The man was still angry. Not the red hot anger he’d felt earlier but an altogether colder rage still seethed inside him. The woman had let him down. He’d had such high hopes for her; she was to have been his stable girl when fully trained, in charge of his other women. His anger was driven by the disappointment he felt and even the fine vintage port in his glass couldn’t quite alleviate the anger. She’d been his woman, his cunt, for some months now and then, this!
Earlier in the evening he had glanced through the connecting door from his room to her quarters and, unbelievably the door to her bathroom was closed! She’d closed a door against him when her first lesson, in her first training session had been that there should never be a closed door between them, that his right of access to her at all times was absolute. But she’d closed the door.! Annoyed he strode across the room and turned the handle and; the door was; locked! Enraged now he burst the flimsy lock and strode into the room.
Alarmed the woman looked up from where she sat on the toilet her skirt raised around her waist. He reached out and gripped her hair in his right hand raising her to a standing position like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. Without speaking he marched her out of the room, her unfinished stream running down her legs, her panties trailing around one ankle as he led her forcibly by the hair down two flights of stairs to the cellar. Holding her on tiptoe by the hair he’d looked into her eyes and said coldly, slowly: you….locked…the door! Alarm flashed across her face as she realised the enormity of what she’d done, she’d locked out the Master!...’’Mmmmaster…I..thought…’’ he cut her off coldly, ..’if I wanted someone to think I’d hire a secretary’ he said……..’you are just a cunt, and cunts don’t think’. He didn’t bother with her collar or any of the other devices in the cellar, but tied her hair directly to a ring forcing her to kneel uncomfortably, head hard against the wall, and left the cellar.
Back in his study he poured himself a drink switched on his favourite music and sat down to consider the situation. He was annoyed with himself. He’d allowed himself to show the anger he felt, exhibited at least a partial loss of control over his emotions and he’d had to leave the cellar quickly because he didn’t trust himself to remain as calm as necessary in such a crisis situation. And it was a crisis, he reflected. Months of training and she could still forget herself to that extent. Should he take away her collar? Throw her out? Or maybe sell her on to one of the Albanian run massage parlours. Goodness knows there would be enough takers, she was an attractive bitch he admitted to himself, and she’d fetch a good price.
But this wasn’t about money, it was about pride now. He’d never failed before and the fault must be partially his he thought. He’d been too fond of her, too soft. No what was needed was a return to basics; he’d start again with her. Strip her down, degrade and humiliate her until she had nothing left, reduce her to aching flesh without a will of her own. Then he could rebuild her as he wished, as she should be. Having taken the decision he immediately began to feel better. He looked at his watch he would catch the breakfast train to London in the morning; he’d arrange things with the dungeon keeper as soon as he arrived and perhaps take in a show in the evening, yes that was the way to deal with things.
On his way down to the cellar he stopped in the kitchen, he would be gone for a full day and a half at least. He filled a large stainless steel bowl with muesli, took out a bottle of milk and mineral water from the fridge and descended the stairs.
As he looked at the woman he wrinkled his nose in distaste, her urine soaked skirt was beginning to smell, by the time he got back she would positively reek! She was crying now, pleading with her eyes but he ignored her, set down the bowl and the two bottles, untied her hair and chained her collar to the wall so that she could at least lie down. Then, turning his back, he left her there.
Two days later the man sat in a taxi returning home from the station. He was satisfied with his trip. He’d fitted in some business, seen some old university friends and, most importantly, arranged things with the dungeon keeper. He didn’t like the dungeon keeper, he admitted to himself, there was something about him, an aura, almost a smell. He supposed it had always been that way, dungeon keepers, hangmen throughout history had been shunned by the rest of the world. But the man knew his job, was inventive and provided an excellent service. The Man had considered installing his own facility, but it would require structural alterations, be hugely expensive and even then he could never keep the range of kit that a commercial dungeon could. Besides he thought, the long trip to London played on the women’s minds; the weaker ones were already limp and dripping by the time they arrived. He chuckled at the memories as he entered his home.
