with special thanks to Polly Plummer

A glass of lemonade! Nina's eyes flew open, fixing the cool patterns of moonlight reflected from hidden smooth surfaces onto the ceiling of her bedroom. The urge had come suddenly, and it had come strong! Half a glass, no more. That would be sufficient. Orange flavour.

She looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table:

2:35

Surely Mistress Selene would not be around the ground floor anymore.

Nina slipped out from under her blanket, revealing to a hypothetical observer an enchanting body only dressed in her slave-collar and recalcitrant c-belt.

Up to no good!

With delicate feet she searched in the darkness until she found her indoor high heels – black patent leather, hidden-platform Louboutins (the ones with the red soles).

For a short moment she had considered to go barefoot and on tip-toes, but that would not feel right. It would lessen the thrill, not to mention that it would be against her nature. A slavegirl always wore this kinkiest form of foot bondage – a good one as well as a naughty one. Always, if not expressly announced otherwise by her Mistress. (Mistress, if this slavegirl sneaks out of her bedroom at night – to, let's say, grab a seductively forbidden glass of lemonade –, is this slavegirl allowed to go barefoot?)

The pert, yet cute collared girl sneaked down the hallway, witnessed only by the moon shining through high windows. Sneaking in five-inch heels might appear easier than it was, but Nina's extended experience with ballet boots relativised the problem significantly. Having her on her toes was Mistress Selene's second-dearest position for Nina, right after having her in Her bed – normally, at least.

Nina had felt more than a little bit rejected because Mistress hadn't ordered her to spend the night in Her – Mistress' – splendidly large lair for almost a week. Now Nina would get her sweet, tickling, yet insufficient compensation. Orange-flavoured.

With an elfish move she avoided the creaking floorboard (the forth, counted from the right wall, in front of the window looking directly onto the conservatory), prancing gracefully on the thick soles and towering heels. Mistress had a light sleep, but then again, the master bedroom was in the northern wing, at the far side. The part of the mansion Nina was sidling through was reserved to storages and the servant quarters (Grmpf!). However, she had not to worry about waking anybody else up. Mistress and slavegirl were the only ones living on the estate. Nina performed maid duties (whoever coined the term French Maid had something kinky in the back of their mind), four times a week came a kitchen help, and old Finnean looked after the house and property regularly.

From somewhere below the next window a dry, scrunching noise reached inside, and the semi-nude girl froze. She listened into the dark for half a minute, but the noise did not reappear. The sudden excitement sent shivers down her spine – very far down –, and Nina sighed audibly at Mistress' decision to keep her belted.

She stepped to the window and got onto the toes of her platforms, leaning over the high and deep sill. The huge back yard lay in silver, moonlight rested on the conservatory's panes to the right. To the left, partly behind some ancient trees, Nina could make out several of the outbuildings.

There were the horseless stables (Ah, the stables! Where always a bridle waits for me! If this stunt goes wrong, it would likely be fitted with a curb bit for a rather long time... ) and the lately renovated annexe sheltering the fitness room including a petite sauna.

Mistress and Nina worked out every morning. Mistress had a breathtaking body, in nothing inferior to the one of Her twelve years younger devotee.

Nearest stood the garage. Large enough for a couple of more, but only resided by three cars. Between that Behemoth of a Range Rover and the S-Type R – Nina always thought of it as a mutated amphibian doing steroids – her own little runabout parked.

The white Copen had been a present from Mistress for a very special occasion three month ago. Standing in front of the main entrance, huge red bow around it, lines of feminine, yet strong letters had been painted onto the sweet car's bonnet...

TO MISTRESS SELENE'S SLAVEGIRL IN TRAINING

... with the last two words crossed out. Nina had broken out in tears that morning, fallen to her knees, not caring about the gravelled driveway. Accepted as Mistresses slave!

Mistress had removed her training collar, then had replaced it with the far more elaborated permanent slave-collar – with the car keys dangling at the polished front ring (nice touch, though).

