Training A Slave
Part 2
And so it was the following morning that I awoke late, yawned lazily and swung
my legs out of bed and onto the plush carpet of my bedroom. Brushing my teeth in
the en-suite bathroom I contemplated my days work ahead, the further training of
my new slave.
Years of anticipation seemed to have allowed me to slip in to the role of a
Master with great ease, and rather than allowing myself to become over excited
about things, I realized that I must keep calm and focused if I was to have any
success in creating a perfect slave.
After a leisurely breakfast accompanied by several cups of coffee, I dressed and
made my way down into the cellar, shivering at the cold blast of air that
greeted me upon opening the intervening door and feeling glad I was wearing a
thick pullover.
In the cell to the left, huddled in a protective ball lay my slave, shivering
from cold and anticipation.
She looked up as she heard me approach, and sat half upright, instinctively
crossing her thighs to hide her hairless sex, and cradling her breasts in her
free arm, in a futile attempt to protect her modesty. How soon the memories of
her last lesson had faded.
She eyed me cautiously, forgetting completely her instruction never to look her
Master directly in the eye, but I let this go. I made a mental note of the
transgression though; it would be dealt with later.
"Sleep well?" I inquired, somewhat sarcastically.
Her eyes finally dropped at this comment
"No, I couldn't" she muttered in return.
Again I made a note of her sullen tone and her reluctance to answer with
enthusiasm.
"Stand up" I ordered.
She hesitated. I could hazard a guess that she had probably spent most of the
night analysing her current position and agonizing over the moral dilemma her
forced obedience had created.
It was not in her nature to stand to attention, naked, at the sole request of a
man who had yesterday inflicted more pain upon her person than she had ever
dreamed possible.
Nevertheless she began to stand, her body stiff and aching from her night on the
concrete floor of her cell, her progress hampered by the fact that she was still
trying to protect her modesty as she struggled to rise.
"Put your hands on your head and turn around, slowly!" I commanded.
Again the hesitation. Despite the fact that every part of her body had been
scrutinized the day before, she insisted on trying to maintain an air of
modesty.
"Now!" I barked.
Reluctantly, her shoulders dropping in temporary defeat, she linked her fingers
on the top of her head, involuntarily pulling her pert breasts up and out, and
began to shuffle round, her face reddening with renewed embarrassment.
With satisfaction, I noted yesterdays weals standing in criss-cross white lines
across her rump, and a particularly angry looking slash across her breasts,
perfectly dissecting her right nipple.
"So do you feel ready to carry on with your training?" I asked, reasonably
"I..." her voice tailed off, unsure as to what to say that wouldn't enrage me.
I waited patiently
"I... Its just...you mustn't use the whip on me, I don't...I cant"
her voice broke into a sob as she recalled her lesson of the previous day.
" Answer me this," I asked, leaning closer to the bars of her cage
"If I allowed you to go now, would you leave?"
She caught her breath, astounded at what she had heard.
"Would you let me?" she asked, hardly daring to suggest it
"That's academic" I replied,
"I repeat, would you leave?"
" Yes!! I mean, where would I go? I don't know" she burst into about of fresh
sobbing
Sighing I unlocked the cage door, she looked at me warily as I guided her firmly
to the centre of the floor and deftly cuffed her two wrists together in one
fluid movement.
"Oh no..." she began, trying to pull away from me, her eyes wide and panic
stricken
"You can't...." she spat through gritted teeth, trying in earnest now to break
free from my grasp.
It was not difficult to raise her flailing arms above her head and cuff them to
the ceiling ring.
Despite her obvious entrapment, she continued to writhe, hoping against hope
that the chain between her cuffs would snap, or that the lock would fail. She
was un-rewarded.
Not bothering to cuff her ankles this time, as I warily viewed her kicking,
protesting legs, I walked over to my selection of tools, this time choosing a
long thin switch
I balanced it delicately in the palm of my hand, feeling its weight before
addressing my captive.
"We don't seem to be learning very fast, do we" I intoned, facetiously
In truth, I was not surprised. I had expected this reaction. It was far too
optimistic to expect a subject to submit herself to you after the first beating,
however severe. It was basic human instinct to make at least a token gesture of
defiance, even in the face of overwhelming odds and this was it. I also knew,
with almost certainty, that I would be easily able to defeat this latest show of
impudence during today's instruction.
