DISCLAIMER: The following text contains sexually explicit material dealing with practices (sadomasochism, bestiality, enslavement, scatophily, etc.) that might be considered illegal in your country. If this is the case or you are a minor or you feel that these themes might disturb you, please close and destroy this file immediately. By continuing to read you implicitly relieve the author for any responsibility for the contents, legal or otherwise. CONTACT: The author is very interested in receiving comments from any woman who finds the contents of her interests. To contact him, please send a private email to italiansadist@hotmail.com A UNIQUE OPPORTUNITY: Italian Master is currently accepting supplications worldwide from females seriously willing to turn their fantasies of masochism and total submission into reality. I am 29, perfectly healthy, good looking and experienced even from the slave's standpoint. I have a medical and psychology background to ensure your safety, yet I am also very sadistic and extremely demanding. I can speak English, Italian and some French and German. I have a vast knowledge of everything S/M and enjoy most of its aspects in a well equipped setting. What I am looking for is a person willing to be trained into perfect submission as a full time, permanent slavegirl. Respect and care are assured, but the relationship will be centered on the Master/slavegirl aspect. You must be of legal age, healthy and genuinely masochistic and submissive, with a liking for pain, humiliation, servitude and sexual service.You don't necessarily have to be particularly experienced or exceptional looking, but you must understand that after your training I will not tolerate the knowledge of another slavegirl doing or accepting things that you don't and, most of all, that this is a serious permanent position, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Answer with your physical and psychological description, listing any previous experience, specific fantasies, current limits and especially your motivations. A photo would be appreciated. All the answers will be discreetly replied to, and should you interest me I'll arrange for an all-expensed paid trip here for an adequately long tryout to assess our mutual interest. If we'll find a compatibility, you will be required to relocate to permanently serve me. An emergency fund will be set up in order to allow you to get back to your former life should any problem arise, and in no case you will be dumped and left on your own. Do not answer to the newsgroup, but email me directly at italiansadist@hotmail.com This is a once in a lifetime chance. Try not to waste it.
MIGHT BE YOU Cold. So Italy was cold during that time of the year - the sky outside the arrival lounge of the airport was dark grey, and she felt it was somehow wrong. Wasn't it supposed to be "welcome to sunny Italy"? She was letting the long metal treadmill move her slowly toward customs and passport control, and staring out of the glass wall she suddenly noticed her own reflection, still as a statue on the busy background of hangars and planes. It was apparent that she was extremely tense, and not only for the lack of sleep during the long flight. "Face it," she thought, "you don't really give a damn about the weather. You're scared shitless, little girl, and there's no way to back out now". A woman in uniform at the end of the passport-checking queue asked her to follow her into a booth just on the other side of the gate. "What's wrong? What's wrong?" she screamed in her mind, while trying to look nonchalant. The security guard motioned for her to hand over the single bag she was carrying, and while browsing through its mundane contents asked her a few routine questions. "Business or tourist?" "Tourist". "How long are you staying?" "A month". "Have you got any other luggage?" "Nope". After a short pause, the bag was zipped closed again and given back: "Are you O.K., miss?" "What?" "Do you feel well? You look shaken". "Oh. Didn't sleep... Afraid of planes, you see". The guard smiled, and waived her through to the main lounge. For the hundredth time, the same thoughts ran through her mind. "Afraid of planes, sure. You're stupid, little girl. You don't even know what he looks like...even more, you don't even know if he exists. Nah. He does. He payed for my ticket, didn't he? Yeah, and I flew over. I'm stupid, all right. If I'm lucky he won't show up and I'll get back home immediately, first plane out. If I'm lucky maybe I won't end up as a Jane Doe in some fucking Italian morg--" "You". The deep male voice startled her, and she turned round to see who had called her. No, not called, she thought. Stated. He was different than she expected: more attractive than her worst visions of fat, baldish, dirty old men, yet also far more "normal" than some of the dream-hunks she'd imagined during the last two months. The man was 29, athletic-looking but evidently not a gym victim, about 1.75 tall and very Italian. Long black hair in a