Chapter 3

It was almost six weeks since this girl had walked through my door, offering her completed slave contract to me with her tiny hand, eager to embark on what she must have thought would be an exciting sexual adventure.

I watched her now as she lay sleeping on the concrete floor of her cell in the cellar. One of two, it was more of a cage than a cell, measuring only six feet square, its two ends barred, ands its sides made of heavy stone.

The dim light in the gloomy cellar glinted gently against the bars, picking out the patch of white concrete in one corner of her prison, the place where her food was tipped at mealtimes, the area licked clean, presume ably in an attempt to please me.

She had begun to look unnaturally comfortable on the hard, cold stone floor. I had watched her for the first few days, twisting and turning against the unyielding surface, scraping her shoulders and hips mercilessly.

Gradually, the power of sleep had got the better of her discomfort, and exhausted by the liberal beatings she had received, she'd slept soundly, only occasionally waking to survey her surroundings with horrified disbelief, as if she was convinced that they must be part of particularly bad dream she was having.

Her eyes half open, she would gaze at the steel ring in the ceiling that had been the site of so much unbelievable agony, tears pricking her eyes, trying to rationalise her new reality. Shivering and white with cold she would fall back into her doze, her hips occasionally jerking forward, as she re-lived the horror of the whippings she had received in her dreams.

Now she presented an altogether different picture, curled up in what looked like a comfortable ball. Her hands placed palm to palm, on under her head, a half smile playing across her lips.

Her spine and buttocks created a perfect arc, her knees drawn tight up into her body, forcing her labia from between her milky thighs, smooth and hairless, the glint of the padlock that passed through the stem of her clitoris glittering ominously behind.

She truly was beautiful, I reflected, shivering slightly at my inactivity, wondering how on earth she managed to sleep so soundly in the chill.

She wore no make-up, her soft brown hair falling delicately across her cheek, her pouting lips slightly parted revealing perfect white teeth behind.

There was no hidden agenda, no body shaping underwear, no string or strapping, nothing to deceive the eye of the beholder, by twisting her body into unnaturally pronounced positions. She owned no clothes, no high heels to shape her calves and force her to walk with her hips thrust out. She had no mini skirts, designed to titillate the voyeur with a hint of what might lay beneath. She had no figure hugging, chest lifting, breast moulding tops. She had no 'attitude', no image to uphold, no annoying habits or platforms of moral high ground.

She had no affiliation with any clique, no misplaced loyalties

She was exactly as you found her, a vision of truth, with no other tools of seduction than those which her maker had given her, no means of deceiving the onlooker, those attributes on display at all times, for inspection by all.

The only onlooker to date had been Chris and I, and Chris didn't count, as she had been fulfilling a professional capacity.

I had decided to at once test her obedience and also share my prize with some friends. Of course, I hadn't made my slave aware of this; the last thing I wanted was to give her time to mentally prepare herself for what was about to befall her. The element of surprise was everything in these situations.

It intrigued me to know just how far she would debase herself in order to obey. The memory of the lash was strong, that much was obvious.

The merest hint of the switch was enough to send a fleeting glance of horror fleeting across her face, her hands involuntarily reaching for the soft skin of her buttocks, feeling the tiny, almost invisible lines some of her more severe punishments had left.

I also knew that her desire to please her Master was stronger still, a desire that had originally been born through the pain of refusal, but had now become an integral part of her subconscious. She did not now know why she obeyed, it seemed to her a natural thing to do. She could not know that her brain had forced her to adopt this attitude, as an instinctive barrier against receiving more earth-shattering bolts of pain through its overloaded nerve endings.

The brain was indeed a complex thing, but incredibly easy to manipulate when using pain as a tutor.

As I watched, she stirred from her sleep; her long lashes fluttering as she struggled to open her eyes.

She opened like a flower, her long slender limbs stretching languorously as she shrugged off the stiffness of sleep, her perfectly smooth pubic mound and pert, full breasts coming tantalisingly into view.

