She was totally helpless.

The blindfold over her eyes was, in fact, unnecessary, as the room was completely dark once he had turned off the light and shut the door. She was alone, bound at her wrists, knees and ankles with silken rope, and tied securely over the low padded vaulting horse that he used on these occasions. Her mouth was uncomfortable with the gag he had placed there. She tried an experimental shout, just to see what was possible: but she could produce no more than a stifled grunt. It was useless.

'I have absolutely no control,' she thought, 'no way at all of influencing what happens to me over the next few ..minutes? hours? however long he chooses to leave me here.' It was as well that the room was warm, for other than her bonds she wore not a stitch of clothing.

And it had barely begun. Although her magnificent curved behind felt totally exposed and vulnerable, there was as yet not a mark on it, nor anywhere else on her delectable body. She knew this would not be the case for much longer: but at the moment, in the dark, tied over the horse, at least she was neither cold nor in stinging pain.

He had, of course, explained to her carefully what was to happen. She had known for two days that it would be like this. And when the time had come, she had knelt before him and made her decision. With only a slight tremble to her voice, she had spoken and given her gift.

'I give you my submission,' she had said, 'I give it of my own free will, knowing that I can choose to give or withhold.' And he had answered, 'I accept your submission with love, and I give you my protection and my honour.'

She had known the consequences of her gift: he had told her what would happen if she chose to give it. And exactly as he had said, he had gently removed all of her clothes, item by item, until she had but her earrings left. These he allowed her to keep. Around her neck he had placed the black leather studded collar with rings for a leash. Then he had led her to the stool and she had placed herself meekly as he directed, and moved not a muscle as he bound the cords tightly 'round her flesh. In truth he could scarcely keep himself from fondling her shapely breasts, from kissing her cherry-red nipples, from taking her then and there: but he had made a promise as well as she, and he too would keep it. He knew well that to dominate he had to earn her absolute trust, and keeping precisely to what had been explained would make a good start. There was, after all, plenty of time.

She remembered vividly his account of what he had planned for her. This, the placing into bondage, in the dark, alone, first: this, the time for her to reflect and recognise that she no longer owned herself, but was owned by and belonged to him. Then he would come back, some time later, he had not said how much later, and he would then submit her first to his leather flogger and then....then would come the thin rattan cane that he had showed her. He had held it as if it were a precious work of art, which in a sense it was, his instrument, much as a violinist might hold and caress his Stradivarius.

He had not told her how many times she would feel either the flogger or the cane; only that it would be painful, that it would be pointless if it were not painful, but that the pain would not, now or ever, be more than she could endure. He had explained that she would learn to extend her limits, to endure more as time went on, but that never would it be too much. And to reassure her he had told her a secret word, to use if she felt she was truly at the end of her capacity. 'I will try, my dear, to reach that point often but exceed it never,' he had said, 'and I want you to try always not to use it, and never to use it unless you really must.' She had nodded: he was so wise, so knowing, he spoke with authority and she believed that he knew what he was doing and that it would be all right.

And his promises! What he had promised! whereas most young women of her age had sex for fun, and enjoyed moments that they considered ecstasy, she would discover, he said, a depth, a level of feeling that they never knew existed, nor ever would. She would be taken to heights and to depths, and the shift, the contrast would be so much she would hardly be able to bear it. But, he went on, once she had experienced such feelings and known her true inner self in them, an ordinary relationship would never satisfy her. It would seem like cheap lemonade when she had tasted the finest champagne, and she would always crave for the champagne once she had got to know its taste.

She shivered momentarily in spite of the warmth: she had taken the plunge, given her gift of submission, set out on the risky, unknown and possibly terrifying path of which this, the darkness and the binding, was just the first step. How would she cope with the pain, when it came? What would the ecstasy be like? Would she know the difference? All of this was so new to her, she had no idea of any of the answers. All she could do was be, exist, submit, surrender to his will, relax as far as she could in her constrained position, breathe deeply and await his return.

The minutes passed, very slowly. Her muscles began to ache with being unable to move: her mind began to panic with doubts as to how long she would be left like this, with no sound, no sight, only the touch of the ropes and the horse.

When a shaft of light entered the room as he opened the door, she was quite unaware of it: the blindfold was effective. Nor did he make a sound: so she was unsure of his presence. But she had felt something - perhaps a momentary movement of the air around her naked body - that told her that her waiting was over. And then she felt him touch her, stroke her, caress her neck where the collar bit into her slightly, and run his hand down her back to her nates, still ready for the leather and the rattan that he had placed ready in the room.

He turned on the light: even through the blindfold she could see it was not longer dark. Then he spoke.

"Now, my dear," he said softly, "you are ready for the next act of your submission." He said no more, but she heard him move across the room and then back, and sensed that he had the instrument in his hands that would sting her for the first time, and that the moment she dreaded had come. There was a faint swish in the air just before the crack and the fire and the agony. She had never dreamed that the first stroke, just one stroke, would be like this. She felt so vulnerable, so unable to do anything, she could not even see what was happening: only hear, and feel... feel, feel the sting, the soreness, the awful pain spreading through the whole of her nether regions. She could not even writhe to ease her pain, so tightly did the bonds hold her. She sobbed, a deep and rending sob which gave voice to the depths of sensation which she felt: but the gag all but stifled even that pitiful sound.

The faint swish came again, and she could do nothing to lessen the doubling, more than doubling of her hurt. What use is my word, she thought, what use when I can utter no words? And again a great sob, and another, tried to emerge through the constrained mouth.

As if reading her mind he came over to her and untied, at last untied, both the restraints round her head. The bright light flooded into her eyes and involuntarily she shut them against it, so sudden was the visual shock. And now she could pour out her misery, in crying her hot tears from the very depths of her soul. She felt his hand caress her wounded places: it felt cool, soothing, healing.

"You have done well, my dear," he said. What a kind tone in his voice, she thought, why when he is so kind does he inflict so much on me? And yet she knew the answer to that, knew that she herself wished it, needed it, needed to become the person he was creating from her raw material. "There will be one more with the flogger, and then you will be allowed to rest a little."

One more...one MORE!!! She felt she had reached already the limit of which he had spoken, two days earlier. But she recalled his words; she would, she resolved, try to take what he gave her without using that special word. She would not die, after all, nor even become unconscious: it would be dreadful, for sure, but ...but not quite impossible. For him, whom she wanted to please above all else, not quite impossible.

The swish: the crack. She gasped, had no breath for the piercing yell she would have given: and by the time she could breathe, the worst of the impact had passed and there was only the heat, the fire, the deep ache spreading fast, and it was all continuous and everywhere, but she did not have to cry out. She whimpered a little, then was quiet, feeling an inner stillness as well as the outer stillness imposed on her by the ropes. And then suddenly there was a coolness as he applied a cold lotion to her reddened cheeks, rubbed it in so softly, so gently, rubbing away her hurt, her fear, her desolation. She turned her head to him, eyes wet and cheeks streaked with her tears: but the look in her eyes was one of pure love.

He smiled. "Perfect," he half-whispered, "you could not have done better, my dear." She felt warm, felt comforted, felt a kind of inner peace and calm in spite of the flaming of her rear end. And now he was untying the ropes, easing her flesh at her ankles and wrists and knees, and helping her up from the place of chastisement. He led her over to the small bed placed against the wall. "Lie here and rest a little," he said, "I will bring you something to drink." This time when he left the room the light remained on, the door open: she was free to move, to stretch, to cry, to walk away even.

She lay on her stomach, letting the air cool the heat of her now ravaged cheeks: it did not even cross her mind to use this time of freedom to stop the process now. The slim rattan lay against the horse, she could see it and knew that her pain was little compared to what was to come, and she vaguely wondered, when the three blows from the flogger had taken her so near to using that special word, how she was going to manage to take anything much from that thin, flexible rod. But that, she thought, he would know, more than her: she knew that she was not the first girl he had used it on.

Second by second the intense soreness was diminishing, leaving something more like a dull ache in its place. By the time he returned, with a glass full of something with a lot of ice, the heat had almost gone, though the soreness would mean she would be sleeping on her stomach that night, if she slept at all.

She turned, and sipped the drink: it was fruity, fizzy, refreshing. It seemed so incongruous that she had a sudden fit of the giggles, which she tried to stifle less he should be cross. But he seemed amused: he gave her a little hug around her shoulders and a quick kiss on her cheek. And then again he stroked her gently, all down her spine and then across the red marks of the flogger, and she breathed deeply and felt a sense of... well, rightness, it was hard to put a word to it.

After a little, he moved away, and picked up the ropes, laying them out straight. Then he turned to her. "I think you are ready for the next stage now, my dear," he said encouragingly. She did not need telling: she rose from the bed and walked slowly over to the horse, and laid herself across it as she had been before. Again she felt the ropes bite into her limbs as he tied them and fixed her in position. And the fear returned: the sense of being helpless, the total inability to control anything made her descend again in her soul towards the depths she had felt earlier. 'This is like being in an emotional lift,' she thought 'going up and down, up and down...' And again, in spite of her situation, the idea seemed so out of place that she giggled again.

This time he just ignored the sound, putting it down to nerves. This time she was neither blindfolded nor gagged: she could see him pick up the rattan rod, and hear her own sharp intake of breath as the immediacy of what was to happen became alarmingly apparent. She saw him raise the rod, raise it far away from her, then bring it slowly towards her, measuring out the arc which it would travel in earnest all too soon. The cane touched her lightly, the tip just reaching to the far side of her fleshy curves, just where he intended it to fall: it lay quite straight across her, in contact for two short lengths in the centre of each cheek. He raised it again, just a little this time, checking out the final six inches of its travel on its way to do its painful work. Then he raised it again, far again, though not quite as far as before.

