily old enough to leave St Augustine’s – if only he wasn’t being held prisoner. Alice only released her wards after they showed signs of having the strength and stature to retaliate. Rodney’s libido had got the better of him and Maud had caught him in the act. Curiously, it had never been either Alice or Maud who had captured his lustful imagination – it was Elizabeth Chantelle.

He trembled as he stood with his arms tied to the beam that secured him into the penis guillotine.

The patrons sat in the punishment room gallery. Lady Montfort’s naked young slave, Paul, reluctantly fell at her knees. She peeled up her long, thick skirt to reveal that she was wearing no knickers, having come prepared for the event. “Get your head down there and do as you are told.”

The poor young man obeyed, filled with terror and believing that he had no choice. His tongue quickly filled Ethel’s thickly hair-coated vulva, her strong scent filling his youthful nostrils. He was suddenly filled with revulsion and yet, fascinated sexual longing. It brought his penis to the most turgid solidity to the extent that the small slit in its tip began to spill out droplets of his sensual cravings. There was no stimulus for arousal like cunnilingus. It produced a sexual ecstasy; a torment like no other.

To the side of him, in the gallery, Maud McCann encased the head of Lord Banford’s erect penis between her lips. Banford was an associate of Lord McMillan’s who never failed to marvel at Maud’s blatant lack of concern or inhibitions about who she serviced and in front of whom she did it.

Both he and McMillan had always been insidious individuals. They had sent many a young man to the gallows, purely for the thrill of it, knowing, full well, that they were innocent of the crimes of which they had been charged.

Banford savoured the sight of the fear in the eyes of the young man who stood trapped in the penis guillotine before him. He looked down briefly at Maud as she rolled her tongue around his most intimate joy, accentuating his wonderful viewing pleasure.

St Augustine’s had been Maud’s home for so very long. Her sexual sadism and hedonism had been wonderfully cultivated by Alice and Elizabeth. Inflicting severe pain or causing mutilation to others never failed to arouse the greatest wetness between her thighs.

“Isn’t it a wonderful sight?” Ethel said to Elizabeth Chantelle as Paul continued to tongue her labia.

“It depends how you would define word ‘wonderful’,” Elizabeth replied.

“Oh, good heavens,” Ethel replied. “Separating a young boy from his manhood that he might be liberated from the monstrous practise of self abuse. I would imagine that you rejoice in such a torture, my dear.”

“And in what comes afterwards!”

Ethel cast a brief glance at Elizabeth and made no further comment as Alice prepared to unfurl the rope at the side-frame of the guillotine. Her tongue rolled around her young victim’s penis as it protruded through the lunette. The patrons all noticed how the pupils who Alice selected for the penalty were incredibly well-endowed – long and unusually thick. Perhaps larger penises offered a more visual display. Or perhaps, the larger the penis, the greater the temptation to masturbate. Who could say?

Next to Maud and Banford, McMillan sat in preparation for his pleasure. He gasped at the sight of both Alice fellating her young victim in preparation for his fate and young Paul tonguing Ethel Montfort.

Elizabeth looked down to where McMillan sat and smiled. The two had previously engaged in a passionately lustful affair on the outside and she decided to seize her opportunity to join in the festivities. She leaned over and drew his semi-tumescent member through his fly. Slipping the dome between her lips and over his erection, she began to work on him in unison with Alice’s attentions to her young, sobbing prey, eagerly.

Rodney noticed the woman of his dreams attending McMillan and a surge of arousal coursed through him. Alice noticed his throbbing tumescence suddenly harden further. Satisfied that his penis was stiff enough for a clean cut, she stood and released the rope from her fingers. The blade fell and sliced through the morsel of jerking lust, effortlessly. The penis popped away from Rodney’s body and fell into the wicker basket below. The room was filled with his scream of terrible agony!

The cry of pain suddenly drew McMillan and Banford to the brink of climax but they both knew that there was more to come. This was to be the premiere of Alice’s new, insidious thrill. She had deliberately omitted to tie off the base of the young masturbator’s penis and as a consequence, the blood pumped repeatedly from his stump in time with each beat of his heart.

Alice reached out to her left and took the smouldering red-hot iron by the handle from the burning coals.

