Archive-name: Slaves/slut.txt

Archive-author: Joseph A. Brabet   (c) 1993

Archive-title: Slut





She opened the door and pensively looked up at me. She had 

long, brown hair and was wearing a dark green sleeveless linen 

dress that came down to just above her knees. "Ah, hello..." she said, 

somewhat unsure of herself. "Good morning," I replied. I surveyed her 

figure critically, then stared deep into her eyes until she lowered her 

gaze, a little surprised. "You are- I mean you must be..." she trailed 

off. "Yes," was my answer. A shadow of fear crossed her face. She 

looked as if she were having second thoughts about letting me in. 

Just as she was about to speak, I held up my hand to stop her and 

reached down to my briefcase. Opening it, I withdrew a piece of paper 

that I presented to her. "This is an agreement," I said, "which you 

must sign before I enter your house." This surprised her, since she 

was undoubtedly about to present me with a demand, and so was 

taken off-guard by my pre-emption. "What sort of an agreement ?" she 

asked, a look of worry on her features. "It is an agreement I have had 

drafted for me by my lawyer, which is designed to protect me from 

any charges of rape or assault, should you foolishly decide to change 

your mind halfway through the proceedings." She blanched at the 

mention of rape and assault, the reality of what she was about to 

embark upon suddenly dawning on her. "It says, in essence, that you 

knowingly now give your consent to sexual acts between us that may 

appear non-consensual at the time, and to associated acts of bondage 

and discipline, which although they will involve quite some pain on 

your part, are not later to be construed as assaults of any kind, since 

they are part of the same temporary sexual relationship to which you 

now consent." 



"Temporary?" she asked. I thought I detected a note of 

disappointment in her voice. "Yes, temporary, beginning when you 

allow me to walk through your front door and ending when I leave. 

However, if you feel that you require further disciplining at my hands 

at any time in the future, you may renew the relationship as required. 

Generally speaking, a slave requires regular reminders of her status, 

a fact of which she is well-aware." A timid half-smile of relief crossed 

her face, in spite of her attempts to suppress it. 



"You may take as long as you wish to decide. I don't want you 

claiming that I forced my way into your house," I said, smiling a little 

now myself. "Oh no, that's ok, really, I'll sign your agreement, I mean, 

that's you know, that's why I rang you," she blurted out, anxious now 

not to offend me. "You understand fully what you are signing ?" I 

questioned. "Yes..." she said softly, as if afraid to give utterance to 

her true desires. I handed her the sheet of paper, a stiff folder on 

which to rest it and a fountain pen I carried in one of my inside coat 

pockets. Her hands were trembling slightly as she accepted them, 

barely pausing to read the written agreement before uncapping the 

pen and putting her signature to the document. She handed them back 

to me, saying, "There now, that's done." I did not reply to this, but 

merely examined her face more closely, an act which appeared to 

disconcert her. She stood there, expecting me to say something more. 

Realising finally that she needed to invite me in of her own free will, 

she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, please come in," getting a bit flustered as 

she moved aside to let me enter. "Thank you, " I said politely, then 

stepped through her doorway. 



As soon as I heard the sound of the door being closed behind 

me, I felt the blood surge in my veins and a silent animal cry of power 

and blood lust rang in my head. Oblivious to all this, she walked past 

me and said, "Would you like a drink or something ? Let's go into the 

lounge room and I'll get you a drink." I scarcely heard her say this for 

the blood pounding in my ears, the sense of power that filled my 

entire being. She turned to check that I was still following her down 

the hall, but when she saw the look on my face gave a little cry of 

alarm. I said nothing, so she turned and kept walking. Gathering my 

willpower, I said, "No, I don't drink. We'll go straight to the lounge 

room anyway, though." This time she did not turn around, but said, 

"Ok." The hallway led past the kitchen and dining rooms and onto the 

lounge room, which was sparsely but tastefully furnished. There was 

a black leather lounge suite and a glass-topped coffee table of 

generous proportions. 



She turned to face me. "Um, can I get you anything else, 

something to eat, maybe ?" she asked. I ignored this question and 

said coldly, "Since I came in, you have made two severe mistakes, 

for which I shall punish you equally severely. Do you have any idea 

what they are ?" She quailed before me as her mind raced 

desperately for an answer. Moments passed as she strove for a 

reply. When at last it came, she breathed a sigh of relief and smiled 

sheepishly. "Oh, I know," she said, "I forgot to call you master." 

"Yes you did, but you have just made it three times." I replied. 

"Oh," she said, as if considering a perplexing intellectual 

problem.

"Four times," I said, my voice hardening further.

"I'm sorry I forgot, um, master, um, it won't happen again." she 

said, feeling the strangeness of the word 'master' as it came from her 

lips. "That's really not good enough, SLUT!" I shouted, angry now. 

She gasped and took a step backwards. 

"I'm sorry, master, I'm really sorry, master!" she cried.

"No you're not, but never mind, I'll make sure you are," I said in 

a voice low and full of threat. She clasped her hands nervously before 

her, wondering what would befall her.



"Take your clothes off now, slut," I ordered her. Afraid now, she 

began to comply, reaching around to the back of her dress where it 

was fastened near the neck by a button. She struggled with the 

awkwardly-placed button for several moments until she managed to 

free it. "Hurry, slave," I warned in a menacing tone. She began to 

panic, in her haste almost tearing the dress. Even before she had 

slipped the dress off her shoulders, I realised that she was not 

wearing a bra, for I could see her now-erect nipples outlining 

themselves against the rough fabric. As she wriggled her arms out of 

the dress it fell to the floor, revealing her naked body completely, 

since she wore no underwear whatsoever. In a reflex feminine action, 

she attempted to cover her breasts and sex with her arms and hand. I 

smiled inwardly at the futility of this move, but outwardly I ordered, 

"Uncover yourself, slut. Your body is mine to do with whatever I wish. 

You no longer own it. You earn yourself further and harsher 

punishment with each second you cover your body. Perhaps this is 

what you want, slut."

"No!" she protested, letting her hands drop to her sides as she 

looked beseechingly at me. "No, what ?" I reminded her.

"No, master!" she cried. I said nothing, enjoying the sight of her 

standing there, naked and awaiting my command. Her breasts were 

medium-sized and attractively rounded, while her hips flared gently 

out from her waist and her softly-curving belly plunged into the dark 

triangle of hair between her thighs. She had a woman's body, a body 

to stir a man's blood, not the breastless, hipless body of an anorexic 

model, so beloved of homosexual French fashion designers.



"On your knees now, on the coffee table; sit back on your heels 

and spread your knees apart; back straight, hands on your thighs with 

your palms facing upwards; look straight ahead." I ordered. "Yes, 

master," she said, though she looked a little uncertain at the prospect 

of kneeling on the glass top of the coffee table, in case it should 

break. It was very thick glass, so I doubted this would happen. I 

smiled as I regarded her assuming this position. When she was 

settled and had stopped moving, I finally permitted myself to touch 

her. I reached down and brushed the palm of my left hand across one 

of her erect nipples. It was as if she had received an electric shock. 

Her body jumped at the contact. "Be still!" I reminded. 



"Yes, master," she answered obediently. When I touched her 

nipple again, she began to try to push her breast against my hand 

before remembering my last instruction. Moving my hand away, I said 

to her, "Clasp your hands behind your head." She obeyed, and the 

pleasant result was that her breasts were lifted up nicely, presenting 

themselves to me like ripe fruit. Kneeling as she was, with her thighs 

spread and her hands behind her head, she was in the position most 

appropriate for the slave, in which her body is completely displayed 

and exposed for the master's benefit. In contrast to her natural 

inclination to close her legs, thus preserving her feminine modesty, 

she must keep them open, revealing and exposing the entrance to her 

womb, which offered its soft secrets to me. Her bosoms too, instead 

of being covered by the white lace of a brassiere or by a chaste 

forearm, were raised up pertly for my consideration and delectation, 

their erect nipples betraying the slut's own arousal. I took them in my 

hands, feeling their firm, soft weight. "You have lovely breasts," I told 

her.