A louder swish, a sharper crack. A sting more intense that she could ever have imagined. It felt as if she had been cut open with a razor, so sharp was the pain. And she had been told that she must count, count the strokes and thank him for each one. There would be at least six, he had said, probably more than six, he was not going to tell her how many.

"One, thank you Sir," she said plaintively. He looked at the angry red stripe, clear across the more diffuse marks from the flogger. There was something magical about that tone of her voice, something so submissive in its quality: and though he was the master and she the submissive, nevertheless he knew that in truth it was the other way round. She had him absolutely under her spell and he could not imagine how he would ever be able to give her up.

Again she saw him raise the cane; she shut her eyes as she heard the swish and felt the sharp shock of its impact, exactly straight and equally fierce on each side of her buttocks. And as the first great sob heaved from her lungs, she was suddenly aware that after the first stroke there had been no cry, somehow there had been no need to cry, whereas now, with the second, with such an intensity of pain overwhelming her whole body, she wanted to gasp out all of her depths of agony, her feeling of lowliness and loneliness as she lay helpless and hopeless, tied to the horse, his prisoner, his creature, his chattel.

She sobbed and sobbed.

Eventually she managed to control her breathing, to breathe more deeply: and her mind came back into focus and she remembered to say the necessary words: "Two, thank you, Sir." And as if she was outside her body and her mind too, she noticed that her mind made no move to set in motion the speaking of her safe word. The pain was more than she could bear, that was certain: more would be impossible and she would cease to be herself. But she said not a word more, waiting only for the next agonising blow that would take her further away from being the young woman who had entered the room and towards being the creature of total submission that he was intent on creating.

Swish, CRAACCKKK!!!! The third stroke was no less hard than the first two, but there was a sense in which she did not feel it at all: for it was someone else lying bound to the stool that was being chastised here. Her body shuddered at the wound, but somehow deep inside she knew it was not permanent, that it would pass, would be transformed indeed into a very different feeling, and that before long: her mind seemed to have lost touch with any kind of reality and was floating, as it were, observing, detached.

"Three, thank you, Sir," said her voice, disconnected.

He was pleased, very pleased. His creation was taking shape before his eyes. And now it was ready for the other feelings, the sensuality, to start rising and becoming irrevocably associated with the fire. 'A little less, this time,' he thought: 'a little less severe, and she will start to moisten.'

She felt the fourth stroke as if still in a dream: but in her distant observance she felt the moisture between her legs, the beginnings of arousal in her seat of pleasure. She was half expecting it, for she knew that submission was about more than pain and that the ecstasy would be there: she almost forgot, in enjoying those beginnings, to say the words. But he had promised her that if she did not count correctly he would re-start her lesson, and that was a powerful incentive to remember to obey. "Four, thank you, Sir," she said, quite lightly, as if she were counting a gift of sweets. 'How can I feel like this,' she thought, 'when it hurts so much?' She did not understand it, not that first time, as she would come to understand later: instead she stopped trying to work out what was happening, and abandoned herself to events.

The next two strokes were similar: her pleasure feelings increased, the pain seemed almost incidental. He noticed the effect. 'Two more,' he thought, 'two more, and harder, in fact the hardest of all. Then she will be as I want her: and the real climax can begin.'

The swish was louder, she was aware of that but her noticing was drowned in the ferocity of the pain that seemed to be way beyond all that she had felt up to that moment. 'Oh, please,' she thought, 'now, soon, I will have to say that word... when I so want to take what he gives me and please him and become what he wants. But more like that...no, surely not more like that.' Two brief sobs escaped her lips, the first since the second stroke: again, she realised that amazingly she had not been crying throughout the experience. And again in the depths of her misery she uttered the words, "Seven, thank you, Sir," in that plaintive, pathetic tone which so delighted him. Indeed so moved was he that he considered briefly whether to stop there and then: but he knew that the last stroke, the culmination, was both necessary and desirable.

Afterwards she could not remember ever hearing the swish or indeed the thwack as rattan hit reddened flesh. All of her was submerged in the pain, the vain attempts to writhe and move and somehow ease the burning that was consuming her. She recalled the Sunday School lessons about the fiery pit of hell, and knew now what that meant, for she was there: not only in total pain but also in an emotional state of total despair. The word came to the front of her mind, trembled on her lips. Yet still she held back, in case, just in case there was no more, or maybe only one more... "Eight, thank you, Sir," she murmured, only half aware of her physical existence.

And incredibly, she heard him put down the cane, felt him begin to untie the ropes. It was, it was really finished, she had won through to the end of her initiation. She had done all he had hoped. And he told her, at once, how pleased he was, how delighted, how she had exceeded all his highest hopes and expectations, how there had never been one such as her. The pain still racked her body, but the emotions shot to a high place: and her awareness of her wetness, her arousal, which she had lost in the terror of those last two fearful strokes, came back and she trembled with the feeling. He smiled.

"Come and lie on the bed, my dear," he said, "you will need to recover a little, and I will help you." He half-carried her, staggering, over to the bed. He noticed that she was bleeding just a little where the cane had broken her soft skin: he must remember to try to avoid that, for he did not want her scarred. The cool lotion did its job: soon she was calmer, breathing more deeply, returning to herself. And gently his fingers moved between her legs, and the lotion helped to lubricate as he caressed, gently, so gently, her pleasure spot. It took less than a minute before she exploded into the most intense climax she had ever known.

After a little he put her robe on her and took her out of the room to the bedroom where she would sleep, contented, satisfied, initiated, somehow now an adult and not a child. And downstairs, in the sitting room, he relaxed with a glass of fine brandy.

"Did she do well, then?" asked the woman in the other chair.

"Your daughter was magnificent," replied her second husband. "She will make some lucky man the most marvellous wife in the world, one day."

To the outside observer it might appear to be a very mismatched agreement, the woman seeming to gain great advantage from the trade. She would be able to take her pleasure from him in what ever way her fancy took her. She would be free from the normal constraints which restrict and control the interaction between two people, her sole aim being the exploration of her own deepest and darkest desires. The contract conferred this right upon her. She need only consider her partner in so much as how his body and mind would ultimately serve her own selfish desires.

The man, on the other hand, had no rights any more. In making the contract he had given up the right of self determination, both physical and mental, and placed them in trust to the woman before him. He knew full well that she would abuse that trust, taking cruel pleasure in inflicting pain and humiliation upon his bound and helpless body. But then that was the essence of the contract, she would gain the power that she craved and he would revel in its absence. Both would be released from the inhibitions of society and the myriad controls that it placed upon their shared lives.

In order to re-enforce the terms of the contract both parties wore the uniform appropriate to their role. She, the mistress, wore a boned leather corset, stitched from the softest hide, thin leather straps passing over her shoulders held the garment in place, suspender straps attached to the underside stretched down her thighs until they grasped the tops of the stockings which covered her legs. Below her waist she wore black leather panties which preserved her modesty from the eyes of her slave. On her feet she wore the obligatory black patent leather stiletto shoes, and currently the focus of the man's fetishistic attention. With the exception of the short leather skirt, which now lay discarded in another room, this was the outfit that the woman had worn to the restaurant where they had eaten a mere hour earlier.

For the man, the slave, modesty was a luxury denied him. He was naked. His only garment, apart from the heavy leather cuffs encircling his wrists and ankles, was a black leather hood covering his head. The hood, made of supple leather, was laced tightly at the back, large holes were present in the mask for his eyes, nose and mouth. Despite being his only piece of clothing, the mask had an important role to play in the execution of the contract. For without the mask he was still the man that she knew at the dinner table, the person she had talked and laughed with as an equal. Wearing the mask he was now a faceless slave, his humanity covered and denied to him by a thin layer of black leather, someone she could abuse without mercy, a stranger.

As well as being naked he was also bound. His bondage, like his apparel, was symbolic of that which he had given up as his part of the contact. The thick straps around his wrists and ankles bound him upright to a heavy wooden St. Andrew's cross, his legs and arms spread wide. Heavy chains attached the cuffs to the extremities of the beams, the shackles were far heavier than they needed to be, their purpose being to impress on their guest the utter helplessness of his situation and the impossibility of escape. Bound in this position the man had never felt more exposed or vulnerable, but for the woman this humiliation was not enough. Her desire to dominate him was strong, she wanted him to realise in every fibre of his being that he now belonged to her and that her control over him was absolute.

After binding him to the cross she had proceeded to force a red rubber ball gag and bit between his teeth, strapping it tightly to his face. She had now removed his ability to communicate, she could still hear him moan and cry out, but he could now no longer talk or reason with her to end his torment. The faceless slave was now without voice. She then took chains and attached them to D-rings fixed to either side of his hood. The other ends she locked onto fastenings attached to the cross, taking time to adjust the tension until she was satisfied that she had denied him his one remaining freedom of movement, the ability to bow his head in shame. A hot flush passed over him as he was forced to gaze on the woman who was orchestrating his degradation and humiliation. His arms had begun to ache, and with what little movement he had left, he shifted position to try to ease the pain. But soon even this would be denied him.

The final indignity came from a movable pad fixed to the centre of the cross and which was currently pressing into the man's back. By its adjustment the woman could force her captive's torso out and away from the cross. Each turn of the wheel would arch his body back a little more and tighten ever so slightly the chains binding his hands and feet to the cross. She began to operate the device, gradually what little movement he had left was taken from him as his legs and arms were stretched taught against the chains which bound him.