“P-please, Miss Colette,” Rodney pleaded, already in agony and a state of shock. “I beg of you. I will not be able to bear it. P-please, I-I am s-so sorry for what I did. Please s-sp-spare m-me the iron.”

“You deserve such pain, Rodney,” Alice replied. “If I don’t do this to it you will die.” She placed the glowing iron onto the bleeding stump. “A righteous boy will deny his bodily need for release. Think of this as your preparation for Hell in the afterlife!”

Rodney screamed momentarily as Alice slowly stroked the glowing iron across his raw, severed flesh. The scent of his sizzling morsel filled the air, to her lustful delight. The pain was so extreme that Rodney was not able to bear it and he lost consciousness, almost instantly.

Maud and Elizabeth’s mouths were suddenly filled with rapid bursts of semen, spent in copious volume.

Ethel groaned with delight at the sensation of Paul’s tongue as she savoured the sound of the scream. She turned her gaze, lustfully, upon the thick and creamy liquid that dripped, from between both Elizabeth’s and Maud’s lips.

“My God,” said Ethel to Elizabeth as she pushed Paul’s head away from her pudenda. “I almost came to a crisis myself after that, but I want to save it for the other one’s enormous root.”

Elizabeth slid her mouth off McMillan’s penis and looked up at Ethel with a hint of complacency, a spattering of semen falling from her chin.

Elizabeth had witnessed Alice’s acts of discipline so many times before, more so, in fact, than any of the patrons. All she cared about at that moment was receiving a slow, luxurious offering of cunnilingus at the end.

“Do you really enjoy the taste of male seed, Elizabeth,” Ethel asked with curiosity.

“I do indeed,” Elizabeth replied looking mischievously up at McMillan as Maud drew the last traces of release from Banford’s organ. “It’s the finest drink in the world.”

“Disgusting,” Ethel retorted, sincerely.

During the course of her part-time relationship with McMillan, Elizabeth had learned a startling truth about him: in addition to his being a sadist, he was also a masochist. One of his favourite fantasies was imagining being masturbated to the brink of orgasm whilst secured into the penis guillotine. Ever since he had first seen it in action, he had fantasised for hours with thoughts of Alice releasing the blade onto his enormous organ.

It had not taken long for Elizabeth to convey his little kink to Alice.

Elizabeth and McMillan looked at one another, giggling at Ethel’s response. Deciding to tease the older woman further, Elizabeth added another stomach-churning remark to further provoke Lady Montfort. “Geoffrey always has had the richest-tasting penis. He doesn’t wash it for days!”

Chapter Six – The Price of Ineptitude

Elizabeth stepped into the boudoir to discover Ethel Montfort sitting astride Joshua’s penis. She remained fully clothed save for her missing knickers. Joshua was pinioned across the ottoman with Ethel’s weight pressing down onto his waist. Despite the discomfort, he couldn’t deny the pleasure of feeling her warm wet vagina moving up and down upon his rampant length.

“Oh, this feels so marvellous,” Ethel groaned as Elizabeth came closer. She noted how the younger woman had changed into a see-through silk nighty, in preparation for her own coming enjoyment.

“It’s nice to see you so happy, Ethel,” Elizabeth offered with sincere warmth.

“How can a woman fail to be so when she has a young cock the size of this one inside her?”

Elizabeth laughed. “I am just awaiting the young man who pleasured you, downstairs.”

“Wonderful, Elizabeth…ah…ugh…just wonderful,” Ethel replied as her loins began to build to a crescendo. “He gives…ah…the most marvellous tongue. Unfortunately, he only has a small cock.”

“I know.” Elizabeth displayed a disappointed look upon her face. “However, I intend to have him tortured as a penalty for his shortcomings after he has brought me to completion.”

“Oh, my dear…ah…ah…ugh…w-what a wonderful idea…oh my! I-It’s happening…ah…ah…ahhhhhh…”

Young Paul entered the boudoir, now fully clothed. Often a patron enjoyed the practise of stripping the wards themselves, leaving them with even less of a sense of identity. Paul’s expression was deeply sullen.

“Ah! Here you are,” Elizabeth noted as he came into view. “Come and join me over here.” She walked across to the back of the boudoir and sat on the edge of the bed with her thighs parted leaving him with the sight of her dripping vulva.

