CHAPTER ONE

 

As the weeks passed, the training of slave Claudio was stepped up, until his threshold of tolerance and pain reached new heights. Sylvette had new boots made for him, all with six inch heels, on which he could now walk without difficulty. She was constantly designing new costumes, which even Mrs. Rawlings found complicated to make; there seemed no end to the degree Sylvette was willing to torture her slave.

But despite the now severe training, Claudio seemed to thrive on it. He knew every nuance of his Mistress's moods and almost never made a mistake or a careless move. Sometimes, in a rage at his competence, she would award him demerits for some action which was not his fault, but he never protested and accepted his punishments with pride and dignity.

She humiliated him in every way possible. Frequently he was dressed as a girl slave, which she knew was the only outfit which bothered him. She had several heavy rubber masks made with different girl faces and attached wigs, which he was ordered to wear over his own mask for the entire day. He was given less time off and he had become used to being cruelly corseted from early in the morning until he was released in the evening.

Often, now, he would be fixed into the Mistress Pants, the thick white rubber becoming his adored prison. One night she had ordered him into them, then retired to bed. He had lain inside them, arms padlocked behind him, for six hours beside her while she slept. At intervals she would stir sleepily and order him to give her Pleasure, by rubbing his nose against her thinly covered parts.

He was allowed out into the grounds, which were surrounded by a high brick wall. There were over five acres of land, some cultivated by Sims, but a large part of it wooded, If he was off duty, he was allowed to dress in his working suit, over which high tote waders came up to his chest, and a tote jacket which belted at the waist. The advantage was that the heavy attached boots had no heels and he could wander in the woods without risking a broken ankle.

Sometimes if it was a sunny day, as a mild punishment, Sylvette would order him into three heavy suits and the tote waders, with an extra mask and two pairs of thick rubber gloves, and make him help Sims in the vegetable garden for several hours. Within minutes the sweat would be rolling down inside his inner suit, making it difficult to see through his masks as he bent downs weeding or digging. It was one such day, in early Spring, that he learnt some information, which eventually would become vitally important to him. He and Sims were working together, planting long lines of runner bean seeds. The sun was warm and Claudio was hot and slippery inside his heavy suits. Sims wore only old riding boots and, black rubber jodphurs, his strong torso bare and sunburnt.

"You must feel like hell in all that gear, how long have you to work out here?"

Claudio stood upright, wiping the perspiration from the eyeholes of his masks. "No idea. It depends on her mood. It's hot, yes, but not too uncomfortable. Also, it gives me a rest from those high heels! I've got used to them now, but after a few, hours my ankles do begin to hurt."

"It's not my business, of course, but you're here for good? You can stand it? Hadley tells me she can be very rough on you."

Claudio smiled inside his masks. "Yes, She can. The rougher the better. Yes, I'm here to stay, unless She throws me out."

Sims was pleased. He liked this slim small man and admired his guts and perseverance. Sometimes after Madam had retired for the night he and Hadley would share a nightcap in his flat above the garage and he would learn some of the bizarre punishments which the slave had undergone.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked Claudio in a friendly spirit. "Tobacco, maybe? I'm going into Chipping Aylmsbury this afternoon for some supplies, how about a bottle of Scotch?"

"Thanks, no. I don't smoke and I have a constant supply of drink in my quarters if I want it." At the time Claudio only vaguely registered the name of the village and Sims was unaware that he had divulged it. They continued planting in the warm sun.

 

***

 

A few days later, Claudio was writing up his daily diary, his white rubber lounging suit feeling pleasantly cool and free after the heavy latex whipping suit he had been wearing for the past two hours. He was now receiving three hundred strokes per day, although two hundred of these would be with the cat-o-nine-tails and the leather tawse, which his Mistress could deliver at 40 strokes a minute and which was tolerably painful. Some of the whips she used were a different category. She would take a long thin whip and give him ten slow hard strokes, the crack echoing through the Training Chamber and the pain mounting with each lash. Then she would rest for one minute while she chose another whip, and he would receive twenty slow strokes, even harder, until he was moaning through his gag, the pain washing over him. Then she might revert to a whippy cane, which stung unpleasantly but was almost a relief. The final ten strokes were always the worst. Tina, or Gina, would hand her the long black leather whip with the steel core. She would take careful aim, and he would hear her Whipping Coat rustle as she lifted the whip behind her head and brought it slashing down on his bottom. Each stroke was excruciating, and it was always these final strokes which kept his buttocks permanently wealed.