Nina knew that she wasn't just a plaything for her gorgeous owner. The sole efforts Mistress Selene had put and still was putting into their relationship didn't leave the shadow of a doubt. Two years she had been in training, and trained she had been! 24/7 was used inflationarily these days by anyone who had managed to order a set of handcuffs via the internet. She neither need to be tied up at night nor bear her Mistress' mark (nonetheless Nina considered it as hot as a fox in a forest fire; but every time the topic of a tattoo or branding came up, she chickened out). She would even renounce her collar (that was a tough one!). She was a slave within.

And what a naughty little slave she was! Running through the house deep at night, half-naked! Maybe Mistress would catch her. Nina both feared and hoped for it in equal parts. Mistress would get angry – or, at least, pretend to –, and would send her back to bed with a nicely warmed bottom – but without lemonade. So the optimum would be to get caught after she had plundered the fridge.

Whither, whither?

Ahead or left? She had stopped at the T-junction of two corridors. Choosing left would lead her down the small servant stairs to the kitchen which meant creaking with every step. Ahead then!

Along the gallery, down the main stairs, across the hall with its parquet floor and that heavy door leading to the basement.

The door was locked, but Nina knew nonetheless what was hiding at the end of the stairs behind it. The wine cellar was down there, as well as something people with a dirty imagination would call Playroom – and it had nothing to do with LEGO! Sort of silly name, anyway. Although both Mistress and slave loathed BDSM-clichés, they referred to it mostly as Dungeon (or, when Mistress is in Her goofy mood, in a campfire ghost story voice: the Duhndjehehn-muahar-har! ).

Thinking of that door was enough. It was not even the Dungeon door itself – it just led to the Dungeon! But that did not help. Her mind came up with all kinds of perky punishments Mistress Selene might subject her to. She could make her drink the whole bottle and re-introduce her to some exquisite bladder control. Or Nina would get the lemonade as a tingly enema (That's mean! Mean and so damn hot!). But a strict bare-bottom over-the-knee spanking remained her all-time favourite!

Think of something else, or the belt will drive you insane!

The belt was comfy, it was well-crafted, without doubt sexy and even nice to look at. And it was effective. Sexual relief was not for slavegirls to decide about. It was a granting, a gift from their Mistresses. (I would never betray Mistress with my nimble fingers, so the belt doesn't bother me in the least. I don't even come close to it – but ARRGH! )

Nonetheless slavegirls were better not to be trusted in that matter. Nina knew she wore the belt for her own good. One discovered moment of weakness, and she would have to face real punishment, as she already had done in training countless times for all kinds of misdoings (she had been very naughty back then, too) and – to her deep shame – twice as graduated slave.

For a serious infraction she normally suffered the cane, then spent the dark hours in her cage, restrained and spider-gagged. A glass of lemonade – just for example – was surely not worth this kind of a night, orange-flavoured or not. The morning after such an ordeal she ACHED. Her jaws ached from the unyielding gag, her limbs from the fetters, her back from the cage's confines, her bum and thighs from the chastisement. Not that anyone speak bad about Mistress! The punishment was always well-deserved and just, her oral bondage always an open-mouth gag, the restraints always padded leather, the cage always under audio/video-surveillance. Mistress once had shown her the greenish night vision mode on the master bedroom's large plasma screen. Even during corrections for her most grave malefactions she was never alone in her distress.

Nina was about to step out onto the gallery overlooking the main hall, when the noise reappeared, longer this time. No – it was a different one, more like scuffling and dragging. And were that muffled sounds beneath not protesting groans?

She peeked around the corner and over the gallery's massive oak balustrade. Moonlight beamed through the façade, and the scene it was revealing made Nina's eyes widen with terror.

They are hurting Mistress!

Her hands were bound behind Her back with cable ties, palms facing out. They had just reached the middle of the hall, and one of the sturdy, black-dressed men forced the disrobed lady onto Her knees. The other invader, less stocky, but taller, was chinking with something Nina recognised as Mistress' keys. He disappeared from her field of view, but the terrified girl could hear him checking the cellar door.

Nina lapped her hand over her open mouth and retreated back into the shadow. Burglars! But how?! How had they been able to get into the house without raising alarm? Her mind was blank for some seconds, then a fragile feeling of hope arose. They hadn't. A silent alarm had been raised! Yes! Some more minutes, and the police would be here!