I waited patiently for her futile writhing to finish, her head hung limp, the
sudden surge of adrenalin she had felt, combined with her ordeal of the previous
twelve hours had taken the fight from her.
"Somewhere in you, deep down, there is a need to be dominated." I began simply.
"From where this need originates, we cannot know, I can only tell you that you
are not on your own, and a great many people share your desire, either to be
dominated or to dominate."
I paused to gather my thoughts. I had her full attention; even her sobbing had
subsided to a whimper.
" For most people, these needs will go unrecognised, undeveloped, and they will
never have the opportunity to experience what their heart is telling them is
right.
For some people, being tied to the bed with a silk scarf by a gentle lover is
enough to satiate their curiosity. I, on the other hand, am personally
supervising the development of your particular needs.
The books I leant you germinated that desire, uncovering thoughts that had
before only existed in your subconscious.
The possibility that you could make the theme of those books your reality only
served to further add fuel to the fire.
By the time you had read and signed the slave contract, you were inescapably
bound to answer the desire that had begun to grow inside you, and from that
moment on that seedling became MINE."
I paused to let the words sink in
"Unfortunately for you, I am not prepared to allow the need within you to gently
flower, as my patience and time do not allow it.
After finding and recognizing your needs, I intend drag them out of you kicking
and screaming, moulding and shaping them to my own end.
"
I realized I was beginning to shout.
"Can you understand that?" I asked, sternly
"I'm sorry Master, "
she began quietly
"I do want to serve you, I want you to use me as you see fit. I can see my life
has so much more worth in serving you, but the pain...its... I can't describe
it."
She floundered, unable to put the intense agony into words.
"The whip is an important part of my process. I am teaching you by association.
You have already begun to associate refusal to obey with intense, unbearable
pain. Your brain is already beginning to encourage you to obey my voice without
question, in order to escape a further punishment, an action you have no control
over.
Despite this you are claiming to be more knowledgeable about these methods than
me?"
"No Master, I..."
"Perhaps it should be up to you to choose the time and manner of your
punishment?"
She began to sob again
"No Master, I'm sorry, you obviously know best, but I don't think I could take
another..."
Her words tailed off in fear as she watched me walk to her right flank and raise
the switch high above my head
"Your behaviour this morning has been disgraceful, not in the least appropriate
for a slave under my instruction", I intoned, in a matter of fact voice
"Pleease!...Don't!..."
She heard the switch before she felt it, its thin, whippy end tracing a
delicate, fleeting arc through the air. The resulting crack as it met her tender
flesh was drowned out by her scream, her head thrown back, eyes wide, every
sinew in her neck stretched to breaking, her face a mask of contorted agony.
Unconsciously her legs had begun to flail again, oblivious to the pain that it
was obviously causing in her cuffed wrists.
Before the waves of nauseating pain had had chance to abate I struck again, just
above the first, harder this time, relishing in the sound the supple switch made
in the confines of the cellar.
No scream this time, just a look of frozen disbelief on her face at the new
level of pain that she was suffering.
The silence soon gave way to a fresh shriek of agony however, as I delivered a
third, yet harder blow, just above the previous two.
Her frame rigid, her spine arched in a futile attempt to pull her buttocks away
from the source of the pain, I began to rain fierce, scything blows across her
behind, gritting my teeth and perspiring slightly with the exertion.
As her body desperately tried to re-enforce its psychological barriers to the
pain, I continued my assault upon her already damaged flesh.
Gasping, she began to succumb to the excruciating pain, howling like a whipped
dog, tears flowing freely across her cheeks, her breath coming in short laboured
gasps and her entire body-weight hanging from the cuffs over her head, the
muscles in her legs too weak to support her.
Eventually I ceased, breathing heavily, and wiping the sheen of perspiration
from my forehead.
"NOW do we have an understanding?" I asked.
It was a moment before she could muster enough energy to speak, and it was
difficult to discern her words through the sobbing.