ponytail, deep brown eyes, definitely European features, casual but elegant attire. And he was looking right into her eyes, with a very stern expression. She quickly avoided his stare and tried to say something, but he had already started to speak again. "Care for some breakfast?" his pronunciation was far better than many Italians she had heard or met in college, yet somewhat strange - a mixture of British English, American English and something else again. "Y... Yes, please". She followed him into a small bar, where he bought pineapple juice and croissants for two, and when they sat down he finally broke an increasingly-embarassing silence. "So. You look acceptable: your description was correct and the medical tests you faxed me say you're clean. When I'm through with my breakfast I'm going to get my car and go home. This is your last chance to get back: you can have your return ticket changed to an earlier date right here in the airport and leave by this afternoon". "Yesyesyes" she thought, so scared she was unable to eat a thing. "Or--" he paused to drink some juice "--you can follow me to my home, and make your lifelong dream and need a reality. You will be trained, used and abused at my wish. You'll be spared no pain nor humiliation, and I guarantee you that after this month of mutual trial, should we both decide to go on, you'll eventually become the best slavegirl on Earth." He spoke clearly, with no embarassment even though it was apparent that a few people around them did hear and understand everything. "We both know that this is what you've been looking for since your childhood, and that you'll never get another chance like this. I suggest you not throw it away". He calmly got back to his croissant, while the girl felt an icy grip seize her stomach. "Shit, this is for real," she mumbled to herself, "What am I doing here? Yet... a real sadistic master... No, wait! He could be a killer, a criminal... It's gonna hurt... No escape... Shit, he's almost finished..." "If you can't use your brain," he remarked looking her right in the eye, "you might want to trust your cunt". "Wha..." she was about to yell something at him when she noticed that yes, she was aroused. Very aroused, actually. "He saw right through me," she thought, "He knows what I feel... and need... but..." The man cleaned his lips with a paper towel, got up and, without even acknowledging her presence, walked toward the exit. She jumped up, almost running after him, dragging her bag along. "It's only a month," she said to herself, "it can't be too bad". His car was, of course, an European one. Small, much smaller than the ones she was used to, yet just right for the crowded and narrow streets of the town. The sights were terribly interesting, yet she had something else to think about. As soon as they entered the car he had her remove her coat, handcuffed her hands behind her back and then put the coat back on, open but so that she would have looked perfectly normal to any person looking into the car. He fastened her safety belt and drove on, giving her his "welcome speech". "Now you're my slave. Remember it. You are to do whatever I say without questioning, and you won't do anything else. Every initiative will be punished, but it will be easy for you not to make mistakes. Remember that there are only two things you are allowed to do. First, you can ask me for permission to go to the toilet; secondly, you can and must inform me if any punishment or torture isn't giving you enough pain. Be warned, I will test you on this and I won't tolerate any cheating. This is all." She was incredibly excited: she had let herself "fall into role", and she finally was at peace with the world. Yes, she was a slave, as she had always dreamed. A slave. He won't have any mercy. A slave. She would be tortured. A slave. She was in a foreign land, unable to speak a word of the local language, totally helpless. A slave. A slave a slave a slave. She was almost close to orgasm. "About your days with me." Her master (master? Yes, he was her master! Oh, joy!) went on, as always not accepting any discussion, "I won't do anything really dangerous for your health, nor I will trespass the limits you described in your emails, but you won't be spared anything else. Remember, this is not a game of make-believe like those you were used to: from now on you are not a person anymore, but an item, an asset for my pleasure. There are not going to be any pauses, safewords or truces. I expect to be obeyed, and if you won't I will do whatever is needed to make you beg to obey that order. Is that clear?". "Yes, Master". God, that was exactly what she had always desired! "You will sleep, you will eat and you will drink. That's it. You're not here for your pleasure, but for mine only - if you're half the masochist slut you said in your messages you're probably going to enjoy your stay, but that's none of my business. You will usually be given half an hour a day to groom yourself, but then it's your responsability to