Chapter 3

My plaything is kneeling as I enter the dungeon. With no clock to guide her, she has done well, assuming the required position only minutes before. This afternoon should be interesting, stimulating even, for both of us.

Walking over to the cell, I make the appropriate signal, the lock is operated and I push the cell door open. Stopping directly in front of my plaything. "Head bowed." I command, as I fit the wide padded training collar around her neck, the interlocking ends clicking as they engage. Attaching the leash to the front ring on the collar, I turn, "Heel." I walk out into the dungeon, my plaything following obediently.

On the far side of the dungeon there are two columns, spaced perfectly to allow my plaything to be spread-eagled between them, her feet wide apart and flat on the floor. Once secured in place, a silk blindfold completes the preparations. As instructed, '3' entered silently, carrying with her a bowl of warm scented oil.

Starting at my playthings neck, 3 began to apply the oil with practised fingers, soothing and massaging, taking care to ease every muscle, inch by inch, every touch a sensual delight. The look of confusion on my playthings face was priceless, whatever she had imagined, even dreaded was going to happen once she was secured, spread-eagled and open, this was not it.

It took 3 over half an hour to work her way down to the girl's hips. By then my plaything was luxuriating in the waves of sensual arousal and relaxation that 3's skilled fingers and hands evoked. Some ten minutes more and those practised fingers slipped between the girl's legs, provoking a soft sigh and a slow sinuous shiver that rippled throughout her wide stretched body.

Taking up a soft kid-skin flogger, I started to tease my plaything, letting the multiple tails caress her upper body as I trailed them gently up and down, side to side. The blindfold had done it's work, heightening her remaining senses, creating surprise and delicious anticipation of the unknown.

Only when my plaything had become accustomed to the feel of the flogger did I begin to use it as it was intended to be used. Twirling it around and around, gradually moving it closer and closer, until the very tips made contact, for now the speed was slow, the touches hardly enough to smear the oil that glistened upon every inch of her skin. The art is in consistency, in maintaining exactly the same speed and force, whilst moving to allow every pore to be systematically sensitised. Meanwhile 3 had worked her way right down to my playthings feet, and was now on the return, destined to concentrate her considerable skills upon my playthings loins.

That my plaything would cum, there was no doubt, indeed her body even now teetered on the very edge of orgasm. Before we were finished, her body would experience sensations she had not imagined possible, yet they were of no consequence, the aim was not to sate her growing passion, but simply to begin the education of her mind and body to accept new sensations, both of pleasure and of pain, until both were welcomed, each enhancing the other in erotic synchronicity.

As 3's fingers probed and opened my plaything's cunt and ass, so the tempo of my flogging changed. Now I introduced the second flogger, a twin to the first, both now describing interlocking arcs as they fell with more, yet still gentle force, upon the girl's pert and perfectly rounded breasts.

There are those who wield a flogger like a farm-hand threshing corn, crude and effective upon a cereal, utterly pointless upon such a sensuous beauty as my plaything. With skill and long hours of practise, the tails describe a constantly changing series of seemingly random arcs, tracing patterns upon the skin that cover every inch, from every angle. The effect is both uniform and inevitable, slowly turning the now highly sensitised skin a deep shade of pink, progressing slowly, deepening in colour until eventually a deep cherry red is achieved. At that point each gentle glancing stroke burns like liquid fire. Even the feel of soft warm breath upon the skin will generate a scream.

The generally accepted principles of safety concerning the use of floggers and other striking implements limits the areas of their use to those well covered in fat or muscle. Certain areas are considered highly likely to inflict serious injury, such as the kidneys, joints and those bones barely covered in any protective layers, such as the hip and shin bones. I conformed to none of these, the lightness of touch, the certainty of force, allowed all to be ignored, my plaything endured my floggers kiss from wrists to ankles, save only for her head and neck. Patience and stamina allowed my floggers to twirl and spin around the girl, whilst 3 dipped and dodged, her hands, mouth and tongue, even her teeth, never letting up, coaxing my plaything over the edge, time and time again. Until at last she could take no more and her mind dissolved into unconsciousness. Her body hanging limp and utterly spent...

