She finished chaining him to the heavy bolt in the floor, with
the heavy, shiny welded chain locked around his naked waist,
secured by a large dull iron padlock. Another chain locked his
waist chain to his ankles, with just enough slack to allow him to
squirm. His arms were shackled to his waist with one-foot lengths
of a brass chain.
He was in what she had called her alternate
dungeon. It was smaller than the other frightening room he had
passed, and was darker and less populated with the standard whips
and suspension gear. She styled herself variously "Mistress Paine"
or "Mistress Kaye", and he had paid her $200 for a one-hour
session. She had originally asked for $300, but he had tried to
argue her down to $150. She had gotten angry at his attitude, and
promised him even more torture than most of her slaves received.
That thought had frightened and drawn him into making an immediate
appointment.
She stalked out of the low-ceilinged room, closing a heavy door
after her. After he had been locked up, she had not paid any
attention to him. He caught a final glimpse of the back of her
shiny, black, tight shorts drawn in highlight over her pert buttocks
as she slammed the door. Something clicked with a finality which
should have worried him, perhaps, before her steps could be faintly
heard walking away. He had reserved her time from 11 to noon, and
it was already almost half gone. He waited, impatiently. His
clothes, wallet and contents were in a paper bag which she had put
in the locker he usually got when he came to see her. She, as all
the women he had ever paid to dominate him, were scrupulous in
always returning all his possessions.
The time went on, maddeningly, hour after what must have been hour.
He was sure that his allotted hour had long been exceeded. He was
due back at the office at two, enough time for his welts or bruises,
or whatever else she might do to him, to subside and allow him to
continue as if nothing unusual had occurred. His cute secretary,
Kate, who often drove his thoughts to sex and thus to visiting
Mistress Kaye, would sniff disapprovingly at him if he were late.
She had to keep exact hours, and apparently thought that he should,
also. He often got the feeling that she didn't approve of him, and
thought that she was capable of a better job if given the chance.
After he had long given trying to slip out of the wrist bands,
fortunately padded, or to loosen the chain around his somewhat
bloated waist, or to flop around to the limits of the chain binding
him to the floor, he tried to think of some way to extricate
himself. He grew thirsty, and hungry, as any possibility of eating
lunch vanished.
The sound of the lock being drawn was his first inkling that she had
returned. The light blinded him as she entered the dank room, only
dimly revealing the presence two women. Before he could recover,
they had pulled at and checked his chains and locks, convincing
themselves that he was still helpless.
The other woman was not as thin as Kaye. She was dressed in loose-
fitting jeans and shirt, with bright yellow socks visible over dirty
tennis shoes. Her hair was short, blondish, her face pinched and
cold. Kaye spoke to her in a low voice, and she responded in a
loud, brash, irritating tone, "yeah, I think it'll do," then
breaking into a brash, ludicrously loud giggle. He decided that she
wasn't very attractive.
"I need to go," he said. Kaye, who was still dressed up in her work
garb, ignored him. She stripped out of her tight shorts and the
black bra she had been wearing, then out of the black bikini
underpants. It was ordinary to her, but sexy to him, although there
was nothing of the flirt in her actions. She slipped on a terry-
cloth robe, then reached down to remove her shoes. Before she
could, the other woman was kneeling before her, carefully, almost
reverently, removing her high-heeled fetish shoes. Kaye allowed
this, preening herself as the other woman kissed each shoe, removed
it slowly, then bent down and longingly, wetly, kissed each of
Kaye's toes. Kaye inspected her own parts, scratching her vagina
and working the lips back. It had been a long day for her, and she
longed for a shower. It had been a good day, though--first, the two
shit-eaters, $500 for her morning poop. Disgusting, but good
money. Then an endless succession of disgusting males, some paying
$200 for her to pee on them, some paying $300 for her to whip them.
Her old admirer, who she saw for free, allowing him to kiss and lick
her toes while she stuffed down a sandwich for lunch. He insisted
on giving her a C-note, just because. She had let him kiss her
pussy, just for old time sake. The total take for the day was over
$2500. She had sent most of it to the bank, as usual, keeping a few
hundred to stash in the safe in her office. Expenses were high, and
she wasn't cheap.
Kaye extricated herself from the other woman's attention, fastening
her robe around her. The woman's name was Clara Grubb. Naturally,
in the scene, she went by the elegant Mistress Raquel. She was
completely in love with Kaye, happy to call herself Kaye's slave.
