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The Thorn and Thistle Chapter 1 I arrived home one gloomy Thursday night depressed over the extended Ohio winter and long overdue for a whipping. All I wanted was to open a bottle of wine and share a can of tuna with my cat. But my mailbox was full as usual with an assortment of junk mail, catalogs, and bills. I poured a glass of Chianti and sat at the kitchen table to begin separating them each into neat little piles when I came across a letter with no postmark. That made me take notice, then I detected a scent, I swear I did, the same feminine fragrance that I remembered from the Studio. I quickly slit the envelope open with an antique pearl handled knife and retrieved a hand written letter on the same exquisite linen stationary. The heading on top said, “Thorn and Thistle Society,” and contained a crest of intertwined thorny rose stems and nettled birch branches. Dear fancypants, it read, your name has been submitted to this society by Mistress Louise D. for remedial training and approved by this governing board. The fact that my name was in small case and Her’s capitalized told me that the writer had an intimate knowledge about my life and my relationship to Mistress Louise. After that followed an address, and a schedule ordering me to report on Saturday morning, with the warning that I would not be released until late Sunday afternoon, if at all! I had a fleeting knowledge of secret organizations; Skull and Bones, The Bilderberg Group, The Illuminati, and went to the computer to begin a search. Only one hit registered after using every search engine in my arsenal and it was vague and sketchy. The Thorn and Thistle Society it read, was founded by disciples of the Marquis DeSade in 1772 when he was imprisoned at the Fortress of Miolans. It was commissioned to care for the needs of the many submissives wandering the world without Master or Mistress and today is rumored to have over 1,500 facilities throughout the world. The existence of this society has never been validated and may in fact, not exist at all. I read and reread the few lines not at all aware that one hand had risen to my chest to twirl a nipple while the other had descended in the opposite direction. It was erotic and arousing to learn that my Mistress had rewarded me with this gift, this immeasurable gift! I remembered an email. She had expressed an understanding about my sissy loneliness, my need for discipline and direction, the void I must feel without the slap of a strap against my skin, and my passion for cock. I hungered to see Her at this moment, lick Her boots, or beg for the privilege. My mind raced with the possibilities. What would they do, who would they be, how many other bottoms might be attending I turned my back to the mirror and inspected the MLD ownership tattoo on my ass, remembering how proud I had been that day, the day I was transformed from submissive to slave. An artist had decorated my naked rump with Her mark while I bent over a huge pillow in the Detroit Avenue parlor. It wasn’t quite a formal collaring, but I understood fully, and She knew, the commitment I was making. From that moment I existed only for Her pleasure and well-being. By the time I returned to the Studio, She was already strutting around with a large phallus between Her legs. For some women it is an acquired taste, for Louise it was a natural power dynamic. I had never felt more vulnerable, physically of course, but mentally and emotionally too. I had never seen Her quite so aggressive and powerful. So horny! Louise bent me over the back of the couch and pulled my trousers down to my ankles. Perhaps you could call it my submission, my surrender. The fact is I couldn’t stop Her if I had wanted. I wondered if all slaves shared that emotion and had embraced the ritual as I had? And if I would recognize other Dominants marks, bar codes, and brands? How many naughty boys would be there, how many round little slave girls? So many thrilling questions existed that my sissy excitement grew, became unbearable. I skipped quickly to my bedroom and opened my dresser, I knew if I didn’t I would misbehave. I kept each side of the drawer separated from the other by a small wooden slat. On the right were my plugs and dildos, an assortment of lubes, and the remote control for my Intruder machine. On the left was a CB2000 chastity tube wrapped carefully in a pair of new Laperla panties. Both the panties and tube were hot pink and very sexy. I slipped into the cage delicately and enjoyed a strange feeling of submission and helplessness then snapped a small gold lock into place sealing my commitment. I quickly wrote a note of thanks to the society and folded the letter carefully with the key inside, then ran to my car. My drive to the Post Office was fast and furious and my drive home slow and thoughtful. At home I undressed and slipped naked between ivory satin sheets on my bed. I lay on my tummy with my hips arched dreaming of my Mistress and listening to a throaty Madonna singing from her Erotica album. “Let me put you in a trance,” She sang. “My name is Dita and I’ll be your Mistress tonight.” “If I take you from behind, push myself into your mind.” My hips moved in rhythm, and I dreamed of the horrors in store for me. Chapter 2 The house was beautiful, from another, era and sat strangely between two new gleaming skyscrapers fashioned from steel and glass. You didn’t have to be a genius to know that the owners of this Federalist style mansion had to be powerful and influential to have maintained hold on this valuable downtown property. The building was six stories high with a flat roof and a balustrade like many of those historic buildings a visitor might see in Boston or Washington, with windows arranged symmetrically around a center doorway. It had an important, graceful air about it with its curved lines and decorative flourishes. That Saturday morning, nervous and aroused, I had left home far too early and sat in my car for hours staring at the home and wondering what tortures hid behind its innocent façade. Heavy green drapes covered the Palladian windows and not a soul had entered or existed the building in two hours. Perhaps I was to be the only visitor? That thought provoked one more and I twisted in my seat looked right and left, then into the rearview mirror. A blonde woman in sun glasses sat behind the wheel of a Lexus, a young man slouched in a Mustang, another lady smoked nervously on the sidewalk. Could they all be slaves like me with an owner’s mark and a notarized title on file at the International Slave Registry in Berne, Switzerland? My automobile clock clicked from 10:59 TO 11:00 and I stepped out to the street again looking quickly from side to side. I must have made eye contact with a dozen others all with scared, hungry looks on their faces like deer frozen in a headlights glare. As I crossed the street I was aware of a number of them following into step behind me like animals to a slaughter. Before I could ring the doorbell it was opened by a uniformed butler in striped trousers and a black waistcoat. We huddled into a large portico while he handed us paper bags and like obedient lambs we began to remove our clothing without a word ever being spoken. Next to me was a red haired woman, fiftyish and very fit that resembled someone I had once loved. She winked at me flirtatiously, and removed her blouse exposing lovely small breasts and a flat tummy. A door opened and six trainers entered the hallway. The three men and three women were all dressed alike in knee high boots, tank shirts, and very snug leather shorts that clung to the outlines of their sex. Each carried a paddle or strap and walked with an air of authority. They circled the group of us while we huddled together like sheep in a storm, trembling and seeking strength in the warmth of each others skin. A young male trainer approached me and spun me around facing the wall while my ownership tattoo was inspected for authenticity, then moved to the red head and knelt