Tara awoke slowly, her body sore, stiff and bruised. She opened her eyes and tried to focus, seeing nothing but the dim expanse of the room and the dark steel of the bars around her. Bars? Bars! She was hit hard with the reality that she was now caged like an animal, a prisoner, a slave. How long had she been out? How long had she been here? What was going to happen to her? She tried to sit up, but banged her head hard on the top of the cage. She thought to scream, but turned away the idea; who would hear her? Besides, she felt a strange stirring deep within her, awaiting the next rite of the Initiation. She began massaging her aching body, feeling the bruises beneath the surface and the scratches along her tender flesh. Her hand drifted over the curves of her breasts and she tugged teasingly upon her nipples. Her hand slid slowly down to the warmth between her legs. No! she decided, I must wait and give everything to this Initiation. If I pleasure myself now, they will know. This is a place of sex magick, this is what I want, this is what I've come here to learn. There can be no compromises she told herself. She must not betray herself; only absolute submission was acceptable. Tara continued to rub her tired muscles, tempted by the hunger she felt, but she resisted. The cage was small, cold and uncomfortable, be she didn't notice any more. She was filled with a carnal thirst that flooded her body and imagination, as she drifted back to those mysterious hands and their power. A power that overcame her; a power that was unearthly and celestial. She felt her pussy growing moist as she thought of those hands.
  A heavy door swung open, startling Tara's dreams. A large figure, adorned in robes and hooded, approached the cage. He didn't acknowledge Tara's presence when he came into the room. He walked by her imprisonment dispassionately, without flinching. He began working, with his back to her, off in the distance. Tara knew that he was preparing something for her, but what? She watched him closely, but couldn't make out what it was he was doing; her view obstructed by the bars of her cage, and the dark velvet drapes which partially surrounded him. She heard the dull thudding of metal, as he began extracting objects from a large cabinet and then a wooden box. More cloaked figures entered the room, again, not seeming to notice Tara. They huddled en mass, quietly and diligently, preparing something. There was more dull thudding, and each bump caused Tara's sex to throb with anticipation. She pressed her face against the cold bars, trying to see.
  Tara was unnerved by the clang of her cage door being opened. She had not heard the one waiting at the gate for her. The figure stood at the mouth of the opening and with nothing more than an icy stare, demanding her to come out. She crawled on all fours towards the silhouetted body before her and waited patiently as it applied the leash to her collar. Once again she followed another, lead by leash, like a dog. She felt the muscles in her body aching as she moved, tight and stiff. As she was lead, the black drapes were pulled back, revealing a small circle of hooded figures. They parted as she approached them and entered the center of the circle. Tara wanted to look at them; wanted to stare into the eyes and faces of those around her, but she couldn't. Her eyes remained fixed upon the floor, showing her humility and submission to them. She heard one of them command, “Sit” to her and she responded instinctively. Although she could feel her arms being jerked around roughly by them and felt the pang of the first rite shooting through her, she felt somehow unattached from herself, as though this were some strange dream. She felt the steel clamping down around her wrists, heard it clink softly against itself. She could hear the heavy breathing of those around her and feel their eyes wantonly exploring her. Slowly, she felt herself being raised from the floor and stress in her wrists and shoulders the more erect she became.
  Hands high above her head and awkward, her toes barely touching the ground and supporting her uncomfortably, Tara dared a glance up. In front of her she saw a large, muscular man, chest bore, criss-crossed with studded leather straps whose face was covered with the black hood of an executioner. She swore she could see him smile beneath the cloth. He held in his hands a cat of nine tails, which he snapped loudly against itself when he looked at her. There comes a moment when one awakes from a nightmare stammering, before a state of true consciousness and reason settle in; this was the state Tara had succumb to, and now was awaking to a nightmare. She grew wide-eyed with understanding; this is no dream! Again the whip cracked, sending a frightful chill down Tara's spine. Her body tensed with dismayed anticipation as she watched others gather around her and felt the room closing in. She felt as though she was suffocating and overpowered. They peered out at her from beneath their hooded cloaks, their faces hidden by the shadows and mysterious.