She was sliding further into defilade when the third intruder came up behind her. One gloved hand twisted her right arm behind her back while the second clawed into her auburn mane.

"Got her!" he triumphed.

The tall man stepped back into the middle of the hall. Calmly he looked up as the last brute of the trio pushed his captive forwards.

"Very good, Mr Track."

"Thanks, Mr Tick! Wasn't in her room, the little sweetie. Must have sneaked passed me somehow. That hut is a fuckin' maze!"

He continued to shove the struggling girl along the gallery and down the wide stairs. Finally, she was made to kneel next to her Mistress. The woman, still dignified in Her plight, spoke to her in both an apologetic and encouraging manner:

"Don't worry, little one. Nothing will happen to you."

The tall man who had been addressed as "Mr Tick" eyed the two females from underneath his balaclava for a moment, then turned to his stocky comrade:

"Mr Trick, would you please secure our latest newcomer?"

The man standing behind Lady Selene nodded and went quietly to work on Nina. With versed moves he zip-tied her wrists, just like they had done with Mistress. Nina, more stubborn than brave, writhed and bristled all she could. That earned her additional plastic bondage around her upper arms, bringing her elbows together. Although being a very flexible girl, this made her shoulders ache and burn at once. She doubt that she had been able to escape the wrist fetters at all. This further tying was simply a cruel retribution for her resistance.

Mr Tick passed the bunch of keys to Number Three and squatted in front of the moaning lass.

"Don't make such a fuss. The best way for you to help your Mistress and yourself is to ensure Her cooperation. A certain object is what we want. How we get it..." He made an indeterminate gesture.

Nina had not wised up yet:

"You better piss off! The entire police from the next town will be arriving any moment!"

Mr Tick backhanded her into silence. Number Three – Mr Track – paused the key examination he had been engaged in and slapped the palm against his covered forehead.

"Fuck, we forgot about the security system! Shit, man, and I even made me a list: buy milk, take garbage out, crack security system!"

"Yeah, dude. Shit happens," Stocky grunted from beneath his hood.

Nina spit out blood from her split lip. On the moonlit hardwood it appeared almost black.

No alarm. No police.

It was now Mr Track who fumbled about at the cellar door. With a MagLite from his belt he alternately scrutinised the door's lock and the collection of keys in his hand.

"Which key? Is it that one?" he taunted. Mistress answered him with a contemptuous glance.

"Hm, Her Highness does not want to tell us." He used the key matching the lock in size and style. "Maybe the wench knows what's in store for Her."

Without squealing, creaking or any other melodramatic noise the heavy door swung open. The three intruders – of whom the tallest one was evidently the leader – shared their burden. Mr Tick walked Mistress Selene through the door's pitch black rectangle, Mr Trick hove a dark bundle from the parquet and hurled it onto his shoulder. A large duffle bag – never a good sign.

Once again it was on Mr Track to seize Nina. The plastic ties had cut into her skin. They cut even more when Number Three grabbed the girl under one arm and pushed her along the hall, following the others down the cellar stairs.

No hope.

Nina's gaoler closed the door behind them and locked it from the inside. Only then he switched the lights on. Nobody roaming around the house would be able to notice the fine golden line emerging from under the cellar door.

The base of the stairway opened up into the chill arches of the wine cellar. Shelves of ancient oak wood held a collection impressive both in size and quality. Unerringly the Leader strode through between the barely lit lines, turned right and headed to the eastern wall.

What was going on?! How could he know the way? What do they want? Burglars may study the floor plan and learn how many persons live in the house. But wouldn't burglars wonder about my outfit, for example?

Nina's doubts grew stronger with ever step of Mr Tick's working boots. This was not a normal burglary. Her stomach turned at the meaning of this realisation.

From behind her, Mr Track's voice sneered through the semidarkness.

"When we have done them, how's about a draught of Château Latour?" He pronounced it like Skattow Later. There might be reasons why Mr Tick was the leader and Mr Trick supposed to do the tricky parts.

