Chapter 1

 

 

It is of little consequence that you should know neither my name nor my history such as it is. To my clients I am, quite simply, the Counsellor. Perhaps it is a strong kink in my nature, a fever in the blood that has ordained in me a wilder course of life. I recognised something frightening in the conventional order that follows the course of a placid stream out into the rolling oblivion of the ocean void. In me was a desire to live dangerously and I was quite well equipped to confront the jagged rocks and treacherous shoals of change and the excitement of the unforeseen.

Let us agree simply that human nature is about as bad as it can be and on that universal premise I have made it my humble lot, as a counsellor, to redress the balance between the romance of domestic virtue and malicious pleasure enshrined in the words of a great author, ‘God damn my wife. She is an excellent woman but I wish she was in hell.’ Since I made the decision a small but select group of such excellent women have passed through my seemingly modest Academy, brought to account for their appalling attitudes to their husbands and lovers. My objective is to make them thoroughly amenable to their husbands and thereby to bring back into their family life a spirit of adventure rooted in the delights of the flesh.

One day when returning from a trip to collect a very special pedestal, a robust piece of discipline equipment designed to hold a client rigid with her bottom well presented for treatment, I heard Kerry, that excellent woman, shouting at her husband with unbridled anger. So much contempt and hatred was there in her voice that I decided it was time for me to intervene. How appropriate was it that she should be the first to test my new gadget? I could think of no one better suited to it.

I had passed her house a number of times and, too often, hearing her bawling voice rising in contempt, had fought hard against charging right in there all guns blazing. Hearing her laying down the law with such vehemence made me want to crash through the front door, drag her out by her hair, fling her into the back of my car and take her to the Academy for some very severe treatment. Her attitude to her husband was getting out of hand. Kerry Roget needed to be seriously dealt with. She was the kind of woman in the treatment of whom I excelled as a counsellor.

Fortuitously I had met Dominic, her husband, in the Cat and Fiddle one night a few days later, drowning his sorrows. I had known of their existence for some time but only in passing, having neither visited their home nor met them socially. I had, however, been close enough to witness Dominic’s sad decline. Here now I was presented with the golden opportunity to do something about it. In a cosy corner of the pub, after some minor pleasantries, I put forward my proposition. It is always a delicate thing, to intervene between a man and his wife but this is, after all, my avowed purpose in life. And I was not a little in demand.

Once I had broken through Dominic’s natural defences and got him talking it was clear from both the evidence I already had and from what he added that Kerry was obviously blind to everything except her own selfish needs and was, therefore, well in need of my particular brand of counselling.

Throwing tantrums, so often the feminine way of getting what they want, was to Kerry a successful habit. Her barbed and merciless tongue was alarmingly proficient.

As Dominic continued to unburden himself it was becoming increasingly clear that I would enjoy bringing such a recalcitrant woman to heel. I explained to Dominic that my task as a Counsellor was to make permanent changes to his wife by getting her to understand her position in the scheme of things. I told him that it often required weeks of careful management at The Academy, that the treatment is largely therapeutic and, so far, always successful. I did not feel the need to explain that my methods were sometimes pleasurable, at least for me, and often painful for the client. I assured Dominic that I could help him by restoring the proper balance in their marriage. “You must give me carte blanc and put absolute trust in me.” I told him.

At this he baulked rather but after a long reflective silence he looked up at me with a distraught expression. “Anything!” He was clearly at the end of his tether. “I just can’t live with her any longer. She is no longer the woman I married. The damned bitch is taking me for a fool and a sucker! Why the bloody hell has she turned into such an absolute cow? Why? Why?” He was close to a breakdown and, like a drowning man, was desperate for the lifeline I was throwing him.

Kerry, like so many women today, seemed to be possessed of the belief that she had a right to make life hell for any, including her husband, who fails to fulfil, to the very letter, her every wish. Her demands had become ever more unreasonable and, on occasions, downright outrageous so that Dominic, who was utterly devoted to her, was tied up in seemingly inextricable knots with the effort of just trying to keep her happy. How dare she, a mere woman, behave like this? She had reached a point in which all was take, take, take and no give. She was even refusing to give him the comforts of her own body and that, in my book, is a mortal sin. And, for Chrissake, the bitch would go ballistic if he ever dared to look at another woman. How dare she deny him the basic needs of a healthy man? What kind of bloody arrogance is that? Evidently she was suffering from an acute reluctance to maintain either a sense of perspective or understanding. She had to be made to accept that in all things there must be an understanding of the concept of moderation. As with so many who did abuse their husbands Kerry deliberately exercised the selfish belief that Dominic should ‘do as I say and not do as I do.” I wonder, in the telling, if Kerry was being unfaithful and getting fucked by some bloke, a friend of the family or a workmate or … but why should I care? My job was to bring her back to her husband and that I would most assuredly do.

Many women in today’s world have lost the understanding of what a partnership really means and it is that basic error which has allowed me to construct a niche in the market setting out to restore perspective and to renew the understanding between husband and wife. By disabusing those women of so fundamental a fault I am, in my own small way, contributing toward making the world a better place. I have created an environment in which such bullying tactics are turned on their head. I do this by making these misguided women understand that the image of the aggressive slave/mistress they have adopted so inefficiently is way out of line and distorts entirely the actual and very subtle relationship that exists between a professional Mistress and her clients. What these wives don’t understand in that the Mistresses on whom, it would seem, they try (unsuccessfully) to base themselves are the very people to whom discontented husbands go to for solace. I have learned much over the years from those women with whom I have had cause to deal and, sadly, have discovered in some of them a streak of barbarism annealed with cynicism that it has been all but impossible to erase.

The true Mistress, magnificent creatures one and all are neither barbaric nor cynical. They are highly skilled and have an immense understanding of the male psyche. They are so much in demand today because of the Kerrys of this world whose inability to understand men and even to understand the very principles for which they, as women, are put on this planet, makes them unfit as wives and partners. In their ignorance, largely borne of arrogance, her kind of woman stupidly pushes their relationship to the limits of endurance with a ruthlessness borne of an astonishing belief in their own superiority. Kerry embodied that ugly trait. She had pushed the boundaries far beyond her knowing and achieved … what? She had lost her way and it was for me to guide her back on to the path of respect and care for her husband. I had to master her by whatever force I was obliged to use to broach her self-esteem.

It is, for my part, a pleasurable way of living though, because of the exciting physical contact, one has to guard against involvement, a boundary so easily and often unwittingly crossed. The relationship, necessarily intimate, must never be allowed to become emotional. I had to learn to inflict corrective licence dispassionately without involving the heart. It had been a hard lesson to learn because, in spite of everything, I adore women.

Not for the first time in my career as a counsellor I was fixing my sights on correcting a cross-eyed, ill- conceived notion now so evident in Kerry. Believe me I intend to use harsh means, as I have done with many previous clients, to relieve her of her delusions. She had to understand that on her present course she was achieving only the contempt and the alienation of her husband; hatred from those people, often of both sexes, close within her orbit and contempt from those who mayhap drift into - and thankfully out of - her orbit.

Her kind of woman despises the man they dominate and because of it their demands become ever greater and ever more unreasonable. Many wish to push their husbands into total submission and subservience, to subject them to the most demeaning slavery and humiliation or reduce them to penury while lavishing all upon themselves. It rather poses the question of why they had ever married. All this revolves in a vicious circle which I am well equipped to break. My orbit was going to cross hers and she was going to have a very wobbly time of it. She would wonder at the torment I would put her through and cry at the discipline as they all have done, but in the end she will thank me for the guidance and the enlightenment. It is ever thus in the way of women and Kerry needed to understand that she was but a mere woman.

