Chapter 3

 

 

He must have been aware that the nature of his training now changed radically. No longer did Phoebe take him for extended domestic arts lessons although he did still perform the normal housekeeping functions in the house. Instead, I embarked on as scientific a course of honing and polishing his body as I could devise.

I now realised, as I thought over my feelings about him, that I did love him. Yes, for his body, which was already beginning to present as a slim but beautifully athletic paragon of male perfection, and his good looks, but also for his changed attitude.

Even a consummate actor could not have fooled all of us all of the time and we all agreed he was indeed a reformed character. But I was going to complete what I had started before I would inform him of my decision to take him as my husband. Yes, his body had improved but I could make it better and when he was my mate I would be ensuring it stayed that way.

We three had never let our bodies go; not even a smidgin and neither would Bobby. Indeed, I decided that while I would indeed marry him, there would be a pre-nuptial agreement that would leave him with nothing if we divorced for any reason and although this aspect could not be enforced, he would remain my slave for as long as we stayed married – or at least while it seemed appropriate. I knew, deep down that he wanted such a relationship – at the moment, and at least in private.

I say that last bit for I had no intention of turning him into a simpering doting idiot. In public, we would be equal partners and I would even defer to him at times; but once home, he would strip naked, as a slave should be, yes, even in front of my servants who would be aware of his real status and who would at times assist me in disciplining him. And he would remain naked and perform menial tasks I set him to enforce in his own mind that while outside we were an equal partnership, in my home, he was but a lowly slave.

He had shown himself to be a potent masochist who was eager to be treated as a real life slave and who relished the humiliations we heaped on him every bit as much as the pain and the exhausting round of exercises I made him perform. I was as sure as I could be that this was the real him but I would be watching carefully for I did indeed love him and I wanted that relationship to continue. I would therefore adapt his regime to suit so that if at some time in the future he slipped out of the persona of the masochist then I would be ready to accommodate him.

And so he now spent many hours a day performing a whole series of isotonic exercises which would hone and tone him even more. But he would also spend some time on more rigorous ones to build the deltoid muscles in his shoulders just a little; his biceps and the three sets of muscles in his torso: the abdominals, serratus and intercostals so as to make them stand out just a trifle more. His gluteal muscles and the quadriceps in his thighs also came in a for a little of this kind of exercise and over the next few weeks he slowly began to assume the physique of a Greek god.

 

But I also let my mind wander over ideas for more of the exercise machines. Bobby now looked forward to the sessions on the Impaling Machine and really worked his anus, thighs and upper body muscles on it, but I sensed he would enjoy different machines as well.

And so I came up with my own variation of the stationary exercise bike.

I started with a commercial model and the first modification was to replace the saddle with a moving butt-plug.

Yes, I know you are going to say I have a thing about raping these males with such items and of course you are right. But all of us three agreed that this was going to be our preferred method of making love with our husbands – at least fifty percent of the time. We were going to be the dominant partner in the relationship, come what may and requiring them to submit to being raped by the strap-on dildo would reinforce that position. Besides that of course, we enjoyed­ raping them and the sections of the double-ended dildos on our belts that fitted into our vaginas were designed so as to provide us with a pleasure equal to anything they could generate in us with their own cocks.

Anyway, removing the saddle was easy. Next, I fitted the vertical shaft which replaced it. The base of this was activated by a cam which I bolted to the inside of the pedals’ driving sprocket and this shaft was held in place by three guides or journals through which it was passed. They of course were bolted to various convenient parts of the frame.

The shaft’s upper end had a screw thread and I later made a number of dildos to attach to it. Now, as the pedals were turned, the changing face of the cam pushed the shaft up and then allowed it to sink back down again, assisted by a fairly powerful spring.

So far, so good. Now comes the good part, even though it took a lot of designing and then careful work to build it.

I have always dreamed of a real galley, manned by dozens of naked, muscular slaves each being lashed into more or harder effort by a huge black overseer. This is what I had in mind for the bike.

I removed the handlebars to clear the space they had occupied for an apparatus I adapted from a rowing machine and which I set up immediately in front of the bike. I won’t go into the minutiae of its design and construction except to say it was connected to the bike by means of another sprocket wheel added to the main one which drove the rear wheel, this one connected to a system of rods and levers which ended up at the handles.

