Chapter One: Thursday
It was the realisation of, if not a dream, at least a dark fantasy. I was on the train down to London to start my new life as a slave of a woman in her forties. In the contacts which we had had, by phone and computer, she had promised me a life of 24 / 7 captivity as a slave, and that I would only be released when she got bored of me.
I would have no rights other than the ones which she would grant, which would be outlined in a slave contract which I would sign once I got down to her place in London. I didn’t yet know the details of that contract, but that didn’t matter. In fact I think that I had given out a lot more details than she had: I was twenty-eight years old, with a ten inch uncircumcised cock, and, in the past, I had worked out, back when I could afford it, so I didn’t exactly have a bad body. I was blonde, with blue eyes. I had had to give photographic proof of the size of my cock, with a photo of my erect penis next to a ruler. Mistress Darling wanted a sizeable cock to torment, it seemed.
I’d see a picture of Mistress Darling on the internet, dressed in leathers. She was 42 years old (she said), and she was very much a buxom blonde. And that was all that I knew about her. I didn’t even know if Darling was her real name, or just a pseudonym. Not that I really cared. My life was going nowhere. Blue eyes do not get you a job. I had been living out of a poky little flat in Birmingham, on next to no money. My last girlfriend had dumped me because she had said that I was a pervert, just because I had wanted her to dominate me. I had gotten bored with vanilla, not that I had ever been a big fan of “ordinary” sex in the first place. Ever since I had been a teenager I had fantasised about being dominated by an older woman. I think it had probably started with my form tutor, Ms Wilkins, who had been very strict. In my teenage fantasies I had dreamt about Ms Wilkins giving me six of the best with a cane. But that would never have happened – they had already gotten rid of the cane in my school by then.
My fantasies of submission really developed when I got kicked out of home, and managed to get a computer in my first, crap job. I discovered the internet, even though it took ages for pages to load on my PC back then, before they had fibre in my area. Yes, I was still on dial-up. Terrible for downloading pictures, and a video might takes hours. But things like the BDSM Library were a little quicker. And there were already a lot of fun stories by then: ones such as Mistress Nandi’s Return, or Taming Billy, or Three Slaves For Three Sadists, or Ondahlie’s Dungeon. I had ten years of masturbating to those dungeon, domination dreams. But, eventually, I decided that enough was enough. I could no longer be only the dream of a slave. I had to try the real thing.
It didn’t take me long to find Mistress Darling. It took longer to convince her that I was the slave she needed, and not some sad wanker who would run away from the real thing. And so here I was, on an ex-Branson train, going south to a life of sexual torment.
I looked out of the window. It was raining. I wondered if it would still be raining when I got to London. I had no idea if I was going to be let out into the open air once I got to wherever Mistress Darling was taking me. For all I knew it might be years before I saw the light of day again. I wondered if I was destined to be kept in some dark and dank cellar. In our conversations, so far, I’d got the impression that Mistress Darling was quite wealthy. But she had been careful not to give away details about who she really was. There was no way that I could find her, if she didn’t want to take me with her. We were meeting up in a sandwich bar which was supposed to be close to Euston Station. From there I would go to wherever she lived, if I passed her visual inspection, and if I signed the slave contract which she was bringing with her.
I looked around the train carriage, at all of the boring, vanilla people, with their boring vanilla lives. I bet most of them had never even dreamt of anything like what I was doing, and would be shocked if I told them. They probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway. People don’t normally give up their lives of freedom for ones of servitude. Not willingly, anyway. But occasionally you read, in the Sunday papers, about some wealthy foreigners employing some illegal immigrants as slaves. Those stories always seemed a bit banal, though, because it was, basically, some people effectively not paying for a charlady. There rarely was any sort of sexual element. Boring. What was the point of an ugly slave? What was the point of a slave who you didn’t dominate sexually?
I tried to read a newspaper on the train south. But the news no longer mattered to me. It was all part of a grey world I would soon be leaving behind. No more tales of venal politicians. No more lies. No more fake news. No more idiocy of Donald Trump.
I got off at Euston. I felt excited. There were butterflies in my stomach. Was this really going to happen? Was it real? Maybe it was all some big joke, and Mistress Darling would not turn up at the sandwich bar, and I would be left the for hours waiting for a dominatrix who never showed. There was a part of me which didn’t believe that my fantasy was going to come true.
I bought an A to Z on Euston Station, so that I could find the sandwich place. I walked there. I didn’t have enough money for a taxi. All of my benefits had gone on the train ticket. But I had bought a return, just in case nothing occurred.
I found the sandwich place with ease. It looked a bit greasy. I wondered if it was the right one. But it was the only one in the street. It had to be it. I went in.
There was a fat, balding guy behind the counter. He spoke with a slight Greek accent.
“What do you want?”
I looked up at the possibilities.
“Roast beef and mustard. And could I have can of diet coke please?”
I wasn’t sure how long I would have to wait. I could always linger over the diet coke.
I paid for the sandwich with my last few coins. I ate the sandwich. I waited.
Just when I had been about to give up I heard a roar outside, like some highly-tuned sports car. Then a stunning blonde woman, of some forty years or so, entered the sandwich bar. It was Mistress Darling. I recognised her immediately from her picture on the internet.
She was wearing knee-high black leather stiletto boots; a black leather skirt which came down to her knees; a black pullover which moulded it around her large breasts; and a black leather jacket. She was also taller than I had expected. In her heels she had to be at least six feet tall.
She had blonde hair that was a little longer than shoulder length. I couldn’t see her eyes as she wore black, reflective shades.
Her heels click-clicked on the tiled floor of the sandwich bar as she walked over to sit opposite me, in a little booth. The walls of the booth were high so that, if we sat near the wall, we could barely be seen. And, if we kept her voices down, I guessed that we wouldn’t be overheard.
“No CCTV here.” she said, smiling at me. Of course she wouldn’t want to be seen on CCTV if she was disappearing me into a life of bondage and sexual slavery.
I could now smell her scent. It smelled really expensive.
“Read this.” she said, pulling out a piece of folded A4 paper. She unfolded it, then put it down in front of me. “Then either sign it, or go away. There will be no discussion.”
As I had expected, it was a slave contract.
Slave Contract
1: I, ________________, hereby submit myself, completely, unconditionally, and of my own free will, to Mistress Darling, as her absolute slave.
2: From this day forward I shall become her property, available to her to dispose of in any way that pleases her.
3: My body will become her property. She may use, abuse, pleasure or torture me as she desires, whether it is giving her pleasure or receiving torture, as she sees fit. There is to be no limit on what tortures she may inflict on me. By signing this contract I consent, in advance, to all such tortures, no matter what they might be.
4: I will obey her in all things, no matter what she requires of me. I will never use a safeword.
5: As an object I no longer require clothes, and will go nude at all times, wearing only what my Mistress Darling tells me to wear. These items will be limited to fetish items.
6: I am no longer in control of my own orgasms. My Mistress Darling will decide if, and when, I am allowed to orgasm. Any sperm I produce I am to dispose of by swallowing it.
7: My Mistress Darling is in full control of my toilet. I may only urinate or defecate with her permission. In addition, I will eventually be trained to be her full service toilet, by Mistress Darling, her daughter, or any of Mistress Darling’s friends.
8: I will not speak unless ordered to do so by his Mistress Darling, her daughter, or any of Mistress Darling’s friends.
9: I may be used as an ashtray by Mistress Darling, her daughter, or any of Mistress Darling’s friends.
10: I will not look Mistress Darling in the face unless ordered to do so by Mistress Darling.
11: I must exercise for at least one hour a day to keep fit. Equipment will be provided.
12: I must keep my body free of hair at all times.
13: Should I break any of the rules above then I will receive demerits. All demerits will be worked off at the end of the week in a punishment session. Each time that I break a rule the cost of breaking the rule will go up by one point for the next time I break that particular rule.
14: I agree that should my Mistress tire of me, she may transfer my ownership to anyone she pleases, without warning, reason or consideration. Should this occur, then I agree to serve and devote myself to my new owner with the same dedication give Mistress Darling. If I do not desire to leave Mistress Darling then, upon my request, Mistress Darling may consent to torture me to death.
I agree to, and swear to, all these conditions willingly, fully aware of all of their implications, and I do so without coercion, motivated totally by my love and devotion to Mistress Darling.
Signed,
X______________________
I read the contract. Just reading it was enough to give me an erection. I had not even heard of a daughter. But if she was anything like Mistress Darling then she had to be a stunner.
Mistress Darling gave me a pen. I signed it. As soon as I did she grabbed the pen back off me, and then the slave contract. She folded it up and put it in her pocket.
“Once we are in my car you may speak. I will allow you to ask questions until you are in my apartment. As soon as you are then rule eight will apply, as will all of the others. Come on.”
She stood up and walked out of the sandwich bar. Quickly I took off my jacket, holding it in front of me so that my erection would not be noticed. I hurried out of the sandwich bar. I noticed that, a little way down the street, there was a bright red Porsche. Mistress Darling walked up to the car and got in. I got in the passenger side.
