Chapter Three
The Gaoler
As the days went by, my own reaction to the evening shows was
undergoing a slow change: whereas, at first, I had found the merciless
cruelty displayed during those performances to be most exciting, the
closer it was getting be to my own turn to star in one such show, the
more I came to feel ever more terrified. It happened two or two times,
during that week, that I was tormented by the supervisors at dinner
time, but despite the agony from the whippings and the screams I
uttered when a clamp was positioned on one of my most sensitive parts,
I had spent the evening hours in the same resigned state I was in
during the days, reduced to a mindless wreck by the never ending
suffering and by the unmovable authority of the dominatrixes.
However, as the time went by, the understanding of the fact that pretty
soon, the girl being tortured would be no other than myself deeply
printed itself in my mind. It is true that I had got accustomed to
living with an impaling plug deeply thrust into my asshole most of the
time, it is true that by then I found quite natural to throw myself on
the floor to tongue the soles of the boots which were proffered to me,
and it is true also that the very thought of spending my days in such a
paradoxical predicament instantly got me in heat like a sow in need,
but I was not quite ready to undergo that kind of handling. I knew it
only too well: whenever the supervisors looked the other way and I
could afford to focus my attention for one moment from the demanding
household duties or from the agony of punishment, I found myself
standing on shaky legs, my stomach cramped in terror. Had I not been
perfectly aware that such a request only would have resulted in a worse
sentence, I would have begged my tormentors, on my knees and crying, to
do anything to me, to kill me even, but to spare me from the murderous
dinner torture. I was ready to abandon myself to the most abject
humiliations, humiliations I had not yet understood belonged only to
fantasy, and to the most inhumane sacrifices. Nevertheless, day after
day, hour upon hour, the unbearable moment came ever closer, its
progress not to be checked. When the fate-designed evening came at
last, so feverous was my terror of the torture that was in store for me
that I could not help making a great number of minor mistakes and
blunders during the day, so that I received again and again the kiss of
the whip - an instrument which, in Lady Fiona's castle, never had to be
asked twice to sing its anthem. I even had daydreamed, at some time,
that if I could contrive to get to the torture stage with a body
utterly disfigured by the whip, I could be possibly spared the torture.
Of course, that very thought was nonsense, on at least two counts:
first of all, the supervisors were perfectly able to whip me for a
whole day without inflicting serious damage to me, and anyway, there
could be no doubt that the Mistress would have found the infliction of
torture to a slave already marked by the whip to be vastly interesting,
so that nothing could save me.
When, at long last, it was dinner time, sheer terror had utterly numbed
my mind. I went straight from a state of unrestricted sexual arousal to
one of almost total paralysis: I had witnessed the terrible condition
in which the tormented slaves went back to their duties on the
following morning, and when I reflected that even so masochistic a slut
as Bettina had hardly been able, literally, to stand on her feet, I had
to realize that, whatever torture was being readied for me, it would be
the worst on of all my life. As I was trying to fortify myself despite
that desperate situation, Monika came and without further ado tied my
wrists behind my back, snapped a leash to my collar, and dragged me
with a total lack of regard towards the dining room where all the other
inhabitants of the mansion were getting ready for their evening meal.
We came in at the far end of the room, and I still distinctly recall
the sensations I went through while I was being led to torture The
coldness of the air, which made my nipples even stiffer, Enrica's hard
stare as I passed her, the lack of interest that the other slaves
seemed to display towards my perils as they went on servicing the
dominatrixes in every possible way, and of course... Lady Fiona. Like
always she was incredibly beautiful. She was sitting on her chair like
an Empress on her throne. Her long hair only partially covered the
generous measure of luscious cleavage bared by the low neckline of an
obviously very expensive silken evening dress. I had seen her turn her
eyes to me as soon as I had entered the room, and since then she had
never wavered in her inquisitive gaze, studying me, appraising every
feature of my body with the knowing eye of a cattle merchant. I recall
the strange sensation I had felt right then, and I almost felt ashamed,
because at that very moment I was being freed of the huge anal plug
which up to then had never once left me. My attention had been focused,
for an instant, on the perceptions which came from my bottom: I had
distinctly identified the unfamiliar sensation of cool air nuzzling the
inner walls of my distended sphincter, and the burning feeling which
still remained from a caning I had received, a few hours before, on my
ass cheeks. Momentarily turning my eyes to the table, I had been
overwhelmed by Lady Fiona's smile, an ironic smile which conveyed all
the cruelty she was able of, and for that very reason, utterly
fascinated me.