"Yes Master, I'm sorry Master, I won't question you again," she babbled.
She sounded genuine, the comments seeming less contrived than before. I had to
be sure.
I walked behind her, tucking the switch under my arm. Very gently, despite the
resulting groans of pain, I began to massage her scarlet, angry flesh.
"Don't run away with the idea that I'm doing you a favour, " I said after a few
moments had passed.
"I'm rubbing life back into your numb flesh to ensure you feel the rest of your
punishment." I finished, re-taking my stance by her right flank.
Her eyes desperately sought mine
"Jesus... NO.... PLEASE!!!"
CRACK!
"NOW will you accept your position as a slave?" I asked patiently, when her
howling had abated
"Yes, Yes, of course I'm yours just please don't...Oh, GOD!..."
CRACK!
"And I presume you wish to thank me for taking the time and considerable effort
to punish you for your impudence today?"
"Yes I'm so sorry... Thank you Master, thank you, but please don't..!"
She was no longer in control of her speech, in a last desperate attempt to avoid
any more pain; her brain was joining her body in defeat.
"CRACK!"
this time, rather than a scream a whimper.
Faintly, behind the other sounds in the room, I discerned the noise of trickling
water. I looked down and saw the spreading puddle of fluid trickling down her
legs and collecting at her feet. She had probably been waiting to use the toilet
all night; I mused, and had finally lost the battle to hold onto her dignity
Trying not to smile, I addressed her again
"So there can be no mistake about the level of behaviour I expect from you?"
"No Master, I'll do anything that you.... NOOOO!"
CRACK!!!
The switch whistled through the air for a final time, the last strike being the
hardest and most damaging yet.
"If I should deign it necessary to punish you for any reason, you will submit to
the that punishment willingly, or the suffering will be twice as bad, do you
understand?"
She nodded wildly, "Please, No more, I'm so sorry I disobeyed you... "
I stood back to observe her for amount, hanging limply from the concrete ceiling
beam, her eyes red with tears, her chest heaving with uncontrollable emotion,
her legs swaying from side to side, trying and failing to hold her body weight.
"I'd like to think, that after a bad start, we've made some progress this
morning" I commented, thoughtfully.
"Yes Master" she whispered, almost inaudibly.
"But perhaps we'd better leave you in this position for a while, to give you
time to reflect upon what you've learnt"
"Yes, oh yes" she uttered, glad to be left fettered, knowing that at least the
whip was being hung back on the wall.
Taking one more admiring look at the effect my exertions had had on her behind,
I mounted the stairs, leaving her in the cold dimly lit confines of her prison,
gently whimpering as she watched my retreating figure, the desperate all
encompassing need to caress and sooth her damaged rear prevented by the
unyielding chains above her head.
Relaxing back upstairs, sipping a fresh cup of coffee, I marvelled at the change
that had been brought about over such a short space of time. It seemed like an
age ago that she had arrived, conservatively dressed in faded jeans and t-shirt,
nervously handing me her completed contract.
Then she had been as excited as she was nervous, looking forward to the thrill
that she expected this new experience would give her. It was safe to assume, I
mused, that this was not entirely what she had expected.
She hadn't been entirely wrong though, I considered, she would begin to
appreciate her new role eventually. She would gain immense pleasure form
pleasing me.
But there was a great deal of painful training to undergo before I could allow
her to enjoy herself like that, and my plans for this afternoon were no
exception.
Slipping my keys and wallet into my jacket pocket I left the house, quickly
striding the short walk to my car.
I was quite looking forward seeing Chris again.
She was a nurse, a good nurse.
I say was, because she no longer worked for the NHS.
After an unpleasant incident, she had been summoned to a staff tribunal, and
although nothing had been proved, it was universally felt by her superiors that
she had irrevocably 'blotted her copy book' and she was pressured to leave.
It was fortunate that her management wasn't as familiar with the facts as I was,
or she would certainly have been in a great deal more trouble.
It would be wrong to say I liked Chris; she frightened me too much for me ever
to feel truly comfortable with her, more that I felt fascinated by her. We all
have our own little idiosyncrasies, and I was no exception. But there was
ultimately a point to what I was doing. The fact that she seemed to enjoy
inflicting pain for pains sake intrigued me. I don't think it ever gave her any
sexual fulfilment, she was simply sadistic.