Just as he thought his feet were about to be lifted from the ground she stopped. He was now spread before her, his body arching back towards the extremities of the cross, his sex thrust forward in mute offing for her to take pleasure in his humiliation. In this position both man and woman gazed at each other as the woman considered how she would honour the terms of he contract, whilst in her had she fingered a short many stranded whip.

Outside of the room the hubbub of London life continued, but for the man and woman this was now a very long way away. The meal that they had eaten together was a distant memory to them both, indeed, their world outside the confines of the room had almost ceased to exist. As she looked at him, she could feel the desire take control of her, she swung back her arm and brought the whip down hard across his naked body.

Beneath the gag the man cried out, more in shock then in pain. He suddenly felt more helpless than ever before in his life, he struggled against the leather and steel which bound him to the wood of the cross. For more than a minute he fought against his bonds, crying out against the indignity into which he had placed himself. But the cross was well made, there would be no escape. Indeed he was so tightly bound to the cross that it was impossible to move his body more than a few inches in either direction. He would remain there until the terms of the contract had been completed and the woman returned his freedom to him.

For her part, the woman brought the whip down on the man's body almost without thinking, but his reaction to the lash brought home to her, in the most shocking of ways, the power she had over him and his utter helplessness in her presence. It was true that the build up to this point had left her moist with anticipation for what was to follow. The action of first stripping him and then chaining him to the unyielding cross had been for her a very erotic act. More than once she allowed her hand to explore his most intimate places uninvited, enjoying the man's embarrassment at his own involuntary reaction. But despite this, he had still been the same man that had entered the room with her and she had still been his companion. But now something had changed fundamentally between them. The shock of seeing him cry out and struggle helplessly against his bonds brought home to her more fully than she could have thought possible the transformation that had just occurred. His struggles and cries were not those of a modern man, but something more primitive. He was no longer the strong intelligent companion that she had dined with earlier that night, he was now nothing more that a naked and faceless slave chained to a cross, powerless to prevent whatever degradation her pleasure demanded.

She was not in a hurry, indeed, she had all night if she so desired, it would be a pity to burn out her lust so early in the evening. She wanted to savour the power that she had over him, to incite his own lust, to arouse and torment him with her most delicate touch. She looked at him. He looked so open and accessible, his body straining towards her inviting to be touched. How could she refuse such an offer.

She walked up to him. His body although stretched over the beams of the cross was far from immobile, the muscles in his legs and arms flexed continuously as they tried to fight the shackles which held him prisoner. His breath came from behind the gag in short gasps. She reach out her hand , letting it gently brush the inside of his thigh, she heard his breath quicken as slowly she moved it up his leg. Finally a moan escape from behind his gag as she cradled his scrotum and then let her hand caress the shaft of his erect penis. She could feel the man trying to pump his pelvis against her, to increase the sensation she was generating, but the bonds were too tight. He could only move his body a fraction of an inch. She looked up at his face, he had forced his head back and his eyes were tightly shut in a vain attempt to deny the hash reality of his bondage. She laughed.

"Open your eyes, slave, and look at me."

He obeyed. It was now his turn to comprehend the transformation that had taken place between them. Before him stood a scantily clad woman, the very stereotype of a male fantasy. Her garb of leather corset, stockings and stiletto shoes would arouse any man. She was the perfect picture of a male plaything, dressed to please her man. But this was the irony of the situation, she was not the plaything, he was. The tightness of his bondage would not let him forget for an instant the complete helplessness of his position. His legs and arms spread wide apart and his pelvis thrust crudely forward made him feel more naked and exposed than he had ever felt before in his life. And the knowledge that she knew that he craved this abuse more than anything else in the world sent a fresh wave of humiliation coursing through his body.

He suddenly desperately wanted her to touch him again, to feel her cool hand on the hot flesh of his penis. Beneath the gag he began to beg, but only garbled grunts could escape past the plug of rubber filling his mouth, he began to rock his pelvis desperate for her to know his need. He looked at her. She knew only too well what his need was and he feared that she would use it to torment and humiliate him over the course of the night. The cruel smile forming on her face reinforced this, but if she would only touch him now it would give him some respite.

Not taking her eyes off him for a second, she reached down between his legs. He could feel her wrist brushing against his penis as her fingers gently caressed the sensitive skin between his legs. His body felt strange, as if his body was no longer part of him. The severity of his bondage and the unnatural position forced upon him were beginning to play tricks with his senses. His inability to move or stimulate by touch his skin in any way meant that he was now totally dependent on his mistress to supply physical simulation to his body. The absence of sensation was slowly causing his skin to become hyper sensitive, and when she did touch him, his body magnified the sensation a thousand fold. And now, as she stroked him, every nerve in his body seemed to connect with that small patch of skin, the target of her delicate caress. It was maddening in its intensity. Slowly her middle finger began to explore down into the crack between his legs, he could feel nothing else, it was as if his whole body was numb with the exception of the few square centimetres of skin at the centre of her exploration. He strained his head down, fighting against the chains which anchored his mask to the cross, trying to maintain the eye contact with his mistress, desperate to impart to her the sensations that he was feeling. He moaned as her finger brushed against his anus, he could feel her nail probing it, sending waves of pleasure flowing through his body. Slowly she pulled her hand back from between his legs, gently cupping and caressing his scrotum, and then drawing slowly back along the shaft of his penis.

He was in heaven, his whole being focused on the sensation emanating from her hand as it stroked and caressed him. But the time it lasted was all to short, and after what seemed like only a few seconds she removed her hand leaving him desperate for its return. He tried to plead with her to continue her caress but the garbled sounds which emitted from behind the gag shamed him into silence.

She was not in a hurry, after all he was not going anywhere, and she had all night if she wished to take her pleasure from his bound and naked body. But first she wanted to savour a little more the sense of power and dominance that she had over him before she gave in to her more base desires.

Champagne and caviar. They had bought them both at great expense from Fortnum and Masons in Piccadilly that afternoon. He had paid of course. She remembered him standing there in his expensive Nicol Fari suit looking nonchalant as he signed the credit card slip, at the time she thought this was an excessive extravagance, now she accepted it as no more than her due. As she began to open the Champagne she looked back at him, he looked very different now, no longer the urbane young gentleman. The confident look in his eyes had gone, he was no longer the master of the situation. The whiteness of his skin contrasted with the dark colours of the room, his penis which was much darker than the surrounding skin and almost painfully erect told her that despite his obvious fear he was also very aroused. She poured the Champagne into the glass and brought it to her lips, the Champagne was good, very good. It was chilled but not so cold as to mask the taste, this was without doubt the finest Champagne she had ever drunk, and if it were possible, the glass she drank from enhanced the flavour still more. It was Venetian crystal, the antique dealer had said it was made in about 1850, and the beauty of the design was quite stunning. For a few seconds she admired the deep colour of the crystal and the delicate workmanship that went into the its construction. The gold leaf that once defined the patterns etched into the glass was now faded and almost gone, but that did not matter, if anything it added history and character to the timeless elegance of the piece.

She looked back at the man, now still on the cross. "A good choice, if I might say. It is a pity that you can't share my appreciation of it." She laughed.

"I am afraid, my bound and naked slave, it looks like you have a long night ahead of you."

She walk slowly back towards him, holding the glass in one hand and letting the other caress her own thigh, tracing the line dividing the black leather of her underwear with the white flesh of her leg. She smiled inwardly as she watched his erect member bob up and down, she knew the effect she was having on him and wondered for how long she could sustain his arousal. It would be fun to find out.

Standing close to him she sipped from the glass letting her fingers trace invisible lines across his torso. Beneath the gag his breathing became more rapid, every few seconds he would let out a gasp or a moan as his body reacted to her touch in ways that he could not control.

"Do you like it when I humiliate you?" She whispered, her hand reaching down to lightly stroke his penis.

"Do you like it when I make you moan, when I make you admit to me you most secret desires?"

Beneath the mask the man felt the humiliation wash over him, he had not only given her his body but his soul as well, she had not merely stripped him of his clothes but of every social barrier and defence that society had given him. He had no choice but to answer truthfully , to try to lie would be an even greater humiliation. He nodded his head. A moan escaped his gag as she pulled back the foreskin of his penis.

"I have bought you a present my hot little slave, another little token to remind you that you belong to me. So you don't forget that you are my property, to use and abuse in what ever way my perverted little mind desires."

She took another sip from the glass.

"I had it made especially for you, it was very expensive, I even paid for it with your credit card. Would you like to know what it is?"

She placed the glass carefully onto the rug and went over to the cabinet at the side of the room. The man tried to follow her movement with his eyes, but the chains locking his hood to the beams of the cross halted his progress before she had reached her destination. He could hear her opening the door to the cabinet and retrieving something from its confines. When she came back into view she was carrying an oblong box some eighteen inches long. The box itself was black but around it, and tied on top with a bow, was a wide yellow ribbon.

He had no idea what it could be. He had seen an unexpected bill on his last credit card statement for well over five hundred pounds, but when he had asked her about it she had merely smiled and said "Wait and see." The company, R&G Designs Ltd., gave no further clue as to what it could be. He had considered finding out their telephone number and calling them, but thought better of it. He had given her the credit card as part of the contract. He trusted her that she would honour the terms of it.

She placed the box on the floor and began to untie the ribbon.

"Do you remember my gay friend Frank?" she asked.

It was an unexpected question. He did indeed remember him, they had met him a few months ago when they had gone as interlopers to the Gay Pride festival. He was the classic gay leather man, and obviously heavily into sado-masochistic sex himself. What possible connection could he have with the contents of the box?