be always clean and attractive for my enjoyment. You'll have to find the time for that during your duties - and I won't tolerate seeing my slave not groomed, nor any task unproperly done". The smell of her dripping sex was embarassingly evident in the car. "There is another thing you'll have to find the time for. I want you to keep a diary of your training, which I suggest you compile at night, just before going to sleep. You will record everything exactly, especially your feelings. Maybe I'll read it, maybe I won't, but I want you to record what hurt you more, what gave you more pleasure, what you felt from every single thing. Is it clear?". "Yes." He grinned. "You'll be punished for that. You know you must address me as "master"". "Yes, Master". Oops. She did it. It was bound to happen, yet in that very moment she realized that her dreams of punishments and tortures were going to become as real as the handcuffs holding her wrists together. The car stopped and turned at an electronically-opened gate, entering a small underground parking garage under a large house that looked ancient, although she could not estimate how old it might be. The man parked in a reserved zone and got out, going over to her door to let her out. He took her bag and walked briskly to an elevator, paying no atention to his slave as always. She quietly followed him and entered the elevator, where the silence got to her stomach again. It was unnerving: this man's fierce gaze looked at her as if she were an animal, and she did not know what to do, say, or think. When they finally reached the uppermost story, she was quickly shown in. "Kneel here," he said, and she immediately obliged while he went about his business, listening to uncomprehensible messages on the answering machine and changing clothes. The house was warm and dark, apparently the home of a quite rich and busy man - there were nice furnishings around, lots of books and magazines and at the least a couple of computers. She knew he was a freelance journalist working mostly from home, so this was his office as well. "Get up," he barked, coming up from nowhere behind her and startling her. She did, and he removed the handcuffs. "Undress". "This is easy," she thought with a bit of exhibitionism. She loved to expose herself, and she removed her clothes quite quickly - then her watch, ring and necklace, until she was perfectly naked, down to the completely shaved body. The man didn't look impressed, though. "Come kneel here in front of me, hands behind your head," he simply ordered, and his nonchalance excited her even more. That was a man used to having nude women at his feet. "Every household item has different parts," the master addressed her, "and each part has a function. Now we'll quickly go through your parts so that it will be clear to you what their functions are". His eyes were piercing her very soul. Her heart was racing like hell, yet all she could think of was his calm. She had already been in similar situations during her former experiences in her country, but all those men had been different from him. By the time she was naked in front of them they were drooling, flushed, only looking for a slightly weird way of fucking her - her new master was totally blase instead: he really was looking at her as if all she was a coffee table or a rug. She couldn't even tell if he was pleased with her. "Starting from the top," he continued, patting her head as one does with a dog, "we have your head. Contrary to what you might know, this is not used to think. Its sole function is to hear my orders and make the rest of the body obey. Trust me: I will break your will anyway, so it is far better if you switch that useless brain off as soon as possible. Your existance will be much more pleasant that way". His words were terrible, yet inside her she felt that this was exactly what she had been looking for all the time. No problems, decisions to make or roles to fit: she knew well how happy she was when she let herself go and let somebody else take control of her life, and that was exactly what her master wanted. "In the head there are also your eyes and mouth. Since you are not a person but a slave, from now on you will never raise your eyes unless ordered, or unless it is required by your duties". The girl immediately looked down, somehow happy not to have to stand her master's stare anymore. "When somebody talks to you, be it me or anybody else, you will look at his sex, even if it is covered, for that is what you are serving. Remember, you are not serving me: there are skilled and respectable professionals for that. You are serving my sex, and those of the people I will choose to share you with". She shuddered, scared and excited at the same time. In her sluttiest fantasies she had often dreamed of being dominated and fucked by many people at once, and in his email messages her master had specifically stated that in the advanced phases of her training she would. "Your mouth is quite a different story altogether. First of all, immediately part your lips and let the jaw drop slightly open. Slightly, I said". She obeyed, feeling a little foolish-looking. "This is because your mouth, just like any other hole of yours, must always be accessible. 