Taken by Miss Strokewell

'Miss... Headmistress... it hurts,' Henry gasped.

'Yes, my revolting prick-pounder, it hurts, and it's about to hurt more. You enjoyed your little bit of nipple-wanking, so I have to put you back in your place. Now for the chain.' She took a length of black chain from the cabinet and hooked one end onto the left nipple clamp and the other end to the right one, so that it hung across his chest, dragging down deliciously on his nipples. 'What do you say to your Headmistress?'

Henry gasped out, 'Thank you so much, Headmistress.'

A tormenting smile was on Miss Strokewell's lips. She picked up the black cane and hooked the handle under the chain. Then she slowly brought Henry towards her by drawing on the cane, until he was leaning across the table, the edge of the glass pressed against his thighs. Her jade-like eyes were just inches from his. 'What do you think of my discipline, boy?'

'It's beautiful torture, Headmistress.'

'Yes. And do you want it to stop? Shall I take off the clamps, you jizz-jerker?'

'Oh no, Headmistress.'

Miss Strokewell laughed mockingly, then unhooked the cane and said, 'Kneel and kiss your headmistress's shoes, boy. I'm just ditching this bra. Then it will be time for more education.' Henry knelt and ardently kissed the shiny red leather.

'Hmm. He's got the makings of an obedient boy-bitch, with the right training.' Henry sensed Miss Strokewell looking down on him through the glass tabletop. 'Well! Now it's time we got to the root of the problem. Stand up. Stand up straight, boy! Hands behind your back, and don't try to hide that disgraceful protuberance in the trouser department.'

When he was standing before her she inspected the bulge in Henry's trousers with pursed lips. Then she placed the crook of the cane just below his balls, and pressed inwards and upwards so that it hooked behind them. 'Out with the misbehaving organ at once!' she ordered. 'You didn't think I'd let it go undisciplined, did you? Trousers down. Pants around your knees.' Henry was fumbling with his belt buckle. Miss Strokewell tapped the cane impatiently against the palm of her hand. 'I haven't got all evening, boy.'

As Henry began to pull down his boxer shorts the waistband caught on his penis, so that when it came free it flicked upright rather dramatically. An arching of Miss Strokewell's right eyebrow suggested interest, but she only said, 'It takes more than a well-grown penis to make a real man, as your headmistress is going to teach you. - What's this? Do I see precum, you filthy dribble-dick?'

The red-purple head of Henry's erect penis was coated with a glistening layer of preseminal fluid. He began to mumble something apologetic, but Miss Strokewell interrupted with a scornful laugh. 'I am not impressed by apologies, boy. Only punishment will satisfy me. Get out of your clothes, and mind you fold them neatly.'

Under Miss Strokewell's stern eye, Henry's clothes were soon in a tidy pile by the table. He stood before her wearing only the nipple clamps and chain, his penis jutting stiffly. She ran her eye over his body with a mocking look which made him tingle, then she placed the crook of the cane against Henry's navel and ran it down to his pubic hair. 'So you keep you hair neat, you pretty young bush-barber. Unfortunately, school rules state that all boys should be clean-shaven. This will increase your punishment.'

She held Henry's gaze with her eyes as she ran the cane up his erection, over the top and down towards his scrotum, which was tight around his balls. Then she ran the cane over his balls a few times, triggering such pleasant sensations that Henry half-closed his eyes and began to pant.

By now Henry had developed a desperate need for direct stimulation. Unconsciously he began inching his right hand over his thigh towards his cock.

In an instant Miss Strokewell struck the back of his hand with the cane. 'We'll have none of that, boy! Turn around! Hands behind your back!'

Henry obeyed. From behind him he heard movement, then he felt stiff leather being fastened around his wrists. In a few seconds his hands were firmly held by the leather cuffs.

'Now face me, boy.' Henry turned, and his cock, which had begun to droop a little (he was not young, after all), stiffened again under her gaze. 'Hmm,' she said. 'He's so eager he's positively drooling at the penis-head. It would be rather pleasant to inflict some extra frustration on that impertinent male member. How would you like me to take off my skirt, boy?' Miss Strokewell put her hands on her hips so that the gown was drawn back, exposing the shapely outline of a grey pencil skirt, as well as her gorgeous breasts.

'Oh, Headmistress, I would like that very much.'

'So now I'll let you remove it. Isn't that exciting?'

'Oh! Yes, Headmistress.'

'And you'll be pleased to know that all I'm wearing under this skirt is a suspender belt.'

'Oh gosh. Oh Headmistress. Thank you. Thank you so much.' Henry's mouth was dry with panting.