Surrounded by tissue paper lay his present, it appeared to be some kind of dildo. Carefully she removed it from the box and brought it up for his inspection. It was indeed a dildo, black, and fashioned as a large male phallus and very realistic. But that was only the start. Attached to the base of the dildo was a thick stainless steel rod which itself disappeared into a large metal box, on top of the box were a number of switches.

The man looked blankly back at the woman, trying to gain some insight into what was about to happen to him.

"It's a fucking machine, my poor helpless slave, and you are going to be fucked by it." She flipped a switch and the man watched as the dildo began to slide in and out.

"I told Frank about you penchant for humiliation and he was more than happy to make a latex mould of his penis, in fact I think he rather got off on the whole idea. Do you like the result?" She let her hand stroke the end of the dildo as it continued to pump slowly back and forth. "He is quite a big boy, isn't he?"

The very thought of the mechanical rapist invading his body horrified the man, it broke though his most basic and primitive taboos concerning his sexuality. He had, he thought, no homosexual leanings and the idea of a mans prick, even a latex cast of one being forced into his anus, repulsed him. In futile desperation he struggled against his chains, ignoring the impossibility of escape, pleading with her from behind the gag not to do this to him.

"So you see my poor little slave you are not only going to be fucked by me but by Frank also."

As his struggles subsided amid the crushing weight of knowledge that he was utterly powerless to prevent his further degradation a fresh humiliation swept over him. He wanted this to happen to him. For an instant he had a vision of Frank being in the room with his mistress, and the two of them together taking it in turns to abuse and rape his bound and spread body whilst the other looked on and laughed.

Much later, when thinking back at what happened, he did not believe that his sexuality had been fundamentally changed by these events. Rather that the cocktail of fears, desires and emotions that she had set off had allowed his mind to contemplate ideas that would have never made it past his emotional conditioning present in his normal existence.

But those thoughts were still in the future, the present allowed no time for such elegant post rationalisation. In the present he was naked, bound and spread wide on a heavy wooden cross, the helpless plaything of a woman whose desire to dominate and humiliate him was all consuming.

"I can see that my idea is turning you on," she said, looking at his still erect penis. His total inability to hide any desire, however perverted, from his mistress's gaze shamed him still further.

"Maybe next time I should invite Frank along, he said he would like to rape you. He told me he would like to have you bound on the floor with you mouth forced open by a ring gag so he can alternate between fucking you in the arse and ramming his prick down your throat and making you suck him off."

The vision at once sickened and thrilled him, he could not comprehend how such a depraved act could arouse him so much, but it did. He was her slave, and as such would respond to her in anyway that she wished, he had no choice, she had stripped him of every defence that he possessed. He had submitted to her more fully than he could have thought possible and in return she had filled his soul with emotions more powerful and intense than he had ever experience before. He started to cry, not out of fear or sorrow, but because it was the only way he could release what was inside of him. For a brief instance his mind left his body as it was carried away on the swirl of emotions. But the escape was all too short, he caught sight of his mistress staring at him, and was brought back to earth with a jolt. A fresh wave of humiliation mixed with desire washed over him. In her hand she held the device, the dildo now shiny and slick with lubricant.

"Lets see how you enjoy your present, shall we?"

She walked behind him, letting her oily hand catch hold of his penis as she passed, causing him to moan in response. For what seemed like an eternity nothing happened. He could hear the sound of nuts being placed onto bolts and tightened, he guessed that she must be fixing it to some kind of base, but he could feel nothing. Then, just as he was thinking that something must have gone wrong, he felt the end of the dildo push ever so gently between his buttocks. Within a few seconds he saw his mistress return to her station in front of him.

But what of his humiliation, he did not understand why she had not forced the device deep inside of him so that it might fuck his prone and helpless body as she watched the spectacle of his degradation. She stood close to him, letting her body press against his, in her hand was the crystal goblet. She took a sip of the Champagne, her face inches from his own.

"You look puzzled." She let her hand stroke the leather of his mask.

"You are wondering why, at this very instant you are not being raped by Frank's prick. You will be, don't worry, but we don't want the evening to end too early, do we?"

With that she turned and walked back to the table, refilling her glass with more of the decadent liquid. For several minutes she stood at the table, her back to him, as she lavished herself with Champagne and caviar. The man could do nothing but wait. Once, as she was eating, he let out a moan from behind the gag, a desperate attempt to draw her attention back to him. Without even bothering to look at her bound captive she snapped back.

"You will be whipped for this interruption, do not dare disturb me again."

Without making any further sound he tried to shift his body to easy the dull pain that was in his shoulders and arms. As he moved he realised that the dildo was now closer, brushing against his anus. She let the strands of the whip drag though her hands.

"But first there is the little matter of your punishment, but don't worry baby, you didn't really spoil my enjoyment of the caviar. I enjoy inflicting pain on you, if you hadn't had interrupted me I would have found some other excuse to whip you."

She let loose the whip on his body and the man cried out as the leather strands struck his flesh. He could not help but pull again the chains which tethered him, he felt the dildo move and slide within him. But something had changed. Instead of the dildo being almost stationary, relying on the movement of the man for its effect, it had now begun slowly pumping inside of him with a life of its own. The whip struck again, and again, the initial sting was now being replaced by a burning sensation as the blood rushed to the surface of his skin. Through his own haze of pain and desire he could see that mistress had now lost her earlier composure as her own sexual desires were fired by his torment. With one hand she continued to flail the whip back and forth across his body while with the other she had pushed back the leather covering her own sex and was using her finger to arouse herself still further. Beneath the gag he cried and moaned, free of all inhibitions, letting his body jolt and spasm in response to the sting of her whip.

His own body was now on fire, his mind burning with lust and desire. A strange euphoria took hold of him, heightened still further by the endorphins pumped into his system in response to the pain she inflicted on him. Both mistress and slave were now lost in their own private worlds of dominance and submission feeding off each other to fuel the burning desire that consumed the pair of them. If she wanted to she could end the contract here, fling herself on his bound and helpless body, rape him, bring them both to the climax that they craved.

But that would be too soon, the symphony that she was orchestrating around him had one more movement left to perform. She would resist her desire and let him suffer a little longer, but when the time came she would strip him of his last ounce of pride, make him beg and plead for the release that she knew he craved more than anything. Before that she would sate her own lust, revelling in the absolute power she had over him. Only then, her own need satisfied she would watch calm and collected as she brought her slave slowly to the climax she knew he wanted more than life itself. As she did so she would mock and laugh at him as she forced him to lay bare his deepest needs and most humiliating desires to her. Finally she would take pity on him and grant her slave's greatest desire, to be allowed to cum in the presence of his mistress, and so the contract would be honoured.

She stopped. The man hung limp from the cross, his chest, stomach, and sides glowed red where the whip had struck him. She flung the whip to the ground and strode forward, grasping his balls in a vice-like grip which sent a jolt of pain searing though his body.

"If you do that again I will hang weights from your balls so heavy you will beg me to cut them off to end the pain, how dare you not stand erect in my presence."

His whole body ached, his shoulders and arms in particular as they had supported much of the weight of his body. His hands now were almost completely numb, the cuffs having restricted the blood into them. But with an effort he pulled himself up with his arms letting his feet once again take their share of the work in supporting the weight of his body. He had no doubt that if he did not do so she would carry out her threat.

By the time he had recovered himself, she had returned to his side, once again sipping Champagne from the crystal goblet. She let her hand run down his back allowing it to make a detour as it reached the pad pressing into him. Its final destination was his right buttock where she allowed her hand to cup and fondle it. All the time he could feel the continuous and incessant motion of the dildo as it moved inside of him. They stood there in silence, mistress and slave, her body pressed gently against his. He could feel his erect member rubbing gently between soft flesh of her thigh, whilst her hand absently stroked and caressed him between his cheeks. After several minutes of silence broken only occasionally by the gentle sound of his mistress sipping her Champagne she spoke.

"I think that you have had enough of Frank for the moment."

With that she lent down, her face pressing against his chest, as she reached further behind him, there was the faintest sound of a switch being thrown and the dildo stopped its motion inside of him. It did not leave his body however, and its presence still remained a constant reminder of his humiliating role in the contract.

Her Champagne finished, she returned the glass to the table. They stood once again facing each other. He could consider no other state now that to be her slave. While he was bound to the cross his cares outside of the room had ceased to exist, his job, the mortgage, were as nothing to him. The only thing that was important in his life stood now before him. She had stripped him of every ounce of his social conditioning, pride, and inhibitions, leaving only a raw primitive sexual need which only she could satisfy. Without her he was nothing, the only emotions he had were those she permitted him, the only sensations he experienced were those she fed to him by the touch of her hand or the lash of her whip. His naked body, stretched and spread wide could do nothing, not even rub itself against the wooden beams of the cross. The pad forced into his back, arching his body away from the heavy beams, forbid him any stimulation not sanctioned by the leather clad dominatrix standing scant feet away.

For an eternity they faced each other he could feel the tension building inside of her. Then with a brief flick of the hand she let one strap and then the other fall from her shoulder. It was a simple movement, but with a significance that caused the man, her slave, to moan and struggle against the chains which bound him in fearful anticipation of what was to come.

She would wait no longer, she had humiliated and abused him fanning her own flames of desire in the process, now she would quench them by impaling herself upon him. She would take what she wanted by force, revelling in her domination over him, and when she had spent her lust on him she would orchestrate his final humiliation. She wanted to be naked, to feel with every nerve in her body his uncontrolled desire as she raped him. She would fuck him as he stood, clinging to him like a limpet, forcing herself against him so that she might feel his body strain and twist against hers in desperate passion. Then with her own desire spent she would dismount him, remove his gag, and then listen to his desperate pleadings as she brought him slowly to climax.