It is difficult for me to say anymore without getting her into deep trouble, so
suffice to say, she had an unnaturally vicious streak down her a mile wide that
made her perfect for my purpose
It was for this reason that I had arranged to meet her.
The pub was bustling with office workers when I reached my destination, young
ladies in tight short skirts and crippling high heels. Their false laughter and
mixed perfumes filled the smoky atmosphere as they jostled for position on the
mating hierarchy, each trying unconsciously in their own way to catch the eye of
one of the painfully casual, be-suited clerks at the bar, and then looking away
indignantly if they succeeded in attracting their attention
Feigning disinterest, the overly ambitious businessmen in the making leant so
far back over the bar as to be comical, desperate in their attempt to look
disinterested and nonchalant.
As I watched I couldn't help but think how much less complicated a life of
slavery must be, freed from the obligations these people felt to exhibit
themselves for selection.
Debbie had no need to maintain this charade; any responsibility or pressure that
had existed in the outside world had been stripped from her with the clothes
from her back.
She had no 'image' to maintain. She had no heels or supporting straps or
constricting bands with which to mould her body into the shape that society
dictated.
She led a truthful existence, without any external trapping s to deceive the
onlooker, her only purpose in life being to do her Masters bidding.
I made my way through the noisy rabble to find Chris already seated at the far
end of the lounge, halfway through her first drink.
She got up as I approached. Smiling broadly.
Tall and lithe, and not altogether un-attractive, it was difficult to believe
that this harmless looking woman could have been the perpetrator of such
needlessly painful acts during her last period of employment. Shuddering
inwardly at the thought, I smiled back, kissing her lightly on the cheek before
making my way to the bar to buy our drinks.
"So you finally did it," she remarked, looking at me over the rim of her Vodka.
I nodded; Id filled her in with the details of my activities over the phone.
I knew I could trust her to be discreet. I knew enough about her past to ensure
she would spend a the rest of her life in jail should I ever feel the need to
'spill the beans'
I turned the conversation briskly to the matter in hand.
"What do you think Chris, is it practical?" I asked expectantly.
"Certainly" she smiled, "anything's possible, you of all people should know
that" she took another sip of her drink,
"Even with anaesthetic its likely to be extremely painful though, probably for a
week or two at least"
I nodded; Id expected that, though I felt a twinge of pity for Debbie, if Chris
said it was going to be painful, she meant it.
"Have you bought the tool?" she inquired, a glint in her eye and a half smile on
her face,
Again I nodded. "Well, what are we waiting for ?"
she asked abruptly, finishing her vodka and grimacing at the bitter taste
before making swiftly for the exit door. I hurriedly bolted my own drink and
caught up with her.
Half an hour later, we were back at my house, Chris carrying a handbag filled
with the equipment she required.
She stopped me just at the top of the stairs to the cellar
"Are you sure you want me to do this?" she asked, "Its permanent you know, once
its done you can't undo it"
"I know" I replied, eager to get the operation under way.
I led the way down the stairs and turned at the bottom in time to see Chris's
face light up at the sight of Debbie hanging exactly as I had left her, looking
only marginally recovered from the ordeal she had undergone three hours ago.
Despite the continuing pain in her buttocks, I saw Debbie writhe in
embarrassment momentarily under our gaze, before remembering her position and
standing stock still in order that my guest might continue her examination
Her red eyes opened wider however, as Chris pulled on a pair of surgical gloves
and knelt down to closer examine her shaven, exposed sex.
Delicately pulling back the folds of tender pink flesh she quickly exposed the
clitoris beneath, grasping it with her forefinger and thumb and tugging
experimentally.
Debbie gasped at the sharp, warning pain this sent surging through her pelvis.
"Should be straight forward", commented Chris airily
"the clitoris is quite well pronounce anyway so I've got reasonable target to
go at. We'll start with the slightly easier nipples though, have you got the
tool?"
Out off my jacket I pulled the device she had asked for, causing Debbie to begin
breathing heavily, unsure as to its use, but worried all the same.
