Chapter 6

 

 

We started in a similar vein to that we had used on Bobby and the other two. That is, we depilated him nude and then placed him on the ninepin-like dildo on the floor of the black cell and left him there for twenty-four hours.

We had decided on a modified game plan for these recalcitrant husbands that was a little different from that we had used hitherto. First, of course, there was no need for the mask. Peter had already seen us but more importantly, he had agreed to the ‘treatment’ and had actually signed a release clearing us six of any future claims he might have had against us.

But more importantly so far as the training itself went, we had decided that relentless hard work and exercise coupled with psychological re-programming would make up the basis of his treatment. Right now, he was being softened up by the painful and soul-destroying stint on the ninepin up his backside. Tomorrow morning, we would take him for an extended run through the forest, just as we had with Bobby and the others. But then it would change a little.

For a start we would make him stand in the centre of the training room with his hands held out parallel to his shoulders, his legs wide apart and his eyes fixed on a point on the wall facing him. And then we would barrage him with questions. Every wrong answer would earn a cut of the cane to a different part of his naked body.

Incidentally, now that he was truly naked, just like Bobby, Anton and Sunti, his slightly tubby physique already looked much better. Of course I would take it in hand and I was sure that by the time Mary came up to join us in a fortnight, it would already be very much more pleasing to her.

And that’s what we did.

We left him on the dildo for the remainder of that day and night without food or water except for the drip onto his head and by the time we came for him at six the next morning, he was almost a gibbering wreck. He looked up at us fearfully – once he had got used to the light, anyway – and he was tempted to speak but already he had learned enough not to.

We undid the manacles holding him in that diabolical position, down on his bum with his hands held up above his head and his feet also up and spread wide. Of course his anus was very sore and I suspect most of the muscles in his body ached horribly. He was also hungry, cold and very frightened, just as we had intended.

I ordered him to his feet and he tried to get up off the dildo. It needed a few strokes of the whip to his cowering back to achieve it however, at which he moaned piteously – but managed to get up.

“And now for a brisk run to warm you up, scumbag,” I said cheerfully. He stared at me in horror, but again remembered enough not to say anything. “Move it, boy,” I ordered, gesturing towards the door and then the stairs up to the ground floor.

Once outside we bade him start running along the track, following Phoebe on her little quad bike while I followed him on mine. The others saw to the camp, deciding what we needed Peter to do once we had exhausted him with his run.

Phoebe set a cracking pace and I made sure he kept up by hounding him with my little trail bike too close to his flying heels. Of course we hadn’t given him any running shoes. He was stark naked, as he would be for the whole time he spent up there, but the track was soft enough although he had to be careful to avoid any sticks which had fallen over the last few weeks.

I loved following the boys in their naked runs through the forest. Even Peter, whose body had gone to seed a little, presented a wonderful sight from the back and in any case, my exercise regime was going to very quickly restore it to its former glory, which I knew must have been pretty good. You can tell that from the basic physique and his was fine. Get rid of that small layer of fat and tone up his muscles and Mary would be very pleased, I knew.

This time I had armed myself with a bullwhip, something Bobby and I had been practising with over the last few weeks. It takes quite a lot of skill to wield one of those things well and a lot of practice to use it accurately but over the hours we had jointly spent cracking its tip against bottles we had set up in the garden of my house, we had come to be quite good at it and now, while being careful to drive the bike safely, cracked it in the air next to his right ear, followed up by another one to his upper back and shoulders.

He really moved it then and Phoebe, hearing the whip-crack and watching him speed up in her mirror, increased the speed. I kept up the pressure using both the bike and the whip to keep him moving as fast as he was able.

The track wound through the trees, just out of sight of the camp building so he thought we were a long way from it but at any time, a couple of minutes would get us back to it so we could confidently run him along it to the point he dropped in near total exhaustion, then drape him across the back of one of the bikes and have him back before he knew it.

It took only a couple of hours and then he did indeed fall for the last time. There had been a few false starts when I was able to rouse him with the whip or cane to a vulnerable part of his body, but then at last when even the electronic prodder to his balls didn’t arouse him, we knew he was done.

We dumped him off at the outdoor shower – really just a concrete-floored cage in which we could lock our subjects and then batter their bodies with the icy-cold water from our tanks up there. They incidentally were located under the cellars in the main building and were provided with a filtering system that brought us clean potable water.

It took only a few seconds under the powerful barrage to bring him around and then he struggled to his feet and tried to fend off the jets with his hands. I shut it off while Phoebe opened the cage and beckoned him out.

