By noon of the following day I was back at home, had had a long wallow in a hot, foam filled bath and was feeling a little better - even a touch proud of myself. After all it is not every girl who gets to be screwed into oblivion by a stallion like Danny, even if it is terrifying at the time, and the various floggings had been satisfactorily painful. I could admire now the mesh of thin stripes across my breasts and feel proud of having endured it. Ben would be proud of me.

I was only wrapped in a short silk dressing gown and was slumped in a chair reading the papers, beside me I had a bowl of tepid water with a flannel in it, and every now and then would pause to stand, spread my legs and press the flannel against my throbbing sex. At least by then I felt no permanent damage had been done, but I hoped no-one would want to use it for a few days. I groaned when the front doorbell went.

Once I saw it was Janet though, I opened the door for her quite eagerly and then gasped in surprise as she entered. She was dressed in a simple cardigan, which strained across her breasts, and tight jeans. Not only was I astonished to see her at all but to see her, a slavegirl, dressed in jeans really took me aback. Ben didn’t mind me wearing them if I wasn’t with him, although I very rarely did, but I knew that Madam chose what Janet wore every single day and didn’t approve of anything other than skirts. She laughed at my expression and walked in with a stiff legged gait.

“Madam’s off playing with Scarlet somewhere so she said I could come round,” she explained. “She said she thought you’d be sore so she sent me to ‘lick the slut’s cunt better and teach her more about being a slave’.”

I blinked at the obscenities being so calmly uttered in my cosy sunlit lounge.

“Look Janet,” I began. “You’re a great girl but I’m not in slave mode just now. I’m tired and…”

“Sore. Yes I know, but girls like you and me are always in slave mode, K. We are slaves. It’s not what we do, it’s what we are. Look here…”

She was right, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Just because I was at home didn’t mean I wasn’t a slave, it just meant that no-one was currently flogging me or using me. If Ben or Madam had walked in, ordered me to bend over and caned, whipped or paddled me, I wouldn’t have made a murmur of protest. I had given them every right to do so. They simply hadn’t done it up till now. While these thoughts raced through my mind, Janet had unbuttoned and discarded her cardigan.

“Bloody hell!” was all I could say. Her wonderfully full and hugely areoled breasts looked as if she had slept face down on a basket weave bed. They were covered in a criss-crossing mesh of narrow, livid stripes. They were just like the ones I was sporting but Janet had taken far, far more than I had.

She looked down proudly, hefting and cupping her boobs with her hands. “Pretty good eh? Bet you thought I was being a right little tart last night, rubbing myself up against Danny and giving him the eye.”

I had the grace to blush while I stared at her lacerated boobs and ribs.

“Listen K,” she sent on seriously. “There’s nothing Madam likes better than to see me getting a seeing-to from a slaveboy. So by flaunting myself at him I knew she couldn’t allow it. No master or mistress can let a slave set the agenda, but that doesn’t mean we can’t pull a few strings here and there. It was worth missing out on the action you got and getting all frustrated, so as to get a really good punishment this morning. And that was what I really wanted. Madam knows perfectly well what I was up to, but she’ll never admit it of course and that made the punishment all the harder - so everyone’s happy.

“Now what you’ve got to do is stop being such a mousy little goody two shoes. Make the buggers work for it. Be disobedient every now and then. They love you for it; it keeps them on their toes - gives them a break from having to invent ways of making you fail, and a real punishment stops either of you getting bored. Understand?”

I did. In the space of a few minutes I had understood that I was a slave wherever I was and that K (how very unlike Emma!) was too meek by half; but mostly I had understood that submissiveness itself could be used to exert some control over dominants and provide a slave with some pleasure on her own terms as well as ensuring her master’s attention was fully focused on her for quite some time.

But while I absorbed all that I was still staring at Janet’s breasts.

“How many lashes?” I asked.

“I lost count after fifty and two orgasms.” She giggled. “So it was worth the wait.”

I laughed with her; it felt like we were two schoolgirls who had got one over on a feared teacher.

“Now take my jeans off, K. She always makes me wear them after… well just do it.”

They were very tight and after I had undone the stud, she had to breathe in sharply so I could slide the zip down. I had to kneel down to pull while she wriggled her hips but when at last they slid down her thighs I gasped at what stared me in the face.

Madam had been at work with that bootlace whip again. And this time she had worked it across Janet’s inner and outer thighs, hips, stomach and her sex itself. Bright red lines crossed the pubic thatch and the plump labia themselves. I helped her get the jeans off her feet, one at a time, while I imagined the harsh denim material and especially the seam pulling tightly up into the crease between those tenderised sex lips.