I had been to my local hardware shop that morning and bought a leather punch.
Designed for putting steel eyelets in leather, it was pre-loaded with a
stainless steel eye, and the material placed between its jaws, before squeezing
the handles firmly together.
A small sharp cutter punctured the hide and pushed a steel sleeve through the
resulting hole. It was met on the other side by its mate and the whole thing was
squeezed tightly together, leaving a reinforced metal lined opening of about an
eighth of an inch.
Designed for creating lace holes in shoes, it was perfect for my plan.
I could see that Debbie wasn't as appreciative of the mechanics of my machine as
I demonstrated it to Chris on one of the fronds of a leather thonged whip
The relation between it and her clitoris and nipples started to become
terrifyingly apparent.
Her mind desperately searched for a way to prevent the inevitable pain and
damage we were about to inflict upon her, knowing that if she protested she was
likely not only to have the operation done anyway but also be whipped soundly
for her reluctance to submit herself for the piercing. Tears began to appear in
her eyes for the umpteenth time that day and she began to try to mentally
prepare herself for whatever torment might be coming.
Noticing Debbie's involuntary movements, Chris's face took on a worried
expression.
"That could be a problem" she commented, pushing her ginger fringe away from her
face,
"I need her pelvis absolutely fixed in order to site this ring properly,
Its not as important for her to be still when I pierce her nipples, but one
slip either way down there", she motioned towards Debbie's smooth mound with her
head, "could ruin the whole thing. Her natural instinct is going to be to pull
away"
I thought quickly. What could I use to hold her pelvis motionless?
Suddenly, I remembered something I'd seen in the back garden. It was a
basketball practice net, a long smooth solid steel pole, about an inch and a
half in diameter, mounted in a large flat base plate. It would need modifying,
but it was exactly what we needed.
I quickly found my tape measure, hacksaw and file in my toolbox and after
measuring the distance between the base of Debbie's stomach to the concrete
floor we headed out to the yard.
I quickly marked the pole and began to saw through at the appropriate height. It
took around five minutes to saw through the tough metal, and as I finished I
used the file to take off the sharp edges my saw had left, rounding off the
sides to create a slightly domed top.
After detaching the pole from its heavy base we both set about carrying the two
halves downstairs, panting with the exertion and making frequent stops to catch
our breath. Finally we had the device reassembled and placed about a foot in
front of my shackled slaves pelvis.
Ignoring her frightened whimpers, after lightly greasing the pole with Vaseline,
Chris and I took a leg each and lifted her bodily in the air, pulling her pelvis
forward, arching her back and slowly began to lower her on to the pole. At the
first sensation of the cold steel touching her, Debbie began to wriggle, the
only effect of this being to assist its insistent path deeper into her
protesting body.
We stood back to admire our handiwork, me viewing the device critically, Chris
giggling uncontrollably at the sight of the young girl impaled upon the metal
spike She was completely immobilised by it and the positioning of it in relation
to the ring that secured her hand-cuffs meant her hips and pubis were thrust
unnaturally towards us. Her toes scrabbled desperately at the concrete floor,
trying and failing to gain enough purchase to push herself up and off the
unwelcome, bulky, cold intrusion
Her pelvis remained as motionless as the pole that held it however and Chris
replaced her surgical gloves and began her exercise once more.
First, she stooped to wipe Debbie's clitoris with antiseptic and a mild
anaesthetic, carefully working the fluid into the folds of skin around her pink
nub, before repeating the process on each nipple, Debbie's face a picture of
embarrassment as the fluid was massaged into the most private areas of her body.
Finally satisfied that the areas were sterile, she wiped down the leather punch,
paying special attention to the sharp round blade between its jaws.
"Ok," she informed, " we're ready"
On her instruction I pinched a piece of skin both at the top and bottom of the
flesh just behind her left nipple and pulled them apart stretching the skin taut
and bloodless.
I looked up as Chris positioned the punch, keen to see my slave's reaction to
the pain.
