Katherine Blackman is bored. She stumbles across the world of online BDSM and dives in enthusiastically without thinking of the consequences. In the same cyber world slave trainer Master M needs a new challenge. He decides to see if he can take a mature, worldly, intelligent woman with no BDSM experience and transform her into the perfect sex slave. He spots his ideal victim and begins his preparation.
M woke in the large comfortable bed with the scent of Kitty still imprinted in the sheets. He glanced at the video-link screen set up on the bedside table. Kitty wasn’t moving but he could hear a snuffling noise; she was either snoring or crying—he didn’t know which and he didn’t care. He looked around the large bedroom with its wall of fitted wardrobes and the picture window with a fantastic view over the opposite hillside. Apart from the thin ribbon of tarmac road running along the valley below, there was no sign of human life. M was more interested in the floor space however and he made a quick mental calculation; yes—if half the wardrobes were ripped out the cage would fit nicely in the gap. Maisie could distribute most of the clothes to charity shops; the underwear would be burnt on the fire whilst Kitty watched.
He would keep a couple of the elegant cocktail dresses and the more expensive jewelry he’d found. It would be fun to bring in a ‘girlfriend’ and have Kitty serve them, naked apart from her collar and chains, with another woman wearing her treasured possessions. A good mind fuck, M mused.
He jumped out bed, had a quick hot shower, swept all the cosmetics and creams from the bathroom cabinet into the bin and replaced them with his razor, toothbrush and cologne. He would need to bring some more clothes from the city but for now he dressed in the jeans and jumper from the day before. He went downstairs after having a quick look around the guest bedroom and main bathroom. Both were nicely decorated and furnished—Kitty hadn’t scrimped on the fittings and he was sure Maisie would appreciate the comforts when she stayed over. The first floor galleried landing ran the depth of the cottage and look down into the main living room. With so many places to suspend Kitty from, he would be spoilt for choice. The large open inglenook fireplace was at least two metres wide and M had the mental image of Kitty attached to a spit, turning slowly in front of the flames while candle wax randomly dripped on her from the mantelpiece. A nice, slow, relaxing torture…for him at least.
As he waited for the kettle to boil, M thought about this project and how he had arrived at this point. His mother had gallivanted out of family life for the last time (she said she needed ‘fun’ and could not cope with the responsibility of three children) when he was six years old. His father, already a much decorated soldier even then, had packed him off to a boarding school whilst his two elder sisters were looked after at home by an aunt. M loved the discipline and camaraderie of school life, so it was natural to follow his father’s footsteps into the military at the age of sixteen. The one thing lacking in his life was female influence, but when he did unlock the mysteries of sex, he also unleashed his latent sadism.
Whether it was an unconscious desire to punish his mother for leaving, or his sisters for being allowed to stay at home he didn’t know. All he did know that it was tremendously exciting to see a girl cry from physical pain or mental anguish, or preferably both. He’d witnessed sadistic beatings both at school and in the lower ranks of the army, and whilst he’d been very interested in the methods employed and the resulting injuries, he’d not actively participated. His unusual good looks, boyish charm and excellent manners meant he soon had a string of girlfriends but none could, or wanted to, cope with his violent lovemaking. Luckily the nomadic army life allowed him to use prostitutes to satisfy his lust and practice his skills, but even the most hardened madams starting banning him when their best girls ended up covered in bruises and welts and were forced to take a week off to recover.
Then he had a lucky break. A street whore named Donna had not only allowed him to tie her up, whip her, choke and humiliate her but actively encouraged him to go further, to push her to the limits of her endurance. She also taught him exactly how to make a woman climax in ways M had never thought of previously. M had grown very fond of her in his own way, visiting her regularly for two years until he was posted abroad on a six-month tour of duty. On his return he went straight round to her house with gifts and a raging erection, only to be told by a neighbour that her pimp, in a jealous, drunken rage, had murdered Donna six weeks earlier. The pimp had claimed self defence and was out on bail, so M paid him a visit and meted out his own style of revenge. The army managed to cover up the death of the man but, although his commanding officer—who had also enjoyed time with Donna—wanted to give him a medal, they had to quietly discharge him to avoid any further scandal. M’s father died suddenly of a stroke soon after, and with a third of a substantial estate, M had set himself up as a freelance security adviser – and was soon joined by Maisie. With the advent of the internet M was able to exchange ideas and methods with other Dominants and also to ‘play’ with willing masochists; his knowledge and experience grew but the ideal slave still eluded him. His expansion into the slave trade was a natural progression and had made M both very rich and
totally heartless in his sadism.
Unlike this experiment, M normally acquired the prospective slaves to order. He could usually find, train and supply a trained slave within as little as six weeks. There were so many girls out there with ‘issues’—weight, drugs, self-confidence, loneliness—and many gravitated to BDSM to feel accepted, or at least wanted. It was easy to prey on their particular fears and make them believe he was their ideal dominant. By the time they realised the truth, they had been broken and brainwashed and it was too late to escape; some seemed
to genuinely enjoy the life of a slave. M didn’t care either way, as long as he fulfilled the contract and received payment.