'Don't thank me yet, you pathetic boy. How do you think you're going to do it with your hands cuffed behind your back?'

Henry replied, 'Headmistress, should I do it with my - my mouth? That would be very humiliating.'

'It would be so nice, wouldn't it? Your hot young face against my derriere, enjoying my bare skin from no distance at all. But using the mouth - such a cliché... No. What I have in store will be rather less... comfortable.'

Miss Strokewell turned her back to Henry and slowly raised the bottom of her gown until she revealed a most enticing pair of rounded buttocks wrapped by the tightness of her skirt. Let into the skirt was a golden zip, and the pull of the zip was finished with a small golden ring. 'How are you going to drag that ring down, boy? Can you guess?'

'No, Miss Strokewell,' said Henry, gulping.

'I'll give you a clue.' She let go of the gown and reached into the cabinet again. Again there was a metallic clink, and a moment later she was holding up a length of black chain, long and with a slinky swing to it. On one end was a stout black ring of rubber, smaller than a bracelet, while on the other was a gated hook.

Henry gave a groaning 'ohh...'. There was something suggestive about the rubber ring.

Headmistress Strokewell reached across the glass tabletop and dropped the ring over his erection, then deftly used both hands to stretch the ring so that she could slip it over Henry's balls, leaving it tight around the root of his genitals. As she did so her fingers brushed against his balls, increasing his desperation.

'Now,' she said as she turned her back on him, 'you are going to be your Headmistress's obedient boy-lady's-maid and help her undress.' With one hand she pulled the edge of the gown up to reveal her luscious grey-clad rear again. With the other hand she fixed the free end of the chain onto the golden ring. Then she bent forwards so that the zip ran towards Henry. The chain clinked where it swung across the glass tabletop, just skimming the surface.

The rubber ring made poor Henry's genitals feel as though they were being strangled, and his cock swelled beyond even its usual size. The veins stood out like cords, and there was a joyous throbbing in the head - which grew greater as Miss Strokewell started to caress her behind enticingly with her hands.

Henry took a cautious step back and the chain grew taut. He put one foot behind him and slowly began to shift his weight onto it. The tension increased. There was no sign of movement from the zip.

Miss Strokewell wiggled her bottom, and the chain transmitted such a sweet mingling of pain and pleasure to Henry's cock and balls that he felt in great danger of spurting his semen onto the tabletop. Luckily, her motion started the slider of the zip moving, and a second later the widening V-shaped gap in the zip showed a dark purple suspender belt. Two seconds more and the entrancing crack between her buttocks was in view, and three seconds after that she was standing upright and the skirt was slipping down her thighs.

Two gloriously round milk-white buttocks were now on display. She caressed them. 'You've been a nice obedient servant, and your reward is to be tormented with this glimpse of my bum.' Then she let the edge of the gown drop and drew it round her. Henry let out a sigh. She turned, and used the chain to lift her skirt from the floor, then freed the chain.

'I think I'd like to keep my pupil nicely tethered while I interrogate him a little bit more,' said Miss Strokewell, and fixed the end of the chain round a leg of the table.

At this moment there came a tap on the door.

Miss Strokewell called, 'Coming!' then spoke quietly to Henry: 'Well, isn't this this interesting, pet? I think it must be the cleaner. I wonder whether I ought to let her in to clean round you. Wouldn't that be a lovely idea, with you all tethered and ashamed? It's a pity she's only here to arrange when she'll clean tomorrow.'

Miss Strokewell strode to the door of the room, flinging her skirt onto a chair as she did so, opened the door a little way, and said through the opening, 'Hello, Gretna. I expect you want to know what time to come tomorrow?'

Henry heard the voice of the woman with the hard-to-place accent. 'Yes please, Mrs Elizabeth.' Henry looked towards the door, but, to his relief, Miss Strokewell screened Gretna completely.

'Wait there just one moment while I get my diary.' Miss Strokewell closed the door before heading back to the glass table, where a stout little volume bound in red leather lay by the lamp.

When she was back at the door, Miss Strokewell held it ajar again and said, 'Bear with me a minute, Gretna.' She began to leaf through the diary's pages. 'These glasses - not good for reading,' she remarked, taking them off.

Henry watched with apprehension. Miss Strokewell had been keeping her hand on the door, but what with holding the glasses and handling the diary, this was no longer possible. Gretna said, 'Your dressing gown, Mrs Elizabeth - so unusual. You have so many interesting garments.'