"Thank you, master," she said. I reached down between her 

legs, where I found she was already hot and moist. I thrust a finger up 

inside her and she gasped in response. She began to let her arms 

drop. Without removing my left hand from between her legs, I slapped 

her right cheek with my other hand. "Oh!" she cried in shock, tears 

springing to her eyes. "Did I tell you to lower your hands?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, master," she said, blinking furiously and clasping 

her hands once more behind her head. I continued to move my finger 

about inside her a little longer before suddenly withdrawing it. Her 

sex made a wet sound as I removed my finger and she blushed. 



"Lick my finger," I told her as I put my other hand behind her 

head to ensure she obeyed. Expecting resistance, I was surprised to 

find her taking my finger between her lips and into her mouth and 

gently sucking at it with apparent relish. Pleased, I told her to lower 

her arms. This she did, letting them fall to her thighs once more. "Are 

you right-handed?" I asked. She answered that she was, so I ordered 

her, "Put your right hand between your legs and caress yourself, and 

with your left hand, caress your breasts." She appeared to baulk at 

this instruction, and obviously wanted to protest, but her fear of being 

slapped again stopped her. Her right hand crept slowly and 

reluctantly to her sex and with her left hand she cupped her right 

breast. I could see how deeply this humiliated her, a situation which 

pleased me intensely. 



She began to caress herself as I had ordered, rubbing her 

clitoris with her thumb and piercing herself with a finger 

simultaneously. Immediately she began this, she lowered her eyes in 

shame to the floor before her. This was a dignity I would not permit 

her. "Lift your head and look me in the eye!" I commanded harshly. 

Reluctantly she obeyed, but was unable to meet my gaze for more 

than a second as she caressed herself. Whenever she did look up, 

the intense shame and humiliation written in her eyes was plain to 

see. Annoyed by this lack of obedience, I slapped her face hard, 

jerking her head to the side. She cried out in pain and shock and 

began to sob. Tears trickled down her cheeks and fell off her chin, 

landing on her breasts. I decided I would not slap her face next time I 

disciplined her, but instead I would strike her breasts. Fortunately for 

her, she had not stopped toying with her sex. I found it very attractive 

to witness the tableau presented before me, the slut crying at the 

same time as she caressed herself, so I ordered her to continue with 

both. This time, she obeyed well, tears streaming down her face as 

she continued to move her hand faster and faster, all the while 

watching me with her tearful eyes, unable to avoid communicating her 

deepest shame through them. As she became more aroused, her 

sobbing ceased. I did not wish this cessation, so I fulfilled my earlier 

promise to myself and struck her across the left breast. The bright red 

imprint of my hand appeared on her breast and she began to cry 

anew, which was the desired result. I prevented her from touching the 

breast I had slapped so that she would experience the pain a little 

longer. 



A couple of times more she stopped crying, so I reminded her 

by smacking her breasts again. She started breathing more deeply 

between her sobs as her sexual excitement mounted. This soon 

turned to panting, and I did not punish her for failing to occasionally 

cry. The tempo of her hands increased steadily until she suddenly 

uttered a long moan as she entered her climax. Her body froze then 

began to shudder deeply, though she continued to rub her sex 

furiously with her hand. When she was in the midst of her release, I 

struck her another violent blow across the face. She cried out, feeling 

as if she were being punished for her orgasm, yet unable to stop it. 

She kept sobbing and shuddering as her climax ran its full course. 

When she had subsided, I could see she wanted to collapse forward 

onto the floor, but she knew I would not permit it, so she kept her torso 

upright. "Do not move, slut," I ordered her. I walked into the kitchen, 

where, as I had expected, I found a box of tissues. Taking the whole 

box with me, I returned to the lounge, where my slave was still 

kneeling dutifully where I had left her. 



With a couple of tissues, I began to gently dry the tears from 

her face, breasts and belly. She visibly relaxed as she perceived me 

to have suddenly become less harsh. When I had finished, I put my 

left hand between her legs and found her still dripping wet. She 

moaned slightly when I touched her but did not move. I placed my lips 

over her mouth and kissed her softly. Before I had removed my 

mouth, she had opened hers and let her wet tongue touch my lips, 

expecting me to do likewise. Immediately I pulled away from her, 

slapped her face again and said, "You are too forward, slut. I will 

punish you for your forwardness now." Too stunned to cry, a look of 

consternation and dismay crossed her face. Had I not just now kissed 

her tenderly ? What she did not realise, however, was that a 

combination of cruelty and tenderness is most effective in 

disorienting and confusing the girl who is new to the whip and chain, 

and more quickly renders her helpless and abject than cruelty alone 

will. 



"Stretch your arms out in front of you, with your wrists close 

together," I ordered. When she had done this, I next said, "Rise up on 

your knees." This was pleasant to watch, as the muscles in her 

flanks, thighs and buttocks contracted and relaxed throughout her 

movement. Her breasts jiggled slightly too as she steadied herself in 

this new position. Turning away from her, I opened my briefcase, 

finding the items I wanted, two pairs of chrome handcuffs. She could 

her the noise they made, but dared not turn her head to see what 

made it. I held them in front of her face and said, "I am going to put 

these on you before I punish you severely for your forwardness." She 

swallowed nervously but said nothing. One pair I placed around her 

wrists, clicking them shut tightly, while the other pair went around her 

slim ankles. 



Next I took a broad leather collar covered in metal studs from 

my case. I placed about her slender neck, adjusting it so that it fitted 

without excess space between the collar and neck. A padlock, whose 

key I retained, prevented her from removing the collar herself. "This 

collar signifies the fact that you are owned by me as a slave, and is, 

of itself, totally symbolic of your state of bondage. Also, it provides a 

convenient location for the attachment of a leash, should I decide to 

use one." She quailed visibly at this, but knew well enough not to 

speak out of turn. 



"Get up," I instructed her. The first time she attempted this, she 

fell over on her side, barely remaining on the coffee table. On her 

second attempt she was more successful, standing upright before me. 

I amused myself by looking at her for a few moments, displayed 

naked and bound before me, the silver of her handcuffs contrasting 

against her creamy skin. When I had finished, I put my arms about 

her waist and hoisted her bodily off the coffee table. I deposited her 

on her knees on the couch, facing towards its back. When I gave her 

back a little push, she fell forward so that her arms hung over the 

back of the couch and her breasts were crushed against it. She knelt 

there with her back to me as I reached into my briefcase in search of 

two most crucial items, a gag and a riding crop . I held the riding crop  

before her face. "Kiss it, slut," I commanded her. She obeyed 

tremblingly. Putting it down on the coffee table, I took the gag in my 

left hand. The gag consisted of a plastic ball fitted with a short chain 

on either side and a leather strap which fastens behind the slave's 

head. I moved forward and put my hand over her mouth. This 

surprised her, for she was not able to see me, and she began to 

panic. I held her head firmly until she had calmed down and I could 

feel her breathing through her nose. I wanted to check that she could 

breathe freely, for I did not want her to suffocate from the gag being in 

her mouth. I did not tell her this, however, for I wanted to increase her 

fear as much as possible. Satisfied, I prised her mouth open wide and 

inserted the gag. She struggled as I did this, but the job was quickly 

done and I fastened the leather strap behind her head snugly, so that 

no amount of struggling could dislodge it. 