“Come here, now,” she demanded. “Put that tongue to work again.”

Nauseated, Paul knelt before her as had been demanded of him. He pressed his face into her sex and buried his tongue deep into her crevice. Elizabeth groaned with ecstasy as Ethel stood up and off Joshua’s trembling erection. Her skirt fell back down to conceal her hirsute intimacy. Joshua’s chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. His glistening penis twitched repeatedly, completely unrequited. He was seized with a desperate urge to take himself in hand, literally driven mad by the fundamental need to ejaculate. Elizabeth’s groans and the sight of Paul licking her added to his lustful suffering, ten-fold.

Elizabeth stood that Paul’s face was pinioned upwards as she looked down upon him, dominantly. He drew the woman from her rapidly as the tip of his well-trained tongue found her clitoris and began to lap around her erogenous morsel with flicking, circular motions. Sometimes, the pleasure of release following the enjoyment of torture was so compelling to her that, in her opinion, life would not be worth living without it. St Augustine’s was the fulcrum of her life: the end towards which she worked each day. She shuddered and convulsed as her climax arrived. She gripped Paul’s hair and held his face taught against her womanhood. But it still wouldn’t be enough and she knew that. His torture must come after she had spent herself.

“Stop,” she ordered and pushed him away from her, harshly. “That will be quite enough, young man.”

He stood back and bowed his head, urgent not to displease the mistress. His penis had risen to its full four and a half inches during the cunnilingus. There was no disguising his diminutive shame.

“That is a matter I want to address with you,” Elizabeth said, sternly. “I find your erection pointing at me to be insulting, it is so small.”

“I-I am so sorry, my lady,” he stammered his piteous response. “I couldn’t stop it.”

“I don’t think that you understand, young man,” she snapped. “I don’t believe that a male has the right to have a small manhood. It shows your inferiority. For that, you are to be very severely dealt with.”

Trembling with terror, he began to weep as Elizabeth stood up from the bed and pulled her nighty down, once more.

“You will wait here whilst I fetch Maud.” As she made her way out of the room, she noted Joshua still lying on the ottoman with his eight and a half inches still standing proud. She took hold of it and masturbated it gently and turning back to Paul. “This is the size yours should be. This!”

Paul clasped his right hand over his eyes in shame, wondering what was going to happen to him; the tears pouring from between his fingers.

Elizabeth, Alice and Maud led Paul back into the punishment chamber.

McMillan, Lady Montfort and Lord Banford had decided to leave St Augustine’s to continue their daily business.

Paul shivered uncontrollably. He had often wondered if life was worth living since entering the confounded orphanage. Alice seized him by the earlobe and dragged him over to a set of overhanging shackles. “We can’t have our patrons displeased by what nature has given to you, Paul. You must suffer the price of your inferiority.

She proceeded to strip the shirt from his back and secured his wrists in the shackles. He sobbed incessantly as she drew down his trousers. Elizabeth stepped around to the front of him and stroked his left cheek, perversely. In his fear, an involuntary erection had formed between his thighs.

“Just look at that,” Alice remarked with disgust. “It’s not even big enough for the guillotine. It probably wouldn’t even get past the lunette!”

“I-I can’t help it, Miss,” he pleaded. “It’s not my fault.”

“I’ll decide whose fault it is,” she retorted and turned to Maud. “My dear, I would like you to fetch the birch and the flogger from the wall please.”

Paul’s heart froze in horror.

“With pleasure, Miss,” Maud replied with a sadistic grin upon her face.

“I want you to flay his back raw for Lady Elizabeth’s pleasure and then we will see what we can do about his inadequacies.”

Maud took the insidious weapons from the wall and positioned herself behind Paul. Without further ado, she spat the twigs of the birch sharply across his bare buttocks, followed by a stroke of the nine-tailed whip, raising a howl of excruciating agony from its recipient.

“You see, Elizabeth,” Alice said. “The birch and the whip produce different types of sting. One on top of the other repeatedly causes the most horrible pain, apparently.”

“How utterly marvellous.”

Maud lashed Paul upon his existing wounds with the two cruel weapons, becoming maddened by her lust. Her eyes were wide and glazed and her lips parted, red and moist.