He saw on the calendar in front of him the pencilled figure '10' written in the next day's date and, with a slight shiver, he remembered he was to receive the final rod, no. 10. For the last two weeks he had been trained with no. 9, an hour each day, a monster rubber rod which even now hurt when his Mistress inserted it. His anal passage had been enlarged over the weeks, but the training was still severe. But when he wore his normal rod for reporting and during his off-duty periods, it was so comfortable he hardly noticed it.

He was tired; the training sessions had been increased and he had not had time to relax since the early morning. It was as if his Mistress was goading him, challenging him to fail her, working up to some sort of impossible exam where the penalty would be Death itself. He turned to Tina, who was waiting patiently to put him to bed, meanwhile reading a copy of 'Playboy'. He liked her new costume, which she could wear in the evening when off-duty. It was a tight clinging black latex gown, high-necked and long-sleeved, only just showing the stiletto heels underneath. It was tightly belted in shiny black vinyl. Although it was comfortable she had to take tiny steps in the long hobble skirt.

"Tina, I'm ready for bed. When are you going to Switzerland?"

"Sometime in the summer. They're booked up months ahead, but Madam has organised it somehow. D'you think I'll look pretty when it's finished?" Considering her love of masks and her present situation, it seemed a rhetorical question. But he sensed her need for reassurance.

"You're a very pretty girl, Tina. They do marvels with plastic surgery today and you'll look like a queen when they're finished! But will you want to stay on here?"

Her masked head jerked upright. "But of course! Where else would Gina and I go? I'm like you, Claudio, I hate the world outside. I'm a dropout, I used to bum around the King's Road, smoking pot when I could get it, working for a few days in a boutique or a disco, sleeping with anyone who could buy me dinner or give me a shot. I wanted to be taken over and told what to do, to avoid all responsibilities. Gina is a bit stronger than I am, but we were the original Babes in the Wood!"

He could find no answer. Basically, they were both masochists and here they had found their paradise.

"You see how well it works?" she asked anxiously, as if willing him to understand. "It's perfect because we love rubber, we love being dominated and we love Madam. She's good and kind and wise nearly all the time. How could you stay here otherwise? You've been through far worse training that we've ever had, yet you love her and respect her and would probably die for her! It's true, isn't it?"

He looked at her, grinning through his mask and respecting her perspicacity. "I probably will! But you two, if your sister is the same as you, are highly attractive broads. Don't you ever think of getting married?"

She made a rude sound. "For what? Slaving over the old hot stove and bringing up squalling children? Claudio, we've got all the security we want here and a wonderful way of life, which we adore. Oh, sure, we suffer a lot sometimes, but it's all part of the pattern and it's necessary! Can you see my husband, a bank clerk, strapping me down every morning before he catches the 8.20 train and giving me my daily hundred strokes of the whip? Perhaps while the children are having breakfasts? Then I drive them to school, in my beautiful leather thigh boots and with my rod chained in, nude inside a long black mackintosh? Ugh, the very thought of wearing ordinary clothes again repulses me!"

She came over and took his masked head in her hands. "Madam has promised that when we go to Switzerland for the operation she will have special clothes made for us, all rubber lined. What I will hate is being outside with no mask!"

He stood up, laughing. "You're incorrigible! Put me to bed. I think your Mistress was very lucky to have found you!"

She lifted her face and kissed him lightly. "She was lucky to have found you, Claudio. I've never seen her so happy. We get punished much less often now; I suppose I should be jealous!"