Next I took some rope from my case, and walking around to the 

other side of the couch, where her terrified eyes regarded me, I 

passed it over the chain between her handcuffs. One end I tied to one 

leg of the couch as it protruded from the upholstery and the other end 

I tied to the opposite leg. This had the effect of pulling her arms down 

so that her armpits were hard up against the top of the couch's 

backrest. So well did this secure her, I did not think her legs would 

require any further restraint than the pair of handcuffs that currently 

bound her ankles together. I moved around to the other side of the 

couch so that her back was facing me. Her buttocks quivered slightly 

in anticipation of their fate, for she must have been well aware of what 

I was about to do to her. I caressed them with my left hand, admiring 

their softness and smoothness that I wanted so much to mar with red 

welts. This made her whimper in fear, for she had learnt  that after 

tenderness comes cruelty. 



Not wanting to disappoint her, I raised my right arm and 

delivered a stinging blow to her buttocks with the riding crop . Her 

shrill scream of pain and shock was muffled by the gag, else it would 

have been heard for a mile. Her sobbing recommenced, making her 

shoulders heave against the black leather of the couch. A horizontal 

pink stripe crossed her derriere where the leather flap of the riding crop  had struck her. I continued to flog her, raining blow after blow 

upon her bare backside. Though I could not see her face, I was sure 

that it was covered with her tears. She tried to move her body so as to 

avoid the blows, but I had trussed her too efficiently. When I had 

judged that her punishment in that area was sufficient, I stopped. 

Sobs racked her body and the sight of her, nude, suffering and 

helpless, made me want to throw her to the floor, thrust her legs apart 

and rape her without any further ado. However, I had a plan in mind to 

which I wanted to adhere, so with some difficulty I restrained myself. 



Removing another pair of handcuffs and a short length of rope 

from my case, I walked around to the other side of the couch and 

began to untie the knots in the rope that passed through her 

handcuffs. When it was free, I placed my hands under her armpits, 

lifted her body off the couch and turned her so that she was kneeling 

on the seat, facing forward, away from the back of the couch. I took her 

wrists and pulled her arms over her head. I undid one of the cuffs, and 

on this wrist I locked the new one. Now she had two pairs of handcuffs 

on her wrists, one on each wrist with its other cuff empty and dangling 

free. Pulling her left arm over the back of the couch, I tied one of the 

pieces of rope through the empty cuff and attached its other end to the 

left-hand leg of  the couch. Next I took her right arm and did likewise. 

Thus she was fastened firmly, unable to move her arms. I was a little 

concerned that she could move her feet, but since she was kneeling 

on the couch, sitting back on her feet, she probably could not move 

them unless she could first move her arms, which was now 

impossible. 



I walked around the couch once more so that I faced her. She 

was still sobbing softly and the occasional tear trickled from her eyes. 

Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, drawing my eyes to their 

soft shapes. Her thighs were pressed firmly together, hiding the 

entrance to her body, but I did not draw her attention to this lapse of 

obedience, for she would be punished for her transgression anyway. I 

smiled at her cruelly, then lifted the riding crop  in my hand again and 

made it hiss through the air, striking the side of her left breast, where 

it left a bright red mark. She stiffened and a stifled scream came from 

her mouth, but no tears fell. Annoyed that she had not begun crying 

immediately, I struck her again, but this time managed to connect with 

the nipples of both of her breasts. This must have been excruciating 

for her, since a woman's nipples are so sensitive. I was pleased to 

note she began crying immediately, torrents of tears coursing down 

her face. Flushed with my success, I continued belabouring her bare 

breasts. Her tears found their way onto her bosoms too, as before, 

and I soon noticed that the leather flap at the end of the crop was wet. 



The breasts, like the buttocks, are excellent places for whipping, 

since they are soft and sensitive, yet conceal no easily damaged, 

vital organ like the kidneys beneath their tender skin. This may or 

may not have been known to the girl, for she continued crying as if 

her life were at stake. This was not the case, but I was certainly 

inflicting a prodigious amount of pain on her breasts with my violent 

attentions. When I had flogged her enough so that they were entirely 

red from the crop I stopped. Needless to say, she did not stop crying 

at this point, for her breasts were still stinging. Some of her tears had 

made their way down her body to her belly, where they became lost in 

the tangled hair of her sex. Putting down the crop , I forced her thighs 

apart so that some of the tears should enter the crack between her 

legs, a poignant piece of humiliation. When she felt her cooled tears 

enter her sex, she cried even harder. Sometimes it is the smallest 

detail that is the most humiliating to the slave, rather than the largest 

gesture. 



I put my hands behind her head and began to unbuckle her gag, 

but her crying did not cease. This suited me well for what I had in 

mind. The plastic ball of the gag came out of her mouth with a pop, 

and she cried loudly. She had a lovely voice, so it was pleasant to 

hear her cry. It is pleasant to listen to beautiful women cry, so long as 

one's own treatment of them is the cause of their tears. Otherwise it is 

simply tiresome.



I stood upon the seat of the couch before her and unbuttoned my 

fly. Doubtless she expected this at some stage, and therefore, she 

did not stop sobbing. With my left hand I took hold of her long hair, 

bunching it in my fist, while with my other hand I forced open her 

mouth, then guided my entire length into it. She gagged involuntarily 

several times but I allowed her no respite. Finally she calmed down, 

though tears of pain still ran from her eyes. Pulling at her hair with my 

left hand, I tilted her head back a little so that she could see my face. 

"Listen carefully," I instructed. "When I am done, you had better 

swallow everything, for I shall not withdraw from your mouth. If you 

don't swallow, you will choke. In fact, I shall not withdraw until I am 

hard again. Is that clear ?" Since her mouth was full with me she 

could not of course answer, so she nodded her head to the small 

extent that she could. 



I put both hands behind her head and began to thrust 

rhythmically and deeply into her mouth and throat. I could feel her 

breasts crushed against my thigh muscles as I steadied myself. She 

had stopped sobbing, but tears continued to fall, much to my 

approval. The play of her tongue and the muscles in her throat excited 

me and I slapped her right cheek hard, then continued thrusting. Her 

eyes were wide with fear and pain. I let this go on for some time, 

purposely holding back in order to prolong both my pleasure and her 

pain. When at last I allowed myself release, I pulled her head to my 

loins and felt myself jet hot liquid down her throat. She began 

swallowing furiously, afraid of choking on my seed. Finally I stopped, 

exhausted now myself. I wanted to sit down, but remained inside her 

mouth as I had planned. After she had finished swallowing all there 

was to swallow, her breathing began to stabilise and her crying 

stopped. My member, still inside her mouth, remained hard for a long 

time. I was briefly tempted to take it out and use it elsewhere in her 

body, but I had already made up my mind. Several minutes, almost a 

quarter of an hour passed, and my member grew softer. She took it 

into her head to begin licking it clean while it was still inside her 

mouth. I approved of her action, and stroked her face tenderly as she 

performed this duty. 



As I had expected, the action of her tongue made me grow hard 

again, and I could feel myself expanding in her mouth. When I was 

fully hardened, I thrust once deeply and was rewarded with a fresh 

torrent of tears. She was afraid I would repeat my performance, but I 

had no intention of doing so. The single thrust was merely to remind 

her of her slavery. Withdrawing wetly from her mouth, I stepped off 

the couch, not bothering to button up my trousers and letting my 

erection bob threateningly before her. 



She bowed her head submissively before me. Mollified and 

pleased, I rounded the couch and began releasing her bonds, first 

untying the ropes which bound each pair of handcuffs to the 

respective legs of the couch. Next I removed the pair of handcuffs 

from her left wrist, leaving one of the cuffs on her right wrist still 

attached. Discarding the second pair of handcuffs, I proceeded to lock 

the empty cuff around her left wrist, manacling her securely. During 

this whole procedure she said nothing and moved little, appropriately 

quiet and obedient. In fact, most females are very quiet while they are 

being bound, as if they have already abandoned all attempts at 

resistance, believing it futile. Like lambs to the slaughter, they watch 

fascinated as they are rendered helpless by a strong master. 