"Don't the fuck touch anything!" Mr Tick hissed from beneath his mask.

Although this brief conversation revealed the wine supplies to be safe, it did little to put Nina's mind at ease.

"When we have done them..."

Her stomach made another turn. Rape.

The eastern wall was masoned from sturdy old bricks. They filled the gaps between four Yorkstone pillars, indicating another vault behind them. The door in the wall's middle seemed to be as old as the cellar itself, but Nina knew that it was faked. Mistress had spared neither cost nor efforts to keep the original style when this most sinister part of the mansion had been rebuilt.

Number Three unlocked the door with the same bunch of keys he had used in the hall. Curiosity was evident in his moves as he pushed the handle.

Before them the Inner Sanctum of Mistress' being lay open.

How dare you... ?!

Once inside the Dungeon, Nina was pushed to the flag-stoned ground, and Stocky strapped some of his trusty cable ties around her ankles. She still wore her indoor high heels, which in combination with her harsh arm bondage and Mr Track hauling at her had made the descent a risky undertaking. Nonetheless she was not willed to slip them off. It was Mistress' wish for her to wear them!

Unlike the insufficient lighting in the wine cellar, the Playroom's twilight was artistic, almost theatrical. The indirect illumination did not disturb the impression of a mediaeval gaol, but revealed the amount of implements ready to be used on submissive flesh. Shadows rested minaciously on them, establishing the special atmosphere that promised dark and forbidden pleasures. Tonight, however, the scene bore a crucial difference.

None of the devices in this room was bogus, and only trust, caring and cautiousness prevented severe injuries. Nina doubted seriously that their uninvited guests would abide by these basic rules.

Mistress had been pushed to a waist-high construction that looked like a horizontal T on legs. While Her abdomen was being pressed into the crossbeam, Mr Trick stepped over and cut Her cable ties with diagonal pliers. But within moments, Her hands had been re-fettered in front of Her with handcuffs. During this, Number Three wasn't lazy and secured Mistress' ankles to ground in such a way Her long, sculptured legs were spread and pulled taut. This forced Mistress onto Her tip-toes, adding another fierceness to Her already stressful position. The Bondage T was notorious for causing cramping.

Mr Tick was supervising the portentous operation, but – Nina was sure of that – kept an eye on the kneeling girl as well.

The T's far end carried a compact winch that could be worked manually. Mr Trick pulled some length of wire rope out, and with a metallic click the snap-hook at its end connected itself to the chain between the cuffs. The man's moves were professionally, methodically, as he began to operate the winch.

Nina watched with increasing terror how her Mistress was stretched towards the structure's far end, notch by notch, and how cruelly the steel ground into Her wrists.

Only when Mistress' body was tautened over the frame in an obscene right angle, Mr Trick stopped and allowed the mechanism to lock at its latest catch.

The proud woman tested Her bonds, but Nina knew from experience that there was no way to go, especially not if the steel cable was as tight as now. She could already sense the stress in Mistresses shoulders and hips.

This device was a harsher variant of the bondage horse, and Nina had found herself on it every time Mistress had considered a more intensive correction to be adequate. Not only the racking effect and the lack of leather padding made it extraordinary uncomfortable to lie on the punishment T for any length of time. Right now, the weight of Mistress' upper body rested mostly on Her sternum as Her breasts were pushed outwards by the beam's edges.

None of these details stayed hidden to the Leader, but only the last one received his momentary attention. With an imperious gesture he ordered Mr Track to take care of the kneeling girl again, then strode to the largest table in the room, the one next to Nina's cage. The one with the stainless steel trays on it.

Five. There are five trays. Trays like they use in operation theatres.

And just like on those trays in hospitals, a legion of small or slender instruments were arranged on them. Nina knew them and their places off by heart – it was her duty to clean and sort them after every session.

Mr Tick went for tray number two. Without spending more than a few seconds on seeking he picked his weapons of choice from the mirroring surface. Nina knew what he had taken. She did not need to look as Mr Tick stepped to her helpless Mistress, sunk on one knee and opened his fist to show. She did not need to, but she looked nonetheless.