His last contract had been Mr. C, a hugely wealthy businessman with a fetish for water sports. He really wanted a pretty society girlfriend who would allow herself to be pissed on, but he was as ugly on the inside as the outside, so he had hired M. M found Rachel, a stunningly pretty, upper class, vacuous, greedy 22 year old with a big cocaine habit and a liking for being spanked.
M became ‘Simon’ and entrapped her with his charm and regular supply of drugs, then gently introduced the idea that drinking his urine was good for her. Sadly ‘Simon’ was poor (Rachel never thought to ask how he could afford such high grade drugs) so when she was introduced to Mr. C, who showered her with jewels and an endless supply of cocaine, she made the inevitable choice. ‘Simon’ was of course heartbroken but bowed out graciously. Mr. C was delighted at first but had complained recently that Rachel was playing up;
M suggested she should be disciplined in the way she actually liked, however Mr. C did not like to inflict pain, hence he had dispatched Maisie to deal with it. M told her to pass on the message that any further after-sales care would be expensive, so Mr. C should really learn the art of whipping.
The front door opened and Maisie walked in.
‘Morning, Boss—how’s the slut?’
‘Hi, Maisie, she’s having a lie in. I’ll take a look at her in a minute while you cook breakfast. How did it go with Mr. C?’
‘No problem, Boss. Rachel was surprised to be woken so early, but a quick toot soon perked her up. I hid whilst he suggested a bit of pre-piss bondage. Once she was blindfolded I took over and gave her ten good ones and then showed him how to do it properly—she loved it. When I left she was doing a very good impression of a toilet!’ Maisie laughed and shook her head at the memory. ‘What some tarts will do for a fix and a few diamonds.’
M winked at her and left her to make coffee and start breakfast. He could have easily made it himself, but he understood Maisie’s deep need to serve him in her own way. He unlocked the heavy door to the cellar and switched on the light. The smell of urine hit him and he smiled. It was essential to break Kitty down as quickly as possible before he could start to mold her. Removing any shred of dignity was vital to this process. Kitty lay where he left her; the chains only gave her a little movement, but she’d managed to manoeuvre her bum off the cardboard bed to pee on the floor rather than soil her space. M made a mental note to put in another hook for her feet. She looked dreadful; her eyes were red and puffy, her hair was matted and he when he pulled the blanket off he could see spots of blood on her ankles and wrists where she tried to struggle out of the shackles.
‘Good morning, Kitty. I hope you had a good night,’ he said cheerily.
She looked at him steadily and made no sound. She was still trying to make sense of the bizarre situation. During the hours of darkness she’d almost convinced herself that it was simply a vivid, awful nightmare and she just needed to force herself to wake. But the chains, the collar and the man looking down at her were all too real. She had managed to stifle a panic attack when the solid door closed the night before, the fear of angering this man had been more potent but, not surprisingly, sleep had totally eluded her. As she sporadically tried to free herself she had devised a plan, rehearsed it over and over in her mind and was ready to put it into action.
M took a chain leash out of the chest, attached it to her collar and unclipped the chain that secured her to the wall. He gave the leash a tug but she resisted.
‘Look, I’ve been thinking,’ she said in a clear and reasonable voice.
M turned to her in mock surprise.
‘You have?’ he asked.
‘You said you were going to sell me, right? Well I have money so how about we agree a price, I’ll transfer the money and we can forget the whole thing, okay? I’m really not cut out for this and I know I’d be a really bad slave, so you will waste money training me anyway.’ Her words had tumbled out in a nervous rush, but Kitty smiled confidently as though negotiating her freedom was something she did day in, day out. ‘What do you say?’
‘Well, that’s a very interesting proposition, Kitty,’ he replied slowly as if considering the idea. ‘But there are a few problems’
‘What are they?’ she asked, ‘Nothing we can’t sort out, I’m sure.’
He tapped his pursed lips with one finger.
‘Firstly, there’s the challenge. If I bail out now I’ll feel as if I’ve failed myself, and that would bring disgrace on my old army motto. ‘Failure is not an option’ or some such bullshit. Secondly, I like this place and want to stay here for a while. Once I’ve got rid of your crap and made some alterations, of course. But most importantly, I won’t be spending a penny on this project. You will give me your PIN number and online banking details later today, so you will fund your own training and all my expenses. Look at in this way, by providing me with this perfect setting, you’ve already saved yourself a ton of cash!’
