Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Its true, I've always had an interest in the world of domination. The thought that it could be possible to re-train someone to live entirely dependant on your instruction, without any capacity to use independent thought is one that I find fascinating. To own another human being's existence is surely an idea that has inspired some of the world's greatest dictators, as human life is more valuable than any other known commodity. Of course, along with anything else I've ever done in my life, it had to be done to the greatest extreme possible, or it just wasn't worth doing. All this said, I didn't ever make a conscious decision become a Master, it's just something that that curiosity and lust finally led me to. My ex-wife will vouch for my enthusiasm in this quarter. Whilst we were still together I converted our loft into a crude dungeon, and inspired by sites on the internet (an incredible inspiration), I built hoists, whips from old belts and sawn off broom handles, cages from shopping trolleys and various other devices of captivity for us to experiment with. In those early days, it was I who was the submissive, and my other half would enthusiastically strap me spread-eagled to the rafters, caning my bare behind thoroughly before descending through the loft hatch to watch television in the comfort of the lounge. The juxtaposition of me in such deprivation and her in such comfort gave us both an immense thrill, and although at first she would pop her head through the loft hatch with worried frequency, after a while she would leave me chained in the loft for hours at a time, relishing in my discomfort. On some occasions she would go out, leaving me wondering how long I was to be left in my uncomfortable bondage, shivering slightly from the cold. Sometimes she would tease me by saying that she was going to fetch her friends to see me in my humiliating position, and on more than one occasion threatened to bring a man back to the house and force me to listen to their wild love making in the room below. These comments excited me immensely, although at this stage I'm not sure how the reality of this would have affected our relationship outside of the loft. These were all just idle threats however, and all-important parts of the fantasy. Eventually these sessions began to happen with less frequency, as we grew apart. I began to realize that the only reason I had accepted the lifestyle we had begun to lead was for research purposes. I wanted to know the levels of pain produced by whips, crops and the like. I wanted to know how it felt to be left in a completely dark, cold cell for hours perhaps days on end. I needed to know how tight bonds or cuffs needed to be to prevent escape. And most importantly, the effect that this treatment could potentially have on the mind of the hapless subject. I didn't know whether or not I would ever get to use the information I was gleaning from the experience, but I felt it was important to know anyhow. As I think I said, when I do something I take it to its highest level, and the usual practice of lashing your other half to the bedstead with a dressing gown cord and slapping them with a rolled up woman's weekly just wasn't enough to satisfying my thirst for knowledge. Essentially, I wanted to know if I could make the slave/master lifestyle a REALITY. I mean, I know that a lot of people claim to have 'lifestyle' relationships, but if you untie your wife at six o clock so that you can both pop over to Tesco's to do the shopping it hardly seems fair to claim that you are living the fantasy to its fullest potential. In most circumstances, it would seem that the shopping trip to Tesco's is the Reality of their existence, while the light bondage sessions in the bedroom when the kids are asleep is the fantasy. I wanted to see if it was possible to turn this round, and see if it was possible to, get a female subject to accept the bondage as the reality. I continued to use our loft space, but by now I had converted it into an office to enable me to work from home. In between typing invoices, I began twisting the thread of my experience into a novel and before long I found with great surprise that I had written 70,000 words. I still have a hard copy of 'The Training of Lorraine', and although I never made any attempt to publish it, it allowed me to explore the realms of my fantasies (for that that's they were at that stage) on paper. That was that for several years. I continued to work hard, separated from my wife, and bought my own house on the outskirts of town, a detached property that was in desperate need of maintenance. I paid a pittance for it when you take into account that in addition to the two floors visible from the road, it also had an unusually large cellar that extended beyond the walls of the house and under the main road. What it was used for originally I can only guess at, but as you can imagine, my thoughts ran riot every time I went down there. It was during the renovation of my house that I rekindled an old friendship with Debbie, the sister of an ex-girlfriend of mine. Before we lost