In fact, everything was in Kaye's name, and she was Kaye's unpaid
employee, servant, or slave. The thought always excited both of
them.
The two women now turned their attention to him. Kaye always
enjoyed this part. "You have been trapped, by me. Just as you
might trap a rat, I have trapped you. Usually, I just see my
clients and let them go. It's a business, and my clients are as
important to me as my reputation. But Clara and I take turns really
trapping slaves, because we both hate men and enjoy torturing them.
We can't really torture most of our clients, because, you see, we
let them go, and it would just be a game, or a session." Kaye was
talking, but Clara chortled. "I have to go, now. Clara, or should
I say Mistress Raquel," both women smiled shyly, "will take you.
It's her turn. Just take her very seriously, and you'll still be in
one piece when I get back. Not that I care much one way or the
other." Kaye left, leaving the door open.
The women had an informal contest, seeing who could do the worst to
each other's slaves. No one knew where he had gone, and no one
would know where to look for him. Clara took out his wallet. There
had been $450 in cash, and several credit cards. She said, "now, I
want you to give me your cash withdrawal PIN number. I know you can
give me the wrong number, but it would be better for you to give me
the right one at this time." He said, "you can't do that. They'll
find out, and you'll go to jail." She chortled, somewhat like a
horse, he thought. "Let me worry about that. The number." She
looked at him expectantly. He hesitated, not sure of what to do.
She loomed over him, legs spread wide, and grabbed his testicles
with her left hand. She poised, right fist ready to strike, and
glared at him. He could look up at the valley between her taut,
spread buttocks, almost able to imagine seeing the outlines of her
pubic hair through the thin plaid material of her shorts. He
couldn't reach her fist, but he could cover his penis. She
tightened her grip, ready to pound away. He was convinced. He
rattled off a wrong number, and she moved away.
"Now, slave," she chortled, "I hope for your sake this is the right
number. While I'm gone, I want you to kiss the floor. Make love to
the floor, lick it, suck it, pretend that it's my foot. Here." She
removed one of her tennis shoes, placing her sock on the
floor. "There. That's the spot. Until I come back, that's what
you're to do. If you are not loving that spot when I come back,
you'll regret it." She stared at him, expectantly. He said, "but
that's stupid. Why would you want me to do that? It doesn't make
sense." She responded mildly, calmly, controlled, which frightened
him more than if she had screamed in anger.
"I'm not going to whip you or beat you, yet," she said. When she
didn't raise her voice to the raucous level, it was rather
attractive, he decided. She reached into a box on a shelf by the
wall and strode over to him. She slipped the cuffs over his wrists,
drawing his arms behind his back. He bent his hands, reluctantly,
to her will, as she double-locked them behind him. She fastened a
bristly, clinging strip around his testicles, locking it in place
with a leather cup. The bristles, gentle seeming, itched and hurt
intensely. While he was failing to get comfortable, she locked a
heavy iron collar around his neck. He discovered that there were
sharp spikes on the inside of it, so that every motion of it
produced a sharp pain. She gently kicked him in the head, causing
all of his spikes to hurt. "When I come back, if you aren't busily
loving the floor, you won't get loose. I'll think up something you
really won't like. We'll see if you are trainable. Or, not." She
kicked him again, harder, and he bent down, toward the spot she had
touched. She kicked him, still harder, in the crotch, causing him
to jerk and cry out at the sharp pains inside the leather cup. He
bent to her will, licking furiously. "Suck, too, slave," she said
warningly. He tried to comply. "And, don't look up. You'll learn
to pray for my return. Also, to fear it. Sorry to be so stupid,
slave. But then, who is licking the floor?" She chortled again,
loudly and raucously, leaving the door open, her shoelaces still
untied. Two or three minutes later, she peeked in on him. "Not
lovingly enough, slave," she laughed, striding across the room to
kick him again in the crotch. "Get that tongue out there, slave,
and remember, I could come in at any time." She kicked him a few
times in the side, causing him to gasp, enjoying her power over
him.
Both his collar, and the crotch strip, became more and more
irritating. His tongue and mouth grew sore, and the absurdity of
what he was doing could almost have made him laugh. In spite of all
his irritations, he lapsed into sleep.
