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Her crying woke me. For a moment I lay still and listened to her gasping sobs. Partly she was crying because of the pain. I had tied her elbows and wrists together behind her back before putting her in the cage, and then attached her bound hands to the top of the cage. She was kneeling, the top of her body horizontal and supported only by the rope tieing her hands to the metal. As her muscles failed her arms would be slowly pulled out of their sockets. Excruciating.

But that wasn't the only reason why she was crying. She still had my cum on her face, just as she had at the club. She had asked for it, begged for it, and if she could have thought of anything more degrading she would have begged for that too. Tonight she had gone from being a kinky girl to being a slave, and she knew it. She knows what the next years of her life are going to be like, because I have told her in great detail. She can see the pain and the complete loss of control. She knows that I will twist all of her old relationships with family, friends, and ex-boyfriends, using them to humiliate her further, to destroy her ability to go back to her old life.

So it was understandable that she would be crying. Understandable, but annoying. Her cage was at the side of my bed, under my nightstand. I pounded the cage with the flat of my hand, making the whole structure boom.

"Quiet!" I commanded. A few snuffles and then silence. I settled back and waited. According to my alarm clock it took seven minutes for her to start crying again. I rolled out of bed.

The carpet beneath my feet was warm and yielding. The air conditioned air was crisp against my skin and my whole body felt fuzzy, as if I was moving in all directions at once. I love punishing my slaves.

Unhooking her hands was the work of an instant, dragging her out of the cage by the hair another. Stumbling and crying she tried to keep up with me as I walked her across the bedroom and into the bathroom. When the light came on I could see that she was trying to stiffle her sobs, but couldn't quite succeed.

"What did I tell you to do, slave?"

"Be... be quiet."

"Well you aren't being quiet." I reached out, took both her hands in one of mine and jerked her arms full over her head. She cried out, her abused shoulders no doubt grinding in their sockets as I stretched them out, held her upright. With my other hand I checked her pussy. Wet as the Amazon.

"I want you to be quiet little slut. If you are silent long enough, I might just stop."

"Stop what?" she wanted to know, with the start of passion in her eyes. Punishing pain sluts is always a delicate balance - you can't give them what they want, even when what they want is what would be most satisfying for you.

If she were a different type of woman I'd already be slapping her in the face, but that would be a reward for this slave. I let go of her hands and make a fist in her hair again, dragging her into the shower.

"Kneel." She does. "Sit silently." She looks at me with confusion in her eyes. What sort of punishment is it to kneel in the shower?

I turn on the water, cold only. It hits her square in the face and runs down her body. She lets out an involuntary yip and then bites her tongue, looking at me to see if I will punish her. I lean against the sink watching the spray hit her and bounce of the tiles. It forms little puddles at the side of the tub but I don't think for a second of pulling the shower curtain forward. It would block my view.

Her nipples were hard before, of course, but now they crinkle painfully. Her skin sprouts goose bumps all over. After one minute her jaw has a little tremble. After two minutes her hands are constantly making small aborted motions to hug herself against the cold. She rocks forward trying to make the spray go over her head and run down her back. I tell her to sit back on her heels. The look she gives me is one of pure desperation. This is discomfort without eroticism. It is not enjoyable. She wants it to stop.

I move to the shower and she is briefly hopeful, but I only put the plug in the tub so that it starts to fill. Now she is instructed to lay back, hands above her head, as the water that falls on her slowly fills the tub. She is gasping constantly now. People shipwrecked in icy waters often drown within minutes because the plunge into such cold liquid shocks them into opening their mouths and breathing in under the surface. The slave is gasping in that way now, spasmodically trying to draw in enough air to power muscles twitching out of control in an attempt to generate heat.

There is a strange sinuousness to the way the shudders run through her body, almost as if her muscles are synchronized in their shivering. She has been nearly immersed in the cold water for ten minutes now. Her eyes are locked on mine, waiting for my commands. If I told her to drown herself now, would she? Perhaps. Certainly I could make her stay there till she died of hypothermia.

Instead I reach down and pull her to her feet. She is clumsy getting out of the tub, and I know she has lost some of the feeling in her limbs. It doesn't concern me. I push her against the wall, holding her there with one hand around her neck just below her jaw. Her mouth is shivering and I can feel the gunfire rythmn of it against my hand even as I stretch her up so that she is on her toes.

"Spread your legs" I tell her, and she obeys immediately. I know that she is not feeling sexy. Her body still shakes, every inch of her flesh is still cold. But I reach between her legs and peel her pussy open. She doesn't respond at all. She may not even be able to feel it. But pressure nerves do not go numb the same way temperature nerves do, and she feels it when I slap her pussy.

I slap it again and she stiffens. I squeeze her neck for emphasis on each blow. Again and again. She never stops shivering but it takes on a new tone, a new feel. Her hips turn themselves outwards, opening up to my pain. My fingers start to gain the oily slickness of pussy juice instead of the clean nuetrality of water.

Finally there is no doubt. She is flushed and gasping and ready. She has been trained to cum on command and she desperately needs that word from me now. I have done two of the things she needs to be a slave tonight - exerted my dominance and hurt her. Now I will do the last thing she needs.

"Do you want to cum little slave?" I ask. She nods, and gasps, and I know that she is more desperate now than she has been since I've known her, perhaps in her life. She needs release, but she needs my permission and my order to achieve it. I lean in close to whisper directly into her ear.

"Then the next time I tell you to be quiet, do it the first time."

I put her back in the cage with her hands bound, and she spends the rest of the night crying. But she cries silently