Consent
by Jennifer Harrison
Conclusion

As I felt the ropes holding me tight against the cross being loosened, the anal vibrator had a chance to push my arousal level almost to bursting point but, just as I was sure I would finally reach my desperately desired climax, it was switched off and reverted to being just a huge silicone rod jamming up my bowels. My head sank onto my chest in disappointment, frustration, and exhaustion.

When the final rope was released, the one around my waist, Jack had to catch me to stop me collapsing onto the floor. He led me across the dungeon and back to the toilet in the corner.

"You can take out the butt plug now, slave, but you might want to be perched over the pan when you do so." I did as I was told, and as I eased the monster out, it was accompanied by a foul-smelling stream of, basically, liquid shit. I flushed, clean myself up, and flushed again, trying to get rid of the awful stench. When I had finished and stood up, Jack reached around and unbuckled the gag, extracting it from my mouth as I tried, and failed, to stop myself drooling all over my breasts.

"Thank you, Sir," I breathed gratefully.

"I don't remember asking you a question, slave." I opened my mouth to apologise, then closed it again in confusion, realising that I would only make things worse by speaking out of turn again.

I was feeling slightly lightheaded as he led me back into the main part of the dungeon and prompted me to lie flat on my back in the middle of the floor. I didn't really understand what his purpose was with all this bondage, punishment and no sex. Was he a pure sadist, in that he could only get sexual gratification from torturing me rather than from intercourse? Did he not want to have sex with me, or for me to achieve any kind of sexual gratification? Was there something wrong with me? These scary thoughts ran through my mind as he began, once again, to wrap me in ropes.

This time, he raised my arms above my head and tied my wrists together, and then my elbows together. I watched him binding my ankles and then my knees and knew that he wasn't going to be able to give me the hard fucking I desperately wanted while I was tied up like this! Each of the ties had been carefully cinched so that the ropes were tight but comfortable. The inevitable gag was also relatively comfortable, in that he merely packed my mouth with a cotton cloth and then tied another across my lips, holding the first in place but not applying any pressure to my jaws, which was a great relief.

I could do nothing except lie there passively and watch as he fiddled with some ropes attached to eyebolts in the ceiling above me. He lifted my legs into an almost vertical position and then tied one of the ropes from ceiling around the rope on my ankles, holding my legs in place. He attached the other rope to those on my wrists, and then started to haul on it, quickly lifting my whole body off the floor and into the air. I let out a grunt as my body rose like a hammock between two trees and my arms and legs felt like they were going to be pulled out of their sockets! As if to back up my hammock analogy, Jack tied the rope off to a hook on the wall and then gave me a push on the hip, starting me swinging gently from side to side. As long as he didn't try to sit on me!

I wondered what he was going to do to me while I was suspended like this, but I didn't have too long to wait, as he paid a quick visit to his bondage accessories cabinet and returned with what looked like some rather bulky nipple clamps. I wasn't too keen on that idea as my nipples were still a little tender from the previous day but, of course, I didn't have any say in the matter. The clamps actually seemed to cover the whole nipple when attached, and they didn't hurt as much as I’d expected. But I was totally surprised when, after a bit of fiddling by Jack, they started vibrating! The feeling was surprisingly pleasant, and I let out an appreciative moan.

But he wasn't finished yet. He had another of these little devices and he applied it just where I was hoping he would! After a bit of rooting around to get my pubic hair out of the way, he held my labia apart and clipped it directly onto my little bud. I let out a pained squeal as it nipped quite harshly on my very sensitive area, but when it started to buzz, I felt myself drifting on a haze of pleasure.

"That should keep you amused for a while," Jack said as he smiled down at me, "I need to go and get something to eat." After giving me another little push to get me swinging, he walked away and I saw him disappear up the stairs, slamming and locking the door behind him. I let out another moan, wriggling on the line like a landed fish out of water. I was definitely caught, and I wondered whether he would throw me back!

Those vibrating nipple clamps and the one on my clit were driving me mad, but they weren’t doing enough to get me off. So I was soon squirming and whining in total frustration, setting up a swinging motion all off my own. This was horrible, but lovely at the same time!

I was surprised when, about 20 minutes later, the door was unlocked and opened, and Jack reappeared, carrying a plate of food and a glass of wine. To my utter amazement, he pulled up a chair from the wall, sat down, and proceeded to watch me as I struggled and moaned into the gag, singularly failing to achieve an orgasm! He seemed to watch very intently, and once again I felt like I was some kind of lab animal under observation. What did he want from me? How could he treat me like this? How could he torture me so? How could he NOT FUCK ME?! I continued to swing from side to side, like some perpetual frustration machine.

After completing a leisurely lunch, Jack got up and walked back up the stairs, once more leaving me to suffer in enforced silence, but he was only away a few minutes, presumably just washing up his dirty dishes. When he came back, he removed the vibrating clamps and lowered me back down to the floor before untying me and removing the gag. But I was not surprised when he immediately locked my wrists behind me in handcuffs as he helped me to my feet.