Gore supported her as 3 released her bonds, then whilst 3 tidied up and put everything away, Gore cradled my plaything in his arms and carried her back to the cell. I doubted she would awake until morning...

I expect the worst when she hooks a leash to the collar around my neck and tugs me along into another part of the dungeon. I look at the various contraptions with fear and a wee little bit of awe. Most of them don't make too much sense, except for a bench that looks very much like a sadist's version of a gynecological chair. It looks exactly like something I don't want to experience.

But I won't, at least not right now. She leds me to the back of the room and commands me to spread my legs wide and raise my arms so she can tie me spreadeagled between two pillars and I hesitate for a second. It can't be good, can it? I mean, she has said I won't get harmed, but I will be hurt. I don't want to be hurt anymore though.

A blindfold comes next. I always liked to make love blindfolded, the heightened awareness of sound, smell, taste and touch, but now it only scares me. I listen intently, alert and anxious and hear soft steps of bare feet, then I felt the warmth of a body behind me. What followed next took me completely by surprise. I had expected something painful or at least very unpleasant, a whipping, another rough fucking, more clamps on my nipples, whatever comes to her devious mind. Instead two expert hands start to massage my body. The hands, probably those of a girl, judging from the soft breathing I hear behind me, feel wonderful as they massage the tension out of my shoulders. She takes her time and by the time she reaches my breasts I'm fully relaxed.

But that changes when I feel my nipples stiffen. That's wrong. I mustn't enjoy this. My body mustn't get pleasure out of this. After all, I'm still being held captive, a sex slave, a plaything, as the woman had said. Yet there's not much I can do about it. My mind is fighting the sensations, my body eagerly accepts them. I can imagine what's going to happen once the girl has reached my pussy. I've always been easily aroused. Then another thought crosses my mind: I've suffered a lot at the hand of this woman, why shouldn't I enjoy the pleasures now? It's no use fighting the sensations anyway and at least they're nice sensations for a change.

By the time the massaging hands have reached my hips I'm aching for them to touch my pussy. I know that my body moves in rhythm with the hands, longing for their touch, hungry and increasingly horny. I don't care. All I want is to feel more of the pleasurable feelings and forget the pain.

It's another small eternity though until the hands reach the folds between my legs. By then any thought of resisting is gone. My hips gyrate and I hear someone moaning. It takes me a moment to realize that it's me.

Then I feel something else on my body. I can't place it, I have never experienced something like it. At first it feels like hair or something similar being dragged across my body, but gradually the sensation changes and with time it becomes a bit painful. Not too much, there is just a little bit of a sting to it. The girl's hands are working and massaging their way down my legs now and after a while they wander up again, higher and higher, until they reach my pussy and part the lips.

A high pitched yelp escapes my lips as fingers slide inside me and the whip or whatever it is hits my breasts with more force. I'm caught between the pleasure of being touched by someone who knows exactly how to touch a woman and read her reactions and the pain inflicted by the whip, undoubtedly also handled by someone with skill.

From then on, it's pure bliss, and pure pain. The two mix into a melange of sensations that carries me from one orgasm to the other. I hear myself screaming and moaning but I couldn't tell whether they're screams and moans of pleasure or of pain. It's not important, anyway. It feels like I'm falling into an abyss of emotions and sensations, pleasure and pain I've never experienced before and after my initial struggles I let myself fall eagerly into that abyss.

I must have passed out, for when I come to I'm lying on the bed in the cell. It takes me a moment to remember where I am and why my body feels so ... different. Aching, true, but aching not because of having been tortured, more like it feels after a day of exercise or a night full of good sex.

I feel my blood rushing to my face as I replay the previous day's scene in my head. I had been reduced to a slobbering piece of flesh, twitching, moaning, screaming and, most of all, enjoying as I was falling into an ocean of pain and pleasure. Oh my. What a shame.

I get up and head for the toilet and a shower. Toweled dry and feeling refreshed I wonder what to do next, I don't remember any instructions, but I do rememer that the last two times she wanted me to wait on my knees. After a moment's hesitation I get down on my knees, making sure my head is bowed and my legs spread wide.

I can see where she's heading, at least I think I do as the words come back to me: "You are my plaything, I own your body, soon I will own your mind and soul."

The words begin to make sense.