Urge to Obey

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THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION. IN REAL LIFE, MAKE SURE YOU PRACTISE SAFE SEX! First published in 2001 by Kimberley Raines Copyright © Kimberley raines 2001 The right of Kimberley Raines to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form, other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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Chapter 1 Chaz was late. James waited at the corner of the road as instructed and glanced at his designer watch, wondering what was keeping him. He stamped up and down and blew on his hands. Good bloke, Chaz. He'd only known him for a few months, but they'd hit it off straight away, which was why he was now standing here, waiting. This place Chaz was going to take him to was kind of like a private club. It had a proper gym, a private swimming pool and all the trimmings, all owned by this woman who had the bodyurge, like him and Chaz. The biggest attraction was that it was private, so you didn't have to queue for machines and she also had these expert trainers to help you achieve. What more could a man want? He wrapped muscular arms around an impressive torso and shivered. Mostly from the cold, but partially, he had to admit, because a tiny tendril of doubt remained embedded firmly in his skull despite numerous attempts to shift it; but everything was all set, and it wasn't the time now to be thinking of backing out. It was the chance of a lifetime and he knew he'd never get another. He couldn't blow it at this stage. To be offered the chance to train for a year - or however long it took - all expenses paid by this do-gooder lottery winner was not something to be sneezed at. All the same, there was

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something a bit scary about the woman in spite of the fact that she oozed something indefinably sexual. "Cool it," Chaz had warned him. "Don't try anything on, just humour her, go with the flow and see what happens." And this had happened. She'd agreed to take him on. Wow! He told himself firmly, trying to maintain the illusion of excitement, when what he really felt was apprehensive. Should he really be doing this? Should he have put his job on hold and rented his flat out just so he could train for a year? Wasn't that a bit self-indulgent? Yeah, but hell, why not? It was because he trusted Chaz that he waited. They had discovered straight away that they had the same interests, well, interest, he thought honestly. Basically that could be catalogued in one word. Self; for both men were unashamedly in love with their bodies. Not each other's, of course, but the general business of muscle, tone, appearance, and how others reacted to the sight of it. Even the age difference made the friendship work, somehow. Here was Chaz, fiftyish and fit as only an older man who has lived a hard and physical existence could be and James, a young man whose body still had not arrived at the peak of its possible perfection. He'd said to Chaz that if only he had the will-power, he could squeeze that little extra out, get another few inches on an already sculptured chest, get a few more pounds on those thighs. He visualised it, mentally. My God, wouldn't he be stunning?

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And suddenly, here it was. The chance to achieve all that. So why wasn't he feeling slightly better about it all? He stamped up and down, watched his breath freeze in the November air and finally, when he had almost given up hope, a black van pulled up beside him, Chaz leaning an elbow out of the window in spite of the cold, saying, "Hi, there. Sorry we're late." "It's OK." But it was not Chaz, however, that drew his attention so much as the woman who was driving. And the way she undressed him instantly with her eyes. God, what a stunner. She had the most alluring smile a man could hope to be seduced with, a head of golden curls, the cutest chin he had ever seen and, in spite of the weather, a cleavage a man could have got lost in. Chaz jumped out and opened the side door. "Jump in the back, James." He was staring with open admiration at the woman, wondering if she was Chaz's girl, when she gave him a real fuck-me grin. God, he'd love to give her a good rodding and he was willing to bet she was available. He smiled back, secretly enjoying the stirring between his legs as he threw in his suitcase and climbed in as instructed. Chaz closed the door on him. Strange van, he thought. It was totally empty, save the one seat in the centre that he lowered himself into. Then the female climbed over into the back with him. "You drive, Chaz." Chaz looked disconcerted. "But I think I ought to… "

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The woman gave him a sweet smile. "The Mistress said you should drive, Chaz, and that I should do a fitness check on the way in. Save doing it later." Chaz almost winced at the words but, scowling, shuffled over into the driver's seat. "Fitness check?" James said doubtfully. "In here?" "It's nice and warm," she said and to his surprise it was. Almost too warm. "Just take your coat off, and your shirt, and I'll take your blood pressure and all that." She shrugged apologetically, but her tone was implacable, and suggested: do it, buster, or get out of the van, now. He sighed, and complied, stripping down to his bare torso. He couldn't help flexing a few muscles as he did so, after all, if you've got it, flaunt it. He was gratified at the gleam of appreciation in her eyes as he did so, and relaxed just faintly. If she wasn't Chaz's girl, he was in with half a chance here. She reached out and ran a hand along his sculpted ridge of chest muscles. "Oh, my, what big pectorals you have, grandma," she said. He almost replied 'all the better to bonk you with, sugar lips' but seeing Chaz glance at him in the mirror, managed to refrain from answering. His breath shortened, and he closed his legs together to try to hide his erection. "Better put the seat belt on, James," Chaz said innocently. The action of reaching behind for the belt gave his mind something to latch on to. Because the seat was not against a wall, however, the safety belt was a bit strange. Like a full

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harness; something a racing driver would use. It came over both shoulders and met across his flat middle and when he'd clicked it into place, the woman clucked and pulled at the straps, tightening them into a snug fit. Her breasts brushed against his bare skin as she did so, sending a shiver of delight through him and as she wrapped the black pressure bag around his biceps, he guessed she'd get a rather strange reading. "Now relax," she said. "Place your feet firmly on the plates," she pushed his feet into place, "and your hands on the rests. Like so." She smiled with such innocent attention to detail that he was quite shocked when she suddenly slipped two loops over his wrists and yanked them tight in a single motion. He jolted as if he'd been shot and with that recoil, realised that his ankles were also in loops. She reached down and tightened them firmly before his wriggling feet could work free. "What the hell is this!" he yelled. "Chaz! Stop the car! What's going on?" But Chaz seemed suddenly to have his eyes glued to the front. After a moment of absolute panic, followed by another of supreme effort while his superb muscles (which had never let him down before) discovered that he could not break free of these bonds, he relaxed and stared at the female in horror. Suddenly she didn't seem quite so fuckable. That appreciative gleam in her eye and that faint lick of the lips took on a more sinister appearance. He stared at her, frozen, for a second. "What?" he said. "What do you want of me?"

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"Just a body check, James," she whispered. "Making sure you function, just like I said." Her voice wrapped around him like honey, but at the same time she was putting a thick collar around his throat, which forced his head back into the hollowed headrest and pushed his chin proudly upward. "Chaz," he yelled. "Chaz, help me!" But Chaz leaned forward and flicked a switch. All of a sudden the van was filled with the spicy sounds of seduction as five women all husked loudly: 'if you want to be my lover… ' The van was picking up speed now, moving out of the traffic and onto the Motorway. The beat of wheels against tarmac mingled with that come-and-get-me song, drowning out his plea for help. The whole situation was surprisingly erotic. He also belatedly realised that Chaz was this crazy woman's accomplice and equally as much his kidnapper; he could expect no help from that quarter. The woman had now moved behind him. His eyes rolled furiously, trying to see her, wondering what dastardly mischief she was about to subject him to. He doubted they wanted him dead, but lots of other things rose to mind - like sadism and torture. "Oh, God, don't hurt me," he groaned. Her lips fell from behind to caress his forehead, his nose, his lips. "I'm not going to hurt you, honey-bunch," she promised with a chuckle, as her hands slid over his shoulders, down his chest and curled suggestive rings around his nipples. "Then what do you… "

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This faint reassurance dissipated, for as he opened his mouth in question, she popped in what might have been a large gob-stopper. Except that it took a small amount of effort to get it past his teeth and he felt two restraining straps pull his cheeks back and hold it firmly in place. Good God! He'd been gagged! He uttered a groan of disbelief, his eyes rolled, watching with fear as she circled back to crouch before him. Almost instantly a drool of saliva gathered under his tongue and he was forced to make slurping noising to stop it from dripping out over his chest. He pulled his wrists against the straps, struggling violently again, but after a futile moment, stopped struggling and subsided with a faint whimper. That was, until she reached for the waistband of his trousers. He gargled with fear, but the slight pressure of her hand on his abdomen, coupled with his total inability to do anything about it, sent the most amazing buzz of anticipation to his loins that he had ever experienced. He gave a faint inward chuckle, wondering what she would think if she realised just how aroused this confinement was making him. Then her hand pressed more firmly and began to circle the outside of his trousers with firm movements, leaving him in no doubt that she was not only fully aware, but being deliberately provocative. He tried to stop it from happening. 'Down, boy!' He told it, but as always, it had a mind of its own, and began to sing happily inside the confines of his trousers. She was staring at him, those painted lips slightly parted, somehow her blouse had parted, too, giving him the full benefit of a bra so lacy and fine

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it was scarcely man enough to hold in the vast globes of flesh which jostled inside it. His eyes, facing forcibly to the front, were wide with lust and disbelief. His hands clenched on the armrests, imagining the full warmth of those breasts kneaded in his fists. He saw the faint bulge of her nipples pressing against the flimsy garment, and his hips were working almost automatically, assisting as she continued to apply that faint pressure to his crotch. The fingers of one hand slid inside the waistband of his trousers to touch the burning end of his throbbing cock, and the other, amazingly, began to slide down the zipper. Suddenly he recalled that he was in a van driving along a Motorway, it didn't seem right that he should be exposed in this way. What if they crashed? But whether he liked it or not, his trousers were parted, exposing the bulging mass of his engorged tool and were teased down over rigid thighs. No matter how much muscle clenching his bum did, nothing stopped the inexorable progress of the fabric until his trousers were puddled around his ankles. Then she slipped her fingers under the elastic of his kacks - which, though no more than an expanded pouch for his apparatus, had at least, until that point, maintained the illusion of dignity. His engorged penis was pulled down further and further down by the elastic, until it finally popped free with an audible ping.

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"Oh, my," the blonde murmured. "We do seem to have a little problem here, don't we?" 'No problem!' he wanted to scream, pressing his bum tightly into the back of the seat, it's O.K., leave it alone and it will go away! But she began to coo and scrape a painted nail up and down its length, whereupon it treacherously panted and struggled to rise as far as it could away from its nest of black hairs. In spite of himself his hips began to move of their own accord in time with the hypnotic action of her finger. Humming quietly to herself, she slipped her hand under her tiny skirt. James was shocked to see a pair of knickers as skimpy and lacy as her bra slip down the long, golden length of her legs to be discarded with wild abandon towards the front of the vehicle. Startled, Chaz's eyes slipped automatically to the mirror, then away again. He threw the lacy item aside and bent his mind to his driving, faint beads of sweat springing out on his neck. He knew exactly what was going on behind him and the hard throb of his sympathetic erection beat painfully unattended behind skin-tight jeans. Crazy with arousal, James' hands clawed against the armrests of his chair, knuckles whitening as she slipped up to straddle his thighs. He could feel the hot pulse of her bare flesh against his legs and wiggled his bum hopefully, trying to ease his cock nearer, for in spite of the chest harness and the tightly bound wrists and ankles, he still had great manoeuvrability in his hips.

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She smiled with delight at his response, and bent down to bit sharply at his nipples, one after the other. He gave a strangled cry and jolted, not able to avoid those sharp, white teeth, but as the red-hot pain flooded his mind he found he was even more tightly erect than he had been before. He found himself gasping with tiny breaths, making begging, grunting noises through the ball, which was becoming decidedly uncomfortable. If the bitch wanted it, why didn't she just say so, he thought. Why didn't she just let him do what he was good at all that kissing and cuddling and prodding about with his fingers that women seemed to like. Even as he was trying to communicate his willingness to fuck her, if she'd just let him go, that would be fine, the seat he was strapped to suddenly flattened out just like a recliner. He gave a bubbling gargle of shock as his torso descended and his legs rose until he was lying in a horizontal position. His wildly roving eyes could see nothing except his raised hands, still bound to the arms of the chair, pointing towards the black ceiling of the van. He was aware, though, that his cock was doing a passable imitation of a flagpole, and she was still sitting astride his thighs. He whimpered slightly as he felt her reach between his legs, but soon realised that she was doing nothing worse than employing a few more straps, and soon he was glued tightly in this recumbent position in a veritable spider's web of almost blood-constricting bondage.

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At this point he once again wondered what was going to happen next, and the rampant erection shrivelled and died. "Oh, no you don't, baby," she cooed, slipping her hand under his balls to stroke the sensitive lump of flesh back into action. In some small part of his mind James felt totally humiliated, still aware that he travelled along a public road in the back of a van, and that if they stopped, anyone could look in and see him. But never before had he been so vulnerable, so tightly constricted, and so aroused. It was exhilarating and wonderful and terrifying all at the same time, and at this moment he wanted nothing more nor less than to come inside this glorious woman's body. Yet he could do nothing at all to aid his own release. When she (at last) sank her moist hold onto his waiting peg, he could not even ram it comfortably home. He could not even wiggle it, not even a little bit. He just had to lie there, gasping with need, frustration, and utter arousal as she played up and down his tool, pleasing herself as though it had been made especially for her personal pleasure. Rolling his eyes, he could just see those fantastic boobs bobbing up and down and a gratifying look of ecstasy on the woman's gasping face. Eventually she began to move faster and faster, to ram herself down on him. Now whatever was going to happen to him was less than important. The whole driving force of his body was centred on the core of his being, on the red-hot shaft she was riding so fiercely; and then he came. Sensing the imminence of his ejaculation, she sat on him hard, and with a wordless cry he shot his seed into her like

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machine-gun fire, his blood and pulse racing in spite of the fact he had been unable to move a single muscle to assist. The second he had finished, the whole predicament rushed back in on him, and he stared at her in confusion, panting with exertion and newly-awakened fear. The van drove on, the music played on, and she cleaned them both up with tissue before pulling his pants and trousers back up and securing him safely behind them once more. She gave the armrest a tug, and with a soft gliding of cantilevers, the chair concertinaed once more into an upright position. Now she did her damned tests. She measured his biceps, his chest, his thighs, she took his blood pressure, even pushed up his lips to look at his teeth. Then to his horror, she pulled out an enormous syringe. At this he fought his bonds in earnest, but she tapped his arm playfully. "Relax, and then it won't hurt." She waited, and James forced the muscles of his arm to relax. She was going to do it anyway, he might as well not end up with painful bruising. The needle slid into his arm with professional ease, and she gradually withdrew a goodly sample of his blood. "For tests," she told him, patting a plaster over the puncture. "Now, I think we're just about done." Eyes wide, he made a valiant effort to communicate. It came out like "Hurrumph aaarghuff," but she seemed to know what he was saying.

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"It will take a couple of hours, so just sit back and relax, buster. Oh, and I'd better put this on you." He viewed the black bag with further panic, shaking his head as far as he was able, but she just grinned and popped it on and, with ears finely tuned by his sudden lack of sight, heard her climbing back over to the front and clipping up the seat belt. "Does he pass muster?" Chaz asked loudly, over the top of the music. "H'mm," the fair rapist replied. "I guess he's not bad."

Chapter 2 Locked in the darkness with nothing but his fear and the strangely compelling memories of the recent sexual encounter, James' other senses became tuned beyond what was normal. Time ceased to exist, but he knew when the van turned from the Motorway; he was aware of being driven down ever smaller, winding country roads, until they finally jolted slowly over a loose gravel drive. This had to be their destination and a shiver of apprehension trickled through his belly when the engine noise changed and echoed within some kind of garage, proving him right. What now? Someone climbed into the back. He realised it was Chaz as the black bag was taken from his head, and the ball prised from between his aching jaws. He would have complained

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bitterly, but Chaz merely smiled, patted his shoulder, said, "Enjoy!" before walking away. Enjoy? Enjoy what? Being trussed, like a chicken and damn nigh raped on a Motorway? Well, he had to admit it hadn't been all bad, but now he was here, thoughts of HER began to gather in his mind. This - he yanked at the bonds - was not what he had envisaged at all. Yet perhaps, he told himself with wry honesty, this was what he had been afraid of. After meeting her, just the once, he must have known it couldn't have been quite as cushy a number as he had fooled himself into believing. The side door of the van opened and the van leaned on its springs as someone climbed in. Squinting sideways, he realised it was a woman, but how different could you get? This was no siren, no curly-headed Barbie doll like the one in the van, but a vast Amazon of a woman who efficiently unstrapped his wrists and ankles. "Out you come then, cutie," she said. Cutie? Stretching tight muscles, he clambered out after her, to find himself in an underground car park facing another large woman as dark as the first one was white. She gave him a real watermelon smile, and he found himself smiling back. If it hadn't been for her almost manly strength, he thought, she would have been quite pretty. He glanced around with interest at the expensive vehicles that surrounded him and no little awe

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when he saw the black limousine. He didn't need to guess who used that. In spite of his glowering anger, he was impressed. "This way, darling," the white Amazon said, and walked towards a lift door. "The Mistress wants to see you." Well, he went along with it because he wanted to see the Mistress himself. In fact, he intended to give the cow a piece of what was on his mind and then tell her she could stuff her training programme. He had just lost interest. The ascended perhaps one floor. It opened out into a featureless corridor, which they walked along a short way. "In here," the black Amazon said, opening a wooden door, and giving him a slight shove. He stepped forward, saw the single piece of furniture the room boasted, and recoiled instinctively. "What the hell is this?" he said belligerently. "Lie down, please," the chauffeur said politely, indicating the long, padded bench covered in restraints. "Not on your bloody life," he swore, then swivelled and yanked at the door, to find it firmly locked against him. "Just do as you're told, and it will be easier on all of us," the white Amazon said. "Not bloody likely." He turned, put his back against the door, clenched his fists and held them up before him menacingly. OK, if they wanted to play rough, he'd scare the bejasus out of the silly bitches. The dark woman grinned at the white one. "Perhaps he has got some balls after all. Shall we take a look-see?" Deftly

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the two women stepped in, avoided his threatening fists, gripped him by wrist and elbow at either side, and twisted. He was forced almost double and shoved forward whether he would or no. He was shocked at the sheer amount of strength, which issued so easily from those two Amazons and dredged up further effort; but the women were not just strong. They were experts at handling dissident males. He was propelled firmly towards the waiting couch and thrown face down onto it. To his horror, despite his frantic struggles, he was manipulated until he lay with his face above a padded, shaped hole. Then, when his neck had been pushed deftly into the receptacle carved for that purpose, a padded bar was dropped into place to hold it there, reminding him of stocks, guillotines, and other instruments of torture. His flailing arms were then pulled down by his sides and with the backs of his hands pressed firmly against the deck, his wrists were also pinioned. All three stilled for a moment, breathing heavily, then James began to yell wildly, pedalling his feet from the knees in infantile fury. "You can't do this! I'll have you for kidnap! I'll have you for assault! I'll have you - what are you doing?" His voice rose to the edge of a scream as they began to undress him; first ripping his shoes and socks away, followed by his trousers and kacks, leaving him stark naked. Through the hole, all his frantically rolling eyes could see was the floor and his mutilated pile of designer clothes.