I bought Dominic another drink or two to seal the bargain. Inwardly I was revelling at the very idea of getting his wife into my Academy and into my clutches. We parted on the understanding that I would be in contact with him once a week at an appointed time to provide progress reports.

Already I was picturing Kerry mounted on the pedestal which I had securely fixed to the cold stone floor of one of my cellar annexes. I envisioned her naked bum held high and well exposed to my treatment, whatever that may be, and however it might hurt. The physical pain I inflicted was generally mild because more than that was unnecessary. All that was demanded was to bring about the more exquisite pain of deep and measured humiliation oh, and a good measure of enforced sex. I knew well about the formidable power of the cock in bringing a woman to rights and I have a formidable cock.

Kerry Roget is not beautiful in the conventional sense of the word. Attractive rather than pretty, in the normal course of events, but she makes herself downright ugly by opening her beautiful eyes and firing daggers of contempt not only at her husband but at those many with whom she has but brief social intercourse. Then her mouth twists into a rictus of brutal disgust as if, like some regal but intolerant queen, like some Turandot, she beholds offence in those who cannot help her to move in the direction she wishes to go. She strikes me as a child of failed or wannabe aristocrats. I will strike her as a ruthless and brutal man because of the essential major changes that I shall be forced to impose upon her and that she so obviously needs. I intend to delve deeply into the very core of her being just as I intend to penetrate her luscious body and to examine the very heights of her pain threshold and the deepest of her desires. Be sure she will have secret desires and fantasies that she has not told her husband about. They are probably far removed from her regal front and are best left undisclosed, at least in her own mind. Perhaps there is some truth in that but it was up to me to decide. I shall delve deeply and select the desires that will best serve to please Dominic. What a pleasure that will be!

Her figure, though heavy boned had, in her youth, been magnificently slim and hourglass so that many young blades lusted after her. She had revelled in her popularity and that had seen the nurturing of her arrogance. She cared absolutely nothing for the emotional turmoil she often created in other women.

After childbirth her hips broadened and she allowed herself to run heavily to seed. What is it with women? They claw in their man with the trappings of beauty, love and delightful mystery then, with the gold band on the finger, resort to nastiness, viciousness and contempt. It is this social injustice that I am at pains to correct.

Women expect their husbands to look dishy at all times yet they let their own bodies decline into pudginess as Kerry had done or worse, into gross obesity for which they cite all kinds of lame and pathetic excuses and for which I can find no shred of justification. They have a duty to keep themselves well preserved. It was something that all my past clients had learned painfully and stuck to in peril of fearful retribution.

Kerry’s legs, lacking even basic exercise, (she had to be seen in her luxury, soft top sports car), are thick in the thigh yet, below the knee somehow managed to retain the suggestion of things past. In that past she would undoubtedly have worn high heels that stretched the calf muscles and created that pleasing line so trim in a pair of stockings, been acutely conscious of her appearance and absolutely and ruthlessly single-minded in the business of catching her man. I am sure that Kerry knew and had used each and every artifice known to womankind in the seeking, pursuing and catching of Dominic and, once having him in her clutches, railed at finding not the emergence of an idyllic life. Perhaps she had read too many fables and love poems by ignorant poets who knew nowt about the realistic demands of life which, necessarily, impose themselves on any marriage. If a woman wants romance in a marriage she must be willing to respond in kind. Kerry was well equipped physically for such a response and therefore only needed the imperative impetus of my instruction to bring it about.

Her best feature is her breasts, challengingly large and impressive and carried enticingly high on her chest. Of those I would be making good use in due course. Her shoulder length hair, any woman’s best cosmetic of which great care should always be taken was, these days, nondescript and untidy. This indicated a strange lack of pride in one so desperate to be seen in the right kind of company. To my horror she all too often scrambled her naturally blonde hair under one of those IQ reducing hats otherwise known as baseball caps. A damned baseball cap, for Chrissake! A struggling ponytail would stick out from above the crude plastic size adjuster at the back making it look like the afterthought it clearly was. She had got her man so why should she bother anymore? I could not imagine why Kerry’s inflated opinion of herself would let her neglect her hair so I assumed that it was another punishable demonstration of her contempt for her husband. She couldn’t even bother herself to look half decent, until of course, it suited her to do so. That was the kind of selfishness just begging for correction. I had had a number of clients in that frame of mind and thoroughly enjoyed disabusing them of it. Kerry’s submission, perhaps initially on the pedestal, will be gratifying indeed.

She had, too, abandoned all clothes sense. Appalling colour mismatches; poor style choices; wrong sizes. It was as if she hankered after eternal youth by putting herself into garments two sizes too small and way out of her age group. No doubt she was condemning her husband for that inevitable loss as well. Inelegant trainers always completed the ensemble with, all too often, trousers or jeans that did nothing to show off her voluptuous figure.

And yet, with all these symbols of mismanaged childhood, she still walked around with an expression far more snooty than that of any aristocrat as if there was, constantly, a very bad smell under her nose. In a word she was what I chose to call piss-elegant and very well in need of being brought down not just a peg or two but a whole damned whirligig full of pegs. And I was just the man to do it. I rubbed my hands in anticipation of the fun times we were going to have together. Being a hands-on counsellor beholdens me to keep myself in the peak of condition. With Kerry I knew I was going to need all the stamina and strength I could muster. I didn’t need to step up my exercise regime, merely to adhere closely to it.

A propitious time for the start of this challenge came when Dominic, acting on my suggestion and at his wit’s end, walked out on Kerry leaving her and the children. It must have been a terrible wrench despite his having been goaded beyond reasonable endurance. It was gratifying to have such faith and trust put in me. Okay, better an empty house than a lousy housewife. Had I been in Dominic’s shoes I would have kicked her out long ago. But I am not Dominic. Let us just say I am made of sterner stuff. Oh, don’t get me wrong. His walking away from her, though prompted by me, had been in Dominic’s mind for some considerable time. It was only the kids that had prevented him doing it. He is a very honourable man. Well, now the time was upon me to start re-educating Kerry into being not only a willing but also an eager partner for Dominic. When I am finished with her she is going to welcome him back and willingly she was going to lay herself down for him and take him into her in whatever way he chooses, no holds barred. She is going to submit to his demands in the most loving way. That goal has always been my most sacred mission and I have, so far, never failed.

Their two daughters, packed off safely out of the way at a prestigious boarding school, would be gone long enough for me to ring the changes in her that Kerry so sorely needed. I hoped that it was not too late for those little darlings, a forlorn hope perhaps, that they had not yet been gravely and irredeemably tainted by their selfish mother. Perhaps school was keeping them on the straight and narrow and in proper shape enough to be inflicted safely upon the world of unsuspecting men. If they weren’t then, perchance, in the fullness of time, they may pass through the portals of my academy. I hoped that someone might succeed me in a difficult, physically demanding but sexually satisfying task.

You, dear reader, will have deduced that I have no need of a wife nor, as you will discover, a housekeeper. They are, for me, needless accoutrements. I live alone and conduct all of my affairs from a large, isolated, red brick Edwardian house which, for these purposes I choose to call The Academy and it was there that I hold parties as a means of bringing together all my past clients and their husbands. Because Dominic had walked out on her, if only temporarily and within my game plan, my invitation to Kerry was couched in such a manner as to inspire her curiosity. I wanted her within my portals alone and of her own volition.

My parties, a means whereby my successfully re-tuned women, together with their husbands, meet and enjoy each other’s company, are always lively events. Within that circle my parties are famous for the releasing of inhibitions, flowing booze, food aplenty and countless dark nooks and crannies for those clandestine affairs the secrecy of which is broken only at grave cost to the loose tongued. So far there had been no such tongue wagging. It was also a means whereby I could keep tabs on progress and ensure that no one was defaulting and wandering back into their past failings.