"Time for your lunch now, slave," he said, pointing towards the cage. I took the hint and crawled into it and over to the bottles hanging on the side. I was very thirsty and sucked for a long time on the water dildo, aware that he was watching me as I did so. I moved on to the other one, sucking down the nutritious gloop, wondering if this would be my entire diet if I agreed to become his slave – not that I ever would, of course, that would be insane…

When I had had my fill, he beckoned me out of the cage. I knew it was going to start again, but I crawled out. I had no choice, did I, he was totally in control. Until tomorrow…

* * *

Saturday afternoon – I could have been out shopping, or having a coffee with friends, maybe relaxing at home with the papers. Instead, here I was, locked in a windowless dungeon, and suffering, my God I was suffering.

After my ‘lunch break’, sucking up an energy drink through a cock-shaped straw while naked and in handcuffs, I was now, once again, being subjected to the combination of bondage, punishment and sexual frustration which had characterised the last fifteen hours with my boss as he ‘assessed my suitability’ for the vacant position as his sex slave. I was now sitting astride a bucking bronco saddle, my ankles cuffed and chained together behind me, my wrists cuffed and chained above me, as the device slowly rocked back and forth. What was not immediately apparent were the two dildos attached to the saddle and now buried deep inside me, moving around as my body was thrown backwards and forwards by the constant motion.

Not that you could tell that I was in any distress at that point. In fact, you wouldn’t have got many clues on what I was feeling, with my head entirely encased in rubber, the only opening in the latex hood the two small breathing holes over my nostrils. You might have heard the whimpering sounds, if you listened really hard, but the inflated rubber bladder in my mouth cut out most of the sound. But I was certainly trying to make plenty of noise, mainly yelps and screams of pain as I felt the tail of his whip strike me across the stomach, back, breasts or thighs, time and again. The blows were not frequent or regular, not even particularly hard, but that just seemed to make the torment worse, as I never knew when or where the next one would land.

I had been like that for around 30 minutes, and I was bathed in sweat. After an hour, I was hardly even able to react to the sudden jolts of pain shooting through me beyond an instinctive flinch and contraction of the impacted muscles. My mind was as far gone as my body at that stage too, it was just awash in chemicals and emotions – dopamine, adrenaline, endorphins, pain, fear, anticipation, pleasure. All ideas of making Jack my boyfriend, any thought of the pleasant life we could have together and the sweet love we could be making, had long since been driven out. I couldn’t think, I could only react and feel.

When I was finally released, I had to be lifted off the saddle before I fell and ripped myself apart on the two intruders. I felt myself lowered and laid down on my back, which was a blessed relief, as was the feeling of the rubber hood being pulled off my head. However, as the bladder was deflated and removed from my mouth and my eyes readjusted to the light, my relief was tempered by the realisation that I was lying on the bed of the mediaeval rack, and Jack was already in the process of attaching cuffs to my wrists and ankles. This was the one piece of equipment in the dungeon I hadn't been scared of, simply because I’d assumed it was only here for the show; really, no-one had a real torture rack in this day and age, did they?!

But the cuffs now strapped to me were attached to either end of the contraption, with a real wooden roller above my head, complete with a ratchet and long wooden spokes, just like I'd seen in some horror film one time. As the ratchet clacked into life, I felt my arms being pulled up above my head and my whole body gradually being stretched out tight on the wooden base. I let out a moan of growing anxiety, completely unmanned by this new terror. I saw the look of wicked amusement on Jack's face, right before he tied a silk cloth across my eyes, somehow multiplying my fears.

"So far, slave, you have learned that you will receive both pain and pleasure from me. What you must now learn is to be grateful for the gifts you receive - they are given with love and affection, and you should appreciate them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied with a trembling voice. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but I was too frightened to say that. I thought I heard him chuckle.

"Okay. When I give you the gift of pain, you will thank me and ask me for more, because you know that it will please me. When I give you the gift of pleasure, you will thank me and ask me if you can cum, because that is also in my gift - do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Sir." I was frightened and confused, but I had heard him say that I could cum if I asked him, and that is what I really wanted, for him to let me cum!

"Very well, let's start your training session."

To say I was frightened would be a huge understatement. With my eyes covered and my body stretched until I could hardly move any part of it, I became acutely aware of every slight sound in the room - Jack moving away from me, something being moved on the table to my right, Jack walking back, his footsteps measured and unhurried, as always. Then a new sound, one I couldn't immediately interpret, but then I caught the strong whiff of sulphur, and I realised it was striking a match. A few moments later, the smell of burning suffused the room, and some kind of perfumed odour. What the hell was going on?!

“Please… Sir…” I said, my voice quaking, ready to beg for mercy. Suddenly I felt something whack down on my breasts and I screamed.