Thus, as the slave pedalled, the handles moved back and forth and if he grasped them, he could aid in the effort required to drive the back wheel faster.

It also meant that not only were his thighs now moving up and down, but his body was now rocking back and forth so that one moment, he was leaning right forward over the front of the bike; the next that he was lying right back and thus his arms, shoulders and abdominal muscles were all coming in for some wonderful exercise as well.

Bobby helped me construct the machine (he turned out to be quite clever with his hands as well) and as he began to see it take shape and appreciate how his body was going to be used on it, he became very excited about it.

The dildos I made myself, as I said before. I first carved them from wood, made a mould of them and then, using a plastic material, created the actual dildo which was very smooth and shiny. The first three I made were cigar-shaped and of three different sizes. As they moved up and down and therefore in and out of the slave’s rectum, they would alternately stretch and relax his anal sphincter but much faster and a lot more often that the impaling machine allowed.

There was nothing makeshift about this machine. My father had taught me that anything worth doing, was worth doing to as close to perfection as possible and so I used the best materials I could find and where something had to be fabricated, made sure the finished product was just as finely wrought. The metal parts were either chromed or coated with a glossy black lacquer so when we unveiled it to the other two, they all admired it as a thing of beauty.

But then, Bobby climbed up onto it, eager to show them how well he could work his now sleek and well-defined physique on it.

His anus was now well adapted to intruders and having carefully greased it, he allowed his torso to sink right down onto it. Of course, without the saddle to support him, he now had to use his thigh muscles – the quadriceps – to support his body. I did provide a ‘safety net’ however: to prevent him being impaled too far on the dildo, I had provided a short horizontal bar at the base of the screw thread on the shaft as a precaution. This meant that only the length of the dildo itself could actually enter his anus.

He then leaned forward to grasp the handles and began to pull back on them. This made the pedals start to turn as the whole system was connected (you will remember) and so now we three could see how well his thigh muscles were working as well as those in his shoulders, arms and belly and as usual, in no time, he had yet another raging erection which stayed hard for the whole time he remained on the machine.

I have to say that he looked stupendous.

Pulling back and forth on the handle and pedalling for all his worth made a combination that had all three of us ogling him in more awe but me mostly, I suspect for I loved him. They only admired his now sleek and so wonderfully athletic body.

It was then that Phoebe announced she had another prospect. By this time, we had had Bobby for six weeks and it was time I told him of his fate – marriage to me.

I informed the others what I was about to do just before bed that night and they wished me luck, watching as I went down to the cellar where we had dispatched Bobby after he had cleaned up the kitchen and dining room.

“Oh, mistress,” he said, “I was hoping against hope that you might choose me for yourself…”

I stared at him. “Why?” I said. “You don’t know me except as the woman who has trained you.”

“Yes I do. I may not be able to see you properly or even to discern your voice clearly, but I have known for weeks that I loved you. Yes, you have been hard on me but I needed it and although I can’t even see my body properly, I can feel with my fingers that it is now back to the way it was when I was at high school.

“And when you have trained me in sexual matters, I have felt an overwhelming joy in your body. Much more than with the other two – although they were good, too,” he added hastily.

“I will be the very best husband you could choose. I will work hard and provide for us and when I come home from work, I will perform all the household chores you have all taught me. And then, when it is time for bed, if and when you desire it, I will try to give you the ultimate in pleasure, just as you have taught me…”

I stared at him in more awe. Could this be the chauvinistic, somewhat lazy upstart we had harvested all those weeks ago? Could we really have turned him around in six short weeks?

I decided he was for real and now produced the key to his mask, slipping it off his eyes and ears for the first time since we had kidnapped him. By now of course, the hair on his head and eyebrows had regrown to a short stubble and when I removed the mask and looked at his head completely free of it, I knew I had found the man of my dreams.

For his part, he dropped to his knees in front of me and buried his face in my lap, then raised his head and stared up at me in adoration.

“Oh mistress, you are utterly beautiful.”