Walpurgis Night seemed to be eminently suitable so I set to and produced my trade mark gold and black edged invitation cards; the gold for affluence, the black for … ah, who knows what mystery? Such decoration would, I feel sure, appeal to Kerry’s sense of her own worth. It suggested constellations of great wealth into the orbit of which Kerry believes herself long overdue in entering.

Of three stories and with a catacomb of cellars, the house was magnificently set in woodland through which a long gravel drive leads to a very minor and seldom travelled B road. A stream flows through the garden. There are outhouses which I have remodelled comfortably enough for those wishing to indulge their love of BDSM in private. The cellars are strictly my domain, my counsel chambers, so to speak and therein I have gathered together every device and every piece of equipment available to subdue and chastise women. One or two machines, like the milking machine, of which I am particularly proud and the pedestal yet to be tried, I designed myself; others I have copied from journals published in both America and Japan the homes of true BDSM in which England is playing catch-up. I was catching up fast.

Everywhere was deliberately under-furnished and prosaically decorated as a sensible precaution to prevent any ill-feeling should an accident happen. I didn’t want any of my visitors discomfited by such trivialities as cigarette burns or spilt drinks on expensive carpets. It was an essential demand of the freedom I advocated. And anyway I always had a client on hand to do the cleaning up. There is a study/library furnished with all the right books often referred to during my open house events; a dining room with a table seating twelve and two withdrawing rooms adequately furnished with settees and high wing back chairs. A reception room had nothing but occasional tables and a huge dumb waiter. The six en-suite bedrooms and all the guest rooms in the outbuildings governed the select number of guests whom, I always hoped, would make an indulgent weekend of it. On this occasion Kerry would be one guest more than my normal quota but then it will not be necessary to provide her with a bedroom. I had rather less comfortable accommodation for her.

I called in a tame electrician to create mood lighting and an equally docile engineer to produce sounds designed to enhance both mood and wantonness appropriate to the haunting night. Blood-curdling screams and maniacal laughter afar off tempered with tears and the pleas of the victims made a satisfactory background noise. Booze was brought in by the truckload with numerous cases of unbreakable glasses. The very best of food from the very best of caterers and the scene was set. Masks, cloaks and head-dresses were all provided as were tawses, benches and other portable equipment. A heavy oak saltire stood in the middle of the room on which to display masochists or perhaps others less eager but not afraid to investigate their inner desires. This was the centrepiece of the ceremony.

On that fateful evening, cold but clear and dry, cars rolled up the drive, crunching on the gravel bringing with them the looming night and the fitful glow of a cloud-ridden full moon. Its gleaming, intermittent light would titillate the senses of those who took pleasure among the dense trees, among the sights and sounds of the jungle, alfresco, the soft chill air fanning heated skin and touching passionate flesh.

I kept a sharp lookout for Kerry. From the outset I wore a red silk robe over my evening clothes but later, as Master of Ceremonies I would, as a mark of respect to my often far travelled guests, dispense with the evening clothes and let the real fun begin.

She came, as I expected she would, rather later than the others. She wore a buttoned and frilled, semi opaque blouse, tight over her splendid tits and low cut to reveal deep cleavage. It was tucked into a pair of jeans, expensive jeans but, nonetheless jeans. I winced at the miserable want of taste. I had rather expected a decent skirt. I gave her a black gown with gold suns and stars, a large brimmed, pointed, black hat and a wand with a gold star at its top. I was right in assuming that she wanted to make the grand entrance and I pandered to her vanity by making a great show of having the other guests assembled and, properly masked before a stranger, introduced to a worthy friend of impeccable pedigree. She simpered in her own reflection caught in the eyes of those to whom she offered a limp hand. It was much as if she expected it to be kissed rather than shaken. I had little doubt that many of the more sadistic guests would have delighted in exploring her pain threshold had they the chance. My promise to Dominic precluded any such deviation, however exciting the prospect. I had to deal with Kerry on a strictly personal basis. It would be a great pleasure for me but as we progressed into her submission and her growing to like it, her submissiveness would make my position somewhat less exciting. But all that was in the future. In the here and now I had the prospect of very exciting times ahead.

The time for our first skirmish couldn’t come fast enough. I was, happily, not restricted to a couple of nights. Oh no! Kerry was going to occupy me day and night for the next week or six. I was going to alter little Miss Bountiful very much indeed. I could hardly contain my impatience as the evening became more and more lascivious. I thought of all the things I was going to need to do with this girl to knock her back into the shape from which she should never have been allowed to wander. I had, at first, planned to wait until all the other guests had retired but that was a foolish expectation. By the wee small hours the clothes were off and the party was in full swing. As mine host I was kept very busy studying the liaisons with interest and tending to every need of my guests. Women with men other than their husbands, women with women and tangled orgies elsewhere in which it was not always possible to see who was doing what to whom.

I decided to start on Kerry immediately after the opening ceremony but, in the event it was Kerry herself who precipitated the move by expressing her sheer horror when Sarah, deliciously stark naked, was strapped to the saltire and whipped by all comers. Sarah had been my most recent client and part of the night’s proceedings had been to witness the declaration in which, like all the other clients, she agreed to give herself wholly and without restraint to her husband in any way he chose. You, dear reader, will have gathered a strange conflict in this oath. Though it appears to run contrary to the flavour of the party it does in fact enshrine all the sanctities of wedlock. As this story will reveal, there is no anomaly.

Sarah is unique in that she is the only one of my clients who was reduced to outright viciousness towards her husband because she was ignorant of her own needs. She really had not understood what it was that so frustrated her. She blamed her husband for the inadequacy and their relationship went downhill almost all the way to divorce. Just in time, however, they were told about my Academy by Jenny, a previous client, who arranged for them to meet me at her home. Meeting, so to speak, on home ground arrangements were made that Sarah would come with Jenny and counselling would start immediately. I convinced John, her husband, that it would be a week or two and that the treatment was so intense that he’d be unable to visit. He didn’t like that. Few of the husbands did but my stock answer was always that anything of this kind involving treatment is always done on a one to one basis and should never involve anyone else, not even a partner. It is, like all therapies, a private affair at least, for as long as I chose to keep it that way.

Sarah’s strapping to the saltire was the culmination of the journey we had undertaken together to discover eventually if, in fact, she was a masochist. On finding that she was, I exploited it to examine just what kind of a pain threshold she had. It was an interesting journey into the beauty of pain. She enjoyed each and every form of punishment but her greatest desire was to be posed on the leather daybed with her legs folded and strapped down straight over the top of her head so that her bottom and pussy was gloriously exposed and taut. We started with the tawse which she found inadequate so finally I applied the knotted cat-o-nine-tails. She loved the way it folded and swept over large areas of her body, making the pain universal. By degrees we had found the severity and the duration she preferred. It made a new woman of her. Now, after this ceremony that so confused Kerry, Sarah was going home, duly marked by the whip and carrying with her the treasured cat-o-nine-tails.

I sympathised with Kerry’s sensitivities and led her from the room, urging her to enjoy some peace and quiet in the library where I sat quietly with her. She had been drinking so I made a great play of preparing her something to sober her up. I didn’t want to lavish too much time on her at this stage.

There was, to my surprise, a little laughter in her voice as she remarked yet again on the whipping. It made me think of how delicious her tits would look criss-crossed and reddened by the tawse or the cat-of- nine-tails. I detected a mild curiosity which was encouraging though her laughter, ringing with insincerity, was something that jarred uncomfortably. At the chosen moment I said:

“I have a secret passage, just over there.” I pointed to a corner kept cleverly dark by my tame electrician.

She clapped her hands. “Where? Oh where? Do let me see!”

She tripped along behind me on those ridiculously high heels, squealing like the spoiled brat she was. I pressed a hidden button and the wainscoting began to slide. I grabbed Kerry about the waist and flung her into the musty darkness and pressed the button to close the door.