Now that her wrists were bound behind her, I rose to my feet 

and took hold of her upper arms from behind, pulling her up. With 

some difficulty, she stood upright on the seat of the couch, her knees 

a little wobbly from kneeling for so long and from the pain of my 

discipline. In this position, her derriere presented itself as a tempting 

target, so I delivered it a stinging blow with the palm of my hand. She 

cried out in surprise, so I smacked her again. This time, no noise was 

forthcoming from her. Walking around to the front of the couch, I put 

my arms beneath her armpits and lifted her down to the floor. Weak, 

she collapsed against me and I allowed her this liberty for a while, 

holding her in my arms. Growing stern once more, I thrust her away 

from me, demanding of her, "Go into the garden." Through sliding 

glass doors I could see a small, neatly-kept garden to the rear of her 

house. She walked over to these doors then halted, unable to open 

them since her hands were bound behind her back. She stood there 

docilely until I moved over to her and opened the door. I pushed her 

outside, speeding her progress with a smart slap to her bare 

backside. "Oh!" she exclaimed as she exited pertly. Fortunately for 

her, the garden was surrounded by a high timber fence on all sides, 

so the sight of her naked humiliation was not available to any save 

myself. 



The air was refreshingly cool, yet not cold, and I could see that 

almost immediately it raised goose pimples on her skin. A pleasant 

autumn day, the sky was clear and the air still. She stood there on the 

brick paving, nude, bound and awaiting my command. "Turn and face 

me, and keep your feet together," I ordered. She obeyed, her back 

straight but her eyes downcast to the ground, shivering slightly. I 

paused, partly for dramatic effect and partly to drive home her 

servitude to her, to reinforce the understanding that even her smallest 

movement was dependent upon my command. When at last I spoke, it 

was to tell her, "Urinate, slut." 



She paused in disbelief for several moments, then as the import 

of my command sank in, she gasped in trepidation. "No, please..." 

she begged me. "Do it now, right where you stand, or I will whip you 

into unconsciousness," I menaced. Dejection slumped her shoulders 

as she protested, "I can't, I can't." Looking around, my own eyes 

caught glimpse of a garden hose coiled up on a reel. "Perhaps this 

can help you," I smirked. I took up the hose's end in my right hand 

and turned on the tap with my left. The hose was dry, so there was a 

delay of a few seconds before the water actually came out of its end. I 

let it squirt out onto the brick path, away from where she stood. 

"NOW!" I commanded her. I was about to slap her face when she 

began to cry, before I had even touched her. I couldn't understand 

what had precipitated her tears until I looked down her body, and saw 

that, encouraged by the sound of the water, she had released her 

bladder and pale urine was gushing forth from her sex, coursing down 

her thighs and calves, gathering in a small puddle at her feet. Sobs 

racked her slim frame as she continued to wet herself while I watched, 

savouring her humiliation and shame. Doubtless this had never 

happened to her before, even as a small child, when she would at 

least have had the benefit of the privacy of clothing when certain little 

accidents occurred. 



Long after the flow stopped she continued crying, her wails 

becoming so intense I grew concerned lest a neighbour decide to 

investigate. On the other hand, if a neighbour should see her thus, 

she would be doubly shamed, which would be a generally good 

outcome. "You little slut, you've wet yourself," I mocked as I walked 

around her. Gratifyingly, my jeers made her sob harder as she stood 

in her own little pool of shame. "Now you've wet yourself, you're all 

dirty-you dirty whore." This last taunt so affected her that she fell to 

her knees in front of me, seeking to redeem herself in the uniquely 

self-abnegating and feminine way, heedless now of what she knelt in. 

"I would not even let a dirty whore like you caress me with your 

mouth," I said, cruelly pre-empting her attempt to redeem herself. 

Fortunately for herself, her knees were appropriately spread apart. "I 

shall clean you like an animal, slut," I informed her. True to my word, I 

turned the water pressure up quite high and directed the stream of 

cold water against her breasts. The shock of its chill at her bosom 

made her gasp. The stream struck her softness with some force, 

indenting her flesh where it hit. Still she did not dare to move, 

allowing me to play the water where I wished on her body. I moved it 

lower, aiming it between her legs. It struck the dark triangle of hair 

that covered her womb, but did not properly penetrate. 



"Thighs wider, and lay back so your head touches the ground," I 

instructed sternly. She complied immediately with both directives, 

and I could see the pink lips of her sex framed between her thighs. 

When I sent the cold stream of water pounding against the entrance to 

her body, she cried out loudly in shock. This warm, soft and sensitive 

part of her anatomy was not accustomed to such cold temperatures. 

Also, her clitoris was being abused by the water, creating what was 

probably a complex yet exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain. She 

squirmed considerably under this treatment but I did not allow her 

respite for some time. Still hosing her nude form, I directed her to get 

to her feet. Again she had some difficulty achieving this because of 

her handcuffs, but also since she was still being buffeted by the 

stream of cold water. As she rose to her feet, I noticed that shivers of 

cold shook her body. When she was standing upright, I hosed down 

her legs and feet, removing the last vestiges of her own liquid. She 

was still dry from the neck up, so I said to her, "Bow your head now, 

slut." She did so and kept it bowed. My last act with the hose was to 

wet her head thoroughly, so that her long, damp hair would remind her 

of this humiliation long after her skin had dried. Still shivering and 

sobbing, she was permitted to stand straight as I turned off the water. 



I walked behind her and unlocked her handcuffs, placing them in 

my pocket. "Put a finger inside yourself," I told her. She stopped 

rubbing her wrists and obeyed instantly, thrusting her right index 

finger between the lips of her sex. "Now withdraw it, and hold it up to 

your nose, slut." She did this, and I asked, "Has the smell of your 

shame been washed away ?" She nodded tearfully and stammered, 

"Y-yes, master." I grabbed her wrist and sniffed her finger myself, 

checking she was not attempting deceit, but at the same time, 

shaming her deeply. Satisfied of her truthfulness, I let her wrist go 

and directed, "Lick that finger well, whore." Obediently, she did as 

instructed. Glistening drops of water covered her skin, now even more 

goosepimpled from the added chill. 



Over to one side of the garden stood a wooden trellis, mounted 

against the timber fence, on which some small vines were growing. 

"Slut, walk onto the grass and kneel down, with your knees apart, of 

course," I told her. She did this, wincing as sharp blades of grass 

stabbed at her open sex. "Do not move a muscle," I said, then turned 

on my heel and re-entered the house. I collected my briefcase and the 

equipment, namely the gag, crop and manacles of which I had 

previously made use. Returning to the garden, I found her still 

kneeling as I had left her, hands resting palms-up atop her smooth 

thighs, not that I had expected anything different. She was quite an 

obedient slut, generally speaking. 



