He didn’t know why those certain women made him masturbate, he only knew that he’d always been taught that such self abuse was a sin and taboo, but he also knew that the pleasure it gave him as the seed spat from his stiffly erect cock as he knelt naked and viewed those depictions of stern equestrian women, was insurmountable. As the acute pleasure of orgasm gripped him whilst the semen spurted from his bell at the sight of those stiff whips and riding gear, he also knew that his thoughts on those women as he spurted, would also be considered taboo in the upright and so naturally misogynist world of 1885, where masculinity reigned without question ... despite there being a woman on the throne.

Bartholomew Cranton’s semen jetted hardest when he closed his eyes and reminisced on the equestrian events he’d attended, the vivid memories of the plumpest and most shapely women, applying their whips in controlling their steeds, faces taut and haughty as they demonstrated their absolute authority over muscular animals so much stronger physically than they ... the dominance of those women, undeniable. One woman in particular, a Madam Hermione Hartwick, a woman he accepted was way out of his league in terms of any possible contact, wielded her whip with an exquisite deftness as she pompously mastered her beast, the curve of her hips and just of her pert breasts exciting him as she gripped that sidesaddle with her illustrious thighs ... oh how he longed to be put to some use by her, as his seed bolted forth amidst lusty orgasms on the thoughts he’d captured of her.

It was just such an occasion, where he’d managed to get wind of an equestrian event that the magnificent Madam Hartwick would be attending, that proved to be the day that sealed his fate. Far from being oblivious to his presence despite her studied indifference to anything other than her own egotistical sphere, the dominant beauty had noted his presence on several occasions and had thoroughly enjoyed promenading on horseback before him ... guessing that her skills upon a stallion were secondary to something which thrilled her equally, something which had her cunt ripe for servile attention. As he watched her strut, erect and mesmerised, she nodded unseen to her equally pompous female friends standing amongst the throng.

Cranton had been oblivious to the two women who’d furtively edged closer to him, but his balls tingled with a renewed lust on overhearing a conversation that he couldn’t know at that time, was designed to reel him in for the entertainment of not just Madam Hartwick, but her circle of intimate friends too. As he took in the superb woman’s strutting arrogance on sidesaddle, one of those intimate associates, a deliciously buxom and middle-aged woman endowed with a sneering countenance, had his cock poke rigid in need of masturbation, as she made sure her conversation with an equally spiteful looking woman was overheard.

“ ... They say she has no need for a husband ... though she’s fond of entertaining men under her terms...” The other women equalled the sneer of the first, jutting her ample breasts forward in her enjoyment of what Cranton was led to believe, intimate gossip by women probably not associated with her, but in the know.

“Oh yes ... since the very convenient demise of a husband ... supposedly by his own hand, she inherited all that was his, and continues to enjoy that wealth ... and men she has no intention of allowing her to be bridled with marriage...” The former woman’s sneer beamed with a spitefully trite satisfaction.

“ ... the verdict was that he hanged himself ... hanged himself in some deviant sexual act whilst she was away ... most convenient for her...” The other grinned as she made sure Cranton heard her clearly, her cunt moist with the tease.

“ ... very convenient as it was gossiped that she wanted rid of him ... and curious how he managed to truss his own ankles and wrists behind his back before wriggling off the stool ... his naked body found hanging in all its masochistic splendour by a housekeeper ... whom we’re told was none too surprised, nor saddened by the experience...” The two laughed cynically, showing their pleasure at the event, having him in danger of ejaculating to his underwear, there and then, as the conversation added further spice for the ears of an, as yet, covertly submissive male.

“ ... some reports given in by one or two independent people in the vicinity of the house, suggested the sight of a veiled woman in black leaving at around the time of her husband’s death, but nothing came of it ... Madam Hartwick was at an exclusive meet elsewhere in the country - no spectators - but her attendance was vouched for by several reputable and senior women ... who remain intimate friends to this day...” The two grinned at each other with satisfaction, the former then continuing with a smug pleasure.

“ ... it’s said that one of those women was privy to the Coroner’s Office findings, and delighted in reporting that semen was found in abundance about the floor below the rope ... confirming a sexual deviance, one which was obviously very satisfactorily achieved in a most submissive perversion.” Cranton gasped almost audibly, an emotion the two ladies didn’t miss, as his thoughts went to the black veiled woman reported as leaving the house ... and his eyes went to the lacy black veiled figure of Madam Hermione Hartwick as she dismounted, her thinly materialled riding skirts offering him the lush contours of superb buttocks and broad thighs ... the two women then luring him to another act which his standing cock and teased mind was more than ready for, as two young stable girls unstrapped the saddle.