In an instant she realised she was being watched. It took a further second for her half asleep brain to register her watcher's identity, before she scrambled to her feet, bereft of all modesty, standing to attention in her tiny cage, her eyes trained on the floor in a gesture of servility.

I smiled as I unlocked her cell door, stooping to unlock the padlock between her thighs, before threading through the short chain I was carrying and relocking it.

I insisted on these demonstrations of obedience. Not only did it do the slave good to, adhere to a strict set of rules, but it also pleased me, the subservient actions re-enforcing my position as outright owner of my property.

I began to lead her up the stairs to the bathroom above, somewhat spitefully yanking on the chain as I did so, relishing in the gasp it brought from the slave behind me. It must have been an eternal temptation for her to grasp the chain with her free hands, allowing a little slack to fall and so take the tugging, insistent pressure from her sex. Of course she never did, knowing full well the punishment that would befall her for such a transgression.

Never did do I feel in more of a position of control than when I am leading a slave in this way. There is something utterly undignified and debasing to a slave, when being led around by the most delicate part of their anatomy.

I also knew, that the presence of the padlock, as well as being symbolic, stimulated her intensely, the swing of the padlock grazing her labia and the weight of the thin chain gently but insistently pulling at her clitoris could excite her with incredible speed, the two flights of stairs to the bathroom on the first floor were often enough to bring her to the point of orgasm.

Only to the point, of course. I had not allowed her the pleasure of sexual release since her arrival, although I enjoyed that privilege whenever it suited me, empting my hot seed in to her mouth with no regard for her own unsatiated needs. I was are of course, that there was a possibility she had reached orgasm during sleep, but his had occurred without her knowledge and constituted a physical release, the psychological tension still inexistence the following morning. It was not the lack of orgasm that frustrated her; it was the lack of the privilege to be allowed to stimulate herself.

Waiting for her to finish on the toilet, I turned on the shower and stood back to admire her as she washed, an operation, which I found highly erotic.

She would unconsciously pay special attention to her pink, swollen labia, rubbing the soapy lather dreamily into her sex before struggling to her senses and hurriedly picking up the safety razor.

I could feel my self-becoming hard beneath my trousers as she searched the folds of skin between her legs for stray hairs, and I quickly turned my thoughts to other matters. There would be time enough for that later.

Debbie had been brought up to believe that sex in all its forms could only be justified between, a man and a woman, and then within the sacrosanct confines of marriage. It was partially this strict upbringing that had brought her to me. A part of her sexual unconscious, stifled by the restrictions her parents had placed upon it, had struggled to break free, desperate to experience all the things her body craved for.

It was this craving that had led her to explore her submissive side, her need to feel controlled, and had ultimately led her to sign the slave contract relinquishing her entire being and its fate to me.

Of course she could not have imagined just how painful his process could have been, or common sense would have led her to tear up the contract instantly.

I had forced this submissive streak out of her, pulling and twisting it to my own ends, until it had taken over every other part of her consciousness, and she had no other choice but to obey.

However, every new experience I imposed upon her brought a fresh challenge and it was interesting to see her mental torment as she struggled against everything she had ever been taught was decent, in an attempt to both obey her Master and avoid the pain of the whip.

The first time I had commanded her to stimulate me orally had been like that. At twenty- six years old, she had led an unadventurous sex-life to say the least, and had never pleasured a man in that way. She had always found the thought nauseating, presume ably a lesson gleaned from her religious, pious and eventually estranged mother.

It seemed almost comical that she had knelt naked before me, every part of her body having been explored; her buttocks striped by the lash and still, have had qualms about taking me in her mouth.

It was a task she looked forward to now, undertaking her duty with youthful eagerness, lapping frantically at my engorged member, drinking down the warm salty fluid with the satisfaction of a cat licking cream from its owners fingers.

Despite the undoubtedly extreme existence she led, I felt that she was becoming complacent. Enduring her 'maintenance whippings' without complaint, and completing her tasks around the house without a word.

It was time to begin the next phase of her training.

