There was another thing, as well. He’d baulked at the accusation that Isabella had levelled at him at first, but hadn’t she been absolutely right? At a subconscious level, at least, hadn’t he allowed Jacqui to seduce him, thinking that because it was her he could somehow abrogate responsibility for his own actions? Once again he’d revealed himself to be all too susceptible to Jacqui’s blandishments when she went into full seduction mode and in his heart of hearts he’d always known he would respond in the way he’d ended up doing. And then he’d gone and added insult to injury by trying to deceive Isabella about what had happened; it was absolutely outrageous.
When Isabella had been subjecting him to all those tests and challenges before granting him the ultimate prize by making him her house-slave, she’d essentially been testing his capacity for punishment, humiliation and perversion. She hadn’t found him wanting. When she’d actually put temptation in his way in the person of Jacqui, doing so on two separate occasions, he’d succumbed to it with remarkable ease both times like the cock-happy son of a bitch he’d proved himself to be. He was extremely sorry for all this, more sorry than he could ever say.
David was extremely sorry for Jacqui too. He was sorry for her for what she was having to go through in the dungeon. He was sorry for her, full stop, although he knew that the pity he felt for her was to some extent a form of self-pity. Part of a poem by Philip Larkin kept flashing through his mind: ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They do not mean to but they do.’ Jacqui’s sadistic mother had herself had parents who’d been strict disciplinarians, never “sparing the rod”. They no doubt hadn’t meant to but they had managed to fuck up their daughter, and she in turn had fucked up her own daughter, fucked her up big time. The constant heavy beatings she had given the young Jacqui had created someone whose responses were Pavlovian in their predictability. Jacqui behaved badly in order that she might be punished, in order that she might feel pain, in order that she might feel pleasure.
But David knew that he was not so very different from her himself when it came to the crunch. Everything he’d been through with his mother – everything she’d done to him – had left him well and truly fucked up. That was an irrefutable fact. The “good boy” he’d turned himself into after her tragic death had been damaged goods, a broken person, thanks to her sadism towards him. And hadn’t he, after all these years merely regressed, reverting to type at long last so that he might be punished like Jacqui – thoroughly beaten and chastised for being “bad”?
Well, both he and Jacqui had clearly bitten off way more than they could chew this time. He was now utterly miserable and deeply afraid for his future and Jacqui simply could not have been having a tougher time in the dungeon. Maybe, David speculated, she was faring better as Isabella’s house-slave. He could not have been more wrong ...
Isabella found fault with everything Jacqui did. If she produced a meal for her, it was more often than not dismissed as being worse than the scraps she was providing for David. The meat was always overcooked or under cooked, there was too much seasoning or too little, and the contents of the plate ended up being unceremoniously binned by the disgruntled diner. Isabella pushed Jacqui to the floor when, as was invariably the case, her boot and shoe maintenance fell short of the extremely high standard the dominatrix required. If Jacqui drew her a bath, the temperature of the water was always wrong, something Isabella would demonstrate to her by grasping her by the hair and dunking her face below the surface until she thought she might drown. The kitchen floor was never clean enough for Isabella, no matter how many times Jacqui scrubbed it on her hands and knees, although admittedly the sight of her doing so was undeniably a pleasing one, her heavily punished rear, pouting anus and shaven pussy prominently on display. Jacqui’s attempts at maintaining the secluded rear garden, which Isabella made her do while it was raining, were regarded by the dominatrix as so feeble that she felt duty bound to push the naked slave into the wet mud and then turn a hose of freezing water onto her.
But it was vanity that did for Jacqui in the end. ‘How can you hope to be an even half-way effective house-slave to me with all that long curly hair falling over your face?’ Isabella announced one evening, after she’d given Jacqui a particularly miserable time over what she deemed to be the very poor quality of her housework. ‘When you present yourself to me tomorrow morning I want you to have cut it all off, every last strand. I want your head completely shaved so it matches your pussy. I want you as bald as an egg.’
