At last, after so many weeks of sublime anticipation, the day
arrived for his next training session with the Countess. Dutifully,
he followed Her instructions to the letter. He knew that She was
always concerned about whether marks would cause a problem after a
session, but he didn't quite understand why She had asked so many
questions about his itinerary for the next few days. It almost
seemed as if She planned to keep him captive for longer than the
agreed upon weekend. Nor did he understand why She had instructed
him to meet at a public place once again, but knowing the wonderful
experience that surely awaited him he obeyed without the slightest
hesitation or questioning.
He opened the door at the appointed hour, not a second earlier or
later, and scanned the café in search of the magnificent Beauty who
had summoned him, but She had not yet arrived. Walking to the
counter, he took a brief moment to appreciate the young woman who
took his order. Her short dark hair and slender build were most
pleasant to gaze upon. Something about her exuded an air of
innocence and vulnerability that didn't quite fit in with the
worldliness of her tightly fitting clothes and her eyebrow piercing.
It was difficult not to gawk at someone who looked so very
intriguing, but he vowed not to become distracted because soon he
would meet the Countess again.
The minutes continued to roll by, his cup was almost finished, but
still no Countess. He tried not to stare at the lithe silhouette as
the young attendant left her post at the counter to begin cleaning
tables. When she unexpectedly dropped her tray spilling used cups
and silverware onto the floor, he was the only one in the store who
attempted to give her a helping hand. She smiled as they picked up
the debris together and informed him that his next cup would be 'on
the house.' Just then, the Countess walked in, gave him a warm smile
of joyous recognition and instructed him to wait at the table for a
moment while She talked to the counter girl in private.
As the Countess returned to his table, he rose and kissed Her
outstretched hand in the continental gesture of homage. She asked if
he had been waiting long (knowing full well that it had been almost
an hour), but he was gracious enough to give a tactful answer. She
then informed him that he had passed the first test. The young
counter attendant was a friend of Hers, whom She had asked to
observe his behavior as he waited for the rendezvous. The young girl
reported favorably about his general deportment, his manners, his
respectful demeanor despite the temptations of her attire and, most
importantly, his genuine concern for her misfortune as he helped her
clean up after that deliberate accident. The Countess was truly
pleased that he had behaved like a gentleman when She was not
present, because not every supplicant had been able to pass this
first test.
When they entered her apartment, the sound of the door locking
sounded rather ominous. Playing on his nervous fears, She made a
dramatic gesture as She hid the key and told him that the locks in
this building were very secure. But he soon abandoned any thought of
escape when She removed her raincoat to reveal a skimpy leather
outfit that left little to the imagination. Instinctively, he fell
to his knees in awe, and She had to remind him that it might be a
good idea to get undressed first before beginning to grovel.
Tripping over himself to disrobe promptly, he finally arrived at
that long anticipated moment when once again She would honor him by
attaching the collar of obedience.
The Countess took Her time, slowly walking around him to inspect his
body. His haircut and fingernails passed muster, and She was pleased
to observe that he had improved his muscle tone a bit and had lost a
little weight since their last meeting. Of course, he still had a
long way to go, and She was prompt to remind him of that shortcoming
as She poked and pinched some of his residual flab. Then She
abruptly uttered a murmur of deep disapproval, observing, "No, this
will never do." She grabbed him by the ear and pulled him into the
bathroom. "I thought we had talked about this before." She scolded.
"You know how I feel about hairy bodies. Turn on the shower and
lather yourself with soap – all over."
He watched with horror as She produced an antique straight edge
razor from the medicine cabinet, and began stroking it against a
thick leather strop attached to one of the towel racks. "Using these
old instruments is a lost art, but it's something I really enjoy.
And when we're done with the razor, there are always things we can
do with the razor strop." She chuckled. Pretending that Her hands
were shaky, She then admonished, "Now remember to stay very, very
still. I don't want to draw any blood – at least not right now – and
I certainly don't want to cut anything off. Even though I have no
use for that tiny little thing, it's still fun to torment it. So,
stay still, darling."