Her eyes were already screwed up, and her teeth clamped tightly together,
determined not to give us the satisfaction of screaming, but as I heard the
sickening pop of the jaws as they cleanly sliced a circle in her soft flesh and
forced the eyelet through the resulting hole into its backing, her expression
changed dramatically
Debbie could contain herself no longer and screamed, the high-pitched noise
causing me to wince, and cause Chris to begin giggling again.
The shiny round eyelet was positioned exactly, not through her actual nipple,
but directly behind it in the flesh of her areola.
The skin surrounding the metal had begun to swell swiftly around its
circumference, but such was the speed and efficiency of the tool that not a
trace of blood could be seen on either her nipple or the punch.
Viewing her breast from the side, it was possible to look right through, the
operation having created a perfect steel lined perforation.
Transfixed, I reached in my pocket and producing one of the padlocks I had
bought, I passed the hasp of it right through, clicking it shut with a definite
click.
Ignoring her pleas for mercy, Chris was preparing to repeat the operation on the
other side, impatiently prompting me to hold the flesh taut as she gleefully
clamped the handles together once more.
As perfectly situated as the last one, I passed through another padlock, tapping
it with my finger and smiling as I watched it swing.
Finally we both stooped to complete the final piercing.
Handing me a pair of small tweezers, and spreading the flesh of her subject's
labia in order that I might gain easier access, she described how she would like
me to get a firm grip on the tip of Debbie's clitoris with and pull out as hard
as I was able.
She had loaded the punch with its steel eyelet and stood by in readiness,
poised to puncture the skin as soon as she felt the position was right.
I did as I was asked, listening with some concern to the rasping short breaths
coming from above me.
Debbie had ceased to struggle now, the agony created by grinding herself onto
the wide steel pole being almost as bad as the pulsing waves of dull pain coming
from her violated nipples.
Acting as a team, at the instant I pulled violently on the tweezers, Chris moved
in with her device, squeezing the handles together with both hands, relishing in
the tearing sound and the resulting scream from above.
Again I passed small padlock through the hole and clicking it shut, allowed the
labia to fall back and stood back to admire our work.
It was almost comical.
The two padlocks behind her nipples swung in tandem as her body writhed in the
torment her damaged clitoris was producing.
The third hole was sited in a way which meant the padlock that passed through it
pulled the pink nub unnaturally away from her body, preventing the protective
hood from retracting back over it, and leaving it on permanent display, sore and
swollen.
Collecting some thin, but strong chain from my accessories across the room, I
unlocked her third padlock and passed it through the last link of the chain
before snapping it shut.
I now effectively had her on a lead, free to lead her wherever I wished, the
slightest tug on the chain causing immense pain in her lower abdomen.
Satisfied with the results of our mornings work, We lifted her off the
restrictive pole with an audible sucking noise and un-cuffing her, I half
carried her weeping, limp form back to her cell, each step binging fresh moans
of pain from her tortured body.
More out of principal than out of necessity, I locked the other end of the chain
to the bars at the far end of her cell and shut the door behind me, walking back
to join Chris, who was rummaging in her handbag.
"Make sure you apply this regularly every morning and at night ", she said,
producing a small tube of ointment,
"And get her to take one of these every four hours" she handed me a small bottle
of pills.
I looked at her enquiringly
"They're antibiotics," she explained, "They should help to prevent any serious
infection" I placed the medicine in my pocket
"And remember, don't pull on them until the swelling goes down or her body may
decide to reject the metal."
She turned to go "See you then"
"Thanks Chris " I said following her up the stairs
"NO, thank you" she said with sincerity as she stepped out in to the sunlight
"Its been, a thoroughly entertaining morning. You must keep me up to date with
her progress"
I waved as she walked off, and turned to go back in doors.
I walked slowly down to the cellar, feeling almost sorry for the huddled figure
in the corner of her cell, shaking like a frightened animal.
"How do they feel?" I asked, gently
"They h- hurt so much" she stammered, between sobs,
"They'll be there for ever, won't they" she asked, obvious distress in her
voice.
"Yes," I informed truthfully " Even if you managed to get the eyelets out, the
holes would remain, they're two wide to heal.