'Mm, yes pet,' Miss Strokewell said inattentively. 'Power dressing... You know, the light here's so bad...' And to Henry's concern she took a step back from the door. The bleached-blond bushy hair on Gretna's head came into view.

He glanced around. He could have gone over to the bed and ducked down, or slipped into the alcove which contained the TV and the mini-bar, if he had not unfortunately been chained by his genitals to a table.

And now the crack in the door was slowly widening! In a panic he looked wildly at the curtains - which might as well have been in Tasmania given the length of the chain. He could curl up under the table, but since it was made mainly of glass that would be pointless. He must try to unfasten the chain by touch, with his back to it.

'Oh Mrs Elizabeth, I didn't know you were with your spouse. I am sorry for interrupting.'

Henry froze, then swivelled his eyes. Gretna's face - dumpy-looking, fiftyish, with eyebrows a striking contrast to her corn-blond hair, yet somehow appealing - was peering at him round Miss Strokewell's upper arm.

Miss Strokewell took a sideways step to place herself between the two of them again. 'Don't worry, Gretna pet. He'll stay put a while.' (Henry felt that this was only too true.) 'Let's see, it's the seventeenth tomorrow...'

Gretna lowered her voice, but Henry heard her say the word 'chain' in a questioning tone.

'The chain on his nipples?' Miss Strokewell replied nonchalantly. 'It's a treatment. To stop him getting moobs. Will 8.30 in the morning be too early?'

Henry suddenly realised that he could free himself in an instant. He backed against the table so that the chain around its leg flopped to the floor.

'Oh, the moobs,' said Gretna, in a tone of wonder. 'My husband has the moobs most severely. - 8.30 will be good, Miss Elizabeth.'

Henry was lifting the table. He flicked the chain out from under the leg with his foot.

'Well, take a look at my Henry here. Does he have the moobs?' asked Miss Strokewell, moving aside a fraction, and stifling her mirth with a small cough.

Henry froze again and forced a smile in Gretna's direction while wiggling his eyebrows as a panic-stricken substitute for a wave.

'He has a highly good chest for a man of his years, Mrs Elizabeth.' Gretna waved back at Henry and smiled. Then the smile was replaced by a look of curiosity. Her face rose as she sought a better view by standing on tiptoes. 'His stomach very good and flat too, Mrs Elizabeth,' she added.

What was he to do? He felt an urge to drop to his knees and crawl into the alcove, but he and Gretna had made eye-contact now. On the other hand, embarrassing as it was to have his clamped nipples viewed by a stranger, to be seen to have an erection would be even worse - yet his throbbing member showed no sign of wilting. He wanted to blame the rubber ring, but he knew that the idea of Miss Strokewell forcibly exposing him was the real reason.

Henry was still petrified with indecision when Gretna burst out, 'Oh, Mrs Elizabeth! He is growing a true prize cucumber on him!' Then her face disappeared from view as she bent in a fit of giggling.

Miss Strokewell laughed, and said slyly, 'I think you'd like to come in and take a proper look, wouldn't you, pet?'

This drew a horrified shriek of laughter from Gretna.

'No harm in taking a look, pet,' Miss Strokewell said persuasively.

'But he is your own mister,' said Gretna.

'Mine to do as I like with, then,' Miss Strokewell answered, standing aside.

Gretna stepped forward with her hands pressed to her cheeks, suddenly timid. A rather pear-shaped woman, she had a small silver cross hanging from her neck outside her cleaner's tabard, which covered a navy blue cotton short-sleeved dress like a nurse's. Curiosity seemed to draw her magnetically to Henry's erection and she did not notice when he gave her an embarrassed nod of greeting.

She frowned in puzzlement at Henry's genitals. 'For what reasons does he have this chain upon his sexual part?'

'That's the treatment to make it grow bigger, isn't it, Henry pet?'

'Yes,' Henry croaked.

'It is working, I can see,' said Gretna, nodding.

'The chain is for tension,' Miss Strokewell explained.

'How do you do this tension?'

'By pulling,' said Miss Strokewell. 'Would you like to pull on Henry's cock and balls, Gretna?'

This time Gretna's laugh was more like a whoop. 'Oh, Mrs Elizabeth, you are so naughty. I am a good woman.'

'He's the naughty one, Gretna pet. Do you know what he did? He didn't remember our anniversary.' There was no anniversary to remember, so this was perfectly true.

'Oh, my husband is just similar.' Gretna's gaze was still fixed on Henry's erection; the 'treatment' made it hard to ignore. 'You know, before I came unto Australia, my friends informed me you have such different customs here.'