touch we had a habit of getting blind drunk together and flirting outrageously. We never took it any further than that, however, in fact I knew a couple of her exboyfriends quite well I far as I knew Debbie had perfectly normal sexual desires. She had mentioned sleeping with two men as one of her fantasies, but never anything more extraordinary than that. It took me by surprise then, when one day at my house, in my newly refurbished living room, she spotted a paperback novel with female domination as its theme and asked to borrow it. A little surprised, I asked if she was into that sort of thing. She explained that although she had never experienced any bondage first hand, it was something that excited her and she wanted to know more. She was a quick learner and an even faster reader, and before long she had exhausted my supply of literature, consuming books at the rate of one per day. Safe in the knowledge that she was a fellow enthusiast, I began to tell her of my own experiences, and the hope that one-day I might find somebody willing to let me carry out my plans, and so create the perfect slave. As I finished explaining I could see that I had shocked her somewhat, and she left in more of a hurry than usually, claiming that she had a headache. I resigned myself to the fact that I had obviously said too much, and would apologize to her the next time we met. We had both had quite a lot to drink, and it wouldn't be a problem for me to blame the drink for my ramblings. Several days later, she turned up at my door. Although it was quite late, I ushered her into the living room and poured her a glass of wine before taking seat opposite her. I was about to apologize for my eccentric comments a few nights previous, when it became apparent that she also was waiting to get something off her chest. I kept quiet, waiting for her to begin. She explained that she had indeed been shocked by the turn of our conversation on that night, but not entirely put off. Although she had previously assumed that the literature in my bookcase was there for light reading only, my comments had made her realize the depth of my interest in this field. She began to ask questions, and as I answered as honestly as I felt I could, the atmosphere between us became easier again. The books she had borrowed had only served to whet her appetite, she explained, and she was keen to further her knowledge of the subject. I switched my P.C. on, and logging on to a few of my favorite sites I pointed out items and articles of interest. Occasionally she would stop me with a light touch on my arm as she read a particular passage or strained over my shoulder to see a thumbnail picture. Asking for a pencil and paper, she wrote down a few of the site addresses, and tucked it in her pocket to use at home. By now we had finished an entire bottle of white wine, and it was past midnight. Rising from our positions at the computer desk I began to show her out, pleased that not had she not been angry with me, or thought me strange when I had commented on my desire to train a slave. Her next question threw me completely. As I was about to close the door, she turned and hesitantly asked if I had ever wanted to enslave her. Without waiting for my reply she hurried off into the night, her query hanging in the air like a giant exclamation mark. Slightly flummoxed I prepared my self for bed, thinking about what she had said. I felt that the issue needed further discussion, at the very least, so the following day I arranged to meet her again, this time for a meal in our local restaurant. I knew that the tables were positioned in such a way as to allow us to talk with relative privacy. Rushing in, slightly late and out of breath, Debbie came through the doors, scanning the tables for my familiar face. She was obviously quite excited about the content of our forthcoming conversation, and she waste no time in getting to the point. "Have you thought about it then?" she exclaimed, barely giving me time to finish pouring her wine. I nodded, but said nothing, collecting my thoughts as I took my first long sip. "I'm not sure you realize what this entails", I began She raised her eyebrows encouraging me to continue "I'm talking about completely changing your lifestyle, sacrificing everything you've learned since you were old enough to listen" "I'm not completely naive", she said, "I realize that I must make sacrifices" "Not sacrifices" I corrected "THE sacrifice, you are to give up your whole self to me, everything, unconditionally." Silence fell between us as the waiter arrived to take our order. "I realize how serious this is!" she hissed, the moment he was out of earshot. "And I've given it a lot of thought" She paused and took a slug of the wine. "I live in tiny flat, I have few friends, I haven't spoken to my mother for over two years, and the boyfriends I have had have all failed to satisfy me in every respect." She began, speaking carefully "I hate my boss and I hate my job, and I've handed in my notice" she raised her hand as I tried to interrupt "I would have left anyway, it wasn't entirely down to you. I just feel that I want a