He awoke to Hell. He struggled and jerked, as the pain moved him
around. It seemed to come from all over, dazing him and waking him
at the same time. He wondered why he couldn't get up. The reality
of his situation dawned on him. He looked up at Clara, or Mistress
Raquel, as she called herself. She was repeatedly, grimly,
methodically striking him with a thick flat leather paddle. He
could not avoid the blows. She took no pleasure in striking him, it
seemed, but she took no heed of his cries and pleading, either.
Finally, he melded into the pain, making it a part of him,
submitting to her flogging him. She seemed to sense this, and now
began to play with herself between strokes. She slipped her hand
under her panties, working the clitoris. He fancied that he could
see her shudder in climax, as he shuddered at the pain.
She selected several whips and sticks for beating him, carefully
experimenting with his reaction. Finally, she stopped, said, "do
you have anything to say, slave?" and wrote down the correct number
as he croaked it out. She released his handcuffs. She ordered him
to continue licking the floor. This time, he complied
silently. "Slave, call me by name," she said. He was too afraid to
say a word, except "Yes, Mistress Raquel." He lowered his eyes and
did as she had ordered. He would not recover from this beating for
weeks, he knew. He might have scars or bruises for months. She
reached in her pocket for a key, and unlocked his waist chain from
the floor bolt. How easily she could have unlocked all of this
locks, he thought, and bandaged his welts. Instead, she said, "now
face down, crawl to the bathroom." He moved, frustratingly slowly,
hitching his legs up, spurting forward throught the pain. Did she
have no mercy? She said, "you had the chance to lick the floor
where I stood. You gave me the wrong number, and fell asleep
besides. Now, you have a crueler task. Will you listen more
carefully and obey exactly, next time?" She asked him. He
responded, carefully, "Yes, Mistress Raquel," but not humbly
enough. She kicked him a few times in the crotch until he sounded
the exact plaintive note which turned her on.
She knew that slaves were led into willful submission to their
mistress by more and more degrading acts. It gave her a feeling of
pleasure to force him to perform disgusting acts, and to know that
next time, he would submit to each act readily. The first time a
slave was ordered to kiss her ass, was the hardest, for him. The
next time, the slave practically begged her for the privilege. When
Clara used the word "slave," she meant "male." She had no time for
males who were not trainable as her slaves. Little patience even
for those who paid her for abusing them.
She left him licking and sucking the toilet seat, with the
admonition that, if the number were wrong, she would make him lick
out the bowl.
But this time the number worked. For more than a month, they kept
him in chains, beating and torturing him as they wished. Clara
could, in fact, get excited and even come while torturing a slave,
especially if she could dwell on the slave's pain, and not think of
any consequences. Each day, week after week, they would go to
different cash machines, usually those without cameras, and withdraw
$200. The women said that it was their pay for letting him be
their "24-hour slave."
Finally, the cash machine would disgorge no more money. The slave
was out of credit, and out of luck. Kaye and Clara had no intention
of letting him go to the police. They led him into the basement,
and forced him to dig his own grave. Each day, they would inspect
it, and order "another foot or so." Finally, the grave was at least
6 feet deep. He was chained hand and foot, and wrapped in a rug.
They rolled him into the grave, and said their goodbyes by pushing
dirt down onto him. He could hardly breath, from the dust, but
pleaded with them to stop. With just a foot of dirt, helpless as he
was, he would suffocate.
"Why should we stop?" said kaye. "We can't let you go, you know
that, and there is no reason to keep you. You can't pay our fees
any more. If you can pay us $200 per day, at least, we'll keep
you. If not," she shrugged, and indicated the shovel. He thought
quickly. "Wait," he said, desperate. "You can get money from my
credit cards." "They're already sold, slave honey," said Clara,
voice dripping mock sympathy. "My car? Wait. I will be valuable
to you. Keep me, and I will be loyal and do whatever you want.
Surely you could at least use a servant?" Neither woman thought
much of that idea. "We can do for ourselves, slave. Sorry."
"Wait, please!" He said. "After all you've done to me, I'm almost a
part of you!" "Yes," said Clara, "perhaps a dingleberry, or a dirty
sock." The shovelling had slowed down, though, and his hope re-
awakened. "Or," he shouted in triumph, "like an old, comfortable
shoe!" Both women looked embarrassed, and perhaps nostalgic, he
imagined.