between her thighs. She casually spread her legs open without embarrassment like someone who is accustomed to public display and humiliation. Her labia were pierced with a small gold ring and clipped to it was a dog tag of the same metal with registration numbers hammered into its surface by a skilled smith. The inspections continued down the line one by one and the tags of ownership were as varied as the assemblage of people. Names and numbers, tattoos and brands, one boy even had the registration numbers of a thoroughbred burned into the inside oh his lower lip. When the inspection was completed a female trainer approached me and pointed to the floor where I immediately assumed a submissive posture, head lowered and buttocks high. I felt her boot on my neck and the cool hard wood of a paddle. Then there was an explosion, then another, and my rump burned with a fire I had known for months. Next the red head assumed position and was coaxed closer and closer to me with the paddle so that her face nestled between the cheeks of my slave’s ass. She teased me with a flickering tongue that made me bolt forward and I received another two swats that made me yelp. I pushed back, grinding myself into her face till we were locked. Each slave in turn adopted the position with their faces intimately nestled between the cheeks of the previous slave. “Crawl,” someone commanded and we began inching down the hall like an erotic centipede. Every time the chain was broken, every time a bottom became unattached, a paddle or strap landed with a loud crack. How could a moment this disgraceful arouse me? We slowly moved down the hall and into a large room that resembled a medical amphitheater with huge overhead lights, gleaming stainless steel furniture, and an observation gallery. The room was warm and moist and absolutely spotless. I was ordered on to a table where three assistants began spraying me with warm water and scrubbing my body with soft bristled brushes. They turned me this way and that, spread my legs open, then my ass, till every inch was squeaky clean. I was lathered and shaved even though my body was already smooth. I looked to the side and saw an area where hirsute slaves were being shorn with electric clippers before scrubbing. Stirrups on the table were raised, my legs went up and over, I felt a latex finger and a cold gob of K-Y, then saw the bag wheeled over on an IV stand. I stared at an orange five quart bag that was hanging menacingly while an aide inserted an inflatable enema nozzle into my rectum and pumped it to two inches in diameter. The hose was connected and the warm sudsy water flowed into my rectum. I heard a moan and looked in the direction of a young Gothic looking girl who was almost finished with her ordeal. Her tummy was distended and there was a look of horror in her eyes. The trainers had formed a gauntlet leading to the bathroom and were waiting eagerly for the procession to begin armed with thick wooden paddles. Leaking and dribbling was always a worry and a serious offense. Keeping everything in place was going to be a challenge for even the most highly trained slaves. I closed my eyes to relax and concentrate on the journey ahead. Louise had provided me with a thorough education and I knew I could make Her proud. Full and miserable I began a very slow walk to the facilities. The red head was in front of me and I stayed far enough behind to allow the trainers room for good full swats as she passed and they didn’t disappoint me. Her freckled full rump bounced and reddened delightfully. I took nine swats, but didn’t leak an ounce and finally found myself in the bathroom. There were no walls , no stalls, no curtains. Slaves were seated from corner to corner performing the most personal acts of expulsion in full view of each other and the trainers. Privacy and choice were gone forever. I blushed with shame and wondered what could possibly be worse. Chapter 3 We all walked out of the bathroom with our heads hanging in shame and were herded in to a long narrow shower room. There were nozzles mounted into the roof and walls and robotic arms holding scrub brushes attached to the floors at odd angles. I felt a rush of steaming hot water, then a rough scrub between my legs and over my anus. It was another dehumanizing act. The water stopped after twenty feet and large vacuums began whisking away the moisture while overhead lamps heated and dried our skin. One by one we were met by instructors and fitted with two inch wide steel slave collars. They were quickly locked and we were pushed and prodded down yet another hallway to a doorway marked with the placard, Sir Jon Brightman, Director. Each slave lowered themselves to the floor in submission with arms extended and buttocks raised. There were already ten on the floor when I arrived and I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful their rumps were, spread open like precious valentines with their little anus jewels sparkling pink and purple. In a few moments we were all in accounted for and Sir Jon entered the room. He was a formidable looking man closer to sixty years than fifty but with a youthful countenance and a body rippling with strength. He sat at his desk and began to speak. “You may sit back,” he said and we all rolled back obediently on to our ankles. “We are an ancient and honorable organization,” he said in a precise and measured English. “We serve the needs of our membership and their chattel in an atmosphere of controlled behavior and strict discipline. Because of a variety of reasons your Masters and Mistresses have been unable to perform these functions and have asked us to intercede in their behalf. That means that you will obey any command here as you would obey it from your owner, promptly and with enthusiasm.” “You are sexual slaves,” he continued, “nothing more, nothing less. The fact that your owners may or may not have need for your sexual services is unimportant. At any time you may be sold to another that does. So here you will be violated. You will open your mouths, and spread your legs. And after you have been used, you will learn to beg for more.” Sir Jon walked from behind his desk and pointed at a young blond slave boy and motioned for him to come to front of the room. He was frail and feminine with small shoulders and a plump behind and knelt in front of Sir John fully expecting to be ordered to suck his cock. But a female instructor joined them, a shapely brunette in her late thirties. She wiggled out of her tight leather shorts and stood defiantly, sensual, and utterly feminine. “Eat me boy, she ordered, “lick me till I cum or I’ll fuck you with an electric prod.” He began cautiously then let his intensity grow as he found her little nub and sucked it as fervently as he would a Master’s cock. Soon her hips and buttocks were trembling beautifully. The slave boy was clearly gay and more comfortable satisfying a Master than a Mistress but had learned a basic tenant well, that when slaves are on their knees, they worship whatever is before them. In a short time her body was rocked with spasms and she clutched his blond hair with both hands till the waves had stopped. Sir Jon tousled his hair, “well done, good show,” he chimed, then turned to the rest of us and asked, “is there anything lovelier than pure obedience?” I think we all agreed it was a lesson well learned. The slaves were divided into groups of four each with an instructor. I was paired with the red head, I learned her name was Claire, and two slave boys, Victor and Carlo. Carlo was a dark skinned beauty, the kind of boy I’ve seen hustling European perverts on the beach at Ipanema. Victor was a sullen Russian, probably an aristocrat who had become addicted to the whip of his governess as a boy. Our Master was named Sir Paul. He attached leashes to the D rings on our collars and led us on all fours out of the room and down the hallway. “Come along little ones,” he urged while flicking our rumps and thighs with a little whip that stung like the dickens. I felt like a puppy on 