She began sobbing in earnest, the permanence of the violation we had imposed
upon her beginning to sink in
" But as well as giving me a completely secure method of shackling you, it also
provides a constant reminder of you slavery" I said, watching her as she gently
stroked the swollen, angry flesh around one of her nipples
"Every tiny move you make will cause a pull on your clitoris, reminding you of
your Master and the ownership I have over your body," I said
"Can I trust you not to try and pull the eyes out?" I asked,
"You wouldn't succeed, they're too tight, but you might create an infection by
trying"
"I...I...cant touch them, " she sobbed, trying and wincing instantly at the
resulting pain.
"I will be watching anyway,"
I informed her, pointing at the small camera mounted on the opposite wall. Her
head dropped and her shoulders slumped yet further. It seemed that she had no
choice but to accept this intrusive, unwelcome addition to her body,
With this I left her chained to the cell door, sat on the cold concrete with her
legs splayed so as not to disturb the padlock between her thighs, the short
chain creating a graceful arc between her sex and the bars of her prison.
And that was that.
Her first lesson was over. She had learnt the penalty for disobedience first
hand, and seemed only too willing to strive to please in future.
We began to establish a routine. I would lead her up stairs by her chain every
morning and allow her to use the bathroom. While using the toilet she was
allowed to close the door, but not lock it. Not that I allowed her this
privilege for her benefit, its just that I don't find anything attractive about
that sort of thing.
Initially I would then take her back to the cellar, and after locking her in her
cell, turn the power hose upon her, paying special attention to her pierced
areas, watching her breasts flatten under the stream of water, pushing her back
against the bars at the back of her prison. I would then leave her, shivering
with cold, her hair hanging in damp tresses over her face, dripping onto her
breasts and running into the pools that turned the cold concrete black.
Occasionally I would watch her on my surveillance equipment, where I would see
her curled up by the door to her cell, patiently awaiting my return.
During the evening I would usually take down the remnants of my dinner, a few
gravy soaked chicken bones, the virtually empty silver foil trays of a takeaway,
or a few mouthfuls of apple pie.
I would scoop all these things into a bowl, regardless of the combination, and
tip them onto the floor of her cell. She would eat with enthusiasm, leaving the
concrete bare and clean the following morning.
Occasionally I would give her 'maintenance' whippings. Although I never had
cause to beat as severely or as copiously as I had the first few times, I would
give her half a dozen vicious lashes with the deadly switch in rapid succession
to serve as a short, if intensely painful reminder of her inferiority.
She would walk to the rings unaided for these, raising her hands above her head
willingly for me to secure, and although she would still emit piercing screams
as her body was racked with the now familiar agonising pain, she would remember
to thank me at the end of each punishment, before stumbling sobbing back to her
cell.
She had dropped the petulant display of false modesty she had insisted on for
the first few days, and as one week turned into two, she would get to her feet
the moment she heard my feet on the stairs, making no attempt to hide her body
from my eyes.
At least every other day I would demand she stood with her legs apart and her
hands on her head while I inspected her piercings. She would make no attempt to
pull away as she had previously and stood stock-still and unashamed as I parted
her labia with my fingers to evaluate her clitoris and its eyelet.
The swelling had now disappeared completely from her breasts and the two rings
were only just visible, only the presence of the padlock and the puckered skin
behind her nipple belied the fact that anything was embedded there. Occasionally
they would catch in the dim light hanging overhead, twinkling like diamonds in
the gloom of the cellar.
The ring in her clit had taken considerably longer to heal, although she
assiduously applied cream to it every day. I enjoyed watching these sessions and
I would watch with interest as she sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, her
back against the stones of the wall, gently massaging her sex, enjoying the
sensations and then reddening with shame under my gaze.
Despite her tribulations, she still had a shred of her former dignity, which I
allowed her to keep, as I found it quite amusing.
Slowly she would work her fingers into the flesh, curiously feeling the alien,
cold, steel object that now resided there, enjoying the unaccustomed pleasure as
her finger traced a circular motion around its circumference.
After a few moments I would see her hips begin to tremble and her stomach
muscles begin to tense and I would command her to stop, depriving her of the
orgasm she had almost achieved. After three or four frustrated attempts to
climax under my supervision, I discovered her on camera attempting to finish the
job after I had left her and gone back upstairs.