"Stand," I ordered. She rose with relative ease, for her hands 

were now free. Droplets of moisture still beaded her skin and her dark 

hair was still completely wet. "Walk over to that trellis and stand right 

in front of it, facing it," was my next instruction. "But that's off the 

grass, in the earth," she protested, then added, "...Master," realising 

her omission. I considered, for a fraction of a second, explaining my 

intention to her, but decided against it, and instead struck her 

violently across the face with the back of my hand. Her head was 

flung to the side by the force of the blow and she began to sob, almost 

tripping over her own feet in her haste to obey now. Soon she stood 

with her feet in the dirt, facing the trellis. I strode over to her with 

slow, measured paces. Roughly, I placed the gag inside her mouth 

and fastened it tight. What I was about to do to her would certainly 

attract the attention of the entire neighbourhood if they could hear her 

screams. She trembled in fear as I inserted the gag, for she knew that 

I was going to beat her, although she probably was underestimating 

the severity of her forthcoming whipping. "Stand with your legs wide 

apart, slut," I commanded her. Each ankle I locked in the steel 

embrace of a separate handcuff, locking the respective empty cuffs to 

the trellis. Causing her to lift her arms, I did a similar thing with them, 

leaving her standing in a spread-eagled position against the trellis. 

For the final touches, I locked a chain around her waist, then attached 

another chain to it, which was then fastened to the trellis. Her collar 

was also attached in a like manner. Now not only her hands and feet 

were locked to the trellis, but also her neck and waist. This was to 

prevent her doing herself permanent damage by excessive struggling 

against the rough timber trellis, but also because it was simply good 

discipline and tends to increase the girl's fear and general discomfort, 

and subsequently the pain of the whipping.



I stepped back and admired my handiwork. "Yes, you are a well-

trussed slut, aren't you," I smiled. This was indeed the case, for she 

could barely nod her agreement, so well was she bound. She 

probably imagined I intended to beat her with the riding crop  again, 

whose pain she believed she could bear. In order to disabuse her of 

this misconception as soon as possible, I went to my briefcase and 

removed the implement I intended using. It was a fearsome leather 

whip, made up of a stiff wooden handle about two feet long, to which 

were bound several long, black leather strips, about an inch wide, the 

actual striking parts. These leather strips were soft, so as not to inflict 

permanent injury on the female slave, though they would raise broad 

welts if applied sufficiently hard. Walking over to her, I wrenched her 

head as far to the side as it would turn, given the constraints of her 

binding, and held the whip before her. At first she whimpered fearfully, 

but this soon turned to frenzied screams of panic, which were well-

muffled, naturally, by the gag which I had applied. I was pleased that 

the sight of the whip alone had inspired such fear in her, even before I 

had actually begun to use it on her. 



Stepping back, I regarded her with satisfaction. Her soft, naked 

body was trembling in fear at the prospect of her whipping. I could see 

that she wanted to clench the cheeks of her buttocks together as 

tightly as possible, but the position of her legs was keeping them 

spread apart slightly, exposing her intimately to the kiss of my whip. 

Desperately she attempted to twist her head around in order to 

observe me, hoping not to be taken unawares by the first blow, but the 

chain which locked her collar to the trellis was too short, and her 

efforts were in vain. For a few moments more I savoured the sight of 

the helpless, panicking, nude female who was bound before me. 

Pleased, I raised my right arm and swung the whip. Because of its 

several strips of leather, it made quite a distinctive noise as it hissed 

loudly through the air. For the same reason too, the sound of the 

leather making contact with the bare skin of her buttocks was rather 

loud. Her scream, though muffled by the gag, was shrill, expressive 

of her pain as well as her fright, since she was not able to see the 

stroke coming. Instead of a single red stripe across her derriere, the 

whip left a series, inflicting the same amount of pain with a single 

stroke that would otherwise have required several strokes of a single crop . She struggled wildly in her bonds, panicking greatly now that the 

full extent of her physical bondage was being made evident to her. I 

suspected that feelings of absolute terror were suffusing her being, 

making her desperately cast her mind about for some way out of the 

pain and humiliation I was inflicting upon her. Still, it was for this 

purpose that she had admitted me into her home, placing her destiny 

in my hands, if only for a few hours. 



I applied the whip vigorously to her buttocks, leaving another 

set of red welts on her agonised flesh and bringing forth more 

screams which were stifled, fortunately, by her gag. Momentarily I 

regretted having forced her to wet herself just a short while earlier, for 

it would have been enjoyable to have made her do it under 

persuasion of the whip. This thought must have settled in my mind, 

for unconsciously I swung the whip upwards towards her naked body, 

instead of from one side to the other. It struck her between her legs, 

some of the strips of leather hitting her in the crack between her 

buttocks and others creeping further forward and making violent 

contact with the half-open lips of her unprotected sex. In an instinctive 

reaction, her body jerked upwards sharply, but her movement was 

severely constrained by her bonds. Then she slumped in her chains, 

and I thought she had passed out. Lowering the whip, I moved closer 

to her and taking her hair in my hand, pulled her head backwards and 

to the side a little. She had not fainted, for her eyes were open wide in 

terror, and from them poured tears of agony down her lovely cheeks. 



Relieved that she had not collapsed at such an early stage of 

the proceedings, I moved my face near hers and placed a kiss on her 

brow. She stopped crying at this, and her eyes were filled with a 

plaintive yet grateful look, so I stepped back a pace and smacked her 

face with my left hand. This precipitated a fresh torrent of tears, 

naturally enough, and desperate sobs shook her nude figure. Just 

when she thought that a respite might be in sight, I had reminded her 

that mastery was mine alone, and that servitude and suffering were 

hers. I reached around to her front and cupped her left breast, which 

was bobbing in time with her sobs. Again she gave pause to her tears 

as I toyed with her nipple, hardened with a combination of fear and 

arousal, but when she caught the look in my eye she resumed crying 

even more enthusiastically. 



Standing back once more, I plied the whip against her soft, 

innocent flesh, tormenting her with more pain than she had ever 

experienced before in her life. The sense of power I felt over this 

helpless, crying slut was deeply intoxicating, and seemed to drive me 

on towards further cruelties. When I had flogged her buttocks, the 

backs of her thighs and the parts between her legs to a degree I 

regarded as sufficient, I paused, breathing heavily from my exertions. 

She was slumped in her chains and I wondered if she were 

unconscious now. Taking her hair in my hand, I pulled her head back 

and saw that her eyes were still open, although they streamed with 

tears. She looked at me plaintively, beseechingly, so I simply 

slapped her face hard, once. Taking the keys from my pocket, I began 

to unlock the chains that bound her. Still gagged, she sobbed mutely. 



When all her bonds had been removed from the trellis, she 

collapsed into my arms, thinking herself delivered from her ordeal. 

Laughing quietly and sadistically to myself, I hoisted her upright 

again and spun her naked body around to face me, holding her by the 

upper arms. "Not so soon, slut!" I smiled. She shrank back in horror, 

then began wriggling desperately as I raised her arms high and 

commenced chaining them to the trellis once more, only this time with 

her body facing me. For a second time I bound her waist and neck to 

the wooden framework, severely restricting her struggles. "Don't 

worry," I said to her, "I am only going to whip your lovely breasts a 

little; but not so badly that you pass out." As you might expect, this 

did not seem to reassure her a great deal. I took a couple of steps 

backwards and raised my right arm to strike. She closed her eyes 

tightly and averted her face as the whip's leather thongs whistled 

towards her bare bosom, which was trembling in fear. Just before it 

struck, I noticed that her nipples were again erect, evidencing her 

arousal in the face of extreme pain. Reneging on my promise, I 

continued to flog her breasts brutally as she squirmed in her bonds, 

since a promise made to a slut like her need not be kept. 



When at last her breasts were covered with the red marks left 

by my whip, and I had flogged her to my satisfaction, I stayed my 

hand and dropped the whip on the ground. I unfastened her chains 

where they were attached to the trellis, leaving their other ends still 

attached to her body as a reminder. Forcing her head around, I 

removed the gag from her mouth. Weak sobs came from her throat. 

She collapsed on her knees in the garden bed, clutching my legs 

suppliantly. I let her kneel in the dirt, at my feet, enjoying her 

weakness. She began to feverishly kiss my thighs through the 

material of my trousers as her trembling fingers attempted to open my 

fly, even as she continued to cry. I smiled at her attempts to please 

me, to assuage the fury of her master in the only way she knew how. 