“Speak.” she said, in a commanding voice.
“How hard am I going to be tortured?” I asked.
“As hard as I desire.” she said. “But we will build up the torture slowly. I will only inflict minor or sexual torments on you to begin with. Eventually, though, you will come to need the torture, and you will beg for pain, for I intend to condition you so that you will only be able to orgasm while you are suffering. I do like to see a cock coming. If you are a good boy then, very rarely, such as your birthday or Christmas, I may even allow you to come inside me. You will, of course, be required to lick your sperm out of me.”
“Right.” I said. “Are you really going to make me a full service toilet?”
“Yes, and for you to eat what comes out of my body will become one of the greatest gifts I can bestow on you. But, again, your training in that will be slow, and not beyond what you can bear.”
I thought about it for a bit. The idea of her pissing in my mouth was a big turn on. But what about when I was actually faced with the actuality? What about when she decided to shit in my mouth?
“Ask any other questions now.” she said. “It will not be long until we are at my home.”
“You have a daughter.” I said.
“That is not a question, it is a statement.” she snapped.
“How old is your daughter? Will she be taking part in our activities?”
“She is eighteen years old, and she is being trained to be a lifestyle domme, like me. She will be taking part, under my supervision.”
I tried to think of what else to ask. I was, by now, only thinking with my cock.
“What equipment have you got?”
“A waste of a question, as you will soon see it. But I will answer it. I have whip, needles, ball-crushers, clamps, branding irons, and many other things, up to, and including, a penis guillotine. I do not intend to use that on you while you remain my slave, you should be happy to hear. It is only for show. But the racks, the needles, and even the branding irons are things which you may experience in years to come.”
“Are you going to have other friends punish me?” I asked, recalling what had been printed on the slave contract.
“I have friends who you will serve, in one way or another. Any other questions?”
I couldn’t think of any. It was all too overwhelming. I was turned on and scared at the same time.
“Do you have a dungeon?” I asked, suddenly thinking of whether I was going to be in some dank cellar.
“I have a medieval-style dungeon, a training and exercise room, a medical room, and a modern torture room.” she said. The other rooms are my living room, a store room, my bathroom, the kitchen, and three bedrooms. You will spend most time in the dungeon, apart from when you are exercising in the morning.”
It sounded like a big place.
Eventually we reached our destination, an underground car park beneath a high rise building of apartments. We were in one of the wealthiest areas of London, by the looks of it. This was the sort of area where Saudi princes owned apartments costing millions upon millions of dollars. This woman had to be extremely rich.
I got out of the car, as did she. We walked over to an area where there were two elevators. She got out some sort of electric fob and pressed it. The door of one of the elevators opened. I went in. She walked in and stood beside me.
There were no numbers on the inside of the lift. This had to be an express one. She pressed the fob again and the lift doors closed.
“The lift is exclusive.” she said. “Only I and my daughter have fobs. I made sure of that, when I bought the building. There is, however, a dumb waiter life in the lobby, going up to my kitchen. I do not enjoy cooking; and I can’t have some takeaway person turning up on my door while I am reaming out your arsehole with a massive strap-on.”
She pressed a different button on the fob. The lift began shooting upwards, so that I felt that I almost left my stomach behind. It wasn’t long until it came to a stop. The lift doors opened out into some short hall. We went through a door. It led into one of the most luxurious rooms I had ever seen. It was a massive living room. There were white leather sofas and chairs; a massive TV screen mounted on one wall; luxuriant carpets; what looked like smoked glass walls; a round poker table with chairs around it; and so on.
“The glass is one way.” Mistress Darling said. “We can see out but no one can see in. I value my privacy. The place is also entirely soundproofed. You can scream as loudly as you like and nobody will ever hear you.”
“Wow.” I said.
“That is your first demerit.”
Crap! I had forgotten that I could no longer speak. This was a rule which was going to be hard.
Mistress Darling got out her smartphone. She pressed some sort of app. The TV monitor on the wall lit up. It said:
CURRENT DEMERITS: 0
PENALTIES:
Disobedience: 1 demerit
Urinating without permission: 1 demerit
Unauthorised talking: 1 demerit.
Wearing clothing: 1 demerit
Unauthorised orgasm: 1 demerit
Looking Mistress in the face: 1 demerit
Not exercising for long enough: 1 demerit
Not keeping body free of hair: 1 demerit
She pressed a button. The unauthorised talking went from one to two, for the cost; and current demerits went up to one.
“You were warned.” she said, and laughed. I looked up before remembering that looking her in the face was also banned. She used her app on her mobile, and current demerits went up to two, while the cost of looking Mistress in the face also increased by one.
“Take your clothes off.” she said.
I managed not to look her in the face, or say anything. I divested myself of my raiment as quickly as I could. At least it was warm in her penthouse.
“You have hair on your body.” she said. It was true. I had a few thin hairs on my chest, and I had pubic hair. “That is another demerit.”
She pressed a button on her phone. The number of demerits went up to three.
“What? That’s not fair!” I said, as I glanced at her. She pressed her phone again. Now my demerits totalled seven.
“It is not about fairness, it is about obedience.” she said. “You read the contract, and new that it would come into effect once you entered my home. You were allowed to speak in my car. You should have said that you had hair on your body, and needed to remove it. Come with me into the bathroom.”
I followed her into the most luxuriant bathroom that I had ever been in. It was bigger than the main room of my apartment back in Birmingham. There was a sunken marble bath, which could easily have held several people; a separate shower; a toilet with a section which looked like it could be removed, so that some slave could put his head into the bowl, and have his mistress over him; a bidet; a washbasin; and a couple of cabinets.
“I will shave you this once.” Mistress Darling said. “But from tomorrow onwards it will be up to you to ensure that you have no hair on your body. Stubble is not acceptable.”
She got out shaving foam, a badger hair brush, and a safety razor. Shaving foam was applied liberally to my chest and groin. She was very careful as she shaved my groin; a little faster on my chest.
“Stand in the shower.” she said. I obeyed. The remains of the foam were washed off by the warm water. I was left as smooth as a baby.
“That’s better.” she said. “I loathe excess hair. To begin with you will be allowed a warm shower in the morning, following your exercises. Eventually I may require that the shower is icy cold. We’ll see.
“Now I will show you where you will exercise. Follow me.”
She led me into a gymnasium. There was a cycling machine in there; a rowing machine; weights; and various other bits and pieces of equipment.
“You do not have a bad body. But it looks like you have become a little flabby. You will be required to recover your physique. I like the men I torture to look incredible. Your regime is one hour of exercise every day. You will do ten minutes of warming up, twenty minutes of weight training, and thirty minutes on the bicycle. Your regime may change in the future. You will be monitored in this. You may not have noticed it, but every room in my penthouse has a CCTV camera or two. The feed goes to my computer, which has extra memory. It is amazing how much memory you can have when you spend a million. I have enough terabytes of memory to constantly run my cameras for twenty years. After twenty years the system is set up to delete old files. There is no way to disobey me and think that you will get away with it.
“I should say that it is possible to set up punishments in concert with the bicycle. When I feel that you are ready I will have your genitals hooked up, and a minimum speed set for your daily regimen. Fail to maintain the speed and you will receive electric shocks. But, because I am a kind Mistress, that system will only be introduced when I feel that you are fit enough.
“Now I will show you the dungeon.”
She led me into a room hidden in the centre of her massive penthouse apartment. The dungeon was accessed behind a bookcase which moved outwards. When the bookcase was in place you couldn’t tell that there was anything behind it.
The room beyond really did look like a dungeon. It had rough stone walls, and a stone floor. It had just about every piece of equipment which you could imagine. I could see a wooden rack, with chains attached to manacles which would go onto a slave’s wrists and ankles. There was an X-cross against one wall, with more metal bands for securing the slave. There were two pillories: one was for a slave’s head and hands, but the other could only be for a slave’s cock and balls. There was a padded horse over which a slave could be tied. There was a leather bondage table, again with bonds of metal. There was a metal cage, which I took to be some sort of dog cage, and which I thought was too small for me. There was a wooden chair which had studs all over it, and a seat which could be removed. There were various chains hanging from the ceiling.
There were as many instruments for causing pain as could be imagined. There were whips of every sort; pliers and pincers; a torture pear; needles and skewers; clamps and thumbscrews; and items I didn’t recognise. This place was a miniature torture museum. There was even an unlit brazier, under some sort of extraction chute to remove the smoke. A person could be seriously damaged in this place. I wondered just what I had signed myself up for. But it was too late now. There would be no escape for me.
“Now come and see the medical room.” she said. She led me into another room, slightly smaller than the dungeon. It had an operating table, and a gynaecological bench (although I doubted that a woman had ever been in it). I could see a bag for enemas, on a stand, and a wheeled table with a tray holding scalpels and forceps and the like. The floor was sloping slightly, and there was a drain in the middle of the floor, so that it would be easy to wash it clean.