They kept him this way for hours, taking turns peeing on him. He
had to prove his obedience by trying to catch their pee in his open
mouth. It was very onerous for him, but he knew that if he
disappointed them at all, they would shovel the dirt over him. They
seemed to delight in it, he thought. They must be drinking loads of
soft drinks. First Clara would come, drop her panties, squat with
her ass over the open pit. He would try to gauge where the stream
would come, as his eyes riveted on the lips of her vagina, so far
above him. Then Kaye would squat above Clara, who had to scramble
out of the way of Kaye's stream of pee, hardly having time for her
last few drops to fall on him.
After they let him out, he was very humble and obedient for a long
time. Whenever he started to get less than obedient, they would
recall and gloat over the scene in the pit. The pee didn't really
stink too badly until it sat in the trench for a while. By now, the
grave smelled badly enough sot that the mere threat of going back
into it kept him in line. The choice was clear to him, either be
humble and obedient, and be their slave, or they would just get rid
of him. It was nothing to them. If he could have escaped, he might
have done so; yet he was excited by his role, perhaps embarrassed
by how completely they had control over him.
Nevertheless, they took no chances with him escaping. They put him
on what Kay called her 'starvation diet," scraps from her table and
a small amount of dog food. After several months, he was weaker
then the ladies, who exercised every day and were well nourished.
In addition, they often tried out various bondage gear on him.
He was seldom without his collar, which they could use to tether him
to various hooks or lead him around. He was fitted with a permanent
locking crotch strap, made of heavy leather. Sharp spikes pointed
inward, impaling his tender organs. He could not run, or even walk
fast, without great care. It locked on with a heavy brass lock which
swung annoyingly between his legs.
They said they had a surprise for him. He was chained face down on
a three-inch leash attached to his collar. He had to praise and
flatter them, and assure them of how much he loved to be their
slave. Long ago, they had trained him to be both inventive and
convincing, at the point of a wicked beating.
A third woman entered. She talked with them, and, as her eyes
adjusted, noticed him. "Oh, but who is this?" she said. He was
mortified, as he realized that it was his secretary, from long ago,
it seemed. She was wearing a knit suit and high heels. It was all
he could see from his position. She knelt down, hunched on her
toes, hiking her skirt up. He could see the vague outline of her
thighs and buttocks as the skirt fell loosely on the floor, and he
turned his head slightly to get a better look. Under her panty hose
she was wearing pink panties, with, it seemed, something written on
them right over her crotch in script letters. Of course it was
against the rules for him to turn his head, much less speak freely,
but he pleaded, "please, Kate, can you get me out of here?" "Why,
it's you, sir. How did this happen to you? Everyone in the office
wondered what happened to you?" Something in her tone seemed
facetious. Nevertheless, he got the courage to speak out to
her. "Please, they are keeping me here against my will. Please get
me out of her!" Raquel said from a ways away, "So. After all our
training, you still don't like us? You're going to get a double
ration of whipping tonight from me." Kate said, from a couple of
feet away, "I'll try to do what I can, Sir, but I'm not sure I can
help you." "Please try," he said. "I'll do anything to get out of
here. Please help me." "Would you really, Sir? Would you give me
a raise?" "Of course, Kate, anything." The idea of giving her a
raise in spite of her incompetence was galling, but he would do
it. "Would you let me have your office, too?" He hesitated, but
said, "Yes, of course, Kate, just get me out of here." Now Mistress
Kaye spoke. "All this time, we have been indulgent. All this time,
letting you stay here even though you could not pay the agreed fee.
And now, such ingratitude. It makes one wonder about the honor of
males."
Kate now said, "Would you, Sir, then, do anything?" He nodded
vigourously. "Would you then beg to suck my shoe?" He started to
nod, then realized that all the women were giggling. Kate rose so
that he could not see her buttocks, and, extending her left foot,
placed her shoe in reach of his mouth. In spite of himself, he
refused to do what she had asked, turning away from her.
Now he realized that Kate had known about his situation. Vaguely,
he could recall a shadowy figure following him on one of his
excursions to Mistress Kaye. Could it have been Kate? He was now
convinced of it. "After you disappeared, Sir," she said, with a
sarcastic cast to the word 'disappeared', "you know everyone was
very disappointed in you. It seems my complaints about you and your
bad performance finally were taken seriously. So, as you can
imagine, I got your job. And, I might say, I'm doing quite well.
