Chapter 21

"AND THE WINNER IS ..... JANEY!" I announced, holding up her arm in the air like a prizefighter. "And as your prize, my dear, which seat would you like, front or middle."

"Front!" she beamed.

I looked over at Sally, who was watching the victory celebration with a sadly amused look. I caught her eye as she glanced at me, and in the instant before she lowered them back down, I thought I saw fear, or maybe hurt, in them. It was the only time I saw her look up in my presence for the remainder of the day. It disturbed me, deeply.

I spread a blanket in the shade of a stately old oak tree and an early lunch was served. Janey and I sat. For some reason, Sally preferred to stand. I didn't force the issue and it wasn't mentioned. We were all ravenous after the work we had done all morning and were still hungry when the sandwiches, chicken, chips and fruit were gone. Reaching into the bottomless basket, I pulled out three huge slabs of moist chocolate cake and a thermos of ice cold milk. For being health nuts, the calorie-laden cake disappeared very quickly and without one complaint. It was beginning to look like it might just be a good day, after all. I hoped.

When we got back to the house, showers were in order. Sally and I took one together, and, although playful, she was still subdued. I did my best to lighten her mood, and I was very concerned I might have injured her when I had taken her so forcefully in the woods. She insisted she was not hurt, that she was tough enough to take whatever I could hand out, even to the point of offering to let me ass-fuck her again - her words, unfortunately - right then and there in the shower. I passed on the offer. I held her close to me until we ran out of hot water. I don't think it helped, but I didn't know what else to do.

The next phase of the day was initiated as I delivered another package to each of the girls containing a skin-tight lycra bicycle body suit. Janey's was red, Sally's green. I waited for them at the door, and whistled very appreciably at their appearance. The lush bodies of my girls were highlighted to perfection, from the tight cheeks of their asses to the firm flesh of their tits. Even the slits of their pussies could be seen through the material.

To their visible disappointment, I handed each of them another pile of clothing containing a pair of nylon shorts and a baggy shirt. Their luscious bodies were to be well covered on this day. Shoes, helmet and a fanny pack completed the ensemble. Their freshly cleaned and loaded pistols were in the fanny packs.

I drove about an hour to a town on the shore. It was a quaint village that hadn't quite been hit by the hordes of vacationers yet. We rented a bicycle built for three at a local rental shop and I intended to spend a leisurely couple of hours riding up and down the boardwalk getting some fresh air and sunshine. It was a beautiful day and the sand, sun and salt air off the ocean combined in an invigorating way. I felt we could ride forever.

Janey had control of the handlebars that controlled the front wheel and so we went wherever she wanted. We rode by several of the ubiquitous male 'hunks' that were walking, working out or sunning themselves on the beach. We never stopped to meet any of them, but Janey steered us by a couple of them several times so she could get a real good look at them. Or, perhaps it was vice versa. I noticed she didn't seem to have a particular 'taste' in body type, hair coloring or other physical feature. Unless visibly bulging crotches in a tight Speedo can be considered a 'taste.' Not necessarily one of mine, anyway.

There was not a rigid schedule to keep as there had been last week, and the afternoon was simply a relaxing time together. The view from my position in the back seat was outstanding. For the beginning of the trip traveling away from the parking lot and the car, the ride was pretty mundane. Circuitous, but mundane. Then, on the way back to the rental shop, Janey misjudged a pothole, and hit it pretty hard. The jarring force of the front wheel hitting the rough edge of the pavement jammed the seat of the bike up into her crotch. It hit her with enough applied force on the implanted vaginal and anal devices to release some of the sexual enhancer into her system. Sally and I found ourselves in the helpless situation where a girl in the throes of a totally unexpected orgasm was suddenly steering us along a winding pathway. Or attempting to, anyway. Janey had no hope of maintaining headway or her balance and we tumbled in a tangle of arms, legs and bicycle into the nearest dune.

Sally moved over to Janey, holding her tight until her raging orgasm passed, and she lay still, breathing deeply as if winded from a hard workout.

"Mom, what was that? Geez, I mean, I know what it was. But what the Hell just happened to me?"

"Oh, Sweetheart, I think you can thank your dear ol' Dad for that. Just his way of saying 'I love you,' I guess. If you don't want it, I'll make him take it back." I could tell she meant it.