Without apparent haste, she began to strip in front of him. She knew how to arouse him, and she used her knowledge to tease and torment him as he stared helplessly on. First the shoes. Then, letting her hand stoke and caress the white skin of her inner thigh, she unclipped and then removed first one stocking and then the other. A gentle pull on the knot that tied her panties around her waist was all that needed to send them sliding to the floor. Beneath the corset he could see the mound of dark hair covering her womanhood, she let her hand run though it, knowing full well the effect that it would have on him.

Finally the corset. Standing close to him so that he could see her every move, she began to undo one by one the fasteners running down the front of the garment. Gradually it parted to reveal more and more of the milky flesh beneath it, until she released the final fastening and the corset fell lifeless behind her. She stood before him, as naked as he. But her nakedness was not that of a slave, it was brash, proud, and confident, and the hunger in her eyes terrified him. She moved yet closer, he could feel her nipples brush against his chest. Suddenly she forced herself against him, he could feel his prick rubbing against her cunt, driving him wild with desire. But she was not interested in sex just yet, she wanted to taste the sweat on his body, to feel something of the passion she had instilled in him, to mark him with her teeth as her own. For minutes she gave in to these desires, licking and biting him with wild abandon, rubbing her body against him, his cries of pain and arousal merely spurred her on.

This though, was merely a prelude to the final movement, she rose from her knees from where she had been exploring between his legs with her tongue. She was calm once more, although the same hunger still burnt in her eyes. She took oil from the table, and standing so that her slave might gaze fully at her nakedness, she began to rub the oil over her body. Slowly she began to glisten and shine as her hands roamed ever wider across her smooth skin. She allowed herself to become aroused by the touch of her own hand letting it slide in and out between her legs, bending her knees and letting her body gyrate in response to her own caress. The voyeuristic gaze of her mute slave, as he stared at his now fully aroused mistress, inflamed her passions still further as she continued to work her fingers deep inside her. She wanted to tease him for a while with her own obscene display, to inflame his own desires but leave him helpless satisfy them. She squatted down, spreading her legs wide apart, with one hand she continued to finger herself whilst with the other she pulled and kneaded her breasts, all the time fixing him with a gaze of pure unadulterated lust.

She allowed the erotic exploration of her own body to continue. She let herself imagine that she was now the slave, being forced to perform in front of her master. She closed her eyes and sank to her knees spreading them wide as if offering herself to any man that would take her. She allowed her mind to conjure a slave collar locked about her neck and chains on her legs and arms, a symbolic enslavement, but nothing that would interfere with her erotic dance. For minutes she let her own hand tease her, moaning freely at each new sensation she generated within her, but eventually she opened her eyes and the spell was broken. She stared at her slave who was now straining on the cross in helpless arousal, this was better she thought, the absolute power that she had over his mind and body was the strongest aphrodisiac of all.

She was ready for her slave now. Slowly she advanced towards him, her body language leaving him in no doubt as to what his mistress desired. She began to rub the oil into his chest, quickly widening her attentions so that soon, like her, his whole body glistened with the oily liquid. Her touch was more than he could bare, the sensation of her hand gliding without friction across his now super sensitive body was driving him insane.

He heard her laugh, as if at some private joke that he was excluded from, and then her mocking whisper "I think we need Frank again." She squatted down in front of him, letting her mouth tease and tempt his cock, as she reached behind him to activate the switch. As she rose again to her feet he could feel the phallus inside of him start pumping again, fucking him, adding to his ever more desperate state of arousal. The time had come, her slave was now prepared and ready for her. She climbed onto him.

To allow her to mount him, she had stirrups fixed to the wooden beams of the cross and some twelve inches above the ground into which she could place her feet and which were strong enough to support the full weight of her body. Other handholds and rings bolted higher up on the cross allowed her to hold herself against her slave and control her movement. She stood in the stirrups her body towering over him, her legs enveloping his hips. He could not resist her, even if he wanted to, she forced herself on to him and burying his face between her breasts. Grabbing the rear of his hood, she jerked his head back against the chains that bound it to the cross, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"Don't disappoint me!" she hissed.

Holding onto the cross with one hand, she allowed her knees to bend, letting their bodies slide against each other as she lowered herself onto him. With her free hand she grasped his penis, guiding it into her. There was a moments resistance and then it sunk inside of her. For a brief moment he saw her dominance over him slip as she let out an involuntary gasp as he entered her, but it lasted only an instant, and once again she was his mistress. Slowly and with great skill she began to work her body against his, sometimes pressing her whole body hard against him, letting her nipples rub against the hairs of his chest. At other times holding herself away, the only contact being where his sex entered her body. But always with her eyes locked on to his face watching every detail of his enslaved passion. They were now bound together on the cross, he by the leather and steel which held him its prisoner, she by her own force of will as she thrust herself against him.

Beneath the mask the man continued to be tormented by his own arousal and his utter helplessness in directing its course, behind his gag he let forth a stream of sounds, in a desperate attempt to tell his mistress of his need. Time and again she brought him close to his own orgasm but whether by design or her own selfish need she would never let him reach that point of no return. Deep down he knew that his time would come later, but in such a way as to allow his mistress to take yet more pleasure from his humiliation. His role in this was clear, he was her slave and had no choice but to squirm and beg for her touch, to debase himself before her so that she might take pleasure from his chained and tormented body.

And what pleasure she took from him, her face was a masked of wanton lust as she let their bodies slide together, her every motion designed to sustain and increase the waves of pleasure flowing through her. Gradually, though, the rhythm of her movements changed as she felt her body came closer to its climax. Her movements became more erratic and violent. Then without warning she flung her head back and let out a succession of cries as the orgasm hit her, she continued to thrust hard against him for another thirty seconds as wave after wave of sensation flowed through her. But finally even she could take no more, she lifted herself off him and stood down from the cross. Her hair, wet from the oil and the exertion of her love making, was plastered to her head. For several minutes she just stood there as she recovered her composure, more than once her body spasmed uncontrollably as the after-shocks of her orgasm rushed through her. At last she spoke to him.

"Now my little slut it's your turn, I want to see you perform for your mistress. I want to hear you beg for me to let you cum."

She reach forward and removed the gag from the man's mouth.

For the first time since his ordeal began he had the power to speak and communicate his burning desires to his mistress, but he could not bring himself to do so. With the gag forced into his mouth he could moan and beg freely, knowing that whatever sounds came out would be garbled and unintelligible, the uncontrolled reaction of a slave to his mistress's touch. But now she had given him back his voice, he could no longer pretend that he was the helpless victim of his mistress's depraved desires. He knew that she would not release him, either sexually or physically, until he had used his full powers of communication to beg her to humiliate him and to plead for the touch of her hand on his body. That would be the greatest humiliation, to be forced to admit in the most unambiguous of terms that his greatest desire in the world was to be her slave.

In a voice, no louder than a whisper, he said "Touch me. Please touch me Mistress."

This was power, she thought, to bind a person naked to a cross, then turn him from a cultured, intelligent man to a naked slave in heat who would humiliate himself totally in front of you just so that you might deem to touch him. She let her hand run up the out side of his leg, then moving across his torso. She could feel his muscles twitch and jerk as if shocked by an electric current.

"Tell me where you want me to touch you" She wanted to force from him his deepest and darkest desires, to watch his shame as he was forced to beg for his own humiliation.

"Please mistress, touch my prick, let me cum."

She let her hand slip down, moving effortlessly against his oiled and slippery skin, until it came to rest between his legs, lightly brushing his scrotum. With her other hand she reach forward holding onto the shaft of his erect penis, letting it run slowly up and down its length. She watched as her slave closed his eyes in response to her caress.

"Open your eyes slave, look at your mistress. Tell me who you are and what you want from me."

He forced himself to open his eyes, his whole being was focused on the pressure building up between his legs. The twin action of his mistresses hand and the dildo sliding in and out of him was drawing his body nearer and near to its climax. His arms found hidden reserves of strength and fought against the chains that imprisoned him, trying to move his body in unison with his mistress's hand. Through the haze of his mounting passion he saw the mocking smile of the woman and once again felt the raw heat of his humiliation. He was helpless in her presence, he would do anything, humiliate himself in anyway that she wished, just providing she promised not to stop.

"Please mistress, don't stop." He gasped. "I'm your slave, don't stop, please don't stop."

He could not believe to what heights of terrible ecstasy she was taking him, he could not endure the pressure building inside of him. More than once he felt he was about to orgasm, only to feel it slip from him, to be replaced seconds later, by a state of arousal even higher than before. His head pulled in desperation against the chains which held it, and from his mouth came a stream of words begging her not to stop.

Without warning something within his body changed, his mistress sensed it also, kneeling down in front of him she pumped his penis with increased vigour. The moment of his climax was terrible in its intensity, he had lost control of his body, he went rigid as the orgasm hit him and the jet of semen shot from his body. His mistress did not stop as she was hit by the hot sticky liquid, but kept on pumping his penis forcing every last drop from his body. Only when the knees of her slave buckled, his body spent of passion, did she finally stop.

Through his exhaustion he saw his mistress standing before him, his sperm running down over her breasts. Fearful of her anger he forced his legs to once again take the weight of his body. In a whisper he said:

"Thank you Mistress."

Reaching up, she released the chains attached to his hood, he could at last move his head freely. She turned her attention to the dildo which was still in continuous motion inside of him, there was a few seconds delay and then the humiliating invader retreated from his body. She reappeared at his side, the cruel smile replaced by one more gentle, she spoke to him again.