Then, as I reached the other end of the room, I had no choice but to
look at the instrument which had been readied for my torment. I was
astonished to find that the executioner who stood waiting at its side
was Midori, the Asian overseer. Even though I was, by then, fully
convinced of my status as a plaything for anybody's use, I had
developed a kind of bond, not to say of affection, to Enrica, who had
come, through her daily lessons and her brusque ways of awakening me,
to embody my own progress in the perverted universe of submission. I
must confess that I would have preferred to be tortured by her, but
after having tied my leash to a hook in the wall, she had hastened to
walk to the table, where she was now seated with a slave's slurping
tongue between her legs, and she had left me to the care of Midori. It
was a long time before I discovered that the latter had spent several
full days building the sophisticated device needed for that evening's
performance, which she had designed and planned on her own. The
mansion's well established custom was to celebrate a new slave's "first
night" with the most sophisticated, spectacular and painful tortures,
and Midori had no intention of leaving to her fellow tormenters such an
opportunity to display her skills.
The sadistic overseer was, without any doubt, not cast in the typical
mould of the underdeveloped, awkwardly proportioned Asian female. Her
body was that of a beautifully proportioned Western female, with long,
straight legs, large breasts and a well formed bottom, which made the
unyielding stare of her slanted, almond-shaped eyes even more
magnificent and made her a dream vision, a vision which in other
circumstances could have been defined as an "angelic" vision. She had
chosen to wear a low-cut bodice of black leather which left her breasts
free, a G-string of the same black leather, stockings of the sheerest
material with self-supporting garter bands, and, of course, the ever
present black leather pumps with ludicrously high heels. Even though
they were a bit more moderate in size than the ones we slaves were
compelled to wear, her spectacular high heels made her a perfect
fetishist's dream.
As far as I was concerned, however, I was suddenly dragged away from my
contemplation of her features by her lively demonstration of the
instrument's working, which she launched into in perfectly fluent
German for the benefit of Lady Fiona. My limited language skills were
of no help for me in grasping the working of the contraption. It looked
like the main component of the apparatus had been salvaged from one of
those children's see-saws which are made up of a beam oscillating
around a central axis, with two small kids straddling the ends of the
beam and alternatively sending each other up into the air.
The main beam had been replaced by a length of thick metallic pipe,
each end of it had been somehow fitted with a large "thing": one of
those "things" was a simple counterweight, which would allow the beam
to remain balanced on its central axis. The other end, however, bore an
apparatus which greatly concerned me.