“Pray that you never come in here when I am angry.” she said. “This room is equipped so that I can carry out operations. If I wanted to I could perform invasive procedures here, or remove your organs. I have a daydream of glass jars in a long row on a shelf, containing the testicles and penises of a dozen men or more. But that will have to remain a dream, I suppose. Although dominatrices may do such things in stories, they do not really do that in real life. Your genitalia is safe, for the simple reason I like to look at large cocks spurting out spunk – and they are also a great target for inflicting pain.
“Now I will show you the modern torture room.”
We went into another chamber of horrors. This room was spartan, with a tiled floor and white walls. There was what looked like an adjustable torture chair, as well as another bondage table. There was a metal bar suspended from the ceiling, which Mistress Darling informed me was a parrot’s perch, used in nasty dictatorships in South America in the 1970s. There was an electrical torture machine, with various probes and needles. This was not a TENS machine, but something a lot more powerful. I was informed that it was perfectly safe. Something to do with the difference between voltage and wattage and amperage. I didn’t understand it. But, then again, I had failed GCSE physics.
We left the room behind, going back into the main room.
“I have not brought you here to be a charlady.” Mistress Darling explained to me. But, during the week, I am often busy, taking care of my various investments. Therefore there will be a schedule. At 06.45 an alarm in your sleep cupboard will awake you…”
Sleep cupboard? What was that? Was I going to sleep in a cupboard? I supposed it would be better than sleeping on the stone floor of the dungeon, which I had kind of presumed that I would be doing.
“…You will get up and take a quick shower, which will initially be warm. You must then out the coffee on, to serve me with a coffee when I wake up at seven. You will then prepare breakfast for me. There are details in the kitchen of what to prepare, and how I like it. Once I have had my breakfast I like to have a bath. You will attend to me in the bathroom. After the bath, until nine o’clock when I leave, you are to attend to my whims. At 09.00 you are to spend an hour exercising, as I have already explained. Then you may have another shower to wash off any sweat, as I do not like any smelly slaves. You will then do any minor tasks, such as vacuuming, if necessary.
“When those tasks are done you are to return to your sleep cupboard until such a time as I, or my daughter, return or free you. I will show that now to you. First, do you need to go to the loo?”
I shook my head. I was fine. I had only had a half can of diet coke all day.
She went over to another bookcase, and pressed a hidden button. A section of the bookcase, around two feet tall and three feet wide, opened up. A carbon fibre tray slid out. The tray was over six feet long. It had what looked like a comfortable mattress on it. There were various attachments along the edges of the tray.
“Let me explain how your bed works.” Mistress Darling said. “It is designed to keep you out of the way when your slave body is not required. When you lie down one your bed metal bands will secure your wrists, chest, ankles and thighs to your bed. This will prevent any surreptitious masturbation. Remember that you may only cum when I decide that you can cum. The bed will automatically come out of the wall at 06.45 in the morning, when the alarm wakens you up. Otherwise you will have to wait to be released by me or my daughter.
“The cupboard is totally soundproofed. You could scream forever and nobody would ever hear you. Now, I think that you should try it out.”
I guessed that that was an order. I didn’t dare disobey it. I lay down on the in-built mattress of the tray.
It was very comfortable. I guessed that it was some sort of memory phone.
“Put your arms by your side.” Mistress Darling said. “It will not close until you do so.”
I did as ordered. Metal manacles closed around my wrists and ankles. They were padded, so my wrists would not become chafed. A metal band slid out of the underside of the tray, and went across my chest. Others secured my upper thighs. There was no way I could move anything other than my head.
As soon as I was secure the tray rolled back inside the cupboard. I had thought that it would be stuffy in there. But it was not. There had to be some sort of air conditioning. At least I wasn’t going to suffocate.
It was completely dark in there, and I thought that it would soon become very boring. I wondered how long Mistress Darling would keep me in there. Then, suddenly, there was light above my face, in what was now my ceiling, maybe a couple of feet away from my face. There was a screen there.
The face of Mistress Darling appeared. It had to be something which she had recorded earlier.
“Hello, slave.” she said. “Although there will be no entertainment during the night, I cannot have you getting bored during the day. So you will see a series of videos featuring me and previous participants. None of them, unfortunately, were permanent slaves. You have the honour of being my first such slave. But much of what you are about to see I intend to eventually inflict upon you – oh, and so much more. I hope that it turns you on. Of course you cannot masturbate with your hands manacled by your side. But that is rather the point, isn’t it? I want you to be in a near constant state of arousal, even when I am not there. But you will only cum when I say so. Orgasm denial will be one of the torments which you must suffer.”
Her face faded away. It was replaced by an image of the dungeon. There was a muscular man tied face down over the horse. I could see his back, backside and legs. But I couldn’t see his face or head the way that he was tied.
Mistress Darling walked into shot. She was entirely naked. I felt an immediate twitch from my groin. My cock liked what I was seeing.
Her breasts had to be at least doubles Ds. She was a buxom woman. But they were not sagging as much as might be expected from somebody in her forties. I judged them to be real, though, from the way that they wobbled as she walked. She had a couple of long, rosy-coloured nipples, already erect. Perhaps it had been cool in the dungeon. Or maybe she was already turned on.
Her groin was entirely free of hair. I could see her thick outer lips as she walked to stand behind the naked man-slave. She had a bullwhip in her hands. It was brown leather, and was very much the real thing.
She proceeded to give the tied up slave the whipping of his life. Every impact of the whip caused discolouration to the slave’s back or buttocks. She was not holding back. This wasn’t like some of the videos I had seen on the internet, where some pot-bellied male slave had his back whipped by some domme, but no marks ever appeared. This was the real thing.
Eventually the whip strokes began to draw blood, droplets slowly dribbling down his back. At the first stroke which split the skin Mistress Darling picked up the whip and caressed herself for about ten minutes, her long fingers secreting themselves between her labia. By the end of her masturbation I was rock hard, but unable to do anything about it. Then she picked up the bullwhip again and continued her bloody bullwhipping of the slave.
The scene faded out. Another one faded in. This one was just of a naked Mistress Darling. The camera was at a low angle, looking up between her thighs at her juicy cunt. The high-definition camera picked out every crinkle of her hairless labia. At that moment all that I wanted to do was to get my lips between those luscious lips and carry on licking, until I gave her a massive orgasm. But, of course, tied as I was, all that I could do was watch and lust.
“I am Mistress Darling.” she commanded, in her most authoritarian voice. “You will obey me in all things. Whatever I ask you will do, no matter how disgusting. You will beg to eat my cunt. You will beg to stick your tongue deep into my anus. You will beg to drink my piss and eat my shit.”
She spread her labia with her fingers, so that the camera could see the pink insides.
“Here is my hot and luscious cunt. If you serve me well enough perhaps I will let you enter it with your cock. I will give you the best ride of your life, so that your spunk, perhaps built up over weeks, will cum inside me. Then I will sit on your face and you will lick me out, swallowing down every drop of your spunk.”
The scene faded out, to another scene in the dungeon. This time a slave – possibly the same one as before, possibly a different one – was tied, again, over the horse. This time, though, he was tied so that his buttocks were resting on top of the horse. His legs were tied to the front of the horse, his body hanging down the back, so that, again, I couldn’t see the slave’s face. His cock, I could see, had been taped to his belly, keeping it out of the way. A leather band had been tightened around his scrotum, presenting his balls, so that they could not get out of the way. They were now the most prominent part of his body, and utterly defenceless.
A naked Mistress Darling was stood near him. I could see her from behind, and I could see that she had a wonderfully taut arse. It was clear that she also worked out in the gymnasium a lot. It was not just for slaves.
She had a leather tawse in her hands. She brought it down on the slave’s balls. I heard a muffled scream from the other side of the horse. But it did not deter Mistress Darling from the savage ball-beating. She carried on until the testicles had swollen up inside the scrotum, and the screams had subsided into mere whimpering.
Fadeout; fade-in. The same image of a naked Mistress Darling looking down imperiously into the camera.
“I am Mistress Darling. You will obey me in all things…”
When that segment finished repeating we were taken, not to the dungeon, but to the modern torture room, where a slave had been filmed having his cock and balls shocked. The slave shrieked like a little girl. He carried on being tortured until unconsciousness took him.
Between each segment of torture there was that brief video of Mistress Darling exhorting me to obey her in all things, and so on. Then there would be another torture video, not just of men, but occasionally of slave girls, as well. I saw a slave girl have her clamped open labia beaten with a leather crop; a male slave being anally raped with a twelve inch long strap-on; another male slave having wax dripped all over his erect cock; and so on. The punishments seemed to be endless, every one of them bookended by that short clip of a naked Mistress Darling. I realised that it was a particularly erotic form of brainwashing. I would, at that moment in time, done anything which Mistress Darling wanted, if only I be allowed to stroke my cock, to bring me to a much needed orgasm. Just one stroke would have done. But, of course, that release was denied me.
I’m not sure how long those videos went on for, as there was no way in which I could keep track of time. It probably seemed a lot longer than it was. But it came to an end. Everything does.