5th Avenue and expected any moment to be ordered to raise my leg and pee. We found a well decorated room with four beautiful leather slings suspended from a very high ceiling and all eagerly climbed up while Sir Paul tethered our wrists and ankles. It had been a very long time since I had enjoyed the bondage of a sling and breathed in every moment of its pleasure. The soft leather felt good against my skin, smelled good. My rump hung deliciously spread at one end and my mouth at the other. Paul stepped back and inspected his work then walked from slave to slave. He placed Victor and Carlos into silver cock rings with three inch leather ball spreaders and attached a jeweled clit clamp to Claire that made her swoon. But when he tried to use the spreader on me he couldn’t stretch my balls down far enough so he attached a weighted Parachute. He worked my scrotum through the center hole till it snapped in place, and the balls were trapped, pulled, and squeezed. “Insolent slave,” he barked and added even more weight to the horrid device. I moaned at the horrible tug as gravity tortured me but thrilled at the feeling in my cock. I was stiff and full of blood. My cock bobbed ruthlessly as if it had a will of its own. I felt alive, more alive than I had in a long time. This intoxicating bondage and painful humiliation made my knees weak. I loved the magnificent nudity, I loved being captured and conquered. Paul examined me and I stared into his eyes, examined his strong legs, his bulging manhood. I wished I were beautiful and wild, only a little tamed so that he would take up a strap and whip me, rape me, sodomize me, fuck me raw. What could there be that drove others to seek emancipation when slavery and servitude were so voluptuous? I suffered for twenty minutes till he removed the weights and parachute then easily snapped the spreader in place so my balls hung low and separated, available for a crop sometimes in the future. He teased the other boys, stroked their cocks till then passions rose, then spanked their balls with a suede pussy paddle. I moved my head to the side to watch and saw both their cocks squirming like dangerous vipers. They couldn’t have been any harder! He rubbed a wet finger over Claire’s already swollen clit till her buttocks quaked then stopped abruptly. Paul unhooked her right arm from the sling. “Play with yourself,” he commanded. She was inviting, moist and warm and had a subtle, sweet fragrance. Her flower seemed so fragile, so easy to bruise, so quick to crumble. But as soon as her hand descended and touched her pussy, found her clitoris, he pulled it back, hooked it up. “Bastard,” she screamed, “fucking bastard.” Sir Paul looked down at her benignly, like a father looks at a naughty child that he loves. He unhooked her right ankle and pulled it back, all the way back to the ring that tethered her wrist. Then repeated the process with her left leg so that now she was indecently open. I turned and saw fear in her face, fear and excitement in the face of a little girl and the face of a mature woman. I recognized those looks, haunting and inviting. Those looks that I had displayed so many times when Louise was preparing to whip me for my disobedience.. Paul raised the little suede flogger and looked down at her. The folds of her sex were as lovely and mysterious as the coils of a flower, intriguing and deeply feminine, her anus was a tiny joy. He brought it down with a sharp snap and she honored his effort with a shrill scream. Back and forth and back and forth, he swung the little whip while she cried and screamed. Her hips bucked and struggled, tried vainly to escape the blows, but with no success. And when he finally stopped those parts of her that had been pink were angry, roaring red. The circle was complete. Her tears flowed. She begged his forgiveness. She swore that she would never again defy him. She called him Master! What is there in us that makes us rebel, to run away knowing that we will be caught and spanked back to captivity if not a love for those who abuse us! Then he stepped close to her and lowered his tight leather shorts. He entered her mouth and I watched his little rump move as she made gagging, sucking sounds. The beautiful sounds of a defeated slave honoring her Master. Shortly after he had filled her mouth a bell rang. He hoisted a wooden paddle. “I must go my darlings,” he taunted, and delivered five horrid swats to our anxious behinds. Our next trainer would find us sobbing, sore, and excited. Chapter 4 “I’m Elena,” she announced entering the room and pacing around us like a lioness ready to pounce for a kill. She was a pale, fragile doll, tall and lean like a ballerina with spiked blond hair, a hard body and perfect ivory skin. Her face was angular with a long pointed nose and sharp white teeth that sparkled when she smiled. I guessed that she was eastern European, possibly Czech, and perhaps a citizen of the O.W.K. If that were the case we were in for a fine whipping! Claire was still trembling when she approached and sobbing softly. “Must have been a bad girl huh,” Elena said, looking down at the angry swollen flesh between the slaves legs. “Want me to kiss and make it all better?” Before Claire could respond the Mistresses had her face between her legs, full soft red lips, a slippery tongue, and warm sweet breath that made Claire forget about the sting raging through her tender parts. “Um, I like that,” Elena said, “but we have training to take care of today.” We were released from the slings and ordered to lay down two of us on our bellies, the other two on their backs. Elena lifted her arm and clicked a switch on the wall. Her tank top crept up revealing a flat muscular abdomen. The skin was stretched so tightly that a match could have been struck on its surface. The leather slings rose to the ceiling. I heard the sound of chains clinking together and spreader bars descended. She forced our arms into leather bondage sleeves, then delivered an order. “SPREAD YOUR LEGS,” she shouted and we meekly complied while she cuffed our ankles to the bar. We were helpless in a variety of awkward position some spread eagled, others upside down. Suddenly the sound of an engine starting whirred and we were all being lifted off the floor. I moaned at the pressure on my shoulders, the feeling of helplessness. The collar around my neck got tighter as Elena pulled it back and connected it to the bar with a chain. I feel a real sense of panic when she clipped weights to my ball spreader and cruel alligator clamps to my nipples. She stalks again with her divine buttocks rolling like a dangerous cat. She spits in Victor’s face, slaps Carlo’s cock with her open hand. How perfect! She the Mistress, we the slaves destined to endure whatever tortures amuse her. Elena slaps my face and when I open my mouth to scream, she fills it with a stainless steel dental gag. My eyes grow wide as the ratchets on either side of my head are clicked open and my mouth stretches. “In an hour you’ll beg to suck my cock,” she snarls. Claire is trying to be very quiet, but she’s struggling against the bonds, she start to buck and squirm. She’s beautifully pink and bare, her delectable clitoris peeks out from between the silky folds. Elena’s left arm circles her waist to steady her. “Easy baby,” she says, then begins to spank her full round bottom, good hard slaps that turn her ass red quickly. Elena places two fingers between Claire’s legs, spread her open, pets her. The lips of her sex are incredibly smooth, soft, pliable. Claire’s panting now, breath ragged, nostrils flaring. “I’d always keep you naked,” Elena says, “on display like this, open and available.” The spanks continue, her hips twitch, her pussy is on fire. Elena recognizes her horror. She stops quickly leaving Claire hot and excited. “Relax baby,” she coos. She walks to Carlo, stokes his cock with her soft hand till he moans, then slaps his ass very hard. It’s a game now, she picks up a paddle. She swats Victor’s plump white ass, massages his ball, swats him again. They