That was a humiliation too far for Jacqui. She could just about take all the unrelenting abuse and outstandingly cruel discipline that Isabella seemed to want to inflict on her all the time. If that was what it took to remain her house-slave, then so be it. A shorter, more practical hairstyle, she could live with that, no problem. But, damn it all, to tell her to cut off all her beautiful tresses, that was just too much to demand.
The day was already warm when Isabella woke up. Getting out of bed, she pulled the bedroom curtains and transparent light shone brightly through the window. It had been raining for most of the last week, sheeting it down constantly, but the rain had stopped at last. Isabella called out for Jacqui but there was no response. She looked for her all over the house but she was nowhere to be seen, and nor were her few belongings. It seemed that she had gone, sneaked off, stolen away like a thief into the night.
‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ Isabella said out loud to herself with deep disdain. She knew that this time she’d driven Jacqui off for good. ‘Now, I wonder how much further I need to push that disobedient, deceitful cunt David before he gives up the ghost too.’
Isabella was looking forward to finding that out as much as she was looking forward to being reunited with her husband, an event which was now imminent. Alan was in the process of flying back from the United States and would be home today. It was true that he had scheduled in only the briefest of visits before returning to the States to carry on building the La Fetishista business over there – so brief a visit, in fact, that he wasn’t even bothering to bring the kinky twins with him – but his visit would be very welcome, nonetheless.
Latterly their marriage had developed into such a long distance affair that it was barely a marriage at all, Isabella had rather sadly conceded. But their shared passion for sadism left them with a powerful bond she was confident would never be broken, no matter how far apart they drifted. So, watch out David, watch the fuck out.
Chapter Forty Two
Alan Stern’s deep-set eyes traversed the dungeon Isabella had created in his absence. It really was most impressive, he considered. For one thing, the lighting she’d had put in created just the right ambience: eerie and dim and subtly focussed on the dungeon equipment. For another thing all that equipment came from La Fetishista – but, of course! – and was therefore of the very highest quality. For another, nearly all of it was encased in soft black leather.
Nearly all of the people who were currently in the dungeon were also encased in soft black leather, himself included. He, Isabella, Caroline and Kate were all wearing skin-tight body suits and knee-length boots. David, by contrast was wearing nothing at all, not even the chastity device he’d had to wear ever since his incarceration. Isabella had very recently removed that item from his genitalia, not before time. But she’d done this only so that his genitals could be, as she’d gleefully informed him, “properly tortured”.
No wonder David was shaking like a leaf as he cowered before them all. No wonder his face was deathly-pale and his head bowed, his eyes never leaving the floor. No wonder there were dark smudges under those eyes. No wonder that he kept wetting his lips uneasily and that his hands were sweating. This was clearly an extremely frightened slave, a petrified slave. And he had every reason to be petrified. Alan Stern knew that for an absolute certainty because he knew what was about to happen to him.
Isabella went to stand beside her disgraced slave before turning to face the others. ‘Can I have your attention please,’ she said and
it suddenly became so silent in the dungeon you could have heard a pin drop. ‘First of all I would like to thank Alan for making the time during this flying visit of his to help me to organise this evening’s little entertainment.’
‘You’re welcome,’ her husband replied with a mock-formal tilt of the head, his dark eyes glinting.
‘The reason we are here,’ Isabella continued, ‘is to discipline my slave, David, and you all know why. In brief, it’s because he’s a disobedient, lying motherfucker.’ She eyed him with the utmost contempt.
‘Could you remind us again of the rules of your entertainment?’ Caroline said, not that she or Kate or Alan needed reminding in the slightest. This was for David’s benefit, to rub proverbial salt into his soon-to-be anything but proverbial wounds.
‘By all means,’ Isabella replied. ‘I would like each of you in turn to discipline David. Don’t hold back. Be as cruel as you like, I mean really cruel. The only thing I would ask is that you make his punishment apt.’
‘Make the punishment fit the crime,’ Kate offered.
‘Exactly,’ Isabella confirmed. ‘Now, who wants to be the first to discipline him? How about you, Caroline?’