The videos stopped as the door at my feet opened and the tray I was bound to automatically slid open back into the living room. When it stopped my bonds released, withdrawing into the tray under me. I found myself – still with a rock-hard erection – looking up at an eighteen year old girl. It had to be the daughter.
She was almost as tall as her mother. She was blonde, and thin, with large breasts (although not as large as those of her mother). She was wearing buckled hoes, knee high white socks, a knee length checked grey skirt, and a grey jacket over a white blouse. Her hair was tied back into a single braid. In one hand she had a pair of handcuffs. She was one of the most beautiful girls I had never seen.
“Wow, so she did get a permanent slave.” the daughter said. “Here, quick, put these on.” She held out the handcuffs. I stood up, off the tray. It slid back automatically into the wall. The bookcase closed back up.
I put one of the metal rings around one wrist, and was about to lock the other cuff, when the girl intervened.
“No, not like that, stupid.” she said. She grabbed my hands and pulled them behind my back. She was surprisingly strong for a person of her age. She had to do some weight training in the gym, as well.
She clicked the cuff shut. My hands were now handcuffed behind my back.
“We’ve got an hour until Mom gets back.” she said. “Come on.”
There was nothing I could do, so I thought. I had been ordered to obey the daughter as well as the mother. So I let her lead me into the dungeon.
“Lie down on the floor.” she said. I did as instructed, lying on my cuffed arms. My erection had not gone down a bit. It was definitely enjoying being ordered around by an eighteen year old girl.
The daughter – I didn’t know her name yet – reached down under her checked skirt and pulled off a pair of black panties. I got a brief glimpse of her luscious, shaven cunt.
“Lick me.” she ordered. “And you had better make it good, or you will suffer later.”
She knelt down, her sweet labia almost touching my face. I did as instructed, my tongue extending to burrow into her left. I lapped away as though my life depended on it.
She tasted sweet. She tasted incredible. My cock jerked as I ate her. One touch was all that it would take for me to cum. But she didn’t touch me.
“God, you’ve got a really nice cock.” she said. “I’d like to see it cum while I’m whipping it with a single cord. I bet you’d like that two, wouldn’t you, you fucking pervert. You must be a pervert to give yourself to my Mom for the rest of your life. She’s going to really torture you, you know. She loves cock torture – and I do, too. But I’ve never had as big a cock as yours to torture before. There are so many different ways to torture a cock, and Mom is teaching them all to me. You can use needles, pushed all of the way through the head. Or you can use sandpaper. That gets them really crying. Or you can use wax. I saw Mom open up a guy’s peehole once and drip wax inside. I bet that stung.”
She carried on like that, describing torments, getting more and more lurid, eventually describing things out of stories, not real life, the sorts of things which would permanently have destroyed a man’s penis. It was clear that the idea of cock torture really turned her on, because soon she was cumming on my face. I licked up as many of her juices as I could.
Then, with a sigh, she got off my face, and knelt beside my hip. She grasped the base of my cock with one of her dainty hands. She made it point up towards the ceiling. Then she stuck out her pink tongue and loving licked all around the glans, before running the tip of her tongue over my peehole, as she had called it.
I exploded like a grenade, my hot white cum shooting at least a couple of feet straight up into the air. She snatched her hands away as soon as she felt my orgasm coming.
She laughed, then, as though watching me cum had been the funniest thing in the world. Spunk was all over my chest and groin.
“Get up, pervert.” she said. She helped me to my feet. I felt totally drained. I was dragged back into the main room, where she took the handcuffs off me. I was put back on the tray which came out of the wall. The metal bands captured me again. I was slid back into the wall. More of the BDSM videos.
Some time later I was slid out again. I don’t think it was that long, this time.
Mistress Darling was there, standing over me. She did not look pleased.
“I have hardly been out of the house and you have already broken three more rules!” she shouted at me. One: You looked my daughter in the face, without permission to do so. Two: You came without permission. And three: You did not eat up your own spunk. Be glad that this is only your first day. But you did break the rules.
“There will be no additional punishment. But the demerits must go on the board. We must play by the rules, mustn’t we?”
She got out her smartphone and pressed some buttons. A total of 5 demerits were added to the screen. It now read:
CURRENT DEMERITS: 12
PENALTIES:
Disobedience: 2 demerits
Urinating without permission: 1 demerit
Unauthorised talking: 3 demerits
Wearing clothing: 1 demerit
Unauthorised orgasm: 2 demerits
Looking Mistress in the face: 4 demerits
Not exercising for long enough: 1 demerit
Not keeping body free of hair: 2 demerit
“Now, do you need to use the toilet?”
I nodded that I did.
“Come on then.”
She led me into the bathroom. I stood in front of the toilet. I took hold of my cock, intending to urinate into the toilet bowl. But she slapped my hands away.
“You don’t get to touch it. It’s my cock now.” she said. She held my cock, and pointed it down into the bowl. But I found that I couldn’t piss with her holding it. It was only when she turned on the cold tap in the washbasin that I was able to piss into the toilet bowl.
“I don’t need you for a couple of hours, so you are going back in the cupboard, since you are a naughty boy.” So back into the cupboard I went.
What I presumed was a couple of hours later I was released out of my cupboard.
“Time for you to eat.” she said. “You have salad and a protein shake.”
She led me into the kitchen. The protein shake was in a normal glass. The salad was in a dog bowl on the floor.
“Slaves don’t sit at tables.” she explained. “You will eat on the floor in future. You may use your fingers to eat the salad.”
I ate the salad. It was actually very nice. The protein shake was bland, but not nasty. I was to get a lot of these protein shakes in the days ahead. I was to eventually conclude that Viagra, or something similar, was in the shakes, as I seemed to sport an erection nearly all of the time, from then on.
When I had finished eating I was allowed to use the loo. I was told to sit down, and warned to shit then, as I would get a hell of a lot of demerit points if I fouled my sleeping quarters. I managed a small turd, which was very embarrassing as Mistress Darling made sure to watch. She was in control of my toilet, as she had said. Then I cleaned myself on the bidet, until my arse was probably cleaner than it had ever been.
We went back into the living room. Mistress Darling took off her leather skirt, to reveal that she had been going commando underneath it. She sat down in one of her white leather chairs, with her arse at the very edge.
“Kneel before me, and use your tongue, slave. Make me cum.”
She picked up a remote and turned on the television on the wall. She watched the news to begin with, as I used all of my cunnilingual skill to try and make her cum. It took some time, but I was pretty sure that she came, as I heard her sigh and felt her quiver.
“Keep going.” she said, although I had not stopped. “You are passable. Perhaps you will be a good slave after all.”
By then the act of servicing my mistress in such a manner had given me another raging hard on (or maybe it had been the protein shake). But I didn’t dare touch it with my hands, after she had made clear that it wasn’t mine to touch. Besides, I didn’t think that she would be very happy if I spunked up the front of her white leather armchair.
I gave her another orgasm. But she didn’t say anything so I carried on licking her. By then my tongue was pretty tired, and I had an ache in my neck.
“Lick my anus.” she said. “Get your tongue in there as deep as you can. Give me a good rimming and I may forgive your earlier, unauthorised orgasm.”
Her anus was scrupulously clean. It was not even brown, and I couldn’t help wondering whether she was one of those women who went in for anal bleaching. There was no way of finding out, though, as I wouldn’t have dared to ask her that question, even if I had been allowed to speak.
I kept on for ages, swirling my tongue around her puckered hole, forcing the tip inside past the ring. There wasn’t really a taste, other than some faint hint of earthiness.
She switched to porn on the television, no doubt watching videos which she had probably recorded herself. I couldn’t see anything, as I had my back to it. But I could hear sighs of a woman receiving pleasure, interspersed with the moans and screams of men in pain.
Eventually my mistress decided that she had had enough. She stood up, towering over me as I kneeled on the floor.
“Time for you to go to bed. You have a full day tomorrow, and will have a lot to do.”
The hidden tray was, once more, extended out of the wall. I lay down on it. The manacles once more bound me to it. And it retreated back inside my cupboard.
It was dark in there. This time there were no films to entertain me. Bound as I was, though, I didn’t think that I would be able to get to sleep, as I had always been a person who had needed to sleep on his side. Either side would do. But I never slept on my back, even if this thin mattress seemed to mould itself to my body. But I did get to sleep. I think that I was so mentally exhausted after the events of the day that I went to sleep pretty quickly.
Chapter Two: Friday
Aroogah! Aroogah! Aroogah!
Deafening sirens brought about a most unwelcome awakening to me. I found myself in darkness, and I wondered what was going on. This was not my flat in Birmingham! Then, as the tray slid out into the plush living room, realisation dawned. I was in my new life. There was no going back. Not that I even wanted to, at the moment.
The bonds clicked open, and I got up off the tray. It slid into the wall, and the bookcase closed back up. I was dying to go too the loo. But I remembered something about coffee. I rushed into the kitchen. I could see a coffee percolator. I had never used one before. But there were instructions next to it.
I put one of the paper things in the percolator, then plenty of dark roast Kenyan coffee from out of the fridge. Water filled the reservoir in the percolator. I turned it on. I hoped that I had done it correctly. Then I ran to the bathroom.