"Oh, no! It was nice, ya' know, real nice. Just, well, a surprise, that's all."

"Mine was a surprise to me, too, Honey. This morning. A big surprise."

"Oh! So that's why.in your bottom." Janey turned her face to her mother's and lowered her voice to almost a whisper. "Do you like it in, well, back there, Mom?"

"That's kind of a personal question, don't you think? Let's get on back to the car, OK?" I think that was the first time ever that Sally had avoided answering Janey when she asked a question about sex. It made me wonder just how big an error I had made that morning that she wouldn't answer, or couldn't answer Janey truthfully. I knew she liked it up the ass. Something was seriously wrong.

It was a rough and bumpy ride back to the bike shop. Janey seemed to manage to hit every bump and pothole in the path, circling around to hit the good ones a couple of times. The 'hunks' with their bulging Speedo suits were forgotten as she bounced her way to giggling orgasm after orgasm riding a bike in broad daylight. Both women were riding high on the sexual rushes they were having, leaving me to do most to peddling, and, as the route was quite circuitous, it took a lot more time to get back than it normally would have. But we made it.

Janey drove back to the house, again doing a good job. She and I had been out a couple of times during the week to give her additional practice driving. She drove through the heavy downtown traffic with assurance, always leaving good safety margins between her and the cars in front.

We arrived home just as a large van pulled away. The driver giving me a cheerful wave as she drove by. Apparently, everything had gone according to plan and the arrangements for the evening were in place. I smiled innocently at Janey's questioning look and she got an excited smile on her face, anticipating another surprise for the evening. I turned to watch Sally reading the logo on the side of the van and shake her head knowingly. She had recognized the driver and the van. There was a little grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, but the sadness in her eyes was still there.

At the door, I stepped between them and held my hands lightly over their eyes. "Eyes closed please, ladies, until I say to open them."

They dutifully closed them and made the obligatory attempts to peek to see what was going on. I led them sightless, or nearly so, to a room on the second floor in the back of the house. It was a room that we seldom used.

"OK, you can open your eyes." They looked around. There were pillows scattered on the floor arranged around a large Persian rug. The walls were covered with draperies of sheer material in pastel colors and the windows were covered with thick tapestries. It really did look like something from Arabian Nights, and I was smugly pleased with the results.

"I wondered what Cece was doing here," Sally said. "I didn't remember her calling to say she was coming over.

"You know Cecilia Washington?" I asked carefully. More of Sally's undisclosed past was coming out, but this was just too coincidental that she would know the new wife of my best friend.

"Sure! She was my roommate in college for the year and a half I was there. Why?"

Oh, Shit! "Oh, nothing. It's just that, well, Mac and I are good friends, too. I just wondered how come it never came up before."

Sally didn't answer, but had what I refer to as her 'Mona Lisa' smile on her face. Totally unreadable, but promising depths of intrigue and mystery that would drown any man who ventured in unawares. I let it drop.

Mac's new wife, Cecilia, ran a catering service that specialized in arranging quality theme parties and dinners. I had never met her and, when I had approached her through Mac about this project, she had accepted the challenge immediately, even on short notice for such a small group. Now I knew why. I wondered just how much of a surprise this really was for Sally. This Arabian Night style theme had been a new one for Cece's business, but she had attacked it with enthusiasm. I could tell Sally and Janey were impressed, as was I.

In the corner of the room was a tent flap that covered the door to an adjoining room. I urged them through.

"Your attire for the evening is in the other room. I am not allowed to go in there, as that room is reserved for women only. And eunuchs, one of which I will refrain from becoming for the time being."

They laughed. Thank goodness.

"We are entertaining special guests this evening. You may not leave that room until our guests arrive. I expect you both to be on your best behavior, and to follow the example of one of the guests who will be here to help you and to explain your duties for this evening."

They looked intrigued, but confused. I simply put my hands together in front of me, bowed, and said, "Go with God," in my best Yul Brenner impression.

I heard their squeals of excitement as they explored the room next door and found their costumes for the evening. Satisfied they were happy, I went to check on the food. I heard the shower in their room start up. I had just enough time to clean up myself before Amud and his wife arrived.