Just looking at the blade in Her hand terrified him. The cold steel
sent chills down his spine as She began using it on his back. It
didn't hurt, and there were no accidents. In fact, the gentle
scratch of the razor along his back was beginning to feel rather
pleasant, and it was a most sensual experience to feel the razor
slide across his buttocks. This might not be so bad after all, he
thought. Next, She turned him around and proceeded to shave his
chest and stomach, and then instructed him to raise his arms. The
thought of losing his underarm hair made him feel very
uncomfortable. He began to fear how self-conscious he would feel the
next time he was shirtless on the beach. He wondered if She realized
how naked and vulnerable a man feels to lose that symbol of
masculinity – but this would be only the beginning of his symbolic
emasculation. She stopped and leaned back a bit to gaze upon his
pubic area. Glancing up, their eyes made contact, and they both knew
what was next. She reached for the bar of soap and began preparing
this area for the caress of the blade. Rubbing much more than was
necessary; She stopped briefly to admire the size of his
physiological reaction to so much friction. "Talk about getting
lathered!" She mocked. Then, stropping the blade a few more times to
maximize its sharpness, She began to mow the lawn until it was
completely bare. Not a single hair would be spared. Even the scrotum
and perianal region would be buff. "The worst is over." She
reassured. Then, returning to the medicine cabinet, she produced a
brand new disposable safety razor and instructed him to do his legs.
After all, it would not be appropriate for a Countess to kneel in
order to treat his lower extremities.
Glancing into the mirror as he left the bathroom, he felt very
subdued as he walked to the next room and knelt to assume the
expected position of submission. The Countess walked around him,
inspecting Her work with the razor. She ran her hands over his
chest, then around his back and down to his buttocks, commenting
about how nice he looked this way and how smooth his skin felt, but
Her compliments only made him feel more naked. She inquired whether
he had been touching himself since their last encounter, but She
refused to believe his answer when he denied such misconduct. He was
instructed to hold out the miscreant hand, and he soon felt the
swift sting of Her riding crop as it landed full force across his
open palm. She was pleased that he did not flinch, at least not
much, but She pretended instead that this first smack had been just
a light one. She commanded him to kiss Her hand to acknowledge his
thanks and submission, and then to kiss the crop for its role in
delivering the sweet gift of pain. Then, he took a deep breath to
prepare for the next onslaught, and She did not disappoint his
expectations. A dozen sharp blows on each palm were enough to make
Her point. She asked what he thought of that tingly feeling, and
commented that when hands are made sensitive in this manner they
become far gentler if they are ever called upon to caress a lover's
body. While he was pondering that advice, She removed two cans of
frozen orange juice from the refrigerator freezer, so that he could
hold them and quench the fires of this first taste of discipline.
Next, with the dreaded riding crop still clenched in Her gloved
hand, She held out both hand and crop for him to kiss in humble
gratitude once again.
Since the next treat required a little more dexterity, She removed
the gloves so that She could get a secure grip on his nipples as She
pinched and twisted them. She watched the terrified look on his face
when She produced a pair of vicious nipple clamps, and took Her time
slowly and deliberately applying first one, then the other. Catching
his breath from that shock, he somehow managed to endure the
persistent burn caused by those clamps, knowing only too well that
the jolt of pain would be even stronger the moment they were
removed. Lest he grow too complacent about these tortures, She
decided that this time She would use the riding crop to knock the
first clamp off. In contrast, the second clamp was pulled ever so
slowly, tightening its grip until his poor nipple could stretch no
more. She knew full well how strong the fiery sensations would be
when blood rushed back into the blanched skin, and afterwards She
enjoyed inflicting the additional torture of rubbing and scratching
those very sore nipples. Then, to underscore his utter helplessness,
She offered Her hands for his kiss once again, in acknowledgement of
Her power.
The Countess continued Her assessment of this puny specimen,
touching and groping in ways that She knew would embarrass. She
reminded him that his hairless body gave him a 'girlish' look or,
more precisely, the sexless look of a youngster who had not yet
reached puberty. She continued to humiliate by leading him around
the room on a leash as one would train a little puppy, by climbing
on his back to ride him like a horse using the riding crop for
encouragement, and by watching his feeble attempts to walk about in
high heels. She tested his devotion and endurance by commanding him
to suck on a lemon and to assume a forward leaning rest position
until his muscles first trembled and then failed. Of course, every
hesitation, every failure however small, would receive sarcastic
criticism and the promise of additional discipline at a later time.
She instructed him to place a straight-backed chair in the center of
the room, and then bend over the back grabbing the seat securely.
The delicious clicks of Her high heels on the hardwood floor faded
off into the distance and then returned. She showed him a heavy
wooden paddle with numerous holes, and instructed him to kiss the
instrument of his next punishment. She explained how the holes
reduce wind resistance so that the impact is more forceful. The
first crisp smack reverberated through the room as it hit its mark
making him wince instinctively. Seconds later, a burning sensation
spread across his buttocks, and he could only imagine the redness
that must have ensued. His allotted portion would be only ten
strokes this time, but it felt as if his cheeks were on fire. She
examined the red area, commenting approvingly as She ran her
fingernails across the tender skin, and then informed him that this
was just a sample. She guaranteed the real beating would be so
intense that he would surely need to be tied down, then sent him to
the bathroom mirror to examine his red cheeks as he reflected on
this promise.