“That saddle will need a good airing in the stables, it’s been such a warm day...”. The other grinned wickedly as she delivered the coup-de-grace.

“Oh yes ... and she’ll have got very hot and excited with the use of that whip.” They watched him intently as his eyes followed the girls taking the saddle into the stables, an ‘H. H.’ motif emblazoned on the leather, making it easily distinguishable. The two stern women slipped away, to make things easier for him, joining the throng of equestrian women now sipping wine as the stable girls returned ... leaving the easily accessible stable block empty. Looking furtively about him, and ensuring attentions were elsewhere, Cranton’s sexual desires gave him the courage to slip stealthily into the coolness of the stable, his cock rigid as he sought out one saddle in particular.

His entry had not gone unnoticed by the two women, who gave the dominant Hermione the nod. Her red lips pursed as she took the wine down, her sneer radiant, as she left the throng and strutted to the stables with her riding whip ... her cunt hot for the conquest of a male she knew was ripe for humiliation at her hands.

Cranton’s cock perked with a lust he couldn’t control, on seeing the leather equestrian throne upon which the magnificent queen of his mind had splayed her elegant backside and formidable thighs across, the sidesaddle horns which those thighs had grasped, poked invitingly ... as did his cock, on touching the soft leather, and easing his nose across to sniff at the freshly vacated seat ... the rich perfumes of the woman he so desired to be dominated by, assailing his nostrils and having him long to masturbate. He gasped as the sound of a whip cutting the air, having him snort hard at the saddle impregnated with feminine scent, the curt sound of feminine authority then following it.

“And just what do you think you’re doing!” Cranton went white ... then turned to face the very woman he was ready to die for ... noting her expression was not one of shock, but her attractive features giving a sneer of contented satisfaction as he tried to offer some feeble explanation whilst she stood tall in her riding boots before him, toying with the whip across her elegantly gloved hands.

“I ... I...” She cut in, and had him know she had him just where she wanted, her sneer more intense.

“You were sniffing at my saddle! ... a most perverted act! ... You’ll be ruined if this gets out!” Cranton’s perverse mind almost wanted the humiliation of his deed made public, his cock no less stiff, harder than ever on being reprimanded by this supreme and shapely middle-aged goddess, but felt the need to offer something.

“Please ... please ... I ... I only...” She cut in again, her cunt moist with excitement at the need to have him grovel, pointing her whip to the ground between them, conscious that she needs act quickly before they were interrupted.

“I know exactly what you were at! ... kneel before me!” He sank to his knees without hesitation, the confirmation of her dominance over him, having his cock ooze pre-cum, the feeling exquisite as she smiled down at him ... her nipples poking hard, as did her clitoris, with that confirmation that he would be hers to dominate.

“You know where Grange House, my residence, is?” He looked up at her with his balls fit to burst, hoping she’d have him kneel there forever, as he nodded his affirmation. Her smile of spiteful contentment, radiant, as she flicked her whip.

“Good ... you’ll be there at three in the afternoon on Thursday, sharp ... if not, I’ll report you to the authorities...” She cut the air with her whip and turned, showing her the backside he longed to sniff at directly as she strutted out.

“ ... we’ll decide what’s to become of you then.” He gasped in a wondrous disbelief as he watched her saunter away ... then heard the cynical laughter of women somewhere behind him as he rose from his knees, his eyes just catching the waft of departing skirts as the echo of that laughter teased his cock all the more, at knowing his humiliation had been enjoyed by others.

Both the haughty women who’d teased Cranton smiled with curt satisfaction, as did as many as four others, on receiving invitations delivered by the hand of a maid, invitations to an ‘Etiquette Session’ at Madam Hermione’s Grange House. Cunts flushed with a spitefully desirous tingle on reading the invite, knowing that only a select circle of Madam Hermione’s most intimate friends would be invited... ‘Etiquette Session’ a euphemistic code for an event where a male would be taught the etiquette in question by a member of that circle.

Nipples poked hard through silk and satin tops, while wizened manicured fingers slipped through moistened slots as the thrill of the promise of playing Governess, caning, the walking of a male as a dog, the dressing and discipline as a maid, etc. went through the excited minds of women seen outwardly as bastions of their local communities ... but whom on reality, lived for the extinguishment of masculine oppression by means that only women could provide, methods which ensure permanent obedience to feminine superiority.

Bartholomew Cranton had no idea that he was to be treated to the delights of a masochistic heaven within a hell before massed dominant femininity, but that knowledge would only have increased the incessant masturbation he’d been committing since being humiliated for his saddle sniffing by Madam Hermione; each turgid expulsion of his seed in her honour, as satisfyingly erotic as the issue before, as the appointment with her drew closer, whilst his submissive mind was wracked with the deliciously humiliating memory of being on his knees to her on being caught sniffing for her fragrances. He knew he’d be punished by her, and the hot seed was jetted high at just how that might be, but he could never have guessed that his former life of bachelor liberties would be curtailed by feminine power, come Thursday 18th April 1885 ... permanently.