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To the accompaniment of impotent whimpers of fear, his bicycling legs were separated and restrained and over companionable chatter, the two women carried on buckling and tightening until his whole body was engulfed in a web of restraints; chest, thighs, waist, knees and elbows, and a dozen places between. Never in his whole life had anything prepared him for the utter helplessness he knew at that moment. After a final pitiful, 'you can't do this', a shaped piece of wood was inserted between his teeth, stopping further coherent words. Tears blossomed, for as he stared helplessly at the tiny patch of floor, the immediacy of his anger dissipated with the cessation of action, to be replaced with a flood of abject terror. Having got him here, what were they going to do to him? He had never been so embarrassingly exposed, and worse, he realised, his genitals, those most private of parts, were dangling with horrible vulnerability through another hole in the bench. In fact, his whole body was exposed and available to their any whim. His anus clenched at the obvious possibilities, and he pulled frantically at all the straps in turn, seeking a weakness, but face down, arms by his sides, there was no strength to his muscles. Finally one woman gave him a playful tap on one buttock, and said, "Just wait here quietly, and the Mistress will see you when she's ready." Then he heard the women exit, saw the light go out, and he was left alone, tethered in the dark. At first he was relieved that he had been left unmolested, but his own imagination

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began to work overtime, and nothing at all in his singlemindedly selfish existence to date had prepared him for his present predicament. He recalled his meeting with her. The Mistress. He groaned softly. What a damned fool. He had realised, even then, that she was dangerous, yet still he had been seduced by the offer of a whole year of training. A whole year? He groaned again. What did she intent to do with him for a whole year? They had been in the Fitness Factory when he first saw her. It had been late in the evening, and everyone else had gone home. He had been gazing in abstract concentration at the sky when the door opened. He recalled the moment as if it was happening again. His eyes gravitated to her automatically as though pulled by some inner compulsion he could not deny, and there she was, standing in the doorway, breathing deeply as though the reek of fresh sweat was nectar to her senses. Lying flat on his back doing side pulls to strengthen his shoulders he froze instantaneously, hands tightly clenched around the grips, muscles quivering with exertion. "Jesus, stroll on… " he breathed. Lying shackled in to this woman's whim, his memories were as sharp as the day they happened: The woman's disdainful glance flicked around the room and dismissed the two male occupants as being of no more consequence than the furniture. She threw the towel from her

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shoulders onto an unoccupied bench and prowled the room, assessing each piece of apparatus with the eye of an expert. As she moved, her body undulated with the soft, muscular precision of a predator, her proud bosom preceding her like the prow of a warship. Was this her? He revised his mental image. Dyke she was not, but quite what she was, he didn't know. He'd never seen anything like her before in his life. She prowled with the integral superiority and the hungry glare of a tigress. James did not doubt that she was an expert at pumping lead, it was obvious from the chiselled strength in her thighs and biceps that she had laboured for hours under these vast metal instruments of self-imposed torture herself. And in spite of everything Chaz had said, did not doubt her expertise at another kind of pumping, because he knew a whore when he saw one. And by God was she some whore. Tall and lithe in a way a man often dreamed a woman could be, and sexy as hell with it. In spite of the amazingly muscular frame, there wasn't the merest smidgen of maleness in her whole being. Instead, she exuded femininity with indefinable pheromones, an unspoken statement: I am a woman, and proud of it. No wonder Chaz had warned him off. By God, if he was fucking her, he was lucky. He glanced over at the man himself, frowned, and revised his opinion. Chaz, too, was almost

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drooling and that was surely not the reaction of a man who got his wick regularly dipped. She made her choice of those pieces of apparatus not presently occupied by a confused, mesmerised male, piled on weights that would have done justice to a wrestler and, tossing back a mane of golden hair, proceeded to work up a sweat. James' eyes remained glued to this new and wonderful apparition, which held him in thrall. His heart was thudding with increased blood pressure that had nothing to do with exertion, and though his arms began to shake from holding the weights up as they were never meant to be held, he was mesmerised into immobility. It was almost as though she were a hunter and he the prey. He wanted to watch the beauty of her, but remain frozen in case she looked his way, noticed him, and devoured him without thought. He watched in stunned silence as the woman's bright blue lycra leotard blossomed with dark patches. She worked like a steam engine, her arms reaching up, pulling down, her breath rasping with effort. She was totally engrossed in her labours, giving not one damn about the man who watched, straining under his own self-imposed rigidity. James found himself counting under his breath. It was impossible. She should be giving up, her muscles should be exploding from fatigue… Eventually she reached some selfimposed target, and the angry biting sound of metal hitting the deck with rhythmic compulsion ceased. His breath held in the sudden silence.

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She slipped from her seat, rose effortlessly to the balls of her feet, flexed the exerted muscles a few times with total disregard for the damage it was doing to his ego, then waltzed to a new machine. In and out flew those shapely legs, parting and closing with nutcracker movements, making the men wince in anticipation, fear and longing. My God, James thought. What was a woman like that like in bed? His mind went into overdrive, and he thought of all the craziest things he had ever seen on films, but nothing did her justice. She was an enigma, though, for she wasn't any man's ideal female. There was nothing soft, warm, or maternal in her hard body, and she was probably stronger than most of the men who fancied entering her. He also sensed something else in her. A capacity for anger, perhaps? Or, even violence. But whatever it was she exuded, it was invading his nostrils, filling him with a desire the strength of which precluded any conscious denial. As if sensing the sexual nature of his thoughts, her head turned slowly and she looked him full in the eye. A long, slow, supercilious smile curved her pretty cupid-bow lips, and his eyes lowered, disconcerted. When he next looked up, she was moving to yet another machine to tone up an already impossibly trim middle. That, more than anything else, made her a woman; for no man ever sat in that machine, turning the seat from side to side with the energy needed to tighten and draw inward the muscles which gave the feminine body its wasp-tiny, flab-free waist.

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That woman, he decided, had never borne children and never would. She was made with the sole intention of teasing a man to his sexual limits. She was made for men to fight over, to lust after, to bonk, fuck, suck, lick, and prod, and it had nothing to do with maternal instincts. Nothing at all. Eventually James' struggling muscles collapsed, and he dropped his weights, the harsh clang of metal biting loudly through the rock music. He lay there, arms stretched out fully to the handles, crucified by rebelling muscles. Again he froze. At his inadvertent action her head swivelled instantly to the sound. This time she acknowledged his presence. She looked him full in the eye, and the tip of a small, pink tongue licked the edge of her lips before she carefully replaced the handles of her apparatus, and stood up. James shuffled anxiously on his bench, thinking he should perhaps stand, but her undulating walk and the coal-black orbs of her eyes forbade movement. He lay there mesmerised, watching her approach. His dick was thrusting noticeably against the tight, lycra stretch of his training pants like a dog on a leash and he could smell the onset of his own sexual urges as his mental capacity diminished to a single burning need between his legs. He could feel the heat emanate from her as she writhed towards him. Almost instantly a quiver of excitement hit his belly. "So," she said in a low voice, which was full of sexual promise. "You wish to join my team do you, James? And what makes you think you have what it takes?"

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"I, I… " he stuttered. "Sh," she said softly, touching his lips with a long, curved, red nail. "The question was entirely rhetorical. You are not expected to think or answer." That same nail ran under his chin, down his body, and to his tense amazement, caressed his constricted erection with almost casual acceptance, as though it was her God-given right to create that pulsing lump on a man's body. "I've been watching you, James," she said, her voice a low purr. "You have a very nice little set of muscles but, of course," - here she hitched up her backside and planted it fully on his quivering belly - "you have a long way to go to achieve the potential of that fine body you have been given. Have you got what it takes, I wonder?" She placed her hands either side of her, almost absently tracing circles on the tiny curls of his chest hair with one long nail, while the other gently caressed the bulge, which was pulsing rapidly beneath the lycra pants. Already tired, he strained to keep everything under control as she lifted her feet and swung them negligently before her, in and out, in and out. Grasping the handles of the shoulder-builder like a lifeline to reality, he knew he was turning red in the face with effort. When her caressing hand flattened out over the whole of his throbbing dick, and pressed hard, he could contain himself no longer. To his utter embarrassment, he ejaculated into his pants. "Oh, God," he groaned, and wasn't sure it was because

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of the pleasure or the embarrassment of that unexpected release. With half a curse, he got his elbows under him. He was about to apologise for shoving her off, when his tender balls were gripped in a claw of iron. "Down," she said, the gentle smile on her face belied by the grip tightening slightly. "I didn't say you could get up." He gasped and collapsed, losing the tight, muscular grip he had had on his stomach. Now her weight was compressing his lungs, stopping him from breathing, and he gasped for air. He stared at her perfect, slightly feline features, at the full, kissable mouth, and at the slightly upward curve of the eyes. She was the tiger cub that a child might inadvertently cuddle, and get mauled for its pains. He struggled to re-establish control over his stomach muscles, but he'd lost it, and his arms just hung uselessly out over the edge of the bench. He wasn't sure whether he stayed in that position because of her claws firmly embedded in his balls, or just because she had commanded him to stay put. For a fleeting second the fear crossed his mind that, in spite of his unacceptable behaviour, she would want to train him. Then her hand slowly released him, one leg swivelled over his body, and in a single acrobatic motion she was kneeling astride him. Lying flat on his back with his hands still desperately gripping nothing at all, his vision was now filled with her two

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massive globes, beyond which he watched her assessing him with a thoughtful gaze. "H'm," she purred. "I think maybe you have something to offer. Maybe. I think we will see what we can do with you before giving you up for lost." She leaned forward, and as his nostrils were filled with the reek of her sweat, those wonderful breasts brushed enticingly against his face. Against all the odds he felt a faint stirring between his legs. My God, what a sexy woman she was, he thought, and he'd be damned if she wasn't begging for it. His hands began to uncurl; there were other handles available for the grasping, ones begging to be caressed, pummelled and kissed. But suddenly her finger pointed straight into his jugular, he could feel the filed nail almost breaking the skin. And as suddenly, her previously soft face was hard as nails. "Don't!" He froze at her first word. Her voice spat command, and he obeyed, almost without thinking. She waited. When she was sure he was under control again, she purred down to him, hands firmly planted on his chest. "Yes. I have decided. I will take you, pitiful little clay man that you are, and turn you into a man the like of which you only dreamed. Would you like that?" "Oh, God," he gasped, not sure if he wanted that at all. "This will be the hardest school you have ever attended," she resumed as if his acceptance wasn't really required. "You will do what you are told, instantly, and without question. I will ask something of you, and you will do it. Do you understand?"

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"But I… " Wasn't it here he was supposed to be given the option to opt out? He tried to speak, but fear froze his tongue. Her hands clawed his skin with sudden violence. "Say, 'Yes, Mistress'," she warned softly. "Yes, Mistress," he gasped, to appease her obvious need, while a flicker of insight suggested that the moment she removed herself from his presence he should high-tail it out of there as fast as he could. She rose to her feet over his recumbent body, gave him the full benefit of her sweaty crotch for a moment, eyes watching him like a hawk, looking for what, he didn't know. Then, satisfied, she jumped down, lithe as a cat. She grasped her towel and undulated from the room. Under the shower he began to admonish himself. Whatever that cow had, he wasn't having any of it. No sirree. He was going to say no, thank you very much, and get back to his safe little job, and bury those dreams for ever. And yet, my God, what a woman. Would he be happy to know such a woman, such an opportunity existed, and he had blown his once-in-a-lifetime chance? Chaz was his friend, and wouldn't have brought him here if he hadn't seen potential. And she had said he had potential, too. He wasn't going to throw all that away, was he? Scowling, he listened to his inner demons argue while he tried to wash the cum out of his kacks under the hot water. Damn it, those minuscule lycra things had been too expensive to spoil; they did look so nice on him.

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He looked on the bright side. She could be as tough as she liked at the outset, but once he'd achieved his potential, he'd have her eating out of his hand. On the other hand, take Chaz. Built of hard, uncompromising masculinity, his age, the crew-cut hair and the tattoo on his biceps, suggested ex-forces of some kind. He stripped well, and was viewed by the other members of their gym as something of a hard-nut, a ball-breaker, and the original Rambo. They were all, if they were honest, a little scared of him. In other words, no wimp. Surely he should have had her eating out of his hand. Yet was she? He felt a shudder of fear trickle through him, a shudder of apprehension, the further knowledge that he shouldn't go anywhere near her ever again. And yet… He wondered whether Chaz had fucked her. He didn't have a clue as to why she was prepared to put in all this time and effort and money training him, but no thank you, lady. He didn't want any of it. Or did he? She was not like any lady he'd ever come across before, he thought, examining his balls carefully for claw marks. Not that he knew a great deal about women, apart from them now and again being the lucky receptacle for his tool, he didn't have much time for them. He wanted adrenaline, hero worship, and a good fucking. And what did the women all want? Marriage, children, commitments, a mortgage, and a doormat for their frustrations. Well it wasn't him, buster.

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He had worked out to a fine art just when to get rid of them. The moment they started to go dewy-eyed on him. When they began to look at curtain fabric and engagement rings. He had it all sussed out ages ago. A cold shudder went through his body. The Mistress, though, had obviously broken out of the traditional chains. In hindsight, if that was what they turned out like, the dewy-eyed clingy ones seemed quite desirable. This female had upsetting his equilibrium. She didn't fit in with any of his certainties; everything she did went against the norm.

Chapter 4 He recalled dismally that fateful meeting. After a good work-out one day, Chaz had came wafting into the shower on a breeze of freshly-minted sweat. "She wants to see you again," he had said. He had known instantly who Chaz meant, but by then, he had been laughing at his own fear. Like a fool. "When?" "Now?" "But I've got to go… " "Now or never." And he had agreed. Memories of his initial fear had gone by now, and he just recalled the absolutely seductive nature of her appearance. He had laughed to himself, sure that he had invented the sexual

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oozing of her presence, and he was more than a little curious to see her again. Was she as promiscuous as he recalled? They walked into the hotel foyer, and were directed to a room on the fourth floor. The lift stopped, and they exited into a carpeted hall. It was all very opulent, and James recalled she was one wealthy broad. She was sitting in a deeply upholstered chair, wrapped in a gossamer robe, which was not meant to hide many of her obvious attributes. She had obviously recently showered, for her hair was damp, and she smelled vaguely of something sweet and clinging. As she smiled a charming, welcoming smile, James relaxed, feeling vaguely silly for having been afraid of her. She patted the chair beside her. "Come in and sit down. Chaz, wait outside, please." It was all so very civilised and normal. "Now," she purred. "I know Chaz has told you all about my little gym, James. And you have such potential, you know." He preened a little at her words and the admiring gaze, which was sending ripples of warmth up his spine. "Are you considering my little offer, James?" She batted her long eyelashes, almost dripping herself towards him, and he felt himself stir involuntarily at the open invitation he read there: Stay with me, James, and we can have fun together. "It's very tempting," he said in a hoarse whisper.

