Training A Slave
Part 1
Its true, I've always had an interest in the world of domination.
The thought that it could be possible to re-train someone to live entirely
dependant on your instruction, without any capacity to use independent thought
is one that I find fascinating.
To own another human being's existence is surely an idea that has inspired some
of the world's greatest dictators, as human life is more valuable than any other
known commodity.
Of course, along with anything else I've ever done in my life, it had to be done
to the greatest extreme possible, or it just wasn't worth doing.
All this said, I didn't ever make a conscious decision become a Master, it's
just something that that curiosity and lust finally led me to.
My ex-wife will vouch for my enthusiasm in this quarter. Whilst we were still
together I converted our loft into a crude dungeon, and inspired by sites on the
internet (an incredible inspiration), I built hoists, whips from old belts and
sawn off broom handles, cages from shopping trolleys and various other devices
of captivity for us to experiment with.
In those early days, it was I who was the submissive, and my other half would
enthusiastically strap me spread-eagled to the rafters, caning my bare behind
thoroughly before descending through the loft hatch to watch television in the
comfort of the lounge.
The juxtaposition of me in such deprivation and her in such comfort gave us both
an immense thrill, and although at first she would pop her head through the loft
hatch with worried frequency, after a while she would leave me chained in the
loft for hours at a time, relishing in my discomfort.
On some occasions she would go out, leaving me wondering how long I was to be
left in my uncomfortable bondage, shivering slightly from the cold.
Sometimes she would tease me by saying that she was going to fetch her friends
to see me in my humiliating position, and on more than one occasion threatened
to bring a man back to the house and force me to listen to their wild love
making in the room below.
These comments excited me immensely, although at this stage I'm not sure how the
reality of this would have affected our relationship outside of the loft.
These were all just idle threats however, and all-important parts of the
fantasy.
Eventually these sessions began to happen with less frequency, as we grew apart.
I began to realize that the only reason I had accepted the lifestyle we had
begun to lead was for research purposes. I wanted to know the levels of pain
produced by whips, crops and the like. I wanted to know how it felt to be left
in a completely dark, cold cell for hours perhaps days on end. I needed to know
how tight bonds or cuffs needed to be to prevent escape. And most importantly,
the effect that this treatment could potentially have on the mind of the hapless
subject.
I didn't know whether or not I would ever get to use the information I was
gleaning from the experience, but I felt it was important to know anyhow. As I
think I said, when I do something I take it to its highest level, and the usual
practice of lashing your other half to the bedstead with a dressing gown cord
and slapping them with a rolled up woman's weekly just wasn't enough to
satisfying my thirst for knowledge.
Essentially, I wanted to know if I could make the slave/master lifestyle a
REALITY.
I mean, I know that a lot of people claim to have 'lifestyle' relationships, but
if you untie your wife at six o clock so that you can both pop over to Tesco's
to do the shopping it hardly seems fair to claim that you are living the fantasy
to its fullest potential.
In most circumstances, it would seem that the shopping trip to Tesco's is the
Reality of their existence, while the light bondage sessions in the bedroom when
the kids are asleep is the fantasy.
I wanted to see if it was possible to turn this round, and see if it was
possible to, get a female subject to accept the bondage as the reality.
I continued to use our loft space, but by now I had converted it into an office
to enable me to work from home.
In between typing invoices, I began twisting the thread of my experience into a
novel and before long I found with great surprise that I had written 70,000
words.
I still have a hard copy of 'The Training of Lorraine', and although I never
made any attempt to publish it, it allowed me to explore the realms of my
fantasies (for that that's they were at that stage) on paper.
That was that for several years. I continued to work hard, separated from my
wife, and bought my own house on the outskirts of town, a detached property that
was in desperate need of maintenance. I paid a pittance for it when you take
into account that in addition to the two floors visible from the road, it also
had an unusually large cellar that extended beyond the walls of the house and
under the main road. What it was used for originally I can only guess at, but as
you can imagine, my thoughts ran riot every time I went down there.
It was during the renovation of my house that I rekindled an old friendship with
Debbie, the sister of an ex-girlfriend of mine. Before we lost touch we had a
habit of getting blind drunk together and flirting outrageously.