change." "Yes," I replied, "but this is the sort of change that you could live to regret very quickly!" A couple passed us, on their way to the door and she paused, staring intently at me as she waited to resume her conversation. Leaning over the table, oblivious to the view I was getting of her cleavage (for I had begun to take notice of her attributes recently), she spoke again; with a yet more eager note to her voice, "Tell me what I have do!" I sat back in my chair, sighing. It was obvious that she was determined to see this through, and while the thought of finally realizing my dream was exciting me beyond belief, I felt obliged to continue warning her. "You realize that once I start the program I would not expect to stop under any circumstances." I offered, "No safe words, no leniency, no pity, no escape" I continued, sure that I must be putting her off. She looked at me and nodded with a half smile on her face. "When I was a little, girl, I spent almost an hour at the top of the diving board at our local pool. I never gathered enough courage to jump, and so never experienced the marvelous rush of adrenalin that my friend's had achieved. If only somebody had pushed me." We paused as the waiter laid out our starters. "I've read all the books, and frankly the thought of being owned by a man, kept only for his sexual amusement and unconditionally serving him sets me tingling all over. I don't know why, I just know that the thought of being your, or anyone else's slave excites me. Just tell me what it would entail, give me some idea of what I'm letting myself in for, and I go away and think about it." She said, reasonably. "Well." I began, trying to contain my mounting excitement, "It would involve eradicating every principle and moral you have been conditioned to accept since you were born and retraining you to accept a whole new set of ideals, most of them, related to or about sex, and revolving around me, your master. You would in effect be a completely different person, re-designed as an object of sexual gratification, a being totally and utterly committed to pleasing your master in every respect." I took another mouthful of wine and gave her an example, "For instance, every time somebody passes this table you stop talking" "Of course, I don't want them to hear what we're saying" she replied, blushing slightly . "As my re-programmed slave, " I explained, "I would expect you to obey me if I demanded that you undress immediately and offer yourself orally to the waiter" I scrutinized her face to judge the effect my comment had had. Her face took on an even deeper shade of red. "But surely that would make me a prostitute, and you a pimp" she queried "Its not about the actual act, I could be asking you to do anything" I said "Its about the fact that you are prepared to obey any of my requests unconditionally, even if that means completely debasing and humiliating yourself in public. You Would be trained you to carry out my every wish unthinkingly." She looked startled and I realized that she probably hadn't thought of a third party ever being involved in my plan. "So..." she began, looking thoughtful "I would offer myself to the waiter purely because you wished it, with no regard to my own feelings on the matter?" "You are not entitled to an opinion on the matter one way or the other, your only thought is to obey" "And if I refuse to carry out any particular order?" "As a fully trained slave, you would not have the capacity to refuse, but as a trainee you would be chastised most severely for disobedience of any kind" she raised her eyebrows "And what form would this chastisement take?" "That would all depend on the seriousness of the transgression. Publicly disobeying your master would merit pretty severe retribution, probably with a whip or crop. As with an animal, you would learn to obey by association. The subconscious association between, disobedience and extreme pain would force you to obey my commands without hesitating." As I spoke I realized that I was becoming hard under the table at the thought her becoming my slave. I fought to contain myself and continued. "I know that the suggestion of that probably excites you, it must, or you wouldn't have continued to read the books, but that's all it is at the moment, a suggestion. The reality of being lashed naked to a whipping post whilst I punish you may seem less attractive in reality! What's more, our relationship as friends would be changed permanently, our relationship would become irrevocably different." Silence fell between us once more as we concentrated on our food, although I stole a few sneaky glances at her face, trying to judge by her expression what she was thinking. "What if I said I was prepared to submit myself to you for a given period of time, say, a year? And was prepared to sign a contract to that effect?" I nodded. "I would need at least a year to try out my program," I said, "If it hadn't transformed you after that, it probably never would." Again she paused to think. "Look" I said, resigned to the fact that she was determined to see this through, "If your really that sure, Ill e-mail you the