At seven o'clock sharp the doorbell rang. When I opened it, I saw Amud in a very impressive - and expensive - Western style business suit and a diminutive figure standing quietly behind him covered in cloth from head to toe. Without a word to them, I bowed and swept my hand back to usher them into the house. Still not speaking, I turned and led the way to the room where Sally and Janey waited. I pointed, showing Amud where to send his wife. He spoke briefly with her and she entered the room.

I then led him to the back room with the rug and pillows and spoke to him for the first time. "Amud, my friend, welcome to my tent. Come in, rest and wash the sand from your feet." I spoke to him in his own tongue, giving him a traditional greeting. In my research, I had learned I had two choices of greeting guests to my home, depending on my familiarity with the guest. One greeting used the word 'sand,' the other the word 'camel shit.' Since this was his first visit, I figured I should go easy on the familiarity.

Amud smiled broadly, and gave the traditional reply, which, loosely translated means, 'If there's water left after my camels drink, I'll wash my feet.' He respected the level of familiarity I had set and did not add the ending, 'Then my wives can drink what's left.' He entered my 'tent' and sat in the place of honor.

"Would you like a drink, Amud?" thinking he would prefer tea or coffee or water. Or a soft drink, perhaps.

"Scotch, neat. Thank you."

I looked at him perplexed. All the preparations we had discussed had stipulated that no alcohol and that certain animal and animal by-products were not to be used in the preparation of the meal. Now he asked for Scotch? I couldn't figure it out, so I asked him if he would mind explaining.

"Oh, yes. In our beliefs and in our practices, we must be pure. But the religious leaders recognize that for certain cultural and business situations with non-believers, we must be allowed some latitude in these restrictions. For those times when we knowingly consume forbidden food or drink, we can pay a penance and be purified. But if we consume them unknowingly, we will die impure."

I didn't follow his logic, exactly, if one can call any religion logical. It sounded like a religious moneymaking scam if I ever heard one. But, a man must follow his beliefs or else be a hypocrite. Better an earnest fool than a hypocrite. I got him a Scotch, and had one myself.

We discussed a broad range of topics, from his business and mine to the novel - to him, anyway - customs of Americans that he found somewhat perplexing. I learned he was University educated at Oxford, but that his love of hides and skins, as well as his talent for working with them, had led him to open the tack shop. His amusement at American's repressed fascination with the relationship between leather and sex was surpassed only by the amusement he found at the amount of money they would pay for common everyday leather items. With slight modifications, of course.

During the course of our conversation, we were served a variety of foods. Some traditional, some not. Three lovely ladies brought out the food on silver trays. All the ladies were veiled. The only skin visible was around the eyes, hands and their bare feet, yet they never seemed so seductive. The veils and gauze-like material that clothed them hinted more than it showed. Dark shadows on the bodices gave a promise of breasts and nipples, but the loose fitting material resisted all attempts to ascertain shapes and sizes. Even though I was familiar with two of the three serving wenches, the diaphanous covering clouded the familiar lines, adding a sense of the unknown or unexpected to the evening.

It was on Sally's second time as a server that Amud began to watch her with intent interest. I noticed he continued to watch her every time she served, but he didn't speak to me about it, although he seemed on the verge of saying something each time she left the room.

At the end of the serving time, music began to play. Amud settled back in his pillow, a cup of thick sweet coffee in his hands. With a 'ting-ting,' the curtains parted and a willowy figure entered our enclosure. Amud's wife danced to the center of the room and did a fascinating traditional dance that promised everything and revealed nothing. It ended with her bowing before Amud as if in supplication. He looked puzzled.

"My apologies, Mr. Sampson. My rude wife wishes to interrupt our peace."

"Please, Amud. No apologies necessary. Please go ahead."

There followed a quick conversation between them, ending with Amud lifting her hand, turning it over and kissing her palm. I thought I saw his wife blush at this intimate gesture in a stranger's house. Amud continued to look thoughtful as the dancer gracefully rose and glided from the room.

He produced from an inner pocket a cigar case - another forbidden item - and offered me a fine Cuban cigar.

"These Cubans are not only forbidden to me, they are forbidden to you. Mine is religious, yours is foolish. As they are illegal in this country, shall we burn the evidence?"

"Yes, we probably should," I responded with mock seriousness. "But slowly, no?"

As we were enjoying the rare treat, he seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how to begin.

"Amud, you look troubled. Is there something you wish to say to me?"