I didn’t answer that but I did make to stand up and he was instantly on his feet. “Come, Bobby,” I said, “you may make love to me in my room…”

 

If i thought our sex lessons together had been good, what he showed me now far and away eclipsed them. He had learned the lessons I had taught him well, never forgetting a point and performing each new technique or position as well as anything I could expect. Far from thinking only of himself, he was now totally attentive to my needs, my libido and my pleasure.

He had learned over the weeks to hold back his own climax just about indefinitely. Sometimes, very rarely, he missed but he was then utterly contrite and in any case, he had now acquired the ability to erect again almost immediately after his lapse so it didn’t seem nearly as important as before.

We made love for two solid hours and then, when I declared myself sated, he was out of the bed and had gathered me up into his arms and into my shower where he bathed me carefully, only cursorily attending to his own body and then dried me off before bringing me back to my room and sitting me down while he changed the sheets.

He then placed me into the bed and knelt beside it, waiting further instructions.

“Climb in, Bobby. We are going to talk.”

I then proceeded to inform him that we would indeed marry but that I would be in charge. I didn’t mention my wealth but indicated I would require him beside me most of the time and that it would not be necessary for him to work. I didn’t tell him either, that I lived in a great house in Brisbane or that I had a small army of servants to look after me.

What I did have in mind for us, at least in the immediate future, was this little camp in the mountains of the Gold Coast hinterland and that he was going to assist us three in taming the next couple of slaves. For we had now decided that having successfully trained him, and with his added assistance, we might now try two at a time.

Of course he was eager to help, even when I told him that for the moment he would remain naked. “We want the two new recruit-slaves to see you as a trained slave, albeit one who is about to become my husband. You are therefore the end product and may assist them to adjust. It is therefore necessary that you appear before them totally nude…”

“Of course, mistress. I understand, and I will be the very best assistant you could wish for… Er, what is it exactly you will wish me to do? I mean the three of you work so well together. Might I not just get in the way?”

I laughed. “No, Bobby, you certainly won’t get in the way, as you put it. You will be performing a number of roles: first, you will demonstrate how a fully trained slave-husband is required to perform his functions. These will include household chores, exercises, sex and of course on the machines. Then you may be employed in punishing them with the whip, cane or paddle as you are inherently stronger than us and can really make them jump.

“And finally, you may simply talk to them. Tell them of your own experiences both before your arrival here and how you found your true self. We are well aware that with you, the latent masochism you didn’t even know you had, helped you immeasurably in adapting to your new status and that that may not be the case with others, but your experiences should help them anyway.”

 

Bobby was caucasian and Queensland born and bred. But we had decided that if an ‘exotic’ presented himself it could be fun to train him as a future slave-husband. And so when Anton popped up in Phoebe’s net, and we all looked at his photo on the huge monitor screen of her very powerful computer, we were all eager to acquire him.

Anton Squires was a perfect candidate for our program. He was stunningly handsome and already had a fine physique. And as a Jamaican-born, his dark chocolate skin added to his attraction to the ladies. The problem was he knew it and came on outrageously to the girls whom he picked up, played with for a while and then discarded like an old rag.

He was a personal trainer at a gym in Brisbane but he spent many weekends on the Coast, flaunting his beautiful body to the ladies on the beach at Surfers Paradise, a mecca for visitors both foreign and Australian.

Phoebe’s very discreet enquiries led us to believe that those who knew him well and especially the girls he had discarded would not be at all put out if he disappeared and it seemed even his employer had just about had enough of complaints from disgruntled female clients whom he had toyed with and then cast aside. It appeared he was on the verge of being thrown away himself and so we felt he was ripe for plucking.

Our third candidate was also an exotic, although this time he just fell into the role.

Sunti was a young man from Thailand who had come to Australia as a student and had then been accepted for residency and later citizenship. He was a good student (accountancy) and an even better sportsman being a top gymnast and so his body was already pretty close to perfection.

His fault was that he considered women to be second-class citizens. He used them for pleasure but was utterly disdainful of them as people. He certainly wasn’t gay but he delighted in making his girlfriends take his cock in all three orifices – and often brutally.