‘Sure,’ the flame haired dominatrix replied, picking up a black leather hold-all, walking forward a few steps towards David and putting the bag on the floor by her side. She turned to look at Isabella. ‘May I start?’
‘Yes, please do,’ Isabella said.
‘Let me tell you the way I see things here,’ Caroline said, addressing her attentive leather-clad audience after directing a brief scowl at David. ‘First, this sorry excuse for a slave here must be a blind fool to have disobeyed his Mistress and done what he did with Jacqui. Hence this.’ She took a black leather blindfold from out of her bag and put it over David’s eyes, buckling it tightly into place behind his head. ‘Yes, a blind fool,’ she repeated. ‘And a treacherous cocksucker too in the attempt he made, pathetic though it was, to deceive his Mistress.’ Caroline delved into her bag again and took hold of an inflatable dildo-gag, which was also black. She instructed David to open his mouth and placed the rubber dildo inside. ‘Yes, a treacherous, deceitful cocksucker. Close your mouth, slave,’ she added and there was a hiss as she worked a hand operated air pump to make the rubber in his mouth inflate. It grew ever larger, forcing his mouth apart unmercifully until it was crammed full, the cock-shaped gag wedging behind his teeth.
She went on to secure David’s wrists to the steel manacles at either end of a nearby spreader bar, which was attached to ceiling chains. She secured his ankles to a similar spreader bar with manacle attachments that was on the dungeon floor immediately beneath it.
‘He has been exposed as a treacherous, deceitful cocksucker and that puts him in something of a predicament,’ Caroline continued, warming further to her theme. ‘He needs to fully consider the weight of that predicament.’ Chuckling mirthlessly, she reached once more into her bag and this time brought out three heavily weighted clamps. She attached one each to both of his nipples and, taking hold of a fold of skin below his balls, attached another to his scrotum. The pain was more intense than David could have imagined, like a fire on his flesh, and he bucked desperately against his bonds – which just made the pain even more agonizing.
Caroline then dipped again into her bag, this time picking out a retractable riding crop and lengthening it. She stood behind David and beat his backside savagely with the crop, causing jolts of pain right through his body. She then moved to his front and flicked the leather tip of the crop over the weighted clamps attached to his nipples and scrotum. Withering pain was now coursing through David’s body like dark electricity.
‘Miserable, blind, treacherous, deceitful, cocksucker,’ Caroline said, spitting out each of the words. ‘You really are up shit creek, aren’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve got the paddle.’ She delved into her hold-all again and pulled out a heavily studded leather paddle with which she began beating David’s backside furiously. ‘I’ll teach you to disobey your Mistress and then try to deceive her about it, you worthless piece of shit,’ she rasped, beating him mercilessly until his flesh burned with agony. Then Caroline stopped abruptly. ‘I’m done here,’ she said.
‘Splendid – most impressive,’ Isabella said, her eyes shining. ‘Now, how about you to go next, Alan?’
He nodded his agreement.
‘I trust you intend to be suitably excessive,’ Isabella said.
‘I certainly do,’ her husband replied, striding forward. ‘And may I say how impressed I was also with Caroline’s contribution. It was very creative, I thought. I did think these were a particularly inspired touch.’ He pointed to the weighted clamps, and then removed them from David’s skin, anything but gently, causing a pain like liquid fire to burn into his flesh as he gasped and choked into his dildo gag.
‘Let me tell you how I view this regrettable matter,’ Alan Stern went on in measured tones. ‘First, I think it is important that David see, and I do mean see, the error of his ways. So, we will take this off.’ He reached behind David’s head and unbuckled the tight blindfold. ‘Also, you must bear with me. I do have certain peccadilloes, shall we say. One of them is that I simply love to hear a slave scream in agony.’ He unbuckled David’s dildo-gag and let the air out of the rubber dildo. With a hiss of escaping air the dildo went soft and he pulled it from David’s mouth.
He then released him from the spreader bars and clamped a hand on his hair. ‘Come this way, you pitiful fucking loser,’ he said and pulled him by the hair over to the leather-covered bondage table. He told him to lie on the table on his back and then strapped his wrists and ankles to its four corners. David’s body was trembling uncontrollably in its bondage and his eyes were moist with terror.