"Mr. Sampson,... Lawrence,... My friend,... It is hard for me to speak to you in your house of these things, but it is harder to see these things and not speak of them to friends. Please do not take offense at what I say. It is not my wish to bring criticism into your tent."

I nodded, and indicated for him to continue. I hadn't the foggiest idea what he was talking about.

"My beloved and I have sensed you have begun to practice those things we spoke of last week. Those things between men and women and their places in the tent. Those things which concern the heart and soul of the woman, and the pride of the man. But what I sense is that the acts you have done has disturbed the peace in your tent. You have acted rashly, as a stupid man, one with no sense of his power or his place. A powerful man is foolish to use his might on the weak. No good can come of it.

"I do not know what you have done, Lawrence. It does not matter. I also cannot tell you how to fix it. But I can tell you that you must repair the breach with your love, the mother of the Fresh one, or the peace will never return to this tent. The Happy one, although calm on the outside, is no longer filled with the joy you bring to her. In your harshness, you have taken from her, and not given. She now fears for the joy and peace in the tent. That is not her position, not her task. That is the task of the master.

"Lawrence, my friend. In some way I feel responsible. I told you of a wonderful place but not the path to follow to get there. If you had taken no steps along that path, you would have nothing to undo. But having taken a step, even a small one, along this path, you must now continue. But to lead your beloved down that path, one must be familiar with the path himself and know the destination. You must experience the path yourself, first, my friend. Otherwise you will become a cruel master and your time in this tent will be short. And painful."

With that ominous prediction, he stood, clapped his hands and left. His wife followed him obediently out of the room, leaving me sitting alone in the large room.

The silence was deafening.

Chapter 22

I heard the front door close behind them and their limo pull away. I was still sitting there when Janey and Sally came in to say 'Good night.' I sat there all through the night and into the next day.

Sally brought me breakfast, set the tray down, and left in silence. She picked it up later, the food untouched. She looked at me strangely, but didn't say a word. Lunch was the same way. Janey brought me dinner. She force-fed me a bite or two, but that was all I could eat. I felt their concern for me, but it was as if I was hovering above my body, watching a dull soap opera.

I had really screwed up. Big time. I had kind of figured out what it was, but I didn't have a clue why. I knew the relationship between Sally and I was evolving, changing and that there were going to be strains and stresses as we re-defined our respective roles within the new paradigm. Maybe it was going a bit faster than we were both willing to accept. I knew I had been unprepared for the responsibilities of my role, which I still didn't have a label for. I think that's what Amud had been talking about. I wasn't prepared, I hadn't been down 'the path', as he called it.

I spent a long time agonizing over what to do. The ball was definitely in my court. On the one hand, Sally had made it clear that she could accept it if I could not bring myself to put her in bondage, and not to be her 'master.' But could I live with knowing that the woman I loved was being refused the thing that totally fulfilled her? I had seen, felt, experienced the explosive climax she had had when I had tied her hands with the belt of her robe that one time. I had seen the basement and the evidence of her need for this.

The question was, how could I do something to her - safely - I had never experienced? I had absolutely no desire to experience it! How would I know the limits? In fact, there was a gripping terror in me when I thought about experiencing bondage myself. Even worse was the thought of experiencing pain. I hate pain. So I brooded, trying to find a way out of the mess I had gotten myself, and us, into.

By late Wednesday night I came to a decision. Right or wrong, it was what I was going to do. At least it was doing something. I never was one to let life make my decisions for me. If something was going to go wrong, I wanted to be the one to screw it up. Go out with a bang, and the bigger the better.

I went into the bedroom I shared with Sally. She was still up. She watched in silence as I packed an overnight bag.

"I've missed you," was all she said.

I gently kissed her forehead, wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"I know. Me, too."

I hesitated, almost changing my mind. She was so beautiful and alluring. My body wanted to slip into the bed beside her and make gentle love to her. But my mind could not ignore the fact that there were some issues that we, no, that I had to resolve. I forced myself to keep packing.

"Look, I have to do something, but I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. We'll talk then - if you want to. I promise." I looked at her sitting there. "I love you. I want you to know that."

"I know. I love you, too. We'll talk tomorrow. I'll be waiting."

I left and drove to a motel near the Rosen Clinic. Thursday I underwent Dr. Wang's procedure on my wang and drove home. It really was painless, although I did feel as if something was different.