name of a BDSM site that has a printable slave contract connected to it. Its quite detailed and lengthy, and it would need amending slightly for our purposes but it would give you something to think about. How much notice do you have to work for your boss?" "Two weeks, why?" "That gives you two weeks to think about it and make any necessary arrangements, in the meantime Ill make some preparations at home for your 'stay'" I smiled and she smiled back. Both of us amused by the word 'stay' as if she was booking into a hotel for the weekend. "If you decide to call it off just let me know" I offered, "Its not to late to forget the whole thing and we need never bring the subject up again." I She nodded silently, hanging on my every word, "Of course the moment that contract is in my possession, nothing you say or do could change the course of events" I knew from the expression on her face that she was treating this with the seriousness it deserved. I also knew, however, that in her wildest dreams she could not possibly imagine the extent of the suffering that awaited her on the path to servitude So that was that. The matter was all but settled. As I suspected she might, she rang me the following week to say that she had decided to accept and would I please e-mail her the amended slave contract for her to sign ASAP. At last, my dream was becoming reality. I immediately dispatched the contract, and set to work converting my cellar into Debbie's new home, at least for the next twelve months. As I mentioned, it was an unusually large cellar, and it looked yet larger when I had finished clearing it out. It wasn't just one large room either; its width was partially divided by thick stone walls, presumably put in place to hold the up the floor above. These wall lent themselves perfectly to making cells and using my home welder and some steel rod I blocked off the ends of two of these cavities with home made prison doors, creating two six foot square cages, barred at each end. I had also bought some large steel rings, and I cemented these at intervals around the walls and floor of both the cells and the large area in front of them. I also bolted several to the concrete beams that ran at regular intervals across the high ceiling of the basement. It didn't take me long to rig up some makeshift lighting and as a final touch I wired up a surveillance camera at one end. This would allow me to see what was happening in the cellar from any television in the house. I contemplated installing heating of some description, as although it was reasonably dry, it was very cold, but dismissed the idea. The cold wouldn't do her any harm, I grinned to myself, and it would certainly encourage her nipples to participate! I tapped into the cold water supply running across the ceiling and attached a length of flexible pipe and a showerhead. This would allow me to hose Down both the floor of the cellar and my slave in order to keep her clean should she be confined to the cell for any length of time. Turning it on by the tap I had installed I found it to be surprisingly powerful, and I was forced to hold the hose with both hands in order to stop it slipping from my grasp. The soak-away in the corner of the room seemed capable of draining the water, although it began to back up after a few minutes My final check was to plug in my portable stereo in the cellar and crank the volume up till the music began to hurt my ears. Leaving it running, I made my way back up the stairs to my living room and out of the house. Perfect. In my living room I was just able to discern the sound of the music faintly through the thick floor, but outside it was completely inaudible. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, I rang Debbie with her instructions. The two-week period was over the following night, and I instructed her to come to my house in the early evening, bringing nothing other than the clothes she was wearing. I also told her to ensure that all necessary arrangements had been made; as this was the last night she would be able to enjoy her freedom. I also asked her to ensure that she had removed all body hair. She reassured me that such arrangements had been, made, and her friends and relatives had all been told that she was taking a year off to go traveling. As I replaced the phone on its receiver I knew I would have difficulty in sleeping that night. And so the moment arrived. With bated breath I walked the short distance to the front door and opened it to find a meek looking Debbie on my front step. As promised she wasn't carrying any luggage, and was dressed simply in tight jeans and t-shirt, the t-shirt tucked firmly into the waistband, outlining her pert breast through the flimsy material. I caught my breath as I realized how soon I would be seeing her young body in the flesh for the first time. Nervously she entered my house and stood in the center of the floor, tentatively offering the completed contract for my perusal. I could see she had probably agonized over his moment for some considerable time. She almost looked relieved to be handing over the contract, having finally made a definite