“Madam’s always furious with herself when she’s had a good time with a man - and they don’t come any better than Danny.” She grinned at her own pun. “So she had plenty to take out on me. ‘Tits for punishment, cunt for pleasure’ she said. But what she meant was ‘tits for my bad behaviour, cunt for hers’.”

I really could understand why she sounded so happy with her appalling treatment. For a slave, offering herself up for a punishment which she has in no way deserved, but which the master or mistress will enjoy inflicting, is taking submission to its extreme and is better than getting a deserved punishment. And those weals really did suit her generous, curvaceous form very well.

I felt an overwhelming affection and admiration for Janet who understood and accepted so much more than I did. I leaned forward and gently kissed the tops of her thighs as she spread her legs apart and then let my tongue begin to lick and soothe the hot labia, then delve between them to explore the complex folds of her fleshy inner lips.

She groaned in pleasure and then whispered that she wanted me to take her to bed. And I did for four, slow, soothing but passionate hours. I flung off the duvet and made love to her in broad daylight, no longer caring that I was caressing another girl orally. We made each other rise to orgasm very gently - the complete opposite to how our dominants did it, and a welcome change. We dozed in each other’s arms for a while after a series of sixty nines had brought gasps and cries of sheer delight from both of us. But when we woke we knew it was not enough, pleasure on its own might be enough for some, but slaves need more. We rubbed our boobs against each other’s and then Janet kissed me hard.

“Hurt them for me, K,” she whispered hoarsely. “Make my tits burn all over again.”

“Yes.” There wasn’t a second’s hesitation in my response.

I found a thin leather belt in my wardrobe and Janet held onto the bedhead while I whipped her. My heart thundered in pure joy as I looked down on the rippling, shuddering flesh I was lashing. I finally understood the ecstasy of whipping such vulnerability, extending the pleasure of caressing to the point where pain had to be inflicted in order to satisfy the fierce passions such vulnerability aroused.

And even as I whipped the groaning twisting girl beneath me, my other hand was between my legs and I couldn’t wait for my turn to have my breasts lashed.

When Janet left I didn’t bother with even a short wrap. I was so proud of my welts and loved the feel of the air on them. We kissed deeply before I let her out.

“Don’t forget, K,” Janet said as her parting shot. “Don’t be too bloody obedient. Make yourself a little bit of a challenge every now and then, you’ll get the best out of them that way.”

I assured her I would and we parted, but I was sure I would see her again sometime.

But then it was polling day and despite the government’s defeat Ben came back victorious. Madam and Janet vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. I did indeed see Janet again; she still belongs to Clair and always will. I envy her, though I think she hates me now.

 

With the sitting of a new parliament, work was overwhelming for a while and K just had to twiddle her thumbs while Emma got on with business. But she no longer had it all her own way. K’s desires were becoming ever more strident and when Ben and I finally managed a dinner date, I was determined to move things along quickly. K was impatient to be back under the sway of her master.

Ben had made a rule that although dinner dates were outside ‘sessions’ and I would be Emma, I would always dress either smart business or smart casual, that meant skirts of course, but nothing too obviously tarty. The stockings and suspenders, and now my basques, would be discreetly hidden until we got back to his house. Ben always had to be careful. But that night I tore up the rulebook.

We had agreed to meet at a restaurant in a quiet North London suburb - an Indian one which had a reputation which attracted quite a lot of rock stars, but not many journalists. We like to hit our expense accounts a bit more heavily! They are too rich to care. But it was perfect for what I had in mind.

I booked a taxi for a time which would get me there about half an hour late. And when I finally arrived, Ben, seated in a dimly lit alcove as I had known he would be, was plainly furious. By the time I had sauntered over to the table, he was coldly enraged. For a minute I felt a knot of real fear in my stomach; I had never seen him so angry. But it was too late to go back now; I had to play it all the way.

I had deliberately worn the biggest, gaudiest, jaw bashing earrings I could find; my makeup was well over the top, dark eye shadow and bright red lipstick with a layer of lip-gloss. I wore a blouse knotted up under my breasts so that my stomach was bare and I had stuck one of those temporary tattoos just below my navel so that the dragon it depicted disappeared down under my black leather miniskirt. I was bare legged - and showing a lot too - with strappy high-heeled sandals on my feet. In short I looked outrageously tarty. But I didn’t stop there.

I really was so glad to see Ben again that the next part wasn’t too difficult. As soon as I reached the table I bent down and kissed him full on the lips - a real tongue plunging, minute-long smacker. Everything was designed to be the exact opposite of what Emma would want to do or what K would be permitted to do.