"There is one more task that you must carry out slave, before I give you back you freedom. You will lick my body clean of this," she said, as she gazed down at the semen that covered her breasts.

She stood in the stirrups, their bodies once again locked together, her breasts and nipples inches from his face, but their passion had gone now, replaced by a gentle warmth towards each other and a sense of calm serenity. With one hand she unfastened the laces and straps which held the hood about his face, with a final tug she pulled the mask from his head and let it drop to the floor. She allowed her hand stroke the hair of his head as they stood in silence, their bodies pressed together. He had never felt so spent and exhausted in his life, but she had honoured her part of the contract and in gratitude he gently kissed each nipple in turn before letting his tongue attend to the needs of his mistress.

Claude slunk into the storeroom where he worked, hoping against hope that Mona wouldn't see him. He was the shipping boy for a Ladies Accessories Boutique in a very large department store, and it was his job to open incoming shipments of all sorts of goods, and to see that they were stacked neatly on the shelves, ready to take up to the sales floor when required. He had handbags and belts, very high fashion shoes, a few clothes, perfumes, scarves, gloves, and silken blouses. He hated it. He would have been much happier selling rebuilt engines or carburetor parts. "But Jeezus," he thought, "With a name like Claude, what can I expect?"

He was in luck so far as Mona was concerned - she was on the selling floor, and didn't see him. But Patti did, and while Patti liked Claude, and if the truth be known, wanted to bed him, she felt it was her bounden duty to report Claude's tardiness to Mona. She rather liked to get people into trouble. But more importantly, Claude had been distinctly cool to her overtures.

Mona was several cuts above Patti in social station, and very elegant. She was young for a department manager, probably under thirty, but she had the good looks and fashion sense, and of course, the good breeding, to carry off that department very well. She would have been wasted in Household Appliances, say, or Gents Socks & Underwear. She listened to Patti, and sent her off, saying "Don't mention this to Claude. I'll see him when we close. In fact, don't mention it to anybody at all. Promise?" Patti was far too much in awe of Mona to demur, and went off pleased with herself, and perhaps a bit sorry that her shift ended at five. Mona looked thoughtful.

Mona caught Claude locking up his store room fifteen minutes after closing, which was normal. She beckoned him over, "Come to my office, Claude. I want to talk to you" He followed her into her office, and she sat down behind her desk. It was a large, imposing desk - designed with intimidating subordinates in mind, no doubt. "Close the door." He did, and stood before that huge desk looking all hands and elbows as she stared at him appraisingly. Nothing was said, and he began to shuffle his feet uncomfortably under that cool gaze. He tried putting his hands, which felt far too big, into his pockets, then hastily took them out again. Finally, she spoke, "You've been with us for, what... two months, now?"

"Ten weeks, Ma'am."

"Ten weeks. You've accumulated a rather spectacular number of absences and lates in that time, haven't you? Well, haven't you?"

"I guess so, Ma'am. I'm sorry."

"There's another thing. One of the girls tells me that you made improper advances to her. She was very upset. She was thinking of lodging a formal complaint against the store and you - sexual harassment. That's a serious charge."

"Harassment? I didn't harass nobody."

"She says you did."

"I only put my hands on her, like. An' just for a second. I didn't mean no harm."

"Just where did you put your hands?"

"On her ass. I just sort of gave it a squeeze, like."

"What did she do?"

"She sorta looked at me kinda funny, and then she went away. I was only kidding."

"Well, she's out for your blood, now. No company takes a sexual harassment charge lightly these days - it goes on your record as cause for dismissal, and your chances of being hired anywhere else aren't very good. With that on your record I don't even know if you can apply for welfare."

"All I did was squeeze her butt! I shouldn'ta done it, but that's not so terrible, is it?"

She went on relentlessly, "I'll also have to report it to security. Claude, you're in very hot water!"

Claude was very frightened, now.

"Do you know what these papers are? They are your termination papers."

"Oh, please, Miss Farrell! I know did wrong, and I been late a lot an' all, but it won't happen again. Honest, Ma'am. I need this job. It took me four months to find it! Please, Ma'am."

She picked up the paper. "What is your Social Security Number?"

"Miss Mona, please, I'm begging you. I won't be late again. I really won't. And that other - I'll never do that again - never!"

"You're proposing that I let you off? Scott free?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Then what? I can't dock your pay - the store won't permit it. I'd like to give you a sound thrashing, like a little boy -it's what you need. But the store won't permit that either. So, what can I do?"

"I'd rather be thrashed than fired, Ma'am."

"Don't be too sure! If I ever thrashed you, you'd know it! Unfortunately, it's quite impossible."

"I...I'd never tell, Ma'am."

"Are you suggesting that I whip you? Is that what you're suggesting?"

Claude felt he'd nothing to lose, so he ploughed doggedly on, "It would be better than losing my job, Ma'am. And you said it's what I need. Please, Miss."

"Have you ever been strapped, Claude? Or caned?"

He'd won a reprieve! He knew it. He'd won another chance, for the moment, anyway. He figured he could take a beating, and he needed this job - needed it very much! "I was strapped as a kid, Ma'am. It hurts!"

"Yes. It does."

"You'd take that from me?" He nodded. "And the cane, too?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She stood up. "See if there's anyone around, Claude. Then go to the stockroom and bring me a belt - a heavy one, understand? And a switch, a thin one. A Berkeley model 806 will do very well. You'll find them both in the riding apparel section. Then come back here and close the door." She turned to the papers on her desk.

It took Claude less than ten minutes to find the things. The place was deserted, and he returned to Mona's office to find she had taken off her tailored jacket and scarf, and that her bosom filled out her blouse in a very female way. The center of her desk had been cleared.

"Can you take this quietly?" she asked.

"I..I think so, Ma'am."

"You'd better" was the grim rejoinder, "If you don't you're out the door as of now. Well?"

"I'll be quiet, Ma'am."

"I hope so, for your sake. Stand in front of the desk and drop your pants. Underpants, too. I want you bare bottom. This is going to hurt, you know."

He did as he was told, and she picked up the belt, wrapping the buckle end around her hand so that about two feet of it hung from her fist. "Bend over. Right over, chest on the desk, and hands gripping the far edge. Now, spread your legs a bit. Good, now turn in your toes. That's excellent, Claude. You see? You can follow instructions when you want to." She pressed down on the small of his back, thrusting out his buttocks, and stepped back. "Not a sound, now. I'm going to give you six with this, and then a round dozen with the switch. Then we'll see. Ready?"

Stepping back, she swung. CRACK! Again, CRACK! And yet again - CRACKK! He danced, but held his position, and Mona paused to feel his bottom, and let the pain sink in before resuming. Three more resounding strokes followed, and at the third, Claude twisted away, squealing.

"I told you not to move! That means three extra. Get back over the desk." She was aroused, but only her breasts betrayed her, and Claude had no eye for beauty at that moment. Again she took a minute - a full minute, this time - to survey her handiwork. Her soft hand positively caressed her victim, moving back and forth her over the tortured nates spread out in front of her, slipping into the cleft and squeezing the reddened flesh. Finally she stepped back, and resumed her work. The strap rose and fell three more times, licking the firm round buttocks, and flicking into the crevice with wicked effect. Claude squealed again, louder this time, and flung himself on his knees at her feet.

"Please, please, Ma'am, wait! I can't take it so fast! Please, give me a moment, PLEASE! I don't want to scream, and I'm tryin', but I can't take it like this!"

"Very well, Claude. I'll give you two minutes rest. But if you can't take this what will you say when I use the switch? That will be much worse, you know. And stay on your knees. I like you that way."

"I'll take it, Miss Mona. I promise!"

"And if you don't?"

"I will, Ma'am. I'll have to."

"You will if you want this job, certainly. You'd better grit your teeth - this is going to hurt quite a lot! I think I'll have you standing for the first few. Stand up facing that wall, with your hands on the molding. Now back a bit - about two feet, so that you're bent over a little. Splendid, now stay there."

She lifted his shirt-tail, tucking it under his collar, and leaving his buttocks exposed, and smiled to herself when she saw that he had a hard on. 'Better and better,' she thought, and picked up the Berkeley 806. She touched him with it several times, to get the distance exactly right, and noted with pleasure the anticipatory twitch of the target area.

"If you turn around, I'll turn your buns into hamburger," she said softly, and he closed his eyes. Wheeep! He took it stoically. Wheeep! A little hop. Wheeeepp! A little hop, and a little squeal of pain. "Keep your eyes closed, Claude." a wait of some 30 seconds, and then WHEEEPPP! Wheeettt! Two together, right where the buttock joined the thigh. Claude yelped, and fell to the floor, unable to contain himself any longer. His eyes were open now, and wild with pain.

"Wait! Wait! Oh, pleeeease stop! Pleeeease - I can't... I'll scream - I won't be able to help myself. Aaaaahhh, God, it hurts."

Mona drank in the scene, but was careful not to let it show. "That's only five, Claude. We said a dozen." She kept her voice cool and controlled, which her was far from what she was feeling. She wanted him to herself, somewhere they could be alone, and they could make as much noise as she liked. She wanted to take him home with her - as a sort of captive, of course, under her control, where she could do as she liked with him. And so she said, "Then it's useless to go on, isn't it? I'd better finish your papers."

"NO! No, that's not what I mean. I'll take the whipping. It's just that I'm afraid of screamin'. It's the noise I'm afraid of."

"Really, Claude, short of taking you home and thrashing you there, I don't know what I can do. No, I think I'll just have to let you go. Let's see, your employee number is 27114, isn't it?"

"Yes. Oh, please, Miss Farrell! I'm willing to take the... the punishment. I'll do whatever you want."