I chained her to the door handle of the large cast-iron cooker in the kitchen, supplying her with a bowl of soapy water, a large ball of wire wool and a towel, and instructed her to bring it to a pristine shine.

way towards my office, leaving her diligently scrubbing at the black, burnt on grease.

Ten minutes later I had telephoned several of my closest friend's inviting them round for supper that evening.

Later that evening, as debbi settled down her cell for the night, alone with her thoughts. She was surprised to see me returning down the cellar steps, carrying a bundle of clothes. As usual, she stood to attention, wondering wildly what it was that had caused me to break the routine she had become so used to.

I opened the cell door and threw the clothes at her feet. She looked with some surprise at the faded tight jeans and thin white t-shirt she had been wearing when she arrived. "Put them on!" I barked, stirring her from her confusion.

She began to slide the jeans up her legs, the stiff denim feeling unnatural against skin, which had become accustomed to being unclothed.

Carefully tucking the t-shirt into the waistband she buttoned the flies, standing with her arms by her sides, waiting with trepidation for her next order.

I stood back and stared. It seemed strange to see her dressed, her plump breasts and nipples straining against the thin material, plainly visible through the sheer white cloth.

"Tonight I will require you to wait upon my guests," I informed her, to her shock. Other than Chris, I was the only human being she had had contact with during her stay. "You will of course obey my every command without question" she nodded dutifully, although it had been a statement, not a question

"Any disobedience or attempt to embarrass me in front of my guests will be punished with the utmost severity" I continued, watching her visibly shudder.

" Neither do I want my friends to guess that you are my slave, I want to surprise them" "Yes Master"

"That would probably give the game away", I returned, sarcastically

"Yes M." she intoned, stopping in time.

I motioned to her to go upstairs and very nervously she made her way to the living room.

"Hi, Debbi," came the chorus as she exited the door under the stairs and walked self- consciously into the room.

She stopped in her tracks, allowing her eyes to raise fro their usual subservient position for long enough to take in her surroundings.

Lounging around the room, in various positions were the guests,

Chris, the woman who had so mercilessly pierced her was the first person she spotted, smiling at her from the sofa. Sat next to her, one hand on her knee was her short-term boyfriend, again one of my friends. I couldn't see the relationship lasting. Chris's relationships never did. It wouldn't be long before Graham discovered her true, sadistic character. As with the others, it was likely to be to his cost.

Next to them was Andy, and despite being and old and trusted friend I hadn't yet got round to telling him about Debbi.

Lastly, squeezed together on the same chair were Shona and Mike. Although not 'together' they were very good friends, and both professed to be mildly interested in 'the scene'. I had told them about Debbi, and they viewed her with fascinated interest. Dragging his eyes way from her breast Andy ventured,

"I understand you're working for Tim now"

"Y.Yes" Debbi stammered uncertainly

"What were you doing in the cellar?"

I interrupted quickly

"She's cleaning down there," I said smoothly " I'm trying to get this house in some sort of order at last"

"Is that what you do then?" persisted Andy, suspiciously eying her immaculate attire" you're a cleaner?"

"Y... yes " intoned Debbi, catching on.

"She's being modest", I interrupted again "she works for me in all sorts of capacities"

"Ill bet she does!" joked Andy, causing the rest of the assembled company to chuckle. There was an element of truth in what I was saying.

I addressed my guests; "Tonight she will be waiting on us while we eat. Whatever you need, just give her the nod and she'll get you whatever you need"

"Really!" commented Andy, eyebrow raised. More sniggers from those guests who knew her role in the household.

As my party moved to the dining room, taking their places and chatting easily, I guided Debbi into the kitchen.

"Everything you need is laid out for you, it should be self explanatory"

The job she had left prior to entering my house was that of a waitress at a residential care home, so I had no real worries regarding her ability to serve the food.

I left to join my guests. Before too long Debbi emerged carrying two plates filled with spaghetti bolognaise I had knocked up that afternoon.

Back and forth she went, until every member of out party was faced with a plate of food. "Are you not eating?" queried Andy, as she leant around him with the wine bottle, her unfettered breasts accidentally rubbing against his arm.