‘I have nothing but contempt for this worthless slave,’ Alan went on. ‘He clearly can’t hold a candle to his Mistress. But I can hold a candle to him.’ He lit a large red candle and began drizzling hot wax on David’s chest, genitals and the soles of his feet, causing him to gasp and cry out.
‘By trying to deceive Isabella with this thoroughly troublesome Jacqui bitch I’ve been hearing about he was clearly playing with fire,’ Alan continued, glaring at him angrily. ‘He was just asking to get burned, as I am about to demonstrate.’ He waved the candle over David’s chest and torso again, dripping more burning hot wax onto his body. Then he set fire to a swirl of his body hair, just above his pubic area. David screamed in terror.
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ Alan said with a sadistic smile, before casually flicking out the flame.
He then released David from the bondage table, led him to the whipping bench and positioned him over it, his severely punished backside in the air.
He said, ‘Here’s an old saying for you, ‘You can’t flog a dead horse’. I prefer my version, though: ‘You can flog a live whore-son.’ And that’s what I’m going to do – and with the most vicious flogger I can lay my hands on, as well.’
He grasped a braided black leather whip, raised his hand high and brought the flogger down as hard as he could again and again until David was in agony, his backside patterned a deep, painful red. On and on he whipped him, laying into his backside with relentless savagery.
‘How dare you cheat on your Mistress and lie to her, you worthless son of a whore,’ Alan Stern shouted, his saturnine features turning puce with rage. ‘How dare you! How dare you!’ He whipped David with unrelenting viciousness until, racked with coruscating pain, he began screaming a terrible piercing scream that rose higher and higher. His voice full of ever increasing agony, he screamed and screamed.
Chapter Forty Three
Alan Stern let his victim’s screaming run its course and then stopped torturing him. David was still in such pain that it was fogging his eyes. He was also shivering without control, his limbs jerking and trembling with the aftershock. Alan told him to stand up next to the whipping bench over which he’d just disciplined him with such savagery and to face his “audienc
e”.
Alan’s place was then taken by Kate. It rapidly became clear that the ash-blonde dominatrix was eager to at least match if not exceed his vicious efforts. Unerringly loyal as always to her former Mistress, Kate was absolutely furious with David. It radiated from her like a force field. David had broken the most cardinal rule as far as she was concerned. In her book, trust wasn’t just the name of the game in BDSM. It was a holy writ. A slave should never try to deceive their Mistress, never. If they did they deserved every damn thing they got.
Wearing an expression like thunder, anger firing her violet eyes, she immediately launched in. ‘When Isabella told me what David had done with that treacherous little slut, Jacqui,’ she said as she strode purposefully over to the still-trembling slave, ‘it really needled me.’ She looked with scorn at David and then placed an open box of large sterilized needles on top of the whipping bench. ‘Yes, I was really needled,’ Kate repeated. ‘Then, I thought, why should I be needled? It should be this sad fuck.’ She took a large needle from the box and plunged it through David’s left nipple. His nerves screamed at the needle as it scratched and dragged his skin with sharp cold agony. And David screamed too, a high, inhuman sound.
‘A prick for a prick,’ she added, putting another large needle through his right nipple. He screamed again, that same inhuman noise, as the bright flash of agony shot through him. Both nipples were now raging.
‘He’s been exposed as a prick, certainly,’ Kate went on when his screaming had tapered off. ‘But, more than that, he’s been exposed as a snake. What would be appropriate to beat this snake with? Ah yes, my snake whip.’ Behind and above the hand now holding the whip, Kate’s eyes remained as angry as ever. She went on, ‘All right, turn round, snake – prepare to be skinned.’
Kate dragged the thongs of the whip back and forth across David’s backside for a few seconds and then made her first strike. The whip sang through the air and when it landed instantly inflamed his backside and the back of his thighs as it bit into his flesh. Again and again the snake whip seared his body and he squirmed and cringed.
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