"Except keep quiet. You didn't hold still, either."

"Gag me. Then I won't make no noise. And you could tie me, so I couldn't move away."

"Don't be ridiculous! Just suppose someone came in, with you bound and gagged.. Can you imagine what would happen?"

"Couldn't we go somewhere? You said something about taking me to your place, and doing it there. I'd go - you could punish me there - I'd cooperate. Please! PLEASE! I really need this job!"

Mona appeared to consider. In actuality, it was working out just as she had hoped, but she couldn't let him see that. Finally, she said, "I'd have to tie you there, too."

"OK. I'd let you tie me."

She regarded him in silence. "Ma'am. I'd let you tie me, Ma'am."

Still her face was a cool mask of disinterest.

"Please tie me, Ma'am," he said in meek desperation.

"That's more like it. And if I did that, I'd want to start from the top again. Right from the beginning, starting with the strap. Could you take that?"

"I'd have to, if I was tied up. I mean I couldn't stop you."

"No, you couldn't. And I'd finish, too. Every stroke. Even if you screamed your heart out, it wouldn't do you any good - nobody but I would hear you. So? Do you agree? I'll let you off this time if you come home with me and take your flogging. But make no mistake about it - it will hurt. It will hurt very, very much!"

"Thank you Miss. Thank you. I'll be good."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, stand up and pull up your pants, and put those things back where you got them. I'll wait for you in the parking lot. Do you have a car?"

"No. No, Ma'am. I take the bus."

"Do you have to make a phone call? You're going to be very late getting home."

"No, Ma'am. I live alone."

"Good. We won't have to hurry, then. Put those things back, now, and be quick. I don't like to be kept waiting." As soon as he was out the door, she picked up the telephone, and made a call.

PART II

She drove to an upper middle class district, and pulled into the driveway of a solid, substantial looking house set back from the road, and surrounded by tall hedges. It was the sort of house that a doctor or dentist might have built back in the 1920's - quiet good taste, and an air of comfort, but nothing of ostentation. Tudor, but not stock-broker Tudor. Before the War, it probably had a maid and a cook in residence. To Claude, however, it looked magnificent, and he felt more out of place than ever.

On their arrival Mona gave Claude a towel and a toothbrush, and pointed him to the upstairs bathroom. "Shower. Then when you're clean you'll find a razor and deodorant in the medicine chest. It's really for shaving legs, but you can shave your face with it, too. I want you looking presentable. You can undress in the bedroom. That way your clothes won't get all steamed up. When you're all bathed and shaved - and I mean clean, come down to the basement. It's through the kitchen. Now go. I'll expect you in half an hour."

It was a master stroke! It would humiliate him, it would give her a half hour to get ready, he'd come out of it all pink and tender from the shower, and, of course, clean. And finally, she would take his clothes away as soon as she heard the shower running. He'd have to appear clad in only a towel. She'd given him rather a small one. It was all turning out better than she had dared hope! And she had one more surprise in store.

Claude came out of the bathroom to find his clothes gone. He looked vainly around the bedroom, under the bed and in the closets, but not daring to open her drawers, until the realization dawned on him that he was expected to go down to the basement as he was. That meant she intended to punish him naked. Claude thought that was carrying things a bit too far, but he hadn't really any choice. He didn't want to be out of work again, that was certain.

And in a funny way he found it sort of exciting. So he covered himself as best he could - the towel came halfway to his knees - and set off down the stairs.

He descended the stairs to find Mona ensconced in a large throne- like chair, waiting for him. She wore a crimson gown, of Chinese pattern trimmed in gold, with a high Mandarin collar and no belt, that seemed molded to her body. The skirt, which her reached to her ankles, was slit up the side to her thigh, and the sleeves were very wide. Her hair, normally worn in a severe female- executive style, now cascaded down her back in a rich, glowing auburn river, and she smelled faintly of jasmine. She looked haughty, expensive, sensuous, and utterly beautiful.

Claude stood abashed and ashamed before her, clutching his towel. "Jeezus!" he thought. What he said was, "I..I can't find my clothes. This is all I had. I mean, I didn't mean to come like... I mean, uh, this is all I had. I didn't mean no disrespect."

She said nothing. A cot stood in the center of the room, it's mattress covered with a sheet, and a large cushion was set across the middle of the bed. A thin rattan cane and a heavy leather strap fitted with a handle lay beside the cushion, together with some silk stockings. It was all a bit daunting, and Claude gulped apprehensively. This was going to be worse than he thought.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you, Claude? You did meant what you said? Or are you thinking of wimping out?"

"Uh, no, Miss Farrell. I mean yes, I meant it."

"Good. And so did I. So let's get on with it - no use wasting time, is there." She stood up, and taking a wide piece of leather fitted with two buckles from a table, stepped behind him. "Give me your wrists." She placed his arms parallel to each other behind his back, and wrapping the leather around them like a sleeve, did up the buckles. It put his hands and arms out of the equation. He could do no more than wave his fingers vainly. Despite his fear, the towel developed a decided bulge in front.

"You won't be needing this," she said, undoing the towel and letting it fall to the floor. Claude turned puce with embarrassment as his prick stood revealed and rampant in all its glory.

Mona was amused, (and secretly rather excited). "My, my! You must be looking forward to your flogging. Are you?"

"No! I mean I'm not looking forward.... uh, well, it just happens. I can't help it, Miss Farrell. It just happens. I mean I can't stop it!"

Mona was enjoying herself hugely. She really had him squirming now. She could have pressed her advantage, and shamed him even further, but she had other plans for him. She would play him like a trout, and when he was ready, she would reel him in. That meant planting a link in his mind between erotic desire, and pain. So, instead of humiliating him more, she palmed his rigid member, and smiled into his eyes, "That's very flattering, Claude. I don't mind at all - rather the contrary in fact. But you still have to be punished, I'm afraid. So lie down on the cot, face down, with the pillow under your hips. I'm going to tie you down so that you don't thrash around and hurt yourself. The cushion should help, too." She sounded so convincing the poor sod was actually grateful for her concern.

She bound his ankles to the corners of the bed with the stockings, and passed a rope from frame to frame, across his back and under his arms, preventing him from changing position. His tush was thus raised and presented in the most perfect manner for the task in hand.

Mona explored the territory, feeling the welts left by the previous whipping, squeezing, stroking, raising his sensitivity, and above all, revelling in having this young man so wholly at her mercy. Not that she intended to show much!

She picked up the strap, and slipping her wrist through the loop, took up her stance. "Now, Claude you must be very brave. You do understand that once started, the punishment will continue through to the end. I have no intention of letting you off half way through, so once I start you just have to endure it. That's one reason why I tied you. Well? This is your last chance to back out."

"I can take it. I'll try not to make any noise."

"That won't matter, Claude. No one will hear you here. But I'm afraid this is going to be very, very painful." She raised her arm so that the strap hung down behind her back, and swung. It made a gentle little shushhhing sound, as it described a large arc and landed across the middle of his buttocks with stinging force. SPATT! He gritted his teeth, and she drew back and swung again, leaving a wide pink stripe across her target.

She wielded the instrument with care, not hurrying, and laying the groundwork for the caning to follow.

By the sixth stroke he was squealing. By the ninth he was howling and Mona spread a cloak over his head and shoulders, after which she paused for a minute or two. He became aware of someone else in the room. Cool hands roamed over his tortured bottom, and when the strapping resumed, there was a giggle, and it wasn't Mona! The leather began to descend a little faster than before, and concentrated now on his thighs. He was in agony now, and screaming for mercy, but it didn't stop until he'd received about eighteen.

The only sound was Claude's muffled sobs for a long minute. Finally Mona spoke to him. She sounded a little breathless. "Shush, Claude. I'm going to give you a little while to recover before I go on with the cane. You'll need it - the cane is much worse, you know. I'm going upstairs for a while, but Paula here will stay to keep an eye on you. Paula, this is Claude. Claude, you can't see her, but Paula has very kindly offered to help me with your punishment. She administered the last dose with the strap. Whoo! I'm tired! I think I'll pour myself a drink, and put my feet up for a while. I'll be back to finish him in half an hour or forty minutes. He should be ready by then, Paula. And thank you for your help, darling. If he gives you any trouble -any trouble at all - just touch him up a bit with the cane. You can give him an extra dozen or so if he needs it. A bientot, Claude. Don't run away."

Claude heard Mona mount the basement stairs, and the door close behind her, and then Paula spoke, "Well! She seems to have done quite a job on you! I don't envy you the next part - she can be quite a tigress with the switch." she sounded more amused than sympathetic, and Claude said nothing. He felt her sit down on the cot beside him, and she began to stroke his flaming bottom. It felt good - cool and soothing, and he relaxed a bit.

"I heard you scream with the strap. Do you think you can take the cane?" She was mocking him, and he remained silent. She got up. Wheeeppp!

"Yaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Wheeett! "AIEEEEE! NO! PLEASE!"

"I don't like being ignored, Claude."

"I wasn't ignoring you. I just dunno what to say! Please!"

She sat down again. "Just think! Twelve more like that! I don't know how you can stand it!" She felt his bonds. "But I suppose you just have to, don't you?" She resumed her explorations, letting her fingers slide between his thighs until they brushed his balls. "Do you like that?"

"Yes."

She went deeper, feeling for his penis. "And that?"

"Ah! Yes!"

"If you were very good, perhaps I could persuade her to let you off some. Would you like that?" She was doing soft, rhythmic, teasing things to him now.

"Yes! AAAhh! AAhhhh - yes! Uh, yes, I sure would!"

"Lift your hips a little."