"I.I've already eaten" she uttered. I relaxed. She was understandably tense, but Andy seemed to be buying the story.

For the next hour she busied herself at the table, pouring glass after glass of red wine, until the faces of my friends were quite flushed with an alcoholic glow. As Debbie retreated to the kitchen to wash the dirty plates their inhibitions began to disappear.

"So where did you find this one?" smiled shona, a cheeky glint in her eye. She was only too aware of my dominant streak.

"I've known her for years, " I answered truthfully "Its only just recently that I've been able to offer her a job

"Very pretty!" risked Graham, instantly receiving a sharp slap across the thigh from Chris "Really?" I asked with mock nonchalance "I hadn't noticed"

"You can't tell me that you didn't notice her." Andy cupped his hands in front of his chest, the international sign for breasts.

"I must admit, she's quite attractive, "I conceded.

"And just what is it that she does?" Andy enquired. I got the impression that she'd had quite an impact on him. "Anything I want" I informed innocently

"Anything?" repeated Andy, laughingly

"Yes. " I answered in a matter of fact voice.

"That's got to be worth a bet," he observed, looking round the room for approval. Playing the game, the rest of the guests nodded encouragingly.

"How much?" I countered to Andy's surprise

"You're serious?"

"Yes, why not?"

"What, I can ask her to do anything?"

"Yes"

"Anything at all?"

"Yes." I smiled at him as he struggled to spot the catch. He made a swift decision. "A tenner then"

"OK" I shrugged

"Easy money" gloated Andy as I called Debbie from the kitchen.

She came through promptly, standing at the head of the polished table awaiting instruction.

"Debbie" started Andy; she looked at him briefly,

"Tim seems to think you'll do anything Ill ask. You wont be offended?" She shook her head.

"Take off your t-shirt" he commanded, slightly nervously, waiting for the indignant insult from Debbie. It never came.

Instead, her face drained of its colour and she began to tremble slightly as my plans started to become apparent.

The room had gone silent, Andy, puzzled at the way in which she had taken his request, the rest of the room waiting to see what would happen.

"I've, got a better idea," I began turning to my slave,

"Why don't you climb up on this table, and remove ALL your clothes?"

It was Andy's turn to go pale this time. He was normally a chivalrous man, opening doors, that sort of thing, but his testosterone prevented him from intervening on Debbi's behalf. He wanted nothing more than to see the body he had been sneakily glancing at all night in the flesh, and unbelievably, the chance seemed to be looming.

"How about it?" I addressed Debbi, coolly

With a furtive, desperate glance at me, she clumsily climbed on to the table, a perverse centrepiece, and her bare feet leaving footprints in the polished surface as she shuffled to the middle.

Six pairs of eyes looked up at her expectantly, silent, hardly daring to believe that she would comply. Andy in particular seemed to be literally holding his breath. I watched the tears prick her eyes, gazing hopefully at me, desperate for a reprieve. She was met with a cold stare as I, like the rest of the crowd, waited for the show to begin.

She sighed, resigning herself to her task, and closing her eyes in an attempt to pretend that she was alone she tentatively began to lift her t-shirt over her head.

Instantly, freed from the restraining material, they fell forward, full and round, her pink rosy nipples pert and slightly erect with embarrassment.

There was a sharp intake of breath from around the table as she let the garment fall to the polished wood, and an audible gasp from Andy.

It was not unusual fir women to become partially naked at my parties, but it was usually under the influence of a great deal of alcohol, fleetingly temporary, and always but always done voluntarily.

Even those guests who were aware of Debbie's status were shocked at her level of apparent obedience, and they remained silent, expectantly waiting for the next move. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, my slaves' hands moved to the waist band of her jeans, gently unbuttoning the fly and with reluctant limbs, every instinct telling her that this was wrong, she began to pull her denims over her round smooth buttocks and across her thighs, painfully aware that while bending, she was offering Graham a close up view of her bottom and plump labia, and Andy the benefit of the sight of her swinging breast, inches from his face.