The nipple clamps were serrated and spring-loaded, but the springs were only meant for easy application. The real fun came with the screws. Versions with simple stop screws still gained their strength only from the springs, which had not to be designed too strong, else the jaws couldn't be properly opened by hand.

Models with tightening screws did not know this limitation. A descent level of quality for screws and threads preconditioned, they could literally tightened all the way down.

Mistress was aware of this fact, Nina was aware of it (Ouch!), and there was no reason to question Mr Tick's state of knowledge.

"Spare Yourself the torture. You will eventually tell us anyway."

He spoke calmly to Mistress, but loudly enough for Nina to understand. The way he emphasised the word "torture" made the slavegirl groan. She had no clear view onto her Mistress' face, but the beautiful woman seemed to hiss something into his face.

The Leader only shrug his shoulders.

"Ready when You are, Lady Selene..."

Mistress had started to buck and bolt the little She could in Her mean bondage as he first worked on Her left nipple. When the vicious teeth had completely sunk into the tender flesh, Mr Tick let go of the awful clamp, only to repeat the procedure on the right side.

Her flanks vibrated under Her rapid breathing, the muscles in the back of Her neck tightened and lifted Her contorted face from the beam. But even with both Her breast tips crushed and multiply pierced, Mistress suppressed Her screams entirely.

Nina sniffed, her eyes wet with tears. She would not cry! The urge to beg for mercy was almost overwhelming, but she would not do that, either! A naїve hope had just found its way into her mind. If Tick, Trick and Track accepted that they would not make her brave Mistress talk, maybe they just call it a night, even were in a hurry to get out before dawn (Nina herself didn't know why the terrible trio should be frightened to meet dawn at this estate, but wasn't it the nature of evil? To have full sway in the dark, only to fear the day?).

Even now Mistress held up a dignified aura. Her dark long hair covered both side of Her face as She lowered Her forehead onto the smooth wood. The pain-inducted shallowness of Her breaths was still evident, but did nothing to belittle Her endurance.

No matter what you do to Her, She will always be superior to scum like you!

Mr Tick played with the clamps, flicked them, tugged on them, always studying his prisoner's stoic expression.

Another journey to the trays brought two small, but heavy metal cones. Mistress gasped audibly when Her trapped nipples were burdened with these.

"Make it easy on You – where is it?"

Both his hands reached up, and this time Mr Tick did not play. Mistress screamed as the clamps twisted and turned in Her delicate flesh. Elated by this success, the Leader even increased the brutality of his assault. More and harder screams were coerced from the suffering woman who fought vainly against restraints and pain.

"Please don't hurt Her!" Nina screeched. She could not hold back anymore. The girl knew how sensitive her Mistress' whole breast area was. They shared extraordinary erogenous zones on these parts – and Nina would confess to anything under nipple torture.

Crimson pears were running down the conical weights and dropping to the ground in worrying succession. Mr Tick let go of the clamps and pulled Mistress's head up by Her brunette mane. His gloves were decorated with blood.

For some seconds, he waited, his head cocked in what was supposed to be a silent question. But Mistress just gazed at him in worn defiance, Her quivering lips pressed tightly together.

"Originally, I have planned to go easy on You, gorgeous. But Your annoying lack of cooperation necessitates a more coercive measure."

Mr Tick shoved Her head back to the beam, then eyed the fatal beauty of Mistress' exquisite predicament. With disgust Nina observed him devouring the sight that lay in front of him:

How the cross bar pushed Her bottom out; how the unyielding position forced Her onto Her tip-toes; how the strain hardened Her leg muscles.

His gloved hand glided along Her silken derrière.

How taut and hot and soft Her skin was.

"Mr Trick, it is your turn now."

Stocky mumbled an affirmation. He stepped over to one of the cabinets, and again Nina was unpleasantly surprised by the intruders' knowledge of where to find what.

This certain piece of furniture held switches, birches and canes. To really hurt Mistress, Stocky would surely go for a cane.

Clamps and caning. A classical combination of passive and active torture.