“Noooooo! No, please … No, you fu…!” It whispered shut on her foul protestations and she had to quickly withdraw a reaching arm as the door finally closed upon her. I would hear no more of Kerry until I was good and ready to release her into my world of correction. It was a pleasantly peaceful moment.

Well now, some hours later, with the sun just lightening the eastern sky and the guests retired to their rooms it was time to see how Kerry was faring. I had had a pleasant few hours’ sleep which I am sure Kerry could not match. The house was very silent as I descended the thickly carpeted stairs. I had grown used to its natural creaks and groans and enjoyed the daunting power it inflicted on new guests like Kerry. It served as the first step in converting recalcitrant clients.

The locker into which I flung Kerry was so constructed as to have two doors, the one from the library and the other, to which I was now going, in the dining room. Its original purpose I could only guess at but it was not a tunnel, merely a small cavity, possibly a priest’s hole. I pressed the button and watched the door slide silently open. Rest for the wicked in that small, dark space was denied. It was enough to stand upright or to sit with knees raised. It was not possible to lie down so I was sure Kerry would be tired and stiff. I expected her to fall into my arms but she was, as they say, made of sterner stuff. I had misjudged her. She came out fighting. Mascara ran in black streaks down her cheeks and lipstick spread in grotesque clownish whirls all round her snarling mouth. Her eyes were blazing. She was astonishingly quick on her feet and I got a decent knock on the head before I managed to subdue her enough to cuff her hands behind her back.

She continued to shout and scream with a vocabulary very far from ladylike. In gathering up her Walpurgis Night costume from the floor of the cavity, I held her at arm’s length with a vice-like grip and then, by the mere expedient of grabbing a handful of her thick, lustrous hair led her, none too gently, out of the library. “You bastard!” she shouted and spat at me. That earned her a warning slap, gentle but authoritative, to the face. She recoiled in tears but continued to shout.

“Tch, tch! Such foul language! I thought you far too genteel for such a mouth.” I pulled at her hair, forcing her to follow me at a goodly pace. She stumbled several times but at last we reached the cellar door. Down the carpeted stairs I pulled her and at last, in the gloom of my discipline sanctuary, I released her.

She dropped, crying, to the rubber matting. I hoped that she hadn’t, so suddenly, lost the will to fight.

“Get up, you bitch! You’re not hurt! Get up and tell me why you should be so revoltingly proud of yourself!”

She did not rise but wiped the back of her hand over her eyes and glared at me through the veil of her dishevelled hair. “I shall be missed, you know.” She spoke in even, subdued tones.

“Do I really look like someone who cares?” I taunted her brutally. “I might, in due course, allow you to write a letter to your daughters at school but...”

That brought her to her feet. “How the hell do you know about them? You ... you…!” She crouched forward as if ready to pounce.

“I was really pleased when your husband walked out on you.” “That bastard!”

“Ah! And I’ve no doubt that right now he thinks much the same about you.”

I shrugged my shoulders and caught hold of a handful of hair, bringing her upright by pulling hard. “All men are bastards, are they not? Isn’t that how you see them? Illegitimate children, one and all, eh? I wonder what that says about the morality of women.” I shrugged into her silence. “Ah well, now you are in the company of a professional bastard!” With that I pulled at her hair again, causing her to stagger towards a wall so I could reach a rail and take down a pair of handcuffs. Amid her horrible protests I dragged her back to a pole in the centre of the room and deftly cuffed her wrists around it. I stepped away to appreciate the sight for a moment then went over to a hosepipe coiled around a pair of taps. I turned them on, hot and cold, testing the flow until it was at a proper temperature. Then I played the jet full upon her. She squealed and tried to shy away but I played it over her hair and her face. She tried to kick out at me. Her shoe was flung off. I kept playing the hose on her.

“Did you ever let him stroke your hair? Did you ever caress his cock with those lustrous curls? Did you ever look at him with loving eyes? No, you bloody well didn’t! Did you ever take his cock between those lovely lips and suck him to make him come in your mouth? No, you bloody well didn’t!” I played the water into her mouth. She spluttered and choked. I directed the warm flow to her breasts. “Did you ever nurse his cock between those luscious breasts and let him give you a pearl necklace? I’ll bet you didn’t!” I played the jet on to her crotch. “Did you let him fuck you for his pleasure or did you only open your legs for him on those rare occasions when your condescending ladyship pleased?” I retreated towards the taps and, without taking my eyes from her, closed off the hot water. She screamed as the cold jet hit her a stinging blow. I played it mischievously all over her until her teeth were chattering too much for her to speak above a whisper.

“P… p… p... p ... lease … s … s ...s …top …”

“Ah, so you do have some manners beneath that arrogance.” I dropped the hose and went to her. She actually managed a smile. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a beautiful moment. She stood tall, proud and statuesque like one of those magnificent caryatids of the Erectheon in Athens. Taking handfuls of her sodden blouse, I ripped off the buttons all the way down to her waist and opened it wide. Her breasts in that soaking wet balconet brassiere were truly wondrous to behold. I played with them joyfully testing their magnificent weight, their warmth and their pliability. They wobbled delightfully and made me wonder if her children, lucky things, had been breast fed. I asked her. She shook her head.

“You deprived them of your own milk?” I exclaimed with as much bitterness as I could muster “I ...”

“Oh, yes. Frightened your tits would sag and become ugly dugs? Selfish bitch!” She nodded her head vigorously. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Dominic might have enjoyed watched you suckle them. Did that ever occur to you? Did it ever occur to you that Dominic, your husband, might have liked to suckle them too?”

“Ooooh, that is...!”

“Disgusting?” I pulled down the cups to reveal her huge nipples, nutty brown, big as thimbles with aureoles covering fully half the tit. I bent to the left one and took the nipple into my mouth, sucking hard as I held it in both hands. It stiffened under my tutelage. She squirmed pleasurably. I bit down hard, causing her to cry out then tenderly laved it with tongue and lips. After what was a very long moment of delight I reluctantly released the nipple and raised my head. “Was that disgusting?”

“No … o ... o!” She pushed her breast into my cupping hand. The erect nipple pressed hard into my palm. I was discovering the pathways and valleys of her very seductive body and it was becoming a very pleasant journey.

“You silly bitch! Why have you deprived yourself of such pleasure? Was it a vicious denial to punish your husband for some perceived wrong?” Into her bewildered silence I shouted. “Well, now, bitch, I am going to rip you from that stupid life you have been leading. I am going to force you to be submissive and obedient. I am going to train you so that you will become a real wife, a sexual thing to please your husband. You will submit!”

“No bloody way! Submit to that bastard? Who do you think I am?” She wailed pitifully as I slapped her face. She burst into tears. After a long moment in which I indulged her she looked up into my silence “No! You don’t ... oh!” She shook her wet head then went on. “Oh … I didn’t understand!” She was panting hard with the emotion of the moment.

That was a start anyway. “Your mother, your friends, did you never talk to them about it?”

She shook her head more violently. Her hair flew about her face and droplets of cold water sprayed me. “Not with my mother, no. With friends it was a ...”

“...bit of a joke, eh, ‘cos they were as stupid as you?” “Oh … oh … I am so sorry!”

“Oh, Kerry,” I was jeering at her, “you will be.”

“Are you threatening me?” A spark of fire.

I squeezed hard on her nipples. “I shall be making much more of those soon.”

“Ouch!” She smiled then wanly from behind the curtain of her hair “Promise?” Another sudden U-turn! Is there no limit to the fickleness of women? It always astounded me how contradictory was human nature.

I ignored her. This was a sudden volte-face about which I was not fully convinced. “Whether you will like it or not remains to be seen.” I was angered by the evident pose in her insincerity.