“Now, slave, you know the rules about talking out of turn, don’t make me teach you THAT lesson again.” I whimpered, scared out of my mind.

“Are you ready, slave?” I grimaced against the painful line across the top of my breasts caused by what I took to be a cane, and nodded my head, though I’d never been less ready in my life. Suddenly another line of pain cut across my thighs.

“Aaaaah! Y-yes, Sir! I’m ready, Sir!” I squealed, remembering rule number two. There was a long pause where the only sound was my ragged breathing. Then my world exploded into a fireworks display of agony.

My immediate thought was that I had been stabbed in the stomach, right through my belly button, and I screamed as much at the shock as at the physical pain. A few seconds later, as that initial shock wore off, I realised that it was a burning sensation rather than a stabbing pain, and that my nervous system had misinterpreted it, in much the same way as it does when you are ‘cut’ by a piece of ice. My brain finally put together the scented smell of burning with the sudden pain and decided that I had been hit by a blob of burning hot candle wax. It still hurt like buggery but at least I wasn't bleeding to death!

"Thank you, Sir," I wheezed through gritted teeth, "please… do it again?"

"The correct phrase, slave, is ‘Please may I have another?’ And yes, you may." I squealed, a little less desperately this time, as more wax dripped onto my stomach.

"Thank you, Sir! Please may I have another?" As I steeled myself for the next stab of pain, I wondered at this strange, cruel ritual where I had to pretend that I wanted to be hurt, just to feed the ego of my ‘Master’. It seemed even more inhumane than just making me suffer, and I couldn't understand how anyone could think this was an enjoyable way to spend a Saturday evening!

But just as I was ready for the next drip, I was assailed by an entirely different, and more enjoyable feeling, that of the wand vibrator being thrust against my shaven pussy. The unexpected shock was so great that I screamed again as if being burnt, but the sound quickly transmuted into moans of pleasure as the skilfully applied toy sent my arousal skyrocketing. I was still held too tightly to squirm on the rack, but my head thrashed from side to side and my hands balled into fists before splaying wide again as the vibrations shuddered through my body.

Just at the point where I was convinced I was about to climax, I felt the vibrator pulled away, making me howl in frustration. Somehow, despite my distraction, I remembered the rules.

"Thank you, Sir, please… Please may I cum?!"

“No, slave, you may not.”

I should have known what was coming next, but my need overrode all rational thought, so it came as a shock and bitter disappointment when I felt burning wax drizzled across my breasts. I let out another forlorn cry and struggled uselessly against my bonds, tears springing to my eyes as I tried to process the pain.

Gradually, I could feel my whole body, from my chest down to my knees, become dotted with the solidified globules of wax, while every so often, the torture was interrupted by further bursts from the wand vibrator. But as I was never allowed to reach orgasm, this amounted to torture by pain or torture by pleasure and, gradually, they became almost interchangeable in my befuddled brain. I had tried to anticipate what would come next, but I was soon too exhausted to care, it seemed, and I cried out in much the same way whether I received wax or wand.

The crunch point finally arrived when I felt the molten liquid running over my bare labia as the wand pressed hard against my clitoris, and I wasn't sure whether I was going to explode in a mind-blowing orgasm or faint from the combination of pain, hyperventilation and extreme over excitement.

Throughout this seemingly interminable process, I spoke, called out or screamed out my little mantra – ‘Thank you, Sir, please may I have another?’ I didn't know whether I should be proud or ashamed of myself for doing this. Was I merely doing what I needed to do to avoid even more punishment? Had I been brainwashed? Or was I becoming sincere in these requests, was I really grateful and did I really want more?

In the end the point became moot, as my brain was overwhelmed by my body and I collapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

Saturday night, and I was enjoying a cosy candlelit supper with my boyfriend.

Almost everything about that sentence is misleading, whilst at the same time being technically true. Let me explain.

Jack was not really my boyfriend, more like my potential Master and I his potential slave. The candlelit supper was taking place, rather predictably, in the windowless S&M dungeon in which I had been imprisoned for the last 24 hours. The candle lighting this supper was the stub of the candle which had been used to drip burning hot wax over most of my naked body. And the supper itself was served on one plate, on a table set for one, with one chair, on which sat my ‘date’, Jack.

I held a rather more challenging position, as I was opposite Jack, suspended upside down from the ceiling in a web of ropes. There were ropes around my legs, pinning my calves to my thighs, each leg bound separately. My arms were crossed behind my back and wrapped in the same scratchy hemp that crisscrossed my entire upper body with diamond patterns somehow imprinting themselves on my skin. Rope also entwined my breasts, making them stand out from my chest like bulging globes, suffused with deep red and purple hues from the blood trapped within them by the constrictive bondage. The rope harness holding me also passed between my thighs, parting my labia and squeezing my clitoris, so that every movement I made was transmitted in an unsettlingly stimulating way directly into that organ. The rope holding me to the ceiling attached to just one of my legs, and I was surprised to find that despite this, and the tight constriction in which the ropes held me, I didn't feel any pinch point or other painful pull on my body - I was just hanging there like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop window.