I went to the loo, relieving myself. It never occurred to me that I should have asked for permission.
I tried to recall what Mistress Darling had said the previous day. Shower, coffee, breakfast. I took a warm shower. I didn’t stay in there too long, in case I was still in there when Mistress Darling woke up. I guessed that she wanted me to greet her with a cup of coffee just after her alarm went off.
I got out of the shower, dried myself off, and ran into the kitchen. Two minutes to seven. I got an aluminium and pyrex coffee cup out of a cupboard. I poured coffee into it. According to her instructions she had neither sugar nor milk in her coffee. I took the coffee into my Mistress’s bedroom.
She was sat up in bed. It was obvious that she slept in the nude. Her massive tits were uncovered. I could see that she had little gold rings piercing her nipples.
“You are one minute late, slave.” she said. “As this is your first day I will excuse that, and not add any demerits for disobedience. But, come Monday morning, I expect you to come through my door at exactly seven o’clock. Now go and prepare breakfast for me. I have left instructions. Your own breakfast must wait until you are free to perform minor tasks.
I scurried back into the kitchen. I was to do her a toasted muffin with a small sachet of grapefruit marmalade. That was easy enough. I was told to weight outside her bedroom door, where I would hear her, should she call.
She had me take the breakfast plate into the kitchen. Then back to stand outside her door again. This ended when she stepped out of her bedroom, entirely nude. My cock began to stand to attention.
“Slave, attend to my bath.” she said. She told me how to run it for her, and how hot she liked it, and what combination of bath salts to put in. I was told that if I got it wrong, in future, that I would be punished. It was one more thing for me to remember. It was one more thing for me to get wrong.
“Wash my body, slave.” she said. “Clean every nook and cranny.”
She had me soap her everywhere. I got to run my hands all over the body of my Mistress. I got to feel her tits, soap her labia, wash her backside. But that was all that I could do. My cock wanted to do a lot more. But I wasn’t allowed to touch it, no matter that it was now as hard as a rod of iron.
I rinsed any soap off her. Then I dried her when she got out of the bath. She put a bathrobe around her body.
“Until nine o’clock you are to attend to my whims.” she said. “Go and stand in the living room. I will join you shortly.”
She entered the living room a few minutes later, fully dressed. She was in tight black designer jeans, a tee shirt with diamante sparkles, and knee-high black leather boots. She had a black leather jacket slung over her shoulder.
“Kneel at my feet.” she said. “I like to see an aroused male kneeling before me. It is your natural position. It is women, not men, who are superior creatures.”
I knelt at her feet, my cock still erect. It ached from not being touched.
“Kiss my boots.” she said. I did as instructed. “More. Lick them. I want them to be polished by your tongue. Wait, first I think I will have another coffee. Go and get me another one.”
I hurried into the kitchen and got her another coffee. I brought it back, gave it to her and knelt at her feet. It was at that moment that the daughter – I still didn’t know her name – came out into the living room. She was dressed for college. She smirked at seeing me at her mother’s feet. I remembered how she had masturbated me the day before, getting me into trouble. I would have to be careful with the little minx.
“Do you want the slave to get you breakfast, dearest?” my Mistress said.
“No, I’ll pick something up on the way. See you later, Mom.”
“See you tonight, love.” The little minx left the room, going for the elevator.
“Why aren’t you licking my boots?” Mistress Darling snapped at me. I went back to licking her leather boots, until my tongue had been over every inch of the leather. Meanwhile Mistress Darling had turned on the morning news, watching that and drinking her coffee.
“Don’t forget to lick the soles, as well.”
I sighed, but carried on with my task.
“Ah, it is nine o’clock, I must go, I have a meeting.” Mistress Darling said, signalling an end to my licking duties. “You are now to carry on with the rest of the tasks, which I assigned to you yesterday. I suspect that my darling daughter, now that we have a new and permanent slave, will not, in fact, go to college, but will sneak back later to play with you. She is a mistress to, and you are to obey her in all things, with one exception: you are not to cum, no matter what she says or does to you. Each time you cum you will earn demerits. I want your spunk to build up in your balls, as I want your cock for myself. So no orgasms, slave, if you know what’s good for you.”
Mistress Darling left me alone then. I tried to recall what I was supposed to do next. Exercises, that was it.
I went into the gym. It felt odd to be exercising naked. But the word gymnasium came from the Ancient Greek words for exercising naked. They didn’t wear clothes in the early Olympics. so I supposed it wasn’t that strange to be in the buff.
Ten minutes of warming up, she had said. I was glad to see that there was a clock on the wall of the room. I did some press ups and sit ups, and then I did some more, until the ten minutes were up.
Twenty minutes of weight training. That wasn’t so bad. I didn’t go for the heavier weights, as I didn’t want to pull a muscle, or anything like that. My arms still ached by the end of the twenty minutes, though.
Then it was thirty minutes on the cycling machine. Knowing that I was a little out of form I didn’t do anything stupid, but kept it in first gear for the full thirty minutes. I noticed that, in addition to current speed, it showed me how far I had cycled. I only did a little over three miles.
At just after ten I left the gym and went and had another shower, as instructed. I didn’t think the place needed vacuuming, so I stayed in the shower for a full twenty minutes, enjoying the hot water on my body.
I dried myself off. I left the bathroom, intending to go and lock myself into the cupboard. I was trying to be a good little slave, you see.
I went into the living room to see the daughter standing there, smirking at me. I immediately dropped my gaze. But I knew that I had accidentally looked her in the face. I hoped that maybe Mistress Darling might miss that, as I didn’t really want to accrue any more demerits.
“Hello, pervert.” the daughter said. That seemed to be her name for me. I supposed that she wasn’t wrong. “Get in the dungeon, I want to play with you some more.”
I wondered if she was the sort of girl who, when she had been little, had broken all of her Christmas toys come Boxing Day.
I couldn’t refuse her. Mistress Darling had told me to obey her daughter. So I went into the forbidding dungeon, wondering just what was going to happen to me.
“Get on the table.” the daughter said. I got on the leather covered table. Manacles were attached to my wrists and ankles. Then the daughter left me there, unable to move.
When she returned she was dressed somewhat differently. She was in thigh-high leather boots, a leather corset, and elbow length leather gloves. And nothing else, her sweet, shaven labia on display. She had a bottle of baby oil in her hands, and was carrying a small glass.
“I understand that one of the rules that mother has set is that if you cum you have to drink it.” she said. “I understand that you are not allowed to cum. So I am going to test how good you are at following orders. I am going to masturbate you and, if you are a good little slave, you won’t cum. I am going to try to make you cum, of course. First, though, I want to feel that thing inside me.”
She climbed on top of me and rode my cock for around five minutes or so. Her cunt was very tight. I almost came inside her. But somehow I managed to obey my mistress and hold off.
I sighed when she climbed off me.
“That was fun.” she said. “But I think that any more and you would have cum, wouldn’t you?
“Now we are gonna have some more fun. I hope that you enjoy this slave, because the next time I play with you I won’t be so pleasant. Mom likes beating slaves, but she is also as much into sexual slavery as S and M. I’m not. I’m into sadism first. I’ve grown up around torture, and my favourite thing of all is torturing an erect cock, and you have the most inviting one of those I’ve ever seen. But I’m not going to do that until Mom gets a chance to work you over first. Wouldn’t be fair, would it? After all, she’s the one who found you.”
She got the baby oil and covered my cock with it. Then she proceeded to give me one of the best handjobs any male has ever received. No eighteen year old should be that knowledgeable over how to masturbate men.
It did not take me long to cum, my penis spurting out hot sperm. The evil little daughter was ready with the glass, bending my penis down so that all of my spunk was caught in the glass cup.
“Open wide.” she said, and laughed. My own spunk was dripped inside my mouth. Only when the daughter was convinced that no more of my spunk could be gotten out of the glass did she put it down.
Then she began wanking me again. Having just cum the head of my penis was very sensitive. But she didn’t care. I groaned as she massaged the head of my cock. Then she gave me a blowjob of blowjobs. Slowly I became hard again, until my penis was, once again, a full nine inches long.
I went towards a second orgasm. There was nothing I could do. The little minx of a mistress’s daughter was more skilled than my resistance. Once again I spunked into the glass, albeit a much smaller amount than before. Once again I had to swallow my own sperm, leaving me feel completely humiliated.
Yet again I was not allowed to rest. Her skilled hands kneaded me again.
“No, please…” I said, momentarily forgetting the rule against talking.
“No speaking.” she said, pinching my left nipple with her nails. The sensation, although painful, was not unpleasant. I have always had a thing about my nipples being pinched or twisted. My cock, not entirely dead, gave a little jerk.
“Oh, so you liked that, did you?” she asked. She had seen my cock jerk when she had hurt my nipple. “Then let’s give you some more.”