“Oh, my Lord, Miss Colette,” he cried, unable to take any more. “Please stop, please!”

“We’re only just starting, Paul,” Alice informed him, coldly. “Again, Maud!”

The flagellation continued with the utmost mercilessness. Paul’s screams were ear-shattering. Elizabeth reached under her gown and began to fondle the moist folds of her labia, too aroused to resist.

Maud set about his back again in like fashion. On and on it continued...

He had received twenty thrashings when Alice realised that his inability to endure such pain may cost them the next planned phase of their entertainment.

“Alright Maud, that’s enough,” she said. “Let’s get him over to the whipping post where we can really enjoy some sensual torture.”

The three sadists released Paul from his shackles and dragged him across to the post. Alice took his chin into her hands and taunted him, further.

“You are now going to learn what happens to young men who are rather small down there,” she said.

Maud and Alice shackled him to the post with his arms tightly secured above his head. His eyes rolled in delirium..

“I don’t know about you, Alice,” Elizabeth said, “but I am extremely aroused, again. Come and feel this.” She lifted up her gown to reveal her pubic splendour.

Alice stepped over to Elizabeth and gently stroked her labia with two fingers. She immediately noticed the flood of vaginal juices as they soaked the small brown curls of hair.

“Good Lord!” Alice exclaimed. “You are wet, aren’t you? Would you like to feel mine?”

Elizabeth eagerly reached down under Alice’s dress and began to fondle Alice’s sex.

“I see that the flagellation has affected you likewise.”

Alice smiled at the touch of her friend. “After this, would you care for another game of ‘fuck and flog’?”

“What do you think?” Elizabeth grinned, sexily.

Turning back to Maud, Alice motioned towards an iron bucket in the corner of the chamber. “Would you tie that bucket to the end of Paul’s member, please my dear.”

“Certainly.” Maud walked over to the bucket and noticed a slender-but-firm length of string inside it. A cloth sack sat next to it.

“I have had this idea for sometime, Paul,” Alice said to her hapless victim. “I feel that is only fitting that we attempt to make a man of you.”

Elizabeth watched with fascination as Maud tied one end of the string tightly just below the bulbous dome of Paul’s diminutive phallus and the other end to the handle of the bucket. Within moments, it hung, suspended from his organ.

Paul winced as the weight of the bucket tugged at his flesh.

Alice took the sack and brought it over to him. “This treatment should help to improve your size. It is such disrespect to our patrons for such a pitiful penis to be on display to them.” She reached into the sack and drew out a large rock and placed it into the bucket.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened with cruel delight and surprise. Maud groaned as a sudden surge of arousal struck her pudenda.

The sudden pain revived Paul from his semi-conscious state as Alice dropped another rock into the bucket.

“Oh, no,” he screamed. “Please Miss. Please stop. I beg you.”

The more he cried out, the more aroused Alice became. She continued to drop one rock after another into the bucket until the boy’s penis was stretched far beyond its natural capacity. The prepuce was becoming an angry shade of purple and the shaft, a thin strip of flesh with no dimensions. She continued to apply the rocks to the bucket until the room was filled with the sound of continuous screaming. “That should do the trick. If the weight doesn’t tear it off, it just might cause that little pizzle of yours to grow an inch or so longer.”

“That is just wonderful, Alice,” Elizabeth said with sadistic awe.

“Shall we retire to some more pleasure, ladies?” Alice asked, warmly.

“I should certainly think so.”

Alice rested her right hand on Maud’s shoulder and smiled at her, seductively. “Would you mind applying the caning dear? Afterwards, I will take the cane whilst one of them services you.”

“I couldn’t be more eager, Miss.”

“Wonderful. In that case let us go and select three of the most well-endowed.” She turned back to Paul, his eyes bulging with untold torture. “We will leave you for a couple of hours. If your penis doesn’t come off, we will hang the bucket from you again tomorrow.”

Paul screamed again at the prospect whilst Alice, Maud and Elizabeth departed the chamber laughing at his terrible predicament.

Ultimately, his penis would survive. Nevertheless, the torment he would endure daily for months to come would cost him his sanity. His three tormentrixes left him to his ordeal and made their way towards their afternoon of delight.