It consisted of a strange-looking, rather complex metallic device,
which protruded above and under the steel beam. Midori first
demonstrated how this part was also articulated with the beam, and
could slightly oscillate on its own axis as the main beam went up and
down, in such a way as to remain always perfectly vertical, even when
the "see-saw" was at a marked angle with the horizontal plane. A kind
of dark-colored shaft seemingly fashioned from wood, protruded from the
device's upper side and was the subject of Midori's following
demonstration: through some kind of mechanical design which I did not
care to understand, every time the see-saw oscillated and that end went
down, putting the down side of the device in contact with the ground,
the dark pivot slid upwards with a clicking sound. The length it
travelled was not that impressive, maybe a few tens of an inch only,
but Midori "pumped" the see-saw in rapid successive strokes, which
promptly produced, to a musical accompaniment of sinister clicking
sounds, a huge spike about one foot long. Its shape was strange-
looking, like a streamlined missile. It was circular in section, and
thickening to a maximum 3 1/2" or so at the base, but, at its top end,
what had first looked to me like a smallish shaft actually was a
second, smaller spike, like a scaled down reproduction of the main one,
no more than 2" long and maybe one inch thick. I had abruptly fallen
down into a mood of utter resignation, and to tell the truth it never
even occurred to me to wonder about the possible use of this extra
device. Thinking back upon it, I certainly would have had no difficulty
in guessing right, but a strange quirk of my mind made me feel quite
unconcerned, and devoid of the slightest interest regarding whatever
could happen to me. When I was a little girl I had read about the
"illuminations" to be found in Buddhism, and as strange as it may
sound, I am convinced to this day that I was then, quite literally, in
a similar situation... It is called "satori", or something like that,
the feeling of being beyond all that.
My gaze nevertheless stayed glued to Midori as she went on with her
presentation, and demonstrated how the spike, as it sprang upwards,
allowed the see-saw's beam to come ever nearer to the ground, until it
almost touched it. To conclude, the overseer called her perverted
audience's attention to two ropes which hung from the ceiling and ended
in what looked like hangman's nooses. These ropes went through pulleys
and their other ends bore big metal masses, each of which could weight
at least forty pounds.
The presentation was ended with a truly devilish smile by Midori, who
went to me after having pushed back the spike in its initial position.
My inner serenity promptly melted away. The woman tied my forearms
behind my back, bound to each other on their whole length, then she
made me kneel and used a rope to tightly bind my ankles to my thighs,
thus compelling me to keep my legs folded. And, at long last, she began
the torture.
Hefting me up as if I had weighed nothing, Midori grabbed me and
carelessly dropped me upon the see-saw. My whole weight was bearing
upon the tiny area between my legs, and I tried to find some support by
steadying myself upon my knees. I heard a metallic tremor and what was
probably a metallic pole was inserted between my back and my forearms,
which thus hugged it, the ice-cold metal gliding between my shoulder
blades and down my spine to end up being somehow affixed to the main
apparatus. A few loops with a rope tied me to that last device, the
purpose of which was to prevent me from falling on my side. Now the
tormentor could deprive me of still another support, and she used a
spreader bar, which she positioned upon the see-saw's beam, to both
spread and hitch up my knees. In that position, I was being inflicted
that painful torture which consists in straddling a thin plank. I had
submitted to only once after my arrival in the mansion, and it had left
me with lasting pain for many hours.
But it was far from being the end of the story. Midori positioned
herself between my legs and, handling my tenderized parts without the
slightest care, she saw to it that the lips of my cunt were exactly
separated by the see-saw's beam and by the small pivot which protruded
from it. At that point, the pivot was able to invade my intimate
orifice without the slightest trouble. As I softly groaned from the
pain this operation was giving me, I understood, at long last, what was
in store for me: the pole I had seen jutting out, huge and threatening,
was going to be stuck up my cunt, quartering me! I felt the blood drain
from my face, and my expression must have been quite clearly one of
terror, for I could hear Lady Fiona laugh heartily from the table where
she was enjoying her meal. A sudden thought, from a small recess of my
mind, momentarily set my fears to rest: "That cannot be, this is too
big. They would not ruin my cunt for ever, they must have something
else in mind". But right after that, I thought of the enormous size of
the plug which was used every day to spread my asshole; of the extent
to which a vagina could be distended during child birth; and of the
sadistic laughs with which Lady Fiona and her executioners greeted
every howl of unbearable agony from a tortured slave.
Despite my tight bondage, I shuddered when the touch of Midori's hands
on my breasts pulled me out of these thoughts. Ruthlessly stretching my
flesh, she was pulling one of my mammaries through one of the nooses I
had noticed. She tightened the noose in a painful manner around the
base of my breast, and its companion underwent the same treatment:
while the woman was thus readying me, my inquisitive stare glided along
the rope, until it came to rest on the heavy weights at the other ends.