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"And it's all at your disposal," she said, inching her generous chest in its lacy little number towards him provocatively. "All of it?" He swallowed. "Absolutely all of it. Come and stay with me for a while. You won't be disappointed. I promise." He had never hear a more blatant invitation, and knew that she meant it. He could use the gym, the swimming pool, and her. My God, what more could a man desire? "I'd love to," he found himself uttering. The small voice of reason still shouted at him in his mind, but he overpowered it with logic. What on earth was there to be scared of here, anyway? She leaned towards him. Her mouth opened slightly in invitations, and his own lips reached towards it of their own volition. He stared, mesmerised, into eyes, which had turned into dark pools of lust. Then, just as his lips tasted the fresh honey sweetness of her own, and the familiar buzzing sense of anticipation was beginning to fill his loins, she pulled away with a little sigh. "I'm so sorry I can't stay with you now, James, but I have to rush. I will send a car for you in one month. You will be there, won't you?" All the promise of a thousand years of loving lay in the heady depths of her eyes. "I'll be there," he said. And he had been. Lulled by the siren promise, and by the bimbo act, he had once again decided that if anyone was going to take the rich bitch for a ride, it was going to be him. But

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from the moment he had climbed into the black van - even before that, if he was going to be honest - he realised his mistake. He didn't know what she wanted with him, but he was absolutely sure it wasn't to allow him to enjoy himself at her expense. Oh, no. He stared down through the hole in the bench, and called himself the prize of all stupid sons of bitches that ever lived. After deciding she was dangerous, why hadn't he listened to his own advice, instead of following the call of his dick? And now he was in her house. Strapped face down to some kind of a torture bench. Although he could not get the image of her sweaty armpits out of his mind, he had a very funny feeling in his middle when he thought of her. He tried to analyse it, and kept on coming up with the same silly answer, no matter how much he tried to rationalise it away. Fear. But men weren't afraid of women, were they? He twisted, yanked, and tested to the limit of his strength the straps, which held him in place, but the couch, he was well aware, had been purpose-built for this job. He was not going to escape. Gradually, however, the utter improbability of the situation gave way to a kind of resignation. It was at that point that he realised he was extremely comfortable. Although he couldn't move or escape, he was not being hurt or tortured (the word 'yet' came strongly to mind, but he banished it), and the well-padded bench had obviously been designed to leave the victim with no visible evidence of

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prolonged imprisonment. So if he was not here to be mutilated or tortured, what the hell was he here for? He berated himself for being an utter fool for falling for all that soft-soap. She had laid her bait, waited until he took it hook, line, and sinker, and then had reeled him in. The woman he had first seen in the gym had been the real one. The one who had terrified him into submission with a single word. The one who had wanted him to call her mistress. The one even Chaz was afraid of crossing. He groaned, and a shudder of fear chilled his exposed skin. From the moment he had entered this room she had dominated his mind. She must be some damned dominating broad to do this to a man and not be afraid of the consequences; but in spite of the very deep hatred, which had blossomed, he just could not relieve his mind of that little tendril of admiration that kept rearing its ugly head. He loathed her for making him afraid, but she was, in spite of that, very attractive; the face of an angel, a luscious round bottom, a pair of ripe full breasts any normal man would dream of nibbling, and muscular? Absolutely! She was just so sexy it was untrue. He really wouldn't at all mind giving her one if he was honest. Even though she scared the shit out of him. The familiar buzzing filled his loins. His strangely exposed balls began to tighten and ache, and his pulsing cock swelled and reached for the floor. What a wonderful sensation it was; and the more he thought about it, the more thoughts of the owner of this house filled his mind, until he could think of little

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else. He realised it was not just thinking about her which was doing it, but that it had also to do with his captive state. There was something about being unable to move, to touch himself. About not being in control. By God, he needed to get his hands on her. Or on himself. He wouldn't have minded which. Only he was unable to do either. He wriggled, feeling the necessity build, wanting to rub the ache, bring himself off, but the ache and the need remained out of reach, surprisingly hard considering the lack of physical stimulation. Hours later he knew he must have slept, for he awoke from the depths of an exceedingly erotic dream, startled to find himself still in his captive state. He had almost believed he had dreamed it, but the familiar tingling sensation still filled his unsatisfied loins, and his limbs still lay stretched into submission. It was there he eventually learned the true meaning of frustration as both his fear and his most strange secret desires remained all consuming and unconsummated. Of all the things that had been done to him, though, he decided, it was the bit between his jaws, which was the most uncomfortable. It didn't exactly stretch his mouth open wide, but held his teeth apart, invading the space where his tongue wanted to go. There was nothing he could do to halt the irritating stream of slime, which dribbled from his prised jaws and collected in a puddle on the floor below. He was alternately furious and terrified and indignant. What was he here for? Why Chaz had betrayed him? He thought Chaz was

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his friend. He was, he realised, feeling gullible for having believed in an obviously false friendship and hurt by that same realisation. Was he that gullible, really? In spite of a determined effort not to betray himself by whimpering his fear out loud, shivers of apprehension occasionally rippled like a chill wind along his exposed skin. In spite of his nakedness, though, he was not cold, just terrifyingly vulnerable. His body was under no physical stress, but as relaxed as it had ever been in its life, and he sometimes drifted into a state near to sleep. There were also no aches or pains to indicate the passing of time; he seemed to be floating in a time warp. That it was hours rather than minutes, he guessed by the increased grumbling of his stomach, and by the increasingly embarrassing need to pass water - but it might even have been days for all his senses could tell him. He had begun to think anything would be better than this ignorance, when he heard the door open. Instantly alert, his eyes blinked and shed tears in the sudden light reflected from the tiled floor. He winced, and tried without success to see who had entered. His muscles twitched in anticipation. Was it going to happen now - whatever it was? But no, the whole couch lurched as the brakes were released - he could just see them out of the corner of his eye - and then was being pushed along. Stark naked and trussed like shark-bait, he was wheeled out into the corridor and into the lift. He whimpered with embarrassment and fear. There was the fleeting sensation of

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upward motion, then he was wheeled out into another room. Here there was carpet on the floor. "Leave us." He shrank inwardly at the brittle tones of her voice. Intuition told him that his hours of anticipated fear had not been misplaced. She had singled him out for her favours, for her attention, and he definitely didn't want to play the game. He knew, without doubt, she was going to be not nice at all. He moaned fractionally, as the door closed behind whoever had wheeled him in here. "Are you comfortable, James?" she said softly. Oh, God, he thought. It was not honey that dripped from her lips, he realised, but pure venom. Her hand reached out and brushed softly down the length of his unprotected spine and over his buttocks. His skin flinched and crawled before her touch, but could not escape. "You're very tense," she said softly. "I think a little massage would help those poor, rigid muscles, don't you?" He wanted to shriek denial, but could not. He felt her climb over his body, and every muscle tensed like iron. Something slick and oily dribbled onto his back. Then her hands began to knead his shoulders, to tease apart the tight knots of muscles. Her palms pushed with heavy expertise, forcing his skin into ridges, bringing the blood to the surface before her thumbs began to bite deep into the fibres, easing and soothing them. He had been massaged before, but never like this. My God, she was good. Against his own better

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judgement, he found himself relaxing under the expert manipulation of her strong hands. He had never been touched so intimately by a woman of such strength, and in all honesty he had to admit that he was enjoying the sensation. She shuffled further down the couch, and began to knead the heavily muscled thighs, inadvertently brushing against his exposed anus and balls as she did so, almost as though she had no concept that she was bringing him to a state bordering ecstatic. And as she carried on working, so his blood pressure rose and so did his organ, until once again he had the most terrific and explosive erection he had ever experienced. It was hot and wonderful, and pulsing in time with her questing fingers. Yet it was pointing to the floor, panting and dribbling like a dog desperate for petting. She could not have failed to notice the lack of flacidity in his balls, but she did nothing to ease the aching need, and he was totally unable to do it for himself. Her movements were totally professionally. Goddammit, he thought, she hadn't a clue he was as aroused as they came. Then he changed his mind instantly as one of her oiled fingers slid in a long, sensuous movement down the centre of his spine and slowly inexorably into his anus. No one had ever done that to him before, and though he involuntarily groaned and bucked at the indignity, the invasion of his privacy, he had no choice but to endure. The bitch knew exactly how aroused he was, he realised, stunned as she glided in and out of his hole; she was doing it on purpose. And then

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he wondered if that was not all bad, as her invasive finger caressed the spasmatic muscle with total and absolute knowledge of his heightened sexuality. As the invasion continued his need grew to burning necessity, yet she didn't do what he wanted, which was reach between his legs and grasp him hard in her whore's fingers. He jolted, moaned, and flexed every muscle he could in the desperate hope that he could rub something against his erection, but his cock still pulsed all on its own, through the hole provided, and he burned with unfulfilled lust. Then in a single, fluid movement, she slid from the couch. Something clicked, and she pushed. Oiled bearings rolled smoothly, and he was flipped into an upright position, and his troubled gaze took in the small part of the room he could see. It was a whore's boudoir, all lace, and reds and golds, but the small part of wall he could see was decorated with instruments of torture; with whips and gags and things with spikes. He screamed his fear into the wooden bit as he caught a glimpse of her moving to one side. Unable to see or even envisage what she might be up to he just had to hang there, his engorged tool thrusting importantly through the hole, and hope his panic was misplaced, and that she was just going to release the tension and bring him off. His panic was not misplaced. He felt a hand close around his balls and begin to squeeze. Tears ran down his cheeks. He screamed his anger and his fear, but it didn't stop. She kept on squeezing until his imagination showed him two tiny purple

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balls protruding from the bottom of her closed fist. He was in agony. His first realisation that it wasn't just her fist came when he realised she was walking away from him. Then a tall, swing mirror was pushed before him. It was adjusted professionally until he could see the whites of his own eyes gaping through an oval hole in a wooden panel, and his purple knobs, throbbing in the wicked grasp of a clamp, through another. A gurgling cry of horror and helplessness escaped past the bit. He was going to be emasculated! His balls would turn black and drop off. My God, by the pain, he knew it wouldn't be very long before that happened. "Not so comfortable now, James?" she purred. And there she was, reflected in one side of the mirror, clad head to toe in a black cat-suit. It wasn't until she raised her hand in the classic posture, though, that he realised what she held in it. Now his cry was one of wordless disbelief. Until, of course, the whistle of the whip ended in a sharp slap against his flesh, and with that, his whole body exploded in a rictus of pain the like of which he had never in his wildest nightmares imagined. "You want me to train you, don't you, James?" she hissed. "Because you haven't got the self-belief or the self-discipline to do it for yourself. That's why you came here, isn't it? I've met your type before. You big men are woosies. You want to see yourself up there on the stage, on television, even, being

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adored by a lot of fawning, creeping whores, yet you haven't got what it takes to do it on your own." She raised her hand. In spite of his held breath and the knowledge of what was coming, he still couldn't stop the scream that emerged. "That's why you need me, James. I am going to turn that flabby body of yours into something a woman would be proud to own. I am going to make it work harder than it has ever worked before. And I can do it with your cooperation, or without. "You see, my dear James," she whispered, running a sharp nail along one raised and throbbing ridge of flesh, "It's the woosies that are the real challenge. The ones who want something, have got the potential, but are afraid to reach out and take it. The ones who think they are going to lead an indolent life of luxury at the hands of some rich broad who will dote on their splendid bodies." She stood back. He tensed. Swoosh! He screamed. "Well, life ain't a free ride, buster, and I 'ain't just any rich broad. I'm your Mistress, and I am going to make you fulfil that wonderful potential. When we get on with the training you will be wise to remember this little lesson in attitude, and consider how much effort you are going to put in to your exercises - or how much I am. Yin and yang, you see, worm. There is a kind of balance to all things, as you will no doubt learn." He wanted to shout that he understood. That she could stop right there, that all he wanted to do was work at it… He

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heard her leave the room. Oh, Jesus, he thought. This isn't happening. I don't believe this is happening. Please wake up. Please… Jesus Christ, my balls! But he hung there and watched his purple balls throbbing visibly, unable to take his eyes off them. Although at the time he had thought the lashes more painful than anything he had ever known, the residual sting of the weals was a minor pain to the one, which was now consuming his whole lower body, separating him from reality. He seemed to float now, distanced, but his eyes remained glued to the purple lump of flesh, which had once been joined to his body, and wondered with detached interest why she wanted a man with no balls. Because of the position of the mirror he could see little else, and his own unfailing interest would not allow him to close his eyes in case his most manly feature dropped off when he wasn't looking. Then suddenly the mirror was moved away. She had been there watching him all along. He could see the glitter of her white teeth as they bared in a knowing smile. She reached out and unclipped the wooden bit from his mouth. It took him several goes before he could make his mouth form the words: "Please… " "Please what?" "Please take it off!" His voice was hoarse with the effort it took not to scream. "You may call me mistress," she indicated gently.

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"Mistress," he gabbled, his pride dissipated totally. "Please, Mistress, take it off!" She moved out of his sight, and he was shocked by a stinging slash across his buttocks. "What!" he yelled, "what did I say?" "You are supposed to like what I do for you, James," she said with a small sigh of impatience. "Like this? You've got to be fucking mad!" Behind him he sensed movement. "Thank you!" he screamed, too late; the garbled message turned into a scream of pain. To reinforce his co-operation, the bitch lashed him again. This time he knew what to do, and reluctantly and angrily gasped his thanks, only to be shocked to the core when the whip descended once more. "I said thank you, you bitch!" he yelled, stupidly, in the circumstances. "Silly James," she purred, and the whip descended again, and again. He railed, threatened, and swore as she beat him, then finally his voice dried up, and he gritted his teeth against the biting pain of the lash. Eventually she stopped. "James?" Her cold, biting voice thrilled him with its warning. He asked in a small voice. "Please, Mistress, I don't know what you expect of me." "Gratitude," she purred.

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"Thank you, Mistress. I am grateful. Honestly. Very, very grateful. Thank you for whipping me." "Did you enjoy it, James?" "Yes, Mistress." "Do you like me playing with your body?" she said, fingering his throbbing balls. He gasped with pain. "Yes, Mistress." "Ah, you're learning. Good boy. Now I am going to tell you a few things." His mind, dwelling on his balls, had difficulty in focusing on her, but he made the effort, knowing it was the only way he was going to get out of this thing in one piece. "I demand total obedience. That is all." "That's all?" Why was he not impressed with the simplicity of it? "I will work out a programme and you will follow it. You will be allocated one of my best trainers, and you will obey her as you would obey me." "Mistress? Can I ask a question?" "If it is pertinent to what I have just said." "How long does this training last?" "Until you achieve your potential, and that could take years." Her lip curled in a feral smile of enjoyment. He howled with rage. "Chaz said one year!" "Chaz was hopeful," she said derisively. "You can't do this!" "I am doing it."

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"This is not legal!" he yelled, fighting his bonds once more in fury. She smiled, for the first time with genuine amusement. "Of course not." "But I've changed my mind." "It's too late for that. You were tempted by the idea of being forced to achieve something you didn't have the self-will to do for yourself. Bingo! Here it is. You followed that route of your own volition, and that is what is going to happen. How soon it happens depends on how hard you try. But one thing you can be certain of - you will not leave here until you have achieved it to my satisfaction. Unless I discover that my faith has been misplaced, and you are incapable of achieving. Then you will be unfortunately dismissed." He stared with dawning comprehension. He was a prisoner of his own secret desire for physical perfection. He would not be allowed to escape. He felt like bursting into tears. The other thing he wanted to do was kill Chaz. The bastard. She seemed to be in a better humour, and smiled at him. "Now, James. Now that we've got the formalities out of the way, have you got anything you want to say to me?" In a small voice, he said, "Please, Mistress, take it off!" From the look in her eyes, that was not what she wanted to hear. "What, what?" he said frantically. She eyed him, one long, red nail tapping a rhythm against her white, vampire's eye-tooth. He waited, breath held. "I

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sense that you are trying to be good, James," she said finally. "So I will hold my temper this time. I expect a little thanks when I go to such a lot of trouble for one of my trainees." His eyes bulged with loathing, but he swallowed hard, and he managed to mouth the words: "Thank you Mistress," without choking on them. "Promise you will do everything I demand of you, instantly, and without argument, and we will get on famously." "I will, I will!" "Mistress!" She tweaked the offending member. He screamed. "Mistress!" he said, a sob in his voice. "Good boy," she purred. She reached down. His balls flooded with the pain of release, which caused him to jolt and cry out again, but she didn't seem to notice. "Now that you have had your little lesson in pain, let me give you a bit of advice. You can take a lot more than that and survive. Whenever your muscles hurt, whenever you are exhausted to the point of flagging, whenever you want to give up and I haven't given you permission, you will remember this, won't you?" There was a pregnant silence, then she added, her voice filled with menace, "Were you listening?" "Yes, yes, Mistress, I heard," he snarled. He was rigid with a fury the like of which he had never known, but he was impotent to vent it, either verbally or physically. There was a long silence. He sensed her behind him and tensed, knowing that she felt his anger as a boiling presence

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between them. For a moment nothing happened, then he felt the very tips of her nails touch his shoulders, and press until the skin was indented. With slow and sadistic enjoyment, she brought her nails down his back. He didn't begin to scream until she crossed one of the weals, which had been raised by the whip, and by the time she had gouged her way down to his thighs he thought his back was on fire. Then there was silence. He held out for a full second, then gasped, "Thank you Mistress," in a voice of doleful submission. She pulled up a chair and sat before him, pulling a clipboard into view. "Right. Your programme. You are sadly under-achieved at the moment. I feel that once we begin to get things together you will not only be strong, but very agile. You haven't got that slowness which often besets large men. In spite of your size, you haven't quite got the stature to bodybuild to any degree, so we'll concentrate on the agility angle combined with strength. That could be an advantage your opponent might omit to notice." "Opponent?" he said, confused. "Oh, do abandon all that body-building crap your mind is so full of. There is nothing more pathetic than seeing a load of muscled pansies strutting their stuff and poncing about on stage. You will become an athlete, James. I don't know what, yet, time will no doubt tell, but I promise you, you'll earn medals." "Medals?" That didn't sound so bad, after all.