And when I slipped into my seat I could see that if we had been on our own I would have been slapped from here to kingdom come before anything else. That settled me, that was what I wanted and so I just cocked an eyebrow at him flirtatiously and asked if he was pleased to see me, while underneath the table I shamelessly ran one foot up and down his leg.

He made no response until he had ordered me a gin and tonic and it had been served.

“You know Emma,” he said at last, “when I left London I had a very docile slave by the name of K.”

Docile!? Janet had been right, it was high time I made him work a bit harder. “What do you mean by ‘slave’?” I asked innocently.

“A girl who lives to be beaten and abused by her Master. A girl who will literally do anything to please the man who dominates her, but who most of all obeys him in all things.”

Good, he was playing along.

“Do such girls exist Ben?”

“Oh yes. And after the meal I’ll tell you what I would do with her if she were here now.”

We locked gazes and smiled at each other. Game on.

The food was good but I’m afraid we didn’t do it justice. We both wanted to get it out of the way and get on with the main business. Ben ordered two cognacs and we got down to it.

“This K, does she really do anything you ask? Or are you just having wet dreams?” I asked him.

That got him. I saw his pupils contract in fury for an instant. Crotch whipping I thought; no way I was going to get away with less than that. Oh well.

“I assure you Emma that if K was here and I told her to expose a lot more cleavage than you are doing; she would obey me.”

“What a tart!” I feigned deep outrage. “But would it turn you on if I did that?”

He made a so-so gesture and then grinned as I reached down and undid two buttons of my blouse. That didn’t leave many left and really only the extremities of my boobs were covered, the upper and side curves were on full view with only Ben between me and the rest of the room. That thought made my nipples swell into almost instantaneous erection and further heightened the effect of my décolletage. Ben sat back and considered the view.

“Your tits are as nice as hers,” he decided. “But if I told her to take them both out and press an ice cube against each nipple - she wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Anything that slut can do…” I carefully didn’t look to see if anyone was watching I just watched Ben. I pulled the blouse apart, completely baring my areolae and nipples, reached into the water jug, took out two ice cubes and applied them in my cupped hands. It was impossible to hold back a gasp as they made contact with the hot, engorged flesh. I closed my eyes and drank in the feeling; absorbing the shock, as I would a cane strike, ‘freezing fire’ was all I could think. Meanwhile down below, having my boobs out in a restaurant was having an effect which was just plain hot. I held the ice pressed tightly against me until I could open my eyes and look squarely at Ben again.

“Not bad,” I said at last, taking my hands away but leaving my boobs on full display, I dumped the ice on my side plate and then calmly reached into my bag for a tissue, dried my nipples and then shrugged the blouse back just enough to cover them. “But I expect this K, or whatever her name is, would chicken out after that.”

“Certainly not. It would only serve to encourage her to put her hand up her skirt and masturbate to a climax under the table when I told her to.” He waved a waiter over and ordered more cognac, for which I was grateful. I hadn’t expected that order; I was thinking more of dropping another cube down my skirt and into my knickers.

Ben read my mind.

“After that of course, you have an advantage over poor K. She is forbidden to wear knickers, so at least you will be able to cool yourself down by putting an ice cube in yours. That is if you have the same courage as K does.”

I was too busy working out how I was going to cover the noise I always made when I orgasmed to argue too much. Eventually I grabbed my napkin in my left hand and held it over my mouth while I jiggled about in my seat until I could reach up under the tablecloth, under my skirt and get the gusset of my knickers out of the way and start rubbing at my already erect clit. I could only get one finger up inside myself with some difficulty at that angle but I let Ben know whenever I did by making little grunts of pleasure. I had to stage a real coughing fit to cover the orgasm which overcame me pretty fast. I was flooding down there and thanking Janet over and over again. I was getting the best out of Ben all right and we still had the whole night ahead of us.

Once I had finished and was amazed to find that I hadn’t attracted any attention, I patted my hair back into place, composed myself and reached for the iced water again. But Ben grabbed my wrist and held it in that strong grasp I had missed so much.

“I think you’re very hot down there so if it were K, I’d tell her to take her time, rub it up and down the crease of her cunt and savour the cooling effect.”

That put paid to dropping it down and making a quick run to the Ladies. He was working well.

“And this K tart would thank you for that would she?” I tried to rally.

“Oh, yes.” He smiled his most irritating smile. “But then of course she’s just a scrubber and wouldn’t think twice about it, whereas you’re…”

“Whereas I can do what any cheap tart can do!” I was getting into this. Not only enjoying the exhibitionism but also letting the Emma and K sides of me slug it out.

It was not easy getting my hand down the front of my skirt. I had to shift my bottom forward in my seat so the tablecloth would cover my hand going down there then lean back and breathe in sharply to make room for it. I gasped again as the ice made contact with my hot, tender flesh. I had trouble breathing for a moment, just as if I had dived into cold water. It was delicious torment and Ben beckoned a waiter over at that precise moment.