They were, at that time, resting upon two chairs which kept them off
the floor. With an ultimate tug on the ropes, which made me utter a
surprised yelp, Midori checked that her work would hold. Then she
walked away, giving the signal for the performance to begin.
The first weight to be dropped was the one hanging from my right
breast. Never before had I felt such a pull, and when Midori let it go
I felt as if my tit was being torn off, or, better, I was quite sure it
had been ripped off. The pain was truly too high, it had nothing to do
with that of the whip or of the other punishments I was used to, or
even with the throbbing, sustained, yet somehow more sensual agony
inflicted by the anal plug. The pain from the other mammary promptly
added itself to the one I had started experiencing, and I was startled
to discover that I could not greet it with proper screams, as I had
already started yelling at the top of my lungs as soon as the first tit
had been stretched...
I could see, through the tears which flooded my eyes, Midori slowly,
sensuously walk to the other end of the see-saw, and nonchalantly put a
hand on the counterweight. The beam between my legs gently lifted me by
a few inches. The weights on my tits came to rest on the floor, and the
pain I felt there slightly decreased, as the warmth of restored blood
circulation filled my breasts. Maybe this was the best moment of the
torture: although I remained in that elevated position for a few
fractions of a second at most, in that short time I grew excited like I
never had been up to then. At long last, for the first time in my life,
I was TORTURED like in my most perverted dreams. It was no longer a
game, or a punishment: this was a true and authentic torture, its only
purpose to make me suffer for the pleasure of the people who dominated
me, who totally owned me. The pain itself, as I had realized from the
beginning, felt different: this time it was intensive pain, unmerciful,
inflicted by a soulless machinery which could feel neither mercy nor
lassitude, a contraption which had been thought up with the sole aim of
reducing me to an animal, my mind annihilated by pain, exactly like my
first whipping in Katja's house.
These thoughts were quite short-lived, of course. Midori lost no time
in sending me down again, and the ropes tensed again around my tits,
gripping them anew and stretching them upwards. The yell of pain I got
out covered the first clicking sound of the dildo, which was still
sheathed enough to be harmless, so that it could glide up into me
without any trouble. Nevertheless, the impact of the see-saw's end with
the floor, as light as it was, went up to the beam I was straddling,
sending a slight jolt up my genitals. I tried to gather my courage, and
I looked at my chest: my tits were bulging out like balloons, they had
taken on a bright red hue, and they were getting worryingly far away
from my chest, so taut was the rope. Midori said something, and I found
myself going up again.
This time, the tormentor has put some decisiveness in her handling of
the counterweight, and as I reached the uppermost part of my journey I
wobbled quite painfully on my beam, as it stopped unceremoniously. I
was bathed in sweat, and all of a sudden that session looked somehow
less fascinating to me. As the time went by, and the up and down moves
followed each other, the treatment was soon becoming what is was
intended to be from the start: torture, and nothing else.
The agony only grew more acute, of course, as the dildo started really
filling my little cunt. There was a moment when I realized, despite the
sea of pain in which I was drowning, that there had been a drastic
change down between my legs. My body weight no longer supported itself
on the metal beam, but on the wood spike: my whole weight thus was
bearing down on the walls of my vagina, which tried to adjust to the
spike's monstrous girth, but did it with excruciating slowness. A
"Click!" and my sex went up in flames, cleaving itself like an apricot
being torn apart by eager hands. A yell (one of many, many yells...)
and I felt myself slide down the spike, ever so slowly, until I could
sense again the cool touch of the metal beam on my anal ring. The
fierceness of the stimulation went way beyond anything I had been
inflicted during the previous days, even though I hardly had been
spared, so that every sensation I could perceive in my cunt was
magnified: even though the actual increment in height was quite
minimal, it felt as if I was gliding down the dildo for several feet at
a time, a girl-sized ice cream stick left out in the sun to melt down
and slowly slide along its wooden stick. Then, after a while, I
discovered with horror that the interval of time between two touchdowns
no longer was enough to let my tender flesh open itself by the required
extent, so that I began to be pushed upwards even though I had not
settled down on the metal beam yet. What this meant was that my whole
body weight was now supported by that monstrous artificial cock, and
the added push on my cunt walls staved me in much more painfully than
before, as my stomach and viscera were pitilessly squeezed.
