The Chamber was a lonely and dark place to be on your own, and Dominique Careva had
been there for nearly an hour, hunched up inside the locked cage where Donatonio had
half-dragged her. She was fuming, her face revealing the bruise from a slap she had
connected with during the past twenty-four hours. Any evidence from her previous encounter
with Dawson had faded, though the mental scars would linger for some time yet. Indeed, the
mental scars were about to become permanent. The door to the Chamber opened and a shaft of
light penetrated the eerie darkness to which she was becoming accustomed.
In the doorway stood Dawson and behind him, Donatonio. They entered the Chamber and
Dawson turned on the light.
“Dominique Careva, it’s nice of you to turn up again, and so soon. Did I not get the
message across last time we met?”
Dawson spoke impassively as he stood by the cage. He fumbled with the padlock and
then opened the door.
“Now,” he continued, “for your own sake, and because Donatonio is just itching for
some action, I strongly suggest you do exactly what you are told, without question and in
as polite a manner as possible. That means you do what I tell you, and you show respect by
answering me as ‘Master’, do you understand?”
“Sure, I get the message, but you just wait until I get out of here.”
“I assure you, Miss Careva, when you get out of here, you will do nothing.”
“We’ll see. I ran away last time, and I will again, only this time I go to the
police. You are finished with Mr Dawson, and so are the brothers.”
“I think not, Miss Careva. You do not know where you are, or what my real name is,”
Dawson smiled, “and you most certainly will not be escaping for some time. Mr Martinelli
will attend to that upon your return. Now, my instructions are to teach you a lesson about
what happens when you try to escape and also to try to drum into you some notion of the
respect you are required to show. We can do this the easy way or the hard I really don’t
care. I have all day.”
“Well, Mr Dawson, you will doubtless do what you want to do. As I am not a strong
person, I doubt you will have any difficulties, but you will never break my will; that is
mine alone and you will not break it.”
“We’ll see. Right, Miss we will begin. Come out of the cage and stand up facing
Donatonio.”
Donatonio had sat down in a corner of the room. He was already leaning forward to
watch the spectacle that was about to unfold and Dawson knew he would be relishing every
minute.
Dominique Careva obeyed. She crawled out of the cage and stood as instructed. She
was pretty, a good five feet six inches tall, long slender legs and long dark hair that
flowed down her slender body to her waist. She was the archetypal Latinesque bombshell and
her beauty was enhanced by her high cheek bones, dark eyes and pouting lips – except that
her right cheek was heavily bruised, a result of her escape attempt.
“Right, now so we both understand where we stand, how are you going to address me
from now on?”
“Master,” she said with as much venom as she could muster.
“Good. Please take off your dress and hand it to Donatonio.”
The woman peeled the thin, black dress off her shoulders and let it slip to the
floor. Only her bra covered her olive-skinned body and knickers as she bent down to pick
the dress up. She took four steps and threw the garment to Donatonio. He in turn placed it
on the floor beside him.
“And now, remove your other clothes.” She did as she was told, kicking them in the
direction of the thug. He smiled when he saw her naked body and Dawson knew he was ready
for action, when the time was right.
“Now, we will begin to administer your punishment. Put your hands on your head and
push your elbows as far forward as you can.” She did so and her back was perfectly
presented to Dawson. She waited, facing Donatonio, fearful of what might happen. She was
not kept waiting long.
Swish! Crack! The flogger never touched her back before the stroke landed. It landed
well, directly between the shoulder blades. The woman started with surprise but made no
sound other than the low grunt of exhalation. The second stroke landed on top the first,
the nine leather talons of the flogger lashing against her olive skin. This time she
moaned a little louder but her determination not to let Donatonio see her cry was
winning.
Crack! Crack! Two more strokes landed across the top of her back, a little lower
than the first. She gasped again and was tempted to step forward but managed to control
herself. She knew it was just the beginning and that Dawson was not yet in his stride.
She’d tasted that stride a couple of days before and she knew what the man was capable of.
This was just a bit of target practice for him.
Crack! Crack! The flogger had moved down to her lower back, each strap from each
stroke causing a faint tinge of pink to blossom from beneath the olive colour.
“Ouch!” She finally moaned as the sixth stroke landed. It cut her below the rib
cage, caressing her abdominal wall, stinging her flesh.
Crack! The next stroke landed square across her buttocks and it was followed by
another that cut across it.
“Ohh, arggghhh, ooohhh,” she groaned as the next stroke landed. She was still
clearly sensitive from her previous session with Dawson. He knew she would have been and
smiled as he delivered two more stinging swats with the flogger. Finally tears formed in
the woman’s eyes though she struggled to keep them back.
“Right, come over here.” Dawson indicated he wanted the woman to walk over to the
wall bars. “Stand with your back against the bars, just there.” The place he indicated had
bars that came down to just above waist level. The woman did as commanded and felt the
coolness of the wooden bars against her back.