During the hour-long surgical procedure tiny emitters were implanted in and around my penis and groin. A couple more were slipped just under my scalp at pre-determined locations over the parts of the brain that were pleasure centers. The end result was that by merely thinking about something erotic, I could bring my prick to an erection. It was all done with such small amounts of electricity that the devices were able to be charged from the bio-electrical discharges from my body. A neat, self-sustaining system.

One of the more surprising features of the procedure was that I could control when sperm was included in my ejaculate. A kind of variable vasectomy. That was one less worry where Janey was concerned. I was still undecided about actually fucking her, but if I did, I sure as hell didn't want a teenage pregnancy to completely ruin her life.

It took about three hours for them to go through all the features and for me to practice them. When I was satisfied that I could control myself, I left them with my sincere thanks and the news that Dr. Wang's paperwork was already being processed. He could expect an answer within seven working days. I had sent his and his daughter's papers to Judge Hawthorne's office last week for processing. Dr. Wang looked at me in disbelief, then to Dr. Rosen. She simply beamed at him and nodded in confirmation. He was hugging his daughter and they were weeping for joy when I left.

Sally was waiting for me when I got home. She met me at the door, but instead of greeting me with a kiss, she knelt before me as a servant. My heart hurt at her subservience. Not that she gave it, but that I wasn't worthy of receiving it from her.

That point was at the center of the issue was between us. She loved me, I loved her. That was not in question. She had submitted to me. She needed to be totally committed. She needed me to be totally committed, as well. We both knew I wasn't, and thus there was still an element of fear in her submission. She was not afraid that I would intentionally harm her. She knew that if I ever did harm her physically, I would curl up and die of shame and guilt. What she feared was that I would hurt her unintentionally, and not just physically. That was because in terms of what we were entering into, I was just plain stupid and ignorant. I had no idea of her limits. I didn't know the path, as Amud called it, or where it went or why.

I was determined to change that. I had to take away her fear - and my own terror, as well. To do that, I had to 'experience the path' myself, as Amud had said. It had taken me a long time to figure out what he meant. I may be slow, but I get there eventually. It took even longer to admit to myself that I could do what he meant. But I think I had always known what I would have to do and that, eventually, I would do it. My own fears held me back, almost to the point of losing Sally. But it was what I had to do, terror or no.

I knelt down beside Sally right there in the hallway by the front door. I took her hand and turned it palm up. I kissed it lovingly, knowing it would soon be causing me much pain. Then I placed the two keys to the dungeon in her hand. She closed her fist around them slowly. I think she thought I was rejecting that side of her, that I was closing that door.

Without a word to her, I put my wrists together in front me and presented them to her as if for binding. I bowed all the way down in front of her, my head to the ground. I stayed that way for a long time. I intended to stay that way until she released me.

I heard her gasp as she realized what I was doing. To her credit, she did not question if I was crazy. I would have had to say that I probably was, at that exact moment. I heard her get up and leave, going down to the dungeon. After a time, she returned.

"I have to ask. Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes." I could barely talk for fear.

"Do you want a safeword?"

She had told me all about safewords, those escape clauses for submissives who weren't really sure of their master or mistress. Sally had never asked for one before she subjected herself to me, even with her fears. She had had one with Gary, but he had never honored it.

"No. You'll know."

"You realize this may take some time." She bent over and slipped a hood over my head. The only openings were for my nostrils and a zipper over my mouth. I was blind and deaf when wearing the hood. She laced it tightly behind my head, pulling the thick leather smooth and tight around my head. I heard a bit of static, then a "click" and her voice, tinny from the small speakers, was in my ears.

"Stand and strip."

I struggled to my feet, slightly disoriented by the hood. Pins and needles shot though my legs as the blood flow was re-established. I had been on my knees a long time. I had not groveled that much lately and wasn't used to the position. I took off my clothes and dropped them on the floor. I stood naked when I finished. I didn't know what to do with my hands and they kind of flopped around, very much like the limpness I was experiencing in another part of my body.

"What am I supposed to do, pick up after you? Fold them neatly!" I felt a sudden horrendous pain in my left buttock emphasized this last command. It was my first taste of what was to come and it was biting and bitter. I almost shit, but I was afraid I would have had to clean that up, too.