'Always' means during your duties, while you're being punished or tortured, while you're being fucked and so on. If I catch you with your mouth shut the punishment will be as hard as any." She gulped: she knew that forming this habit would be difficult. "Oh, of course you won't use it to speak except in the cases I mentioned before. You can use it to scream when you're in pain, since I enjoy that, unless I order you not to. Begging is, of course, useless and will be punished. The mouth is also your primary sex tool, because women make love with their bodies, but slaves simply service their masters in this humblest, and more enjoyable, way. I hope you're good at that, because you're going to give a lot of head, and you don't want to disappoint me". If she wasn't so terribly tense she'd have smiled - she loved the feeling of a hard cock between her lips, her tongue slowly making it grow larger and larger until... "By the way, you'll obviously swallow everything, then clean it all up with your tongue. Which brings us to another point. As you'll shortly see from my documents, I'm perfectly healthy - healthier than most, actually, since I don't drink, smoke or use any drug. All of my friends are, too, so you don't have to fear a thing. I don't have any use for a nonfunctional slave, so I'll protect you from diseases and harm, but you will be ordered to swallow more... unpleasant stuff. This is because I enjoy that, and because toilet training is the ultimate form of humiliation, and I want you to be good at that - even begging for it". She was scared. Recently a guy pissed on her and she enjoyed the feeling and the humiliation, but 'toilet training'... Another slavegirl, befriended at a party, once described how she loved to drink her master's piss and sometime to eat some of his shit: it only takes practice, she said, but then you really feel like the slave you are. "Then we have your tits. Their function is simply to offer a large sensitive area to be punished. It's as simple as that. If we decide to go on with your training after this month I will take the necessary steps to enlarge your uselessly small tits." Just what she had always thought, actually. "Your hands". The master went on with the tone of somebody explaining very obvious things to a retarded child. "They are not, I repeat, not, to cover yourself, to resist your master, or to eat - at least generally speaking. In fact, you'll eat like the bitch you are, with your mouth directly in your bowl. Of course you're forbidden to touch yourself unless ordered to. You will use your hands to execute the tasks given, then you'll cross your arms behind your back - that is their normal position, giving me full access to your body. No," he stopped her, "right now you are to continue keeping them behind your head". That was slowly becoming painful. How long would the lesson last? "Your bottom is similar to your tits, as it is used only to give you pain. I will make sure it is always bright red or otherwise marked, to remind you of what you are and to show people your role". The girl loved the burning feel of a good spanking or whipping - she had even gotten an orgasm under the paddle a couple of times - yet she asked herself if she would be able to stand a whole month of beatings. "About your asshole. That is your second sexual organ, meaning that it will be fucked high and wide. I also enjoy using it as a source of pain - after all, the dilation needed to easily accept a cock or a hand must be achieved through a nice excruciating training. If you'll remain in my service I'll probably dilate it so much that you won't be able to keep it closed without wearing a butt plug: that should be rightly humiliating for you, and I'd be proud of owning the most opened up slavegirl in the world. Wouldn't you?" She was speechless, and it was good that it was only a rethorical question: of course she had been butt-fucked, but... 'opened up' like that... she'd become a sex freak! It was sick, yet a part of her relished the idea: "the largest asshole in the world"... "Same goes for your cunt. First of all, spread your legs a little. Yes, like that. From now on you are forbidden to cross your legs, and to close them. You must always hold them so that anybody interested could touch your cunt with ease, or look at it well". Oh, how she'd love that. She did go to a restaurant with a very short skirt and no panties once, and she was terribly turned on by the idea that anybody could have looked under her table to see her wet sex. "The cunt is, surprisingly enough, not a sex organ. That is true for women, but not for slaves. You'll continue taking your contrapcective pills anyway, but you'll learn that your cunt basically exists because it is extremely sensitive, and thus fun for me to