I was leaning back and slightly to one side to get my hand down to my crotch, the tablecloth barely covering the action, and I was gasping and wincing at the shock of the cold. Ben ordered another cognac for himself and the waiter looked at me.

“Is Madam all right?” he enquired.

I tried to get my hand out but couldn’t and clung to the tablecloth to cover my predicament. Ben frowned and leaned over.

“Are you okay dear?” he asked, oozing concern.

“Y… yes… fine!” I managed to stutter.

“I expect it’s just a touch of indigestion,” he said to the waiter. I nodded furiously and he left, while Ben looked at me, suddenly hard and authoritative again. “Move it up and down, and make sure you rub it on your clitoris… hard!”

I gritted my teeth and went for it, doing exactly what he had told me to while he smiled at the grimaces I was making. He wouldn’t let me stop until my whole vulva was numb with cold and soaking wet. Icy water was trickling down the cleft of my sex and puddling under my bottom. Thank God the skirt was black leather and lined, I thought, it should help to mask the damp patch.

At long last I got a terse nod from Ben and was able to extract my hand and sit up again.

“If this bloody cow K was here, would she be allowed to go to the Ladies now?” I asked bitterly as I dropped the depleted ice onto a plate.

“I might allow it… but only if…”

“All right, please can I go to the Ladies?” I ground out - fierce with desperation.

Ben gave me his most infuriating grin yet and helped me slide past him. But at the last minute he grabbed me by the arm.

“Of course K would always say, ‘Please sir,’” he whispered.

“Fuck K,” I spat back. The cold water was now running down my thighs and I had had enough.

“That comes later!” he retorted instantly. “After I’ve flogged her raw for breaking every rule in her book!”

He let me go and I tottered off, weak with shame and excitement. I suspect that only a woman can fully appreciate just how exquisite the humiliation was. My hair was a mess, my tits were almost hanging out - and despite my efforts with the tissue, I had damp patches over my jutting nipples which made it look as if I was lactating. Trails of moisture were glistening on my thighs and only I knew that it was water. From the corner of my eye I caught some startled glances and practically broke into a run.

Once safely in a cubicle I tore my knickers off and wiped myself dry with toilet tissue, and maybe I did rub at myself a bit harder than necessary while I contemplated the total success of my strategy. I regained my composure and revelled in Ben’s threat. Once back at his place I was in for a real session, I was going to suffer for this night’s work, and in the upside down world of SM, my punishment would be my reward. But not one groan or scream would be faked although I was looking forward to the pain.

I ran a brush through my hair did a quick bit of repair work, disposed of the knickers and returned with a little more dignity although the back of the skirt was horribly cold and damp. I decided to risk winding Ben up just one more notch when I got back to our table, and instead of sitting opposite him, with my back to the wall, I slid into the chair on his left. My bare legs immediately felt the rasp of his trousers against them and sent a tingle spiralling down into my naked sex. I desperately wanted him to reach out under the table, slide his hand up between my thighs and touch me there, take possession of me again. But somehow I kept my mind on my aim of provoking him one last time.

“You know, I bet even your shameless little whore has never done what I’m going to do next,” I told him, and before he could say anything I gave a mock squeal of dismay and dropped my clutch bag on the floor. I pushed my chair back hurriedly and dived down right under the table, tucking my legs under me as best I could. Ben’s hand shot out to grab me and haul me up but I avoided it and reached out to hold the bulge of his erection. I had him then and I knew I was being very unfair; because of who he was I knew he wouldn’t dare draw any more attention to us that evening. So I began to stroke his rod between my thumb and forefinger, moving them up and down slowly. I longed to open his flies and take him into my mouth but that was going too far - for that night anyway.

Instead I spread my thighs, grabbed one of his legs, pulled it forward and began to rub my crotch up and down against it. There really wasn’t much Ben could do to stop me and I grinned at the thought of what he was going to do to me once he got me home, but then to my horror I saw the waiter’s shoes approaching.

“Your bill, sir,” I heard him say.

I froze while I listened to Ben take out his credit card, but the waiter didn’t leave. He must have seen my feet and ankles poking out from under the table.

“Er…?” he began.

“She’s lost a contact lens,” Ben explained smoothly.

I smothered a giggle as I saw him walk away and re-surfaced, wiping at my eye with my napkin and snorting with suppressed laughter. Even Ben’s look of pure, tight-lipped fury couldn’t entirely quench the giggles. But in the cab back to his house I did my best to resume the serious, obedient demeanour I knew was expected of me. I only really achieved it though when Ben took the wind right out of my sails.