Some of them delighted in this so physical approach to sex but it didn’t matter if they didn’t. How he had avoided a charge of rape was beyond us, but so far at least, he had managed it somehow.

We thought him another perfect candidate and like Anton, would not be missed by his acquaintances for the six weeks we proposed to keep the pair of them.

 

We acquired Sunti first. He wasn’t a show-off like Anton, but he did love the surf although not at Surfers Paradise. That location was like Muscle Beach in America, used as much to show off one’s body as to enjoy the surf and sand. No, Sunti favoured Rainbow Beach down at Coolangatta and it was a simple matter to pick him up on his way home from the beach.

He was wearing just his swimmers and carried only his flippers and goggles as well as his towel of course and at an appropriate time, when we were alone with him on the roadway, Geraldine jumped out of the car in which we had been discreetly trailing him, followed by Bobby and while she jabbed his neck with the automatic syringe, Bobby caught him and had him in the car within seconds and we were off.

This time we stripped him and also took away his togs while he lay unconscious on our living room floor. Bobby also stripped in readiness for Sunti’s recovery and stood ready to assume the pose of a trained slave: legs wide apart, hands up behind his head and every muscle flexed – including his cock. Alright, I know it isn’t a muscle but by now he could erect it at will and as I looked up at his now so beautiful body, my heart melted all over again. [It was actually prone to do this often these days and other two were constantly chiding me (with giggles) about my near infatuation with my husband to be.]

When he started to stir, Bobby quickly took up that pose and now stared fixedly at a point on the wall opposite him, not moving his head or his eyes even a centimetre. Oh how proud I was of him!

Sunti came to his senses and as he did, looked around him and then down at his body which was now stark naked. Of course we had admired it as we had stared down at him. As a gymnast (and a good one) his body was nigh perfect already, its muscles sleek and very well defined. I knew I could do little if anything to improve it but I could, I was sure, teach him the elements of good sex and I might even use Bobby to help.

In fact, I had already decided to use him to rape this pair as a powerful tool to show them just how horrible that violation was for a woman. When I had broached this subject to him he had stared at me in horror. “But I’m not gay, mistress!”

“I know you aren’t, boy. In fact, you’re anything but. But that huge tool of yours is going to show this pair how bad it was for their victims when they forced themselves upon them. I’ll be there to help and then afterwards we will wash you down in the shower to cleanse you of their stink and then you can make love to me in the shower…”

He grinned then and said he would do his best.

Sunti, now accoutred in the mask, made as if to climb to his feet but Phoebe was ready with a new tool we had acquired. Our electric quirts had been okay but they sometimes failed to make a circuit and we then had to attack the victim’s flesh again, giving him a chance to react. What we had now acquired to replace them was a model of a cattle prodder modified for human use. Instead of the two rounded brass studs used as the electrodes on the bovine model, ours had a thirty centimetre extension out of the handle which contained the batteries and electronic works. The extension took the form of a chromed rod and right on the end of this were two quite sharp prongs like those on a carving fork, which could penetrate thicker clothing – even denim.

Phoebe jabbed the two prongs down into his balls. “Lie still, scum-slave,” she snarled while we grinned down at his discomfort.

Discomfort is perhaps not quite the right word for he was now screaming loudly, grabbing at his testicles and twisting and turning his naked body every which way revealing his very real agony. But eventually he calmed down and did as he was bidden now lying quietly but staring up at his in fear – and in hate.

I won’t go into the details of his initiation. It was similar to that we had inflicted on Bobby (whom we now referred to simply as ‘slave’.)

Of course we depilated him nude from his eyelashes down but we didn’t bother with the head shave and mock-depilation of his scalp. A close crew-cut sufficed this time. And then he spent the same time on the ninepin in total, stygian darkness until we felt he had been sufficiently softened up for the next stage of his ‘treatment’.

We put him through the whole of the initiatory program but then, when it was time to move him into the brainwashing and training phase, we varied things somewhat. He didn’t need an extended fining down process; an hour or sometimes two a day in the gym was quite enough for him – and the same for Anton when we acquired him a week later.