She may have been unsure of her place in the world before I had 

entered her home, but now had confirmed her new status as a 

helpless slut, whose wellbeing was wholly dependent on the will of a 

man. I permitted her to unzip my fly and take me into her mouth, only 

moving to rest my hands atop her head as she ministered humbly to 

my pleasure. 



Growing excited, I muttered hoarsely to her, "Now I'm going to 

rape you, slut." With this, I kneed her to the grass where she 

sprawled on her back. Falling to the ground myself, I spread her 

thighs, at the same time striking her face hard with the back of my 

hand. The force of the blow whipped her head to the side, but instead 

of crying out, she spread her legs wider to receive my violent 

attentions. I pinioned her arms to the ground and penetrated her 

roughly. As I had expected, she was already hot, moist and receptive, 

responding in the typically submissive feminine way to the 

domination I had exercised over her. She began to sob, but at the 

same time also moved her hips in response to my own brutal thrusts. 



As I ravished her, I wondered how many times in the history of 

the human race that a man had thrown a naked woman to the grass, 

kicked her legs apart and raped her, just as I was doing. Even as the 

tears trickled from her eyes, she gasped in pleasure as I roughly 

made use of her body. "Easy slut," I murmured, licking at her salty 

tears. "Yes Master," she sobbed in reply. I placed my lips over hers, 

and forced my way into her mouth with my tongue. She responded 

feverishly, silently inviting me to rape her mouth with my tongue as 

violently as I was raping her sex with my phallus. My excitement 

mounted rapidly, so arousing was the act of taking this nude and 

humiliated slut. I decided to give pause to this excitement and 

withdrew from her sex, which made a wet noise as I did so. She 

uttered a keening note of desperate disappointment, so urgent was 

her own need. "Shut up, slut," I muttered. "I need you, Master," she 

anguished. I simply smacked her face with the back of my right hand, 

which sufficed for an answer. After that she was silent, except for a 

few whimpers of self-pity and thwarted female lust. 



I rose to my knees and moved to her side. Placing one hand 

under her left buttock and the other around her left shoulder, I flipped 

her body over expertly so that she was lying on her front. She uttered 

a small cry of surprise and frustration at this, so I slapped her bottom 

hard, leaving a red hand print across her cheeks. Taking hold of her 

wrists, I locked her cuffs together with the metal clips which were still 

attached to them, so that her hands were bound behind her back as 

she lay on her stomach. She wriggled in frustration at her helpless 

plight. I grasped her ankles and spread her legs. Her parted thighs 

revealed the lips of her sex which were still moist, red and swollen 

from her arousal. "Are you ready for me, slut?" I asked.

"Yes Master," came the muffled response from her. I reached 

under her hips and pulled them upwards. This had the pleasant result 

of raising her backside up and displaying and proffering her sex to 

me more prominently. She was like any female primate who offers her 

rump to a male in order to placate his wrath. The slut whined a little, 

for since her hands were tied behind her back, she could not support 

herself on her elbows. This meant her face and breasts were grinding 

into the grass. Her suffering pleased me as I put my right hand 

between her legs to spread her moist nether lips, facilitating my 

penetration of her womb. With my right hand, I grabbed her long hair 

and pulled her head backwards. She cried out in pain as I 

simultaneously thrust deep into her body and tugged hard on her dark 

tresses. Her back arched and she lifted her buttocks to push against 

me. "You're an excited little slut, aren't you," I said to her.



"Yes Master, I'm an excited slut," she gasped as I drove yet 

deeper into her womb. I began to slap her soft derriere in time with my 

thrusts, one slap in between each thrust, on alternating cheeks. Her 

bottom was still red from her whipping, so my smacks did not 

increase its colour greatly, although it increased my pleasure greatly 

to abuse her thus. It was stimulating her slave's body and mind too, 

judging by the sounds coming from her mouth and the pressure of her 

rear against my hips. I drove so hard into her sex that she cried out in 

a mixture of pain and pleasure, unsure herself of which was which. 

Her breathing became short, gasping pants for breath as I raped her. 

"Whore! Slut!" I grunted and she replied immediately, "Yes, Master, I 

am a whore, I am a slut. I am your whore and your slut!" This 

admission seemed to arouse her even further, for a red blush 

suffused her skin and she began bucking her hips furiously at my 

onslaught against her womb. She began to utter short, sharp cries, 

whether in pain or in ecstasy I knew not, nor cared. I could feel myself 

losing control, and with a final loud grunt of "Slut!" I drove deep into 

her body. 



Her body spasmed as she felt me discharge my seed inside 

her, and she arched her back spontaneously, crying out in her 

release. For some long moments I shuddered, then collapsed atop 

her soft, prone form. She sobbed quietly beneath me as we both 

caught our breath. Ignoring her tears, I reached under her front to cup 

her breasts in my hands, feeling their still-erect nipples. I remained 

inside her body, seeing no need to leave. I stayed like that for a time, 

then withdrew wetly from her sex, my member still hard. 



"Don't go please, master," she said softly. My only response 

was to roll her body over so that she was now supine, her hands still 

bound behind her back, being crushed awkwardly behind her. "Never 

you mind, slut," I told her. With my knees on either side of her body, I 

moved forwards until my organ was poised above her face. Still wet, it 

was covered in the commingling of my seed and her juices. "Clean 

me with your mouth, slut, now," I ordered her. Placing my left hand 

beneath her head, I helped her by raising it, while I used my right 

hand to guide myself between her parted lips. Her tongue flicked out, 

then she received my organ into her mouth as instructed and slowly, 

obediently and carefully sucked and licked it clean. As before, I let her 

continue longer than necessary, enjoying the most humble service 

that a slave can render to her master. When I was satisfied that she 

had done her job properly, I pulled out of her mouth and wiped myself 

on her cheek a couple of times. Lastly, I used her hair to dry myself. 

Unbidden, she bestowed a kiss on my thigh as I did so. 



I stood up and pulled her to her feet. Somewhat tired, she was 

not standing up straight, so I smacked her buttocks once. She needed 

no further reminder to improve her posture. "Go inside, slut," I 

commanded her. Fearing physical encouragement from me, she 

moved hastily as I watched, amused. I gathered up all the 

accoutrements of our little scene and followed her indoors. She was 

waiting docilely just inside the sliding doors, her body straight but her 

head slightly bowed. "Good," I approved. 



"Now go over to the kitchen area and stand near the stove, " I 

instructed firmly. She did as I bade, turning to face me with eyes 

downcast to the floor and hands still bound securely behind her back, 

a perfect picture of nude feminine obedience. I turned and walked 

outside where my briefcase was still lying open on the grass, the 

whip casually thrown half-inside. Gathering up the case and whip, I 

returned indoors, where the slut awaited me expectantly. 



"Turn around," I told her. I removed her handcuffs and threw 

them into the briefcase, which now lay on the cork kitchen floor. From 

the briefcase I take two leather cuffs which lock snugly into position 

around her slim ankles. Next I join the two cuffs with a stout piece of 

chain about a foot long, locking it to each cuff with padlocks. This has 

the effect of limiting her to taking only small steps when she walks. To 

the middle link of the chain between her ankles, I attach another, 

much longer chain. I took this chain upwards, between her legs, over 

her still-damp sex and up along the front of her body, between her 

naked breasts and up to her neck, where I fastened it to the leather 

collar locked around her neck. This chain served no particular 

physical purpose, since it did not effectively constrict her movement 

in any way, but its mere presence against the tender skin of her inner 

thighs, against the triangle of hair covering her sex, and between her 

swinging breasts would serve to remind her constantly of her state of 

total bondage and subservience. 