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"After a lot of hard work, of course." Her cat-like eyes homed in on him and narrowed. "But I warn you. I do not tolerate failure." She threw aside her pad and for the first time her voice was serious, almost friendly. "You would so like it to be easy, wouldn't you, James? But you see, achievement seldom is easy. There must be pain before perfection. But don't let that depress you, because under my guidance, you will achieve something you never thought possible." "Athletics?" he asked, confused. "No, idiot. I will turn you into a man," she said. "But I… " She held a finger to her lips. "That is the last time you will ever ever ever say but to me. Do you understand?" "I want to go home," he muttered helplessly. She fingered the whip. "I understand, Mistress." She stood up suddenly. He tensed, but all she did was pull a cord on the wall and hold out the wooden bit like a tempting morsel. "Thank you Mistress," he said dutifully before she thrust it into his mouth, silencing him.

Chapter 4 The corridor no longer seemed so alien from this position, James thought woefully, as he was being wheeled along. During the last hour, or however long it had been, he had discovered that there were much worse scenarios than tiled flooring.

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However, this time the gurney was wheeled into a room with carpet and unexpectedly gentle hands rubbed liniment on his shrinking back before beginning to release him from his undignified captivity. Only when he reached up his own hand cautiously to remove the bit from between his teeth could he really believe he was being allowed to move. Slowly he rose to his knees, but receiving no instant punishment or threat, he turned over to face whoever had released him. He sat down hard on the edge of the gurney, forgetting even his nakedness. Chaz was staring at him with apology in his very stance. With a screech of anger, James threw himself at his erstwhile friend and was surprised when his fist connected solidly with a chin, flooring the man instantly. Then, fearing retribution from the man who had so much more street-cred than himself, he backed off, shocked. Chaz, however, did not retaliate, but sat there on the floor, legs sprawled, blood pouring from his nose, and grimaced. "That, son," he said, "I guess I deserved. Just don't expect to do it again." "You shit!" James said, his tone one of betrayal and hurt. "I know, I know; but you'll thank me for it one day." "I am a damned prisoner. She is a vampire, a vulture and bloody maniac. Do you know what you've done? You've ruined me!" "No, I guess I've made you, James. You just don't realise it yet." He sprang to his feet with a rippled of co-ordinated

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muscle. "This room is yours. You can ask for anything you want; books, papers, all that kind of thing. The phone there gets you through to one of the staff. Whoever is on duty. There's a television in that cupboard, and en-suite facilities through that door. When she trusts you, you can have the run of the factory. Till then, the door stays locked." "I want out of here now," he said, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Don't make me hurt you, son." The friendly atmosphere dissolved and suddenly James saw Chaz as he had never seen him before: an enemy, someone who would stop him leaving at any cost. This was instantly confirmed. "She's the boss, make no mistake. You do anything she doesn't want and I can - and will - hurt you. I promise. She's sorting out a programme for you now. You'll have a five o'clock start tomorrow, so I suggest you relax, because there will be little enough of that, later. Food will be brought around a seven tonight, and I warn you: eat everything you are given. Food is part of the programme, measured, weighed and analysed to the last vitamin. By the way, there is no alcohol on the menu, I'm afraid." There was a hint of amusement in his voice. "But plenty of sex." James blanched. "With her?" "Not initially, but you won't get frustrated, believe me." Chaz waited a moment to see if his one-time friend was going to retaliate in any way, but he could see from the slumped shoulders that the fight had gone out of him. On his way out he patted his shoulder. "It'll work out OK, you wait and see."

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After he had gone, James tried the door, but it hadn't been conveniently left unlocked. In fact, the locking mechanism seemed rather horribly functional, as did the two hatches, one at eye level, obviously for his observation, and one at floor level for what - feeding the animal? He growled and turned on the television. There was just the faint hope that someone would post him missing and start a big hunt. There was also the probability that she had organised everything so that he was never missed. He rather suspected that it was going to be the latter; especially when the lower door hatch suddenly emitted a squeaky noise and belched a tray into the room. Before he could even react, the hatch was slammed. He stared at the meal in dismay. Salad. He loathed salad. Damn it, a man of his size needed a proper meal. A cooked meal. And he could have killed for a beer. He began to rattle his cage, alternatively demanding release and threatening all kinds of vindictive retaliations, should he not be released. But, he remained on his own, hungry (refusing the food was his means of silent rebellion) and seething with resentment in a luxurious suite, which could have been mistaken for a five-star hotel or a prison. What was he going to do? He was, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner of this Mistress bitch, and that was just unacceptable. There was nothing in this world, which could reconcile him to the loss of his freedom, and incidentally, his dignity.

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And even that had been thrown to the ground and stamped on by her very undainty foot. Squished, pulverised, and diminished, like his ego. Eventually he threw himself down onto the bed, confused, tired, bored, he didn't know what else besides, eventually falling into a troubled slumber. Almost instantly, it seemed, he was awoken by an alarm so penetrating he was half climbing the wall before his eyes had even opened, his heart rate accelerated to that of sheer panic. Once the alarm died, he stood there panting, eyes flickering wildly around the strange room, wondering where he was and was it time to go to work already? It all came back with a rush and there was a second of stunned comprehension that it had not been a nightmare. He winced, glanced at his watch. Five a.m. So, what now? Almost on cue, the door opened. His eyes narrowed. If it was some bimbo, he was out of there… The two Amazons entered. He stared at them warily, with more respect than he had at their last encounter, and backed slightly; but instead of doing anything intimidating or frightening, they just stood beside the door, waiting expectantly. James swallowed. He knew, without a doubt, she was coming. He realised that he'd rather take on the Amazons any day. He might lose the battle, but at least he'd still have his self-esteem. Dressed in nothing but his birthday suit, he clapped his hands over his private parts, not entirely sure

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whether he was unexpectedly embarrassed by his nakedness, or whether he was afraid she would do them further damage. And suddenly, without the whisper of a footstep to announce her presence, there she was; clad from neck to ankle in screamingly violent pink lycra with a wide black waist-band. Her muscular arms were bare, as were her feet. He realised that she had the greenest eyes he had ever seen. And the most penetrating. He flushed, and as he did so, her hawk-like gaze homed instantly on the plate with its complement of uneaten salad. "I don't like salad," he said in a small voice. "You don't like salad, James?" Her voice was softly laced with sarcasm. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." Her eyes flashed. "Follow me. And bring your food." James wavered for a second. "I need some clothes," he said. The henchmen moved a step closer. He sighed, not seeing the point in getting himself damaged at this stage, and picked up the tray. Well, if she wanted him to traipse naked through her house, well, he had nothing to be ashamed of, did he? Expanding his chest with a nonchalance he didn't really feel, he sauntered after her, clutching his silver-coloured tray like an offering before him. They entered the lift in silence, and in silence she stabbed shocking pink fingernails at a confusing combination of unmarked buttons. It was not going to be easy to get out of this place. It seemed that one had to use the lift,

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but it was not as simple as up and down arrows, you had to know what the hell buttons to press. After a brief stomach-lurching descent, they exited, and walked along yet another corridor, and into a kitchen. This place gleamed with stainless steel, and just about every gadget or utensil, which could possibly be purchased. She pointed, and at her unspoken command, James put his tray down, and collected the liquidiser. "Now use it." He considered chucking it at her, but didn't much like the faint smile of invitation she threw at him, so with a sigh he did as expected. He scraped the whole of his limp salad into the plastic bowl and pressed the button. A brief grinding resulted in an unappetising grey slush. Her smile widened. "Now eat it." "I didn't eat it before, and if you think I'm going to eat it now, you can bloody-well… " James wasn't aware of an order having been given, but almost before he could react, the two women pulled him back against a stainless steel pole and manacled his hands behind it. The intense cold of the steel made him wince. He yanked at the offending iron, glaring at her, filled with a sense of disbelief. What was she going to do now? Feed it to him like a baby? Just let her try, that's all, he thought, and you'll get the lot right back. Only he wasn't brave enough to say it out loud. In clinical silence, and despite his desperate wriggles to avoid them, more manacles were clamped around his ankles, with the chain behind the pole. Oh God, he thought. Was this

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all about one measly little salad? Why the hell hadn't he just eaten it? His trepidation was rewarded almost instantly by something metal being pressed against his mouth. He made pleading noises through clenched teeth, which might have been interpreted as 'OK, I'll eat the bloody stuff', but she smiled sweetly, grabbed a good handful of his apparatus and squeezed. He gasped, predictably, and in went the metal object. Like a gag it was fastened behind his head, but in fact all it did was hold his mouth open. He only realised what for when the dark female grabbed a fist full of his hair and held his head back slightly. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as she plucked a clear plastic funnel from a drawer and advanced on him. He shook his head violently, his unintelligible grunting telling her it was OK, he would do what she wanted, but don't stuff that thing down me, please! With absolute, total disregard for his capitulation, she inserted the end into his mouth, past his thrusting tongue, and into his throat. Panicked, he gagged and retched a few times. "Just relax," she said, slapping his thigh with a hard hand. Then, making sure he could see what she was doing, she scooped up the container of grey slime and held up. He stared at her with tears of self-pity in his eyes as she took the jug of yuk and began to pour it in. Now there was nothing he could do except swallow hasty great gulps of goo until he was going red in the face from lack of oxygen. When she removed the

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funnel and stepped back, he sucked air greedily into starved lungs, then panted for a moment through his propped-open mouth. "We have three meals a day," she said coldly. "Today, each of your meals will be administered in a like fashion." Her eyes glittered warning. His eyes bulged with fear, but the mouthpiece forestalled any attempt to reason with her. She was mad, of course. Oh, God, let him escape from this loony-bin. Was she going to leave him standing here on his own all day? It was inhuman, damn it. It wasn't fair! Then he realised it was a working kitchen as the staff began to arrive; a tall, thin man of about thirty, followed by two exceedingly attractive women, all of whom stared at him with unashamed interest. Dressed like gymnasts, with very little to hide their attributes, he realised that all three were physical perfect specimens who had, perhaps, survived some kind of training in the establishment. That thought gave him slight hope, but the embarrassment of his position became consuming. He clenched his thighs together, wishing he could stuff his apparatus between them. It was bad enough to be in this position in the first place, stark naked, chained to a pillar, but the realisation that people were going to be working here added a new dimension to the indignity. He was on display. Within moments the kitchen was a bustle of activity. Brightly chattering the whole while, the two women piled bacon into

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vast frying pans and the man poured boiling water into a coffee machine. Then, to his horror, about twenty place settings gradually formed on the vast table and as the knives and forks clattered into place, James winced further and further into the pillar, wishing it would absorb him. The cooks were swift and efficient and very soon the whole air began to sizzle with the aroma of an English breakfast. In spite of himself James began to salivate. Damn it, in spite of the grey gloop, which even now was settling like a brick in his stomach, he was hungry. Then the girl who was laying the table gave him a cheeky grin and flicked his dick in passing. He winced involuntarily. What the hell were these people that they could take all this for granted? he wondered. Was it normal for them to walk in and find a naked man chained to a pillar? Recalling the cat-like green eyes of the hell-begotten Mistress, he thought it probably was. All too soon, in some distant place, a gong sounded, and as people began to charge in enthusiastically and find their places, he wanted to curl up and die. He saw interested glances from men and women as they assessed his sex, his subservient position, his muscular body, and probably his potential. One of the men even strolled over and poked the bulging muscles of his chest and thighs before sitting down. God, was the man a queer, or something? He felt like a circus freak on display for their amusement.

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And in return he couldn't help noticing that this was the most attractive group of people he had seen in one place at one time. In spite of the two Amazons who were amazingly laughing and joking with the best of them, every single person, male or female, was in peak condition. The overall perfection he beheld was just unnatural. The women were all beautiful and sexy, and the men were chiselled lumps of iron perfection. Some were like ballet dancers, others like athletes or wrestlers, but all shone with health and vitality. How he envied them their comradeship, their inner strength. He was so jealous it hurt. He was also lonely, for without a doubt he stood on the outside of that select crew. He gurgled his anguish, but it was obvious that no-one was going to free him from this untenable situation. And what made it worst was the steaming plate of bacon, egg and potato that was sitting in the unoccupied position before him. Given the opportunity he could have done justice to that succulent and mouth-watering dish, but no opportunity arose. The egg stiffened and congealed, the potato dried and the bacon sagged tiredly against the plate. Then there was a sudden and hasty flurry of exodus as all the bright young things exited like a flock of birds taking flight. Within moments it was just the two girls left. To his surprise they girls came up to him and began to tweak various parts of his body. "He's got nice thighs," one said, piling that once appetising breakfast into the liquidiser.

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"Nice pecs, too," said the other, and approached him with the obnoxious funnel. He shook his head violently, indicating that he really wasn't hungry, thank you; but in the funnel went, and down went the eggy-flavoured mess. He choked, gagged, but kept it down, knowing that worse would follow if he did not. "Good boy," said one girl. Then she picked up his penis and weighed it in her hand. "Not very big, is it?" The other one giggled coyly. "We could make it bigger," she suggested. "Give him something to think about while he's waiting for dinner." They shared a glance, and giggled again. Within moments James realised he didn't have a chance. The little cows were experts. They kissed, fondled and played, rubbing their pretty little hands hard all over his shrinking body to increase his surface skin temperature and massaging the hair follicles into erection. Then their devilish fingers crept down and toyed with his cock, plying their wicked game between his legs and around his balls. And as they did that, their butterfly soft mouths licked his sweaty skin, and sucking hard at his nipples until he was writhing with the need of sexual fulfilment, his manacled hands, clasping and unclasping ineffectively behind his back, adding to the desperate suspense. He groaned, unable to defend himself against the wiles of two female vampires who were abusing his body for their enjoyment. Being shackled at the whim of such invasion was both an agony of embarrassment and an ecstasy the like of

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which he had never dreamed existed, and his cock plumped up to luscious fullness. "Goodness," one of the girls said, toying with it daintily. "That's a lot more like it!" "Now, just one more little job. Seeing as how you're going to be here all day, and we don't want any accidents in the kitchen," she held up a bum bung and dangled it temptingly. "You'll like this bit," she offered with a grin. He shook his head violently, and his tongue flapped uselessly in and out, making inarticulate noises to the effect that he didn't need to go, and wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, and please would she not… But she greased the rubber object with some cooking oil and, smiling into his eyes, pulled at his testicles until he was up on his toes, arching away from the pillar and the object disappeared behind his back. As the thick rubber bung pressed against his anus, he clenched his muscles tightly, but to no avail. His oiled hole betrayingly stretched in compliance to accommodate that alien artifact and as it did so, his noises of revulsion gradually changed to those of absolute mortification. The other girl then buckled a thin leather belt around his waist and passed the two dangling straps between his legs and up either side of his burning testicles to hold the alien artifact in place. He wriggled against the involuntary muscle spasms caused by that unnatural plug, annoyed to discover the sensation was more a pleasure than not; and the two girls knew it.

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Once again they massaged his dick, pulling the foreskin back and forward in the classical way, until he tingled with the onset of orgasm. He closed his eyes, revelling in this reawakening of his sexual needs after a deflation equivalent to that of a cold shower. He was making pleading noises in his throat now, not begging them to stop, but rather, begging them to fulfil his overpowering needs. Never had he been so sexually heightened by the physical actions of another and never had he been so helpless to respond. Whether his mind wanted this rape or not, his body was totally at their mercy, and craving for more. He sank into a kind of fatalistic enjoyment of his sexual bondage: if you can't avoid it you might as well enjoy it. Now one of the girls was really bringing him off. He thrust his hips in time to her stroking motion, going faster and faster, wanting nothing more desperately than to come. Oh, God, it was nearly there. His breath shortened, held. He could feel his balls growing tighter and tighter, and… She stopped; let go. His eyes flew open. He made hopeful noises. The other one was unwrapping a length of green ribbon from her hair. He made noises of outrage and tried to crawl up the pillar, but the string was inexorably wound around his tight and burning package and tied into a neat bow on top. Then, arm in arm, the two girls walked out of the kitchen, giggling, leaving him gobbling with a combination of fury, frustration and embarrassment.

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He was left standing there throughout the day wearing nothing but a green bow and two bungs. He suffered in an agony of silence throughout a light lunch, but by mid afternoon, when the cooks once again began a more major chore of providing an evening dinner, the fear of embarrassment was taking second place to something more immediate. Cramp. Between furious and unsuccessful attempts to release himself, he had began a regime of tensing and untensing every muscle, and even managed a few awkward squats, but he was losing the battle. His shoulders were aching, his back was aching, and to cap it all, his nether regions were throbbing with almost unbearable monotony. He was in the throes of despair, living with the expectation of standing through yet another meal, consumed with avid greed by a bunch of people he had to admit, were amongst the most attractive he had ever seen. Not just attractive because they were pretty, he realised, but because men and women alike were collectively more fit and wholesome than any other group he had ever seen. They laughed and teased each other in friendly rivalry and their conversation dwelt mostly on things close to his own heart: television sports of all types, fitness, and even the last Gladiators game. He felt an intense longing to be part of that group, not standing here on his own listening in. If they were part of this vampire's fitness club, why couldn't he just join in? Why was he being crucified with humiliation and degradation, when he'd like nothing better than to be one of them?