We never took it any further than that, however, in fact I knew a couple of her
ex-boyfriends quite well
I far as I knew Debbie had perfectly normal sexual desires. She had mentioned
sleeping with two men as one of her fantasies, but never anything more
extraordinary than that.
It took me by surprise then, when one day at my house, in my newly refurbished
living room, she spotted a paperback novel with female domination as its theme
and asked to borrow it.
A little surprised, I asked if she was into that sort of thing. She explained
that although she had never experienced any bondage first hand, it was something
that excited her and she wanted to know more.
She was a quick learner and an even faster reader, and before long she had
exhausted my supply of literature, consuming books at the rate of one per day.
Safe in the knowledge that she was a fellow enthusiast, I began to tell her of
my own experiences, and the hope that one-day I might find somebody willing to
let me carry out my plans, and so create the perfect slave.
As I finished explaining I could see that I had shocked her somewhat, and she
left in more of a hurry than usually, claiming that she had a headache.
I resigned myself to the fact that I had obviously said too much, and would
apologize to her the next time we met. We had both had quite a lot to drink, and
it wouldn't be a problem for me to blame the drink for my ramblings.
Several days later, she turned up at my door. Although it was quite late, I
ushered her into the living room and poured her a glass of wine before taking
seat opposite her.
I was about to apologize for my eccentric comments a few nights previous, when
it became apparent that she also was waiting to get something off her chest. I
kept quiet, waiting for her to begin.
She explained that she had indeed been shocked by the turn of our conversation
on that night, but not entirely put off. Although she had previously assumed
that the literature in my bookcase was there for light reading only, my comments
had made her realize the depth of my interest in this field.
She began to ask questions, and as I answered as honestly as I felt I could, the
atmosphere between us became easier again. The books she had borrowed had only
served to whet her appetite, she explained, and she was keen to further her
knowledge of the subject.
I switched my P.C. on, and logging on to a few of my favorite sites I pointed
out items and articles of interest. Occasionally she would stop me with a light
touch on my arm as she read a particular passage or strained over my shoulder to
see a thumbnail picture.
Asking for a pencil and paper, she wrote down a few of the site addresses, and
tucked it in her pocket to use at home.
By now we had finished an entire bottle of white wine, and it was past midnight.
Rising from our positions at the computer desk I began to show her out, pleased
that not had she not been angry with me, or thought me strange when I had
commented on my desire to train a slave. Her next question threw me completely.
As I was about to close the door, she turned and hesitantly asked if I had ever
wanted to enslave her.
Without waiting for my reply she hurried off into the night, her query hanging
in the air like a giant exclamation mark.
Slightly flummoxed I prepared my self for bed, thinking about what she had said.
I felt that the issue needed further discussion, at the very least, so the
following day I arranged to meet her again, this time for a meal in our local
restaurant. I knew that the tables were positioned in such a way as to allow us
to talk with relative privacy.
Rushing in, slightly late and out of breath, Debbie came through the doors,
scanning the tables for my familiar face.
She was obviously quite excited about the content of our forthcoming
conversation, and she waste no time in getting to the point.
"Have you thought about it then?" she exclaimed, barely giving me time to finish
pouring her wine. I nodded, but said nothing, collecting my thoughts as I took
my first long sip.
"I'm not sure you realize what this entails", I began
She raised her eyebrows encouraging me to continue
"I'm talking about completely changing your lifestyle, sacrificing everything
you've learned since you were old enough to listen"
"I'm not completely naive", she said,
"I realize that I must make sacrifices"
"Not sacrifices" I corrected "THE sacrifice, you are to give up your whole self
to me, everything, unconditionally."
Silence fell between us as the waiter arrived to take our order.
"I realize how serious this is!" she hissed, the moment he was out of earshot.
"And I've given it a lot of thought"
She paused and took a slug of the wine.
"I live in tiny flat, I have few friends, I haven't spoken to my mother for over
two years, and the boyfriends I have had have all failed to satisfy me in every
respect." She began, speaking carefully
"I hate my boss and I hate my job, and I've handed in my notice" she raised her
hand as I tried to interrupt
"I would have left anyway, it wasn't entirely down to you. I just feel that I
want a change."
"Yes," I replied, "but this is the sort of change that you could live to regret
very quickly!"
A couple passed us, on their way to the door and she paused, staring intently at
me as she waited to resume her conversation.