“I’ve more than half a mind to take you straight back to your flat and leave you there for good,” he said quietly. “I could send any clothes back to you tomorrow.”

I stared at him in horror. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t what I wanted at all!

I slid off my seat in a complete panic and knelt in front of him on the filthy floor, pulled his strong hands to my face and smothered them in kisses.

“No, please sir,” I begged. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to show you…”

“Show me what? That Clair and I have been wasting our time? That you consider this a girlish game? That you’re a spoilt little brat who’s always got to get her own way?”

“No! No!” I sobbed openly. “I want to serve you! I really do, I just wanted you to have an excuse to really… to really punish me, sir. I’ve missed my master so badly, I wanted him to have every excuse to… beat me… do anything he wants with me.” I looked up at him, blinking back the tears. “I want my master to know that I belong utterly to him and I welcome the pain of the punishment he is about to inflict on me.”

I shocked myself. These were thoughts that had previously only been in my head, never had I expressed them so openly, but I knew that I meant every word with all my heart. If Ben dumped me I wouldn’t want to go on living, I knew that now.

For what seemed like an eternity he stared down at me impassively and I cried in terror.

“I can play games as well, K,” he said at last with a tight smile. I sagged with relief and realised that after all, my little rebellion which had nearly gone too far, had left me where I wanted to be. He had put me firmly back in my place.

I don’t think any master could have wanted more from his slave than Ben got that night. The terror and relief made me more obedient and responsive than ever.

Once I was naked and collared he clipped my hands behind me and hobbled my ankles with a two-foot length of chain clipped to ankle restraints, then, still in the lounge he began to exact his revenge. He gave me a really good slapping to start with and that was why he started in the lounge. I had plenty of soft things to fall into and over. I held my face up to him like a normal woman would if she were expecting a kiss or a caress, but welcomed the jarring of the slap and the burst of lights behind my eyes as I staggered back in my chains. Inevitably after only a couple of slaps I lost my balance and sprawled onto the sofa. It took me some time to get back on my feet and face up to the next which sent me crashing to the floor. I knew Ben would be enjoying the sight of me, naked and chained, crawling and struggling at his feet. It took me quite some time to get my legs under me and kneel up, but with my hands held behind me I had to use the coffee table to support my torso while I straightened my legs. It must have been an erotic display of humiliation, particularly as I was struggling to get up purely so I could be knocked down and do it all again. I managed to weather a left hand slap to the face followed by a right across my breasts and then a left again to the face which spun me helplessly across the arms of his chair. That was a bruising impact and he let me take a break after I had doggedly shaken my head to clear it, got my legs under me and levered myself up. I wasn’t going to fail him again.

But that was enough he decided, however much he could see I was loving it. His hand reached between my legs and I felt his fingers slide up into me, I shuddered and moaned immediately but he gave me a tap across my breasts and shook his head, then removed his fingers grabbed my right nipple, and twisting it hard led me stumbling and crying out, up the stairs.

He tied me face down across the whipping trestle and whipped my bottom to start with. It was a hard whipping, much harder than I had grown used to with Madam, and much harder I suspected than he himself had ever delivered before. I counted twenty lashes out loud and thanked him for each one and then he began on the needles. I had seen them in the cupboard while Madam had been there and had trembled at the sight of the long thin steel spikes. But I had never had them used on me, nor seen them used. Now Ben put some disinfectant on a cotton wool pad and spread it over my throbbing buttocks, then, making sure I could see, he took one needle at a time off the crossbar beside me and stuck them into me. It wasn’t so much the pain, which really wasn’t so bad in comparison to the aftermath of the whipping, it was just the thought of all those spikes going in that had me moaning and pulling at my chains. The last few went into the soft flesh of my inner thighs which were chained wide apart and I yelled at those, in fright as much as anything else. Ben left me for a while and when he returned he was naked. He also carried a mirror. He dragged my head up by my hair and made me look at my reflection. Behind and above my tear-stained and reddened face I could see the mounds of my buttocks and sticking up from them were the needles. It was an intensely erotic sight and I did hope that maybe Ben would stick the gorgeous erection he was sporting just next to my face straight into either of the entrances I was displaying between my decorated cheeks.

But instead he hot waxed them next. He lit a large white candle and a red one in front of me and held them for a while to get the wax running and then moved behind me. I leapt and yelped as each blob dropped onto me. Ben had propped up the mirror so that I could see the candles and watch the wax melt and gather then, as Ben tipped them, watch it run slowly down and drop. It was a horrible extension of the Chinese water torture, irregular intervals between sharp scalds on already abused flesh. Every now and then he would let a dollop fall between my cheeks, right onto my anus and sex. The gyrations of my hips were not purely from pain by then, I was trying to tempt Ben into sampling the excitement he was causing. But he was coldly and cruelly back in charge now and I had still got a lot to pay for.