punish. You'll be amazed at seeing how much abuse it can take without damage". The more he spoke, the more she felt he was the man she longed for all her life. The other 'masters' she met were always sort of afraid of her vagina, using it at most to fuck her hard. "The legs are used when something is too high to reach. That is it. As a slave you will always be kneeling and you'll move around on all fours. To help you in this, I have a little present for you. What's your shoe size again?" She answered, and from a bag behind his chair, her master took out a couple of incredible stiletto shoes. They were black, extremely simple, but they had the tallest heel she'd ever seen. She was ordered to put them on, and she immediately found that to walk with those shoes she literally had to tiptoe, her foot lined up with her lower leg. A small leather strap went around her ankle and was locked up with a tiny lock, so that she was unable to take them off. "Later I'll show you where this key is kept. You'll be allowed to remove them when you take your shower and during the night, but otherwise you'll keep them on. They give your legs a nice shape when you stand, but most of all you'll soon discover that in order not to destroy your feet you'll want to crawl on all fours as much as possible. Which is, after all, what I want". "Here's the rest of your gear," he said, taking out of the bag a few black leather items. "These are your wrist and ankle straps, which you'll keep on all the time except when you're washing yourself. They must be tight enough... like this... but not too tight". His hands were quickly fitting the straps around her arms, making her feel a little strange. "Their metal rings are used to attach you where I want you to stay. You'll find I don't use rope too much, and these are so much quicker and more comfortable... for me, of course. And this is your collar." She felt slightly choked by the leather band, but the sensation of wearing it was incredibly exciting. "Now that you are ready, let's go and see your new home". The master took hold of the leash attached to the collar, and paying no attention to his slave moved toward the first room, forcing her to scramble after him. They went through a few rooms, often stopping as he remarked on where essential items were kept. The girl was afraid she wouldn't be able to remember the exact locations of every single one of them, and her mind was distracted by something else. Crawling through the house she had seen antique toys, a piano, even a billiard table, yet none of what she expected. She was actually getting angry: "where is it?" she thought, "this is the last room: could he have lied to me in his messages?". She was about to try and stand up, remove her leash and yell her disappointment to him, when the man casually pointed to a bookcase, elegant and useful, just like the others in the room. "But you'll spend most of your time here," he said with a slightly evil grin, scaring her. Grabbing one side of the furniture, he effortlessly moved it just like a door - it was hinged, moving on hidden wheels. "It is a tad dramatic, yet incredibly useful when I don't want people getting in... or out," he remarked in a self-ironic way. Behind the library there was a second, regular door which he opened onto a pitch black room. He strode in, pulling the surprised girl behind him on a floor tiled with black smooth rubber tiles. "Welcome to your home, darling," he greeted her as he switched on the light. The girl gulped and shuddered. It was Disneyland for perverts. The warm room was large, yet filled with menacing and exciting-looking implements: racks, crosses, a pole, shelves full of ominous leather, rubber and metal things, a few chains, even a full-size cage. Shiny metal rings were attached to the floor and the walls, and darting her eyes around the room she spotted a few instruments she was familiar with - a paddle, an old-fashioned enema bottle, a tall vase from which a number of canes and rods were protruding. The master timed his speech in order to keep her amazed and awed. "This room is totally soundproofed. Unfortunately the windows had to go, but you won't get bored, trust me. This bookcase," he said, tugging her toward it, "is full of S/M erotica from around the world. Novels, magazines, portfolios... from the soft to the extreme. That will be your sole entertainment - from it you will get inspiration and culture: you'll learn what I want you to do and what your future will be. You can experience the treatments in there sooner, as punishments, or later, as part of your training, but I won't tolerate the knowledge of another slavegirl doing anything you don't". She was still trying to make out a title when the leash pulled her somewhere else. "This is, of course, your bathroom," said the man, showing her a very small room with a mirror, an empty shelf, a glass shower, a squatting toilet, a bidet and a basin. "The sliding door is there for the guests only, because you are not allowed any privacy. You