Leaning over the table, oblivious to the view I was getting of her cleavage (for
I had begun to take notice of her attributes recently), she spoke again; with a
yet more eager note to her voice,
"Tell me what I have do!"
I sat back in my chair, sighing. It was obvious that she was determined to see
this through, and while the thought of finally realizing my dream was exciting
me beyond belief, I felt obliged to continue warning her.
"You realize that once I start the program I would not expect to stop under any
circumstances." I offered,
"No safe words, no leniency, no pity, no escape" I continued, sure that I must
be putting her off.
She looked at me and nodded with a half smile on her face.
"When I was a little, girl, I spent almost an hour at the top of the diving
board at our local pool. I never gathered enough courage to jump, and so never
experienced the marvelous rush of adrenalin that my friend's had achieved. If
only somebody had pushed me..."
We paused as the waiter laid out our starters.
After a few mouthfuls, she continued.
"I've read all the books, and frankly the thought of being owned by a man, kept
only for his sexual amusement and unconditionally serving him sets me tingling
all over.
I don't know why, I just know that the thought of being your, or anyone else's
slave excites me.
Just tell me what it would entail, give me some idea of what I'm letting myself
in for, and I go away and think about it." She said, reasonably.
"Well..." I began, trying to contain my mounting excitement,
"It would involve eradicating every principle and moral you have been
conditioned to accept since you were born and retraining you to accept a whole
new set of ideals, most of them, related to or about sex, and revolving around
me, your master. You would in effect be a completely different person,
re-designed as an object of sexual gratification, a being totally and utterly
committed to pleasing your master in every respect."
I took another mouthful of wine and gave her an example,
"For instance, every time somebody passes this table you stop talking"
"Of course, I don't want them to hear what we're saying" she replied, blushing
slightly.
"As my re-programmed slave, " I explained, "I would expect you to obey me if I
demanded that you undress immediately and offer yourself orally to the waiter"
I scrutinized her face to judge the effect my comment had had. Her face took on
an even deeper shade of red.
"But surely that would make me a prostitute, and you a pimp" she queried
"Its not about the actual act, I could be asking you to do anything" I said
"Its about the fact that you are prepared to obey any of my requests
unconditionally, even if that means completely debasing and humiliating yourself
in public. You
Would be trained you to carry out my every wish unthinkingly."
She looked startled and I realized that she probably hadn't thought of a third
party ever being involved in my plan.
"So..." she began, looking thoughtful
"I would offer myself to the waiter purely because you wished it, with no regard
to my own feelings on the matter?"
"You are not entitled to an opinion on the matter one way or the other, your
only thought is to obey"
"And if I refuse to carry out any particular order?"
"As a fully trained slave, you would not have the capacity to refuse, but as a
trainee you would be chastised most severely for disobedience of any kind" she
raised her eyebrows
"And what form would this chastisement take?"
"That would all depend on the seriousness of the transgression. Publicly
disobeying your master would merit pretty severe retribution, probably with a
whip or crop. As with an animal, you would learn to obey by association.
The subconscious association between, disobedience and extreme pain would force
you to obey my commands without hesitating."
As I spoke I realized that I was becoming hard under the table at the thought
her becoming my slave. I fought to contain myself and continued.
"I know that the suggestion of that probably excites you, it must, or you
wouldn't have continued to read the books, but that's all it is at the moment, a
suggestion. The reality of being lashed naked to a whipping post whilst I punish
you may seem less attractive in reality! What's more, our relationship as
friends would be changed permanently, our relationship would become irrevocably
different."
Silence fell between us once more as we concentrated on our food, although I
stole a few sneaky glances at her face, trying to judge by her expression what
she was thinking.
"What if I said I was prepared to submit myself to you for a given period of
time, say, a year? And was prepared to sign a contract to that effect?"
I nodded.
"I would need at least a year to try out my program," I said,
"If it hadn't transformed you after that, it probably never would."
Again she paused to think.
"Look" I said, resigned to the fact that she was determined to see this through,
"If your really that sure, Ill e-mail you the name of a BDSM site that has a
printable slave contract connected to it. Its quite detailed and lengthy, and it
would need amending slightly for our purposes but it would give you something to
think about. How much notice do you have to work for your boss?"
"Two weeks, why?"
