From the primitive, crude techniques he had applied to Anne Culverson's initial training, Dr. Harding now turned to a combination of sophisticated technology, such as the Stim-Probe; a variety of punishments and humiliations ranging from paddlings and canings  to feeding Anne all her meals from his hand; and subtle psychological conditioning.

The latter was a deliberate effort to induce what has been called by psychologists the "Stockholm Syndrome", when a prisoner comes to be psychologically dependent upon her jailer. Dr. Harding intended to make the vulnerable teen more than dependent on him; he proposed to make her fall in love with him, as an experiment, simply to see if it could be done.

First, he made certain that he was her only human contact by keeping her in isolation. Second, he rewarded her "good behavior" with little treats; a blanket for her bare bed, a piece of chocolate, a paperback book to read. Anne was pathetically grateful for each gift, a feeling that gradually grew stronger by the day. Third, he offered the lonely girl scraps of affection, calling her by her first name, patting her head and congratulating her for some accomplishment in the laboratory and giving her an occasional good-night kiss or hug when he left her. All of this was in addition to the sexual training he administered every day. After a month of this treatment, all Anne’s life before she came to live in the tiny basement room seemed to her no more than a half-forgotten dream.

As the process continued over days and weeks, Dr. Harding became Anne's whole world. She waited for him eagerly in the morning, running to throw herself at his feet, hug his legs, gushing how glad she was to see her Master again (she had been using this term since the middle of the second week). The day Dr. Harding introduced Anne to sodomy may serve as a typical day in the now utterly enslaved patrician girl's life.

When she heard the lock creak, Anne made a little yelp, a sound of incompletely contained joy. The Master was here! Although he had warned her, Anne could not stop herself from flying across the dirt floor to fling her arms around the center of her universe, the wonderful Dr. Harding.

He disentangled her limbs from his body, placing her on the floor before him, his gaze stern, his mouth unsmiling. Anne realized with a sinking feeling that she had forgotten his instruction of the day before. She was to greet him in a particular position: on her knees, legs spread as wide as possible, chest presented, back arched, with both hands behind her neck. She started to cry, then suppressed her tears, recalling the previous day when he had called her a "baby" for crying so often, and had told her to “grow up”.

She scrambled into position at his feet, mumbling "I'm sorry Master, I am so stupid, please don't be too angry." She opened her thighs wide enough apart to cause the lips of her sex open in a seeming offer, then thrust her chest out to display her little cones, threw her head back, wiped a tear from her nose and waited.

"Miss Culverson, I do not know whether to be more disappointed with you or with myself," Dr. Harding began. It was worse than she had feared; when he called her “Miss Culverson", it meant she was unworthy of his love, that he thought she was worthless. She did her best to hold back the overwhelming tide of sorrow that rose inside her, but she could not. She wept piteously, her entire body shaking with grief that she had let her loving Master down.

"Oh God, Master, please for…for…give me! I des...deserve…oh Master!...  p…p…punish me…" she pleaded between sobs.

Dr. Harding gazed down at the white nudity of the slim blonde maiden. Stricken with grief, forlorn, vulnerable, the last trace of her refined coldness and arrogance burned away, Anne Culverson was far more appealing than she had been the day she walked into his office with her step parents.

"What punishment do you think is appropriate?" he asked.

"T…ten str…strokes on my br…easts…w…with a cane, Master," she forced out. "I know that…will help me…to remember."

He had not beaten her little tits for several days, and all that remained of the bruises from the last time were a few almost invisible violet bars on her flesh.

He nodded. "Fetch the yellow cane." Dr. Harding had stocked her room with an assortment of disciplinary instruments for convenience. The yellow was the lightest of the canes, the one reserved for corrections on her most delicate flesh.

Anne leapt to her feet and dashed to obey.

"And bring two small bungee cords," he added, as she was picking the thin cane from where it leaned against the wall. Anne shuddered as a little thrill of fear went through her body, then said, "Yes, Master."  She selected a pair of four-inch elastic cords with hooks at either end from a small pile of restraints, and returned to Dr. Harding. Kneeling at his feet, she held out the cane and bungee cords in her palms.

"Please correct me, Master," she said. "Help me to remember your instructions. I ask for ten strokes on my breasts."