are also forbidden to use the basin, as I want you to wash and drink in the bidet, like the bitch you are". His cruel attentions for the details was making her wet again. "And you're lucky," he added, "that an American-style toilet, the type always full of water, wasn't available, or I would have you use that for drinking and washing". He pulled her suddenly toward a table in the main room: "and now let's get down to business". The girl was ordered to sit on the edge of the table, spreading her legs in order to expose her sex. The master took a strange instrument from a shelf and, after making her hold her hands behind her head, began to fix it on her chest using thight leather straps. "I need to know your resistance in order to use you in the right way," he explained, roughly pulling her tits on top of a little wood support, "so now we'll test your pain threshold". She was scared: she loved being treated like that, but the fear hit her implacably. "I also want to check your real submission," continued the man pulling a second wood board over her tits, and joining the two with two long metal screws, "You seem docile, and it will be fun. Do you know this instrument?" The girl was shaking: "N... no, Master". "Very simple," he smiled pulling a chair from the wall and sitting right in front of his slave, "You turn the screws, the tits get crushed". Now she was sure he was enjoying himself. "I want you to squeeze your useless tits as much as you can". She looked at him with a stupid, taken aback expression, and met his ice-cold eyes. "Now". The girl took a deep breath, and put her fingers on the metal wings on top of the screws. The first few turns weren't anything special, until her flesh began to get compressed. In a few more turns the pain grew from light to severe, seemingly transforming her whole chest in a pulsating mass of torment, hurting her more at each breath. Yet she was determined to please her master - wasn't she the girl so proud that she'd never once disobeyed her former masters? She turned the screws more slowly now: the tips of her breasts, peeking from the front of the planks, were turning purple, and soon she was unable to hold back the tears nor the wailing scream. She only managed to give another quarter turn, then she slowly removed her hands from the screws, sobbing in pain, and crossed them behind her back. After a few moments she saw through her tear-filled eyes the man getting up close to her to touch her left breast. His very touch, albeit light, transmitted a piercing pain to the whole chest. He squeezed the planks together, making her jump and let go of a shriek: "You can give it another turn," he softly said, his deep voice calm as always, "do it now or I will give them two". The girl was shocked, but even through the pain she immediately knew that he wasn't joking. Moving as slowly as possible, trying to gain at least a few instants more to deal with the fire that she felt in her tits, she reached again for the screws, hands trembling. That final turn took her at least a couple of minutes, each second more and more painful. She now felt the grip of the torture instrument even on her shoulders and neck, as if it was ripping the skin from her body. "Is it painful?" her master asked her, serious as hell. "Oh, yes, yes, Master. It is," she sobbed, unable to control herself like a little child. "Very good. You see? Your limit was much more than you thought. Actually I think we could give it some more pressure, but for this time only I want to reward your submission: you have been good. Now remove that". She did it quickly, and the feeling of the blood freely flowing in her breasts again was, for the first few moments, even more terrible than the torture. She was happy with herself, though, and as soon as she relaxed a little she felt her excitement mount again, wetting her sex. After the breast squeezer the master put her through many other trials, all of them excruciatingly painful. She had to add weights to clamps attached to her inner and outer lips to stretch them, then to her nipples; an inflatable plug was shoved up her ass and she had to make it as large as possible; she had to compress her clitoris with a gauged metal clamp; she had to spread her sex with a large gynecologist's speculum, and finally she was made to ask as many hits as possible with a paddle applied to her ass, tits and sex. Every time she was taken very close to her resistance limit, and every time she found herself more and more turned on by all that pain, the humiliation of having to inflict pain on herself in front of her master, and his "professional" ways, like a medieval inquisitor or a latin american secret police torturer. When he finally ordered her to kneel in front of him and suck his cock, about three hours since she'd entered the torture room, she was hurting all over but incredibly grateful, determined to give the owner of her body and soul the best blowjob in his life.
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