He gave Kitty that evil grin again and her heart sank; she knew her plan hadn’t just failed, it hadn’t even started. She saw Maisie leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and with a smirk on her face as she listened to Kitty’s desperate pitch for freedom. Kitty was silent for a moment then the rage in her broke and she screamed,
‘Look, you fucking psycho, let me go NOW or I’ll have you put away for the rest of your sorry life! Just untie me NOW and get the fuck out of my home and take that fucking scrawny dyke with you, you fucking sick
arsehole!’ Saliva was flying from her mouth, her eyes were bulging and her face was bright red in fury.
M’s smile died. His face turned even paler than normal and his lips pinched together in a thin line. He turned to her and hit her full in the face with an open handed smack. Only the fact that he had hold of her by the leash stopped her falling to the floor. Kitty grunted in shock and pain, yet kept struggling, vainly trying to kick, bite or wiggle free. He hauled her to her feet, smacked her face again—hard—and dragged her to the middle of the room, quickly hooking the middle of the leash to a solid hook in the ceiling. Kitty hadn’t noticed that one but looking up, dazed, she saw the fresh concrete, already dried and solid. M turned to the cabinet on the wall.
‘Boss?’ said Maisie, interrupting his burning anger. She knew that if he didn’t contain his temper, the pledge not to permanently damage the slave would be forgotten. M stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and smiled thinly at her.
‘It’s okay, Maisie. I’ll be up for breakfast in a few minutes.’ He said.
Maisie nodded and backed out of the room.
Taking a multi-tailed leather whip from the cabinet rather than the thick cane he’d initially reached for, M turned back to Kitty, now weakly strugglin like a hooked fish on the leash, her feet barely touching the ground.
‘Psycho, huh? Arsehole? Your opinion counts for nothing, you fucking cunt, and if you ever, ever dare to disrespect Maisie again, you will be truly sorry you cheap, worthless slut.’ With that he let fly at her, lashing every inch of her body; her calves, thighs, hips, stomach, arms and back. Angry red lines sprang out on her skin until they merged with one another and she looked as if she had been covered with a scarlet cloak from her neck to her feet. His anger subsided as his arm dropped. He looked at her critically. She appeared to be semiconscious and a weak groan came from her blue lips. He reached up and unhooked the leash, allowing her to crumple to the ground. He leaned over and spat in her open mouth.
‘Bitch.’ He clipped the collar to another new ring in the middle of the floor.
M left the room, still fuming but in control. In the kitchen, he sniffed appreciatively and said ‘Damn, I’m hungry. If you wouldn’t mind, just go and check on Kitty please, Maisie. I don’t think I’ve killed, her but a second opinion might be good.’
‘No problem, Boss,’ she replied and slid the plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms in front of him, leaving hers in the pan. She stepped down into the cellar and looked down at Kitty for a moment. Picking up the discarded blanket, she wrapped it tightly round Kitty, then quickly checked her pulse, and pulled down an eyelid to check the pupil. She pulled a small bottle of smelling salts from her pocket and waived it under Kitty’s nose until the woman sneezed and coughed.
‘Silly girl,’ Maisie said. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you will do as you’re told from now on with no backchat. And I’m not a dyke!’
With that,
she pulled a couple of cardboard sheets from the pile and pushed them under Kitty to take her off the cold concrete. ‘I’ll bring you some food in a while.’
She stood and turned, then paused and said in an almost kindly tone, ‘You never know, you might even get to enjoy it one day.’ Kitty wept quietly, shocked and weakened by the pain still raging through her body.
‘She’s okay, Boss, but she’ll need a couple of days to recover.’ Maisie said, coming back upstairs.
‘Oh, well, there’s no time schedule with this one and there’s other tricks she can learn in the meantime,’ he replied as Maisie sat at the breakfast bar and the two of them ate. A small bowl sat between them that contained the leftover scraps from last night’s dinner and to which they added the unwanted parts of their breakfast—crusts of toast, tomato skins, bacon rinds, orange juice, cold coffee (M) and tea (Maisie). When they’d finished, they enjoyed a cigarette each in companionable silence, tipping the ash into the bowl.
‘Right,’ he said, flicking his cigarette end into the sink. ‘I’m going to pick up the cage. Can you sort out the clothes? Help yourself to anything you fancy, but leave the posh frocks for now. The panties go on the fire tonight. Bag up the rest. And take the right-hand side wardrobe doors off. I’m going to put the cage in there—I want to be able to play with this one without having to leave my bed.’
‘You’re going soft, Boss,’ she said, then quickly added, ‘Joke.’
‘Ha, ha,’ he said sarcastically, ‘Back in a bit.’
He left and Maisie gave a sigh of relief. She worshipped M and always tried to please him; while she knew theirs would never be a physical relationship—she had never had any real interest in sex even before the ‘incident’, and certainly not in the type he enjoyed—she felt any displeasure from him very acutely. Searching through Kitty’s cupboard, she found the hand blender she’d been looking for and used it to liquidise the contents of the bowl. She added in a couple of tablets from the medical box she’d brought from the van, mashed them into the food, poured a mug of milky, sweet tea and took both through to the cellar.