"That gives you two weeks to think about it and make any necessary arrangements,
in the meantime Ill make some preparations at home for your 'stay'"
I smiled and she smiled back. Both of us amused by the word 'stay' as if she
was booking into a hotel for the weekend.
"If you decide to call it off just let me know" I offered, "Its not to late to
forget the whole thing and we need never bring the subject up again."
She nodded silently, hanging on my every word,
"Of course the moment that contract is in my possession, nothing you say or do
could change the course of events"
I knew from the expression on her face that she was treating this with the
seriousness it deserved. I also knew, however, that in her wildest dreams she
could not possibly imagine the extent of the suffering that awaited her on the
path to servitude
So that was that. The matter was all but settled. As I suspected she might, she
rang me the following week to say that she had decided to accept and would I
please e-mail her the amended slave contract for her to sign ASAP.
At last, my dream was becoming reality. I immediately dispatched the contract,
and set to work converting my cellar into Debbie's new home, at least for the
next twelve months.
As I mentioned, it was an unusually large cellar, and it looked yet larger when
I had finished clearing it out.
It wasn't just one large room either; its width was partially divided by thick
stone walls, presumably put in place to hold the up the floor above.
These wall lent themselves perfectly to making cells and using my home welder
and some steel rod I blocked off the ends of two of these cavities with home
made prison doors, creating two six foot square cages, barred at each end.
I had also bought some large steel rings, and I cemented these at intervals
around the walls and floor of both the cells and the large area in front of
them. I also bolted several to the concrete beams that ran at regular intervals
across the high ceiling of the basement.
It didn't take me long to rig up some makeshift lighting and as a final touch I
wired up a surveillance camera at one end. This would allow me to see what was
happening in the cellar from any television in the house.
I contemplated installing heating of some description, as although it was
reasonably dry, it was very cold, but dismissed the idea. The cold wouldn't do
her any harm, I grinned to myself, and it would certainly encourage her nipples
to participate!
I tapped into the cold water supply running across the ceiling and attached a
length of flexible pipe and a showerhead. This would allow me to hose
Down both the floor of the cellar and my slave in order to keep her clean should
she be confined to the cell for any length of time. Turning it on by the tap I
had installed I found it to be surprisingly powerful, and I was forced to hold
the hose with both hands in order to stop it slipping from my grasp. The
soak-away in the corner of the room seemed capable of draining the water,
although it began to back up after a few minutes
My final check was to plug in my portable stereo in the cellar and crank the
volume up till the music began to hurt my ears. Leaving it running, I made my
way back up the stairs to my living room and out of the house. Perfect.
In my living room I was just able to discern the sound of the music faintly
through the thick floor, but outside it was completely inaudible.
Satisfied that everything was as it should be, I rang Debbie with her
instructions.
The two-week period was over the following night, and I instructed her to come
to my house in the early evening, bringing nothing other than the clothes she
was wearing.
I also told her to ensure that all necessary arrangements had been made; as this
was the last night she would be able to enjoy her freedom.
I also asked her to ensure that she had removed all body hair.
She reassured me that such arrangements had been, made, and her friends and
relatives had all been told that she was taking a year off to go traveling.
As I replaced the phone on its receiver I knew I would have difficulty in
sleeping that night.
And so the moment arrived. With bated breath I walked the short distance to the
front door and opened it to find a meek looking Debbie on my front step. As
promised she wasn't carrying any luggage, and was dressed simply in tight jeans
and t-shirt, the t-shirt tucked firmly into the waistband, outlining her pert
breast through the flimsy material.
I caught my breath as I realized how soon I would be seeing her young body in
the flesh for the first time.
Nervously she entered my house and stood in the center of the floor, tentatively
offering the completed contract for my perusal. I could see she had probably
agonized over his moment for some considerable time. She almost looked relieved
to be handing over the contract, having finally made a definite decision
"You do realize what you are doing" I said, softly "If you want to back out,
there's still time"
"I understand", she replied "And I'm not completely sure what I'm letting myself
in for, I can't be, I've never tried this before, I just know I'd regret not
doing it for the rest of my life." I nodded, and leaving her stood in the center
of the floor I took a seat by the fire.
"We'd better establish a few preliminary ground rules, " I said trying to keep
the tremor out of my voice.