all move as one, an erotic ballet, hips and tender buttocks sway, impatient little pussies and erect penises begging for attention. I feel her long red finger nails scrape my cock and my body stiffens. For a moment I forget the dull pain in my jaws and the way my nipples are screaming. She strokes me I feel my fluids rising with passion. Then the paddle kisses me hard and she laughs. It’s a horrid feeling of helplessness hanging like that, like meat in a market. We all realized we could do nothing to stop her, or even if that is what we desired. She spanks me hard with the paddle, the way Louise has done when I needed pain. I want to scream but the gag keeps me still. My drool collects on the floor. Someone will lick it up later. She moves across the room and wheels a table over the tiled floor so we can all strain our necks to see the assortment of devices. There were speculum and spreaders, rectal dilators, an assortment of various sized rubber balls hooked together by nylon twine, and plugs and phalluses of every conceivable color and material. “We’ll call this class Stretching 101," she said with a smirk, then took a seat on the stool in front of Carlo. She began with a rubber glove and a jar of grease and wheeled from one slave to the next. She was an expert at coaxing open the little openings and talking the muscles into complete surrender. When everyone had been lubed and opened she started with a medium width black butt plug that gave us all a little thrill. “Feel how elastic your little pussies are,” she asked, “always remember they are capable of more than you ever expected. Just concentrate on relaxing when you are penetrated and you’ll feel no real pain or discomfort.” She filled us with bigger and bigger objects, dilators and marvelous phalluses of every color. “Look how your obedient sphincter muscles enjoying being held open.” I glanced over at Claire, then Carlo and Victor. They all had dreamy glassy looks in their eyes. Our cocks were all waiving in the air and Claire’s pussy was shiny and wet. “Now for a real treat,” Elena said. She raised a string of Power Butt Balls for us to see.. Each string had five 3" anal beads attached by 12 inches of nylon string. We’d soon learn that each ball had a smaller ball inside it that rotated provocatively. Chapter 5 Elena began with Carlo, her white latex gloves and the ivory butt balls making a stark contrast with his ebony skin. He had a beautiful round curved bottom and she playfully kneaded and stroked the firm flesh till he relaxed. His precious anus blossomed open as she applied steady even pressure and the first bead popped inside and disappeared. It was followed by another and another and quickly all five were packed inside the pretty boys ass and she took hold of the ceiling chains, pulled them back like a mother at a playground swing, and let go. As Carlo swung back and forth through the air the inner beads inside the balls began to rotate, move inside him. He moaned like a jungle animal through the large red rubber ball gag stretching his mouth. Moaned like a panther being fucked. His long thick cock jerked and bobbed. I felt empathy for him as all slaves do when another of their kind is being tortured. Yet I wanted to see him suffer more. To vicariously enjoy his every pain then have it smother mine. Elena violated Victor with a huge vibrator, and Claire with an anal dilator shaped like a vibrating polymer fist. When she began greasing a two prong rectal scope I felt a rush of real terror. I’d heard slave boys screaming in the medical room at the Studio while Louise skillfully tormented them with Her stainless steel toys. I trembled watching her preparation. It was the ultimate of all anal spreaders, made of surgical steel with scissors-type controls that made it easy to open and close with a latch locking adjuster that allowed it to fasten open at various widths. She calmly opened me slowly and very wide. One inch, two, three, I moaned, half with pleasure, half with pain. “Don’t worry baby,” she said, patting my rump, “you’ll snap back into place a few moments after we are done.” While She moved from slave to slave we shivered with fear and excitement. Our nipple clamps were pulled painfully taunt. More weight was added to our ball spreaders. She massaged Claire’s clit with a prickly raccoon hair glove. Then we just hung! We hung like that for twenty minutes, like puppets, like meat, unable to do anything but buck our hips. Prolonged bondage fucks with a slaves mind like nothing else, and wracks their bodies like nothing else. We all began to glow, sweat, and lather like animals. My jaws were aching now fiercely, the dental gag had been in place for close to an hour and I felt a tightness, a locking like my mouth may be frozen open. My chin was dripping with drool and the nostril hooks pulling my head back had caused a runny nasal stream to meander down my face. The muscles in my shoulders and arms burned and I had a dull thudding pain in my ass where the spreader had impaled me. I began to cry and the others joined me to become a wailing quartet of miserable slaves. I for one knew that as soon I got some relief, and soon as someone took away even a small measure of my misery that I would be a very grateful boy. The door opened and Sir John walked in with a pretty Asian girl on a puppy leash. He scanned the room then approached. He pointed to the puddle of drool then placed an expensive brown suede shoe on the girl’s neck. She lowered her face into the vile mess like a well trained animal. I saw three deep purple welts on her derriere. He unscrewed the locks on either side of my head and carefully removed the gag. I began to thank him but he already had his zipper down and his thick cock in my mouth. My jaws moved quickly and the blood began flowing bring a glorious sense of relief. “Good boy,” he mumbled, pumping deep into my mouth and holding my head tightly. I gagged, wretched at the size of his dick bumping against the back of my throat. He held me tighter. “Suck it boy,” he commanded, “or I’ll could put the gag back in for the night." I kept gagging, coughed, and sputtered. But I savored my prize, my reward. Even when my eyes felt ready to bulge out of my head, I obeyed, worked harder, felt the penis swell in my mouth, and tasted the first drop of salty juices. When he tensed, jerked, I felt a slave’s euphoria. The first hot spurt of his orgasm fueled me; I worked harder, wanting only to please him, to milk every drop. As release flooded through his body he roared like a male lion, rudely pumped his hips and fucked my slave’s face with an abandon. With every spurt I sucked and swallowed, found a new pleasure, a new level of fulfillment. It was a joy and a privilege to do what I had been trained to do, to be an obedient and worthwhile slave. Elena wiggled out of her leather shorts. Her back was to me and I could see her small bare ass and a wide plump pussy that pouted impudently at me from between her legs. She removed Claire’s gag and clenched a handful of red hair gripping her head like a vise and pulling the slave’s face between her legs. “Eat me baby,” she commanded and an eager tongue licked obediently at the ripening fruit. Claire lapped her like a cat, bathed Elena’s softest parts, licked and sucked as fervently as I had with Sir John. Two other trainers entered the room and released the other boys so they could show their appreciation. I found the sight beautiful beyond words. After their climax the objects in our anuses were carefully removed, the nipples clamps released and the weights unhooked. Grooms entered the rooms and helped us down from the cables; they massaged our sore parts with warm scented oils and allowed us a moments rest. Then the four of us were coaxed up on to our hands and knees and driven down the hallway with playful straps and stingy little paddles. I remember how everyone rolled their hips and arched their bottoms, anxious, no begging for the next swat! Chapter 6 It was a long slow crawl down the wide hallway and I could feel a glowing