I jumped and hopped around, trying to avoid any more blows. The zippered hood muffled the yelp I let out, but it was still loud in my ears. When the pain subsided, I bent to pick up my clothes. This was no easy task, as I had moved when I jumped around. My clothes were no longer in my immediate vicinity. I had to get down on my hands and knees and do a grid search of the hallway before I found the last sock. I suspect she was moving some of the clothes around, keeping them from me, as I would swear I had searched the area I finally found the last piece hiding in at least twice prior. Regardless, I retrieved them all and was able to place a neatly folded bundle before her feet. Or where I imagined her feet were.

"Stand."

I stood.

I felt a strap being placed around my penis, down by the base. It looped once between my penis and scrotum, then again behind my sac. A last strap bisected my sac in two, one nut on each side. Then the whole thing was tightened until I thought my balls would burst. I felt a click of metal on metal and then a firm tug on my balls, urging me forward. I nearly fell over.

"If you want to keep them attached, you had better learn to follow when I tug on your leash." A harder tug followed, and so did I. Quickly, if a bit awkward.

We descended into the basement. I assumed we were headed for the dungeon. I was correct.

I felt my wrists wrapped tightly with what felt like stiff leather cuffs. Then they were lifted over my head. I strained, standing on my toes to keep in touch with the ground for as long as possible, then I lost even that touch. I felt her push one side of me and my equilibrium went haywire. I was spinning with no points of reference. Vertigo set in quickly and I was totally disoriented. I vomited in the helmet and the fluid ran down between the mask and my face, dripping down my chest. The smell was awful.

An icy cold torrent of water beat against my body. She must have had a fire hose installed down there, there was so much water. She focused on my head and chest, rinsing away the vomit. I was torn between being thankful for the smell being gone and the terror of drowning in the hood. I learned how to drink through my nose, something I would not suggest to anyone.

Then nothing happened. I mean it. She must have left the room. I just hung there by my wrists. I didn't know if I was still spinning or not. I also had no recollection of time, other than my heartbeat. Under normal circumstances, I could estimate time by my regular resting pulse. I had always maintained a resting pulse of about 60. But these were not normal circumstances and my heart rate seemed faster than normal. I had no way of telling how long I hung there.

More time must have passed than I thought. The water I had ingested had worked its way through my system and was now ready to exit. I had to piss, but I couldn't. Call it pride, stubbornness or whatever, I didn't want to urinate when I couldn't see where it was going. I don't think psychologists have ever figured out that peculiar fascination a man has with watching himself pee. It stays with a man from the time he is a little boy. Maybe it has to do with being able to write his name in the snow. I don't know. I just know I didn't want to let go while I was blinded. I focused on blocking out the urgent messages I was receiving from my bladder.

The first savage pain hit just below the back of my neck. It was a thin fiery strip of heat that stretched from one shoulder to the other. One end of the painful strip of fire curled into my armpit, as my arms were held over my head. The following blows descended slowly down my back, each one slightly lower than the previous one. I fought the pain, resisted giving in to it. I hated the pain, the whip. I began screaming when the first blows landed on the backs of my thighs. The pains continued. Not even the soles of my feet were spared that painful lash.

I had been hanging for so long, I didn't even try to move my feet or kick to avoid the lash. Moving caused more pain in my shoulders, arms and wrists than the whipping did, so I just hung there, screaming.

The pain on the front parts of my feet, across the tops of my toes alerted me to the beginning of the next round. My screams raised several decibels in volume and, as the lash curled around my tender testicles, rose several octaves in sheer panic. No part of me was spared the lash. I was sobbing uncontrollably when it stopped, the pain in my groin agonizing, excruciating.

At some point I had voided, soiling myself, the yellow fluid and stinky solids streaming down my legs and pooling below me. I could smell the acrid human smell of urine and shit even through the hood. It smelled like fear.

I was not broken or submissive. I was mad. My anger was palpable. I roared into the hood. Into the stillness of the dungeon. To myself. Sally had left me alone again, hanging over my own pile of shit.

I don't know when I awoke. I didn't remember falling asleep. I couldn't get my bearings at first, didn't remember where I was. The sudden burst of fresh pain broke through the haze of sleep shrouding my brain. Multiple points, many stripes at once. I could feel the thuds of the knots on the ends of the straps solidly landing on my back and sides, sometimes wrapping clear around and impacting my chest. I screamed. And voided myself again. I fought the pain and humiliation. The agony grew in my back and in my spirit as the blows continued relentlessly.

