Mistress Extreme (21 page)

Isabella had listened to the tape. The inquisition was about to begin. Her two naked slaves stood before her in the dungeon as she strode from side to side, her arms clasped behind her. She was holding something silver in one hand but neither of them could see what it was.

‘Did you really think you'd get away with it a second time, David?' Isabella asked.

‘Mistress?' he said, barely able to meet her gaze. His heart was beating double time.

‘You know what I'm talking about,' Isabella said, glaring at him so hard that she seemed to be trying to cook him with her eyes. ‘Allowing Jacqui to behave exactly according to type and letting her get all the blame for it. You've done it once before. Thought you had a winning formula, did you, eh?'

‘No, Mistress. You see I …' But before David had a chance to say any more, Isabella slapped him hard across the face, causing a dark flush to stain his cheek. In slapping him she also caught his upper lip, which immediately began to swell. Blood mingled with his saliva.

‘Shut your lying mouth, David,' Isabella barked. She turned her hard stare towards Jacqui who looked positively terrified, no acting this time. ‘You have always aspired to be my house-slave, haven't you, Jacqui,' Isabella said. It was a statement, not a question.

‘Yes, Mistress.'

‘Consider yourself duly appointed,' Isabella said curtly and switched the hard glare of her gaze back to David. ‘As for you, you
fucking
worm
, let me give you some idea of what's going to happen to you. First, and let me emphasise, this is just for starters – to soften you up before your real punishment begins – you are to remain in solitary confinement in this dungeon for as long as I consider it appropriate. There are perfectly adequate toilet and washing facilities here already, needless to say, so you can shower and shave and the like. As far as subsistence is concerned, Jacqui – who is not allowed to speak to you from now on, incidentally,
ever again
– will deliver two bowls to you each morning, one containing drinking water, the other some scraps for you to eat. That will keep body and soul together for you, just about, and even that's more than you deserve because you're the lowest of the fucking low. Do you agree with that assessment?'

‘Yes, Mistress,' David replied. He certainly did agree. He was conscious that he'd begun trembling, couldn't stop.

‘A couple of other matters,' Isabella said, her mouth twisted with disgust. ‘When I first took you into my home you signed a slave contract that required you, among other things, to always do what I tell you without fail. You have blatantly disregarded that, which is utterly inexcusable, is it not?'

‘Yes, Mistress,' he replied, his body quaking like an aspen now.

‘That slave contract agreement is no longer worth the paper it is written on because of what you have done.'

‘M … m … mistress…'

‘You are also under a standing instruction not to masturbate unless you have my express permission,' Isabella went on, her dark eyes glinting savagely. ‘That's right, isn't it?'

‘Yes, Mistress.'

‘For painfully obvious reasons I can no longer trust you to comply with that instruction. From now on I shall require you to wear this.'

Isabella produced the mysterious silver object she was holding from behind her back. It was a chastity device constructed of lightweight aluminium and she immediately proceeded to enclose David's cock and balls with it. The device had a key closure, which she locked, and a drainage hole that David was going to have to rapidly get accustomed to using. The device was actually fairly comfortable but David knew that would drastically change if he started to get a hard-on. And, face it, he was always getting hard-ons. David started to anticipate the searing pain in his groin he was going to suffer, the appalling pressure he would be feeling there.

‘It was Mistress Kate's idea,' Isabella said. ‘She gave it to me as a gift this evening when we met for dinner. She's never trusted Jacqui and thought you might be safer from temptation if you wore a chastity device. Too late, wasn't she, slave?'

‘Yes, Mistress,' David replied miserably. A torrent of guilt and shame and fear flooded through him.

‘And don't think you're going to get off lightly, Jacqui,' Isabella said, turning to her new house-slave and giving her the most scathing of glares. ‘I intend to give some concentrated attention to thrashing that devious, deceitful nature of yours right out of you. I don't hold out much, if any hope, of being successful, I'm afraid to say, given that it's a virtually impossible task. But I'll have a damn good try. Believe me, I am going to be an outstandingly harsh task Mistress.'