“And now you start work, scumbag,” she said grimly while he stared at her in confusion. We knew he thought he now deserved a rest after the painful, sleepless hours on the dildo and then by the two hour run we had just subjected him to but he was going to learn – fast – that up here all his daytime and half the night-time hours would be spent in work, exercise or learning.

Accordingly, we now delivered him to Geraldine and Sunti who would oversee his housekeeping duties while Phoebe and I and our respective men would retire for a leisurely breakfast. Peter would be given nothing. In fact, he would go without food of any kind for the next few days, all part of his slimming down process. I well knew, and Geraldine had reinforced my own researches in this regard, that the human body can go without food for well over a week as long as it has water aplenty. We would make sure he got that – more than he wanted actually, but more about that a little later.

Right now he was going to dust, sweep, polish, wash, scrub and scour every surface in the building until it gleamed. After two hours, Bobby and I would replace Geraldine and Sunti and then Phoebe and Anton would oversee the last shift.

By that time it would be close to two in the afternoon, he would be tired but not exhausted and then I would take him for two hours of callisthenics. Very hard ones that would come close to wearing him out. But then we would pounce and whip, cane or prod him to more work.

And then, as a finale for the day, I would take him for some sex theory lessons. Yes, I’m aware he would be too pooped to take much of it in, but Bobby would be with me and every time Peter’s eyes started to droop, Bobby would jab the sharp tines of his prodder down onto his balls and only when this failed to rouse him would we relent and Bobby would carry him to the bare cell and leave him to sleep it off.

Of course he slept soundly, even naked and on the bare concrete floor of his cell. I think he would have slept just as well on a bed of nails, actually. And we let him sleep. The reformation of his physical body was just as important as his mental conditioning and it wouldn’t respond unless it had enough sleep.

But at five in the morning, Bobby and I went down, roused him and took him to the gym for a solid, heavy-duty workout which included some weight-training, isotonic exercises and then some gymnastics. This went on for two hours after which we went up for breakfast.

Peter was made to cook us bacon and eggs, a dish we had very rarely for it is not at all healthy but the aroma of the bacon cooking would tantalise his near-starving taste buds. Then we had him serve the six of us with panache and style although still stark naked of course. We made him stand by us and watch us eat and then do the dishes and clean up the kitchen.

His run followed that and then we started with the question-time session.

As I said, he had to stand in our sitting room with us seated all around him (but facing him) and with his legs spread wide and his arms up and outstretched sideways from his body. He was told he had to hold that pose, come what may or suffer a severe punishment.

And then we started.

“What are you?” Geraldine asked first.

“I am a scumbag, mistress,” he said. A good beginning, we thought.

“What is your new purpose in life, scumbag?” Phoebe asked next.

“My sole purpose is to please Mary, mistress.”

“And how do you propose to do that,” I asked then.

“By learning from you everything that will make me a better husband and slave to my mistress…”

We paused then. Every answer had been right so far but we would delve deeper. These questions had been based on what we had told him back at his wife’s home. But what about his deeper, inner self?

Geraldine began afresh: “And what do you think of our training methods so far, boy?”

“They are hard, mistress, but I know I needed a long hard shock to shake me out of my lethargy and bad attitude towards Mary. And, I have to say it, that although I still feel very tired, I think I am beginning to enjoy this treatment…”

We stared at one another. Surely just one day…?

The questions continued and continued – and continued some more. We delved into his mind as deep as we could. We made sure he stood there in that difficult pose and staring straight ahead of him and not ever dropping it and especially not to look at us. We taunted and teased him. We disparaged him and especially his body – but he took it all.

And not once did he give an answer that would have merited punishment. But of course we were going to punish him anyway. But there had to be an excuse and we now knew that only the weakness of his body was going to bring this on and so we continued questioning and berating him for almost an hour. Try it. Stand in that pose and see how long you can hold your arms up. Bet you don’t last five minutes?

Well he did but of course he finally had to give in and I sentenced him to twenty strokes of the paddle to each of his buttocks.

“Yes, mistress,” he said and seemed not at all put out by the punishment. My eyes narrowed and I glanced across at Bobby. He was looking intently at me and he nodded slightly. Se he agreed with me. This boy, too, was masochistic, eh? Well, the next hour would prove it, I thought.

Of course this was all part of the game plan so the others all knew what was afoot and now we ordered him down to the cellars to the room in which Bobby and I had built the paddling machine and which he hadn’t seen yet.

When he did, his eyes sparkled. Oh yes, this boy was another Bobby, I was sure of that. Well, given his apparent reform and willingness to go along with all our treatments so far, that wouldn’t be amiss. In fact the pain, while fuelling his libido, might even help turn him into an even better sex machine. It certainly had with Bobby and I hoped for similar results with Peter.