decision "You do realize what you are doing" I said, softly "If you want to back out, there's still time" "I understand", she replied "And I'm not completely sure what I'm letting myself in for, I can't be, I've never tried this before, I just know I'd regret not doing it for the rest of my life." I nodded, and leaving her stood in the center of the floor I took a seat by the fire. "We'd better establish a few preliminary ground rules, " I said trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "From this moment, you may only address me as Sir or Master." She nodded, surprised at the new note of command in my voice and the expectant look on my face hurriedly added "Yes, sir" The words sounded strange, almost comical, but the seriousness of the situation prevented either of us from smiling. "You must lower you eyes when in my presence" "Yes Sir" "You must obey my ever instruction unquestionably" "Yes sir" I stared at her for a moment and she lowered her gaze to the floor, her hands hanging limp by her sides. "Undress!" I barked suddenly. She looked up momentarily, a sudden look of misgiving in her eyes, but lowered them again as she saw the black look on my face "Here? Now?" she inquired timidly. I sighed "Have we not just covered this?" I said, a note of irritation creeping into my voice. "You are to obey my every command! As my slave you are certainly not allowed the privilege of privacy or modesty!" I could see it was difficult for her. I had never seen her completely naked, and I suppose there were only a handful of men who had had that pleasure. I'm sure she had never taken her clothes off for a man without a large amount of Dutch courage in her at any rate. This was the first and most difficult step, and we both knew it. Blushing a deep shade of red, she began to hesitantly remove her t-shirt, slipping it selfconsciously from her arms revealing her white lace bra. She fiddled with the button fly of her jeans, stalling for time, before reluctantly pulling them down to her ankles and stepping out of both her slip-on shoes and crumpled denims at the same time. She stood up in her white lace underwear, cradling her chest in her arms, her face almost purple with embarrassment and shame. "It would seem we have a small problem in obeying instruction," I uttered as I walked to wards her, a pair of steel cuffs swinging from one hand. She looked puzzled "I expect you to obey my instructions to the letter" I began to fetter her hands in front of her body, closing the hasp of the cuffs with an ominous click "I asked you to undress, completely!" "I'm sorry, it's just." Her voice tailed off as she realized she was again speaking out of turn. I began escorting her to the cellar steps, she bowed her head slightly to enter the small entrance that lay under the stairs and she began the descent into her new home. As I switched the light on she gasped audibly. I had surpassed my self in the construction of her prison, ensuring that no item had been overlooked. It was Spartan in the extreme, with only steel hoops and a selection of whips to break up the gray concrete of the walls. I had carried a small, solidly built wooden table down there as an after thought. The fact that two of its legs had been sawn off short, forcing the thick table top to lay at an angle, and the leather straps adorning its sides gave its function away immediately. The only source of warmth in the dungeon, for that is effectively what it had become, was the heat that seeped down from the rest of the house, and as heat rises, this was precious little indeed. I could fell the goose bumps on her upper arm as I guided her to the center of the floor to stand reluctantly below one of the rings I had cemented into the ceiling. She shivered slightly under my firm grip, partially through anticipation, partially due to the temperature. I wondered how long it would take her to become accustomed to the cold. Selecting a large padlock from the wall, I linked it through the connecting chain of her cuffs and then through the hoop in the ceiling, grunting slightly as I pulled her arms away from their protective position across her chest and over her head, forcing her to stand on the balls of her feet to prevent the steel digging into the delicate flesh around her wrists. I then pushed her legs apart, hearing her wince as her wrist took yet more of her weight, and secured a three foot iron bar between her outspread legs. Clicking the ankle cuffs home, I stood up to address my new slave. "You were told to strip, and as well as questioning me, you had the audacity to only partially remove your clothes" Her eyes opened wide in surprise and fear. She had never been put in such a vulnerable position or spoke to in such an authoritative or abrupt manner. "As part of your initiation into slavery, I had every intention of beating you most severely anyway as a warning against future potential transgression but you have given me an excellent excuse." I was even surprising myself by the way I had automatically fallen into the role of her master. She trembled slightly as I ran my palm around the contours of her shapely behind, still