I must have passed out when the lashes curled around my hip and the hard knots at the ends of the braided strands hit my unprotected, harnessed cock. I remember having a clear premonition of disaster as I felt the pain in one ass cheek but not the other and then I remember a split second when I thought that I would die, hanging there in a basement. Then - then.there was nothing.

When I came to, I was lying on my back on a hard surface. My hands were stretched out straight over my head, which was still hooded. My ankles were now cuffed and my legs were pulled straight out and held slightly apart. Something narrow and hard that felt like a two-by-four on edge was jammed under my butt, raising my pelvis above the plane of my body. That made my groin, and my bound cock and balls, the high point.

What was confusing was that what I was feeling at that moment were the soothing hands of my lover moving over my aching body, tracing the angry red lines that I could only imagine were criss-crossing my skin. I felt moisture, then coolness as the water evaporated. I responded to the soft caresses and my erection became the prominent point, lofting high and proud. What a foolish, vain and predictable organ. The constraining straps around the base of my cock tightened due to the expanded size as a result of the influx of blood into that area. The constriction increased to the point where the outflow was constrained more than the inflow. I would now have a permanent hard-on until the straps were loosened.

"Cum for me. Now!" My lover's voice was with me in my darkness. A tinny voice in my ears.

I tried. Even with Dr. Wang's improvements, I couldn't do it. I was still fighting the bondage. I couldn't find the path.

I felt the surface I was lying on begin vibrate. The tension in my arms and legs increased. I was slowly being stretched out. She had me on a rack. Never again would I underestimate the effectiveness of medieval torture techniques. An added twist of a lever or wheel elevated my pelvis area more, bowing me completely off the table with only a single contact point under my hips. I felt as if I would break if I were forced to bend backwards any more.

I was whipped on the frontal parts of by body from the tips of my toes to the tips of my fingers. Special attention was paid to my hands and arms, as they had been too high for Sally to reach when I was hanging by my wrists. Even my shielded face received several terrifying blows. Then I was left alone again.

I was beginning to hate being alone. Even to the point of looking forward to the pain, strange as that sounds. At least then I wasn't alone. I began reaching out to my tormenter in my mind. I knew, from my time with the State Department, that this was a classic response of kidnap and torture victims. What they hadn't told us was how helpless the victims were to resist that response. I had no choice but to try to curry the favor of my tormentor. The depth of the visceral response frightened me. I had to do it.

The tender touching was repeated, but this time I was given water to drink through a straw before it started. It was the first fluids I had had since I had been hosed off. The zipper over my mouth was opened, and a drop of water placed on my parched lips. I felt the straw and I sucked in as much as I could, as fast as I could. The first rush of cool water hit my stomach and I vomited. The acid taste of bile stayed with me, even after I was able to take in more water.

She hosed me off again, and then commanded me to cum again. When I couldn't, Sally moved away from me. The pain when she whipped me on my wet skin was even worse than before. I was unconscious when she stopped, but I had lasted a long time before I lost my senses. Longer than either of us expected me to, I would guess. I could feel her frustrations at my resistance to the pain, but I didn't know what to do to, how to help her.

It went like this without an apparent end. I was hung, tied, bent, whipped, stretched and then left alone. Then again. And then again. The pain and the loneliness eventually became secondary to the terror and the frustration I experienced when, at the initiation of each session, I heard that same whispered "Cum for me!" When I failed to please my mistress, I was beaten senseless. The command was given again at the completion of each session, if I was still conscious.

When I was left alone, I continued the futile fight against the pain and the bondage. I could not, would not give into it. It was blackness and void. Terror. Unknown. I sensed in it a danger of deathly proportions. My very being, my spirit, the essence of who I was in my head, would not give itself up to that perceived evil that I sensed lurking in that darkness. I would not break. I could not. I was more afraid of that unknown than the pain.

I was delirious, too. I knew it. I was getting desperate, as well. In the back of my mind, I knew that if this did not work, I could and probably would lose the most precious thing I had ever known. I would lose the respect of Sally, if not Sally herself. In desperation, I did the only thing I could think of.