Judging by the way in which her nipples slowly became erect, 

this chain and the bondage it implied excited her too. To another 

metal ring sewn into her leather collar I attached a second long chain, 

but this time its end was connected to a different location, one not on 

her body. It was connected to the steel grille of the gas stove before 

which she stood. She was literally chained to the stove. "Now, slut, I 

assume you can cook ?" I asked her brusquely. "Yes Master," she 

quickly replied. "Good. Cook for two people now. If the food is not to 

my satisfaction, you will be whipped until you pass out. Is that clear, 

slut ?" Stunned and panicking, she blurted out, "Yes Master, it will be 

good, I promise." When she said that, I swung my arm around and 

delivered a mighty backhanded blow to her cheek, snapping her head 

to the side. Immediately she burst out crying, so I smacked her face 

again, which successfully stemmed the flow of tears, although she 

continued to sob softly. "Your promises, slut, mean nothing to me. If 

the food is bad, you will be whipped. Cook now, slut." This time she 

simply nodded her head humbly and turned to her task. 



I pulled up a kitchen chair from the other side of the bench and 

sat down to watch the naked slut at her cooking. The sight of her 

standing there, nude, going about her feminine duties was most 

fetching, and ultimately, most natural. As I studied her, the occasional 

bob of her breasts and movement of her hips stirred my blood and I 

was tempted to suddenly push her against the bench and rape her 

from behind. The poignancy of the tableau she presented prevented 

me from doing such a thing, so instead I merely observed her. 



Some thirty minutes or so later she had finished cooking and 

had taken two plates from the cupboard in preparation to receive the 

food. I stood up and told her, "One large plate will be sufficient, slut." 

Knowing the penalties for questioning an order, she replaced the two 

dinner plates with a single large one, onto which she placed the food. 

"You will serve me food and wine," I explained to her. I went and sat 

on a sofa, with the coffee table, the scene of one of her earlier 

humiliations, before me. "Place the food in front of me on the table, 

slut, and then get me some red wine." First she came out of the 

kitchen holding a knife and fork. She knelt beside the table and then 

put the utensils down. Next, in the small steps made necessary by 

her chains, she walked back into the kitchen area and returned 

carrying the plate of food. Once more she knelt down before me, then 

placed the food on the low table. I approved of her behaviour in 

serving me, so I said to her, "Good slut," and stroked her face. She 

smiled shyly before standing up and heading back in search of some 

wine for me. 



I began eating the food she had cooked, which was in fact very 

good, fortunately for her own well-being. When she returned with the 

wine, again she got down on her knees before putting a glass on the 

table and serving me wine. I made no sign that she could herself eat, 

so she knelt there waiting, her knees together. "Put your hands on 

your thighs and spread your legs apart, slut. Just because I am eating 

does not mean you are any less a slut and deserve to close your 

legs. The only time your sex will be hidden from me is when I order 

it." She blushed a little and said, "Yes Master," before hastening to 

comply, parting her thighs and obediently and submissively revealing 

her sex to me. I ate well because I was hungry, but the sight of her 

kneeling there before me aroused me to the point where I considered 

raping her again before I finished my food. As it was, I ate my fill but 

found I could not finish the food.



"Come here, slut and kneel facing away from me," I commanded 

her. Smiling, she rose to her feet and complied eagerly. Reaching 

behind myself, I found a pair of handcuffs which I fastened securely 

around her slim wrists. "Turn around," I told her. When she did, I took 

some of the left-over food in my hand and held it out to her at a height 

level with her breasts. Consequently, she had to bend forward, 

bowing her head to take the food from my hand with her mouth. I 

continued feeding her in this manner, as a master might feed a 

favourite animal, and the experience no doubt impressed upon her 

the role I expected of her. When the food was almost finished, she 

licked her lips clean, and I wiped her face with her long, brown hair. 



She expected that she would be ordered to clean up, but some 

food still remained. On the plate of food she had cooked there were 

four baby carrots and a couple of sticks of raw celery. "Move closer 

and kneel straight, with your thighs well-spread," I commanded her. 

She complied, although not without some difficulty, as again her 

wrists were encircled by steel. I took a small carrot in my hand, held it 

between her thighs, and pushed it against the entrance to her womb. 

She looked at me in surprise. With some difficulty, since she was not 

especially moist at this moment, I forced it into her body. She made a 

sharp intake of breath, then I removed it. I held the carrot, glistening 

with her juices and betraying her body's quick response, before her 

face. "Open your mouth, whore," I said. With obvious reluctance, she 

did so, and I proceeded to place the carrot upon her tongue. "Eat it, 

slut." She obeyed, eating the food flavoured with the moisture from 

her own ravished sex. She must have found the humiliation 

especially poignant, for the next carrot I inserted between her nether 

lips slid in with the greatest of ease, testament to her extreme 

arousal. Each remaining piece of food I introduced into the wet 

opening between her legs, let her squirm for a short while, then forced 

her to eat it. When no food remained, I wiped my hand on her pubic 

hair and had her lick my fingers clean. She knelt back on her heels.



"Stand up, slut." She obeyed, albeit with some difficulty since 

her hands were bound behind her back. "Go into the bathroom," I 

commanded, accompanying the command with a sharp smack to her 

pert, bare buttocks.  She obeyed with alacrity, bouncing into the 

bathroom. I followed her in and said, "Get into the bath and kneel down 

in it." She complied, but was obviously distressed by her inability, in 

the relatively narrow bath, to spread her thighs to my satisfaction. I 

said nothing but let her continue in her discomfort. As she looked up 

at me, I unfastened my fly and pulled out my organ. However, I did not 

thrust it in her general direction. She moved forward, expecting she 

would have to take it in her mouth. Instead, to her horror and surprise, 

I began to urinate on her, directing the hot yellow stream against her 

naked breasts and face. She gasped and twisted desperately, hoping 

to escape, but she was unable to avoid it. I revelled in my power as I 

soiled her beautiful, nude body with my urine.



When I had finished, I paused and looked at her. Liquid still 

dripped from her wet body, especially her erect nipples, and beaded 

on her skin. "Look at me, slut!" I told her. "Clean me with your mouth!" 

Horrified, she did nothing at first, then realised she must comply, so 

moved her head forward and opened her mouth. Her hot, wet tongue 

laved my organ. I watched her performing her humiliating, degrading 

tasked and found myself grow erect. She took my entire length into 

her mouth, expecting me to take advantage of the convenient 

availability of her soft, warm mouth, but instead I withdrew and stood 

back, enjoying her obvious confusion. 



Distressed at not being able to serve me in the way to which 

she had become accustomed, she began to cry softly. "Oh, be quiet, 

slut," I muttered darkly. Without waiting for a response, I reached past 

her towards the bath taps. Expecting a blow from me, she flinched 

violently and knelt there cowering with fear. This amused me, and my 

quietly derisive laughter brought fresh tears to her eyes. My only 

intention was to take the handheld shower attachment and turn the 

cold water tap on. Needles of icy water streamed forth, and standing 

back, I directed this against her nude body. She gasped loudly 

several times at the shock of the cold water on her bare skin. "Oh no, 

please stop, please," she begged me. I turned off the tap angrily and 

threatened, "Would you rather remain as you are, dirty slut ? Perhaps 

I should urinate into your mouth and make you drink it." Her face 

blanched with shock at this suggestion, and she hurriedly said, "No 

Master, I am sorry, please forgive me."



Mollified, I turned the water back on and continued washing her 

down, playing the water over her quivering breasts with nipples stiffly 

erect from the cold. I bade her stand up and spread her legs as widely 

apart as she could. When she had done so, I held the shower rose 

between her legs and drove the stream of cold water up into her open 

sex. This made her cry out, so I smacked her face and she desisted, 

apologising for her misdemeanour. 