A few hours later, relaxed and well fed, he descended to the cellar, He’d left her without access to any facilities and he was relieved to see that she hadn’t yet soiled herself but never the less she was beginning to smell. He looked at her with distaste. ‘Strip’ he ordered, and took her clothes from her with laundry tongs dropping them in the rubbish bin for disposal. He was pleased to see that she was kneeling, waiting while he busied himself in the corner, she remembered some of her training then.
She reeled with shock when he turned the high pressure hose on her, almost falling over. He hosed her down until she was passably clean. Lifting her to a standing position by her hair so that he could play the hose between her legs, noting with interest that the cold water had hardened her nipples, always one of her best features.
On his instructions she crawled up the two flights of stairs on hands and knees to clean the mess left in her bathroom and clean herself and her quarters. There two hours later, after a good dinner, he found her kneeling, naked. Taking her to his room he chained her collar to the foot of his bed, where she would sleep on the floor and there he left her.
And so she lived for the next week. Twice a day, morning and evening. he allowed her the use of the bathroom for 10 minutes. Every second day he brought her a bowl of kitchen scraps. At no time did he speak to her or answer her pleas other than to silence her with a cold stare. Twice he used other women in her presence, even allowing one to share his bed for the night, a privilege previously reserved for her alone. Thus was her isolation, His displeasure made clear to her. Then on the morning of the seventh day: He took away her collar!
As the Man threw the collar into the waste bin, the colour drained from her face. So far she had registered only shock and shame at His displeasure, at her failure. For the first time something close to panic crossed her face at the completeness of the rejection signified by His action. He threw her a garment, a simple white dress, and a pair of simple flat shoes…’dress’….was his one word command.
On the train .He studied the woman over the top of his newspaper. She was clearly agitated he was pleased to note. Naked under the white dress, her hand kept reaching for her neck, for the collar that was no longer there. It was the first time she had worn any clothes for more than a week but it was clear that the absence of the collar made her feel more naked, more exposed than had her previous nudity.
Lunch arrived. He had been amused to see steak tartare on the menu and, unable to resist the irony. As he enjoyed the raw meat he watched the woman, the ‘raw meat’ he thought with some amusement, sat opposite. He had marinaded her for a week and now it was time to put her through the mincer! Excited at the thought, he lay back and feigned sleep until they reached Kings Cross.
The car carried them east through the old City of London. As they left the City behind and entered the mean streets of the East End she became visibly more agitated. He had deliberately given the driver a circuitous route, through some of London’s worst areas. Travelling slowly in the heavy traffic he saw her watching as massage parlours, cheap saunas, run down blocks of flats and a multiplicity of ethnic markets and shops passed by the window. They entered their eventual destination through the rear entrance, past overflowing waste bins and up in the service elevator at the back of the building. He pressed a code into a speaker phone and the door opened. He led her in.
In the half lit hall way the dungeon keeper greeted him as an old and valued client, assuring him that all was ready and his special requirements had been delivered. The Man turned to the woman, ‘strip’, he said harshly. She looked around, at the dungeon keeper alarmed and hesitant. ‘Strip woman’…the keepers seen cheap cunts before there’s nothing special about yours to interest him!... and he opened a barred door set low in the wall about a meter high and nodded into it. As she crawled in the Man placed his foot on her naked arse and pushed with all his strength, sending her flying against the wall inside the tiny metre cube cell. He pulled a black curtain across the door, shutting her off from the light – but not the sound in the hallway.
The two men sat at a small table next to her cell, a pot of coffee between them. The Man repeated, with suitable embellishments and omissions what the dungeon keeper already knew about her case. Her wilfulness, His disappointment with her, the need for ‘special’ treatment. The dungeon keeper, well briefed, played his part. Yes the special order clamps and been delivered. He’d had trouble acquiring the canes but with ingenuity and at extra cost and so on. Then hesitantly, the keeper enquired of the Man, was he absolutely sure? Some of this was well very extreme, much more extreme than he usually dealt in…and would the Man be prepared to sign a disclaimer to protect the keeper from any consequences? Smiling broadly at the charade The Man made a show of anger and of signing the paper reluctantly.