How I hate to see women wearing trousers, especially tight ones. Oh yes, they make a really sweet ball of the bottom and that makes it respond eagerly to the swish of the cane but, for all that, I hate jeans with a passion. Women are meant to wear skirts. Their figures demand it. I have a real yen for Edwardian dresses.

Impractical they might be but devastatingly sexy they certainly were. Just to lay a woman so clothed over your lap and then work your way through those skirts and petticoats until cotton clad buttocks are revealed is a real exercise in prolonged titillation. I unclasped the waist-band of her jeans and pulled the dreadful things over her flaring hips and down to her ankles. They clung wetly and, very neatly, hobbled her.

Now was the time for a little more adventure. From a heavy toolbox, standing on the floor in a corner, I removed a scalpel and came towards her, letting its blade glint in the subdued light.

“My God, you’re not going to cut me … not my face ... not my face!” There was genuine terror etched into her face.

“Don’t be stupid. What? D’you think me a barbarian?”

“Please don’t!” She cried out in horror. Was she imagining a moment of vicious blood-letting? I really didn’t know what was in her mind. I stood close in front of her holding the scalpel sideways at arm’s length. I pressed myself into her and worked my hips to rub my crotch against her so that she could feel my hardness. I smiled into her face. “You’ve a nice taste in underwear, woman. Aubade, isn’t it?” I buried my nose into her cleavage, savouring the warmth and the softness and the scent of the flesh. “You got that right, girl, such tits should be well displayed.” She was shaking like a leaf. I stroked naked flesh, taking the time to calm her down. After a few moments her breathing eased to a scented pant and she was as ready as she’d ever be for the next step in my domination. Her heartbeat had lessened to a gentle rhythm. I swung the scalpel towards her, pulled the bra away from between those her gorgeous orbs and deftly cut the narrow piece of embroidery between the cups. Those delicious breasts fell only very slightly. They had little need of the support of a bra. Their shape was beautifully rounded and full, perhaps a mite too heavy but, for all that, her well-toned musculature supported them magnificently. Her nipples pointed outwards and upwards with inviting insolence.

Captivated, I lavished hot, amorous kisses on them. I was resonating with erotic vibrations and licked the supple skin avidly, enjoying the build-up of my excitement. She was quivering like the strings of a harp, pressing her tits into my eager lips and hands. I could willingly have nursed and played with them for a long languid time but I had other things to do. Kerry smiled as I stepped back a pace. There was hot challenge in her eyes. Not like yesterday’s contempt, prepared then as she was to fight for what she foolishly saw as her honour. No, that was gone. This was a deep and more demanding challenge daring me not to take her now that she was hot and up for it. She had overcome her fear and was drunk with delight. Her hazel eyes were hot-laden with unspent pleasure.

“Don’t you sneer at me, Kerry!” I was not yet ready to yield, not even an inch, to her unspoken demands. I drew the scalpel down and, wrenching at the waistband of her knickers, sliced them down to the gusset. They were a beautiful confection of sheerest silk and decorated with the finest lace to match her bra. The cut material whispered as it slid down the length of her smooth legs to join the folds of her jeans. “Lift your left foot.” I ordered and knelt to remove them. “Now lift the right foot.” I dragged off both jeans and knickers leaving her deliciously naked save for the ruined blouse and bra hanging from her shoulders. I took those off by simply cutting them away with the scalpel. I was not yet ready to release her from the handcuffs.

“That was expensive underwear, you bastard!”

“I know but ... well ... why should I care? I have much more to worry about than your precious flimsies. Do you know,” I asked conversationally, “I think there is something obscene in a woman like you, coarse and crude and violent and mean, wearing such soft and seductive lingerie …”

“No!” She shouted and her voice cracked. She shook her head firmly. “I am none of those horrible things. I’m not!” She stamped a bare foot.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“What do you mean?” Even as she asked the question her eyes widened with the dawning of the truth. “Did my husband arrange this?”

“At my insistence, yes.” “You’re in…”

“I didn’t like your behaviour. Now shut up!”

Her mouth clamped shut in a tight line at my sudden vehemence.

Her pubic hair was the same colour as the hair on her head. I liked that piece of honesty. The extended V of it reached almost up to her waist and spread over her thighs. It was a neat thicket and infinitely sexy. I had never seen such a dense mat on any other woman and I had seen many. Thank goodness she hadn’t had it plucked to a pathetic landing strip to fit her bikini. I nuzzled into that extended pubic hair, pressing my face into the bulge of her slightly sagging tummy. The action stifled any more of her talking. Her flesh was soft so that I felt as if I was drowning in it, suffocating in that pliant cool skin. I pulled myself away from the torment of soft, downy skin and lustrous curls, reminding myself that I disliked excessive fat. It suggests a slackness of mind and want of self-respect. It infers arrogance in the assumption of her perfection. Clearly part of my severe regime was to cause her to lose that little bit of fat and to make her realise she was obligated to keep herself physically attractive to her husband. Dominic, I knew, despised obesity.

“When did you last let your husband fuck you?”

Her pussy lips were thick and dark on a prominent mons veneris neatly crafted into her crutch with fine contour. Her clitoris, an oversized little boatman, protruded from the upper part of her closed lips as if searching for the pleasure of the cock.

“Whenever he wanted...”

“Liar! When? The truth now.” I stepped menacingly towards her. “I will beat those beautiful tits hard if you lie to me again.”

That threat frightened her. She bit her lower lip with pearly teeth. “Oh… oh he … not since Julie was born...”

“What? Seven … eight years?”

“T … ten!” She wailed. “But he never wanted to...”

“Oh yes he did! He did want to but you kept fobbing him off until he got tired of asking, you sodding bitch! Ten years … Christ! I suppose you were getting it somewhere else.”

“No … no … I...” She cowered from my raised hand. “Yes … yes … my...” “Incest?” I shouted, deliberately misinterpreting her.

“Ahh … no!” Her horror was genuine. I was beginning to get a glimpse of the girl beneath as I stripped away the veneers of self-delusion with which she had enveloped and protected herself. My God! Is this creature scared of her own shadow? Getting into her personality was like peeling an onion and there would be, I was sure, plenty of tears yet to come.

“Cutting off your nose to spite your face, eh? How stupid is that?” I was enjoying the process of breaking her in. “Kerry you must understand that a man needs a woman for the comfort she can give him; for the love she should give him and for the body she must offer him. Don’t you see that without these three obligations there is no reason for marriage? Why should a man commit himself to an ungenerous, mercenary woman? Why should Dominic commit himself to a living hell of your making?” I spoke loud and fast, brooking no interruption. “Where the hell do you think it’ll get you? You’ll become a shrewish bitch and, finally, an unloved old crone pungently farting her way to the grave. Is that what you want? If so I’ll let you go now and stew in your own juice. If not then you stay the course.” I gave her no time to consider. The shock of what I had just told her had hit home and she was limp in the recognition of her miserable behaviour.

I released the cuffs and manoeuvred her easily to a position backed against the wall where a number of thick leather straps were bolted to the whitewashed brickwork. In a trice I had a strap buckled about her waist. Cinched tight she was pressed against the cold brickwork. She winced at the shock of it but otherwise made no protest. I then spread her arms sideways to strap them in place. I stooped and pulled her legs as far apart as possible and strapped them in position. The stretching of her legs in a wide inverted V opened her cuntal lips so that I got a sniff of her womanly scent. I ignored it and got to my feet to put the final strap around her forehead, completing her bondage. She was absolutely immobile. What a sight she made! Her wet body was glistening with pent up passions. She looked at me with pleading eyes. I knew what she wanted, of course, but no, I did not intend to fuck her right there and then. That would consummate the day and leave me with no reserve to continue taunting her. I will not commit such a travesty and injustice on a body so beautiful. There is the additional point that it might also be a small form of delicious torment and to torment her was the greatest part of my stock in trade. I needed to see the heights of her passionate nature. There was hunger in her eyes as they followed me.