The sophisticated torture thought up by Midori now proved to be even
more refined than I had feared. Right after having pulled me down one
more time, she came to me and lifted me up from the see-saw. By that
time it seemed to me that I had remained impaled for hours, with my
tits growing ever more swollen and outstretched, and my cunt ruined
forever, and I only longed to be freed and sent back to my cell. But it
was not time to end my torture, rather to make it even sharper. With a
total lack of feeling, Midori lifted me up completely, letting the
whole dildo glide out of my cunt. I still had the ropes and the weights
tugging at my boobs and strangling them, but I could not believe I was
being spared at least one of the tortures.
The tormenter explored my cunt by thrusting several fingers in, or
maybe even her whole hand, not meeting any resistance. Then, very
slowly and carefully, she let me down on the dildo. I could not believe
such cruelty: I begged for mercy with desperate screams, which she
seemed not to hear. The impaling spike was now out for a sizeable
length, and this enabled Midori to take advantage of its peculiarity,
its "double tipped" shape. The Asian woman showed consummate skill in
succeeding to position the thin end of the dildo exactly at the deepest
end of my vagina, the mouth of my womb. I felt the wooden tip push
against it, and there was nothing I could do as I was shot through by
the unspeakable agony of being raped in my most intimate sphincter.
For a few moments I literally did not feel a thing, and even the
throbbing agony I endured from my stretched tits at my every heartbeat
seemed to fade out. I then found myself to be back in the highest
position of the see-saw, although I had no recall of being pushed up,
but now I had that hideous device foraging in my most sacred, most
intimate part. The following descent was even worse: my tits were more
stretched than ever, as my body was compelled to glide farther down,
but the thing that terrorized me most was the dildo's imminent
progress. No words could ever translate the hellish agony I felt when
the wooden point made its way even deeper into me: even now, years
later, after having submitted to innumerable torments, the sensations I
had then remain literally unspeakable. The Masters and Mistresses who
have made use of me since that time have never been loath to inflict
uterine distension to me, sometimes making me faint straight away from
the pain. That first time, however, my most intimate flesh had not been
trained to endure that penetration, and yet at no time did
unconsciousness intervene to prevent me from fully savouring, despite
myself, every subtle flavour of the torture.
Even my mind, numbed though it was by the incredible pain, played a bad
turn on me. In a flash, I perfectly understood that the dildo was still
quite a while away from being wholly out, and that the rape it was
inflicting me would get even worse, and for a long time. I clearly
reminded myself that Lady Fiona's evening meal rarely lasted for less
than three hours, and that the tortures never ended before she was
through, sometimes even being carried on after the dessert. I tried to
cast a glance at the table where Fiona and the overseers were seated,
to see what course was being served, but my tear-filled eyes could not
see a thing. My blood was beating an unearthly tempo against my
eardrums and I only heard distorted noises, garbled words in a language
which was not mine: I could make out laughter and groans of pleasure,
but nothing else.
I do not know how long the torture lasted after that, but to me it was
an eternity. My own perceptions were dizzy: I still remember having
looking at my breasts and having seen them a deep purple, swollen to
huge balls of flesh, with disgusting-looking veins in deep-etched
relief which kept pulsating. The slightest move made my suffering only
worse, and soon I became a nameless thing, its only universe being made
up of the two agonizing pains it went was hanging between, the upper
one of stretched tits, the lower one of staved in genitals. This
torture must have been a quite exceptional one, even by the mansion's
standards: a few years later, when I met again with slave Jacqueline,
now established in France as a professional Mistress, she confessed to
me that she had dedicated a whole room of her Parisian dungeon to the
torture of the see-saw, and that some of the best among masochistic
slaves were sent to her to submit to it, including from abroad, as it
was widely deemed to be the most painful torture that could be found in
the richly diversified market of professional S&M.