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Although the two girls and the Chef had teased him at stages throughout the day, they were ignoring him now, and he could feel the tension rising as everything was being coordinated towards a grand finale. It would not be long before they all came in and guzzled yet another scrumptious meal before him. He felt himself salivating in anticipation. Then, through eyes dulled with tiredness and pain, he watched the door open and the Mistress enter. An involuntary movement sent a cramp lancing through his calf and he cried out with sheer agony. Hands on hips, she watched him suffer. He saw not one jot of sympathy in her calculating eyes. When he had controlled himself, she approached. He could smell the sweat of her, and could see vast triangles staining on her onceimmaculate garb. He found the sweaty scent of her incredibly erotic and sighed with a mixture of envy and desire. While he had been stuck here like a turkey, she had been training hard. Whatever else she was, she was incomparable as far as female figures went. She glanced down at his green bow, and there was a glint of amusement in her eye. "I see Amy and Cherry have been playing." He, perforce, waited silently. "Have you enjoyed your day, James?" He shook his head. "You see, there is only one way to play the game. You play to win, and this has won you nothing, has it?" He shook his head dutifully. "Now, would you like to forego dinner and go back to your room?"

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Warily he eyed her. This wasn't such a simple yes or no question. If he said yes, would she just release him back to his room as she said, or was there an unspoken rider? And if he said no, would that condemn himself to a further unnecessary hour or more chained to this pillar. Finally, he decided that even served as slop, a dinner would fill his stomach, and starving himself wasn't good for the body. He shook his head. To his surprise she reached up and took the metal mouthpiece out. He stretched his jaw a few times, working his jaws to release the tension. "Thank you, Mistress," he said when he could. "H'm," she commented, but he realised she was not displeased when she unlocked the ankle and wrist cuffs, freeing him. She didn't have to worry about instant retaliation. It took a great deal of effort to pull his arms in front of his body, not to fall down at her feet. "Now. I think we'd better loosen up those muscles before dinner, don't you?" She said. His hands automatically went to the leather strap around his waist, to remove it, but she slapped his hand away with a sting, which must have been considered playful. "Leave it. Just follow me." So he followed, his mind totally engrossed with his bunged backside and bound balls as he walked. In the gym, an hour later, though, he was in a state bordering delirium. He had done every floor exercise known to man, and then some, one after the other. There was no respite, no time to think, and

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even less time to catch his breath, and when she said, OK, relax, he collapsed on the floor in a sweaty, jellied heap. He heard her snap her fingers, and when he opened his eyes again, there were the two muscle-bound Amazons waiting to lead him back to his room. It was all he could do to get there without asking for their help. Later that evening a meal was pushed under his door and in spite of his desperate wish to just sleep, he ate every scrap, hardly noticing it was a dreaded salad.

Chapter 5 The next morning, the clarion call of the alarm woke James with a ferocity it was impossible to ignore, but this time he was instantly aware of his situation. Warily he climbed out of bed but, in spite of his trepidation, discovered not one single tense muscle. The killing hour of exercise tagged so sadistically on to his previous ordeal had obviously loosened the strangled muscles satisfactorily. She knew her stuff where bodies were concerned, he thought sourly. As, it seemed, did everyone else in this damned place. He recalled his humiliation at the hands of Cherry and whoever the other girl was with a faint shudder, but to his amazement, a small spark of interest pulsed through his middle at the recollection.

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Then the lock on the door was crashed open, bringing him to the present with a nasty jolt. What now? As before, the two henchwomen came in and stood to one side, followed almost immediately by the Mistress. This time she was dressed in a luminous green outfit that was cut so high in the leg the middle bit disappeared up her crack. My God, he could have ripped it from her there and then, he realised, and crossed his hands over his rising cock. Instead of being offended, she seemed pleased that the outfit had had that effect on him, almost as though she had planned it that way. She strolled over to the bed, sat down, and patted invitation for him to sit by her side. "Now," she said conversationally, plumping a large folder on her thighs. "I've been working on your programme and I've assigned the Bear, here, to help you to carry it through. We work on a very simple system, here; reward and punishment. I don't think I need to spell it out, for you, do I?" "No, Mistress," he said, eyeing the folder warily. "But just in case there are any misconceptions it means there is no average, no middle line in our business. You win or lose. You get rewarded or punished. How often you achieve either is up to you." He realised that the uneasy feeling in his gut was justified. "But before we start the real serious training," she carried on. "There is the induction programme which runs for four weeks, and which - apart from toning up some of your flab - " Flab? Me? he thought in amazement

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" - gives me a good idea of your potential. If you fail this level, then I am through with you. If you pass it, then you can officially become one of the team and can start to train in earnest. It will mean you have earned your own self-respect and your place on the team. Until that time, you are an encumbrance and a liability, and will be treated as such." She glared at him in warning, not realising she had just given him the out he needed. One month, he though gleefully. That was all it would take, and he could kiss good-bye to her and her bloody satellites. "Yes, Mistress," he said dutifully. She smiled coldly and he had the nasty feeling she had read his mind, but he shrugged internally. "Right. First thing every morning you will do fifty laps in the pool." "Fifty?" He gasped, his complacency shocked out of existence. "I'm being lenient to start with as you so rightly noticed. It will increase each week. This little warm-up will be followed by a cold shower. Then you will go to the gym circuit and do fifty laps jogging at an easy pace with no pauses, which is no more than ten miles. That will help build up your stamina levels. After that there is a list of floor exercises that the Bear will give you to release and tighten certain muscles. Then we have lunch. After lunch you will perform a variety of tasks which will increase co-ordination of eye, hand, and muscle. Then we have dinner. After dinner we do the combative arts." "Eh?"

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"A mixture of Karate and Aikido, for reasons which will become clear. It normally takes about two years to gain black belts in both, but my people usually do it in one." She gave a fleeting warning. "The Bear is the Sensei. That means teacher, to you, which makes her a dangerous person to cross." He gave a derisive snort, never having been the least interested in all that Kung Fu, Hai! Ha! stuff, being much more interested in the serious art of wrestling. Now that was manstuff, and he'd like to see one of his favourite wrestlers whooop her ass for her. In fact, he mused. He would love it. "Then, after that, we have the competition sports. Of course there is incentive to win, as usual. Winners get privileges, losers get punished by the winners. All in the name of the game. You won't be asked to actually participate in these to start with, though. "Then, for those who have achieved, there will be some leisure time." "And what does that mean?" he said morosely. "Oh, you get to use the pump room." His brows drew together. "Isn't that part of the programme?" She gave a peal of laughter. "Don't be silly. Those things don't really achieve anything, they're just fun. It's all the other things that will turn you into a man. You'll see." His brows drew together even more. "So I don't get to pump lead as part of this - programme?"

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She smiled sweetly. "Of course not. But if you're good, the four weeks will go surprisingly quickly, then you can use all your leisure hours in there - if you can't think of anything better to do with your time, of course." He scowled dreadfully. "But I thought pumping lead was what I was here for?" Her eyes widened with affected dismay as she stood up. "Now I wonder who misled you so badly, James? Never mind. I'm sure Chaz had your best interests at heart." She stood up and strolled to the door. "Right-ho! On with the show. Let me see what you've got, eh?" She glanced at her watch. "This chat has taken twenty minutes, so you are going to have to paddle hard to catch up. On with you." He stood up and was awarded a casual slap on the rear as she exited. He flushed with mortification, but seeing the light of battle appear instantly in both the Amazon's eyes, withheld the instinctive retaliation. The Bear held open the door. "Turn left, " she said in a hard voice. "And don't try no nonsense. Believe me, I'd enjoy the result more than you." He glared at her, but strolled past with a degree of nonchalance, secure in the knowledge that he'd beat this silly tribe of women one way or another. It was just a question of effort. Or lack of. Because that was how he intended to win. Just not quite make the grade, and out he'd be chucked. Simple. In the pool he did the fifty of course (no problem), but splashed around a little as he swam his lengths, making heavy

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weather of it all, and making sure they realised swimming was not his strong point. He was pleased to note the Bear frowning and glancing at her watch as he laboured past her, giving her a heroic grin each time to show that he really was trying ever so hard, but just couldn't quite pull any more effort out of the bag. She just scowled when he had finished, and sat herself on a bench to wait while he had his shower; hot, of course, after a surreptitious glance to make sure she wasn't watching. Then he did the laps around the indoor courts. This was definitely not his strong point, and he'd never liked jogging, but there was no way to cheat, what with her standing in the middle watching, an automatic lap-counter on one corner. He didn't need to pretend panting exhaustion and jellied legs by the time he'd completed them. Then the Amazon set him to the floor exercises. For each one she demonstrated clearly what was expected, what muscles were to be loosened or toned by that exercise, informed him of his present requirements, and informed him of his required achievement level by the end of the month. These exercises, too, he performed creditably, but with little flair, not quite getting the full stretch, the full bend, or the required number before collapsing in a soggy, apologetic heap. "I guess I'm just not good enough," he said dolefully as the dinner gong sounded. "Early days yet," she promised him with a hard look, and escorted him back to his own room to eat a passable meal in

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solitary confinement. He smiled to himself as he ate. This plan would work, no problem. The silly cow really thought he was trying. As if she cared one way or the other, really. Well, sod her, anyway. And as for the Marshall Arts crap, well. He'd never felt so silly in all his life. The room was a culture shock. It had a polished, wooden floor and a trellis-work of wood around the edges, sporting a variety of Japanese ornaments, and he had to bow to a goddamned flag as he entered. "Feet slightly apart, hands at the sides, not together like a geisha girl," he was told primly. "When you enter the Dojo, your frame of mind enters with you. Begin with respect, and end with respect." And there they all were, white pyjamas and black belts, walking up and down the room as if they had barrels between their legs, yelling and yi-hah-ing for all they were worth, like a load of little marionettes. And there he was, stark bollock naked up the other end of the room, getting his personal tuition from the Amazon. "Power is from inside," she was saying. "The body is a machine and your mind has to control that machine, otherwise another will control it for you. Everything comes down to basic training. Learn all the moves, then like a jigsaw puzzle, your mind will just slot all the bits together. Now, begin, like so!" He put one foot forward, made a fist, and she grabbed hold of him and tweaked him into position. "That's better."

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But at the end of the session even her calm nature seemed to be frayed at the edges. He just couldn't seem to get coordinated at all. He shrugged, and gave another apologetic smile. "Guess this isn't my kinda game," he said. "It's not a game," she said coldly. "No, no, of course not," he corrected hastily, and back in his room later, eating a rather scrumptious evening meal, he knew he was going to win. There was no way any of them could make a man perform past his best effort, was there? No way at all. Then, just as he was thinking of going to sleep, the door crashed open and the Bear entered, wearing something casual in bright orange, which was best described as a tent. With her whiskers and her size, she looked like a man in drag. She gave him a dirty grin, and began to de-robe. "Oh, no," he said, pulling the covers over his nakedness, "Really, I don't think this is appropriate." "Oh, but I've been watching you all day," she replied huskily. "It's more than appropriate, believe me." She advanced, stripping off her underwear. He watched, wide-eyed with shock as bulging great knockers flopped indecently out of a strapping bra, muscled thighs fought free of a vast sheet of white cotton, until she stood before him in her full and naked glory. He had never seen so much flesh at one time. "Oh, my God," he said, and began to climb the far wall, dragging the duvet with him.

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"Oh, don't be modest," she said coyly. "Mistress doesn't like any of her new recruits to be frustrated. It's not good for performance." "I'm not frustrated at all," he babbled as she trapped him in the corner and climbed on the bed. "You won't be," she said, encasing him in a bear hug, sucking his clenched lips with determination. Panicked, he pushed against her and realised to his horror that she was actually stronger than any woman he had ever tangled with. It took all his strength to push up his arms and break the tight stranglehold and send her flying off the bed. She thumped onto the floor and sprawled there for a moment, then rolled to her feet, grinning. "Ah, we like playing rough, do we?" "I am not interested!" he shouted. "Don't you get simple English? I am not interested!" He managed to shoot past her and grab at the door, but she was behind him. Her arms wrapped around his middle, sending the air whooshing out of his chest and lifting him off his feet. He howled with irritation as she turned him around and threw him back onto the bed. How the hell could a woman do that? Thoroughly angry, he rolled instantly over and clenched a fist. Woman or no, he was going to land her one. He had her grinning, great face in his line of sight and threw. For some reason he missed; she grabbed his wrist as it passed her face and he crashed painfully, face down on the floor with his arm locked up behind him.

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"Oh, we want it on the floor, then?" she asked playfully. "No!" he howled. "We don't want it at all!" "Naughty, naughty, playing hard to get? Bear knows how to deal with naughty little boys," she told him firmly. "Hups a daisy, then. Back on the bed. That's right." He scrambled to his feet and was thrown backwards out of balance as an open hand landed like a sledgehammer in his chest. Before he could get his breath, she had straddled him like a wrestler, and had his wrists pinioned above his head. She grinned as she applied pressure with her thumbs and his arms went instantly and absolutely dead. "Jesus!" he gasped, "How did you do that?" "One of the Japanese arts," she informed him complacently. As the feeling came back to his arms he realised she had cuffed his wrists with restraints that mysteriously appeared above his head at either side of the bed. He pulled in alarm, but it was too late. "The Bear doesn't like her boys getting rough, you see. She likes them passive and compliant when she wants to enjoy herself." Enjoy herself? Before the import of those words really sank in, her thumbs dug deeply into his groin, making him scream with the sudden and excruciating pain, which laced like fire through his veins. As he was gasping in the throes of this new agony, she clambered off him and with equal efficiency, secured his ankles to more restraints at the far corner of the bed, stretching him rigid and partially spread-eagled on the narrow cot. The pain disappeared as suddenly as it came.

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Gasping for breath, he stopped struggling, staring up at her in horror from that enforced, recumbent position. She stood back and stared at her captive male, pursing her lips with thought as if wondering where to begin. He felt a whimper of fear and hatred building up inside him. How did she do that? It was impossible. She was just one woman and he was a man! But as his disbelieving gaze swivelled between the thick, buckled restraints around his wrists and the equally thick links of chain that secured them, he began to realise that the natural order of things was not working particularly efficiently at the moment. He winced in anticipation as a look of decision crossed her face, but she did no worse than reach into her shoulder bag and pull out a container of baby oil and proceed to plaster him chest to crotch with huge slimy sweeps of her heavy hand. Then, when he was roughly basted to her satisfaction, she climbed on board once more, settling her bulk happily on his hips. Then she reached across his chest and began to massage in earnest. At first, James just watched, bemused, as the arm muscles flexed and unflexed and her strong fingers worked, teased, smoothed his skin in little circles. Her fingers were hard and callused, but they had a sensitivity he had never before experienced, and all the time she was working, she was humming gently to herself, her vast boobs were flopping this way and that way before his captivated gaze. The steady motion was soothing and hypnotic. Against all his better inclinations, he found himself relaxing under her

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ministrations, almost enjoying the sensation. As the relaxation sank deeper and deeper, so the surface of his skin began to warm and tighten. It took a further moment to realise that the good feeling, which was presently prickling his cock into awareness was emanating from the slick warmth of oozing flesh between her legs writhing and dancing over his tool. "Oh, God," he groaned, but could no more stop it from rising than he could fly. Feeling that twitch of interest, she hummed faster and worked faster, but made no move to wrap her hands around that part of him which was slowly awakening and lifting its head. Instead, she rose slightly onto her knees away from his pulsing interest and it began to chase the retreating warmth with urgency. Then she leaned forward and began to lick and suck at his nipples, gently teasing his cock with her vast crevice as she did so. Very soon he was writhing, thrusting and groaning as his body became fired to a lust he could not fulfil. "Now do you want it, James?" she teased gently, seeing desperation on his face. "Please," he groaned, his fists clenching and unclenching above his head. "Oh, please!" But instead she swivelled around, knelt above his face and sank her vast haunches onto his cheeks, giving him an unadulterated view of her enormous backside. Between that deep crease, the little puckered knot of her ass hovered at eye level, and the small nub of her sex swam wetly just above his

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lips. He whimpered and gave a fleeting tug at the restraints as the sight began to unman him, but she leaned down, grasped a fist gently around the deflating shank, and planted the helmet firmly in her mouth. Within seconds his whole body exploded into skin-ripping tension. He had time to gasp in one shocked, shuddering breath, before the mountain of flesh descended invitingly, burying his face. Then the amazingly powerful sucking thing she was performing on his cock and the overpowering scent of her arousal stopped all further thought. He lifted his head and nuzzled urgently, his tongue seeking the leaking hole, his nose firmly trying to gain entrance to her ass. As he licked and sucked, her hands were teasing around his balls, the insides of his thighs, separating the cheeks of his ass in a way no woman had ever done before. He pulsed, thrust, groaned and nuzzled while she brought him to a tighter peak than he could ever remember, each time seeming to sense his imminent ejaculation, and pausing in her efforts so that he could control it. Finally he knew that all control was gone. Not that he had any in the first place, some distant part of his mind told him; she had been in control from the start. As indeed she was now. As the pressure began to build to an unforgiving explosion, she took him deep into her mouth and stuck a finger into his ass. He jolted at the unexpected invasion with as much force as his confinement would allow, smothering a scream of pain, it was so sensitive; and he came and came and came.