But the food was good!

Jack had cooked a paella dish, which he was enjoying with a pleasant white wine. Occasionally, he would spear a prawn or piece of fish on his fork and lean across the table, offering it to me. I would lean forward to take the morsel on offer, trying rather forlornly to ignore the effect this stretching movement had on the ropes around my clitoris, and chew it before trying to swallow it, which is surprisingly difficult when you are upside down. But it felt good to be eating real solid food, instead of that sweet mush I’d been having. While Jack washed down his food with a sip of wine, he held up my glass of water and I drank from the straw.

"Do you understand why you are here in this place, slave?" Jack asked as he leaned back casually in the chair, looking across at my now flushed face. That seemed like a very good question - why the hell was I here?

"Er… I'm here because… you want me to be your slave, Sir?"

"That is certainly true, I very much want you to be my slave, Dee." I was shocked to realise that that was the first time he had used my name in the time I had been down here.

"We've known each other for several months now, and I have found you to be witty, clever, professional, and excellent company, as well as a very caring and compassionate person." Despite the natural flow of blood down towards my face, I felt myself blushing at these unexpected compliments - this was the nicest thing he had ever said to me.

"You are also a very beautiful woman, and I very much want you, sexually." Now I definitely felt like I was in seventh heaven. But I was also wondering, ‘if you wanted me sexually, why didn't you just have me sometime in the last day or so?’

"I genuinely feel that you may be the woman I have been searching for for many years. But I have very specific needs, as I'm sure you have noticed. I didn't want to start a relationship with you without you understanding exactly what you were getting yourself into. By this time tomorrow, you will have experienced the full range of my depravity, for that is what it is. You must then decide whether you can, and whether you want to, live like this 24/7. Now do you understand why you are here?"

"Y-yes, Sir," I replied, feeling intoxicated by the depth of feeling he had revealed, but intimidated by the level of commitment he was demanding.

Having delivered this little lecture, Jack stood up and, taking his wine glass in his hand, he strolled around my suspended body, seemingly inspecting me, occasionally stroking my skin, poking me with an exploratory finger, or pinching a fold of flesh. After a few minutes, he wandered over to his Pandora's dresser of bondage equipment, and my heart rate increased, knowing that he would soon return with some device with which to torment me. Moments later, I heard his measured footsteps returning, and as he walked around me I saw the short rod he held in his hand. I didn't know what it was until he touched the end of it against my stomach and I felt several thousand volts of electricity coursing through my body. Shocking! I think that may have been the highest pitched scream of the day.

"Thank you, Sir… please… may I have… another?" That was difficult to say, but I saw a brief smile of acknowledgement on Jack's face and, somehow, that felt like a reward to me.

His pleasure at my continued submission didn't make him stop, however. He continued to circle me, like a shark around a helpless swimmer, seeking out the moment and the position at which to take a bite. And bite it did! Each shock had me convulsing with muscle spasms, bouncing on the end of the rope like a rag doll. And each time I did that, it made the ropes between my labia scrape across my sensitive skin, squeezing and stimulating my clitoris, until I was once again hot, frustrated and crying, which was becoming a common combination.

And when I had recovered sufficiently to speak, I gasped out my thanks and request. It still felt forced and unnatural, but knowing how much it pleased him, and how it would make him want me as his slave, made me want to say it.

Wait, what was I saying? I wanted to be his slave?! No! I wanted to be his girlfriend, his lover, his ‘special one’. It only now finally struck me that those roles only went hand-in-hand…

* * *

It must have been about three in the morning, and I was back in ‘my’ cage, but I wasn’t sleeping, that wasn’t really an option. Unlike my first night in there I wasn’t in minimal bondage, allowing me to get some rest, but the exact opposite. My upper body was encased in a thick rubberised straightjacket, my arms crossed below my breasts and strapped tight against my body within the closed sleeves. The jacket was anchored by two rubber straps which went from the bottom of the garment at the front, between my legs, and locked on to the back, ensuring there was no possibility of wriggling free.

My ankles were locked together by strong leather cuffs, but the rather evil little addition to this bondage which was keeping me awake was the rope tied to the ankle cuffs and holding my legs in a bent position. The other end of the rope was tied to the front of the jacket, but only after it had passed through a ring on the back and then between my thighs and, more significantly, between my pussy lips.

The effect of this arrangement was that, if I tried to flex my legs to get the ache out of my thighs, knees and calf muscles, the rope pulled tighter and scraped directly across my clitoris. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I felt the need to flex my legs quite a lot! As the rope was also holding in place a pretty large dildo and a gut-bustingly huge butt plug, every slight pull on it had a major effect on my state of equanimity - basically, I was fucking myself and tickling my clit as I rhythmically pumped my legs back and forth.