The young slave gasped at what Mr Trick had taken from the cabinet. Mistress had used the chrome-tipped carbon fibre cane only once on her, and only under strict self-restraint. Not for penalisation it had been, but to establish respect for this very item. Nina considered it to be easily the cruellest instrument for impact punishment in the whole estate.

Beyond any doubt it was a premium product, due to its base material literally unbreakable, but not very flexible (the cane's punitive competence came from its kinetic energy rather than from its potential energy). The handle and other strategic points were fitted with wolfram cores for optimal weight distribution. Hence the cane combined a considerably low mass inertia with a considerably high moment of inertia. Mistress had explained it to Her pretty slavegirl a little bit more tersely:

"Easy to swing, hard to stand."

Stocky tested it in the air. Indeed he had full control over it during every phase of the stroke. Easy to swing. He cut the air again, harder, more confidently, producing an intimidating sound.

Mr Track giggled.

Suddenly, with a velocity that was astonishing given his heavy physique, Mr Trick leapt forwards and swung his weapon in a wide arc. With unbelievable acceleration the cane sliced the air and made contact with Mistress Selene's taut flesh. The stroke was well aimed to the critical spot where the right buttock ran into the thigh. Nina never actually heard the hit, for it was drowned out by Mistress Selene's unbridled scream. It was a deeply agonised sound, fully matching the visual horror that made Nina scream in the very same second: The skin literally exploded, subcutaneous tissue burst under the incredible force that drove the carbon fibre through several layers of muscles.

"Ouh, that got Your attention, huh?" Mr Track sneered.

Another stroke, powerful and grisly like the first one, hit the same spot. Mistress' body went rigid in anguish as another shriek was wrenched from it. Hard to stand.

Mr Trick leant into each horrible blow with all his two hundred pounds, taking full advantage of the carbon cane's precise handling. He was striking on each thigh and buttock in turn now, concentrating the pain, channelling it within the tolerance of half a centimetre.

This had nothing in common with the discipline sessions Nina had received from her Mistress. After the harshest of them, she had borne purple welts all over her thighs and bottom and had cried for hours afterwards – but not more.

Mistress was dominant in every way, but She was no raving sadist. Once Nina had talked Her into watching Hostel together, and after the scene where that bloke tried to walk with his Achilles tendons sliced, She had excused Herself.

The weights swung frantically and tore at Her bleeding nipples as every belter drove Her pelvis into the crossbeam anew. Mistress was crying freely now when not needing Her air for screaming. Little was left of Her dignified appearance.

During twelve minutes of hard caning Mr Trick had turned Mistress' backside into a collection of ghastly bleeding wounds. At Mr Tick's behest he finally ceased the horrible castigation, granting his arm a break. Nina could see around his eyes that he was sweating underneath the balaclava.

He had stopped!

Nina wished she could make herself believe that it was over now, but one glance at the Leader was sufficient: far worse things were coming. She only hoped her beloved Mistress was able to gather new strength during this hiatus.

Mr Tick touched the raw welts and listened to the groans this action wrung from the tortured woman. Cramps gnawed at Her back and limps, and Her flawless skin glistened with pain-born sweat.

"You will suffer far worse if You keep up this childish attitude, Selene."

Mistress seemed to shake Her head in a weak and exhausted manner. A quarter of an hour ago, Nina had been proud of Her resisting Her tormentors. But that had been before they had beaten Her bloody and scarred Her for life.

Please just tell them! What is so important to endure such cruelty?!

Whatever it was, Mistress Selene was willing to endure the cruelties. And Mr Tick was willing to increase them.

"Mr Trick, the dressing, please."

From his duffle bag Stocky produced a canteen and handed it to the Leader who unscrewed the cap. He held the open bottle close to Mistress' nose, and She rapidly turned Her face away. After some moments Nina could sense the still faint, but distinctive odour of the content. Vinegar.

"We didn't want to mess around in your kitchen, so we brought our own ingredient," Mr Tick stated.

If only they were that sensible when it came to Dungeon equipment. But what do these bastards want with... ?

Oh, no!

Mr Tick brought the canteen into position above Mistress' bottom and tilted it slightly. He waited, built up the tension, listened to Lady Selene's distressed gasping.