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Finally the dissipated particles of brain began to gather and coalesce inside his head as the Amazon clambered off his face and turned herself around. To his trepidation, he saw she was grinning. "Now you make me come," she said. He thought she had and his surprised glance made her laugh out loud. "You never been with a real live woman, before, James? Never mind, I'll teach you how, OK?" To his horror she then pulled out a stout bit of string from her bag and tied it in a tight knot about his tender balls. "What are you doing that for!" he shrieked, the pleasure of his recent ordeal palling in the light of this new development. "Incentive," she replied and released his ankles, only to tie them firmly together with another piece of cord. "Just be good, or I'll pull them out by the roots." She then released his wrists, and rolled him over onto his stomach, a firm tug on the string persuading him to cross them behind him. When he was firmly trussed and on his knees before her, she lay down on the bed, opened her raised knees wide, the end of the 'incentive' clutched in one meaty fist. With a groan, he burrowed into the mound of flesh and planted his lips where she indicated. At first he seemed to be making no impression and he lifted his face fractionally. A quick tug on the string led him to redouble his efforts and gradually, as his tongue seemed to get raw and painful, she began to writhe beneath him.

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It seemed to take ages, but he knew when she was imminent, because she reached down and grasped his hair with both hands, using it as handles to better channel his efforts in the right direction. But still he wasn't working fast enough and she began a frenzied assault on his face, rubbing it furiously up and down between her legs. "Faster, faster," she yelled, not realising that he was now just a puppet in her hands and was not doing a thing to help. Eventually, with a shuddering cry, she came on his bruised and battered nose and flopped into repose. He knelt there still, willing her to release her hold on the bit of string. "Hey, that was OK," she said eventually and promptly rolled over and fell asleep. He looked down in disbelief, but she was out like a light, leaving him trussed hand, foot and bollock. He waited a short while before easing himself around, trying to slide the string free with his bound hands. She grunted with annoyance, rolled over into a foetal position, passed the string between her legs, wrapped it firmly around her hand, and pulled. He gave a strangled scream and with alacrity his body wrapped itself instantly around her butt. She smiled happily and began to snore.

Chapter 6 James awoke with a groan on his lips, so tired and sore it was untrue. He had always thought of his sexual prowess with

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a mild degree of complacent superiority, but that woman, he realised with bitter recollection, had STAMINA. She also knew exactly which buttons to press to make a man perform for her whether he would or no. During the night she had used him in every conceivable position and had strangled his limbs and his undercarriage with a variety of kinds of bondage scenarios to hold him in whatever position suited her. It seemed like every time he drifted off into an exhausted and uncomfortable sleep, her own catnap had revived her flagging interest and he was once again roused and abused. And, he realised, morosely, he had had little choice. He had fluctuated between total and consuming sexual heights never before achieved and utter, belittling degradation, but she had played him like a fiddle, and he had danced merrily to her tune. Many times he had cursed, sworn and threatened to kill her if she let up her guard for just an instant. But when she had finally untied him and planted a wet kiss on his lips before leaving, he had been so tired that he couldn't summon up the energy to even try. It slowly dawned upon him that the reason he was awake was that the damned alarm had gone off, though he still felt so tired it did not seem possible that it could be morning already. The sound of the lock on the door clunking open, however, told him it was, and with alacrity he leap out of bed. God, this place was a bloody nightmare. Still, he thought philosophically, one day down, thirty to go. Like a prisoner in Alcatraz, he would count the days off one by one, but in his case it would be a

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count down because unlike those other poor souls, he knew his sentence was a mere thirty days. He sighed and stood up. He had to be positive about it, but realised dolefully that it was going to be hard. He was surprised, and slightly apprehensive, when the Mistress herself, entered in a fluorescent green and black costume designed with the sole intention of accentuating all that was beautiful about a woman's body. He stared with open admiration for a moment, then her hand swept in a lightning streak and slapped him hard around the face. "What did you do that for?" he said, aggrieved, putting a hand to his sore cheek. She gave him a cold look. "I told you to try hard," she said and began to poke him in the chest with a sharpened talon. "Now, think back on yesterday's training. How much would you give yourself out of ten for effort?" "Nine?" he said hopefully. "Think carefully, James, because for every time you get it wrong, I am going to add another pound to the weights you are going to carry today." He swallowed hard. Weights? Grinning behind the Mistress's back, the Bear heaved up a selection of brightly coloured ankle and wrist weights to show him. "Five?" he guessed again in a small voice. She stared at him, eyes pinning him with contempt. "Four? No? Three?" His heart sank as she stared at him accusingly. "Two? One?"

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"My God, what a worm you are," she said finally. "At first I wondered if you were as bad as you seemed to be. I thought you really were trying as hard as you were making out. Then I wondered if you were just holding back a bit. Then it dawned on me that you might actually be prevaricating, but I couldn't believe you would be that stupid." She grimaced. "You obviously are, as you just admitted it. My God, you didn't even have the balls to keep up the pretence, did you? Well, you will be sorry." He didn't like the way she said that. "Bear, the green weights." The Bear stomped forward and he held out his wrist dutifully. She wrapped the colourful band around his wrist and locked it in place. He hefted his arm. It really didn't feel too heavy. So, let the bitch carry on and humiliate him. He would cope. He was counting down. The Bear fixed further weights around his other wrist and his ankles, then stood up, grinned at him and patted his thigh carelessly. "Now let's see how much effort you are prepared to put in, eh, James? To the pool!" He gave her a cocky response and marched out of the room before her, not showing the dismay he felt at her words. He'd forgotten about the pool. Damn it, he wasn't too bothered about the weights during training, but swimming was something else. When they got to the pool, she affixed a wide nylon belt covered in small metal fixing loops to his waist. "What's this for?" he said warily.

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"You'll see," she replied ominously. "Now, down to the deep end and jump in. Swim a couple of lengths just to warm up and get used to the extra weight." It was as he feared. Even that small amount of weight meant that he was no longer naturally buoyant. There was a lot of effort involved in just remaining afloat and just two lengths made him realise that every sweep of his arm and every kick of the leg was a major effort. Then, as he got back to the deep end, he realised the Bear was in the water with him, bobbing like a giant balloon on the surface. "Over here," she called. He swam over dutifully. "Managing OK?" "Sure," he lied. "Good, then you can swim around in circles for a change." Before he realised what she was doing, she had padlocked a length of chain to the belt around his waist. He reached down and pulled, but he was too late to stop her. "What the hell?" He spluttered, having to work hard to stay on the surface as he had began to sink the moment he stopped swimming. She drifted lazily out of reach. He took a deep breath, and dived to the bottom. The chain was firmly fixed to a giant cleat on the bottom of the pool. He rose, took a deep breath and began to swim to the side, but was pulled up short before he got there. He swivelled to where she was clambering out onto the side and saw her visible amusement at his dawning awareness.

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"Circles," she advised. "At the full stretch of the chain, mind. Two circles is about equal to one length, so get going." "You bitch!" he howled, and sank. He rose spluttering and coughing. She was sitting on the side swinging her feet happily in the warm water. At first he fought the belt, the padlock, the chain and the weights with fury, often sinking below the surface in his efforts and having to push himself back up to breathe. It took several minutes before the cold realisation began to intrude that if he used up all his energy fighting, he would not make the required metres. He glanced at the Bear where she sat unconcernedly waiting, sensing she would wait there all day if needs be. Realising he had no other option bar drowning, grimly he began to swim in circles. In spite of the weights, sheer determination loaned him the willpower to keep going. After a while his arms felt like lead and his brain ceased to function; he became a machine going round and round, counting as he went. It seemed to take a very long time, and as he went he got slower and slower. When he got to about eighty, he slowed down at the point nearest to where she sat. He sank, struggled, and rose again, before gasping out frantically, "I'm not going to make it. I can't do it!" She smiled benignly, and he stared at her hopefully for a moment, struggling to stay afloat. Then he realised she was unmoved by his plight and that trying to stay afloat was, once again, using up energy that should be ploughed into the task at hand. He began to circle again. But the time came when will

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wasn't enough. Suddenly his leg cramped and he gave a gargling scream before folding in agony and sinking instantly to the bottom. He pushed up, gained the surface for an instant, took a frantic breath and went down again. Somewhere in the dim recess of his mind he knew this was it. He was going to drown. He was not aware of the Bear jumping in, unlocking the padlock and heaving him to the side. He was unaware of other hands reaching to help haul him out of the water and of professional hands turning him into the recovery position. His next conscious recollection was giving a shuddering breath, of coughing out a lung full of water, and of the gasping realisation that his ordeal was - for the moment - over. Eventually he sat up, leaned against the side wall, and stared at the Bear with hopeless frustration on his face. "You could have killed me," he said accusingly. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead," she replied. "Stop whingeing and put some effort into living for a change. You never know, you might enjoy it. Now, get off your backside, and into the shower." He climbed wearily to his feet . "Aren't you going to take this off?" he said, indicating the belt, which still nestled around his middle. "Later," she replied over her shoulder, and he plodded after her. To his surprise, this time she entered the shower cubicle with him. He frowned. She pulled forward a length of chain, which was hanging from a bolt in the cubicle and clipped

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his nylon belt to a bolt. He only realised what was intended when she gave one of those fleeting grins he was beginning to hate the sight of. "Mistress said a cold shower, and it seems you can't be trusted." "I'm already cold. I need to get warm after nearly drowning," he yelled, but braced himself for the onslaught. Sure enough, there was a sort of gurgling belch, then the shower dispensed a torrent of freezing water. He gasped, winced and tried to dodge the heavy spray as he alternatively twiddled furiously at the controls and pulled with all his strength at the chain, but nothing made the slightest difference. When the deluge came to an end and the Mistress herself entered the cubicle, he was half crouched against the wall, his feet and hands blue with cold, shivering uncontrollably. He glanced sideways, but didn't even have the will left to attack her, just stared at the wall in a mixture of humiliation and despair. "Look at me!" she commanded. He continued to stare defiantly at the wall. There was a fleeting whistling sound, then an incredible pain shot across his bare thigh. There was a moment of delayed reaction, then he leapt to his feet with a howl, staring in disbelief at the bloody stripe, which welled against his blue skin. "Nothing," she said calmly, flicking the riding crop against her thigh, ignoring the involuntary whimpering noises he was

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making, "is ever as bad as you think it is. When you think you have swum enough lengths, run enough miles, or lifted sufficient weight, there is always within you, that little spark which will give you just one more stroke, one more mile, one more try. That fleeting moment is the only time when you will have achieved a small measure of personal success. From my understanding, to date I don't think you have ever achieved your potential. You just didn't have the drive. That is what I am going to provide, one way or the other." She smiled a feral smile. He glared at her with hatred, and she nodded, satisfied. "Hate me if you will, James, I really don't care, as long as it makes you achieve." She turned, and threw over her shoulder. "Two more minutes in the shower, then the circuit." The shower once more spluttered into life, but even as he cried out, with the expected pain of the iced water he realised it was now warm. Within moments the shivers stopped and his skin tingled with renewed life; after a couple of minutes, the memory of his near drowning and the pain of the cold shower were distanced by lashings of hot water. He was subdued when the Bear came in to release him, his docility as he followed her into the lift and up to the next floor was not a ruse. He didn't know whether she'd left the black nylon belt around his middle as a warning, or, because she had forgotten it. In spite of that, he had come to the decision that he would just do what they wanted as quickly as he could, to get it over with as little pain to himself as possible.

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At the circuit, he didn't even make any complaint as he laboured, gasping and struggling, to complete a course he had found difficult before, even without weights on wrist and ankle. When the required laps were done he sank to his knees for a few moments to regain his breath and was inordinately chuffed when the Bear said, "well done. That was a better time than yesterday. Now for something to eat before we start the floor exercises." James was exhausted by the evening, wanting to do no more than fall onto his bed and drift into sleep, but when the girl came to remove the empty plates after his meal, she was followed by the Bear. "What?" he said tiredly as she beckoned him to follow. "Mistress wants you." "Why?" Her brows lifted in surprise. "It doesn't matter why. If she want you, you just go." "I see." She gave him a sly glance. "I doubt that you do. But you'll learn." When they reached her room, his eyes widened. She was dressed in a long, black, body-hugging thing from which her bosoms almost erupted at the top, blossoming out below the knee just enough to allow minimal movement. She looked like the original vampire and he stood there, bemused. He had never in his life seen anything quite like it before. In spite of his absolute exhaustion, his cock stirred. She glanced down at

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the movement, giving a faint smile. "You like me, don't you, James?" "I think I loathe you," he replied. "But you are still the sexiest women I've ever seen." "H'm," she said, frowning at his honesty. "Bear, you may go." The Bear backed out without a second thought. Now, James thought. Now I could get my hands around your pretty little neck… But he didn't. He just stood there like a lemon and watched her, because killing her was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to please her, to fuck her, see her beautiful face filled with longing for him. A small smile curved her lips as if she knew the feelings, which were warring in his breast. "Go over there," she said, testing him. "Between those two posts." He looked. The 'posts' which sprouted out of the carpet with functional strength were two stout wooden constructions a metre or so high and had no place in a normal woman's bedroom. He walked over and stood between them obediently. Her eyes narrowed, she moved slightly nearly, her hips undulating, her bosoms fighting to escape the shaky confines of her dress. As she stepped daintily forward, showing a small amount of calf, he realised she was wearing the highest heels he had ever seen. "Now, take the chains and fix them to your waist belt, James," she crooned. "One either side."

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He looked at her helplessly. He could have reached out and thumped her for what she had done to him, but he didn't. He lifted the chain from one post and affixed it firmly to his belt by the available cleat, then did the same with the other side. He glanced over. She made a noise something like a purr and handed him a wide collar, from which hung a short, stout strap fitted with two further restraints. He felt a jolt of something pleasing hit his middle as he took the collar from her, shocked at himself. He twisted it in his hands for a moment, feeling the supple strength of it, then lifted it silently up to his neck and buckled it in place. "The restraints go at the back," she reprimanded softly. He twisted it around obediently, not at all sure why he was doing as she was commanding him, only sure that he wanted to. He also realised that he was consumed by a sexual excitement as electric as anything he had ever experienced. There was something about her that just mesmerised him, made him putty in her hands. Willing putty. She stepped behind him and tapped an arm. He twisted his wrist up behind his back and she buckled it firmly into place. "Can you break out of that, James?" He tested and pulled, shivering with excitement. "No," he replied. "Mistress," she reminded him. "No, Mistress." "Do you want to remove it? If you do, I won't stop you."

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His voice lowered. "No Mistress, I don't want to remove it." Her voice oozed sex. "Then let's have the other one." When both wrists were firmly encased in leather he found himself vaguely uncomfortable as the weight of his arms pulled the collar against his throat, but there was something exceedingly erotic in the sensation and he swallowed hard. His cock plumped up into pendulous fullness, she reached out and stroked it with one black painted nail. He gasped and it rose even further. "You worked hard today, James." "Yes, Mistress," he said. "Are you tired?" She crooned. "Not any more," he whispered honestly. "Then shall we have a little fun?" "Please, Mistress." She picked up her riding crop, which was lying on a table beside her and bent it a couple of times between her hands. He swallowed hard; that wasn't quite the kind of fun he had in mind. Her eyes half-closed in anticipation as she walked around him in a whole circle. He followed her, twisting around inside the wide, nylon-webbed belt. Then when she had gone full circle, she said, "turn around. Face away from me." He closed his eyes fractionally, swallowed hard again, then swivelled inside the belt to face the other way. He waited, holding his breath, but nothing happened. Gradually his head began to turn, to see what she was up to.