Of course I hired a cute little male secretary to get my coffee,
which I always seemed to botch up for you. And, you know, your wife
waited a whole two months before getting married again." That was a
shock to him, although he wondered if his wife had bothered to marry
the bum, whoever it was. "Actually, the only one who inquired about
you was your mistress. You know, besides Mistress Kaye." He did
know. For years, he had been supporting what he would never call
a "kept woman." Debbie was a sweet, loyal and loving person, who he
was happy to support for the joys she gave him. He wondered what
became of her without his support for her rent. As if reading his
mind, Kate went on, "she was so upset. Naturally, I did what I
could to comfort her. I just tried to help her," she said
innocently. "She has come into her own, now, finally realizing that
she likes women. Naturally, I am pleased to support her efforts."
He couldn't believe it. His own long-time secretary had even taken
over his own mistress, corrupting her into lesbian practices. He
dared not respond, although she prodded him with her sharp heel, dug
into his neck. "What do you think of that, Sir? Is it okay? Would
you approve? What should I say to Debbie, the next time she asks
about you?" She turned away in disgust. "Is he always so
unsocial?" She asked Kaye. "How can I get him to answer?"
Kaye said, "Answer her, Slave. That is an order." In spite of all
his conditioning, he still dared to not speak. "Well, Kate, I guess
there's only one way to teach this slave his proper place. You'll
have to use some of these whips."
He quailed, in spite of himself. "But which one?" Kate
said. "There are so many. And wouldn't I get blood or something on
my nice suit? You know I have to get back to work soon. My little
secretary starts to goof off if he's not watched."
Kaye and Raquel spent a long time going over the whips and scourges,
explaining that Kate could take a shower afterwards. "Do you really
use all of these things?" Kate asked. "Not all, but most. Some of
them are just for show," explained Kaye.
Kate slipped out of her suit, hanging it on a chair by the door.
Both of the other women watched her closely as she undressed. She
pulled off her shoes, and, still chatting with them, sat down on the
edge of the chair to pull off her panty hose. She pulled her blouse
over her head, exposing a black lace bra, carefully folding it on
the chair. She stood with the other two women, they clearly
concentrating on her, as he, too, in a mixture of dread and desire,
watched her unfasten her bra. He now could read her panties, which
said "EAT ME" in a little triangle over her pubic area. The other
two women were clearly aroused, just watching her, and he marveled
at her breasts, waist, legs and buttocks, which he had never seen
but often dreamed of. Raquel and Kaye started holding hands, and,
as Kate swaggered over to him, hugged and caressed each other.
Aroused, they staggered over to the cot, watching the scene in
mounting excitement. Raquel had slipped Kaye's shorts and panties
off in one swoop, and Kaye was playing with Raquel's nipples. They
were kissing.
Kate had chosen a terrifying whip which she cracked with a new-found
skill. The sound alone made him wish he had not angered her. He
said, "please don't do this. You don't have to." Kaye and Raquel
snickered on their couch. Kate said, "It's for your own good. You
have to recognize your betters. When a woman asks you a question,
next time, perhaps you'll know better than to refuse to answer."
She started with his legs. He tried drawing them up under him, but
she said, "don't hide them from me. You just lie down and take it
like a good slave. Right, slave?" He answered his former
secretary, "Yes, but please no more!" "What? No more?" she said,
in mock astonishment, "But I've not yet started. And you're still
so willful." She slashed him once on the back of the head, which
felt like a board crashing down. Helpless, he lay supine, exposing
his own legs voluntarily for her abuse. It was only a half hour, so
perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. The first few blows reinforced
this. After all, she wouldn't hurt her ex-boss, would she? She
gave him light, stinging blows to the back of his thighs. "Very
good, slave thing. You didn't flinch once. Just continue." With
that, she brought the whip down with all her force on the back of
his upper thighs, causing him to arch his back in agony. She
delighted in watching him react to her blows, deriving a perverse
pleasure in communicating with him so directly. The stinging wore
into him, reverberating in waves of pain. Before it had died away,
she had struck him again on the back of his knees, then the thighs
again, then his buttocks. She stopped to retrieve a leather paddle,
which she monotonously applied to his ass at less than her full
strength. "Will you ever hesitate to answer me again, slave?" she
said. he assured her that he would do anything she asked if she
would only stop whipping him. "Oh, but your whipping has just
started, it's not about to stop," she said. "You have to learn the
proper attitude. You have to beg to receive each bit of pain from
me, to crave it, in spite of youself."