'That's right, pet. This is all part of getting to know our funny Aussy ways. Now, why don't you just hold the chain, and have him on a lead like the bad puppy he is?' Miss Strokewell picked up the cane from the tabletop, deftly hooked the chain with the crooked end, and held it out to Gretna; who, with more shy glances at Henry's captive cock and balls, took the chain.

'Now, Gretna, he's been a naughty pup, don't forget. Teach him some obedience. Take him for a trot round the room.'

Gretna's reluctance was suddenly overcome by her excitement, and she set off with such a jerk to Henry's genitals that again he felt close to ejaculation. Miss Strokewell had a look of scornful amusement as they toured the bedroom. Henry was red-faced with humiliation, his cock bobbing with every tug on the chain, a long drip of preseminal fluid dancing from its tip. As they turned by the bathroom door Gretna caught a glimpse of Henry's cuffed wrists, and when they were standing in front of Miss Strokewell again Gretna asked, 'Mrs Elizabeth, why have you put this leather back here on Mr Henry?'

'It's to teach him who's boss. Just till I've taught him his lesson. And talking of lessons - how about I show you how we do it?'

Gretna lowered her voice in confession. 'Mrs Strokewell, my own husband tried to treat me always as below him. Therefore, I came to Australia, and so you see I am very interested to witness a husband being below for once.'

'Well then, pet, I'll let you have a little practice at being on top. You just think of me as a teacher - better still, a head teacher, and you be my teaching assistant while we teach him to be a good boy.' Gretna nodded, bright-eyed. Miss Strokewell went on, 'Very well, Teaching Assistant Gretna, pet. Give me the chain, and then take off your tabard.'

'Oh, Mrs Headmistress, I am not wearing a brassiere.'

'Now, now, pet. Do as the headmistress tells you.'

Gretna handed the end of the chain to Miss Strokewell, then hesitated. After a moment she bit her lip as if to boost her determination, briskly pulled the tabard off over her head and dropped it to the floor. The silver cross swung against the top of the navy blue dress. Like many women whose breasts are on the small side, she had prominent nipples, which were hard from her excitement, and peaked the flimsy navy cotton.

'That's right, Gretna pet. Well now, you can see that our pupil Henry here is a terrible mucky pup. Look at all that pre-jizzy-juice dripping from his gyna-jabber! It's going to spoil the carpet any moment! Just you take this and catch the juice on the curvy end.' Miss Strokewell handed Gretna the cane. 'That's right, good girl. Don't forget to rub over the end of his donger where it's oozing out.' Giggling with amazement at her own daring, Gretna obeyed.

The rubbing made Henry groan with pleasure.

'Well, he wasn't supposed to enjoy that, was he, Assistant Gretna?' said Miss Strokewell. 'I think he needs some punishment now. And do you know what my motto is? "Make the punishment fit the crime." So, Gretna, make the mucky boy lick up his own mess.'

Gretna's eyes and mouth were round with laughter. She said, 'Oh, I will do this mischievous thing,' and pressed the handle of the cane, slippery with fluid, to Henry's lips.

'Lick it clean, boy,' Miss Strokewell ordered.

Henry tasted a salty tang as he wiped the handle with his tongue.

'That will do. How do you feel, boy?'

'I feel so humiliated, Headmistress,' Henry breathed gratefully.

'You see, Gretna, once a husband is well humiliated, he turns all eager to obey. And an obedient husband can be very useful. Would you like me to show you?'

'Please yes, Mrs Headmistress.'

'Pupil Henry, kneel down.'

Henry knelt, pulling against the tension in the chain.

'I can tell you're excited, Assistant Gretna. I bet things are turning a little bit swampy down in Shady Valley, if you get my meaning.'

Gretna nodded earnestly. 'My lowlands are growing very swampy, Mrs Headmistress.' She lowered her voice and confided, 'The swamp has spread right into my knickers.'

'That's what I thought, pet. So now, why don't you take off your panties, and I'll show you how to dry them?'

'Oh.' Gretna was hesitant. 'He does not have to view my hair that I sit on?'

'Not if you don't want him to, pet.'

Gretna lifted the hem of her navy-blue dress just far enough to reveal a neat pair of knees above sturdy calves. Then she bent from the waist, reached under the dress with her right hand, and dragged into view a pair of capacious utilitarian knickers, with a large damp area towards the front.

A few seconds later she was handing them to Miss Strokewell, who dangled them in front of Henry so that he could see the glistening patch of vaginal juice inside. 'My assistant is a lusty lady, isn't she?' she said. 'But even a lusty lady doesn't deserve sopping panties, does she?'