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"Stop!" Her voice was a command, which his body obeyed before his mind even registered the word. "I didn't say you could turn." He faced away obediently and waited again. Everything was silent. There was no movement; for all he knew he could have been in an empty room, apart from the fact that he knew she was behind him. He could sense her. He began to shuffle, one foot, then the other, then both legs planted rigidly, but still she did nothing. Then, after an age, she walked into his line of sight, poured herself a drink and swirled it slowly as she drank it, half-closed eyes assessing him from over the edge of the twinkling cut glass. "You think because you did well today, I am going to reward you, please you? Is that what you think?" It was what he hoped, but he dared not say it. Her next words disillusioned him. "But we have yesterday to consider first, don't we? You really didn't try very hard yesterday, did you?" She said softly. "No, Mistress." "Why not?" He swallowed again. "I don't know." "I know. It's because you are afraid." He was indignant. "I'm not… " "Quiet! You are afraid of failure, which is why you are afraid to even try. Do you recall what I said about commitment?" "Yes," he said in a small voice. The crop slashed out, caught him on the hip. He howled and jumped. She pulled her

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hand back for another go, eyes narrowing, and he shouted urgently, "yes, Mistress!" She paused, lowered her hand, took another drink. "You see, lack of commitment, James, or half-hearted attempts are just not allowed. Here, you will achieve. Do you understand?" "Yes, Mistress." "And if someone I have taken a personal interest in should be so ill-mannered as to betray my trust, what do you think I should do to him?" "Punish him?" "Exactly," she exclaimed, pleased at his intelligent reply. "So you see, James, I am going to punish you." "Yes, Mistress," he said in a small voice. "And afterwards, you will thank me very kindly for my interest in you." "Yes, Mistress," he sighed. "Right." She bent down and opened a restraint at the bottom of the post and he dutifully put his ankle in it. She walked around and secured the other one likewise, then to his further horror, held up a black rubber hood. "Do I have to wear that, Mistress?" She frowned. "Do you want to argue with me?" "No, but… " "Then bend your head down." He sighed, bent his head towards her. With some difficulty and much pulling of his hair, the hood was stretched over his head. He was even more disconcerted by the integral gag than

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the darkness of the hood, but the gag slid into place before he even realised it was there. Though he jolted with the unexpected intrusion, she carried on tightening the neck strap, locking him firmly into darkness, then pumped the gag up enough to make him retch and fight for a couple of moments before he regained control. Again he waited, this time even more vulnerable than before. Once again he did not know where she was, or what she was going to do. His bound arms and open legs left him achingly vulnerable to anything she chose. Anticipation and fear flooded his stomach in alternate waves, sent his heartbeat racing, and yet, again, nothing happened. He stood there, almost believing that he had been left alone, it was so quiet. Time went past. Inside the hood, he frowned. She had left him. He was standing here in her room, strapped at her convenience and she had walked out and left him here. Tentatively he twisted his hands in the restraints and pulled at the ankles. Damn it, he was so stupid. It was then, as he was writhing in annoyance, that the crop hit his buttocks. There was not the least hint of warning; no whistle, no sense of movement, just the incredible sting as it landed firmly across both cheeks. He howled a muffled cry and bounced in his bonds, his back arching as his buttocks belatedly tried to escape the pain, which had already happened. Then she hit him again and again. Half a dozen times the crop came down, each time welding a new pattern of red pain inside his eyelids, making him quiver and fight his bonds. At

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the last stinging swipe his foot even bounced off the floor and he fell forward, to land on the waist belt with all his weight. The breath whooshed out of his body as he scrabbled to regain control and stand up. When he did so, he held his breath waiting for the next lash. It didn't come. He groaned deep in his throat, realising that the waiting was part of the punishment. He had never realised before that anticipation was almost as painful as the pain. And yet his imagination pictured them both: him standing there, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, her watching with those cat-like eyes, that fantastic body, and that damned crop tensioned between her hands. The image was erotic; in spite of the tears still wetting his face from the pain of the beating, he felt the most incredible warmth steal between his legs. He froze. My God, it was real. It was not imagination, there were hands upon him. Hands or, oh, God, her mouth. Her fingers were clutching his buttocks, the nails digging into the tender flesh, straining him forward, her mouth was teasing, licking, and sucking, circling around and within the foreskin, up and down, in and out. He tensed, shivers of pleasure running down his spine. He wanted to react with her, to move at his own pace, but she held him captive to her own actions. He didn't think he'd even been so hard. His balls strained and his skin stretched and tightened to accommodate the intensity of his erection and still she played and teased. He knew he was making mewling sounds in his throat. Sounds of

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pleasure and pain, wordless demands, thanks… Then she stopped. His rampant penis thrust against thin air as she moved away and he heard the distant clinking of glass. Fury filled him. He wanted her to play with it, damn her! He growled now with anger and fought against his bonds, his noises threatening all sorts of things to a cock-teasing woman who could do this to a man and then leave him… He felt her warmth again between his legs and he quivered once more. This time she would bring him off, surely? But the fiddling, playing feeling between his legs became a noose tightening around his whole apparatus and he groaned with fear. This, he didn't like. "Bend over," she said. It was the first words she had spoken to him since putting the hood on. He made complaining noises, so she tweaked hard at whatever she had tied around his combined balls and penis. He gave a strangled groan and bent over. Something clipped into the front of the collar and he winced. Surely not… ? But when he pulled experimentally, he realised that the rope, which attached his neck to his nether regions must have been passed through a bolt or something on the floor, because any attempt to rise nearly pulled everything out by the roots. He whimpered in fear of this total subjugation, this absolute feeling of lack of control. My God, he'd stood here and done it to himself! What a fool! And yet, still, his bondage, his total helplessness at her hands filled him with an amazing

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sensation of sexual excitement that shocked him by its intensity. Then she hit him. He jolted away from the pain, screamed louder because of the resultant pain between his legs and managed to accept the next whiplash with no more than a ripple and quiver of shrinking flesh. He rose up onto the balls of his feet with the pain, hands clenching desperately at the air behind his back, but he stood fast. Six more, then another period of waiting, of anticipation; and that was the way it went on. There were times when she spread herself against him, rubbing her hands to excite his flesh. Times she played with him, teased his balls, his cock, and even inserted her finger into his exposed anus. But there were many more times when those same hands dispensed punishment the like of which he had never experienced before. It seemed to go on forever. He stood in a sea of pain, of exhilaration, of subjugation, of sexual excitement, all sense of time disappearing. How many hours he stayed there, he had no idea, but when his balls were finally released, it took several minutes before he could stand upright again. And when he did so, he was incoherent from the pain that seared his back and buttocks. He heard voices; male and female voices. Horror! Other people might see him like this! He groaned fractionally, but could not stop himself from listening. "See to him," she said to someone, "Then put him to bed."

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There was an answer, but he couldn't hear who it was, and it was only when gentle hands once more began to massage some kind of liniment into his inflamed back and buttocks and then carry on to tease and ease his constricted balls, that he realised what she meant. He groaned deep in his throat at the pain, but whoever was 'seeing to him' was an expert. Eventually the pain was transformed into consuming pleasure, which didn't stop until his painful balls were once more constricted by a glowing erection. Then the harbinger of his ecstasy abandoned him. He nearly cried with frustration until he sensed movement at his knees. Firm hands grasped his buttocks and a soft mouth began to work where the hands had left off. Eventually he exploded against an unknown throat and nearly cried with the beauty and pain of it. Once his frustrations had been appeased, he was released from the posts and walked back to his room. His gaoler released one hand and left him to remove the other and his hood himself, by which time the door was firmly closed. He collapsed with a groan onto his stomach trying to ignore the biting pains from his back, wondering who had 'seen to him' after the Mistress had done her dastardly work; but he didn't think for long. Utter exhaustion knocked him senseless, and when he awoke to the hated sound of the clarion alarm, the only trace of his previous evening's entertainment was the tightening stripes down his buttocks and thighs.

Chapter 7

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The next morning started off much the same as the first, 50 laps in the pool (which he did without complaining), followed by his shower (cold), followed by the run around the circuit (beating his previous time, to his own amazement). When he had finished, however, the Bear led him to the centre of that large hall where two girls were performing floor exercises, naked. He stood and watched, stunned at their beauty. They moved with immaculate precision around, over and under each other with surprisingly erotic grace, as if bound by a single mind. Their bodies bent and swayed; hands brushed across raised nipples, then they stretched in impossible arches, cartwheeling legs scissoring in fleeting invitation. As he watched them move, James found himself thrusting slightly in sympathy with the age-old sexual stimulation, but the girls did not acknowledge his presence. They were staring at each other as they gyrated, mesmerised and engrossed by their own movements and that of their partner and it gradually dawned on him that they were lovers. He stared at them, gloomily contemplating the throbbing in his cock as they wound their tantalising display of almost sexual gymnastics to a halt. What was the point of women being born so beautiful, so supple and erotic, after all, if it was not for the delectation of men? For a moment they froze in each other's arms as if sucking the real world back into their minds, then they turned to smile

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a welcome. The Amazon smiled longingly, and whispered, "beautiful, my dears. Utterly, utterly exquisite." James was shocked; by the look of envy on her face he realised that she, too, must sometimes play a part in their lesbian activities. However, now was not the time and place. She cleared her throat. "Our gymnasts," she explained to him, waving an expansive hand. The two girls bowed simultaneously in the traditional Japanese way, but in spite of the formality, he detected a glint of humour in their eyes. As if they were all set to having a good day at his expense. He glared, recognising them, not forgetting the green ribbon in the kitchen. Clearly it was his task to introduce them to the delights of his own body, show them things they had no idea they were missing. He preened slightly at the prospect. The girls had, after all, the most amazing nubile bodies he had ever seen and there was no way they could possibly remain immune to his own physical perfection. "This is Cherry and this is Amy," the Amazon carried on. "Their task is to introduce you to some of the apparatus and the exercises which are designed to keep you supple, to stop you becoming the muscle-bound lump you were on your way to becoming." The girls shared a glance and giggled. He bristled with annoyance. Well, he would show them. He'd played basketball and tennis in his day and he'd always had pretty good reaction times. As for muscles, well, he had a few of those, too, and was proud of them.

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As if guessing his thoughts, the Amazon grinned at him, and patted his cheek. "Be good, do what you're told, and you won't get hurt." But this, he discovered, had nothing to do with basketball. It had to do with leaping over towering boxes, with hanging from rings and from bashing his chins on wooden bars. It had to do with Russian dancing and handstands on an instrument of torture called a horse. It had to do with nearly breaking his neck attempting a back somersault on a trampoline and ending up hanging ignominiously on the end of a pulley system with the breath whooshing out of his body. The awful thing was, the opportunity to prove his superiority had just not materialised. It did not take him more than a couple of moments to re-assess the situation; it seemed that everything he could do, including the one-handed pressups that he was so proud of, they could do, only higher, faster, longer and much, much more gracefully. Any attempt to prove his superiority would undoubtedly end in disaster: after a short while, he was too damned exhausted to do anything but struggle. It wasn't that he was scared of the two girls, though they proved on more than one occasion that they were malicious sprites, it was more an insidious sensation of rising despair; he suddenly realised that his bulging muscles and male strength were no more than window-dressing in this bodygame. Still, one thing he was hopeful of: that knowing the girls' sexual inclinations, he might get a good night's sleep this time.

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After showering away the layers of sweat and examining every bruise with doleful misery, he plodded dejectedly in their wake back to his cell to consume another unappetising meal of balanced nutrition. Oh, for some chips, he thought, picking his way through the high-protein pulses and the healthily boiled potatoes. But the meal did its work. After a while his energy reserves began to recuperate and pounding dissatisfaction began to manifest itself in irritation. Nothing on the television was of interest, the only books in the room were, of course, about bodily perfection. Only now he came to think of it… He picked up a book disarmingly titled 'musculature' to discover a wealth of the most intimate details about massage, coupled with explicit and erotic line drawings. Before he realised what was happening, he had settled himself down on the bed and was perusing the book with avid interest, absently toying with his own rising cock as he did so. Then, to his horror, the door burst open, and as he thrust the book down to cover the now massive and throbbing erection, the two sprites waltzed through, grinning knowingly at him. "Up?" Cherry asked ambiguously. "No more," he begged. "I'm all in. Honest to God… " "Up!" Amy confirmed, eyes perusing him with discerning awareness. As he rose uncertainly, still clutching his book, she took it out of his hand, chucked it aside and took his cock firmly in her own, at which point it decided it definitely wanted to stay plumped up into a firm handle.

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"This way," she said, leading him towards the door. "Not the gym," he groaned. "Don't worry," the other one said. "This time you just watch. We do all the work. But mind you stay interested." Somehow the little gleam in her eye belied the innocence of her statement. He wondered, with intuitive panic, just what they had in store for him. The gym was as they had left it, the apparatus, oiled by sweat and tears, waiting comfortably to be stroked into submission by these exotic acrobats. She led him firmly between the upright pillars, which housed the parallel beams and he winced dramatically, before saying simply: "I can't. Whatever it is you want of me, I can't." Cherry smiled at him and clucked sympathetically. "Just stand on the bottom bar. That's all. Don't worry. Work is finished. It's playtime now." The bottom bar was about at his present knee level, the upper bar as high as his hand could reach, so with a supreme effort, he grabbed the top bar and clambered up. Without warning, the two girls grabbed one ankle each, sliding his feet out sideways so he had to clutch instantly at the top bar to stop himself falling off. "What the hell was that for?" he yelled indignantly, but even as he said it, he felt leather being strapped around his ankles. In panic, he looked down, but was too late. As they finished tightening the buckles, he realised that if he let go of the top bar with both hands, he'd fall and

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probably break his ankles, and also that by leaning down with just one hand, he could not reach to undo the bonds. This, he realised, was going to be no picnic. Then Cherry danced in and pinched his right nipple hard. He screeched and flapped at her, at which point she got a sound lock on his forefinger, threatening to break it. She smiled at him happily as Amy casually and unhurriedly wrapped a leather restraint around his other wrist; but as he was hanging on to the bar for dear life, there was nothing he could do to stop her. "You bitch!" he yelled impotently, but Amy casually finished the job. Then his crippled hand was raised, with him giving little more than a whimper of reluctance, to allow her to restrain that wrist also. The restraints, he realised, were affixed to the outside edges of the top bar and were just too short to allow his own hands to meet in the middle. Well and truly scuppered, he stood, straddled, clutching the bar, staring venomously at his two tormentors, thinking morosely that if his hands were free for just a moment, he would wrap these chains around their pretty little necks. He shifted hold, to try to find a more comfortable position, but there wasn't one. The bars, being six inches high and four inches wide, were too large to get a grip on. Within moments, muscles already stretched to previously unknown limits, were crying out for relief. He groaned, wondering what in life he had done to deserve this and thinking it couldn't get any worse,

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when suddenly to his right he saw Cherry begin to wind the adjustment mechanism. "No!" he screeched, feeling his arms stretch inexorably upwards, his hands slipping on the smooth, warn wood; but she merely wound faster. As the wood slipped finally from his grasp, he wobbled dangerously for a moment before the chains snapped taut, steadying him, but she didn't stop until he was stretched spread-eagled between the two bars. "Oh, shit," he muttered, and grasped the chain in his fists, whether for the comfort of hanging on to something, or with the wish that he could break it, he wasn't sure; but the chains were beyond his ability to break. Then Amy stuck her body through his legs, wrapping herself in a somersault over the bar on which he was standing. He winced, feeling the breeze from her legs passing ripple against his exposed balls. Then Cherry pirouetted and leapt up onto the bar, pressing herself firmly against his stretched body for a second, hands on his shoulders before, with a lithe twist, wriggling up to sit on his shoulders, her belly pressed warmly against his mouth. Blinded by the expanse of flesh, which hemmed his vision, aware of the warmth of her open sex against his throat, his tongue briefly sought the enticing dimple of her belly-button. What else could a man do? At his instinctive caress, her upper torso tensed into an incredible array of muscles and she began to do pull-ups on the top bar, her legs straddled widely, allowing his tongue free access to the moist bounty of her crease. As she rose and fell

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he panted, reaching and licking, trying to force his tongue up inside her, his total inability to move anything other than his head sending a stirring shiver of blossoming desire flooding through his tight limbs. Then her legs wrapped around his head in a stranglehold, forcing him for a moment to breathe nothing but the sweet scent of her body-juices. Starved of oxygen, he began to wrench against the bonds, but when she didn't release him, just gyrated with more violent movements of self-satisfaction against his face, he nipped hard at the soft flesh with his teeth. To his satisfaction there was a squeal of pain and she dropped from him like a swatted fly. He saw a sprawled tumble of white limbs and heard a satisfying thud resound on the floor. His gratification lasted only for a second. When she gathered herself together, she stood and perused him with a vindictive glare, and he swallowed hard, realising that it had not been such a sensible move after all. Then, with the kind of swagger that tells its own story, she waltzed forward, lifting his semi-limp prick, giving it a twitch before sending it swinging back between his legs. He groaned with a flood of terror as all his muscles tensed and jerked. Now it was his turn to squeal. "Oh, God," he begged desperately. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't hurt me, please… " but the plaintive sound turned into a shriek of anticipation as she took a soft fold of flesh between her teeth. Now he sucked in his breath until it wouldn't suck in any more, and his chest swelled to magnificent proportions.

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Only then did she slowly squeeze her teeth together, pressing harder and harder, until his breath exploded out of his body in a single, long, whistle of pain. Satisfied, she stood back. "We," she said clearly, "Are going to have a good time. I trust you understand me?" "You are going to have a good time," he echoed dutifully. He forgot about Amy until something fine slashed against his buttocks, making his whole body arc forward in an attempt to evade the stinging pain. "We are going to have a good time," Cherry said again. "We are going to have a good time," he squealed quickly, catching a glimpse over his shoulder of a raised arm. But in spite of this obedience, the stinging whip of the cane descended several more times, making water spring from his eyes, forcing him to mutter in a rising panic, "Oh, God… Oh, God… Oh, good… that's good… really good… Thank you! Thank you!" When she was sure he had finally got the picture, Amy stopped, then walked around to examine his limp prick. "That's no good," she said, shaking her head. "We want to see that you're enjoying it." He gave a few desperate flicks of his hips. "I can't, it won't," he wailed. She gave a feline smile. "Then we'll have to help it." He pulled in panic against the bonds, but the two gymnasts climbed easily on board. Stretched accommodatingly, his muscles tensed as his body was used as a piece of apparatus, the girls writhing like snakes around him. A seemingly endless

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supply of supple limbs, tongues and fingers teased, sucked and prodded at every cringing inch of his flesh until, against every instinct of self-preservation, the familiar buzzing began to tighten his loins and his prick rose in sublime disregard to his healthy fear. It was no contest; he became aroused more desperately than he had ever been aroused before. Even when Amy backed away from him and began to ply the cane with deliberate strokes, moving across his buttocks and inner thighs, ever nearer to his most manly feature, his whole body crackled with inner electricity that took no account of his fear. Even when Cherry removed the pretty, beaded elastic ties from her hair and wound them around his excited flesh, separating his balls, lifting them, constricting the blood in a terrifying cats-cradle of loops and pressure points, he could not dampen his ardour. Blood pulsed against the feminine baubles and his hands began to clench and unclench within their bonds, no longer struggling against all odds to break free, but revelling in their inability to stop this excruciating rape. Now the girls again climbed up his body, draping themselves over and around him, but this time they were not kissing him, they were kissing each other. Making small moaning sounds of desire, they breathed a ballet of white limbs around his captive body: every movement, every whisper, every harsh dragging of soft flesh against his sensitised body, made his prick whimper and pulse with the need to be touched.