"From this moment, you may only address me as Sir or Master." She nodded,
surprised at the new note of command in my voice and the expectant look on my
face hurriedly added "Yes, sir"
The words sounded strange, almost comical, but the seriousness of the situation
prevented either of us from smiling.
"You must lower you eyes when in my presence"
"Yes Sir"
"You must obey my ever instruction unquestionably"
"Yes sir"
I stared at her for a moment and she lowered her gaze to the floor, her hands
hanging limp by her sides.
"Undress!" I barked suddenly.
She looked up momentarily, a sudden look of misgiving in her eyes, but lowered
them again as she saw the black look on my face
"Here? Now?" she inquired timidly.
I sighed
"Have we not just covered this?" I said, a note of irritation creeping into my
voice. "You are to obey my every command! As my slave you are certainly not
allowed the privilege of privacy or modesty!"
I could see it was difficult for her. I had never seen her completely naked, and
I suppose there were only a handful of men who had had that pleasure. I'm sure
she had never taken her clothes off for a man without a large amount of Dutch
courage in her at any rate.
This was the first and most difficult step, and we both knew it.
Blushing a deep shade of red, she began to hesitantly remove her t-shirt,
slipping it self-consciously from her arms revealing her white lace bra. She
fiddled with the button fly of her jeans, stalling for time, before reluctantly
pulling them down to her ankles and stepping out of both her slip-on shoes and
crumpled denims at the same time.
She stood up in her white lace underwear, cradling her chest in her arms, her
face almost purple with embarrassment and shame.
"It would seem we have a small problem in obeying instruction," I uttered as I
walked to wards her, a pair of steel cuffs swinging from one hand. She looked
puzzled
"I expect you to obey my instructions to the letter"
I began to fetter her hands in front of her body, closing the hasp of the cuffs
with an ominous click
"I asked you to undress, completely!"
"I'm sorry, it's just..." Her voice tailed off as she realized she was again
speaking out of turn.
I began escorting her to the cellar steps, she bowed her head slightly to enter
the small entrance that lay under the stairs and she began the descent into her
new home.
As I switched the light on she gasped audibly.
I had surpassed my self in the construction of her prison, ensuring that no item
had been overlooked. It was Spartan in the extreme, with only steel hoops and a
selection of whips to break up the gray concrete of the walls. I had carried a
small, solidly built wooden table down there as an after thought. The fact that
two of its legs had been sawn off short, forcing the thick table top to lay at
an angle, and the leather straps adorning its sides gave its function away
immediately.
The only source of warmth in the dungeon, for that is effectively what it had
become, was the heat that seeped down from the rest of the house, and as heat
rises, this was precious little indeed. I could fell the goose bumps on her
upper arm as I guided her to the center of the floor to stand reluctantly below
one of the rings I had cemented into the ceiling.
She shivered slightly under my firm grip, partially through anticipation,
partially due to the temperature. I wondered how long it would take her to
become accustomed to the cold.
Selecting a large padlock from the wall, I linked it through the connecting
chain of her cuffs and then through the hoop in the ceiling, grunting slightly
as I pulled her arms away from their protective position across her chest and
over her head, forcing her to stand on the balls of her feet to prevent the
steel digging into the delicate flesh around her wrists.
I then pushed her legs apart, hearing her wince as her wrist took yet more of
her weight, and secured a three foot iron bar between her outspread legs.
Clicking the ankle cuffs home, I stood up to address my new slave.
"You were told to strip, and as well as questioning me, you had the audacity to
only partially remove your clothes" Her eyes opened wide in surprise and fear.
She had never been put in such a vulnerable position or spoke to in such an
authoritative or abrupt manner.
"As part of your initiation into slavery, I had every intention of beating you
most severely anyway as a warning against future potential transgression but you
have given me an excellent excuse." I was even surprising myself by the way I
had automatically fallen into the role of her master.
She trembled slightly as I ran my palm around the contours of her shapely
behind, still encased in clinging lace material.
Running my hand yet further round, relishing in the warmth of her smooth skin,
and the fact that she was physically unable to stop my intrusive exploration, I
smiled as I felt the warmth of her sex through the slightly damp gusset, as I
realized that she was becoming turned on by her position of forced
vulnerability.
She squirmed in embarrassment to try and avoid the touch of my hand,
"Tut, tut" I clucked, it seems you are intent upon angering me."