Even when he put the candles down he didn’t let me up. He clamped and weighted both labia and nipples and then left me again after taking a crop to my shoulders and back. Just a quick ten, enough to make me scream, jerk and set the weights swinging at each stroke to increase the pull they were exerting.

But when at last he did come back he took the needles out and removed the clamps before letting me up. I could feel the wax cracking as I stood up and stretched, then waited for whatever was coming next. I could tell by his look that there was still more, and I wasn’t disappointed. He pulled the spreader bar which hung from the ceiling right down to the floor and ordered me to sit.

It felt very odd with the wax cracking as I bent and stretched. Ben replaced my ankle restraints with wider, softer ones and clipped them to the spreader bar. My heart raced as I watched him work. I was going to get an ankle suspension. I had seen Janet get one and had thought it was the most exciting thing I had ever seen. The experience of undergoing one though, completely eclipsed just seeing one. Despite the wider restraints the tension on my ankles and legs was incredible - both scary and exciting - and as Ben hauled me up until my arms swung clear of the floor and my wide splayed crotch came level with his face, I became more acutely aware of having my legs open than I would ever have believed possible. The urge to close them, one so deeply ingrained in women was almost an ache. I could feel the muscles in my vagina and my anus clench in a vain attempt to shield themselves. I even tried to bend up so that I could get my arms there, but Ben pulled them back down and clipped them to the ring at the back of my collar so they couldn’t interfere with his plans. I hung there, just like a slab of meat on a butcher’s hook, just a female body for her master to amuse himself with, the sinews in my inner thighs still twitched every now and then as the urge to close my legs grew worse by the second and the distress and the pain of the suspension itself set floods of hot juice oozing out into my sex. Ben picked something up and then approached me until I could nuzzle and lick at his scrotum and the base of his shaft. Having my face upside down and helplessly pressed against him like that made me whimper with desire for something to fill my own sex. All I could do was rub my cheeks against the soft skin that coated his shaft, flicking my tongue and then taking long lascivious licks. I urged him on hoarsely when I at last felt his fingers part my labia.

“Yes, sir. Please!” And then I screamed and thrashed in my bonds, my stomach clenched as I frantically tied to curl up around the burst of agony which had consumed my crotch. Ben stood back and watched me twist, curl and stretch, screaming and begging for mercy at the same time.

He tutted and then squatted down so I could stare upside down into his face.

“It’s just a clit peg, K. A good bolt of pain like that will open a slave like you up nicely.”

I had no choice but to bear it, and he was quite right.

He fisted me and I took it quite easily. I really was getting to be a pain freak. He worked three fingers inside me, giving me a running commentary on how wet I was as he worked on me, then four fingers, then he flicked at the clit peg a bit to make me scream again and then he went for it; his whole hand. I held my breath as I felt my lips spreading wider and wider and then wider still and finally he was in and making a fist inside me. I could feel my insides being stretched and rubbed as he twisted and thrust down into me then withdrew. I could feel everything so much more forcibly than with normal penetration, I was sure that if I could only crane my head up I would be able to see a bulge in my stomach where his fist was. He made one violent plunge down and I was catapulted into an orgasm so suddenly that I hardly felt the onset. I just went into spasm after spasm while he fucked me with his fist and I twisted and spun. I screamed and gurgled and sobbed and he played with me, ramming down into me to make me scream, pulling out to make me choke as my labia stretched but I tried to hold him in, then sobbing as he twisted his fist right at my entrance. Then he did it all again. And again. Until I was nearly unconscious. He didn’t wait for me to come round properly, time was running short, I had been suspended for quite a time by then. So even while I twitched and whimpered in the aftermath of the orgasms which were still running through me, he flogged me. Walking round and round my body he swung in blows to every part of me with a multi-lashed whip. I just swung and moaned at the swish and crack of the strokes, my whole body racked with pain. I didn’t care where he whipped me or for how long, I was bathing in my pain and the fact that I hung upside down in front of my master, available and helpless.

But my lethargy was rudely shattered when he began crotch whipping me. I didn’t think anything could hurt like that. I didn’t think the universe contained that much pain. I couldn’t even shriek for the first few blows, just stretch and arch as if I had been electrocuted. He struck so that the lashes bit down along the whole of my vulva, hammered across my anus and then splayed out to further inflame the already flogged, scalded and pierced buttock flesh. What engulfed me was a tidal wave of purest agony and only shock, I think, prevented me from orgasming more intensely than even with Danny. I was still crying and gasping when he took me down and carried me to his bed.