Dr. Harding motioned for her to stand, then took one of the immensely tough and stretchy bungee cords and wrapped it twice around the base of one of Anne's breasts, pulling it tightly enough so that he was able to attach the hooks at either end together, while the cord nearly disappeared in the soft flesh. The result was to press her little cone into a nearly spherical shape. The ball of flesh almost immediately began to turn purple. Her already prominent nipple was forcibly filled with blood, and it stood out from the areola in an exaggerated state of engorgement.

Anne was already hissing in pain before he had finished arranging the second cord in an identical fashion around her other breast.

"Take the position," he said. The position for a tit-whipping, as Anne well remembered, was the same as the one she had forgotten to take when he had arrived: kneeling, back arched, legs wide, hands behind the neck. The pain caused by the cords cutting into her breasts was already excruciating, and he had yet to begin the correction. Anne told herself to be strong: soon the punishment would be over, the Master would love her again, and all would be well.

When the cane whisked through the air to slice into her swollen flesh, the pain was quite as bad as she remembered from one such previous whipping.  The blonde girl screamed with all her might throughout the slowly administered strokes, bouncing up and down on her knees, but never breaking the position, and never asking for mercy.

By the tenth stroke, Anne was coming near to fainting from the pain. She fought to keep herself upright, and was pleased that she was able to absorb the entire correction without falling down or otherwise disgracing herself. But her real reward came when Dr. Harding squatted in front of her, unhooked the two cords to free her battered, girlish titties, and laid his hand on her head.

"That's my good, brave girl," he said, looking directly into her tear-flooded eyes.  She forced a smile through the throbbing haze of her agony.

He stood and spread his arms. "Let me hug my little Anne," he said.

This was what she had been waiting for. Anne jumped to her feet and hurled herself at Dr. Harding. She wrapped her arms around him in with all the strength in her slender arms, ignoring the signals of pain from the compression of her bruised breasts.

"Then you forgive me, Master?" she asked, looking worshipfully up at his face.

"Yes, of course, my dear girl," Dr. Harding said. He smiled and stooped to lightly kiss her forehead.

In the laboratory, Anne reviewed what she had learned in three prior sessions, kneeling between his legs as he sat in a chair. She demonstrated her oral skills by carefully running her tongue all around his scrotum and shaft, then taking each testicle into her mouth, kissing and licking his organ from head to root, until Harding developed a mighty stand. She then took him in her mouth and throat until she had swallowed every thick inch of his substantial manhood. Dr. Harding was able follow the progress of his pole by the visible bulge it created in her elegant neck.  Her face was crimson from lack of air before he was through, but she did not alter the regular motion of her head as it bobbed up and down his entire length. When he ejaculated in her throat, she was somehow able to retain the entire load, although her cheeks puffed out and her eyes bulged with the effort. She gulped it all down, with only a drop or two escaping from the corner of her mouth. This effort earned Anne another pat on her blonde locks.

While Dr. Harding rested and recovered, Anne masturbated for him, bending herself into improbable positions while she handled herself with her fingers, with a vibrator and finally, moaning deep in her throat as her pelvis weaved with a suppleness worthy of a trained belly dancer, climaxing powerfully on the Stim-Probe.

As was his usual way, Dr. Harding combined the sex act with some form of bondage and flagellation. In this case, he settled on a fairly simple bondage. He locked Anne's neck in a metal ring that was mounted atop a two-foot vertical pole. He tied her feet four feet apart to rings set in the floor, then attached her wrists to the same rings on either side, warning her to keep her knees locked. This uncomfortable pose made her lean forward while providing complete exposure of her sex pouch and back door.

"Again, I remind you that Mr. Farrington will prefer this type of intercourse to any other," he told her. "It is essential that you become expert at this particular variation."

"Yes, Master, I understand," Anne said. Her entire body was trembling with excitement and fear. Dr. Harding spent at some time each day manipulating her brown hole, but in spite of her every effort, she had not grown any more comfortable with his probing fingers over time. This was going to hurt, she knew. But balanced against this was the knowledge (she had deduced this, although he had never stated it plainly), that she would be providing Dr. Harding with his favorite form of intercourse.

"Good, let's begin, then." He began to "warm her up" with foreplay consisting of strokes from a short black whip. After leaving a dozen red lines on the creamy white skin of Anne's thighs and hard little buttocks with the whip, he opened the petals of her sex, and dipped his fingertips inside.  She was now so conditioned that the bondage and whipping alone had brought her to a high state of excitement.