heat in my rump by the time we reached at intersection where a number of other slaves were crawling from both directions. Claire stopped abruptly and before I knew it my face was between her legs and the opportunity was too precious. I took a long slow lick up between the petals of her sex like a male Tiger in the zoo. It tasted like pure honey and I buried my face enjoying the wetness and the warmth. She squealed like a schoolgirl and lurched forward while taking a look back at me over her shoulder. Her pretty freckled face was streaked with tears and she was lovely beyond words. “None of that,” a trainer shouted and gripped my head low between two muscled calves while another delivered another fast ten swats to my upturned derriere. My tears began to flow and Claire laughed and winked at me then scurried down the hallway with her bright red bottom teasing me with its beauty. A female trainer half her age walked along side scolding Claire for being a naughty slave and spanking her with a leather paddle. For a moment the hall was crowded with slaves and trainers, alive with cries and whimpers, and the sexy erotic slaps of wood on tender flesh. We scurried across the dining hall floor like a pack of animals to a corner that contained dozens of aluminum bowls filled with food and water. A boot at my neck pushed my face into a bowl and I gratefully ate and drank and enjoyed the press of warm slave flesh against mine. Our faces were wiped with warm scented cloths and a queue was formed to approach the trainers who were feasting at long elegant tables. I was summoned by a Master to lick his boots and cleaned every inch with my tongue while enjoying the sexy leather aroma. When I was done he placed me on his lap and kissed me, deep and passionately. He pinched me everywhere, stroked my cock, and patted my rump. “What will you do for me slave,” he asked. “I will do what Sir demands,” I answered obediently. He smiled and led me to a large adjacent room filled with medieval equipments of every description. Trainers and slaves approached from all directions. I watched Claire being marched to an antique birthing chair crafted from rough sawn mahogany. Her extraordinary beauty and my fetish for red-haired women gripped me with a long forgotten passion. For a woman her age she had wonderfully pert small breasts with erect nipples and her tummy was impossibly flat. My penis began to pulse and throb as she was bound to the chair, arms and wrists tied with rawhide strips and legs lifted up on to crudely fashioned hand carved wooded stirrups. Her ankle cuffs were attached to chains running to the back so that she her legs were spread obscenely open and her rump slightly raised so that everyone could enjoy the sight of her pink sex and puckered anus. I struggled to breathe as she was stretched open and my Master saw my excitement and stroked my cock. Could anything be more desirable than this beautiful mature woman? She was warm, hot, and exquisite. Her firm ivory freckled thighs parted magnificently and her flower opened exposing a thick, erect bud ready to burst with passion. I felt my body writhing, yearning with desire for her, but was helpless, impotent. I had a Master to serve at the moment and he was urging me towards the center of the room with his middle finger deep inside me and I knew I was about to be fucked! All around me slave boys and girls were being trussed and bound while others awaiting their punishment were herded to a corner of the room where carved wooden penis benches lined the wall. Each was greased then lifted and lowered on to the intricately crafted phalluses. Some winced with pain, others shrieked in terror, while still others closed their eyes serenely and adopted a lotus position to concentrate and savor the fullness. They were the lucky ones, the well trained slaves who understood their status and the joy of submission. Somewhere in the mansion a technician pushed buttons and flicked switches like a grip on a movie location. I heard the clank of chains and the whirr of motors as more and more equipment was lowered from the ceiling. A wooden pillory descended and I had my head and hands secured, then a wide leather girdle circled my waist and my lower body was lifted till my toes barely scraped the floor. My trainer a handsome muscled Master with a golden tan and blond goatee checked the cables for security and was joined by an extraordinary looking female. She was South American Indian I would guess, perhaps Mayan or Aztec, and very tall in her boots, taller than he. Her thick dark hair was pulled back from her face and fashioned into one long braid that slithered down her slender back to her bowed rounded buttocks like a huge black snake. She wore a sweetly curved cock harnessed between her legs that appeared to be made of black glass or acrylic. “I’m Gisella,” she announced placing her arms around Eric’s neck and leaning forward to kiss his thick red lips. I watched her run her hands over his neck muscles down past his thick shoulders then squeeze his arms and fondled his pecks and twirl his nipples. They were trim and beautifully toned, supple and strong and I don’t remember ever seeing any couple so exotic, uninhibited, and divinely sensual She undid the zipper to his shorts and snaked the leather down over his hips. I expected him to be naked, but he had on a silver spandex thong. Her right hand slid down and cupped his left buttock; she weighed his package in her left. “Come to my quarters tonight Eric,” she said in a husky voice. “After the slaves are bedded we’ll both be horny again and I want to ride your lovely cock, then turn you on your tummy and let you ride mine!” They kissed again, noisy and wet, all lips and tongues and teeth. Her hand pulled back the silver covering and gripped his long cock. “Open your mouth slave,” she said, and I did. It was at that moment I noticed the snakeskin holster tied to her right thigh. She removed a wooden sorority paddle with letters carved into its blade and placed it in front of my face. I kissed the wood wondering about the letters. They weren’t Greek, or Hebrew or Arabic. Who was this strange beautiful woman? Unlike the other female trainers she wore golden sandals instead of leather boots and the second and third toe of each foot was decorated with a ring encrusted with emeralds. Bracelets adorned both of her arms, alternating metal; silver and gold, copper and platinum. Her eyes were deep green like a Persian cat. I closed my eyes and was rewarded with new sensations. I smelled her cologne, a tangy citrus and heard new cries and moans coming from slaves throughout the room, then the slap of wet flesh and cries of orgasm. My legs were kicking wildly in an attempt to touch the floor. It was the same helpless position I had known over Louise’s trestle in the basement birching room. I kicked and rocked till my right toe grabbed the floor, then lost it again. I caught the floor once more tilted my weight felt my left toes drop down. I was stable for a moment in an exaggerated arched position, legs stretched fully with my hamstring muscles taunt and my rump jutting out. She landed three hard swats that made me scream. “Beg!” Another two landed and I felt my rump begin to swell. “Please Sir, please Master Eric, use my mouth for your enjoyment!” He stood back just out of reach with his magnificent cock bobbing ruthlessly in the air. “More she shouted,” and slapped the paddle against my ass. “More, more, more.” With every swat I begged, pleaded, cried for his cock. I began to sob; my rump was scalded now, big, red and puffy The vision of my misery just made her spank me harder. He inched forward and I watched a tear drop from my cheek in slow motion and land on the head of his cock. He inched closer and another fell on the shaft, then another that slid back to the base and washed down over his balls. I stretched my tongue to savor the salty taste of my own tears. Licked the shaft from tip to base, begged again, and he drove all the way to the back of my throat. Eric sighed