Of course, there wasn't quite enough travel for me to actually bring myself off, so I had essentially spent the last four hours driving myself insane with frustration, which I knew was exactly what Jack had intended when he left me like this. What a bastard!

I was protesting quite strongly about this, as you can imagine. However, apart from the locked soundproofed door and two floors of the house between him and me, my moans and cries were being very effectively stifled by the thick rubber panel gag covering the whole of my lower face, making me look like Hannibal Lecter!

Eventually, even I couldn't keep up this pointless but addictive activity forever. Drenched in sweat, I finally gave up, letting out a few tears of utter frustration as I lay there defeated. I was exhausted, and I knew I still had the best part of the day still to go before I could get free. I needed to sleep, but I couldn't stop my brain churning over the same questions - why was Jack doing this to me? Could we ever have a normal relationship? Could I bear to stay with him if this was how he was going to treat me? Could I bear to leave him if this was my future?

I didn't come up with any answers. But I eventually fell asleep wondering what my final day of captivity would bring. And wondering if it really would be my final day of captivity…

* * *

And so, that fateful Sunday finally dawned.

Not that I saw the dawn, obviously, as I was still locked in the windowless dungeon. And I have no idea when I was awoken, so it could have been before dawn for all I knew, or midday. What I did know was that I was exhausted and terribly stiff from spending the entire night in strict bondage, and that my captor was now standing over me, having gently woken me with the loving application of the toe of his boot to my cane-striped buttock.

It was difficult to remember that Jack was my boss and that, just two days before, we had been exchanging pleasantries over the coffee machine in the break room. The fact that he was the owner of the company, extremely rich, and a sadistic pervert had not yet impinged upon my life in any meaningful way, even though he had already indicated to me that he wanted me as his slave. But what does that mean? I had no idea then what the implications were, but it was becoming painfully clear to me now - literally.

Gradually, he released me from my bondage - untying the rope cutting into my crotch, unlocking the cuffs from around my ankles, removing the panel gag covering my face and, finally, helping me out of the rubber straitjacket. He helped me to my feet and to stagger into the small bathroom area at the far end of the dungeon. Once there, and positioned over the toilet, I removed the butt plug and dildo which had been torturing me all night. I was then allowed to take a shower, for once unencumbered by any form of restraint, which was a welcome, though short lived, release.

It appeared that, for my first set piece of the day, I would be modelling an outfit fashioned from leather, steel and chain. After I had briefly visited my cage for water and what passed for food here in my dungeon - a sticky, slimy gloop sucked through an embarrassingly lifelike dildo - I found my wrists handcuffed behind my back and attached by a short chain to an uncomfortably tight steel belt padlocked around my waist. My arms were pinned together by a leather strap buckled just above my elbows, pulling my shoulders back and forcing my already prominent breasts to jut out in front of me. This airship blimp effect was emphasised to an even greater degree by the thick rubber bands applied around the base of each breast, making it bulge out and quickly discolour with trapped blood.

My legs were rendered useless by a wide steel belt padlocked around both my thighs and my shins, keeping my legs bent underneath me as I sat on the cold concrete floor. My ‘outfit’ was completed by yet another leather belt, this one covering my lips, indicating that I would not be having a speaking part in the forthcoming performance.

Meanwhile, my audience of one was taking his seat, ready for ‘curtain up’. It seemed that this was going to be a breakfast show, and Jack had provided himself with coffee, fresh orange juice and croissants to ensure he didn't get hungry whilst I entertained him. Once he was perfectly settled and ready, he signalled the commencement by the simple press of a button.

The button was on a remote control for the egg vibrator he had pushed into my vagina before strapping my legs together, and as soon as he activated it, I began. While I didn't have a speaking role, I was certainly not silent, and the sound of my muffled squeals and cries filled the ‘auditorium’. My vocals were accompanied by a rather unique dance routine, one involving a lot of rocking back and forth, shuffling around and, eventually, falling over on my side as the device buried inside me delivered not only vibrations, but also mild electric shocks. These were nowhere near as strong as the ones I had received from the cattle prod the night before, but as they were actually being delivered inside my cunt, their effect was far more dramatic.

Jack seemed to be in no rush to finish his breakfast and, indeed, no rush to end my torment. As he topped up his coffee from the pot and took another morsel of his flaky pastry, I writhed and thrashed on the floor in front of him, making desperate but unintelligible pleas to his non-existent better nature to have mercy on me and to stop this fucking thing from setting my pussy on fire! Every time the vibrations got me close to the orgasm I so desperately wanted, the vibrator seemed to anticipate it, and switch to shock mode, killing my buzz as effectively as it had its own.

By the time Jack had finished eating, I was spent, sweaty and dirty, rolling around on the floor. I looked over gratefully at him as he got up from the table, but was dismayed to see that, before he contemplated relieving me from my discomfort, he was going to first tidy away his dirty dishes! As I frantically ‘mmmpfh’ed at him, he turned his back and went upstairs, ignoring me. How the hell did this complete bastard get to be my dream boyfriend?! I must have been out of my mind to ever think this was going to work! As I started to think some really bitter thoughts about Jack, the vibrator kicked in once more and, thankfully, distracted me, right up until the point it electrocuted my cunt again! Then all the negative thoughts came flooding back.