He laid his body down along the bench without any demur at all and seemed to be eager for the punishment to begin.

“I think a number three spring, Angie,” Bobby whispered to me. I glanced at Geraldine with my eyebrows raised. She grinned and nodded. Clearly she too was on board with our summation of his sexual status. Bobby changed the two springs while Anton and Sunti adjusted Peter’s position on the bench and then we switched it on.

The motor whirred, the gears started to turn and, slowly at first and then a little more quickly, the paddles started to move, the left down near his left buttock and the other one half way up its travel. It thus took about thirty seconds for the right paddle to reach its escapement and then down it came, far faster than it had with Bobby all those weeks ago for we had now used the strongest spring and the slap as the leather hit his buttocks was very powerful indeed.

I was watching his face more than his bottom for I wanted to see how he reacted to the first stroke. There was the expected shock – but then, to my amazement a deep smile spread over his face and he uttered not one peep!

Yes, his buttocks clenched and writhed and so did the muscles over the rest of his body but his face bespoke his true feelings: we had thought Bobby was a true masochist; well this boy clearly exceeded him and by a huge degree. Remember, with Bobby, we had used a medium spring and even then he had squealed a little at the first stroke, his eyes had bulged and every muscle in his body had gone into strictures. Peter had clearly gloried in the severe pain.

Well, I thought, this gives us the excuse to try out figging. I said so and my two friends as well as the three boys quickly agreed. Bobby switched off the machine while I rushed up to the kitchen. We used ginger in our cooking at times and a large hand was in the fridge.

I had made a study of the practice of figging in modern times (now used as a sex-aid in the BDSM scene) and I knew already just how to prepare the ‘fig’ for Peter’s arsehole. Ginger grows as a root or more properly as a rhizome. It is called a ‘hand’ because it resembles one with a ‘palm’ and ‘fingers’ protruding from it. I selected a nice long, fat finger and left a goodly portion of the hand on it so that I had a dildo-like part to go into his anus, a small notch around which the anal sphincter would nestle and then the part of the hand to act as a handle to push it in and pull it out.

I carefully peeled the finger and notch part but left the skin on the handle. All this took only seconds and then I went back downstairs. Anton and Sunti had already released the winch holding Peter’s wrists out above his head and had ordered him up onto his hands and knees.

I moved up alongside him and told him grimly that he wasn’t going to enjoy the rest of his punishment.

“No, mistress, thank you, mistress,” he said and I wondered yet again at his quick transformation.

I had carefully shaped and smoothed the bulbous end of the fig and now pushed it straight into his anus, aware that from the first few seconds, it would start to burn, getting hotter and hotter by the second. I knew this for I had volunteered to be the guinea pig when we three girls had experimented with it and while Geraldine had been slow and careful in inserting it into my backside, I didn’t bother with such niceties with Peter, now well aware he was getting off on the pain and shame we were inflicting on him.

He did wriggle though as I pushed it right in and his anus closed over the slightly narrower neck of the fig, but then the boys growled at him to get back down on his belly and tightened the winches once more.

His bottom was now squirming deliciously and as I knew from my reading that this little sex-play had different effects on different people, I asked him how painful it was.

“Very painful, mistress. It burns a lot and it’s getting hotter by the minute.”

“Good,” I said unfeelingly. “Now clench your buttocks tight.”

He did and as a result his anus squeezed the fig even more so that more oil exuded onto the sensitive nerves in that area and now he uttered a moan. Just a brief one but I was glad for it proved the efficacy of the fig.

We now started the machine once more but in doing so, I now informed him that as we had had to go to the trouble of figging him, he could now take twenty strokes to each buttock, doubling the punishment.

“Thank you, mistress,” he said but I noted he was already clenching his buttocks, clearly relishing the added pain this created in his anus and rectum.

The motor whined and the paddles began their slow movement, the left paddle now approaching its escapement and then, when it did release and the leather blade really bent back as the powerful spring slammed it down onto his left cheek, he did indeed gasp and, like Bobby before him, every muscle in his body now writhed wonderfully. Yes, by the time we had had him for a few weeks, this body was going to be magnificent, equally as good as Bobby’s, Anton’s or Sunti’s, I was sure.