She wanked my cock with one hand, while pinching and twisting my nipples with the other. Somehow, over an hour, she brought me to another orgasm. But only the smallest amount of spunk dribbled out into the glass. She held it over my open mouth. A few drops dribbled onto my tongue. I really did not like the taste. But I supposed that I would get used to it, especially as I would associate it with cumming from now on.
“I had hoped to keep you cumming all day.” she said, in disappointment. “I’m almost tempted to whip your cock to shreds. But that can wait until next week. You have got me excited, though, so you can return the favour. I made you cum three times. So that is at least three orgasms you owe me.”
She climbed onto the table and presented her cunt to my mouth. Once again I licked for all my worth. Orgasm number one came quickly. She gasped in pleasure and almost smothered me, just about remembering to let me breathe.
“Alright down there, are you?” she asked, hearing me gasp for breath. “I’ve never smothered anybody to death with my cunt before. I suppose there’s always a first time, pervert.
“We are now face with a problem, ‘cause I need to piss, but I don’t want to get down. I know Mom hasn’t broken you in as a toilet slave, but I want you to swallow my piss. Yeah, I’m ordering you to swallow my piss, ‘cause you’re just a stinking fucking pervert. Open your mouth. Swallow it all. Don’t drop a bit of my golden nectar.”
I opened my mouth as wide as I could, not looking forward to this. She pissed in my mouth. It was hot and salty and sour and not very nice tasting. I swallowed as much of it as I could, as quickly as I could. But a few drops still fell down on top of the leather-covered table.
“You missed some, pervert.” she said. “Mom’s going to be mad at you when I tell her that. You’re supposed to obey me. Now get back to sucking on my cunt.”
Pissing down my throat must have been a turn on for this young little slut, as it wasn’t long before I brought her to a second shuddering orgasm. The third one, though, took ages. I think that she held back deliberately, just to force me to keep on licking at her cunt and clit.
When she had shuddered to a third orgasm she finally climbed off my face, and off the table. She undid me, and led me back into the living room. I was put back in my cupboard, to watch videos of femdom and cbt, and wait for my mistress to return and release me.
“Well, well, well.” Mistress Darling said, when she finally released me that evening. “You have been disobedient, haven’t you? I told you not to cum. But you did that three times. Not only that, but you looked in my daughter’s face. You spoke, as well. And you failed to drink up all of her golden nectar. I have put the demerits on.”
I glanced up at the monitor. It now read:
CURRENT DEMERITS: 27
PENALTIES:
Disobedience: 3 demerits
Urinating without permission: 1 demerit
Unauthorised talking: 3 demerits
Wearing clothing: 1 demerit
Unauthorised orgasm: 5 demerits
Looking Mistress in the face: 5 demerits
Not exercising for long enough: 1 demerit
Not keeping body free of hair: 2 demerit
How had it gotten so high so quickly? I had only been here a day.
Thankfully I managed to get through the rest of the evening without earning any more demerits. I cooked for my Mistress and her daughter. Then, once again, I was called on to give cunnilingus – to both of them – as they watched TV. At ten o’clock that night I was told that it was time for me to go to bed.
“Saturdays and Sundays are a little different.” Mistress Darling said. “I will not have to leave the house. So there is no alarm, no chores, and no workout. Instead I will have all day to play with you. You can have a lie in, knowing that the first thing that I will do, tomorrow morning, is to work off those demerits which you have accrued.”
I went back into the darkness of my little cubby hole, not exactly looking forward to Saturday morning.
Chapter Three: Saturday
Saturday morning my tray came out of the wall to see Mistress Darling standing there. She was dressed in ripped jeans and a black tee shirt. She had leather boots on her feet.
“Stand up, slave.” she said. “You have twenty-seven demerits to work off. There is a specific system for working off the demerits. Each stroke of a cat o’ nine tails, to a back or buttocks, is worth one demerit removed. If I use a riding crop it is worth one more demerit removed. If I use a cane it is three demerits. If I use a bullwhip it is five demerits. If the implement is used on a slave’ cock and balls, rather than on the back or buttocks, then the demerits value to be removed is doubled.
“I like easy maths, though, slave, and I get to choose the implement. So you will be caned nine times on the backside. Get into the dungeon.”
I went into the dungeon. Mistress Darling followed me. Her daughter (still didn’t know her name) came in to watch. It was obviously a turn one for her to see a man in pain.
“Get over the horse, slave.” Mistress darling commanded me. I knew the position from all of the videos I had seen of her beating people on it. I lay with my stomach on it, and put my hands down to where there were some manacles on chains. Mistress Darling clipped the manacles around my wrists. She did the same with ones the other side for my ankles.
“This is going to hurt, slave.” she said. “But it is supposed to hurt. I want you not to earn any more demerits. This is a small taste of what you will get. Except that, next time, it will almost certainly be worse.”
I was too young to have ever been caned in school. My only encounter with caning, really, had been in porn pics and vids. So I didn’t rally know what to expect.
Whihhhh. The sound of the cane cutting through the air. But it didn’t make contact with my backside. It was only a practice swing.
Whihhhh. Another practice swing. My buttocks had clenched, expecting it to hit. But it didn’t. I was being teased. I just wanted her to get it over with.
Whihhhh. A third swing where the cane didn’t contact pale flesh. Perhaps this was only going to be psychological torture, and she was going to let me off with a warning.
Whihhhh.
“AAAAAH!” I screamed in agony. It felt like a line of fire across my backside. I was sure that she must have drawn blood. I thought about begging her to stop. But that would mean more demerits, which would only make it worse.
Whihhhh. I almost screamed. But it was yet another swing through the air.
Whihhhh.
“AAAAAH!” I think that I screamed louder than before. That strike had just been a quarter of an inch or so above the first hit.
“Are you enjoying this, slave?” Mistress Darling asked. “I am. Beating a male makes me wet. When I have given you all nine I am going to let you fuck me – a rare treat for you. So you had better be hard.
“That’s two. You have seven more to come. Now that you know what is coming I am temporarily granting you the permission of speech – but only to thank me for the blow. You are to say Thank you, Mistress Darling, for punishing this worthless male. You are to say that, and nothing more.”
Whihhhh.
“AAAAH! Thank you, Mistress Darling, for punishing this worthless male.” Three down. I was a third of the way through working off the demerits. Please let them come to an end.
Whihhhh.
“AAAAH! Thank you, Mistress Darling, for punishing this worthless male.” I had to be bleeding. I couldn’t take that much pain and not be cut up.
Whihhhh.
“AAAAH! Thank you, Mistress Darling, for punishing this worthless male.”
“I think he likes it.” the daughter said. She must have been looking at my cock. “His cock is rock hard. I wish that you were caning that, Mom. I bet that would make him really scream.”
Whihhhh.
“AAAAH! Thank you, Mistress Darling, for punishing this worthless male.” Six done. Six of the best. I resolved to never disobey either of these beautiful sadists, no matter what they told me to do in future.
Whihhhh.
“AAAAH! Thank you, Mistress Darling, for punishing this worthless male.”
“Just two more, slave. You have taken seven. The most I have ever dealt out in one go, on a slave’s back and backside, is a hundred. Just imagine getting ninety-three more.
I couldn’t imagine anybody mentally surviving that. Their skin would have been shredded.
Whihhhh.
“AAAAH! Thank you, Mistress Darling, for punishing this worthless male.”
“You know, slave, although I do not want you to disobey me, seeing you like this is an incredible turn on. I think that my cunt juice is dripping on the floor. You know, since you are to be here forever, it must only be a matter of time before you take a hundred strokes of the cane. Only a matter of time before you exceed that number.”
Whihhhh.
“Aah…” I had begun to scream when I heard the sound. But it was another strike at thin air. Both of my mistresses laughed at me, as though it was the funniest thing in the world.
Whihhhh.
“AAAAH! Thank you, Mistress Darling, for punishing this worthless male.” That was the ninth. I sagged in my bonds. It was over.
Mistress Darling undid the manacles around my wrists and ankles. With some difficulty I stood upright.
“You are not bleeding.” Mistress Darling told me. “But you have nine perfectly spaced marks which should turn purple. I don’t want you bleeding because, for a lot of today, you will be sitting on my furry white carpets, giving me head. I don’t want you to getting anything all over my carpets. To that effect, slave, you will now be having enemas, every morning, when you get up, starting with tomorrow. Instructions will be in the bathroom.
“Now, get on the table, I want to fuck your cock.”
I got on the leather covered table. I was manacled hand and foot to it, so that I could barely move. Then Mistress Darling climbed on the table, and impaled herself on my erect cock.
It felt so good, although my backside was smarting. She did all the work, riding my rigid flesh. I began to get close. I didn’t care that I would have to swallow my own spend. All that I wanted to do was to obey and impress my mistress.
And I got close, very close. I was on the brink of orgasm when Mistress Darling said. “Now, my daughter.” I hadn’t noticed the daughter move around to stand between my chained legs.
Just as I came, spurting hot white cum inside my mistress, the little minx squeezed my testicles hard. I screamed in agony as I spurted deep within my mistress’s gorgeous cunt.
“Excellent!” Mistress Darling said. “Now you must suck out your dirty cum.”