He chose his most comfortable but respectable clothing, befitting of visiting a lady of undoubtable breeding, on Thursday, his heart racing as the clock moved agonisingly slowly through the hours. His cock maintained a permanent erection, despite his attempts to quell his thoughts into believing this would be no more than a formal meeting, where he’d simply be reprimanded for his bestial behaviour, ticked off and cautioned by her in an authoritative manner ... but even that excited him.

As he set out into the sunny afternoon, the world seemed so invitingly open, Blackbirds serenading that delightful liberty that spring awarded them, he, almost intoxicated by the fresh air as though having imbibed whisky, so light-headed was he by the prospect of what was to come, his heart then leaping at the chance view of a passing cab as it trotted by ... a woman’s face leered at him momentarily from it, just long enough to have him think he’d seen it somewhere before.

As he reached the substantial property that was Grange House, he was marvelling at it’s seclusion down a drive beyond a screen of trees, the address known only previously to him by the sign at the drive’s entrance, when another cab trotted by, making it’s departure. He thought little of it at the time, distracted by the tall walled gardens, which offered further seclusion in which Madam Hartwick could entertain in any way she pleased, without reproach ... just the wall alone, having his erection pulse at the thoughts of just how the magnificent Hermione might entertain beyond it.

As he wandered meekly toward the imposing front door, eyes were upon him from a window above; those eyes uniformly eager to witness his belittlement ... and justified humiliation for the weakness for which he’d know eternal and deserved punishment. Those eyes were not just those of Madam Hermione Hartwick, but six other stern women too ... each eager to impose their own covert desires upon a fresh male, knowing they’d soon have that opportunity once Hermione had thoroughly broken in her latest conquest. She sneered with contentment at his approach, as the other women jostled for positions at that window and others, keen to witness a final walk of freedom, taken by many males before ... now permanently in service to femininity, one way or another, both in this country and abroad.

“Here comes the fool ... his last moments of freedom ... see how eagerly he comes to give it up!” The women gave out cynical laughter as Hermione cut the air with the horsewhip she held, her cunt hot with arousal beneath the tight black satin dress she wore ... her full breasts poking their excited nipples from the very attire she’d worn to her husband’s funeral. She let out a deep sigh of sexual anticipation as she nodded to a pert maid, whose face beamed with an excitement of her own, as she headed for the stairs and the door below.

Cranton swallowed hard as he tugged at the bell-pull, thinking of how he’d beg forgiveness at what he thought would be a private conversation with the superb woman ... hoping upon hope that she’d somehow wish to see him again in one respect or another, if only to perform some task or other at the house or it’s gardens as penance ... something which would at least allow him the occasional glimpse of her. Those thoughts were curtailed as the door opened, and the pert maid in her frilled outfit sneered at him with a contempt. He had barely offered an introduction, his mouth agape, when the surly maid silenced him in a curt manner which had his anus tingle at her natural authority.

“We know who you are ... and what you are ... in!” Her sneer of contempt broadened as he stepped meekly in at her command, and she closed the door behind him, bolting it top and bottom, as though to signify the imprisonment he’d soon come to accept. She then looked him up and down as though studying an item of livestock, though a mere maid it was obvious to him that she was in authority over him, and more than ready to impose it.

“You’ll follow me.” His cock chafed awkwardly at his underwear, rigid as he followed the shapely maid up the stairs, her pert backside flexing provocatively in her skirts with every step till they reached the landing, where she then smiled at him curtly before a set of polished oaken doors.

“I shall see you again shortly ... Cranton, you’ll address me as Madam Charity.” He gasped at her words, but before he could ponder them ... his cock pulsing at her impudent reference to him by surname only, in a spiteful tone, he saw her satisfied grin as she swung the doors open and announced his arrival.

“Cranton for your pleasure Mistress Hermione!” She strutted by him, giving him a further look of contempt on going through another door, leaving his eyes to take in the vista of not only Madam Hermione Hartwick, resplendent in the black satin outfit which had seen the disposal of her husband, but an audience of equally stern women - including the two who’d teased him in erotic fashion with their conversation - then he went white on seeing what stood as a centrepiece display ... there on a pedestal stood the sidesaddle which had led him there, the item which he now knew he’d never escape the consequences for, the leering looks of utter contempt from the feminine audience making it patently apparent that they were all aware of his bestial act.