We all stayed and watched as Bobby’s machine vigorously lambasted Peter’s boyish bottom but true to his deep masochistic tendencies, he didn’t utter another sound after that first peep and we were all impressed with the depth and strength of his masochism. I knew then that the other instrument – the one I had invented – the automatic caning machine, would be necessary to inflict a more localised and therefore more severe punishment on this boy’s bottom,

You may be wondering why we were considering more punishment for him now that he was clearly in sync with us? It’s just because of that, that it was necessary. In the deepest recesses of his mind, way below the conscious, thinking part, he had craved this, probably for years, perhaps even from puberty onwards. Mary had had no inkling of it and neither had Peter. But now that we had uncovered it, she would need to ‘punish’ him regularly, partly to satisfy his craving for pain but also to keep him in line. If she struck just the right balance, we had high hopes their marriage would be wonderful from now on.

I drew the others aside and told them all of this and Geraldine instantly agreed. “You’ve hit it right on the head, Angie,” she said softly. “I should have seen it of course and my, aren’t you the smart one!”

I grinned at her. “No, it’s just that it hit me like a hammer. But you do agree?”

“I certainly do. So let’s accelerate the program. You concentrate on his body; Phoebe might like to take over his morning sprint through the forest, and I’ll investigate this newfound masochism. Maybe we can even have Mary up here in a week instead of a fortnight, eh?”

We all agreed on this and then went back to watch the paddling machine deliver the remaining heavy strokes to his now very red and splotchy buttocks. But still, although he was clearly in a great deal of pain, he was also glorying in it and when after the whole forty strokes, twenty to each cheek, we shut it down I thought I detected a hint of regret, although he dutifully thanked us three ladies for his ‘correction’.

The boys released him and then we instructed him to go upstairs and serve us six our salad lunch. He, of course, was to have nothing. We left him alone to do this but I watched him carefully from the control room. This was a small room where some very sophisticated surveillance equipment was centred. From here we could observe any part of the camp, even parts of the running track outside. He didn’t succumb. Not once. He must have felt as if he was starving but by now, I think he realised he was a slave, delighted in the idea, and was determined to be a perfect model of Mary’s slaveboy-husband.

Of course we said nothing as he served us lunch with the same flair as he had our breakfast. After lunch Geraldine took him for an extended probe, including hypnosis, of his psyche. And while she did that, Phoebe and I, with our respective slave-husbands, took off to check out the other prospect.

 

Billy Wong was incredibly handsome. He had also become overbearing and aggressive towards his wife. She was not Chinese but had fallen for the tall and so good-looking gymnast when they were medical students together. She was independently wealthy but hadn’t told him of her affluence until after their marriage and then he had seemed to resent it.

She loved him, she told us, but not if we couldn’t cure his rudeness and aggression towards her. I asked her how she proposed to persuade him to come to us if we agreed we could help.

“I think, deep down, he does love me. It’s just that he had wanted to support us both or at least be equal partners in the marriage and when I dropped the bombshell that I was a millionaire, many times over, I think he deeply resented the fact that I would always have more than him.

“I believe that faced with the prospect of divorce, he will accept your training. He may be reluctant, but I think he will go along with it.”

“Okay, let’s see, then.”

He had been out when we arrived but was due back very soon. She had arranged the timing so she could apprise us of his latest aggression and it seemed it had now come to blows. He had actually slapped her face the day before…

“Actually,” I said, “that may be to our advantage. He has now committed an overt act of assault on your person and would be well aware you could call in the police. We are a nice alternative…?”

She grinned. “That’s what I thought, too.”

He came into the room in a swagger and then demanded to know who we were, looking us up and down insolently.

“These, Billy, represent your last chance,” she said calmly.

“Last chance? What a lot of rot!” but I noted that he was looking at her uncertainly.

She noticed it too and jumped. “The ladies and their partners are a special sort of trainer. You attacked me yesterday and you know I can have you arrested for that under the new wife-beating laws. Instead, you will go with these people and submit to their course of instruction. If you refuse I am going to call the police…”

He turned to us. “What does your course involve?”

I moved straight up to him and slapped his face – hard. “Be quiet, scum. You have two choices and no more. Accept us or the police. Which is it to be?”

He stared at me in horror. The idea that anyone, let alone a woman, could so humiliate him was beyond his comprehension. But I could see his bright mind had also taken in the consequences of a refusal. If he was charged with assaulting his wife, his medical career would be over. He knew he had burned his bridges, so to speak.

“Very well, I accept,’ he said but it was a grudging acceptance and that wasn’t good enough.

I slapped him again, screamed at him to stand up straight and then repeat his acquiescence to his wife’s demands and then assumed another threatening posture. He was now scared of me and that was my intention. He jumped to obey and now, very much more tractable repeated his submission to us.

“Very well,” I said. “So be it. You will now strip naked so we may appraise your body for correction…”

He stared at me for a moment. I stared back at him, daring him to utter a single word of protest. I knew he was about to but then thought better of it and stripped off the expensive coat, silk shirt and trousers, strewing them about him as if they were rags and I scowled as I thought he had been crass enough to accept these items from his wealthy wife (for I knew he had no resources of his own) and yet despised her wealth.