Chapter Seven – He Who Lives by the Blade

Four months passed. During that time, Geoffrey McMillan had made several requests of Alice that she might arrange for him to administer the scourging of a young female transgressor personally, and that his victim sexually service him following her chastisement.

Ordinarily, Alice would have had no objection to such. However, McMillan’s manner of asking had been particularly demanding and dictatorial - not a method of approach that Alice took kindly to. Additionally, several new patrons had recently joined the fold, two of which, the Earl of Godmanchester and Sir Robert Dreyfus, were considerably more favourable, wealthier, socially influential – and more personally hygienic - than Lord McMillan. A plan had formed in Alice’s mind regarding how best to deal with McMillan – a plan she had spent hours discussing with Maud.

It had turned eight o’ clock one evening in June when Alice was sitting in her chamber leisurely masturbating. She was interrupted from her sexual fervour by a knock on her bedroom door. Grudgingly, she threw down her nighty and decided to answer: “Enter.”

Maud stepped into the room, sheepishly. “Lord McMillan is here to see you, Miss.”

Alice rolled her eyes, contemptuously. “I will be down in a moment, Maud.”

“Yes Miss.”

“Maud,” Alice said suddenly and with a somewhat serious tone of voice. “I would like you to join the meeting.”

“Of course.”

“Can you recall any of our conversations about him?”

Maud’s face lit up. “Yes, Miss.”

“I think that tonight will be the night.” Alice stood and made her way downstairs with Maud in tow.

Maud’s mind began to race. Are we really going to do it? She thought, hopefully.

The two women entered Alice’s office to find McMillan sitting opposite the desk, a glass of brandy in his hand.

“Geoffrey,” Alice said, feigning that it was a joy to see him.

“Alice,” he replied, coldly.

“And what can I do for you at this hour?”

McMillan stood and glared at Alice and Maud, with clear displeasure in his eyes. “I want to know what you have arranged for me with regards to my request.”

“Oh, Geoffrey,” Alice smiled, mock-apologetically. “I do apologize. I have been so busy with one thing or another. It simply slipped my mind.”

“It persists ‘in slipping your mind,’ Alice,” he barked. “When are you going to arrange it for me? Do I need to remind you how well I have supported your…‘school’…over the years?”

The pangs of rage began to well up in Alice’s chest again as McMillan began his tirade of implied ultimatums. “Well, we have a thirteen year old girl set for a severe flogging tomorrow morning if you would care to spend the night again.” Alice was very successful in disguising her anger as she spoke.

Upon hearing her words, McMillan immediately calmed down and smiled his oily amicability at her. “Oh, how wonderful,” he beamed. “Please forgive my pragmatism, Alice. I should never have doubted you.”

“Think nothing of it, Geoffrey,” she said, over-emphasising the idea that there was nothing to thank her for. She stepped closer to him, clearly in preparation for a proposition. “I am utterly horrified that I have disappointed you, sir. You have been so good to us. Perhaps you will allow us to make it up to you in the meantime.”

“Oh? And what do you have in mind?” he asked, jovially.

“Well, it has come to my attention that you have a personal… fetish regarding our guillotine. Is that not so?”

McMillan lowered his head, slightly embarrassed. “Elizabeth!” he murmured with the realisation of where Alice had come by that information.

“Oh, please don’t concern yourself about it,” she offered, comfortingly. “It is perfectly natural. After all, it is such a marvellous instrument and one which brings untold joy to us all.”

“Well, I suppose when you put it like that…”

“Please, Geoffrey,” Alice rested her hand on his shoulder, reassuringly, “let Maud assist you with your fantasy, tonight!”

“Are you sure, Alice,” he responded in lustful anticipation.

“Of course. It’s only a dream. It isn’t the real thing, is it?”

“Well Alice, how can I refuse such hospitality?”

“I would love to do it for you, sir,” Maud said with an eager, servile tone. “Allow me to escort you to the chamber.”

McMillan was seized with sexual excitement as Maud took him by the hand and led him out of the office.

“Maud will pleasure you in ways that you have never known possible, Geoffrey,” Alice said, smiling after him with extreme false warmth.

The moment that they were out of sight, Alice’s smile instantly fell into a cold, sinister look of hatred.