* * *

The second act of our little morality play that day proved to be the most frightening part of the entire two days. Having freed me from my earlier bondage and given me a few minutes to recover, Jack led me to an area of the dungeon I hadn't so far visited, one previously hidden from my view. In one corner stood a giant aquarium tank full of water. I had no idea what it was for, but I had a really bad feeling about this.

"Do you trust me, Dee?" Once again, I was thrown by Jack’s use of my name rather than the demeaning ‘slave’ which had become so familiar. Did I trust him? Well, cruel and sadistic as he had proved himself to be, he had not actually lied to me about anything he was doing to me.

"Yes, Sir," I responded nervously.

"Well, I hope you’re telling the truth, a slave must always tell the truth, and she must always trust her Master. Remember that over the next hour or so." Now I was no longer nervous, I was absolutely terrified!

Slowly, deliberately, I was once more imprisoned in tight, scratchy rope – multiple loops of it around my chest, under my breasts, pinning my arms, pulling in my stomach, making my breathing laboured. The rope bound my wrists together behind me, and also my elbows until there was only the inch or so of complex knots between them. Inevitably, the rope dove down between my thighs, pulled tight between the lips of my sex, making me uncomfortable and aroused at the same time.

Once he had finished with my upper body, Jack had me lie on my back as he wrapped the ropes around my thighs, above and below my knees, and around my ankles. Through a complicated series of interconnecting ropes, my knees were somehow connected to my crotch, so that any move of my legs pulled on the ropes there, delivering both pain and stimulation to my already aching pussy.

My head was imprisoned by the tight leather straps of a head harness, holding a ball gag tight in my mouth, and so I was ready for my next ordeal. Jack grabbed the ropes across my back and lifted me up like a piece of luggage, carrying me over to the tank. My panic grew as he hoisted me up and over the side, before lowering me slowly towards the surface of the water.

The shock of the icy water against my warm body, already wet with the sweat of fear, made me squeal into the gag, but Jack continued to lower me until I was entirely submerged apart from my head. He then rotated me onto my back, so that I was looking up into his face. He must have seen the abject fear and panic on my face, but his remained cool and calm as he looked along my tightly bound body, presumably admiring his handiwork.

As I felt his hands roaming across my wet skin, his fingers running along the ropes and checking their tightness, then squeezing and massaging my breasts, my eyes closed in response to the feelings running through my mind and body. He doesn’t want to drown you, I kept telling myself, he said this was all done with love and affection, surely he doesn’t want to kill me? But, another part of my brain chipped in, he’s already proved that he’s a cruel and sadistic pervert, maybe my death would be the ultimate turn-on?

My eyes sprung open and I saw his smile, that cold, cruel smile I’d seen before he inflicted pain on me, and I sucked in a huge breath through my nose and clamped my lips tighter around the ballgag, trying to make an airtight seal. A second later, I was plunged below the surface, and I realised I was sinking, no hands now holding me up. I opened my eyes, which had reflexively closed when I went under, and saw the shimmering shape of Jack above me, watching me drift away. Frantically, I started to struggle, realising how tight the ropes around me were. As I kicked my feet, I felt the rope scraping between my legs, crushing and rubbing past my clitoris, causing unwelcome sensations to run through my body.

I was now hanging suspended in the middle of the tank, my toes touching the glass of the bottom but my upper body kept up by the volume of air in my lungs. But my lungs were beginning to ache under the strain, and it felt like there was a ringing in my ears as the oxygen started to run out. I was becoming light-headed as I thrashed about like a tuna caught in a net, and suddenly I couldn’t hold it any more. A string of bubbles streamed from my nose and mouth, and I felt myself sinking. I was finished.

But then I felt hands around me, lifting me, and then my head broke the surface and I was coughing, spluttering, and gasping for air. I felt my hair being swept away from my face and the water wiped from my nose and mouth. I opened my eyes and saw his face close to mine, still smiling, but warmer this time. Oh thank God, I thought, I’ve survived this test! Now, please, just get me out of the water.

I was wrong, he hadn’t finished with me and the water torture yet, not by a long way. He supported me on the surface as fondled me for what seemed an age, until I was really starting to get turned on, and using my legs to rub the rope against my clit. Cue another frightening dunking, once more feeling abandoned and left to drown until the last possible moment, at which point I was ‘rescued’ and brought back to the surface, only for the whole process to start again.

Each time, I started off thinking I would be safe, then as the oxygen in my lungs ran out and a stream of bubbles indicated my imminent demise, I was convinced this was the time he took it to its ultimate conclusion. And then, feelings of gratitude washed over me as I discovered that, no, he wasn’t going to drown me… this time.