Jacqui believed her all right.

By the time Isabella had locked him in the dungeon, David was in a dreadful state: consumed with both profound remorse for what he'd done and infinite fear for his future. He was acutely aware from what Isabella had said that his solitary confinement was just the start, a taster of whatever punishment she had in mind for him after that. He remained thoroughly miserable for the entirety of his imprisonment, which went on and on. Days passed, weeks passed.

Even the darkest cloud has a silver lining, though, and the dreaded painful erections he had anticipated as a result of wearing the chastity device never materialised. But that was because David was too genuinely distressed and afraid to ever become erect. A combination of hopelessness, shame and fearful anticipation battled for possession of his head, blurring everything. He felt truly wretched the whole time he was incarcerated and terrified of what the future might hold for him.

During that time the only company David had, if you can call it that, came in two forms. The first was Jacqui's silent delivery early each morning of his meagre rations for the day – neither of the slaves could bring themselves to look the other one in the eye. Second were the occasions every day when Isabella came into the dungeon to punish her new house-slave. These sessions always started with the same routine. Isabella would unlock David's chastity device and give him a few moments to clean both the device and his genitals. She would then lock the chastity device back into place and tell David to kneel in the corner of the dungeon with his face to the wall and his eyes closed firmly shut. He saw nothing from that stage on, of course, but what he heard made his blood run cold.

He heard Jacqui's pitiful sobs as she counted out each hard slap that Isabella gave to her face – all thirty of them, no less. He heard the sound of Isabella's most savage flogger swishing through the air constantly, sounding like a nest of angry snakes, and Jacqui's agonized screams that seemed to be being torn from the very core of her being as her backside was whipped what must have been red raw. He heard her squeal and beg for mercy as Isabella attached excruciatingly painful weighted metal clamps to her breasts and labia. He heard her anguished yelps and shivering moans as Isabella poured red-hot molten wax on her body. He heard with a sensation of mounting nausea the sound of Jacqui's frequent gagging as, on Isabella's insistence, she deep throated the strap-on dildo with which she had just finished fucking her ferociously hard. He could imagine the engorged tip prodding against the back of her throat, causing it to spasm horribly. He knew what Isabella was doing this time and all the other times. She was pushing Jacqui over and over again not up to her limit but beyond that limit – frequently way beyond – and it was an awful thing to have to listen to, but listen to it he had to ... And there it was again – that dreadful gagging noise. David began to weep silently, tears of mortification dripping from his eyes.

When he was back on his own he could not stop thinking about what he'd heard. The nights were the worst. He endeavoured to get to sleep in the only place that felt remotely comfortable for that purpose, which was the leather-covered bondage table, and tried desperately to empty his mind. It didn't work at all. The screen kept filling up with mental images of those hideous scenes he had listened to, the ones of Jacqui's extreme torment and humiliation. They played through his mind in an uninterruptible loop like some obscene and endless horror film. All of this could so easily have been avoided, David was painfully aware, if he hadn't proved himself to be such a weak, disobedient, deceitful bastard, such a pathetically useless slave to his Mistress. He suffered paroxysms of remorse.

David knew exactly where he'd gone wrong – that wonderful thing called hindsight again. He should never have disobeyed Isabella, that went without saying. But more than that, he should have given far more serious thought to the implications of the slave contract before signing it so readily when Isabella had first decided to take him into her home as her house-slave, having told him that he'd proved himself a good and loyal slave.

His attitude had essentially been that if his Mistress wanted him to sign such an agreement, it was fine by him, just like anything else she wanted him to do. But that had been to entirely miss the point of such an important document. He should have studied it very carefully first. Once he had given it the consideration it deserved and had signed it, as frankly there was no doubt he would have done, he should have stuck to its conditions come what may like super-glue.