He didn’t chain me that night and I slept happily curled in his arms after he had taken me. Once I fully realised all I had endured that night, I was ecstatic and when Ben had kissed me and congratulated me for my stamina, in a whisper I begged him to fuck me, fuck me hard, make me hurt all over again. I relished the carnal brutality of the word itself as well as the knowledge that I had spoken out of turn and would have to be punished. And he did it. Making me his own again as he sank deep inside me, re-awakening the pains in my tenderised sex flesh and driving me to wild orgasms until I reached utter joy when I felt him attain his release inside me. I was his property to hurt and abuse as much as he liked and I fell asleep still murmuring how much I loved him. And I meant it too. I really did that night.

 

I was punished and happy again in the weeks that followed. And even politically there was the honeymoon period while the new government settled in, but there were lots of briefings to attend, interviews with new cabinet ministers, ‘portrait’ pieces to write about new figures on the political landscape. So I was kept busy.

Ben now had much less pressure on him and he devoted more time to me. Once or twice he came round to my flat and we had sessions there. I think he understood my dual personality very well and judged it important that Emma should have nowhere to herself. K should be everywhere. But as I lived in a modern apartment we had to be a bit careful about noise. I had a wrought iron bed though, which made tying me to it very straightforward. The most bizarre thing was that when he rang to say he was coming round, I went into a cleaning and tidying frenzy. How typically feminine! Ben wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at the piles of knickers on the bedroom floor, the rumpled bedclothes or the chaos of my dressing table, but I was determined that whatever Ben did to me, he would have a tidy flat in which to do it.

It was really weird seeing him wandering round there, inspecting my pictures, my furniture; it was as if he had found another piece of me which he hadn’t dominated up till then. But even after he left I could still feel him there. It wasn’t just the chains on the bed posts, the selection of dildos in my underwear drawer or the whip coiled up in the bottom of the wardrobe, it was that he had been there and I couldn’t ever pretend when I was on my own that I was not a devoted sex slave. Janet was quite right, it doesn’t matter where you are or what you are doing; once a slave, always a slave.

I remember the first time very clearly. I opened the door to him dressed as he had instructed, basque, stockings, high-heels. I was proud of that basque, it was black satin with good boning and half cups with scarlet bows on them. I had worn it around the flat a couple of times to get used to the constriction and was now highly appreciative of what it did for my figure, particularly the way it made my hips and bottom and boobs swell out so invitingly. I had spent hours on my makeup and knew I was looking good, the only marks I was carrying were from the bootlace whip which Ben had used on me the week before and I had made no attempt to cover the faint stripes which fanned out across my upper thighs, dived between my legs and then fanned out again on my buttocks.

I was delighted with his response when I let him in. He smiled and gave a low whistle before making me do a twirl for him, then sending me off with a resounding smack on my bottom to make coffee for him. I knelt beside him while he drank it and asked me about various trinkets and pictures I had collected, idly stroking my hair, running his hands across my breasts and my shoulders while he did so.

He had brought a suitcase with him and had me open it when it was time to get down to business. Inside were a cane, a crop, a whip, restraints and a selection of dildos and chains.

“This is just an experimental session, K,” he explained, as he laid everything out for me. The implements looked so strange, lying on my lounge carpet, bathed in summer sunshine, but even so I got the familiar tingling from nipples to crotch as I looked at them. We started with me bending over the coffee table and bracing my arms on it while he caned me. Almost immediately it became clear that that wouldn’t do. The Sshwack! of each stroke in that small room was going to attract attention even if we turned on the TV or my little hi-fi. We tried the crop with the same result and even after only four or five strokes I was beginning to give breathless little screams - the usual prelude to my full-blooded ones.

We went into the bedroom and, as I had known he would be, he was delighted with the bed and showed me the chains he had brought. They were ingenious. Each link in them had a spring-loaded catch so the lengths could be altered with the minimum of effort simply by adding or removing links. I stretched out face down and he attached my restraints and then sorted out the correct length of chain for each limb. And with that done he whipped me. One of the great things about a basque is the way it leaves most of your back naked, so you can take the whip without having to bother with undressing. We found that the slap of the twenty lashes landing was much more diffuse than the sharp crack of the cane and crop and Ben decided that I would keep that whip so that it was always to hand when he chose to come round. He was nothing if not thorough, and it took thirty lashes before he was quite certain that he had made the right choice.