“Stop!” I screamed, just as I had with Peter a few days previously. And like Peter, he was transfixed, staring at me in terror. “Pick them up and fold them neatly,” I thundered, just as I had before, grinning to myself at the similarity between the two scenes. “And if they aren’t perfectly arranged, you will be caned. Right here in front of your wife. Now get to it!”

He jumped and as we admired his now nude body, its near-perfect gymnast’s muscles rippling most erotically, I was glad to note his arrangement of his clothing was even less ordered than Peter’s had been.

“Disgraceful!” I went on. “Billy, please fetch the cane. Scumbag here has earned ten strokes. Twenty if he can’t stay still for them. You! Bend over the back of that chair…”

He terrified expression was still apparent but it was now mixed with fear of the cane. Clearly he had now accepted that he had to take what we were doing but I was also fairly sure he was no masochist hiding under bravado or lethargy as Peter had been.

Bobby laid them on hard but watching me, he tempered the strokes a little for the tall muscular Chinese boy turned out to be a real wimp. He screamed from the very first stroke and while I am well aware that individual tolerance to pain varies enormously, I felt this boy’s response was just pure funk.

He took the ten strokes – just and after that, we trussed him as we had Peter and dumped him in the back of the Tarago. Like Mary before her, Jane asked if she could come up and watch him reformed and I gave her the same response. “Two weeks, Jane. Give us a fortnight to sort him out and then come, alright?”

She agreed and then waved us off.

With his boy, we decided on a different softening up period. We took him to the same cell which contained the ninepin dildo. But it also had a winch bolted to the concrete roof above us. From this dangled a steel wire which supported an iron bar from a lug at its centre. Welded to the ends of the metre-long bar were manacles and we now made him sit on the floor, still stark naked to have his ankles fitted into these. We then hoisted him up so that he was dangling from near the ceiling with his legs drawn out wide.

We turned off the lights and closed the door. He was now in stygian blackness and we would leave him there for twenty-four hours. Of course the infra-red camera down there would be watching him and the software associated with the surveillance program would quickly warn us of any unusual behaviour. So would the heart monitor we had glued to his chest.

This was another ingenious device like an external monitor. It sent continuous reports to the receiver in our control room and it too would report any dangerous conditions. We did this as we hadn’t with Peter and the others for hanging upside down is inherently more dangerous than being impaled on a large fat ninepin-like dildo.

One of us watched him the whole time and Geraldine told us to call her the moment anything odd happened. It didn’t and while he stirred at times, for the most part, he hung there relatively still. He didn’t utter a word, not even a small protest and I wondered why. We were still sure he was no masochistic Peter who, once he realised his penchant for pain, became our willing slave.

But then, twenty-four hours later, when we went down to retrieve him, he told us he was going to sue us for everything we had.

“This is unlawful deprivation of liberty, torture and assault and I will see you all rot in jail for the rest of your lives for it!”

“You will, eh?” I said calmly. “You are wrong, scum. You signed a release which includes all the things you are now squawking about. You gave us the right to discipline you in the course of your treatment and that is exactly what we are doing. No more, no less.

“But for your outburst, you have earned another caning. And this one will be much worse than that you took yesterday…”

The boys dragged him along to the room with my caning machine in it and secured him down onto its bench. You will remember this machine was automatic. We didn’t have to do anything except set its number but I did whisper to Bobby to change the springs to the lightest level since his buttocks still bore faint marks of yesterday’s caning.

And then we stood back and watched as the came drew the springy length of rattan up, up, and right up until it reached the release – and then down it came, still quite hard enough to swipe across both cheeks precisely at the top where they met the small of his back. Then the bench motor whirred and it moved a fraction while the cane began it slow but inexorable movement up from his now nicely marked cheeks.

Of course he had screamed and writhed around on the bench and I think we ladies creamed a little as we watched his fine muscles reacting to the punishment. This time, owing to the exact nature of the bench’s movement, the lines across his buttocks were evenly spaced, all ten of them and they started right at the top of his buttocks, moving downwards a centimetre at a time to the crease between his thighs and buttocks and each successive stroke first turned white, then pink, then started to form the weal, then reddened some more and finally became a dark red bruise which must have been quite agonising.

But then, after we released him from the bench, the boys dragged him over to a waist high pillory and secured his neck and wrists in it then dragged his feet out wide and locked them into lugs on the floor.

Each of our boys then raped him – hard.

And there we left him to contemplate his immediate future, again in total darkness.