encased in clinging lace material. Running my hand yet further round, relishing in the warmth of her smooth skin, and the fact that she was physically unable to stop my intrusive exploration, I smiled as I felt the warmth of her sex through the slightly damp gusset, as I realized that she was becoming turned on by her position of forced vulnerability. She squirmed in embarrassment to try and avoid the touch of my hand, "Tut, tut" I clucked, it seems you are intent upon angering me." I leisurely walked to my selection of whips and pondered for a while, before picking a particularly vicious looking instrument made with long strips of thick leather hide. As I looked over, she opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, unsure of what she could possibly say that might allow her to escape the inevitable pain I was about to inflict. Walking behind her, with the whip tucked under my arm, I released the sharp blade from my penknife and slid it carefully through the shoulder straps of her bra. Unclipping the clasp, I allowed the lacy material to slide gracefully to the floor, stark against the harsh gray concrete floor. I repeated the operation across the hips of her panties, and walked back round to the front of my slave to survey my property. She was even prettier naked than I could have imagined. Her head was bowed as instructed, and she panted slightly with the exertion of keeping the weight off her wrists, her light brown hair falling in waves across her pert firm exposed breasts. The cold had puckered her small pink nipples into hard beads, and as I watched they rose and fell with her labored breathing. Her tanned flat smooth midriff splayed out to wide sensuous hips, at the center of which lay the prize. The epicenter of her sexuality, and the part of her body that she had fiercely protected, until now. She had shaved thoroughly prior to her arrival, and her partially spread limbs revealed the lips of her sex, glistening slightly with wet expectancy. She squirmed slightly under my gaze, mortified at her blatant arousal under these conditions To her horror, I pushed the thin, blunt end of the whip handle between her lips, parting them yet further, revealing her small, protruding clitoris, red and engorged, begging for further stimulation. Having inspected my slave, and finding everything as I had hoped, I dragged my focus back to the matter in hand, her punishment for earlier transgressions. "Have you ever been hit with one of these?" I asked, allowing the stiff leather thongs to fall across her quivering buttocks." She shook her head "Shame, it may have given you an idea of what to expect. Still, no matter, you'll soon learn. It was then that I was pleased I had checked the amount of sound that filtered up from my cellar, for as I delivered the first stroke; she let out a scream of such intensity that it hurt my ears "Please no!!!, I didn't realize!!! Not again!!!." "Have some dignity!" I reproached as I delivered another sting blow, harder this time. This time she wasn't able to scream, as she had used all her breath on the first one. Instead she opened her mouth noiselessly, her eyes wide with pain at the shock of the onslaught. Sensing my advantage I let another loose, aiming more carefully, directing the fronds to the underside of her buttocks, where they cruelly wrapped around her inner thigh, a few of the longer ones actually coming into contact with her sensitive labia. She had begun to groan, the pain in her wrist forgotten she slumped forward in her bonds "Stop... I bast." I cut her short with a sting blow, this time tracing a line of fire directly across the center of her buttocks. The chains rattled as she desperately tried to break free. "Do you think that perhaps now you will learn to obey me?" I inquired, gently feeling the raised welt I had just created across her backside. "Let me down.. It's too painful. I don't want.!" she gasped between breaths Again I cut her off mid sentence "Wrong Answer!" Now I began to lay into her tortured buttocks in earnest, ignoring her screams and the rivulets of tears that were now coursing freely down her cheeks. To add variety, I directed a couple of particularly punishing blows to her breasts, the second strike landing squarely across her right nipple. Upon this stroke her head jerked back and her eyes opened wide. If the pain of being whipped across the buttocks had been unimaginably painful, this was ten times worse. For a few seconds she actually stopped breathing all together, struggling violently against her cuffs all the time, desperate to apply her soothing touch to the angry read weal's that I had just created across her milky breasts and buttocks. Sensing that I had made my point, I asked again "Are you prepared to obey me now?" At that moment she looked me directly in he eye, all her emotions tangled, tears wetting her cheeks and chest, fighting for breath. still suffering under the waves of pain emanating from her bruised flesh. She had no option. She nodded reluctantly, willing to undergo any humiliation I deigned necessary, if it meant avoiding another earth shattering stroke from the cruel