He took a bath after that and I waited on him, soaping him carefully all over and making sure that his penis was properly clean. I made very sure of that, my back was hot and throbbing and as ever that had started the fires down below. When I had dried him we went back to the bedroom, taking with us the dildos, and while he lay on the bed, letting me watch his erect sex which twitched every now and then, he had me masturbate with each one. They ranged from a pretty standard five inch one to an eight inch one with a really thick shaft. That filled me very pleasantly and Ben allowed me to work it in myself until I came to a shuddering climax which left me barely able to stand. But there were vibrators too in the same size range, battery powered of course but one had a remote control and wasn’t a vibrator at all. It was a wicked little phallus which was designed to deliver a shock whenever the switch was thrown on the control unit. Ben demonstrated this while he had me make more coffee. We established that its range coped quite easily with my small flat, and from the bedroom he could make me spasm and stagger helplessly time after time. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, it was just like when a doctor does that knee thing to test your reflexes, it just set my vagina twitching and clenching as it would do in the middle of really good sex. Most of the arousal it set off in me was due to the fact that my insides could be controlled by someone who wasn’t even in the same room.

Each dildo was assigned a number and my vagina was given the letter A, while my anal passage was assigned the letter B. This, as Ben explained gleefully was so that he could ring me and give me just a number and a letter. I would then have to wear whatever he told me to until he told me to remove it. He also had me note that some of the dildos had wide flanges at their bases so that they could be safely used anally. Strangely I didn’t find that very comforting. He had also bought two long lengths of jeweller’s chain, one of which would wrap round my waist, while the other clipped onto it then ran down between my legs, back up between my buttocks and then attached back to the waist chain. It would make sure that whatever I was plugged with would stay where it was.

Once all that was explained and demonstrated he buggered me. It was quite deliberate I’m sure. The first time he took me in my own bed he used me in the basest way of all. And I knew that I would never sleep in that bed again without remembering him forcing into my upturned backside while I groaned into my pillow. While he had been away, that passage had scarcely been used and had tightened up. He had quite a struggle to get in and caused me considerable pain which only made me reach down between my legs and rub at my clitoris fiercely once he was able to thrust and withdraw. He came at almost the same time I did and when he had finished with me he wrenched himself free, hurting me again and went to clean himself up. I lay where I was for a few moments savouring the depths of my humiliation. I was propped up on my elbows, my face buried in my pillow and my bottom raised. In my own bed I had been whipped and buggered, and I had loved every second of the pain which both had brought with them. Ben was whistling happily as he cleaned himself up in the bathroom so I had to wait until he had finished before I could clean myself. And I noticed with grim foreboding that he took the remote control unit for the shock dildo with him.

There was nowhere for Emma to hide now.

All my worst fears were confirmed the following week. I had a function to attend at the embassy of an eastern European country and two hours before it Ben rang to give me the number of that wretched little dildo and the letter A. I pleaded and begged but he was implacable. And so I duly turned up in a brand new evening dress which had cost a small fortune. It was my usual style, low cut neck, slashed skirt as far as was acceptable, all guaranteed to loosen the tongue of whichever male politician I was targeting. But underneath I wore Ben’s chain and moving inside me with every step and churning my stomach with fear and excitement was his wretched dildo.

He tormented me mercilessly.

I would catch sight of him from time to time and beg him with my eyes but he would just smile and sometimes put his hand in his pocket. If I was lucky I made it to a table to put my wine down before the bolt hit me. Mostly I didn’t though and spilt a lot of wine that night. Some people asked in concerned tones why I kept giving those odd little half skip, half jumps and I concocted a story about suffering from sciatica which caught me every now and then. It was a nightmare; I was trying to be a professional journalist but was being totally controlled by my vaginal responses, which in turn were controlled by someone else. Ben couldn’t have made me more acutely aware of my femininity and my sexuality if he had hung me up and flogged me there and then, right in front of the whole gathering.

To make matters worse, I was so hot and moist by the time I got home that I had to use the thing by hand to bring myself off before I could get any sleep. I rang Ben the next day, something I rarely did, and swore long and foully at him. I knew it was totally against all the rules, and completely overlooked the fact that he hadn’t forced me to wear it, just told me to. It was my own submissiveness which I was furious about.

He listened in silence and then quietly asked if I wanted him to stop doing everything he did to me.

I sighed and thought of how sluttishly aroused I had been the previous night and how I had kept the lights on in the bedroom while I stood in front of the mirror and watched myself working the dildo up and down until I came.

“No,” I said at last.

“Good. Have you got any holiday owing?”

“Yes, lots. Why?”

“Take a fortnight from next Friday. I’m taking you away.”

“Would I be right in thinking that this won’t involve palm-fringed beaches and cocktails by the pool?”

“You’re a clever girl. Beautiful, clever and…”

“And a treat to beat. Yes I know.”

He laughed and hung up.