Needless to say, I immediately dragged her from her cell and shackled her to the
now familiar ring, its shiny surface dulled and scored from the scraping motion
of her handcuffs during her struggles.
She received twelve of the hardest strokes I could muster for that offence,
although I reminded her as she swung before me, both her behind and her sex
burning for different reasons, that had she managed to finish the job, her fate
would have been much worse.
To be on the safe side, after returning her to her cell. I cuffed her wrists
together, and looped the hasps of her nipple padlocks through the short
adjoining chain.
For the week she spent chained like this, her wrists held against her chest, it
completely prevented her from touching herself, and also required her to eat her
evening scraps from the floor like an overgrown squirrel. This I found to be
hilarious viewing and recorded lengthy amounts of this behaviour on the video
upstairs
Every other day I would require her to satisfy me orally, and she would do this
with a new found enthusiasm, eager to oblige, plunging my length as far back
into her throat as was possible, cradling my balls with her free hand, fervently
sucking each drop from its end as I came, running her pinched forefinger and
thumb along its length so as to extricate ever last drop of warm, salty semen.
After eagerly swallowing the warm, gluey mess, a look of intense satisfaction
upon her face, she would feather the head with delicate laps of her tongue,
ensuring that every last drop of my seed had been licked from its length before
replacing it gently back within the confines of my trousers, carefully zipping
them up and lowering her eyes back to the floor, surreptitiously licking the
last drops from her chin and lips with sly darts of her tongue and awaiting
further instruction.
By now I had begun to allow her to shower upstairs occasionally, for although
the hose had been fun to use, its cold stream did not remove as much grime as
the hot stream of water in the shower did, and her hair had begun to suffer. It
also gave her an opportunity to thoroughly shave herself, an important task, as
an unsightly fuzz of hair had begun to grow back on her pubic mound.
I would watch her as she soaped herself from head to foot in my bathroom,
covering every inch of her body in a thick lather of soap before allowing the
powerful hot jet to rinse the foaming suds from her body. She would step out
when instructed and stand dripping and steaming before me, her skin shining with
wetness, the perfect smooth contours of her lithe body shimmering under the
light.
It was at moments like this that I truly appreciated my position.
In spite of the time and hard work I had invested in her, like an art dealer
stood before his greatest and most expensive purchase, or a stamp collector
gazing at his penny black, I would survey my property with pride, appreciating
her fine lines and delightful subservient expression.
I began to explore her practical use around the house, and during the day, I
would chain her in a different room, supply her with the necessary utensils and
leave her to complete given tasks.
Some days I would loop the chain around the toilet bowl, and leave her to clean
and polish the bathroom until it sparkled as if new.
On other occasions I would leave her chained in her cold cell, and leave her
with the removable racks and hob from the cooker, whereupon she would spend the
day ardently scrubbing with a piece of wire wool.
Bringing them back to a pristine shine. If I were able to detect the slightest
piece of dirt at the end of the day, she would receive the inevitable switch.
Before long my house was literally shining from top to bottom, something the
greatest cleaner in the world could not have achieved, and as a small reward I
would allow her to sit on the floor by my feet during the evening while I
relaxed in front of the television. She would place her head lovingly on my lap
and I would stroke her hair, much in the same way someone would caress a pet.
Apart from the orgasm she had achieved the first night of her captivity, I was
sure she had not managed to repeat the experience, and by now nearly two months
had passed.
The tension had begun to show, and as I delivered her 'maintenance' whippings, a
thin trickle fluid would often be seen at the top of her thighs, the burning of
the switch only magnifying the flaming need that had taken up residence between
her thighs.
I would watch her fingers linger around her sex as she soaped herself in the
shower, before using every ounce of her will power to prevent herself from
violently rubbing at the sensitive flesh and releasing her body from its state
of enforced stress.
It was her testament to her obedience that she never again tried to satiate this
desire however, but I had no plans to allow her the privilege.
I intended to carry on the forced deprivation, eager to see its outcome
In the meantime, I felt that the time had come to further test the level of her
obedience and had several ideas, which I was keen to try out.