At length I was finished and instructed her to turn so her back 

was towards me. To her surprise, I unlocked the handcuffs that bound 

her wrists. Next I put my hand between her legs and felt the opening 

to her womb, uncharacteristically cold from the water. She moved her 

legs a little further apart in order to accommodate the further 

explorations of my fingers. Pushing deeper inside her body, I 

discovered the hot core was still on fire. Pleased, I removed my 

fingers from her sex and wiped them on her soft buttocks. Placing my 

hands upon her shoulders, I turned her around. 



"Slut, you will clean me completely and then massage my 

shoulders. After that, I will decide your fate." She looked pleased to be 

able to be of some direct service, and she replied, "Yes, Master" with 

appropriate humility. I had her run the bath, then disrobed without her 

help. Lying in the bath, I closed my eyes as I felt her gentle hands 

soaping my body, then rinsing the suds away with warm water. Nude, 

she was kneeling humbly beside the bath on the floor, all her 

attention focussed on her task, her breasts bouncing as she moved 

her arm. When she had finished, I stood up and had her towel me dry 

and empty the bath. I dressed again and watched her bent over the 

bath, pulling the plug from the plughole. "Good slut," I approved, 

slapping her bare backside. This praise made her glow with pride.



"Stand in the bath and put your hands around the shower where 

it comes out from the wall," I told her. I then handcuffed her to the 

shower pipe, with her breasts pressed up against the wall. Stepping 

back, I admired her slim waist and the smooth flare of her hips. Her 

soft, rounded buttocks were temptingly helpless and trembled slightly 

with the fear of what she knew must come next. Using another pair of 

handcuffs, I shackled her ankles together, then used another short 

chain to lock these to the plughole in the bath, preventing her from 

moving her feet. Only one more thing remained. I placed a broad 

leather belt around her waist and fastened it tightly. It was the sort 

commonly worn by weight lifters who wish to protect their kidneys. In 

this case, it would serve a similar purpose, although not in quite the 

way in which the designers of the belt had intended. I used another 

chain to fasten this belt to the shower taps to restrict the movement of 

her torso.



Aware of her immediate fate, she began to whimper in 

trepidation, her whimpers interspersed with pleas for mercy, begging 

me not to hurt her too much. Tiring of these tearful entreaties, I 

retrieved a roll of duct tape from the other room and stuck a piece 

firmly over her mouth, thereby silencing her. She looked up at me 

plaintively with large, tearful brown eyes, attempting to wordlessly 

dissuade me from my next action. In a quiet, serious tone I said to 

her, "Whipping is good for you. It agrees with you. It improves your 

obedience. It humiliates you, and the profound sense of humiliation 

arouses you sexually and at the same time makes you feel 

worthwhile. Worthy of whipping, worthy of suffering, worthy of 

pleasure, worthy of being a woman. Deep down, you know you need 

to be whipped." She stared at me in horror at these words, then after a 

few moments, slowly nodded her head in reluctant but inevitable 

assent. "Good girl," I said, stroking her smooth cheek. "Good girl."



Stepping back, I reached down and unbuckled my belt from my 

trousers. Since I had never used this particular belt on a slut before, I 

swung it through the air once in order to see how it moved. She 

jumped in fright, and uttered a shriek that was effectively muffled by 

the tape over her mouth. I laughed cruelly, then before I had even 

finished laughing, delivered a heavy blow of the belt right across her 

buttocks. A bright red mark appeared and she began sobbing 

immediately, twisting her head around so that she could see the next 

blow as it descended. I smacked her face hard and pointed to the wall, 

indicating that she should face it for the entire duration of her 

punishment. Crying twice as hard now, she obeyed. 



Her buttocks looked so soft, so helpless and so attractively hurt 

by my belt, the way they flared out from the wide leather belt 

protecting her kidneys. I delivered two more heavy strokes of the belt 

to her derriere, one to each lovely cheek. Her nude body shuddered 

deeply with her sobs of pain and humiliation. Forgetting her previous 

transgression and its penalty, she turned her head around to look at 

me sidelong, tears streaming from her eyes. She recoiled in fear at 

the terrible gaze I bestowed upon her.



"Spread your thighs apart, slut!" I commanded. The unfortunate 

slut had some difficulty doing this, since I had shackled her ankles to 

the bath's drain hole. She managed to flex her knees enough so that 

she could open her legs a little. It was not much, but it was enough. 

All I needed was the width of my belt between her legs. Using a 

flicking motion, I struck the opening to her womb with the belt. She 

jerked up violently in her bonds, then sagged limply, so painful must 

it have been. I wondered if she had passed out. I moved closer and 

grabbed her hair in my left hand, pulling her head back roughly. Her 

open, lachrymose eyes showed her to be still conscious. Still 

maintaining my grasp on her hair, I rubbed the leather belt between 

her legs against her burning sex. She stiffened in agony but I gave 

her no respite. A fresh torrent of tears poured from her eyes and I 

laughed. My excitement increased dramatically at her response. 

Pulling my member from my trousers, I used my other hand to part 

the cheeks of her quivering, sore buttocks. She trembles in 

anticipation	as I threateningly caress the opening to her rear 

entrance with the tip of my organ. Not bothering to lubricate either of 

us in any way, as I did not wish to lessen her pain, I thrust my 

member deeply between the cheeks of her derriere. She uttered a 

scream of agony, so I grabbed her head by the hair, pulled it 

backwards and with my other hand, smacked the side of her face 

smartly, quietening her immediately. "You are to speak only when 

spoken to, understand, slut ?" I cautioned her. With tears running 

down her face, she managed to nod her head in assent. "Do you think 

you should speak now, slut ?" I asked. She shook her head to say no. 

To test her, I drove into her body with increased force, forcing my 

member in to the hilt. A muffled scream came from her throat and 

silent tears streamed from her eyes. I laughed at her discomfort and 

humiliation. Each time I thrusted, her body tensed up in suffering. She 

tried to spread herself wider to accommodate me, but without success. 

When at long last I discharged in her rear opening, she shrieked in 

whatever extreme combination of pleasure and pain she was 

experiencing herself under my harsh attentions, then slumped in her 

chains. 



I removed her bonds after a short interval of time, whereupon 

she sank to her knees in the bath. My member needed cleaning, 

covered as it was with both our juices, so I thrust it at her face and 

said, "Lick me clean, bitch." She quailed visibly and said, "Oh please 

no, master, please, I beg you, I don't want to do it, oh please, I 

promise I'll do anything else, but not that, master, oh please..." A 

strong backhand slap across her face cured her intransigence very 

quickly and sobbing, she took me into her mouth and began to clean 

me. After I while I said, "Enough!" and she halted her obedient but 

reluctant ministrations. 



"Stand up, slut!" I shouted. She obliged with appropriate speed. 

I attached a leash to the steel collar around her neck and led her by it 

to the kitchen. She looked the very picture of a nude, obedient slave 

with her hands bound behind her and a collar and leash around her 

throat. I brought a sturdy wooden kitchen chair into the central area of 

the kitchen. "Bend over that chair!" I commanded her. Although it was 

with some difficulty that she obeyed, thanks to the fact that her hands 

were tied behind her back, nonetheless she did so. I unbound her 

hands and pulled them down. She lay across the chair on her 

stomach. I fastened each of her arms and legs to a leg of the chair so 

that her limbs were completely immobilised. She wriggled a little in 

discomfort until I smacked her soft, bare behind admonishingly. 



TO BE CONTINUED...





Joseph A. Brabet

s880755@minyos.xx.rmit.edu.au



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