I went to a row of hooks screwed to the wall from which hung a number of useful pieces of equipment all of which I intended to use upon her. I settled, for a start, on the cat-of-nine-tails. She had to learn absolutely who was boss. I shook out the tails, thinking how I might use it upon her on a daily basis. The bloody woman deserved it.

“Noooo … Don’t hurt me, please!” Her words ended on a scream.

“You remember the lass strapped to the saltire? Remember we talked and how you had laughed? Oh, I know it was nervous laughter. Perhaps it was that that excited you? Did you want to be in her position...?” “No!” she sobbed. “I ...I don’t know.” I could smell the scent of her apprehension and felt nourished by it. I stroked the tails over her body enjoying her fear. The heightening delight of my own arousal my throbbing manhood straining to grow ever larger in the imprisonment of my pants, distracted me so that I could do no more than land a few gentle strokes across her breasts.

The scent of her, the opening of her delicious nether lips and the pleadings from her seductively pouting mouth conspired to weaken my resolve and to betray me. Without a word she had me on my knees. I drew towards her so that my eyes were staring directly at her arousing pussy. Without pause I dived forward into the enthralling odorous wetness, my tongue extended like a dagger parted the flowering folds. Between my lips I took her clitty, fully as big as a man’s thumb and sucked it into my mouth, feeling her jerk and cry out with the joy of it. I pulled at it hard, bit down on it with my teeth and quickly aroused her to what, I was sure, were levels of excitement she had seldom or never before experienced. If that was so it was a sorry omission that needed to be corrected immediately. Kerry had to know the joys that her own body, properly titillated, could give her. I released her clitty from my lips just as she was building up to an eager climax, leaving my nose to continue the contact while my lips covered her entire pussy and my tongue trace the interior, probing deeper and deeper. I listened to her cries of sheer pleasure and from them my own pleasure heightened. Hot gathering juices flowed upon my tongue as with parted lips I penetrated to the very core of her being. I tugged gently at her cuntal lips and lapped up her flowing essence. It poured over my tongue and down my throat. She shuddered gigantically and cried out in the bliss of absolute indulgence.

I lapped with deep searching strokes, lunging into the burning heat and glancing upwards towards her wondrous breasts flushed with the excesses of her excitement. Lost she was in the emotions that raged through her; the fiery passion that burned brightly and brought her to new heights of complete fulfilment. I sensed that she was fighting the feelings that raged within her though the flesh of her palpitating thighs told another story. She was in an agony the full charge of which I had yet to understand. I kissed her again, pressing my face into the luscious carpet of her pubis, eager to receive the final climactic explosion of juices that would be heralded by her cries and by the straining movements she made against the tight straps. Then she erupted. She cried out. “Aaaaaaah...!” Every muscle in her body tensed so that she quivered like a bow-string. She tasted hot and sweet like warmed cherry jam. I was shivering, tense in the intensity of muscular spasm. My cock was threatening to explode with the denial I forced upon it. I sweated hard to restrain myself from simply ramming it into her. The denial was a harsh lesson for Kerry too. Unfulfilled passion can be salutary in its withholding. I teased her by releasing my cock from its imprisonment.

“Fuck me … fuck me ... Oooooh, for mercy’s sake fuck me!” She stared at my burgeoning weapon, licking her lips and crying with frustration.

At last, slowly, she collapsed in resigned relaxation hanging in her straps exhausted, her nerves jangling; her passions gently subsiding but still very potent. Although the climax had exhausted her she blurted forth her anger at my refusal to give her the ultimate pleasure of my stiff-standing cock. I rose to my feet and gently stroked her cheeks to wipe away tears. “You can’t have everything you want just for the asking. You have to earn it.”

“You bastard!” she shouted. Her eyes closed as if to try and shut me out of her life. She had to be very tired, of course but sleep most certainly was not in my immediate plans for her. Dammit all, I’d only just retrieved the wretched woman from the cubby-hole. Over the next few hours she was going to suffer a number of humiliating torments, all of them intended to soften the woman up by arduous degradation before correction begins in earnest. I needed her pliant, like putty in my hands to mould as I saw fit.

After fitting a spreader bar between her ankles, I set about undoing the straps. First of all I released her arms and cuffed them together at the wrists then unhurriedly released each of the other straps in turn. She watched me silently and flexed herself as far as she was able cursing the pain of release.

“Firstly, Kerry, I think I will put you to the pedestal. You will enjoy that. It was specially designed for a naughty girl like you with big tits!”

“You perverted bastard! What are you going to do to me?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” I laughed briefly as I bent forward and swung her over my shoulder. Kicking and cursing and pummelling my back with her cuffed hands she was carried into a small annex.

The pedestal stood on its own in the centre of the stone flagged floor where the walls were of untreated limestone marked by rivulets of green slime here and there. It was noticeably colder than the main cellar. The pedestal was mounted on a heavy wooden plinth securely bolted to the flags. I lowered Kerry to the floor. She squealed as her bare feet touched the cold stone. Ignoring her pleas I stood her upright then crouched down to release the ankle bar. “Now walk to the pedestal. Move!” I nudged her in the back. “Hurry up!” I demanded coldly and pushed her none too gently. “Now climb up and put your feet into those shoes.”

Either side of the steel upright were two wooden, fur-lined clogs mounted securely to keep her feet well spread apart. They were tilted slightly to encourage her to lean forward. Kerry stepped into them, glad to feel the embracing warmth of the fleece covering her icy cold feet. On top of the post was a padded leather table over which I pushed her. She reached out and grabbed at a padded bar set on top of another steel post branching out forwards from the first. She braced her arms and resisted my push.

“What the hell is this thing? It’s horrible and I don’t want to … Ooow, shit!”

The curse came suddenly as I wrenched her hands from the bar, causing her to fall forward so that she hit the padded bar with rather more force than I intended.

“Shit, you bastard!” she yelled and squirmed under my restraining hand.

Taking no notice of her I swung a large, hinged clamp over the small of her back and pinned it so that she was locked on to the table, unable to rise. She continued to curse in a very unladylike way as I stepped around her, narrowly avoiding a smack from her cuffed hands. “Let me out of here, you sod … NOW! Christ almighty! What the … Ooow, shit!”

I had taken one of the straps bolted to the front side of the forward bar and, passing it round her heavily hanging tit, buckled it tightly, forcing the delicious flesh to bulge beautifully. “Ah, yes,” said I as smugly as I could, “that works every bit as well as I’d hoped.”

“Dammit, that bloody well hurts!”

“I’m sure it does but it looks really lovely.” I crossed in front of her, stroking her hair as I passed. Taking my time I lovingly stroked and squeezed her right tit and then, assailed by a torrent of abuse, passed the second strap around it. It squeezed round the base of the great gourd, swelling it to match the other one.

Now Kerry was well and truly imprisoned and she didn’t like it. She continued to curse and shout. She’d soon tire of bawling if only because there was no one to hear it.

The main purpose of the pedestal was to make her bottom bulb out enticingly for the tawse and that is exactly what it did. Kerry’s lovely ass was a great sight. I rubbed my hands over the cool skin, languorously enjoying its smooth roundness. She really was a beautiful woman for whom I was developing quite a letch. I eased my fingers into the dividing cleft and rubbed my thumb up and down in search of her rose hole. She could not wriggle of course but she shouted even louder as I found the delightfully wrinkled hole and work the tip of my thumb into it.

“You dirty sod ... how dare you do that … stop it … stop it!” “Kerry, first lesson, you really must stop swearing at me.” “This is vile and I demand that you release me right now!”