Returning to the room, he promptly knelt to kiss the Countess' hand
in gratitude for a taste of the paddle. Her smile showed that She
was pleased with his subservience so far. She led him to the table
for supper, but found it difficult to repress an evil grin as his
sore bottom squirmed to find a comfortable place when he sat down.
They enjoyed a civilized conversation about the arts and current
events, over a light repast of salad and a couple of glasses of
wine. This was followed by some quiet relaxation, She reclining on
the couch and he sitting near Her feet on the floor, listening to
soft music in dim candlelight and the seductive smell of incense.
Such remarkable contrast with the more intense sensations of his
earlier discipline. Yet, he realized that both extremes were gifts
from the Countess, and both experiences were to be treasured.
Having been satisfied with enough mellowness for now, She instructed
him to prepare a bubble bath for Her and to make sure that the
temperature was just right. She allowed him to watch as She disrobed
and to help Her into the bath and listen to Her contented groans as
she purred in response to the soothing heat of the water, while he
knelt at the side of the tub. Later, She sat up and instructed him
to rub Her back with a loofa sponge, which he did with gentle
reverence, although he couldn't resist the temptation to offer one
small kiss to Her back at the very end of this service. Rising from
the tub, She gestured first for a towel and then Her bathrobe. When
he finished scrubbing the tub, She allowed him the privilege of
brushing Her hair for the next half hour, complimenting his
technique but reminding him that hairbrushes also have another more
sinister use for little boys who misbehave.
Now, thoroughly refreshed and relaxed, the Countess was definitely
ready to play. She showed him a pair of unforgiving leather shackles
that matched his collar, then placed the devices on his wrists,
locking them securely. A pair of thicker matching cuffs were affixed
to his ankles. Next, She connected the shackles to each of the four
corners of Her bed, pulling the tethers tightly so that he lay
spread eagle and vulnerable to all Her creative whims. She commenced
this round of torment by squeezing his flaccid manhood through a
series of steel rings called 'the gates of hell,' and then began
some light teasing, observing his reaction as She touched him gently
in many places. She held Her head close to him and allowed Her hair
to caress his skin, and watched in delight the way his cock rose in
swollen agony against the unforgiving rings. Then, She escalated the
sensations as She played some more with his nipples, teased his
genitals a bit, then returned to the nipples a little more roughly
this time while She asked him if he had ever considered getting a
piercing. The question was punctuated with a sharp pinch to one
nipple to suggest the pain involved with that kind of activity.
Before he could answer that question, She asked if he was familiar
with the Sun Dance ritual. She explained how each year members of
the Lakota nation would pilgrimage to their holy mountain in Wyoming
for a rite of passage. Young braves would first endure having their
pectoral muscles pierced with sharp bone fragments, which in turn
were secured to cords attached to the ceiling of a large teepee.
Suspended in this painful manner they would chant and dance
throughout the day, exerting more and more pressure on the
piercings, until their muscles tore open and they fell to the ground
exhausted. The resultant scars served as proud symbols of their
manhood. She told him to look at the fixture on the ceiling. "There
used to be a chandelier in this room," She said, "before the
building was renovated. I doubt it could hold your full weight, but
I'm sure it could handle a lighter load. Perhaps next time, I can
put a sharp needle through one of your nipples, then tie a string
from the nipple to the ceiling. Wouldn't that make for a delightful
torment as I pulled the string tight? Wouldn't the pain be exquisite
if I then began to pluck the string like a banjo?" She continued to
twist and pull on both nipples as he pondered this possibility.
Turning Her attention to his stomach, the Countess reminded him that
much more progress was needed with regard to eliminating flab.
"Perhaps it might help to increase blood flow to the area." She
speculated, as she hit him sharply with a ruler. "Hmm, look how the
skin changes color. Let's try that again." She mused, and then
recounted how, as a young Girl, She used to watch how the boys
played in the schoolyard. One of their sadistic games was to capture
someone, overpower him, lift up his shirt, and administer a 'pink
belly' by slapping his stomach until he begged for mercy. She had
always felt just a little envious watching their game, but now She
could appreciate that it was also fun to do this to an adult with a
soft, plump tummy that jiggled with each slap of the ruler. After
several dozen smacks, She stopped to admire the crimson glow and She
observed that his skin had become very warm to the touch. "I wonder
if we could patent this as a way to get rid of cellulite." She
pondered, but he was simply relieved to know that She had stopped
this particular torment.