The two chatted for a while longer then after an hour or so, with the coffee now cold The Man said, well we’d better get on with this unpleasantness, get the bitch out would you keeper? Opening the cage, the keeper reached in and dragged her out by her hair; she scrambled after him trying to stay upright or at least on all fours as he dragged her into one of the dungeon rooms. The Man followed, as the keeper attached chains to her wrists and hoisted her arms high above her head; He attached similar chains to her ankles, shackling her legs, wide spread, to the floor.
The Man nodded at the keeper, dismissing him, and stood in front of the woman as the keeper scurried away to his quarters. Behind The Man were rack upon rack of floggers, crops and canes. To one side stood shelves and cabinets displaying instruments of all kinds in every variety of metal while chains hung from the ceiling and walls in untidy seeming but orderly bunches. Looking her squarely in the eye, a riding crop in his hand beating time against his thigh, the Man spoke to her.
‘What is the first rule for a slave? Slut’ he asked. She stammered her reply, ‘a slave never denies her Master’….’she NEVER denies the Master he repeated and as he did so he slashed her left breast with the riding crop. She shrieked and he brought the crop down across her other breast.
And so it continued. Remorselessly he questioned her about her training, how to address him, how to walk, how to kneel and so on. Each reply brought a swift slash from the crop and a shriek from the woman. As she became more and more incoherent under the lash of the crop, so her answers became unclear and the punishment became harder and more frequent until the woman was sobbing as she struggled in her bonds.
He worked methodically over her body. First her breasts, then her back and arse leaving a rash of red blotches across her body. When he had reduced her to a sobbing wretch he changed the crop for a 7 tailed flogger, each leather tail knotted at the end and began again at her breasts, this time the flexible tails wrapped themselves around her body, leaving longer wheals. After 40 minutes she was incapable of answering as she jerked and sobbed under the lash. The Man remorselessly repeated her ‘rules’ as he methodically worked his way around and down her body with the flogger.
This time he did not stop at her arse but continued down her inner thighs, swinging the flogger underhand to leave wheals on the delicate smooth skin of her inner thighs. Finally standing behind her, he swung viciously underhand and the cruel tails of the flogger wrapped themselves around her crotch, lashing the delicate folds between her outspread thighs. Now the woman was pleading, begging for him to stop. He lashed her twice more between the legs, before moving around to face her.
Well slut, will you now remember and obey your rules? The words poured out of her, thanking the Man, promising perpetual and instant obedience to any and all rules he might set. He fitted a broad belt tightly around her waist, unshackled her wrists and buckled the cuffs, attached to the sides of the belt around her forearms pinning her arms to her sides and lowered her to a sitting position before unshackling and reshackling her ankles. He watched her impassively as she sat alternately sobbing and thanking him. He busied himself in the kitchen while she gradually calmed down, the sobbing subsiding as she slowly recovered. He returned a glass of wine in hand, and watched her until she was calm again.
Then pulling her head back by her hair he looked her calmly in the face. Now bitch, you understand the seriousness of your disobedience and it’s time for you to suffer your punishment! The woman looked at him dumfounded, horrified as she slowly realised that her ordeal was not yet over. In panic she began to beg him again..’She’d taken her punishment, was sorry, never disobey again. He laughed in her face, so far slut you have just had a reminder of the training you seem so anxious to forget, just a little re-education. Now you must learn the consequences of disobedience, consequences severe enough to fit the crime.
He pressed a switch on the wall and a winch began to turn. Slowly the shackles on her ankles were pulled upwards. He’d crossed the chains to her ankles and the chains, driven by the winch began to twist her around. In panic she began to scream out her safety word, at the top of her voice. He paused the winch and knelt down facing her, watching as she struggled with pinioned arms to maintain some kind of balance.