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But he knew now, frustration. For though he was roused to a point beyond his previous experience, the sirens were not interested in him. They had no intention of touching him, of bringing release to those craving, demanding inches of purple flesh, which reached hopefully through the bindings. All he could do was watch as they writhed about his redundant body; over, under, though, touching each other, delicately parting shaven flesh, slipping to the floor to inserting wet fingers with increasing urgency into each other. As their moans culminated in gasps of release, his own echoed with desperate, whimpering longing. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, knowing his impotent longing had merely been a stimulus to their own desires. Then he jolted as a hand began to caress him. He kept his eyes tightly shut in case somehow, by looking, he would stop which ever of the girls had now deigned to touch him. He knew he was not the be all and end all of their desires, and was eternally grateful for that act of mercy. It was only when the girl pulled herself up onto the bar, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his buttocks, and sank him to the hilt in moist flesh that he caught a whiff of perfume, and his eyes, in shock, whipped open. It was Madame, herself. Her eyes, heavy-lidded with lust, watched his shock with amusement. He realised she had been there, watching, for some time, getting hot on the experience. He didn't care. There were no thoughts of embarrassment, no hint of

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displeasure at the prospect, he merely needed release and didn't care who did it. She began to move, driving herself against him unmercifully, biting his neck and nipples, until he pulsed with a scream of pain, the backed-up fluids of his sex finally finding their way past the elastic dam and into her body. She held herself against him for a moment, waiting until his tremors had finally ceased, then dropped back slightly, still affixed to him below the waist, hanging round his neck with clasped hands. "Was that good for you, James?" She purred. "You know it was," he whispered. "Thank you, Mistress." "H'm," she purred, nuzzling his neck. "I knew I could make something of you. Now that I've pleased you, I would like you to return the compliment. When you have showered, you may come to me. Yes?" "I would be honoured," he said humbly.

Chapter 8 After that, life for James slipped into a pattern, one of supreme physical effort, total subjugation, and disorienting exhaustion; beyond which there was little time left for conscious thought. During the day he worked as he had never worked before, pushing himself to limits previous never dreamed, continually striving to beat his own targets. At night he either received punishment for lack of endeavour or became the recipient of whomsoever had been chosen to use him. The

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few hours in between were spent in sleep as deep, recuperative and dreamless as he had ever experienced. During the odd, peaceful moment, he recalled his previous existence, but that past reality seemed like the echo of a dream, and his past dreams had become the reality. He was not unhappy about that turn of affairs, but it was not something he had ever envisaged; not in his wildest dreams. There were times, of course, when he loathed the Bear for her single-minded determination to carry out the Mistress's orders. There were times when he loathed the Mistress, or any of the other girls who came to service him each night. But in spite of tenaciously trying to cling to that rapidly diminishing veneer of acceptable patterns of behaviour, he was more contented than he had ever been. He was living a life, which had nothing more as its basis than his body, and there was nothing left in the world to worry about except his physical self. When the alarm awoke him now, he leapt out of bed raring to go, itching for someone to come and unlock his door so that he could begin his daily routines. The utter tiredness of his nightly labours seemed to drain from him the instant the bell sounded. In some deep part of his mind he realised that was all part of the plan: keep him sexually sated and mentally drained so there was nothing left bar the effort needed to complete the daily physical routines. This particular morning, however, it was not just Bear who came to collect him. With her was the other Amazon he

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vaguely recalled from his first traumatic moments in this building, and both women were grimly armed for business. "What," he said alarmed. "What is it?" It was the other woman who answered bluntly, "Mistress wants you. Come." It was not that she wanted him that sent a shiver of apprehension through his spine, because by now he had been summoned to her presence on several occasions. Each time the experience had been painful, arousing, and absolutely consuming and even now the memories warred between the heights of ecstasy and terror, absolute worship and hatred. No, it was just the manner of the summons and the timing, which worried him. He should be on his way to the pool striving to beat his last count of eighty lengths. Anything that could be allowed to interfere with his training spelled trouble. Big trouble. Over the last few weeks his stamina had increased, and his body had changed noticeably, becoming slightly thinner at the hip, but tighter in every respect; and with the unexpected loss of fat he hadn't been aware he had carried, his responses had increased, too. Even if he could never land a punch on the Bear's grinning face, he had learned, through a series of humiliating lessons, not to hold back in his attempts to do so. He arrived in the Mistress's room filled with trepidation. She stood there in her soiled lycra, reeking of sweat. She must have been up training for hours, and there was a bright light in her eye, and a tension to her body that boded ill.

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He stood warily inside as the two Amazons backed out and closed the door quietly behind them, but he now knew better than to ask questions. For a moment she paced rapidly back and forth, then to his surprise, stripped of the sweaty garments. His eyes widened. She was glorious. Devouring her muscular, but exceedingly feminine, curved body with his gaze, he stirred to attention in an instant. Her eyes lifted, caught his in a mirror and he flushed slightly; but she didn't mind. It was right that he should lust and drool, being a mere man in the present of his Mistress. She threw herself down on a padded bench, arms by her sides, and her cat-like eyes flickered towards him. "Massage me," she ordered. Slightly awkwardly he walked forward. There, on her dressing table was a bottle of oil. He picked it up, staring at her warily. She appeared to have gone to sleep, but he wasn't deceived. He poured the oil onto his hands, then gingerly lay them upon the small of her back. She was warm already and smelled overpoweringly of sweat, but it was fresh sweat, nectar to the senses. She seemed to sigh and relax slightly, so with slightly more confidence he began to sweep the oil all over her body. He had never massaged a woman, or anyone else, for that matter, but had had enough massages himself to know how it should feel. He pressed the heels of his hands into the incredibly taut bunches of muscles, teasing and warming them into compliance, then began to lean harder, pressing his

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thumbs deep into the strands of muscles separating and easing them. He gradually slipped into a routine and became engrossed in the wonderful feel of her body beneath him. Time held no meaning in this place, he would just keep going until her whole body had known the warmth of his touch, or until she ordered him to desist. Never before had he been in her presence for so long and in such a relaxed state of subtle enjoyment. For even as he massaged her, he was massaging his own libido. He could feel the heat and the desire curling around in his own body, though he knew he would do nothing more than dream unless she demanded anything else for her own enjoyment; for this was not a woman a man just took for pleasure. She dealt pleasure or pain to a man in her own way, in her own time. "James?" she murmured softly. "Yes, Mistress," he said, his hands never pausing in their task. "Do you realised how long you have been here?" "No, Mistress." "Twenty-nine days." His hands stopped for a fleeting moment, then began again rapidly. "Twenty-nine days, Mistress?" "Perhaps that seems like a long time, to you? Perhaps you don't like being here?" "I've tried hard," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I have worked hard, you know I have… " "Answer the question!"

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"I don't know, Mistress," he said honestly. "H'm. Well, the time has come," she mused to herself. "Do I keep you, or kick you out, I wonder? What do you think, James?" "Please, Mistress, please… " His voice went hoarse. He sank down beside the couch, and clutched the metal legs. "Don't send me away, please… " "I thought that was what you wanted," she said sharply, turning over, and swinging herself to the edge of the couch. Now her feet rested by his head. He grabbed one foot, and began to kiss it urgently. "Please, don't… " She kicked and he tumbled off balance to fall on his side like a whipped cur. "You decided that you would fudge the initial training and get yourself kicked out, James, I know." His mind went cold. "No Mistress," he wailed. "Stand up, worm," she ordered. "You did, and you know it." "I admit it, I did, but I changed," he said urgently. "Mistress, I changed, please… " He crawled to her feet again and tried to kiss her, but she hissed with annoyance, leaping from the couch. "Do as you are told!" she yelled. He reacted instinctively to the in-built tone of command and leapt to his feet, his expression one of fearful anticipation, his attitude one of resigned despair. She would do as she pleased as always. She left him standing there and strode to

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another door. He heard the sound of running water and a short while later she emerged, dressed in a fresh and fashionable outdoor outfit. She ignored him, left him standing there while she went to another cupboard and pulled out some more garments. Ordinary clothes. He stared at her, aghast. She threw one at him. "Put that on," she ordered. "But I… " She seemed to rise a couple of inches in her ire, and in a state bordering on shock, he obeyed, finding the civvies strange and unwelcome against his skin. Fear trickled like molten lead through his belly. Surely she would not really just kick him out? Lying on the bed were a couple of restraints. "Should I put these on?" He asked hopefully. "Did I tell you to?" "No, but… " "Then do not put them on." She rang a bell and the two Amazons, who must have been waiting just outside the door, entered. "Take him to the garage," she said. James leapt at her and threw himself at her feet, begging, "Please, Mistress, please! I will try harder. Please, don't send me away… " She sneered, and kicked him away. "Get up, worm," she told him, but he did not obey. A second later he found himself in a double arm-lock, hauled unceremoniously to his feet by the Amazons. He watched with further sense of disbelief as she went to her desk and withdrew a document he recognised. It

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was the contract he had, in his innocence, signed. Giving him a cold smile, she tore it up. "No, oh no," he said. "It had no real value, anyway," she told him, then she sat down at the desk and wrote a cheque. This she popped into an envelope and sealed it. "You will not trace me through this cheque, so don't even try. That should be enough to buy you a house and to compensate you for any discomfort you may have suffered and more. Now leave." "No. Please no," he found himself crying, but in spite of his reluctance, was manhandled down the corridor and into the lift. "Mistress… " he wailed over his shoulder. She ignored him. The Rolls Royce stood exactly as it had been on his arrival, the back door open invitingly. He was thrust unceremoniously inside and the door slammed shut behind him. He instantly grabbed for the door opposite, but it would not open, neither, he discovered, would any of the windows. He felt the sudden urge to destroy the part of the car he could reach, but controlled his instincts. The dark woman climbed into the driver's side and put on her cap. He reached up and hammered on the window, which separated them. "Open the door," he yelled. "Please, there has been some mistake!" She leaned forward and pressed a button. The intercom lit up. "Inside the cupboard is a glass. Tell me where to drop you, then drink the contents," she said calmly.

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"No," he said, folding his arms. "I shan't." "I can come and make you," she replied. "Be my guest." "You are being foolish." "I don't want to leave. You can't make me." She looked astounded. "You want to stay here, after all that fuss you made?" He looked sheepish. "Yes." "The Mistress told me to deliver you to wherever you wanted to go. I have to do that." She looked as if she was in a quandary and he felt exuberance fill him. She wouldn't drive out of here while he was alert and watching the road. He wasn't after all, supposed to know where this place was. "I don't want to go anywhere," he said. "Is that your final word?" "It is. And you can go and tell her that." She looked at him in consternation and he felt grim satisfaction fill him. In all the time he'd been here, he'd never felt this sense of power. There was a faint whine and the privacy window lowered just a short way with a smooth whine of distant motors and the wide muzzle of a gun was stuffed through the crack. His misplaced air of confidence fizzled instantly and spluttered out. He stared in horror at the muzzle of the gun. He had never seen anything that large or menacing being pointed in his direction before.

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"Do you still refuse to leave this place?" She asked in a tone of utter finality. He swallowed hard. "Yes," he said. She fired. There was a fleeting moment of utter disbelief, followed by a further second of comprehension that he didn't feel shot so much as pricked. He looked down at the small feathered dart which stuck out of his biceps and even as the darkness descended like a wall of despair, he realised he'd had no chance. There was a fleeting moment of disorientation, then consciousness seemed to return almost as suddenly as it left him, but he knew that could be deceptive. Warily, he pulled his clouded brain into focus, sat up looked around. The car was driving through a city, which he didn't instantly recognise, but he was not alone. Beside him sat the Mistress. She cast him a speculative gaze. "Pour me a drink, James." "What would you like, Mistress?" His tone was that of a whipped, pathetic mongrel; rejected, but striving for acceptance. "A screwball." He mixed the cocktail, watching anxiously as she sipped it. "Is that all right, Mistress?" "Passable," she replied, then turned to stare out of the window, ignoring him. He was wondering whether to say something when the car slowed, and pulled in. They all sat there for a moment, then

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she shot him a glance of disbelief. "Are you not going to open the door for me, James?" "You won't drive off when I get out?" "You dare to dictate to me?" She hissed. He shot out of his door so fast his feet hardly touched the floor and was instantly around the other side opening her door wide, a look of devotion on his face. No longer did he look around to see who was looking at him, admiring his beautiful body, but gave his attention wholly and completely, to her. In fact there were many people admiring the pair of them. Not only were they climbing out of a chauffeur drive limo, but they were a couple to engender envy in the most unlikely breasts; tall, sleek, expensively dressed, and beautiful. Rolling those muscular hips, she almost minced through the large department store, James clinging to her heel with the devotion of a trained hound, leaping in front of her only to open doors. She purchased many items, just fleetingly displaying a card to the assistants, all of whom seemed to know her, or at least to know of her. When she had made her choices she walked on, neither looking back to see if James had collected them or, indeed, if he still followed. He realised he was being given every opportunity to fly the coop. To escape from her unwanted servitude. Eventually, tiring of her efforts, she entered the beauty parlour. "You, wait there," she said, pointing. Not even seeming to notice the amused glances cast his way, James retreated

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dutifully to the corner indicated and stood, waiting patiently, while she treated herself to a facial and nail job. Casting him a calculating glance on exiting, she then made her way to the restaurant. "Stand behind me," she said harshly, watching him slyly in the reflective window while enjoying a light lunch. She noticed he didn't fidget or glance at his watch once. In fact, he never took his eyes off her, standing behind her chair as ordered, to the vast amusement of the rest of the occupants of the room. Eventually she made her way back to the street and stood while he opened the car door for her. She climbed in, then stared in annoyance at a mark on one spiky-heeled shoe. "Kneel," she said. "Now lick it clean." Without hesitation, he knelt and lapped at the shoe with a damp tongue. For a fleeting second she wondered whether he was cowed to the point of uselessness, then without permission, his mouth slipped up to plant a loving kiss on her ankle. She kicked him in the face and he bent back under the blow, but didn't stand. Instead, he looked up, again, ignoring the shocked and surprised glances of the shoppers who had stopped to stare. "Don't leave me here, mistress," he said. "Take me home. Please." "Get up." Her face was an emotionless mask. "Shut the door and stand back." He did so, this time betraying fleeting hesitation.

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The central locking system clicked into place, and a faint panic appeared on his face, but still he didn't move. She knew that from where he stood all he could see was the dark reflective glass of the window. She knew he was wondering whether she would drive off or not. It pleased her to leave him wondering for a moment longer. Then she pressed a button, and the window wound down. "Are you sure you want this, James? Because this is it. This is the only chance you'll have to walk away from me." "Take me back, Mistress? Please?" "Climb in." The window wound up, and James leapt exuberant to the other side of the car and jumped in. As they pulled away, she handed him a hood. "Put it on." He pulled the leather zip-encrusted hood over his grinning face and did up the straps around the neck, locking himself into near-darkness. "Now undress," she crooned, her voice dropping a tone. The buzz of excitement hit his middle as he reached for his buttons, disrobing himself with slow, sure movements until he sat naked, his erection flaming between his legs. "My," she said amused. "You are very forward, are you not?" "I can't help it, Mistress," he said humbly. She put a wide belt around his middle. "Do this up. Tightly." "Yes, mistress."

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"Now, the wrists." He slipped his wrists behind his back and sighed happily as she restrained them with vicious intensity. "Open your mouth." He was instantly obedient and, as she thrust a ball into his mouth and zipped up the front of the hood, she smiled to herself. Chaz had once again surpassed himself. He had the knack of recognising a man ready to be dominated. Not a weak man, but a man with the strength to rebel, to fight, and to enjoy the experience. She didn't want any wimps in her empire. She would enjoy this one for a while, she thought. He was enjoying his unexpected subservient status in a feminine world, and was actually beginning to shape up quite well. And when she was fed up with him, well, she would pass him on to someone else, but that would not be for a while. There were many things this man would learn about subservience before he was too old to be of interest. James didn't have to be told where they were when the car eventually stopped. He could smell the underground garage. If the ball hadn't been stretching his mouth, he would have smiled happily. Back in her room he was bent over the end of her bed, and told: "I'm going to relieve my travel-related stress, and then have a nice, relaxing bath, James. Don't move." She picked up her riding crop. Later that night he lay curled in the bed beside her. He moved slightly, and winced from the lacerations on his back and buttocks, but though he could neither ease the aches nor

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release himself from the almost foetal position she had tied him in, he was strangely content. At his movement she stirred in her sleep, reached out a hand to encompass his available balls and relaxed again, satisfied that all was where it should be. She had enjoyed the evening thoroughly and the pulsing warmth of his lacerations was balm to her mind. In the few weeks she had had him, he had transformed quite nicely from a strutting, hollow wimp of a medallion man to something almost worthy of her attentions; in the following months, he would exceed anything he could ever have done for himself. Yes, she would give him her undivided attention now until she tired of him. End We at Amatory Ink hope you enjoyed this novel and would welcome your comments. Please e-mail [email protected] and write Kimberley Raines/Urge to Obey in the subject box. Amatory Ink operates a strict anti-spam policy. If you would prefer not to be notified of new additions to the catalogue, please e-mail [email protected] and write 'no thanks' in the subject box.