He did, and very soon he was full hard and ready, the pain almost forgotten. She had a very knowing touch.

"Please, take this off my head so I can see you."

"Not yet. Maybe later." Back to his tush. She ran a finger along a welt. "Shall I kiss it and make it well?" she asked softly.

"Yes. Yesssss!"

Soft lips brushed the tortured parts, and a smooth little tongue traced the lines of the whip marks. Her fingers probed down into the cleft, and then, suddenly, she thrust them into is anus. Instantly he tightened up, and tried to pull away. "Hey, no! Don't!" he gasped.

She withdrew her fingers, and got up off the bed. Claude was afraid. He heard a rustling sound, and then, with shocking suddenness, Wheeeepp! Wheeeeppp! WHEEEEPPPP! Three agonizing strokes, and Claude was howling.

"You dare pull away from me? You dare?" zzzickkk! zzzickkk!

"NO! NO! I'm not fighting you!" he was screaming with terror and pain, "I'll do what you say! Please! Anything! Only please stop!"

"Oh! I'd like to give you another dozen! Yes! I think I will!"

"I'M NOT FIGHTING YOU! I won't pull away. I promise! Give me a chance!"

"Very well, then. I'm going to uncover your head, and I expect you to be very polite and very accommodating. Otherwise, I'm going to do terrible things to your buns. Got that?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

The cloak was swept away, and Claude saw Paula for the first time. She was attractive, in a sturdy sort of way. Not beautiful, certainly, but full hipped and deep chested. Also, she was entirely nude, and she wore a dildo. His eyes opened wide with astonishment, and he just managed to gasp out, "Hi." It seemed inadequate, but what does one say to a woman wearing a phallus?

"Ever been raped?"

"No." She swished the cane through the air, making a vicious sound. "Uh, mot yet."

"You're about to be." Paula didn't mince words.

"Yes, Ma'am." It seemed the thing to say.

"That's much better. Now I'm going to take off this rope from your back, and I expect you to co-operate with me. Then maybe I'll get Mona to ease up on you. Otherwise," and she swished the cane again.

"OK! OK, I'll do it!"

She undid the rope, and knelt down behind him. Pulling him up to his knees by the testicles, she pushed his head down to the cot. Then she lubricated the target area thoroughly, then seizing his hips, took the plunge, as it were. She did it gently, using steady, insistent pressure, and reassuring him with her voice, until it went in - right up to the hilt. "There, relax yourself, Claude. Don't fight it. Yes, like that. Open. Open to me. Yes...yes, like that! Give yourself to me. There! In! In we go, in! AAAAhhhhh!"

The rape began gently enough, and Claude had enough sense to loosen up and let her have her way with him. Before long, however, her nails dug into him, and the tempo increased, and so did the force of her thrusts. Soon he felt her loins slapping against his tortured buttocks as she drove her instrument deep into him, and then, to his amazement, he felt himself lifting his hips to meet hers, offering himself, giving himself to her, and gasping his assent to her assault. "Yes! Yes, Oh, Yes! Take me! Take me! Aaaahhhhh!"

She uttered an inarticulate moan, and seizing his hips, redoubled her efforts, until, with a wild cry, she climaxed, and flung herself down on top of him, to softly kiss his neck.

They lay there for some minutes, joined together. At last, she murmured into his ear, "That was good, Claude. Thank you", and withdrew slowly to disappear into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later fully dressed. "I'll ask Mona to be easy on you. You should be tardy more often. Ta-ta."

He didn't know how long he lay there, bound and panting, before Mona returned. He turned his head when he heard the door open. and she descended the stairs, gowned as before, and carrying a cane and a little seven-tailed whip, swinging it idly from side to side setting the lashes dancing. She was smiling.

"Paula tells me you've been a good boy", she said, advancing to the cot and looking down at him. "Ooooh, she seems to have touched you up a bit with the cane, though. I thought I heard you howling back there. How many did she give you? Five or six?"

"More, I think, Ma'am."

"Yes, I count six - no, seven stripes. She must have hit you in a different place every time. I often leave just one wide mark - choose a place, and keep stoking it up. Let's see, I promised you a dozen, didn't I?"

"No! Miss Farrell, no! I couldn't take that! Oh, please, Ma'am, I'll do anything you want, but I just couldn't take another dozen with that!"

"Couldn't? Claude, dear, if I decide you will, you will. Or perhaps you know something I don't?"

"No, Miss Farrell. Miss, I'm begging you! I'll do anything!"

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything."

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Claude. I'll postpone the whipping until tomorrow, and I'll let you off with six. Because of Paula's glowing report of you."

"Thank you, Miss Farrell."

"Wait. I haven't finished. In return you must do something for us. You'll have to earn your reprieve. If you don't..." She swished the cane through the air viciously, "I'll give you a bakers dozen - right here", and she laid the cane across his lower rump, and tapped one of the welts Paula had left, making him flinch. "Right here, Claude - again and again and again, each time on the same place, and very slowly, to let the pain sink in. Can you imagine what that would be like? And then a dozen or so with this little martinet. Well?"

Claude was learning about pain, and he paled. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, very humbly.

"I want you to spend the night with Paula - chained to her bed."

He stared at her, unable to believe his ears. "You mean...chains?"

"Yes, Claude. She won't hurt you - if you do as she says. Of course, if you disobey her... Well, even then, she won't injure you - though she'll certainly hurt you."

"Jeezus!"

"No? Well, we're wasting time - get that tush up." Mona's arm rose and fell once, with stunning force, and Claude screamed.

"I WILL! I WILL! I'LL DO IT!"

"Sure?"

"YES!"

"You won't change your mind during the night, now? It would go very hard with you if you did."

"No, Miss Farrell, I'll be good. I promise. I'll do everything she tells me."

"You'd better! And now for the second thing. I want you to thank me nicely for the time I've taken with you. With your tongue. Kneel up."

Mona unzipped her gown, and stepped daintily out of it. She wore no bra, only a little pair of lacy panties. She knelt on the cot facing Claude, and seizing him by the hair, pulled his face down to her bosom. "Get to work," she whispered, and he took her nut- hard nipple in his mouth, and tried with all his ability to please her. He did well, better than she'd hoped. He suckled and licked all around the nipple, and then, taking it gently between his teeth, flicked it expertly with his tongue.

Mona reached down, and palming his shaft, worked it back and forth, arousing him further yet, and licking his ear. She wanted him to associate sex with captivity and gratification with pain. She felt instinctively that Claude had a deep masochistic streak, and she wanted to nurture it, and bring it to flower. And, of course, she was aroused. When it seemed that he was too close to spending, she shifted her attention to his own little nipples, pinching them slowly, and twisting them, while she pressed against the nape of his neck, and strained against his mouth.

After a while, it wasn't enough. She pulled away, and stood up, looking down at him. "Will you obey me, or must I use the whip?"

"I'll obey, Ma'am. You know I will."

"I'm going to untie you from the bed, and I want you to come upstairs with me. But first, I'm going to put you on a leash."

She tied one end of a length of sash cord around his scrotum, pulling it firm. Then she untied his ankles, and with the cord wrapped around one hand, and the cane in the other, she led him up to her bedroom. She'd planned to bind him, but now she didn't want to wait. she stood beside the bed, facing him, and pulled him close, to run her hands over his body - shoulders, chest, nipples, buttocks, thighs, and finally his sex. "Would you like to kiss me?"

"Yes!"

She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly. "Kneel." She guided his face to her breast, and he did what was expected of him. Then she pressed his head down until his tongue found her navel. As it was doing it's office there, she slipped off her panties, and, with a languorous sigh, sat down on the edge of the bed, opening her legs. Without a word spoken, Claude kissed first her knees, then a slow trail up the inside of her thigh, until with a skill that Mona could hardly believe poor ignorant Claude possessed, he began to pleasure her with his mouth.

When it was over Mona told Claude to clean up. Coming back from the bathroom, he saw Paula waiting for him, chains in hand. Taking the leash from Mona, Paula smiled sweetly and said, "Bedtime, cutie. You're mine now." She led him away to her room, and Mona could hear murmuring and the clink of chains through the closed door. It would be a long night for Claude. Long, but perhaps not altogether unsatisfactory.

When she masturbated she blushed. She had shared so much. Not at first, of course. Then she was stilted. She had told him then about her work as a doctor. How her husband, Bill, an engineer, had gone to Saudi Arabia.

But now she was into it. AOL and her on-line friend consumed her. Cyn told him all her secret, shameful dreams: she spoke of gang rape, of dog fucking.

It was so exciting, so anonymous. This stranger, thousands of miles away, knew her down to the core of her soul.

She never thought about the dinner party. The one where John and Helen had come to wish Bill bon-voyage. The one where she had described her new interest: AOL and how it would help her to stay in touch with Bill. She had mentioned then her on-line profile: and how, because of it, people were sending her messages about medicine, about poetry, about quilting.

How could she know that this was all that John needed to find her? How could she know that someone in the same town could say that he was in Florida? He had said that he admired Sylvia Plath (knowing that she did).

She took the bait.

He had hooked her and played her and now it was time to pull her in.

It is a bright cloudless day. A rare midweek day off. John goes to her apartment. Cynthia answers the door. John, her husband's best friend, pushes in, closes the door and faces her.

"Cynthia, I'm going to fuck you. It can be easy or it can be hard but, either way, I'm going to rape you - right now. Get your clothes off."

Her face flames, but she senses her nipples harden and her vulva moisten. She tries a joke and turns as if to sit down. His fingers grip her shoulder and spin her back. He looks so forceful.

Hands shaking, almost without volition, she opens the top button