“Oh no! You demand nothing. I am your lord and master. You are here at my pleasure because you are a bitch in serious need of correction. Only when I am satisfied that you have returned to the proper path of a true and loyal wife, only when you have learned to obey and submit yourself fully to your husband will I even consider releasing you. Until then you are in my custody and I will do with you all that I think fit! Clear?”

“Let me go!” she wailed pitifully. She reached down with her cuffed hands trying to get a purchase on the upright.

I watched her efforts for a few minutes, silently enjoying her struggles and then, when she had grown tired and hung her head with a long and wearisome sigh, I went to fetch a tawse. It was time to begin the treatment.

“Now Kerry, I am going to whack your beautiful bottom. You will count the strokes but you will not scream. Any error in the counting and we start again at the beginning. Is that understood?”

“Piss off! Who the hell do you think you are? Just wait until I’m out of here. I’m going to bring the full weight of the law down on you … and how!”

I whacked her hard with the leather tawse. She shouted and cried and swore and blasphemed loudly. I gave her another with like enthusiasm. She screamed again. It was as if she would never learn the elementary code of discipline.

“You must not threaten me, Kerry! Remember you came here by invitation and of your own free will. Now count!”

I whacked her hard a third time. Her bum was reddening nicely. “O … one…” She whispered through heartfelt sobs.

I gave her no pity though my strokes were much lighter. Was Kerry beginning to accept the new rules of the game? I didn’t somehow believe that someone so critically adventurous would be quite so eager to revise her own conduct. No, I believe Kerry was, even in the heat of such chastisement, thinking clearly of ways to make me stop.

Whack! Her bottom jiggled enticingly. I found myself wanting to kiss it.

“T … two ... sob … sob … snuffle.” Whack! Then I kissed it.

A pause. “Three. Stop, please stop. You are hurting me!” Whack!

“F ... f … four!”

“Good,” I relented. There was little need to take it to extremes because we had so much time to make a gradual and, therefore, lasting change in Kerry. Her head hung low so that her face was concealed by her hair. Her arms hung downwards and her fingers remained out-stretched in the paroxysms of her pain. She looked so utterly desirable in that bottom-up posture that my rampant cock, projecting like a lance before me and my pent up balls tight and aching with the denial were almost leading me to her sex in spite of myself. I dropped the tawse and stepped on to the plinth to be close enough to feel her radiating heat. Kerry moved her head slightly and I knew that she could see my rampant charger. I reached beneath her and cupped one of those tightly strapped breasts. It felt wonderful, just as if it was bursting with milk. I rubbed my fingers over the deliciously soft skin and then nipped a nipple between finger and thumb. I played with it until her tears stopped and her sobs changed to the panting of feverish desire. Her skin was glowing and luminous and she was exuding that delicious perfume of heightened sensuality. She was resonating with the force of her need though I wasn’t sure if she was, as this point in our relationship, prepared to admit it.

“How do you feel, Kerry?”

“Bloody angry, if you must know. Angry and bloody well hurt. You hurt me, you bastard!”

“You adore your husband, don’t you?” “Of course I do!”

“So now you have a little understanding of what sexual frustration can do, eh?” “You think I am frustrated?”

“I know so. Right now there is nothing you’d like better than to have my cock inside you, deny it if you will.”

“God’s sake, man, you are a bastard!”

I went behind her then and, without ceremony, thrust my cock straight into her sopping wet and fully opened pussy. Her excitement gave the lie to her denial. Her sex lips, that beautiful moist glove, clasped my charger and, inasmuch as she could move, Kerry worked herself on to it eagerly. I resisted and pulled away from her.

“No, you sod, no don’t do that! Don’t leave me like this! No!” I thrust in again to the hilt. “Is that what you want?”

“God, yes … oh yes … fuck me please!”

Again I withdrew and this time stepped down off the plinth and walked away with her screaming after me. I left her in the annex and went to the main room containing all my very comprehensive range of bondage equipment.

From a peg I brought down a chastity belt. It always seemed heavier than I remembered as I carried it and its accoutrements through to Kerry’s prison cell. Made of heavy leather and brass, it was designed for maximum control and to defy any efforts to release it. Once it was fitted, it would take away from her any command she might have had over her own body.

Kerry’s head was again hung low. She seemed to be completely dejected by my cruel departure and might have been comatose but for the flicking of her fingers. Her skin was still enticingly flushed. I opened the waist clamp and she wriggled within the new but limited freedom. Her tits were still securely strapped to the front bar. She made a little pout with her full lips as if she was unhappy at being disturbed. Even when her eyes fell upon my rampant cock she was not provoked into saying anything. Instead she looked intently at it and I knew that she knew I could not, in the end, deny her the fulfilment she craved. Is that why she was smiling? Did she understand that small victory over her captor? I couldn’t deny that she looked wonderful strapped down in that desperately revealing pose. My cock was painfully rigid, rock hard and proud and demanding of satisfaction. I dropped the belt to the floor and bowed to its need, holding the thick, stiff column out towards her. I drove it in towards her and without further ado plunged into her. In went my noble crest, swiftly absorbed within those hot wet folds. Kerry squealed and opened her eyes wide as her clasping sex, diabolically delicious and lubricated with her juices, received me willingly. It pulled me within and clasped me in an embrace that forced me to hold still. I was locked into her. I folded myself down over her back, my head resting on her shoulder and stood in raging torment as her heat flowed through my cock and into my whole, tense body.

It was a long moment of sensuous delight that could not last long, wish for it as I might. For we each demanded release of the boisterous babblings within both of us. My cock was fat and hard inside her. I thrust in through her tight gripping, muscular sex and the head of my shaft touched her cervix. I reamed her again and again.

“Fuck me, oh fuck me hard … hard ... harder, you bastard ... fuck ... me!”

I fucked her. Withdrawing so that the very tip of my weapon was at the entrance I paused and then plunged in again to the hilt. Cool in the air, hot in her wet quim, the contrasts were amazing and soon had my balls tightening up ready to deliver my load. In and out I slammed, quickening the pace to my quickening pulse. She cried out at each lunge and forced herself tight against me to get all of it inside her. I clasped her imprisoned tits and kneaded them with talon fingers, uncaring of the pain I might be causing her. She writhed her hips as I drove in and out, hungry for my soothing load to quell her long pent up passions. My cock stiffened yet more, drawing unto itself every fibre of my being as though to empty my body of all its essential juices. I let them flow with complete abandon. Her panting breath was hot on my chest. Her scalding tears splashed on to the flags. My juices boiled and drove along the length of my shaft in a hot stream of erupting magma and burst into her womb in a heated spray. My body shook and vibrated as I emptied myself into her. I flung my arms up to her shoulders and hung on breathlessly whilst our hearts, beating as one, pounded in our chests. The sweet scent of her outpouring climax and our mingling perspirations were an elixir to the explosion of our mutual passions.

It was a long time before we subsided enough for me to get a grasp on reality. It angered me that I had let this woman command me like this. I had succumbed to her seduction and willingly sacrificed myself to her.

I drew out from her my flaccid, defeated, contented cock and stepped back to look at her flushed body. She returned my gaze with frank appraisal.

“There now, bitch, the first of many. Before I am done with you, believe me, you are going to be begging for it all the time, morning, noon and night and just so you understand that, I am going to give you something to remember it with.”

She had seen the belt but I wasn’t sure that she recognised it for what it was. She murmured a question as I buckled the heavy thing about her waist. I ignored her. Back and front were intricately shaped leather pads, the front one fitting perfectly into the neat moulding of her crotch, the rear one shaped to part the cheeks of her backside so that the brass lined threaded hole let into it was exactly in line with her exposed rose hole. The two parts strapped together between her legs where it was locked with a click of finality. There was no escape from the cool, shiny, stainless steel dildos, one a little thicker than the other to stretch the appropriate holes, that I was going to insert fully into her front and back. They were both satisfyingly long. Near the base of each was a thread. She opened her eyes wide with astonishment as I inserted the larger one into the front hole and into her gaping pussy. It slid sweetly on the residual juices of our delicious fuck and soon was hidden completely within. She groaned with pleasure as I screwed it into the thread.