She moved up my body, to place her cunt over my mouth. I licked her clean of all the spunk I had delivered up her.
“Remember, slave, that, in the future you will only be allowed to cum if there are no demerits. So I have been very kind in granting you sex before you have made any more mistakes.”
Mistress Darling stayed on my face until I had brought her to an orgasm. But she didn’t get off straight away.
“My daughter introduced you to swallowing our golden nectar yesterday.” Mistress Darling said. “I had intended to be slow in your introduction to serving as a toilet. But, as you seemed to do okay, I have decided to accelerate my plans for you. From now on you are to swallow our piss at least once per day. It will continue like that until I am certain you can manage to take piss more often. you will also, when you are not being used during the week, be entertained by videos featuring golden showers.”
Saying that she pissed in my mouth. I spluttered and swallowed as quickly as I could. I still couldn’t get it all. It still didn’t taste nice. I didn’t think that I would ever get to like it. But I told myself that it wasn’t about getting to like it, but about serving Mistress Darling. And I had discovered that I loved to serve Mistress Darling. It had already become my reason for existing. I had been her slave for less than to days. But I could not imagine ever going back to my old life.
Mistress Darling released me then. I was told to go and get a shower, and then to make myself breakfast. Again it was salad and a protein shake. Then I spent the rest of the morning either preparing coffee or food for the two mistresses, or sitting at their feet, eating them out as they lounged in a chair. It was clear that a large part of my life, from then on, would be spent with my lips on the nether lips of one of my mistresses. And who could not desire that? I just wished that I didn’t keep getting a crick in the neck.
It was in the evening that I received my first enema. That took place in the medical room. It was unpleasant, but not really painful. But I was warned that, rather than warm, soapy water, of just a couple of pints, I could have enemas of twice that amount, and that the water would not always been warm. It could be freezing cold, with ice in the bag, or almost boiling, straight from hot tap to enema bag. I was warned that things like chilli oil could be added to the water. But those punishment enemas would be rare. Most of the enemas would be simply to keep me clean.
The reason for the enema was that I was going to be reamed out with strap ons. I was tied down over a medical table, my legs spread achingly wide. Lube was put in and around my arsehole. Then both mistresses spent ages fucking my arsehole with black, six inch long strap on dildos. They might only have been six inches long, but they still hurt my virgin arsehole. And the thing about getting fucked by strap ons is that strap ons never cum, never go soft. a woman using one of those can keep going until they get bored – and neither mistress seemed to be bored with the sight of the black dildo disappearing into my anus, or the sounds of my moans of discomfort.
“Be thankful that I have started out with my smallest strap on.” Mistress Darling said. “All of the others are large. “My largest is a foot long, and is as thick as my wrist. Each week we will open you a little more. You will regularly be wearing anal plugs, slave, to make sure that nothing leaks out, of course.”
I got through the arse-fucking, and more cunnilingus, as seeing my anal rape had turned on both mistresses. I could have gone back in the cupboard having gone through the day without earning any more demerits. But the pain from the caning had faded in my mind; and there was something which I had to know, whatever the cost.
I put up my hand, hoping that Mistress Darling would allow me to speak.
“If you speak, slave, it is demerits.” she said. “So I should think very carefully before opening my mouth.”
I had thought carefully, and it was worth it.
“Please, Mistress Darling, but I do not know the name of your beautiful daughter.”
“Her real name is not your concern.” my Mistress said. “On the rare times that you are allowed to speak, you will refer to her as Mistress CJ.”
Mistress Darling added on my demerits. At the end of Saturday the screen read thus:
CURRENT DEMERITS: 3
PENALTIES:
Disobedience: 3 demerits
Urinating without permission: 1 demerit
Unauthorised talking: 4 demerits
Wearing clothing: 1 demerit
Unauthorised orgasm: 5 demerits
Looking Mistress in the face: 5 demerits
Not exercising for long enough: 1 demerit
Not keeping body free of hair: 2 demerit
Things were only going to get worse.
Chapter Four: Sunday
Neither Mistress got up early on a Sunday. I was allowed to get up, have a shower, shave my body hair stubble, and have something to eat before either of my tormenters got up. When the two finally arose I made them breakfast, bathed Mistress Darling, and so on (I did not get to bathe Mistress CJ).
Approaching lunchtime and Mistress Darling was sat in white leather armchair. I was kneeling in front of her, gently tickling her groin with my tongue.
“I have decided that you need to get some religion in your life, slave.” Mistress Darling said. “From now on, every Sunday, you will worship me as the all powerful goddess who has the power of life and death over you. I want you to repeat this, every Sunday, just before you worship at my sacred cunt. You are granted permission to say these words.”
Mistress Darling produced a small, laminated card. It was obvious that some planning had gone into this.
“Oh goddess, this unworthy creature prostrates himself before the sacred altar of femininity, begging to be allowed to kiss your holy labia, before plunging his unworthy tongue into your shrine, to worship you by bringing you to a sacred orgasm, knowing that I deserve no such pleasure myself. Oh goddess, this unworthy creature offers up his body for the cruellest of tortures, if, by doing so, he can prove, by his meagre sacrifice, that he may be allowed to bring you your divine pleasure.”
Mistress Darling put the sole of one shoe over my left testicle, and pressed. It was not hard enough to be painful. But I was very aware of the presence of her foot.
“Repeat it.” she said. “Do not make a mistake. Any mistake will be considered to be disobedience.”
She got out her smartphone, putting it on the arm of the chair. I guessed what app she might be using.
I tried. It would have been easier if Mistress Darling had allowed me to see the card. But, of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“Oh goddess, this unworthy creature prostrates himself before the sacred altar of femininity, begging to be allowed to kiss your labia…”
“WRONG!” she shouted. Her foot lowered a miniscule amount, just beginning to crush my ball.
She repeated what was on the card. I had missed out the word holy.
“Try again.”
“Oh goddess, this unworthy creature prostrates himself before the sacred altar of femininity, begging to be allowed to kiss your holy labia, before plunging his unworthy tongue into your shrine, to worship you by bringing you to a divine orgasm…”
“WRONG!”
My ball was really beginning to hurt, as she put more pressure on it. She read the card again. I had mixed up sacred with divine.
I got it right on the third attempt. But, as I glanced at the monitor screen, I saw that I was already up to ten demerits.
The rest of the morning and afternoon passed peacefully, with more cunnilingus from me. When I went to the loo Mistress Darling was there, watching me crap, or holding my penis if I had to piss. Pissing was not always easy, as I had an almost permanent erection. Mistress Darling helped by bending it down as much as she could. Once, though, even with her helping, a little of my piss went not in the toilet bowl, but on the floor. I had to lick it up, and accept more demerits for disobedience. But I deserved that.
Mistress Darling explained that, in the evening, she played poker with some of her friends. There was going to be no change in that just because I was there. All of her friends knew what she got up to, and sometimes were allowed to take part. They only played with Monopoly money.
While the game went on, my mistress explained, I would be giving cunnilingus to her friends. The prize for whoever had the most money at the end of the game would be to piss in my mouth, as I had not yet drunk any golden wine that day. In future they might be allowed to play for inflicting punishments on me, instead. But mistress, in her infinite wisdom, had decided to limit me to drinking their piss.
Mistress Darling told me that her friends were called – as far as I was concerned – Mistress Zoe; Mistress Anna; Mistress Olga; and Mistress Jane. She described what they looked like, but reminded me that I was not allowed to look at their faces.
Mistress Zoe was a tattoo artist and piercing specialist. Mistress Anna was into technology, and had designed all of the tech in the apartment, including the apps. Mistress Olga designed CBT equipment, including cock cages. And Mistress Jane was a nurse, and an expert on just how far you could torture a body without doing anything permanent.
The game started at eight o’clock. Mistress Darling went down in the private elevator to let her friends in. the four other women strolled into the place. They laughed when they saw me sitting on the carpet near the poker table, my large cock as hard as ever. I was a little embarrassed, and I think that my face reddened a bit. Nobody likes being laughed at.
“God, is he just some horny dog who can’t control his cock?” said a dark-skinned lady, who was Mistress Zoe. I could see her legs in a leather mini-skirt, fishnet stocking in slutty red stilettos. I didn’t look any higher in case I accidentally looked at her face.
“It’s larger than I expected.” said a different voice, who was Mistress Olga. “Most masochists have really small cocks. It can be quite dispiriting, sometimes.” Mistress Olga wore jeans and trainers. I didn’t see what else. Her jeans were really tight.
“He’s no going to spunk up her legs, is he?” That was from Mistress Anna, also in jeans.
“Not if he knows what is good for him.” my mistress said. “He gets demerits for coming without permission.”
“How long has he had a hard on?” Mistress Jane asked.
“Oh, for hours. He hasn’t cum today. I’m not going to let him cum while he has demerits to work off. The next chance for that will be next Saturday. He will have to be frustrated until then.”
“Good. There is a myth, put about by men, that they need to cum if they get aroused. Absolute rubbish. Men can go for years without cumming, without there being any damage.”