He spoke to her slowly and deliberately. When you locked that door slut; you cancelled your safety word. There is no safety word for a disobedient slut. He restarted the winch and the she was slowly hoisted into the air by her ankles until her head was about 30 ins off the ground, her legs spread wide by the chains, she hung there swaying slightly a giant V hanging upside down by her chains. He watched her for a moment and went back to the kitchen.
When He returned from the kitchen, a hot bowl in his hand, she had quietened down and hung there almost still, whimpering. He looked down at her crotch, open and completely exposed as she hung there. She had not been able to shave or wax during her incarceration in his room and now had a 10 day bush. Slowly He began to drip the hot molten wax from the dish in his hand onto her. As the hot wax touched her she jerked on her chains gasping; a little, He thought, like a hooked fish. Slowly He spooned the wax over her, opening up her folds to ensure complete coverage.
Satisfied with the wax coverage He began to systematically probe her body with his finger tips. Examining her for soreness and damage from her flogging. With a felt tip marker He marked any areas that were showing too much damage – He didn’t want to scar her permanently. She jerked and cried out as He probed her and He also marked out areas He’d missed for further treatment, no part of her was to be left untouched by what was to come.
He returned to her waxed cunt. The wax wasn’t hard enough yet. Additionally He was becoming concerned that she was beginning to withdraw mentally, her body was feeling and reacting to the pain but her mind wasn’t and she had to experience the full treatment, be conscious of what was happening all the time. He needed something to pull her mind back into the reality of her situation until the wax was hard enough.
Operating the winch again He raised her another foot, then unzipping himself He held her head and forced himself into her mouth and into the back of her throat, until she began to thrash frantically as she fought for air. He withdrew, let her take a few gasping breaths and then repeated the process 3 or 4 times until He was sure that her mind was back and concentrating on her fight for breath. He lowered her back to her previous position. The wax was hard now.
Slowly, starting at her arse, he peeled the wax away in a single sheet, watching fascinated as she was slowly plucked hair by hair. Throughout this process she cried and gasped her body thrashing about as far as her helpless position allowed. Her mind was fully with him again now He noted, pleased with himself.
He rolled up his sleeves and picked from the rack the implement he had had specially made and began to stroke her body with it as He explained to her, with some pride just what the implement was, A bundle of 7 carbon fibre rods, not unlike the thin end section of a fishing rod, and about 30 ins long, the first half bound in leather to form a nicely weighted handle, the remaining 15 inches forming the business end., the maker had assured him, He told her, that this would produce a similar effect a similar sensation to split bamboo, the efficacy of which had been discovered by the Chinese 4000 years ago.
However the clever part said the maker was that by coating each rod in a thin layer of plastic the major drawback of split bamboo namely the cutting, the shredding of flesh was avoided, thereby prolonging the period of use. The result was an intensely effective split cane which could be applied for long periods. As He finished his explanation He took an experimental swing across her arse, then a second from the other side. She shrieked and swung frantically in her chains.
Calmly He waited until the swinging slowed down enough for him to inspect the effect. Two beautifully marked multi lined wheals had been produced across her cheeks. Bright blood red in the middle and fading to a bright pink around the edges. Highly satisfactory He told her, no deep cutting and every sign that she would be able to withstand further strokes on top without permanent damage.
He worked slowly, unhurriedly. A little tap on the target area first, to show her where the next blow would fall, then two, never more, hard blows placed symmetrically across her body or thighs. A pause for her shrieking to subside to a low moan or sob and for the chains to cease swinging too wildly for accurate targeting and then an inspection of the damage and the selection of the next target area. He worked to a pattern guided by the felt marks He’d placed on her earlier. A tiger stripe effect symmetrically across her back, arse, thighs, belly and breasts.
After 10 minutes or so she stopped begging, too exhausted and hopeless for that now. She shrieked and moaned and sobbed and writhed but no more did she beg. Although apparently careless of her reactions He was watching her closely. The time would come He knew, when she would slip away, her mind withdraw, He had to time the ending at the precise moment before that happened, take her to her absolute limit but not beyond, if He took her beyond her ability to endure it might not be possible to bring her back into this world.