******

Lord Geoffrey McMillan dropped the last of his vestments onto the floor of the punishment chamber filled with a combination of trepidation and extreme sexual urgency.

Maud stood naked before him, her fair hair held away from her neck by a hair band. Her pert breasts and neat dusting of pubic hair caused him to tremble with lust. His penis rose of its own accord as he prepared for the realisation of his own masturbatory fantasy.

“You are quite a man, aren’t you, sir?” Maud said as she gazed at his erection.

“I am so pleased that you think so, my dear.”

“Would you like to be restrained like the boys are during sentence?” she asked, confident of his answer.

“Oh, yes please,” he replied, almost pleading. “I want it to be totally authentic.”

“As you wish.”

Maud led him to the punishment bench next to the whipping post upon which lay the restraining beam. McMillan eagerly fed his wrists into the loose ropes and waited as Maud knotted them, taut. He stood to feel to cool wood pressing against his buttocks.

“Now, would you care to join me over at the guillotine, sir?” She asked, sweetly.

McMillan grunted an incoherent lustful noise and stepped over to the sinister apparatus, trembling in anticipation. Maud took hold of his throbbing member and guided it through the pillory. She followed by securing the hooks on the beam into the locks in the two posts at either side of the guillotine.

“It feels so strange,” he commented, “and yet so exciting.”

“It will get even better,” Maud informed him as she stepped around to the front of the guillotine. She paused for a moment and gazed down at his organ as it protruded through the pillory – long, thick and dripping with pre-ejaculate. “It usually takes some time to get a pupil into that condition.”

McMillan’s bare chest rose and fell rapidly as she spoke. “Please, Maud,” he whimpered. “Please suck it.”

With some mental preparation, Maud knelt down, knowing that McMillan had the foulest penis of any patron. She cautiously stroked the tip of her tongue around it and fought not to gag at the dreadful stench of him. She conquered her disgust by throwing herself into her task. Her lips sucked him in and her tongue darted around his length skilfully as she moved her head back and forth. McMillan moaned with delight. Maud was, beyond doubt, the most wonderful fellatrix St Augustine’s had ever seen. Her ability to give oral pleasure was unsurpassable. She brought him to the brink of climax with ease repeatedly, ceasing her expert treatment whenever ejaculation was imminent.

McMillan suddenly understood the true torment of orgasm denial torture. Oh, how delicious, he thought.

Maud withdrew her mouth from him and picked up the lantern of oil from the floor at the front of the guillotine.

“Oh, Maud,” he cried. “Please don’t stop. Please!”

“Oh, I’m not stopping, sir,” she reassured him as she poured the lubricant along his length. “I want to give you the full experience.” With that, she used her right hand to smooth the oil around his member with long, delightful strokes.

“Oh, m-my dear. What an angel you are.” He was suddenly alerted to the sight of Alice walking naked into the chamber holding an iron bucket. She closed the door behind her and it sealed shut with a clang.

“The one thing that I have always adored about this door is the way in which it keeps the sound contained within,” she said with a curious coldness. “You can stop now, Maud.”

“W-what!” McMillan uttered, in shock. “Oh, please don’t stop, Maud. Your hand feels so delightful.”

“I know,” Maud replied with a devilish grin. “It always does. How do you think the pupils feel?”

“M-Maud, w-what are you saying?”

“What she is saying, Geoffrey,” Alice interjected, “is that we have set a trap for you.”

Given his current circumstances, his penis poking through the pillory of a guillotine with no means of pulling himself out, McMillan suddenly felt a twinge of panic.

“I have taken enough of your ultimatums and demands Geoffrey,” Alice bellowed at him, angrily. “Nobody tells me what I must or must not do.”

“B-but Alice…”

“Don’t ‘but Alice’ me, you snivelling miscreant,” she shot back at him. “Your life is going to end tonight. Maud will release that blade and you are going to bleed to death.”

“P-please, Alice,” he begged, suddenly realising the potential reality of the situation. “I implore you. You will never get away with it.”

“Oh, but I will, Geoffrey,” she replied with extremely convincing confidence. “We will weigh your corpse down and cast it into the lake. Nobody will know what happened to you.”

“B-but why?” he asked, consumed with terror.