By the time he finally dragged me out and dumped me down on the concrete, I was unable to move, physically and emotionally exhausted, just glad to be alive. Surely now, my torture must be at an end…

* * *

“Time for your final test, slave. Are you glad your time in my dungeon is coming to an end?”

I didn’t reply. Not because I wasn’t sure I was glad, I was, I couldn't wait to get out of this place. The problem was more that my mouth was entirely stuffed with the rubber bladder protruding from the gag covering my lips and most of the lower half of my face. Meanwhile, my body, from neck to toes, was entirely covered in rubber. I don’t mean I was wearing a rubber catsuit or trousers and jacket or anything, I mean I was encased in rubber. Jack had fastened a belt around my hips and buckled the cuffs attached to the side around my wrists, then pulled some kind of rubber sack up my legs and over my body up to my neck. Once he had zipped it up and tightened the thick rubber seal around my neck, it was snug but not tight-fitting. That is, until he attached some machine to a small pipe by my tummy button and switched it on. It must have been a vacuum pump because the rubber collapsed onto my body, hugging me in the tightest embrace possible, like I was being swallowed by a giant anaconda.

Once all the air was removed, and he had smoothed out the creases so it clung to me like a second skin, he applied belts around my chest, waist, thighs, knees and ankles, all of which sported D rings, allowing him to suspend me however he desired. It was the strictest bondage I had been in that whole weekend.

Oh, one small detail I forgot to tell you. Before he imprisoned me in the rubber, Jack inserted vibrators in both my pussy and my ass, and he now held the remote controls for these in his hand.

"As a slave, your orgasm is in the gift of your Master. What you need to learn is to control your body so that you don't cum before you are given permission. That is what we will be testing now."

As he said this, he pressed a button on each control, and the monstrous devices locked inside me started to vibrate at an alarming rate. Within what seemed like seconds, I was squirming and writhing on the concrete floor like an overgrown maggot, ‘mmmpfh’ing loudly and continuously into the gag. The vibrators were definitely on full power, and I felt my arousal quickly shooting through the roof. After two days of orgasm denial, I was desperate to cum, and he knew it.

"You are not allowed to cum until I give you permission, slave, don't forget that."

What?! That was going to be impossible! How the hell was I supposed to stop myself with these things going like jackhammers inside me?! I tried to think of other things, like shopping, drying the dishes, cleaning the hair out of the bath plug, doing the crossword, completing my tax return, anything but the burning desire of my body to reach its climax. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead as I continued to thrash around on the floor like a fish out of water.

As the minutes dragged by, I became more and more desperate, staring up at Jack with bulging eyes, willing him to grant me permission before I almost literally exploded. Instead, he was concentrating on attaching ropes to the D rings along my body, before raising me up into the air. So now I was hanging in mid-air bouncing up and down trying to stave off my orgasm. He must have been able to see the strain on my face as I fought the inevitable, but he obviously thought I hadn't suffered quite long enough yet!

I knew I was losing the fight, but still no signal of release came from Jack. As a last desperate measure, I jammed my fingernails into my thighs, digging them in as hard as I could, trying to fight back the overwhelming excitement inside me with pain. I screwed my eyes tight shut, biting down on the gag and repeating the mantra ‘Do Not Cum!’ In my head over and over again. It felt like I had been doing this for a week when I finally heard Jack speak.

"Cum for me now, slave."

I relaxed and the first waves of my orgasm crashed over me almost instantly. It seemed to go on and on, the final release of not just two days of frustration, but six months! I jerked and danced on those ropes like a marionette, as one climax seemed to run into another, and I began to think that I would never come down from that high. The vibrators continued to work inside me, driving me on, not letting my level of arousal wane until finally, exhausted, I could no longer respond, and everything became a little bit hazy…

* * *

I gradually came back to the real world as Jack released me from my bondage, finally pulling the gag from my face.

"Okay, Dee, it's over. Why don't you take a shower and come to the living room upstairs when you’re ready?"

I watched as Jack went up the stairs, leaving me on the floor to recover. Eventually, I dragged myself up and got under the shower, which was still freezing but a great relief on my hot, sweaty body. As I washed myself clean, I wondered what would happen next. It just seemed a bit surreal to finally be free.

I dried myself and, wrapping myself in the towel, I went to the foot of the stairs and looked up. I almost didn't believe it when I saw the open door above me, and I walked up the stairs cautiously, nervously, as if I might at any moment be taken back down and forced into the cage. When I got out of the cellar and into the hall, the place seemed deserted, and it took me a few moments to get my bearings and head towards the living room. As I looked through the door, I saw Jack standing with his back to the fireplace, which had a roaring fire, just as it had two days before when I arrived.

"Hi there, Dee,” Jack said with a smile, "I hope you're feeling fully recovered. Please take a seat." I sat down on the sofa, still wrapped in the towel, which I realised was the nearest thing to an item of clothing I had chosen to wear since arriving here. I looked up at Jack, both eager and nervous to find out what he was going to say.