deeply, enjoying the warm wetness. “Yes Master,” I thought, “I’m here for your pleasure.” He pushed into my mouth forcefully, grabbed the back of my hair and yanked my head back so our eyes met. I gagged and he pulled out very slowly till long strands of pearly spit connected mouth and cock like a wet spider web. Eric entered me again, finding a rhythm and pace with his hips. I swirled my tongue, bit gently on the head, swallowed dutifully when it bumped my throat. I felt her cool hands part my burning cheeks, felt the head of her phallus open me, and then I was at a place I had never known. Since ancient Rome the slave-poets had written about the joys of serving two Masters, but until this moment I had never known the ecstasy. The thrill of being pierced at both ends! The slaves dream of bringing two Masters to fulfillment. I rocked my hips and wiggled my ass. She laughed, the way Louise does when my body language betrays me, then slapped my ass with her open hand. “Squeeze it bitch, milk it.” They fucked me raw, fucked me till I feinted, but I remember hearing their animal growls of orgasm, and still smile at the memory. Chapter 7 I awoke some time later bound in a nylon mesh hammock. Both my wrists and ankles were wrapped with duct tape and a wide strip of the grey colored adhesive covered my mouth. Other slaves were tethered in their own hammocks; some alone like me, others rubbing up against another slave. How pretty they all were. Slender little girls with plump buttocks and muscular boys with hard anxious cocks, I found it easy to love them all and wished someone had placed Claire next to me so I could enjoy the heat from her body. At one end of the room four slaves were bound to rough wooden cots with their legs pulled back and tied to the headboard. Their buttocks were brightly striped and deeply welted, they were the four that had misbehaved after our purging, had not held their enemas through the paddle gauntlet. Slaves have an empathy for others suffering, but these naughty slaves had earned their whipping. Disobedience like this could never be tolerated and if I were allowed I would gladly take up a cane and give them each another dozen and enjoy the sound of their screams. A door opened and light slipped through the room as our trainers entered and I was introduced to my new tormentor. “I’m Uschi,” she began in a heavily accented Germanic English, and then marched around my hammock like a Prussian Colonial inspecting her troops. She was close to sixty years old with white-blond hair and a face so beautifully rich with feminine maturity that I immediately fell in love with her. Her skin was deeply tanned like an athletes and I guessed she may have been a skier by the looks of her firm thighs. Small lines surrounded her bright intelligent eyes and broader ones at the side of her large full mouth were a testament to her joy of life and ability to laugh. If she had grown a little soft through the years, a little less toned, I never noticed. She was a Goddess accustomed to decades of slave devotion and I would do everything I could to please her. She rolled me out from the hammock on to her shoulder and carried me out of the room and down the hallway to the theater where we had suffered our enemas earlier that day. I was stood up against a wall while she ripped the tape from my mouth then gave me her index finger to suck while she cut my tape bindings with a dagger. My cock remained high and rigid. Uschi lowered her hand and gripped my balls. “Just bursting aren’t they,” she said, “begging for release,” then she squeezed so hard that I crumbled to the floor. “POSITION,” she barked. I opened my mouth, spread my legs, and arched my rump. She slapped my ass hard with her open hand, and then removed a chrome anal hook and chain from her belt. I shudder even now when I remember that cold hard five inches of hook snaking into my slave pussy. I knew she was capable of hanging me from the ceiling till my insides were burned and bruised. The thought was so scary I almost peed yet I knew that if it pleased her I would obediently comply. Louise had threatened to fist me before and that scare made my libido skyrocket. Now I felt the same way. Uschi pulled the chain tight and I canine crawled behind her around the room so others could enjoy my shame. Masters reached out, whipped my buttocks and thighs during our parade till the cracks of paddles and the thwacks from canes echoed off the walls. My eyes never left her wide hips and big round bottom. She was so unlike Louise, not lithe and lovely, but womanly and appealing in her own way and I yearned to bury my face between the cheeks of her ass and display my devotion. We stopped at a low bench set a few feet from the wall and I was ordered to kneel while she bound my thighs and calves with nylon cord then attached the rope to the wall. Uschi pulled my arms back roughly wrapped my upper arms in the same cord, then my wrists and attached them behind me. I was leaning forward in an awkward rigid position with my shoulders pulled back sharply already aching and my breasts and nipples exposed. She wiggled out of her shorts, her pubic hairs were trimmed very short and her cunt was puffy and gorgeous. I saw a small nine tail whip in her right hand. Wicked flat leather strips that could open my skin, let me bleed in her honor. The thought was viciously arousing. “Think about what’s next,” she said, “think about the whip wrapping around your little cock, punishing your balls, biting into your nipples, your back, and your belly!” Then she stepped forward, closed her eyes, and pushed her wet sex into my face. I licked fervently, piously in a vain attempt to win her favor, lessen my pain. As her passion grew I felt her clitoris stiffen between my lips, knew she was close to orgasm, to the snapping spasms that would rock her hips and bottom. Then when I felt her rage was peaking, when she was seconds away from the start of the pulsing waves, she stepped back, laughed at me, and raised the whip up high over her head. Chapter 8 She had a wild maniacal look in her eyes that let me understand for the very first time how similar Dominants were to Vampires, How easily they took possession of their prey with that incomparable erotic sensuality. I was drawn to her as I am to all who are stronger, more brutal. Those who bend me to their will, over power me, torture or humiliate me. What could I do to resist? Blush, whimper, or scream with pain Uschi gripped the chain with her left hand and pulled it taunt so that the steel hook worked its way deeper inside my pussy then snapped the whip on my upper back and shoulders. The whip was small and looked soft, pliable. It bit with a fury! I felt my flesh twitch with a warm blushing glow. Uschi looked deep into my sole with hungry eyes. I moaned, bucked and struggled against my bonds with no relief, with only a dull aching in my muscles. How lovely this agony, to be captured, spanked and whipped, controlled, used as a toy. The whipping continued with rhythmic lazy slaps that made my back burn with pain. She punished the backs of my upper arms then stepped back and whipped the soles of my feet, a strange new sensation. She whipped my calves, my thighs, my ass till my body was glistening with moisture and screaming red on the surface. Uschi rested, pushed her big buttocks into my face, and smothered me in a smoky darkness. I sensed her hand busy between her legs and lapped her anus, she pumped her broad behind and I let my tongue work deeper and deeper. “Good boy,” she announced sticking her fingers into my mouth so I could lick them clean and taste her sweetness. She produced a pair of jeweled nipple clamps connected by a fine golden chain. In my position with shoulders back and chest pushed forward the clamps went on easily with a dull pinch. She placed the chain in my mouth and pushed my head back so that the nipples were stretched raw. “Hold position,” and the whipping continued, good hard lashes that made me weep miserably. I felt a strange freedom in this awkward bound