I surrendered not to the darkness, but to the Will of my Mistress. It was that simple. Why I hadn't thought of it before is an indication of my ignorance, I guess. Or how paralyzed I was by terror. Or how much of a stubborn, prideful son-of-a-bitch I am. I couldn't give in to the darkness, but my Mistress was light. She was a guide into the unknown terror. With the last desperate thoughts of my sane mind, I surrendered myself to my Mistress.

I don't remember what happened after that, but Sally said she knew something was different as soon as she woke up from her catnap. I was resting peacefully in one of the more uncomfortable positions she had bound me into. I had stopped screaming, stopped fighting. When she gave me the command to ejaculate, I did. I don't remember. I was literally out of my mind.

I later learned that Sally had never me alone in the dungeon. She or Janey were always there. I had thought I had felt a different set of hands soothing me, but I wasn't sure. Only one set used the whips and caused me pain. But there had been two sets of hands that soothed me.

I remember little after my surrender. I was just there, floating. I know there was more bondage, more pain. But it was what my lover, my Mistress wanted, and I only hoped it gave her joy. That she wanted it was the only reason I needed to accept that she was giving it to me. I was hers. Totally. That time of total abdication of my will to Hers was the most peaceful time of my life that I can ever remember.

The last thing that happened, my final test, I guess, I do remember. Very well. My hands were bound tightly behind my back, my ankles and calves tied to my thighs with my knees forced wide apart. I was forced to kneel on the cold cement of the dungeon floor, which was still damp from my last 'bath'. I was tightly hooded, as I had been throughout the ordeal. I could not see or hear, but I could feel the footstep vibrations of other people walking around me. I cringed inside, beginning to fight to fear. But then I reached out and found that Mistress was there. I don't know how, but I could feel her, and I relaxed. What she wanted, I wanted.

The zipper over my mouth was opened and I was offered a drink. Then I felt something I had hoped to live my entire life without feeling. The warm solid flesh of a real cock was introduced to my mouth. It was a large one with a broad circumcised head. I froze.

A soft gentle voice came to my ears. My Mistress. "Cum for me, my love. Cum."

I blew my wad across the room. And sucked the cock into my mouth. For my Mistress, because She willed it. I was bobbing and sucking as best I could, trying to do all the things that I thought would feel good to me. For some reason, it was important to me that I do a good job at this vile task, the very best I could. It was as if the prestige of my Mistress was at stake. My performance would be her grade. I did my best, but I failed. The cock did not spew it's cum into my mouth. As it slipped out of my mouth, I cried out to let me try again, I would do better, I pleaded. Please....

A soft fingertip on my lips stilled my anguish and the zipper was closed. I bent forward in shame, awaiting my punishment for failing Her. My head rested on the ground. I thought I knew what was coming, but I was wrong. It wasn't the whip I felt on my ass. It was the head of that stiff cock wet with my own saliva being placed against the opening of my virgin ass. My head jerked up off the ground, my back arching in silent protest against this invasion. Gentle, soothing hands spread my ass cheeks and a cool substance was forced past the tightly clenched puckered ring.

I knew better than to resist, but to a completely straight male, this was almost more than I could take. I fought against this intrusion of my body by another male's member with every fiber of my being. In my current position, the only things I could move were my fingers. I clenched and unclenched them in utter frustration as the plumb-sized head of that solid phallus slipped past the straining muscular ring. Tears of frustration and humiliation filled the hood covering my head.

Mistress lightly took hold of my clenching hands with hers. I vented all my pain and frustration into that touch. I cried out my terror and revulsion to this homosexual act to her with my mind. She drew it all out of me. But the penetration didn't stop. I understood it was what She wanted. She knew that as much as the pain and bondage had been hard for me to accept from her, asking me to submit to this act was the ultimate test for me. I almost couldn't do it. I almost failed. I could still feel and taste the strange slipperiness of the male pre-cum in my mouth. It gagged me. And almost broke me.

I sensed the force of her gentle will surrounding me, comforting me. I relaxed into it, releasing into her the abject terror in my soul. I forced myself to swallow the residual male fluids that were still in my mouth. I forced myself to push back on that intrusive shaft, opening myself up to this rape, this homosexual coupling. I pushed back willingly, if not joyfully to meet the hard, frenzied thrusts until I felt the hot flooding of my colon. I had not failed my Mistress this time. I wept at the immense pleasure I felt at pleasing Her.

"Cum for me, my love. Cum."

And I came. For Her.