I leisurely walked to my selection of whips and pondered for a while, before
picking a particularly vicious looking instrument made with long strips of thick
leather hide.
As I looked over, she opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, unsure
of what she could possibly say that might allow her to escape the inevitable
pain I was about to inflict.
Walking behind her, with the whip tucked under my arm, I released the sharp
blade from my penknife and slid it carefully through the shoulder straps of her
bra. Unclipping the clasp, I allowed the lacy material to slide gracefully to
the floor, stark against the harsh gray concrete floor.
I repeated the operation across the hips of her panties, and walked back round
to the front of my slave to survey my property.
She was even prettier naked than I could have imagined.
Her head was bowed as instructed, and she panted slightly with the exertion of
keeping the weight off her wrists, her light brown hair falling in waves across
her pert firm exposed breasts.
The cold had puckered her small pink nipples into hard beads, and as I watched
they rose and fell with her labored breathing.
Her tanned flat smooth midriff splayed out to wide sensuous hips, at the center
of which lay the prize. The epicenter of her sexuality, and the part of her body
that she had fiercely protected, until now.
She had shaved thoroughly prior to her arrival, and her partially spread limbs
revealed the lips of her sex, glistening slightly with wet expectancy. She
squirmed slightly under my gaze, mortified at her blatant arousal under these
conditions
To her horror, I pushed the thin, blunt end of the whip handle between her lips,
parting them yet further, revealing her small, protruding clitoris, red and
engorged, begging for further stimulation.
Having inspected my slave, and finding everything as I had hoped, I dragged my
focus back to the matter in hand, her punishment for earlier transgressions.
"Have you ever been hit with one of these?" I asked, allowing the stiff leather
thongs to fall across her quivering buttocks."
She shook her head
"Shame, it may have given you an idea of what to expect. Still, no matter,
you'll soon learn.
It was then that I was pleased I had checked the amount of sound that filtered
up from my cellar, for as I delivered the first stroke; she let out a scream of
such intensity that it hurt my ears
"Please no!!!, I didn't realize!!! Not again!!!..."
"Have some dignity!" I reproached as I delivered another sting blow, harder this
time.
This time she wasn't able to scream, as she had used all her breath on the first
one. Instead she opened her mouth noiselessly, her eyes wide with pain at the
shock of the onslaught.
Sensing my advantage I let another loose, aiming more carefully, directing the
fronds to the underside of her buttocks, where they cruelly wrapped around her
inner thigh, a few of the longer ones actually coming into contact with her
sensitive labia.
She had begun to groan, the pain in her wrist forgotten she slumped forward in
her bonds
"Stop... I cant...you bast..." I cut her short with a sting blow, this time
tracing a line of fire directly across the center of her buttocks. The chains
rattled as she desperately tried to break free.
"Do you think that perhaps now you will learn to obey me?" I inquired, gently
feeling the raised welt I had just created across her backside.
"Let me down.. It's too painful. I don't want...!" she gasped between breaths
Again I cut her off mid sentence
"Wrong Answer!"
Now I began to lay into her tortured buttocks in earnest, ignoring her screams
and the rivulets of tears that were now coursing freely down her cheeks.
To add variety, I directed a couple of particularly punishing blows to her
breasts, the second strike landing squarely across her right nipple.
Upon this stroke her head jerked back and her eyes opened wide. If the pain of
being whipped across the buttocks had been unimaginably painful, this was ten
times worse. For a few seconds she actually stopped breathing all together,
struggling violently against her cuffs all the time, desperate to apply her
soothing touch to the angry read weal's that I had just created across her milky
breasts and buttocks.
Sensing that I had made my point, I asked again
"Are you prepared to obey me now?"
At that moment she looked me directly in he eye, all her emotions tangled, tears
wetting her cheeks and chest, fighting for breath. still suffering under the
waves of pain emanating from her bruised flesh.
She had no option. She nodded reluctantly, willing to undergo any humiliation I
deigned necessary, if it meant avoiding another earth shattering stroke from the
cruel whip.
"Pardon, slave?" I questioned, wanting to hear her say it
"Yes sir," she sobbed
"Do you feel you have learned a lesson from your punishment?"