“Ooooh!” she sighed, “that is soooo beautiful.”

I hoped she would enjoy the second one as much.

Of slightly smaller dimensions but otherwise similar, it would plug her nicely for the rest of the night. I stood erect then so that she could see me coating it with KY jelly. Her eyes widened with alarm.

“Not in my bottom, no, please!” Her protest was somewhat half-hearted as if I had already drained her of all emotion and she was too tired to fight.

I knelt down between her legs and gently inserted it through the rear aperture. She yelped loudly as I pushed it against her resisting sphincter. “No! No! Not there! Not there, please!” The last word was a scream as her rose hole yielded and the demanding instrument slid partially within her. She writhed and cried out pulling against her straps in a bid to unseat the intruder. I waited for her movements to subside then pushed again, forcing the dildo all the way. It slid in tightly. I could feel the pulsating of her protesting flesh and was pleased in some perverse way that she was not used to that particular penetration. I would enjoy breaking her to that virgin hole all the more with that knowledge. It was a route to pleasure that I revelled in. I held still waiting for her to relax. At last her muscular tension eased and she was accepting the intruder and with that moment of acceptance Kerry ceased to squirm. Her protests were diminished to small mewlings. I screwed the dildo into the thread. She sighed and squirmed as much as she was able but, at last, she was filled with unrelenting steel locked into both holes.

“There now,” I said as I got to my feet, “is that nice and comfortable?” I put my hand over her mouth, not wishing to hear what she had to say either way. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes for some time. Through tears hers eyes were ablaze with lust and fear; mine, searching hers, were cold and calculating.

With a murmur behind my stifling hand, she dropped her eyes and I knew she was broken into the belt.

It was time to make her comfortable for the night.

I fetched a spreader bar and strapped it between her ankles then, one by one, I released her tits and slowly brought her upright. She stepped out of the clogs and fell into my arms, crying with pain and sheer weariness. Half carrying, half pushing I took her into another part of the cellar and laid her down on a rubber-covered couch. I brought up a strap and buckled it across her chest just below those magnificent tits. Imprisoned once more she was again mine to do with as I willed. She was too tired to fight me. These clumsy restraints would be necessary day and night for quite some time to bring her to a complete understanding of her life condition as a slave. She must learn to submit to anything her master, me, expected from her. I was looking for all the buttons that had to be pressed in order to bring her to total submission and longed for the time when I could be sure that, apart from frequent whipping for the sake of good order, there would be no need for such things.

“But then,” I told myself, “I would have to give her back to Dominic and the kids.” Pity!

I inserted a hook nto a small eye on the waistband of the belt. This was attached to a chain that went up to a pulley in the ceiling and down to a cleat. By hauling on the chain I raised her midriff enough to lift her ass off the rubber. Another eye in the belt let me shackle a short chain between it and a corresponding eye on the spreader. It obliged her to bend her knees. Lastly, by turning a small wheel, I was able to raise the head of the bed enough to let her see the neatness of her new bondage I stroked her forehead to help her to relax. “Just let yourself go, lass. Let the equipment take your weight. You’ll be so comfortable. You cannot imagine the picture you make.” My cock did. It was raised to the seductive challenge.

“Don’t leave me, please!” she wailed as I turned away.

I wasn’t going anywhere just yet. Kerry looked hard at me before her lustful eyes fell again to my restored weapon. She was licking dry lips with a pointed tongue. I walked over to her and stood beside the couch. She reached for my hard cock and rubbed it gently.

“It is sooooo hard, so beautiful. Does it always get hard again so quickly?”

Climbing onto the couch I straddled Kerry’s chest and leaned over her so that my throbbing cock with its thickened veins was at her lips. I wanted her to smell herself on it for a moment before I let her have it to taste. I pushed in. Her soft lips enfolded it and I melted into the wet heat of her mouth.

“Caress me.” I ordered. “Come on, bring up your hands.” I held still, my engorged cock distending her lips sweetly. Her hands came up. She stroked my thighs. Her finger seemed to play a symphony on my flesh as they worked between buttocks and knees. Her eyes smiled. Her breathing was erratic with excitement and shallow because my weight pressed on her chest. My buttocks pressed on her lavish tits. They made an excellent cushion. Her fingers danced towards my half buried cock. One hand went beneath to cradle my balls, the other closed over my shaft. I withdrew to let her stroke its full, iron hard length. Her fingers were magical. I simply could not believe that having denied her husband for so long ,she hadn’t been getting fucked by someone else, so proficient were her responses. She clasped my cock and drew it towards her eager mouth. I let her have it. I held her head still, cupping her cheeks as I plunged down her throat in sharp stabbing jabs fucking her face. Her eyes were wide open caressing me with a loving gaze as her cheeks hollowed and swelled with my thrusting. Her massaging fingers kneaded my balls willing them to give up their spunk. Again she withdrew my cock and let it rest against her cheek bedewing it with the mixture of her saliva and my pre cum.

“Come in my mouth. I want it all in there. Down my throat!” She smiled briefly then opened wide to guide my cock within.

I leaned forward, raising my buttocks from her chest where they had been cushioned on those exquisite tits and worked feverishly, pounding between her ruby lips. I could feel my balls tightening. The hot fluid was rising into my aching cock. Its head tingled almost unbearably as she lathed her tongue round it. I was reaching the peak and belaboured her mouth unsparingly, uncaring of anything except the desperate need to explode in her mouth. “Aaahhh!” I bellowed as my cum erupted. I fired great spurts of it inundating her throat, flooding it as she clamped her lips over me to catch it all. The breath was rasping in her nostrils sounding like an engine as I continued to piston her. At last, spent, drained and exhausted I paused, holding still and let her feed off me for as long as she wished. Small dribbles leaked from the corners of her mouth as she swallowed time and again to take it all down. Spent and dry and going a little soft I withdrew. She stroked a finger at the corners of her mouth to put the dribble in between her lips. She smiled tiredly and closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said sleepily. I couldn’t believe my ears. She had changed unbelievably from a cast iron bitch to a nymphomaniac in less than twenty-four hours. It was so astounding that I shook my head in amazement and asked:

“What’s with you, woman, you obviously enjoy love-making yet you deny yourself for years with your husband? I just don’t understand that!”

Her eyes remained closed and she did not answer me. I shrugged my shoulders, uncaring of an answer. Perhaps the explanation was too trite and obvious to be voiced. I dropped it and set about preparing for her one last thing before wishing her a good night. Dismounting, I went to a nearby table laden with bottles and jars and mixed a sleeping draught. I didn’t want her worn out by a sleepless night for there was much to be done tomorrow. Into the small beaker with the liquid draught I put a spoonful of a special powder, one I had had a chemist mix for me designed to promote lactation. I wanted those beautiful tits to produce milk. Kerry Roget had to learn of all the pleasures she had denied herself and her husband. And, besides, I really wanted to suckle on her. I stirred the concoction with a small amount of water and delivered it to her. “Drink this.” I ordered. “It will help you sleep.”

“What is it?”

“I want you well rested tonight and perhaps in the morning you may feel a very pleasurable tingling in those delicious breasts.”

“Why, what do you mean?” She tried to push the beaker away. “What are you giving me?” No ... no!” “Just a gentle medication to help you to produce milk”

“No! … I … No!” She shook her head.

I grabbed a handful of hair and held her head still. “You, darling girl, have no say in the matter. Now drink it like a good lass or I will hold your nose and pour it down your throat.”