"First let me say that I am incredibly impressed by the way you have performed over the last 48 hours. You have proven yourself more than capable of fulfilling the role which I asked of you. You have also convinced me that you are the one, the woman I have been waiting for all these years. I would be honoured if you agree to become my slave. I would care for your every need, just as you would do everything I ordered. I have restrained myself from using you sexually over the last two days, as I thought it would be wrong to force myself on you that way. But I should warn you that if you consent to become my slave, I would use you to satisfy all my desires, including sexually, and I have a high sex drive - the last two days have been pure torture for me as well as you!

"Now it is time for you to decide what you wish to do. There are two boxes here on the table." He indicated towards the coffee table where I saw the two containers.

"If you wish to leave, you will find clothes - replacements for those I had you burn on Friday - your shoes and your bag, with the phone number and money for a taxi. You can take as much recovery time as you need before returning to work, and then you can carry on with your job as before if you wish, but if it is a problem for you to continue to work for me, I will give you an excellent reference and help you find another job with one of my contacts. You will leave with my thanks and my good wishes, and my apologies for any physical or psychological trauma you have experienced over the last two days, for which I’m happy to compensate you. You may leave in your own time.

"If you decide to stay, you will find what I expect you to wear in the other box. You will put them on and return to the dungeon. Once there, you are my slave until I decide otherwise, to do with as I wish, and you will refer to me only as ‘Master’. You have experienced the kind of treatment you can expect - do not assume it will be any less rigorous. You will continue on the payroll of the firm, but you will remain here, in my care and in my dungeon, unless I decide differently.

"Please take your time, Dee, take all the time you need. I want you to make the decision that’s right for you." With that, Jack gave me a brief smile and walked out of the room.

This was it, the moment of truth! I had dreamt about escaping from the dungeon over the last couple of days, and here was my chance! I went over to the table and opened the box he had indicated if I wanted to leave. Inside, I found a dress which superficially looked very similar to the one I had arrived in but, while my dress had cost me under £100, this one looked like it probably cost over £2,000! The underwear looked pretty classy as well and in my handbag I found that, as well as the phone number for a taxi company, there was a wad of £100 notes – ‘money to pay for the taxi’ indeed! Was this ‘hush’ money, compensation for personal injury, or payment for services rendered, as if I were a common prostitute? I was briefly outraged at the thought that he was buying my silence, but quickly dismissed it as irrelevant. No matter, all I had to do was dial the number on the card, put on the clothes and leave, and I would never have to see that awful place or suffer such terrible torments again.

But I knew that, if I did that, I would never see Jack again, at least not in the way I wanted to see him. I also knew that whatever relationship I did end up in with Jack, it wasn't going to be the perfect lovey-dovey romance I had dreamed of these past six months, it would be something altogether much darker. I couldn't make the decision based on some naive illusion that he was going to change and become my caring lover, that I would tame him, ‘domesticate’ him. I had to recognise that he would continue to treat me with the kind of cruelty I had experienced this weekend. The question was, did I want that?

When I thought back over my time in the dungeon, I had strangely mixed feelings about my experiences. Yes, I had suffered considerable pain. But I had also experienced great arousal from the way I had been treated – for example, I found the process of being tied up and restrained very erotic. The idea (and the feeling) of being in the power of a strong man turned me on, even when it involved being ‘tortured’.

Yes, I had been scared. But that was because I was unsure, I didn't know whether I could trust Jack. But now I knew I could - he had me completely at his mercy, and yet he was prepared to let me go if that was what I decided. But how should I make that decision?

But then I realised the decision was simple. I loved Jack and wanted to be with him, as simple as that. The fact that it would require me to obey his every command, that I would be confined to the dungeon day and night, that I would be constantly bound and punished but, hopefully, that I would also be subjected to lots of kinky sex, were aspects of our relationship which I could either enjoy or endure, but I knew I would accept them.

I opened the second box and found what I had expected. There were four leather cuffs, each with its own padlock, and a steel collar, with its integral lock and the word ’SLAVE’ engraved on it. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I picked up each of the cuffs and applied it to ankle or wrist, clicking the tiny but robust padlock closed as I did so. Then I picked up the collar and put it around my neck. There was only a moment's hesitation – as I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to control my heart rate - before I clicked it shut. I put the clothes and my bag back into the other box and closed it.

My decision was made. I headed back to the entrance to the cellar, walking down the steps into the dungeon willingly and in full knowledge of what awaited me there. As I reached the bottom, I saw Jack turn to look at me, a beaming smile on his face, and I knelt down in front of him, my eyes lowered. I was about to enter what any ‘normal’ person would call an abusive relationship, with no guarantees of how long it would last, but I was unable to keep the smile off my own face.

"Master, your slave awaits Your pleasure."

The End

Copyright© 2013 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.