Actually it worked out perfectly. By the time we had finished softening up Sunti, we picked up Anton and were thus able to move the Thai boy into Phase 2 while we softened up Anton.

As mentioned earlier, he too was already well-muscled but I thought his physique needed a little honing. He had the muscles but they were a trifle blurred. In other words, he had a small layer of subcutaneous fat which needed to be eradicated. I grinned as I thought of the routine I was going to put him through to achieve this.

By now of course, I shared my bed with Bobby and I found him to be a good sounding board for my ideas for the next two slaves. In fact, he had now become a really enthusiastic member of our little troupe. When we talked about Sunti, he agreed that a simple maintenance routine was all that was required but that Anton needed much more. He suggested an exhausting routine which included hundreds of push-ups, sit-ups, body-bends and a dozen more similar callisthenic type exercises, followed by more strenuous activities such as chinning the bar, climbing the ropes – we had twelve of these dangling from the ceiling so high above our heads, each made of three-centimetre rope, seventy-five centimetres apart.

This exercise involved climbing the first rope (without using the feet) right to the top; reaching across to the next rope and letting yourself down, almost to the bottom (but not touching the floor with your feet), then climbing the next rope – and so on until you finished at the bottom of the twelfth rope. It is an exhausting routine but we found it very effective in building and toning the upper body muscles.

But of course they also spent time suffering the same battering cleaning of their bodies under the hot and cold jets as well as the horrible enemas; being harnessed to the gig while we lashed at their backs and urged them on to faster and faster times around our little track; and on the machines I (and later with Bobby’s help) constructed for the cellars.

The Impaling Machine and the Bike had been very effective in taming Bobby and in working his muscles but now I had come up with an idea for a third machine (or fourth if you count the revolving rod in the slave ablution room as the first).

My idea was for a caning machine and as I described it to him he almost chortled as he thought of its effect on the buttocks of our two new slaves.

The victim would be strapped face-down to a horizontal metal bench by belts over his outstretched ankles and wrists and the small of his back so he was perfectly immobile.

The works were quite simple. They were fixed to the top of yet another of the steel standards bolted to the floor beside the bench and were powered by a small electric motor which was geared down to a slow-moving cam that activated the holder for the cane.

This was merely a short tube into which the cane could be inserted. The end of the tube was flattened and also bolted to the standard so it could move up and down. A short knob on its side rested against the surface of the cam. A powerful spring was attached to a small hole on the tube and its other end to the standard. This drew the holder (and thus the cane, once it was inserted into it) depressed down towards, but not right against the victim’s bottom.

The cam wheel was large and was shaped so that it gradually drew the cane upwards – until it reached the escapement which allowed a sudden release of the holder, bringing the cane down hard onto his buttocks.

The strength of the blow was determined by the power of the spring and we had a number of models of these. And so that the same point on the buttocks didn’t receive all the cane’s attentions, the holder was made so it could move laterally as well as up and down. And this too could be adjusted by rotating a knob making for a wide range of attack or limiting it to a single point.

Thus the moment the knob was released by the cam, the cane lashed down, the spring pulling it until it reached a point a few centimetres above his buttocks, after which its momentum carried it on to actually strike his flesh, after which it bounced up and down lightly until the cam began again to draw it up for the second stroke, and so on.

As we discussed the detail of this machine, Bobby became more and more excited, adding in little refinements, such as a small computer to control the number of strokes and the speed of the motor (and thus the interval between the strokes). The fastest speed earned an interval of one minute and the slowest, fifteen, so we could drag out the punishment for a long time if that was desired.

We, he and I, built it lovingly and with the same care I had bestowed on the other machines and when we were ready to unveil it, the other two stared at it in awe.

Its metal parts were made of polished-velvet stainless steel of the best quality and the finish on every component was of the standard I demanded of everything I did. We had it hard-wired into the house’s electrical system and the control panel was set beside the electric motor.

Bobby insisted on being its first victim and wanted the two new slaves to witness his pain and degradation. I demurred, saying we should try it out with just him and me and my two friends first and he at once agreed.

He grinned at us. “It would be awful if I broke down and started screaming at the first stroke in front of them, wouldn’t it, ladies?”