The Countess then lit a candle and began to teach him how the
temperature of melted wax varies depending upon how high the candle
is held over the victim's body. Then She showed him the difference
between a single drop of wax and a large splatter. The stimulation
of a waxing was especially effective after having received that
'pink belly' treatment earlier. When there were no longer any
unassaulted spaces left on his stomach and torso, She blew out the
candle and immediately pressed the hot wick against the tip of his
penis. Once the spilled wax had cooled sufficiently, She began to
remove the wax, scraping it off with a fearsome looking Bobbit
knife, and reminding him how much worse things would be if he hadn't
lost all his body hair earlier.
Somehow, each new torture brought him that much closer to the
Countess, and each new challenge was endured because it represented
another opportunity to surrender to Her forceful personality. Having
removed the last of the wax, She now began to apply soothing lotion
onto his sore skin. She massaged him gently, delivering pleasant
sensations this time. Her nimble fingers found their way to the
sides of his ribs, and the gentle rubbing soon turned into
delightful tickling. Then the tickling became more relentless, as
Her fingers found their way to his unshaved armpits. Soft giggles
turned into laughter and then into hysterical screaming, as the
furious attack by Her fingers continued. He caught his breath, as
She paused just long enough to shift Her position and begin
attacking the soles of his feet. Breathless, and almost sobbing now,
he begged her to stop, but Her response was simply to change the
venue of this latest torment from feet back to underarms and ribs.
The endless assault continued, switching sites several more times,
until he thought he would go mad from giddiness.
As he caught his breath from the tickle torture, the Countess began
to unfasten his bonds, but She left the leather shackles attached to
his wrists and ankles. She instructed him to lie down on the floor,
face up, and then proceeded to tether him once again. His arms were
stretched above his head and secured, wrists together, to the foot
of Her bed, while his ankles were attached to a long chain that
extended to a heavy piece of furniture several feet away. Satisfied
that this new bondage position would accomplish its goals, and
noticing that his impertinent erection still had not subsided, She
began to stroke and tease one last time. "You were certainly well
behaved enough not to mention it," She counseled, "but I know what's
on your mind right now. You're thinking that you're going to 'get
off' aren't you? And you're even thinking that I'm going to do it
for you. Well, let me make it very clear that this isn’t going to
happen tonight, kiddo. In fact it may never happen at all this
weekend. And, just to make sure that you do understand this, I'm
going to give you a severe chastisement to underscore the reality
that I'm the one in control here." She then began massaging his
testicles with liberal amounts of what at first felt like a cool
lotion, but within a minute he began to realize the true nature of
his fate as he recognized the tingling burn and the distinctive
aroma of mentholatum. "This will help teach you humility, young
man." She lectured. "I know it hurts. It's supposed to hurt –
especially today, since your scrotal skin is still a little raw from
the shaving – but I don't want to hear any screaming about it. I
don't want you waking the neighbors, understand?" His breathing
accelerated, he squirmed to no avail to get away, his teeth
clenched, and his eyes began to tear from the pain. "If you scream,
I'll gag you, but first I'll put some of the ointment on the inside
of the gag." She threatened, as She sat on the bed watching his
dreadful suffering.
After about 20 minutes of hellish terror, the burning began to
subside. He heard her walk to the bathroom, presumably to wash any
residual ointment from her hands and make other preparations for
bedtime, and he reflected on his fate in the silence of the empty
bedroom. He had always known that the Countess was the kind of Woman
who meant business. Nor had he ever taken this weekend lightly, but
now the reality of his complete powerlessness really began to sink
in. Her discipline could certainly be severe at times. Yet, he knew
that it was also a loving discipline – hard love to be sure, but
always with his greater good and self-improvement in mind. That
insight had always made him feel so secure when he was near Her and
now made it easy for him to surrender willingly for the entire
weekend, no matter what cruel fate lay ahead.
She returned to cover him with a down comforter against the night
chill. Planting a gentle kiss on his cheek, She reassured him that
he really had been a good little boy tonight, and then advised him
to go to sleep. The light went out, and as he lay on the hard floor,
he heard the sound of a vibrator, followed by rhythmic movement on
the bed, contented groaning, an abrupt but muffled cry, and then
silence. Despite all his discomfort and frustration, he was
genuinely happy to know that She had enjoyed some sexual release at
the end of the day.