Maud noticed that his erection was beginning to wilt as the fear consumed him. She took the initiative and resumed her masturbation of him in preparation for his fate.

“We no longer need you,” Alice replied. “And who would ever investigate us? We are the greatest source of pleasure the House of Lords has ever known. Do you honestly think any one of them would risk exposing their recreational activities on your account? For what it’s worth – we… are the authorities!”

McMillan groaned again as Maud manipulated him. “T-then I will just n-not come back. Ever. You have my word.”

“That time is past,” Alice said, exasperated at his naiveté. “It’s too late. Do you honestly think we can let you live after this.”

“I-I beg you, Alice…”

“And do you know how vile you are, expecting us to take your unclean appendage into our mouths?” she shot at him with disgust in her eyes. “Well, Maud has had to suffer that for the last time. Elizabeth only entertained you for political reasons.”

“She will l-learn t-the t-truth about what happened,” he stammered. “S-she will vindicate me.”

Alice laughed, hysterically at his words. “Elizabeth is my lover, as is Maud,” she revealed. “You have no idea how disgusting we all find you to be, Elizabeth included.”

Alice stepped closer to him with the bucket. “Is he stiff enough, Maud?”

“I think so.” Maud’s hand continued to work hard upon his length.

“Then I think that it is time!”

Upon hearing her employer’s words, Maud released McMillan’s penis and stood to move around to the rope. Alice pressed her naked body next to hers and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Their tongues probed one another in a gesture of empathic lust and sadistic desire.

Alice broke the embrace and turned back to McMillan. “I want you to look at something before you die, Geoffrey.” She stepped before him and preened her nakedness before his eyes. “Behold the body that you have never taken!”

Maud finally unravelled the rope and held it tightly, looking to Alice for her order.

“N-no, Alice,” McMillan begged, desperately. “No! No! No!”

Alice gave Maud a slight nod of her head and in response, the young sadist allowed the rope to fall from her grip. The blade fell. It was all over within an instant.

McMillan’s penis fell to the floor as he screamed in agony – the same agony that he had so enjoyed watching innocent young men suffer.

Alice darted across to him and cupped the bucket in front of his penile stump. “I must catch all of this blood otherwise it’s going to be a dastardly cleaning task tomorrow.

Maud giggled at Alice’s cold remark and watched in fascination as McMillan screamed in his death throes. A thought suddenly occurred to her as he saw his penis lying on the ground. She knelt down, picked up the bloodied organ and raised it to his eye level.

“Why don’t you have a taste of the disgusting thing,” she said and thrust it into his open, screaming mouth, effectively muffling his irritating noise.

“Well done, Maud.” Alice continued to collect the blood from his body.

The geyser continued to spurt from him in rapid bursts, until finally, his heart beat no longer.

Alice and Maud looked upon the corpse of their victim with great amusement as he stood trapped in the deadly toy that he, himself, had financed.

Maud’s beautiful face bore the look of joyous, murderous pride.

That night, the two women disposed of the body in the lake just behind the trees at the rear of the school, under the cover of darkness as they had promised McMillan. Nobody ever learned of his destiny and nobody ever tried to find out. As far as the English people were concerned, Lord Geoffrey McMillan, the infamous ‘Judge Gallows’ as he had been dubbed, had simply disappeared.

His fate would become one of history’s great unsolved mysteries.

Epilogue

St Augustine’s continued as it had done for another thirteen years when Alice finally decided that the time had come for her to retire. Maud had married a young nobleman in 1907 and the menopause had affected Alice’s libido. Several key patrons had also passed on. Nevertheless, the history of St Augustine’s was riddled with tales of heinously sadistic cruelty, mystery and ecstatic sexual bliss to those who inflicted it: a dark legend, destined to vanish from the knowledge of man.

Alice Colette died intestate in a retirement home in Norfolk in 1934.

She was 74 years of age.

‘The doctrine of the guardian of the gateway will be taken away to the Isle of Angels, to be delivered into the hands of the maiden of sins, who will use it to serve her own evil lusts, until she falls to the perils of solitude, and unto the isolation of Sheoul, where she will wallow for all eternity.’

– The Apocalypse of Thenna, Ch. IX Vs 12

The End!