whip. "Pardon, slave?" I questioned, wanting to hear her say it "Yes sir," she sobbed "Do you feel you have learned a lesson from your punishment?" "Yes sir" Cautiously, I unchained her hands from the ceiling, waiting for her to strike like trapped animal. I needn't have worried, her hands hung limply by her sides, longing to massage life back into her chaffed wrists, but frightened of incurring further punishment for doing so. I pushed the handle of he whip under her chin and lifted her face to meet my gaze . "Every time you disobey me I will beat you like that. I will beat you with the utmost severity for the slightest indiscretion is that understood?" "Yes Sir" Despite all my warnings, she had not anticipated the severity of her experience and the pain of the lash had been all too real. I detected that there was a new note of respect in her voice. "Now you may thank me for your lesson" I commanded," Would you like that? "Yes sir" more enthusiastically now, her previous feelings of shame lost in her eagerness to please me in any way possible and prevent a repeat of the incredible pain she had just endured. Pushing her head back down with the crop, and applying light pressure to her shoulder, she sank to her knees on the cold stone floor, quickly guessing the form that her thanks would take. With shaking hands she unzipped my fly, tentatively pulling my semierect member from my trousers. With an almost imperceptible pause, during which a thousand thoughts must have flown through her mind she reluctantly Opened her mouth and gently lowered her lips around my shaft, gently moving her head back and forth. I was already in a state of considerable arousal and within the space of a few minutes my balls began to spasm and I felt the blessed relief of my seed emptying into her mouth. With the facial expression of someone who has just bitten into a lemon, she withdrew from my satiated cock and wiped her hand across her semen-covered lips, forcing herself to swallow as she did so. It was then that remembered. She had told me during one drunken evening that she had NEVER given oral sex, and had no intentions of ever doing so as she found the thought of taking a mans member in her mouth repulsive in the extreme. I smiled at the recollections she knelt quivering at my feet awaiting instruction, a stray globule of semen glistening on her chin as she replaced my now flaccid member back in my trousers. "Thank you Master" she whispered, almost inaudibly. She was beginning to learn. I un-cuffed her ankles and gently lifted her to her feet. Escorting her to the open door of her cell I led her inside. "Perhaps we will do better tomorrow" I said, not unkindly, and gently stroked her cheek with the back of my hand. The sudden show of affection, contrasting with the violence of the previous whipping sent her into fits of sobs yet again. "There, there" I comforted. "I told you what to expect, didn't I?" She nodded dumbly, her eyes downcast. Locking the door to her tiny cell securely I made my way up to my living room, before pouring myself a large congratulatory brandy and flopping on my sofa to watch some TV. Then I remembered my camera. Flicking to the appropriate channel, the black and white image of the prison came into view. Debbie lay on the cold unyielding floor of her cage in the foetal position, her legs tucked up against her chest to try and conserve what little warmth she could. Between the tops of the backs of her thighs I could just make out her protruding sex, and even as I watched, her hands stole between her legs, cupping her sex, and began to gently massage her swollen, tender lips. I smiled, transfixed. I had read that a severe whipping would invariably lead to intense, undeniable arousal as the pain of the weals began to fade and give way to a warm glow, and sipping my cognac from the warmth of my sofa, I was seeing the proof. I pressed the red record button on my VCR. After only a few minutes, her hips began to buck, scraping her thigh against the rough concrete and her legs opened despite the chill to allow her hand better access. It was the only stimulus she needed, and as her finger slid effortlessly into her swollen vagina, her face contorted, her pelvis spasmed as she orgasmed. Not the pleasant, warm cozy orgasms she had in the bath at home, as she gently soaped herself, but a powerful, gut wrenching surge of pleasure that lifted her lower body off the floor involuntarily and caused her to let out a long low guttural moan. For almost two minutes she writhed in this position, the glowing pain of the fresh stripes across her body contrasting with her venerable caged position and the urgent pulsing of her sex. Finally the last wave of pleasure subsided and she returned to her previous position, curling up into a tight ball, oblivious to the fact that her entire performance was being observed and recorded upstairs. I smiled, despite the interesting display; tomorrow she would have to learn that she was only permitted to orgasm under supervision. I made my way up to my bed, lying warm and comfortable under the thick luxurious duvet, contemplating the next part of my curriculum.