Dawson took a short length of rope and the woman’s left wrist and lashed it to the
lowest bar, about a foot away from her body. He repeated the action with her other wrist
before taking a third length of rope which he threaded under her armpits, around the
nearest bar and then secured it to one side, ensuring she could not pull away from the
bars. Then he opened her legs and attached a spreader to the bottom of her legs, the
leather straps ensuring she had no means of escape. She was completely spread-eagled,
totally vulnerable and Dawson knew Donatonio was getting very aroused – he wanted it that
way.
“Right, it’s time for some stretching exercises,” he said as he walked over to the
worktop.
He took two small clamps and took them over to the woman. Kneeling, he secured them
one on each side of her vulva, gripping the folds of her labia. She groaned as the clamps
gripped her tender flesh. To the clips he fastened a hook and on the bottom of the hook
was a small bucket. Secured like this, the woman’s labia were stretching slightly. Her
full, pink lips were stretched; waiting for whatever torture Dawson cared to now inflict
on her.
Dawson took a jug of water and slowly, very slowly, began to fill the bucket. As he
did so, the weight of the water pulled on the hook which in turn pulled on the clamps,
stretching her labia further, making her groan with the pain. She struggled for a moment
to change her position but was held firm by the spreader and the loop around her chest.
The water continued to fill the bucket, a little at a time, no sudden surge. Dawson was
the master, and knew he would inflict more pain using this technique than any “fill it up
quick” routine would achieve.
The bucket was two thirds full and her labia were well stretched when Dawson went to
examine them. He drew his finger up between the clamps until he rubbed her bud. Her
clitoris was, he remembered from the previous session, a prominent one and one that was
extremely sensitive.
“Perhaps we should clamp you here as well,” he smiled. She groaned at the thought.
“Perhaps not,” he reconsidered the idea. “Perhaps we can do something else here later
on.”
He stood up and began to examine the woman’s breasts. They were firm and she had
large nipples. Dawson tweaked them with his thumbs and forefingers. They stiffened as he
manipulated each one in turn. The stiffening was not spontaneous, probably due to the
gnawing pain between her legs, but slowly the nipples stiffened under his ministrations.
“Now, Donatonio,” Dawson spoke as if giving a lecture, “what you have seen so far is
just pure pain. The flogging, it was pure pain. The cunt clamps, just pure pain. What we
will do now is more subtle.”
Donatonio leaned forward in his chair to watch more closely. He had not expected a
master-class but was pleased to receive it – after all, it might give him some ideas for
his own use. Dawson took some fine thread and began to wrap one end of it tightly around
the woman’s left nipple. He extended the nipple with his thumb and forefinger while he
wrapped the twine tightly around the base with three loops. He tied the twine off,
ensuring the nipple was firmly secured in the loop and then repeated the action on the
other nipple.
When he had secured both nipples he released the woman’s arms and the loop around
her chest, though he kept the spreaders in position. None-too-gently he pulled the woman
away from the bars a couple of feet. She yelped as the sudden motion of the water between
her legs added extra pain to her predicament.
“Now, Donatonio, we secure the nipples in an upward position, tie her arms behind
her back and then we continue with the punishment. The pain in this area will only
increase if the victim moves – so she is the master of her own agony.” Dawson smiled. He
was the master and knew his audience was absorbing every detail of his description. He
could tell Donatonio was getting aroused – clearly the thought of inflicting some pain on
the woman appealed to his base instincts. Dawson continued to work.
As he talked he lowered a hook from the ceiling. The hook was quite large and
attached to a sturdy, metal cable. A winch-like piece of equipment was used to raise and
lower the hook on the cable. When the hook was just above the woman’s head Dawson stopped
it, walked forward, opened the hook, passed the twine through the opening and then
reassembled it. Then he returned to the winch and began to slowly wind the cable in. As he
did so the slack in the twine was taken in. Then it began to tauten and finally Dawson saw
her breasts being forced into an upright position as the twine pulled the nipples with it.
He stopped the device just before the woman would have been standing on tiptoe to avoid
the pain.
“Now, Miss Dominique, we have a cane which is going to be used to warm up your
backside. You can move if you wish but I suggest you stay still.”
Dawson walked round the front of the woman, caressing the cane in the palm of his
hand. He ran the tip up the inside of her legs and playfully poked the bucket of water.
She yelped as he did that, it was clearly getting heavy for her to handle.
The cane was a nice thin one with plenty of flexibility. As Dawson practiced his
stroke in the air it swished loudly. Suddenly the swishing sound was mingled with a loud
yell from the woman as the wooden cane caressed the flesh of her buttocks. The force of
the stroke caused her to lunge forward at the waist, with the double effect being that the
twine pulled on her nipples and the clamps attached to her labia were tugged by the motion
of the bucket.
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