I was sure he wouldn’t. By now he had so trained his mind and body to accept the worst punishments and training disciplines that I thought he was going to be just as stoical this machine, but it paid to be careful.

And so after Phoebe and Geraldine had duly congratulated the pair of us on the machine (they had agreed to stay away while we built it so as to make its debut a surprise), Bobby climbed up onto the narrow bench and was strapped down. I tested the machine by activating it in its test mode which allowed me to stop it at any given point. This was to ensure his buttocks were within the range of the cane’s ambit. It wasn’t, so we fine-tuned the position of the bench (which we had made adjustable) and also the lateral range of the cane’s attack.

And then I switched it on. This was a demonstration and not a punishment so I set it to five strokes at a minute apart and now the motor whined while the cane, a fairly light rattan as I didn’t want to hurt him unduly, moved slowly up, up, and further up still until it was almost vertical – and then the knob reach the escapement and down it came.

Bobby had asked for a strong spring to be used as that would better demonstrate how effective the machine was and so the cane fairly whistled as it was dragged downwards by the spring, accelerating right up to the point it reached its limit. After that, there was only a couple of centimetres to go and then it slammed into the crown of his so boyish buttocks, lashing them both very hard and then ricocheting up and down until the cam caught its knob and moved it up and away from his bottom.

The cam was designed so that as soon as it released the holder and cane and the latter had swiped the victim’s bottom, it took hold of the knob after only a couple of the ricochets and then slowly moved it up and off the flesh so those watching could observe how the welt formed.

We did this now, conscious that Bobby had just taken a truly vicious swipe of the cane: a stroke far harder than a schoolmaster of old had delivered and yet he didn’t utter a peep. How proud I was of him and the others grinned at me, too.

The power of the stroke was patently obvious. The banshee scream of the cane, its rate of acceleration and final speed as it hit the soft flesh of Bobby’s buttocks told it all. And the welt that formed so rapidly afterwards added to the story.

At first, his beautiful olive skin turned a deathly white in a single line across both cheeks. Then, after a few seconds, the blood started to rush in to try and repair the damage, turning the line pink and then red and then, after more long minutes, into a nasty bruise. I wanted to stop it right then. I thought we had chosen a far too powerful spring and I said so but Bobby, bless his heart, demurred, saying he would like to see if he could take the next four strokes without making a sound.

I reluctantly agreed and stepped back to watch as the slowly turning cam continued to draw the cane up high until, once more, it released it and down it came, this time swiping his flesh at the crease between his thighs and buttocks. He still didn’t scream or make even a sound but I knew he was hard pressed not to. That point is very sensitive and his struggles against the belts holding him down on the metal table spoke reams about the agony he was going through.

Again, the welt formed as before while the cane began its inexorable and so agonisingly slow movement up off his bottom and into the air. A third time it struck and this time it was much closer to the first point. I decided then that the random nature of the target area was not appropriate. It would be better if we fixed that by closing the adjustment knob, thereby removing the cane’s free lateral movement and instead building a deliberate fixed movement into the bed after each stroke so it would lay an exact pattern over the victim’s bottom. It already had a very fine ratchet and cog arrangement directly under the surface of the bed which we used to manually adjust its position. This could instead be operated by a motor which would be actuated by another command built into the computer so it would advance the bed one to two centimetres at a time.

He took all five strokes without as much as a whimper but I knew if it had been either of the other two, they would have been screaming blue murder from the very first stroke.

We decided, after watching Bobby’s so-called ‘punishment’ that this machine was going to be a wonderful addition to our arsenal of instruments of correction. It could be made to deliver anything from an ultra-mild correction, to a most severe discipline depending on the power of the spring and the type of cane selected. Its strokes could be varied from one to fifteen minutes apart and the modified platform for the bed could make the spacings on his buttocks wide or narrow so there would be a broad range of alternatives available to us.

I was going to apply a soothing balm to Bobby’s bottom but he asked me not to and when I saw his cock as we released the belts and he got up, I knew why. He was as hard as steel and his cock was quivering in rampant desire. I grabbed him by his arm and rushed him up to my bedroom.

I wanted him right then as much as he did me!