position like I was realizing my destiny. I expanded my chest and she walloped me harder. It was a magnificent submission, mysterious and sensual. My stinging nipples peaked higher with every sob. The whip kissed my belly again and again, I knew it was time and I begged her. It had been years since my early pony training, years since I had felt a whip between my legs. I screamed sweetly as the leather wrapped around my cock just as I had when a beautiful Louise dressed in riding britches had snapped her crop at a lazy animal. The whip exploded like lightening, evil and savage like a serpents tongue yet with an odd caress that pleased me. The head of my cock was swollen and engorged; my balls ached against the leather spreader with fullness. “I want to come Mistress,” I shouted, “please let me come!” “Be patient little slut,” she answered. She brought the whip up between my legs, spanking my balls then letting the tails curve up between my ass cheeks till my anus burned with desire. Eight, ten, twelve times it wrapped till I was aching as never before and prickly hot, every inch on my skin blotched red and sore. A bolt of extreme pain rifled through me when she ripped off a clamp and my scream was only stifled when her thick lips wrapped around the nipple sucking blood and warmth back into the tip. She did it again on the other side, this time with a bite that broke the skin. She stood in front of me and parted her labia so I could see how fat and thick her clitoris had grown. I whispered her words to myself: “Be patient little slut.” Of course! I wasn’t here for my cock, for my pleasure. If I never again had release I could survive as long as I could bring pleasure to a Master or Mistress. That was a slave’s duty, a slave’s destiny. After all those years of training I’d become selfish and arrogant, the true definition of a naughty slave! But it wasn’t too late. She stepped forward and I served as Uschi quaked on my tongue with her big rump pumping till she screamed delightfully. I was released from bondage and she hugged me, held me very close and very tight and the feel of her soft warm body was electrifying. “You’ve been a very good boy,” she said, “but there are many to serve tonight, and you must offer yourself to all of them.” I crawled out of the room happy with my submission. Chapter 9 The sweet smell of incense burned my nostrils as I crawled towards a lighted room at the end of the corridor and pagan music filled the air, primitive and sensual. I turned slowly around the corner and into a large richly decorated suite that smelled like sex, like a gay bathhouse. Naked slaves were everywhere; on their knees, on their backs, tied in every conceivable position. I spotted Claire and moved towards her. She was bent over with her wrists and ankles locked in a wooden stockade while a black Mistress stooped behind her examining the redhead’s anus. The Dominant was over six feet tall and as thin as the emaciated people from Angola or Mozambique that you see on the nightly news. She had a very long angular face with huge black eyes and flaring nostrils. I found her exquisite! She stood up to step into a harness holding a ruby red acrylic phallus when she noticed me, then snapped her fingers and pointed to her boots. I scurried over the floor to lick the dust from shoes. “Now pucker up Red” she laughed and opened up Claire with her middle digit, teased her with a finger fuck. “My boy toy is just itching for your tightness.” From my spot on the floor I looked up between her legs and gasped at the size of the beauty, eight inches with a thick head. It was curved, spine shaped, super smooth and sexy. Lucky Claire was in for a divine stretching. A wooden paddle landed on my ass with a loud splat that started a small fire. “Pay attention boy!” He swatted me again, CRACK. This Master was black, beautifully muscled, and smooth skinned. He was hung like a stallion, long and thick, juicy. “Throat fuck that boy,” the Mistress laughed, then spit between Claire’s ass cheeks and drove the long phallus in to the hilt. He looked down at me and smiled, the way Dominants do when they know they possess you. I ran the tip of my wet tongue up his leg, past the knee to the tight inner thigh, sucked his balls. I swirled my tongue over the head and down the shaft and went down all the way, A deep hot throat for my Master! I sucked hard until he came violently, hot salty spurts, with his beautiful muscled buttocks pumping the cock deep in my face. I swallowed every drop and licked it clean. When I turned to crawl away he swatted my ass again with the paddle so hard that I knew I’d be blistered. I situated myself on all fours, lowered my head, pushed my rump up high and spread begging for more and was rewarded again. For the next three hours I crawled from Master to Mistress, some used my mouth, others my pussy. I knelt, squatted, laid on my belly. When they were done, when every cock had been milked, when every cunt was dripping with honey, their dark side blossomed again. The cracks and thwacks and hisses exploded in the air. A muscular little Vietnamese Mistress placed a leash on my collar and drug me out the back door, ordered me to raise my leg like dog and spray the bushes, then whipped my thighs and said I was disgusting. Sir John peppered my rump with a school cane till I screamed. An angel of a blond boy was hung from the ceiling and bullwhipped. Masters and Mistresses took pretty slave girls over their laps and brutally spanked their plump little bottoms. Then when the clock struck midnight the boys were herded to a bench and ordered to kneel with heads lowered over the side. There were already three in place when I joined them, their pussies had been lubed so that they winked shiny and pink. A slippery wet gloved finger opened me, my hard cock was pulled down into a funnel attached to a small vial. Something entered me, something familiar, an electric switch was pushed. My body trembled as the massaging began, an Aneros like tool tickled my prostate, I felt a cold chill run up my spine with the first drip, then a warm body next to me. “Be patient little slut.” It was Uschi, I felt her warm breath as she whispered into my ear. She kissed me, warm full lips, the taste of peppermint. Her hand on my ass was cool, soothing, she rubbed away some of the soreness, patted me, petted me. “Be proud to serve your Mistress Louise, keep your head high and your cock hard. Obey Her commands with enthusiasm, and you’ll get your little treats.” The oozing was wracking me like a seizure. I moaned with all the other boys, whimpered and cried. I closed my eyes and pumped my hips dreaming of Louise, how She had milked me at the Studio, taught me to love my pussy. Precious few knew how to treat a slave, Louise did, it wasn’t a game for Her. It was all Her rules, Her decisions, Her timing, Her cock! The mechanical probe continued with an abhorrent rhythm. “A little faster,” I whispered, “a little deeper.” I screamed, groaned, quivered, trembled, shuddered. I can feel my balls pumping. Spasm after spasm till I’m drained. I went soft, limp. “Thank You Mistress Louise,” I gasp and feel my spread and quivering legs jerk one last. Chapter 10 Somewhere between that moment and seven AM the next day I entered an orgasmic dream so wildly real it seemed opium induced. I awoke with a ranging erection and ran to bathroom along with a dozen other boys to relieve myself then was herded to the medical room where a pleasant two quart enema was administered. After the purification a door opened to another shower, not the mechanical wash from the previous morning, but a beautiful fragrant room. The walls and floors were formed from fine Italian marble and the nozzles sprayed a hot fragrant water that bounced everywhere causing steam to rise like in a Turkish bath. There were fine soaps, delicate sponges, and soft bristled brushes. A Gothic slave girl stood next to me. She had coal black hair and an ugly bat tattooed on her tummy. I washed her frail shoulders and slender back with a vanilla scented