As I have said, no words can truly do justice to my suffering, nor to
Midori's exquisite skill in devising it. The apparatus kept clicking up
at every touchdown with absolute efficiency, and my dilatation
proceeded with diabolical finality. I obviously had no time for such
frivolous thoughts, but it certainly was a miracle that I suffered no
lasting wounds: the dildo soon reached the limits of my vagina's
stretching capacity, but I think that I somehow succeeded in going
straight past these limits, getting totally distended in the process. I
could feel my vaginal walls slowly giving way, my womb opening more and
more, despite itself, with every thrust of the dildo, and my inner
organs shifting positions to accommodate as best they could the
merciless object.
I still don't know if I was yelling, begging for mercy, or if I was
only uttering resigned whimpers. I don't know either the time my
torture lasted. All I know is that, when the dildo had reached its
maximum extension and thickness, Midori locked the see-saw in its lower
position, so that my tits had to remain in their maximum, most painful
extension. I remained that way for an untold duration, covered in
sweat, with slavering mouth and tear-filled eyes, while Lady Fiona and
the tormenters went through with their meal. Keeping still did almost
nothing to alleviate my pain, and I was foundering in an ocean of
agony.
I do not recall how it all ended: my next remembrance goes to the
following evening, when I was awakened for my German lesson. I went
through it like a zombie, automatically whispering the names of the
anatomical parts which Enrica pointed to, then I was left alone in my
cell, and I readied myself for the day's chores.
I looked at myself in the mirror: my face was a mess, my breasts still
wore a black mark all around their base, and my vagina still showed
signs of being somewhat enlarged. I looked for indications of wounds,
of lacerations of some kind, but beyond the readily explained pain I
felt whenever my fingers merely brushed the places where I had been
tortured, I seemed to be in astonishingly good shape. I washed with the
ice-cold water which dripped from the only faucet in the cell, I
emptied myself in the Turkish style toilet in a corner, I put on the
regulation high-spiked shoes, which constricted the tips of my toes and
had given me, in a matter of days, quite painful blisters, and I lay
down (sitting down was definitely out of the question) to wait for an
overseer to come and fetch me.
Contrary to well established custom, the next visitor was no other than
Lady Fiona. Beautiful and ice-cold as she always was. She ordered me to
spread my legs, and as I had feared, she proceeded to explore my pain-
ridden cunt. "Does it still really hurt?" she asked without expecting
an answer other than my moans. The Mistress thrust two fingers up my
vagina, and spreading them scissors- style, she sampled the quite
decreased firmness of my vaginal muscles, while I shuddered in pain. "I
have loved your two holes from the first evening," she lasciviously
whispered. "My assistants tell me that by now, you manage to walk quite
well with the anal plug in," she commented as her fingertips brushed my
softly wrinkled anal ring, "therefore it is time to do something about
it". I shuddered. "First of all, however..." Lady Fiona lifted her
straight skirt, under which she wore no undies, and she kneeled down on
my bunk, straddling my face.
I licked her with passionate fervour. Her very presence in my cell, her
unyielding stare which, in many undefinable ways, was the true mark of
the dominatrix, had freed me of the slightest hint of fear. As I lay
there carefully tonguing every nook and cranny of her wet, strong-
flavoured slit, my masochistic soul was lost in unfeigned bliss. I was
proud of exciting her, I was satisfied of being able to endure pain for
her, and above all I was proud to the extreme of having undergone the
torture. I got wet from simply making Lady Fiona come, and in a certain
manner I could not wait for another week to go by, so that I could
enliven her night once again by submitting to some inhuman torment.
