Penelope watched in awe as the cringing slave set the tray on the table. He slowly unfastened the chains at his wrists and ankles. Then, deftly removed the harness from his genitals and began stripping the tight clothing from his body. In moments he was naked, head bowed, kneeling at her feet, the white material neatly folded and placed at his side with the harness on top. The heavy leather collar and cuffs remained locked around his neck, wrists and ankles their shiny steel rings and studs glistening as he carefully replaced the chains. The slave was trembling slightly, muscles flexing in expectation of being beaten. She noticed that he was completely devoid of body hair, the pale skin appearing soft and vulnerable.

Ruth took a large, red cherry from the fruit tray, slowly pressed it against her lush red lips and looked at her daughter with widening eyes. The cherry disappeared and she manipulated her mouth to remove the pit. Penelope couldn’t help wondering if the choice of fruit was deliberate. Was her mother trying to provoke her? Making some comment about losing her virginity? Grace lifted a small bell from the table and rang it once. Two grey uniformed men entered the room and fell immediately to their knees. Penelope recognized them as the two footmen from the front foyer. “Bring the cross.” Grace ordered in an equally casual manner, without so much as a glance toward them.

They quickly departed and Ruth spat the cherry pit onto her plate. She looked at Penelope with a wide smile. “Oh, this is going to be such fun!” she commented. “You’re so lucky to have a generous auntie like Grace!”

Penelope couldn’t imagine what her mother meant and couldn’t guess what Grace had planned for the hapless slave. She stood over the man, whip in hand, wondering whether to begin or not. She tried to remember if she had read anything in the book that would provide a clue as to the proper etiquette in a situation like this.

Ruth moved across the room and opened a large panel in the wall. Like magic, it swung back to reveal a collection of whips the likes of which Penelope could not have imagined in her wildest dreams. Rows of glistening black leather, varying in size from small single tailed dog whips to long coiled bullwhips, hung before them. She looked down at the naked man in front of her and lifted his chin with the tip of the riding crop, turning his head toward the display. She watched his eyes travel across the exhibit and noticed a look that could only be described as desire, cross his face. It was as though he had an intimate relationship with each instrument and his passion for them was obvious in more than just his facial expression.

Penelope blushed as she watched the slave’s increasing ardour. A slight quiver ran through his naked body as the riding crop unintentionally brushed against one hard nipple as she lowered it to her side. She hadn’t seen a man’s erection other than in the book she had been reading. This erection appeared to be enormous! It had to extend a full eight inches from his body and it throbbed with every beat of his pulse. Ruth turned to her with a broad smile and held her arm out toward the collection. “You may take your pick, my dear. They’re all of excellent quality. Hand made by Grace’s best slaves. Any one of these will outperform that riding crop in a wink! You won’t even have to exert yourself. The shear weight of the lashes is more than enough to gain the required results.”

The door opened again and the two slaves entered, half carrying, half dragging a large wooden contraption. When they set it down near the open panel, Penelope realized what it was. Two heavy timbers had been bolted in an ‘X’ shape with a support behind and below. There were large steel rings set into the wood at various intervals along the length of each timber. This was a whipping cross and from the descriptions in the book, she knew how it was to be used. She had read that the slave might be bound to the cross in a variety of ways, however  the traditional method was to attach his wrists to the top and ankles to the bottom with his back toward the person wielding the lash. A glance told her the slave at her feet was even more aroused, if that were possible. His erection was even longer, with a distinct upward curve to it. Penelope felt a wave of sensual pleasure rush through her body and it took all her self control to stop her grabbing the prodigious member.

“Leave us!” Ruth ordered the slaves as she turned to Penelope. “You may use this, or we can take the culprit to the dungeon. I must admit, the dungeon is better equipped and has an even better selection of instruments.”

Penelope was quickly losing control of her emotions. The sudden acquisition of so much power was rapidly going to her head and she found it difficult to make any choices at all. The sensual rush was proving almost too much to handle and she was sure everyone in the room was aware that she was on the brink of orgasm. Her breathing was erratic and she began to tremble with excitement, but somehow managed to maintain a modicum of control. She decided to stall and attempt to regain her composure.

“A - Aunt - Auntie Grace, I can’t decide without actually seeing the dungeon. And if I see it, what other wonderful thing will you show me then? I’m quite overcome by everything... As if the books weren’t enough, now this! It’s is all too much all at once! I simply cannot fathom it all.” She waved the whip through the air in a gesture of exasperation.

“We understand. Take your time, dear. The slave isn’t going anywhere without your permission, so relax, finish your tea and we’ll discuss things.”

She sat down, her eyes moving from the naked man to the cross and whips, then back to her cup of tea. She picked up a sandwich and found that she couldn’t keep it still. The thing was trembling madly, making her thankful she hadn’t attempted the tea cup first. Her pulse was racing and her breathing continued to quicken. Waves of sensual emotion were making her palpitate and she felt as though she was about to faint.

Ruth watched her daughter’s reaction with interest,  fascinated by the similarities to her own experience those many years ago. She knew the feeling of coming face to face with the reality of truly subjugating a male for the first time. Penelope was learning the difference between text book sentimentality and practical application. To imagine oneself as a domineering goddess was provocative. To be a domineering goddess was absolutely beguiling and completely addictive. Sensual power was a potent elixir that could rip through a woman like wildfire and make her come back for more, time and again. She remembered her own feelings the first time. The rush of raw emotions that had welled up as she sent the whip smacking across the man’s firm buttocks. His cries and moans served as the fuel to fire her passion and push her to ply the lash with ever greater speed and force. When she stopped momentarily, her breasts heaving, whip curling from her hand, she felt the pure joy of watching the sobbing slave beg for mercy when he knew full well none would be forthcoming. That day, she pushed three slaves to their absolute limits and took a fourth to her bed. By morning, all four had been totally vanquished. Three by the lash and one by the lass! Her desire for conquest had never faltered and was as strong today as ever.