soap and sponge, then moved to her breasts. They were surprisingly round and plump and the moment I touched them the nipples stood up like ripe little grapes. I knelt, cleaned each leg and tiny foot, patted her inner thigh and she adjusted her stance, spread her legs. She parted the petals of her flower, unashamed, well-trained, and I washed the delicate parts with my fingers. I looked to the door at a trainer who was watching closely, he seemed to say, "be careful, don’t venture too far.” I shined her little clitoris, just enough for her to tremble, looked back to the door and saw the trainer nod approvingly. She spun around when I moved her hips slightly, bent forward, reached back with her hands, and parted her derriere the way I had so many times when Louise chose to use me, the way a well trained slave behaves. I gasped a little at the beauty. All through my time here at this chateau I had marveled at how lovely these little temples were. But her anus was a gorgeous whirled oval of a dark almost violet color, another flower, unlike the other between her legs, yet beautiful still. It was tiny, mysterious, and divinely puckered and when I ran a slippery finger over the surface it gaped then contracted like a flower does to the morning sun. Perhaps for the very first time I understood why the power exchange between Master and slave occurs at this delicate portal, at this spot so rich in nerve endings that it can deliver such intense pleasures for both. Was it that simple? Was I saying all along to Louise, "here is a part of my body, and I trust you not to hurt me but to make me feel very good." I felt at ease, for the first time in months. I glanced at the door and the trainer had left for a moment. I pressed my lips to the little oval, kissed it, and then rose. The Gothic girl smiled at me, a big understanding smile. She took a brush and soap and scrubbed me softly. It was marvelous, tingly waves rushed over me, my nipples thickened under her brush, my cock rose, and when I parted myself as she had done; I felt a gape and a contraction, a confirmation that everything was right. We left the shower laughing and were escorted to massage tables where trainers were busy with warm sweet oils and strong, skilled hands. They rubbed away the sting on our backs and bottoms and polished us between the legs so that we sparkled, then sent us to the banquet room with little pats and pinches. All the Masters and Mistresses greeted us with hugs and kisses and huge glittering smiles. I saw Sir Paul speaking to Claire and walked over to thank him, and hugged them both. “You were a wonderful master Sir,” I said. Claire agreed, "he taught me a lesson, one I’ll never forget,” and the image of her spread and beaten red flashed through my mind. Elena joined us, then Sir John. We sat down with Gisella to discuss our lessons, and then visited a buffet table with Eric and Uschi that was filled with fresh fruit, wonderful fluffy pancakes with clarified butter, and assorted breakfast meats. I watched other slaves file through the room as Claire and I did, speaking to their Dominants, thanking them for the wonderful instruction. They were all thoughtful, loving, concerned. So much so that I felt a tiny tear form in my eye when it was announced it was time to leave. The butler handed us our clothes in the hallway, we dressed then walked out single file as we had entered over twenty-four hours ago. It was a beautiful, sunny day, so full of promise; I almost viewed it as the beginning of a new life for me. I crossed Towne Street following a vibrant shock of red hair and a heart shaped derriere poured into khaki trousers. “Hey,” I said, suddenly feeling stupid. She turned around, smiled, “hey yourself.” “Want some coffee, I know a place, just down the street, we can walk.” She laughed at me, “easy does it, except for seeing you naked and being fucked by strangers, I hardly know you.” Then she laughed again, relaxed and out loud. “Tell me something about yourself, something stupid.” I though for a minute, “I love listening to Edith Piaf recordings from the forties” I said, “in French”, I added, “And can’t understand a fucking word!” Claire took my hand in hers, the way kids do in Junior High. “Come on,” we can read the papers, the Sunday papers, and have coffee." And somehow I knew, somewhere in Chicago, a beautiful Domina was smiling! Epilogue It was nearly midnight when the beautiful dark haired Domina put down the novel. She looked like a little girl curled up in a huge oversized chair made of buttery-soft red leather. Her hair was pulled back and She wore an old cotton t-shirt from Northwestern University and a pair of soft small panties. The novel had excited Her with images of naked slaves, pretty boys and lovely girls. By the third chapter She was aware of how Her nipples were standing up and enjoyed a warm, wet feeling between Her legs. The author was one of Her slaves, one She planned to see soon and the writing had revealed how desperate he was to sink deeper into submission and enter a dark abyss where he’d stop functioning as a human being and exist only as an extension of Her desires. “Be patient little slut,” She said out loud mimicking a phrase from the book. He would enjoy every horror, every torment. She’d see to it! The adjustments and additions to the dungeon were complete. He would be bent over with both his wrist and ankle cuffs clipped to big “O” rings on the dungeon floor. She’d buckle his head into a leather harness complete with a mouth spreader and nose hooks. A silk rope would run from the harness up to the ceiling to a metal pulley, and back down again to an aluminum pussy hook. After a few adjustments, a tie here, a tug there he’d be helpless, on tip toes, buttocks presented, legs spread, slave pussy begging for relief. She could see the fear in his eyes as he struggled against the bondage, then the excitement as She removed all Her clothing except for the thigh high leather boots. She had never appeared in naked to him, not till now. He stared and drooled like an animal. “Will you suffer for Me,” She purred and stepped closer, so close he could smell Her and feel Her warmth. “Your delicious agony will excite Me,” She teased, “make Me wet, horny.” He could only nod and drool his agreement. Louise opened the drawer of the end table next to Her and read through a proof of the new MLD equipment catalog. She would use a hickory paddle riddled with holes, almost wafer thin yet very hard, he’d cry at ten, She would deliver a hundred. After all, he needed to be humbled. On the next page was a small intimately crafted device designed for one purpose, and one purpose only. The rich cranberry leather was stretched and stitched over a hard but flexible Lexan shaft; the shape was exactly cut to fit neatly between the cheeks of his slave’s ass. The marketing people had named it Louise’s "Perfect Pussy Paddle” and She couldn’t wait to hear his moans. It was too much, too perfect, and She’d been away far too long from delivering a really good beating, Louise turned off the lamp and enjoyed the darkness for a moment, it was so still She could hear Herself breathing, Her hands snaked down between Her legs, so wet, so warm. Her fingers danced. “There, there,” She said, as though Her caramel skinned slave girl Halle was busy between Her. The stories images floated through slowly through Her mind, erotic and exciting. The purges and prepping for their Masters, the slap of straps against tender bottoms and the cries that followed. “There,” She said again, and it started slowly like a string of small firecrackers on the fourth of July, and then came faster and faster. Snaps and pops and sparkles and Her hips were moving and sound came from Her throat that surely started somewhere deeper, somewhere sacred. Louise swooned and sighed and pulsed then curled up in the big chair like a lioness after the hunt, wrapping Herself in a warm Afghan. She fell quickly to sleep with one last thought. “Be patient little slut!”
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