  The firm voice of her Mistress echoed the command, “Let the Initiation begin”. Tara's body and mind stirred upon hearing the soft tones of her Mistress off in the distance. She knew that she was being watched and judged by her and only sought to please her. All at once, Tara heard her own voice scream out in pain, her mind exploded in a fireworks display of red and white, then came the burning sensation across the small of her back. She hadn't even realized what had happened before the next scream came. She heard the whip tear through the air and snap hard along her back; then understood, I'm being beaten. Tara inhaled deeply, not wanting to disappoint her Mistress; she bit her lip and tightened her body to receive the next blow. Once more she could hear the whip coming down, crack! The flash, the burning and silence from Tara. Slow exhale. Inhale. Prepare. Wait. Give in, give all, submit, her mantra. Short the pain, long the pleasure, reminding herself. Again the whip. This time absorbing the punishment anew, redefining the blow, perceiving it for what it was, the fine line between pleasure and pain blurring. The sting becoming more tolerable, then riveting, traveling from point of impact throughout her body. Arousal.
  The leather continued to tear against her body, the tongues of the whip crashing along her back and curving around her waist and torso to leave their sting. With every lash, Tara bit harder into her lip, until blood began to flow freely from it. And with every lash she felt her will, her self, her very essence being stripped away. Fear. Doubt. Panic.
  “There will come a time”, the Mistress had told Tara, “when you will fear you can go no further -this may occur once, twice, or through the whole process of the Initiation- do not fail yourself. Your mind will convince you that you can no longer endure the pain or humiliation, but you must. Your mind will leave you, and your will will bend, then break and you will begin the path to assimilate with our spirit”.
  The Mistress had warned of this moment, but she had never said it would be like this. She had never told Tara that she would be beaten to within an inch of her life! Perhaps she would be beaten to death, after all, who would know?
  Now Tara feared for her life, and with each lash, more and more. The welts on Tara's back had now turned bloody. Rivulets of blood rolled down her back, her buttocks and thighs, creating a spider-webbed pattern, which changed with every blow. The leather came down, and the fireworks exploded in Tara's mind. She wanted to scream out; to tell them to quit, but the words choked in her throat. The sound of the whip had now turned wet and sloppy from the intermingling of Tara's blood and sweat. What kind of sense did all of this make? How was this going to help her assimilate to a collective consciousness? This was insane! Another lash. Again Tara's mind exploded with agonizing fireworks; she was going to die.
  Instinct took over, as Tara's ability to reason failed her. She thrashed her head about wildly with each new stripe. Her feet kicked at the air, placing even more strain upon her wrists and shoulders. The more she struggled, the more agonizing the beating. The tongues of the whip crashed against her belly and thighs as she swung back and forth against her restraints, twisting against them awkwardly in an attempt to avoid the severity of the blow. Now the lashes came quicker and stronger, the leather striking her breasts and nipples and becoming tangled in the masses of her sweaty hair. The whip tangled in her scalp, jerking her head violently as the punisher pulled it back to apply yet another stroke. There was no longer rhyme or reason to what was happening, just a struggle to survive. Somehow, she hoped that her struggle would cause them to stop, but instead, the beating intensified.
  Tara became aware of the heat on her back, the way it seemed to burn as though someone set fire to it. She felt the welts rising up and splitting across her once perfect skin. Still kicking and still spinning, she felt her flesh give itself up to exhaustion. The beating no longer mattered. The pain had thrown her into another realm. She felt as though she was looking into the face of death, and she was welcoming him with tired and open arms. This would be release; this would be the end to her suffering. Nothing made sense anymore, and now it was too late to do anything about it. She could not even manage a scream to object to their brutality, she was barely able to manage a whimper as she felt her body go limp and the beating cease.
  They slowly lowered her body, until her feet were flat against the floor. The punisher reached his brawny arm around her waist, his sweaty, salty flesh burning in her wounds. Tara heard the restraints being released and felt the pressure against her shoulders and wrists subside. Her body collapsed into the punisher's arms. No! The bastards weren't going to let her die! They were insistent that she suffer even further! Tara felt her body weightless, as she seemed to float down a dark corridor. She tried to see where she was going; where they were taking her next, but she was struggling to keep her eyes open. It was pointless; everything was pointless she decided as her mind drifted into darkness.