Thirty minutes later He had worked his way down her arse, back, breast and belly and was starting on her inner thighs when He sensed the moment was fast approaching.. He paused and spoke to her, but now his voice changed soft words instead of harsh, encouraging rather than dismissive He signalled to her that her ordeal might be nearly over. Standing behind Her he tapped her cunt lightly with the cane and then brought it down hard across her spread crotch, walked quickly round her and repeated the blow from the front. Kneeling quickly beside her as she screamed and writhed He held her head and whispered softly to her, she had endured she had been a good girl He told He, .and He brought her brandy which spilt down her face as she attempted to sip it whilst still hanging upside down.
Then He slowly began to kiss her wounds, softly along the bright red and black wheals. But these were no ordinary kisses, he filled his mouth with brandy and each kiss trailed brandy along her bruised flesh burning and stinging her wounds – until they felt to her like kisses of fire along her body!
He lowered her carefully to the ground and undid her bonds. At first her legs gave way when she tried to stand, but patiently He helped her and lead her to the bathroom. She was allowed to do nothing for herself. She couldn’t sit on the toilet because of her wounds but had to crouch over to relieve herself.. He watched her, dried her off with a tissue and lead her into the shower where he gently washed her down, washing away her sweat and the remains of the brandy before drying her gently, all the time with soft encouraging words. Then he applied soothing ointment to her body and slowly dressed her. Tucking her into small tight white cotton knickers, a white bra and top and a short flared skirt. Her sobbing had ceased and she now moved like an automaton under His direction.
The car took them directly to Euston for the night sleeper train north and, in the car, she slept in the crook of his arm, wincing occasionally as the car bounced across uneven roads. She slept all through the journey, and all through the next day undisturbed in his bed. On the morning of the second day, He washed her and laid her across his knee to dress her wounds, as he did so his hand slipped between her legs and gently, patiently He coaxed moisture from her and then brought her slowly to orgasm.
On the morning of the third and forth days He spanked her gently reawakening the memories of her pain. And so it continued, He cared for her, dressed her and allowed her to do nothing for herself. He fed her from his plate, but now with choice morsels rather than scraps. Through all this she was supine. Her body reacted to the spankings and the orgasms but her mind was still somewhere else, still in the dungeon. Then on the morning of the seventh day came the breakthrough.
As He gently rubbed oil into her arse and thighs that morning, as his finger tips brushed her labia she hesitantly, fearfully almost, asked him to fuck her. After that progress was rapid. She was allowed to dress herself and move freely around the house although she seldom strayed far from his side as her mind returned slowly from that dark place where it had been.
On the evening of the fourteenth day she was kneeling naked, beside his chair as He sat reading. She could see that the paper wasn’t holding his attention, He was restless and she watched with concern. Suddenly He rose from his chair and went to the locked display cabinet in the corner of the room, unlocking the case He paused before selecting two items and returning with them to the table. Both objects were over 500 years old and among his most favoured possessions she knew.
The first was an ancient Japanese dildo, made of ivory and inlaid with gold and decorative woods it had an unusual rounded triangular cross section and curved in a seemingly purposeful way. A doctor friend had told him once that it was shaped and crafted around the internal shape of the female genitalia rather than the more usual phallic shapes. As He handled it He wondered for the hundredth time how many generations of Japanese women had contributed to the glass like smoothness and the unique sheen of the implement.
The second implement was an ivory handled whip, equally old and with similar decoration, a short length of plaited heavy silk forming the lash but with decorative insets woven in to provide the bite! A beautiful but vicious implement. The two together representing the twin gifts of pain and pleasure. He had owned both for many years but never used them, only handled and admired them.
As she watched him handle the ancient implements she knew, instinctively and suddenly, what He was going to do. As she realised what was about to happen to her, her nipples hardened and her cunt contracted; sending its own tribute to the Man running down her thighs.
Finally she was forgiven.
The End
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Submitted by : Traveling Man
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