By allowing himself to be seduced by Jacqui – not once but twice, for crying out loud – he'd ended up making a complete travesty of the slave contract, Isabella had said as much. By doing such a thing he thoroughly deserved the dire consequences that he was now suffering and would be certain to be suffering in the future.

Also, David told himself ruefully, when his Mistress had paid him the compliment of asking him his opinion for once – asking him whether he had any concerns about Jacqui coming back into the fold, as she'd put it – it might have helped if he'd given more than a nanosecond of consideration to the question before giving her his glib response. How profoundly he regretted that he hadn't done that now that it was too late.

There was another thing, as well. He'd baulked at the accusation that Isabella had levelled at him at first, but hadn't she been absolutely right? At a subconscious level, at least, hadn't he allowed Jacqui to seduce him, thinking that because it was her he could somehow abrogate responsibility for his own actions? Once again he'd revealed himself to be all too susceptible to Jacqui's blandishments when she went into full seduction mode and in his heart of hearts he'd always known he would respond in the way he'd ended up doing. And then he'd gone and added insult to injury by trying to deceive Isabella about what had happened; it was absolutely outrageous.

When Isabella had been subjecting him to all those tests and challenges before granting him the ultimate prize by making him her house-slave, she'd essentially been testing his capacity for punishment, humiliation and perversion. She hadn't found him wanting. When she'd actually put temptation in his way in the person of Jacqui, doing so on two separate occasions, he'd succumbed to it with remarkable ease both times like the cock-happy son of a bitch he'd proved himself to be. He was extremely sorry for all this, more sorry than he could ever say.

David was extremely sorry for Jacqui too. He was sorry for her for what she was having to go through in the dungeon. He was sorry for her, full stop, although he knew that the pity he felt for her was to some extent a form of self-pity. Part of a poem by Philip Larkin kept flashing through his mind: ‘
They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They do not mean to but they do
.' Jacqui's sadistic mother had herself had parents who'd been strict disciplinarians, never “sparing the rod”. They no doubt hadn't meant to but they had managed to fuck up their daughter, and she in turn had fucked up her own daughter, fucked her up big time. The constant heavy beatings she had given the young Jacqui had created someone whose responses were Pavlovian in their predictability. Jacqui behaved badly in order that she might be punished, in order that she might feel pain, in order that she might feel pleasure.

But David knew that he was not so very different from her himself when it came to the crunch. Everything he'd been through with his mother – everything she'd done to him – had left him well and truly fucked up. That was an irrefutable fact. The “good boy” he'd turned himself into after her tragic death had been damaged goods, a broken person, thanks to her sadism towards him. And hadn't he, after all these years merely regressed, reverting to type at long last so that he might be punished like Jacqui – thoroughly beaten and chastised for being “bad”?

Well, both he and Jacqui had clearly bitten off way more than they could chew this time. He was now utterly miserable and deeply afraid for his future and Jacqui simply could not have been having a tougher time in the dungeon. Maybe, David speculated, she was faring better as Isabella's house-slave. He could not have been more wrong ...

Isabella found fault with everything Jacqui did. If she produced a meal for her, it was more often than not dismissed as being worse than the scraps she was providing for David. The meat was always overcooked or under cooked, there was too much seasoning or too little, and the contents of the plate ended up being unceremoniously binned by the disgruntled diner. Isabella pushed Jacqui to the floor when, as was invariably the case, her boot and shoe maintenance fell short of the extremely high standard the dominatrix required. If Jacqui drew her a bath, the temperature of the water was always wrong, something Isabella would demonstrate to her by grasping her by the hair and dunking her face below the surface until she thought she might drown. The kitchen floor was never clean enough for Isabella, no matter how many times Jacqui scrubbed it on her hands and knees, although admittedly the sight of her doing so was undeniably a pleasing one, her heavily punished rear, pouting anus and shaven pussy prominently on display. Jacqui's attempts at maintaining the secluded rear garden, which Isabella made her do while it was raining, were regarded by the dominatrix as so feeble that she felt duty bound to push the naked slave into the wet mud and then turn a hose of freezing water onto her.