The talk continued in such a vein, with me being talked about, but not talked to. I was only an object.
Eventually I heard some more words which seemed to be important:
“I want some cock restraints built for him.” my mistress said to Mistress Olga. “I want a range of them built. I want one which will stop him getting hard, but without doing any damage to the cock. I want a few punishment versions of that one. I want one with spikes, and one with electricity, and one which combines the two. Finally, I want one like that, but as severe as you can do without causing any permanent damage. I want to be able to control when he feels the shocks. But I want the outside of it to be a smooth dildo, which I can ride without him feeling anything.”
“Fine.” Mistress Olga said. “I can do bespoke versions of those for you. But I will need to measure him when he is not aroused.”
Bags of ice were produced and held to my groin until my erection temporarily withered. Measurements were taken of my length and girth. Then they got on with the real business of the poker game.
For that those mistresses who had been wearing jeans stripped them off, as well as any knickers. They then relaxed into the chairs.
“He is just a cuntlicker at the moment.” my mistress explained. “And I am still training him in that. He is not yet an ashtray. That is yet a further thing which I will have to train him in.”
I went beneath the table, and began to suck their cunts. Each had a slightly different taste. All of them had no hairs at all, and were scrupulously clean. They had obviously come here knowing what to expect.
Mistress Zoe had pierced labia, three rings each side. There was also a horizontal bar through her clitoral hood. In addition she had a tattoo of a black cat on her pussy mound. I enjoyed licking her. She was the first of the five women I brought to an orgasm. She swore at me as she came, telling me how she would like to run needles through my cock.
Mistress Olga was next. She told me that she liked inflicting heavy torture, and that her speciality was cock and ball torture. She did not believe in granting orgasms to men.
Mistress Jane came next, so to speak. She told me that she was a nurse and that if my mistress ever wanted any surgical procedures that she would be happy to carry them out.
Mistress Anna told me that she liked electricity. She was an expert on that, and was responsible for all my mistress’s electrical and electronic items. She said how she had once spent the whole of a very pleasant day running electricity through a slave’s cock.
My Mistress I brought to an orgasm last. But the evening was not over, not by a long term. These mistresses wanted more. So I went around all of them a second time, using my growing cunnilingual skills to bring them to a second orgasm, as they discussed different ways in which to torture male genitalia. My cock remained rock hard listening to all that.
Then, when they had all cum a second time, I performed analingus on the mistresses. I was still doing that when the game came to an end. It was time to receive my reward. We all went into the medical room.
It was Jane, the nurse, who had accrued most of the Monopoly money.
“I’m glad I won.” she said. “I’m dying for a piss. Been drinking a lot of water just for this. I’m free of all infections, and urine is neutral, so you can drink down all of this.”
“On you back, slave.” my mistress said. “Open your mouth.”
I opened my mouth as wide as I could. Jane crouched over my mouth, making sure that she didn’t quite touch my mouth. Then she pissed. She pissed a lot. It must have been more than a pint. I swallowed as quickly as I could, as her pee was watery, with hardly any taste at all. But, once again, I couldn’t swallow down fast enough, and some spilled on the floor (more demerits for me). I was told to lick up what had spilled out. Then I was put on my tray and sent into the wall.
That was the end of my Sunday fun.
Chapter Five: Monday to Friday
Monday morning I began my first full week of serving Mistress Darling. I soon got used to the routine: get up at 06.45, make her coffee, take a shower and shave my body, present the coffee, make her breakfast, entertain her until 09.00, and then do my hour of exercise.
My mistress increased how far I had to ride, each day, in the allotted time. On Monday it was set to six miles, so I had to keep up an average speed of twelve miles an hour to accomplish that in half an hour. By Friday morning, though, she had increased it to seven and a half miles, so I had to keep up a speed of fifteen miles per hour. She told me that the speed would be increased each day until I failed to cover the required distance. That would be disobedience, of course, and the distance would stay at the new amount. She hoped, in such a manner, to increase my abilities. She was going to push my limits. So far she did not follow up with her promise of electrical shocks while I cycled, though, for which I was very grateful.
I had got used to eating my meals in bowls on the floor. At least I wasn’t being fed dog food, or anything like that. And the salads and other things I was allowed were actually very good. The food was high quality, much better than the junk food which I had occasionally eaten before coming to Mistress Darling.
One of the mornings, when I woke up, I had to dive in the bathroom and use the loo without getting prior permission to go. The ever-present cameras recorded the event, of course, and I earned a demerit point for urinating without permission. Talking of urine, my daytime entertainment, while in the cupboard, consisted of just about every golden shower video in existence where women pissed into a man’s open mouth. A lot of them seemed to be either German or Brazilian. They were interspersed with a new video clip of Mistress Darling. In this one she was standing in the medical room with her legs spread, the camera being on the floor, so that she was dominating over it.
“You are a human toilet.” she said, in the video. “Your greatest desire is to drink my golden rain. You desire that I never have to sit on a cold toilet again, but that every droplet of precious piss goes into your unworthy mouth. You will drink my and my daughter’s piss for the rest of you life, and you will beg to consume everything our bodies produce.”
Then the video end with her releasing a stream of piss down onto the camera.
Every day I had to drink the piss of Mistress Darling. Monday and Tuesday I still had trouble not swallowing quickly enough, and I spilled a little (more demerits). But from Wednesday onwards she was either peeing slower, or I was getting better, as I didn’t spill any. I was glad to serve her in that way, I discovered. I was now happy to drink her piss. But I was worried about what would come next in my training as a toilet slave.
Perhaps the worse part of these days was when Mistress CJ arrived back from college – those hours when she had me to myself before her mother came home. She liked to set me up to earn demerits, by trying to get me to do something where I would fail.
On Monday she again wanked me to two unauthorised orgasms. I was not on the leather covered table, but on the rack both times. She stretched me to where it just began to get painful.
“You have to be in pain when you cum.” she said, by way of explanation. “Swallowing your own spunk is not enough, pervert. Mom wants you to be addicted to pain. So consider this to be a little foretaste. Anyway, what she has got planned for you in the long term is gonna be a lot worse than this. You’re just having a little stretch.”
at least she did pour my cum into my mouth. I thanked her by licking her to orgasm.
On Tuesday she tried to get me to be disobedient by pissing in her mouth. Another failure. Although I did succeed in bringing her to two orgasms. I surprised her on Wednesday by managing to swallow it all. But with both her and her mother using me I was getting a loss of piss.
Thursday she brought a friend around, as she felt the amount of piss I was drinking was not challenging enough. I was blindfolded, so I couldn’t see who her friend was. Both of the girls pissed in my mouth. But Mistress JC did not get me to fail. I swallowed it all.
As Mistress Darling pointed out that night, though, I had not received permission to wear a blindfold, and it was technically an item of clothing. So I got another demerit.
On Friday I was exhausted by the activities of the week. I just couldn’t do all of the exercise. I also forget to shave my body hair. Two things which were picked up by the cameras, of course. I ended up the week with a grand total of sixty demerits.
In the evenings I still entertained my mistresses by performing cunnilingus and analingus on them. But now I had to suffer a little for their pleasure. It started on the Monday night. Mistress Darling produced a pair of nipple clamps. They were the sort with two metal bars tightened by a screw. Thankfully, on the Monday, Mistress Darling only tightened them to such an extent that they would not fall off. They felt pleasant, to tell the truth.
“It turns me on to see you in pain.” Mistress Darling explained to me, that Monday night. “And you do want your Mistress turned on, don’t you?”
I nodded. I would do anything for my mistresses.
“Good. I’m glad. But we need to increase the pain. I want you to need to be hurt. It pleases me.”
“You’ve hardly tightened them at all.” Mistress JC said disapprovingly. “Can I tighten them some more, Mom?”
“No. we are going slow with this slave. Go to fast and he will not become what I want of him. I want him to crave nipple pain.”
“He already does.” she muttered. “How about some real ball abuse?”
But Mistress Darling said that I was not yet ready for that. The breaking of me would be a slow affair.
Tuesday night the clamps were a little tighter. They were released every twenty minutes or so, my nipples massaged, and then the clamps put on. And I was rock hard through it all.
Wednesday they were really tight and painful. It was an intense ache, and I couldn’t help groaning in pain (it didn’t seem to bother my cock, however). It clearly turned on my Mistress, though. I think that just the sight of me in pain was enough to get her aroused. She came six times that night, as I used my tongue on her.
The clamps stayed about the same tightness Thursday and Friday. But a plastic clamp was put on my balls on Thursday.
“Just so that you know what it feels like.” my mistress said. She didn’t tighten it so that I felt any real pain, either that day or the next. But it was clear that such things were only a matter of time.
The strap ons were used on me each night, of course. By the end of the week I could accommodate the eight inch strap on, albeit with some difficulty.
So ended my first week. I dreaded Saturday, as it would involve getting rid of my demerits. But I also looked forward to it, hoping that it would be a chance for an orgasm which I had been denied, since my unauthorised one on Monday at the hands of Mistress JC.