He smeared some of the slippery cream on his fingers, and walked around to show it to Anne. "Smell this, lick it," he said, holding it up to her mouth. "All you need to get hot is a little whipping. You really are a cheap whore."

To Anne's ears, this was not a compliment on her progress under Dr. Harding's tutelage. "I do it for you, Master. I can't help myself," she protested, unknowingly echoing Elizabeth.

He returned to his position behind her. Again he plunged his fingers into her dripping pot, then spread liberal quantities of her lubricant in the narrow space between her tight hillocks.  His erection was at its maximum, curving almost straight up at the sky as he contemplated the virgin bottom hole Anne offered him.

He now began to prepare her. He jammed one greasy finger into her little hole without any warning. Anne's lower body jumped at the suddenness of the invasion.

"Don't move," he said again. He now probed her with two fingers, then three, twisting and stretching, while she gave off high-pitched yowls of "Eeeee! Eeeee!” reminding Dr. Harding somewhat of a cat.

He now gripped one of her firm buttocks in each hand and pulled them apart with irresistible strength.  Anne screamed again, much more loudly this time. The maneuver had caused her minuscule rear door to open a little. Dr. Harding took advantage to push the angry purplish head of his cock into the little opening, forcing it wider still. Anne was now screaming more or less continuously.

Dr. Harding, having gained a lodgment inside the girl’s constricted corridor, now held his shaft in his hand and directed more of his rod into her narrow rear entry. She shrieked again.

"Master, help me!" She sobbed. The pain was very bad; it was so intimate.   Even worse was the terrible pressure inside. It felt as if her internal organs were being slowly pushed up through her throat. She did not mean to ask for mercy, but she could not control the cry of "Master, please not so fast! " that burst from her throat.

Dr. Harding's response was to pull Anne back toward him by her hips, while pressing forward with all his weight. Christ, she's got a tight asshole! he thought. Even with this great effort, the invasion progressed slowly.

Anne was no longer speaking, she was simply screaming without words, as she was gradually impaled on his spear.  She had lost control of her lower body, and her bottom was waving crazily this way and that, trying to escape from the intolerable invasion. He paused when he had finally driven his entire cock into her guts, panting for breath, then he pulled all the way back until only the head remained to distend her dainty ring. She screamed even more loudly, if such was possible. To Anne, it felt as if he was drawing her insides back with the stroke of his cock.

Dr. Harding bellowed something unintelligible and plunged into her again. Even before he had completed this final stroke, his cock was pulsating as it pumped his seed into her belly. With his cock still trapped inside her shaft, he reached down with one hand to explore Anne's pussy. The instant his fingers made contact with the fleshy outer lips, her hips burst in furious life.

"Help me Master!" She cried again, turning her head to look at him, to plead for relief. "Please, just touch me!"

He obligingly grasped the greasy nub of her sex button in his fingers, and twirled it. Anne burst in a screaming, gyrating, cursing orgasm. Her rectum gripped him like a vise. Even after she was finished, it was only with some difficulty that he was able to extract his rod from the slender beauty's spasming hole.

He walked around to stand in front of Anne. Her face was wet with mingled perspiration and tears. She was too weak to lift her head, so she turned it to one side to look up him.

"That was a good fuck," he said. He presented his penis, still glistening with the contents of her colon, to her mouth. "Now lick me, dear girl. Reach your tongue out, and lick me clean."

In six weeks, Dr. Harding's experiment with Anne Culverson was crowned with complete success. He continued his daily visits with her, broadening her sexual education, but after the first month, he could not gain any further control of her; he had conquered her and she was his, mind and body. Had he ordered her to jump off a cliff, or given her a loaded gun, told her to point it at her head and pull the trigger, she would have done so without the slightest hesitation. He looked forward to writing up the experiment for a scholarly journal.

Every day after he had completed his session with Anne, and locked her back in her basement room, Dr. Harding would eat a simple lunch, then take the other inmate of the house out of her cell to the training facility. He was not exactly sure why he continued to spend so much time with Elizabeth Farrington. He had already demonstrated the effectiveness of his accelerated training system to his own complete satisfaction. He knew that he should have been preparing to return Elizabeth and Anne to Farrington, or at least have sent them to join the regular population at the school. But for some reason, he was reluctant to bring the project to an end.

He decided that what was needed was a special event that would mark an end to the project.  At the same time, he would finally deflower the Culverson girl. She had been begging him to do so for weeks.