"Yes sir"
Cautiously, I unchained her hands from the ceiling, waiting for her to strike
like trapped animal. I needn't have worried, her hands hung limply by her sides,
longing to massage life back into her chaffed wrists, but frightened of
incurring further punishment for doing so.
I pushed the handle of he whip under her chin and lifted her face to meet my
gaze.
"Every time you disobey me I will beat you like that. I will beat you with the
utmost severity for the slightest indiscretion is that understood?"
"Yes Sir" Despite all my warnings, she had not anticipated the severity of her
experience and the pain of the lash had been all too real. I detected that there
was a new note of respect in her voice.
"Now you may thank me for your lesson" I commanded," Would you like that?
"Yes sir" more enthusiastically now, her previous feelings of shame lost in her
eagerness to please me in any way possible and prevent a repeat of the
incredible pain she had just endured.
Pushing her head back down with the crop, and applying light pressure to her
shoulder, she sank to her knees on the cold stone floor, quickly guessing the
form that her thanks would take.
With shaking hands she unzipped my fly, tentatively pulling my semi-erect member
from my trousers. With an almost imperceptible pause, during which a thousand
thoughts must have flown through her mind she reluctantly
Opened her mouth and gently lowered her lips around my shaft, gently moving her
head back and forth.
I was already in a state of considerable arousal and within the space of a few
minutes my balls began to spasm and I felt the blessed relief of my seed
emptying into her mouth.
With the facial expression of someone who has just bitten into a lemon, she
withdrew from my satiated cock and wiped her hand across her semen-covered lips,
forcing herself to swallow as she did so. It was then that remembered. She had
told me during one drunken evening that she had NEVER given oral sex, and had no
intentions of ever doing so as she found the thought of taking a mans member in
her mouth repulsive in the extreme.
I smiled at the recollections she knelt quivering at my feet awaiting
instruction, a stray globule of semen glistening on her chin as she replaced my
now flaccid member back in my trousers.
"Thank you Master" she whispered, almost inaudibly. She was beginning to learn.
I un-cuffed her ankles and gently lifted her to her feet. Escorting her to the
open door of her cell I led her inside.
"Perhaps we will do better tomorrow" I said, not unkindly, and gently stroked
her cheek with the back of my hand. The sudden show of affection, contrasting
with the violence of the previous whipping sent her into fits of sobs yet again.
"There, there" I comforted.
"I told you what to expect, didn't I?" She nodded dumbly, her eyes downcast.
Locking the door to her tiny cell securely I made my way up to my living room,
before pouring myself a large congratulatory brandy and flopping on my sofa to
watch some TV.
Then I remembered my camera.
Flicking to the appropriate channel, the black and white image of the prison
came into view. Debbie lay on the cold unyielding floor of her cage in the
foetal position, her legs tucked up against her chest to try and conserve what
little warmth she could.
Between the tops of the backs of her thighs I could just make out her protruding
sex, and even as I watched, her hands stole between her legs, cupping her sex,
and began to gently massage her swollen, tender lips.
I smiled, transfixed. I had read that a severe whipping would invariably lead to
intense, undeniable arousal as the pain of the weals began to fade and give way
to a warm glow, and sipping my cognac from the warmth of my sofa, I was seeing
the proof. I pressed the red record button on my VCR.
After only a few minutes, her hips began to buck, scraping her thigh against the
rough concrete and her legs opened despite the chill to allow her hand better
access.
It was the only stimulus she needed, and as her finger slid effortlessly into
her swollen vagina, her face contorted, her pelvis spasmed as she orgasmed. Not
the pleasant, warm cozy orgasms she had in the bath at home, as she gently
soaped herself, but a powerful, gut wrenching surge of pleasure that lifted her
lower body off the floor involuntarily and caused her to let out a long low
guttural moan. For almost two minutes she writhed in this position, the glowing
pain of the fresh stripes across her body contrasting with her venerable caged
position and the urgent pulsing of her sex.
Finally the last wave of pleasure subsided and she returned to her previous
position, curling up into a tight ball, oblivious to the fact that her entire
performance was being observed and recorded upstairs.
I smiled, despite the interesting display; tomorrow she would have to learn that
she was only permitted to orgasm under supervision.
I made my way up to my bed, lying warm and comfortable under the thick luxurious
duvet, contemplating the next part of my curriculum.
