By: Tara Crescent

The flogger scoured my breasts in a sharp slap. I inhaled automatically, waiting for the wave of pain to sweep over me, but as it came, I breathed easier. “Four,” I muttered. I could take more.

“Good.” Another precise hit on my abdomen. Two. A flick of his wrists and the tails of the flogger flew through the air towards my defenceless body. Five.

The strokes came faster as William established, with my muttered input, how hard I could be whipped. The flogger kissed every inch of my front. My breasts. My abdomen. My lower stomach. The front of my thighs. I felt my entire body warm in response and throb in need. Karen’s hands ran all over me in between strokes of the flogger. Partly to keep me at the knife-edge of arousal, but partly to check that I wasn’t in more pain than I could handle.

There was a world of difference between this expert flogging and the torture that Dylan had put me through. When Dylan had hit me, it was all about watching me shudder and flinch. He didn’t care if I felt pain or pleasure. He was unconcerned that I was a weeping, twitching mess. He was indifferent to the way my body twisted away from him in helpless self-preservation. In fact, he preferred to watch me try to escape him. I would be hung by my arms but my legs would be free to try to back away from him. Except that there was never anywhere to go.

My terror had been an aphrodisiac for my Master. I’d shake my head desperately. I’d cry silently – I’d known better than to make a noise. I would cower in fear and Dylan would smile, that chilling, emotionless smile, and he would hit me harder.

But in this testing dungeon, Madame Lorraine’s two instructors showed me something else. They showed me why a submissive would welcome this treatment. They revealed that each stroke of the flogger could also bring pleasure. Their careful attention to my body demonstrated that it wasn’t just for the arousal of a Master that I might be whipped. My own desires mattered. These strokes were as much a gift for me as they were for my Master.

Karen flogged my back now as William flogged my front. I whimpered and I bit my lip and I called out numbers. One stroke was an eight – a sharp slice of flaming pain, but the strokes had been building up to it and my body, appropriately prepared for it, had welcomed that hot lance.

When they untied me, my skin was hot to the touch and decorated by blotches of red and deep pink. My legs trembled but Karen was behind me, holding me up, while William expertly massaged feeling into my arms and legs. Then I was led to another part of the dungeon and one word was spoken. “Kneel.”

The first part of my examination was over and I was sure I’d passed it with flying colours. Now it was time for the second test.


Do you know how I learned to get rid of my gag reflex? It wasn’t pretty. Like everything else with Dylan, it involved pain. Lots and lots of pain. Of course, like all of Dylan’s training methods, it was brutally effective.

William and Karen positioned me in front of a wooden pillar with a thick phallus sticking out of it at the perfect height for my mouth when I knelt. My hips were moved until I was poised over a large dildo that stood up from the floor. One sharp order and I lowered myself down onto it.

My pussy screamed in protest at the intrusion. There had been no one since Marc. But I was wet and the dildo wasn’t designed to hurt me, just to fill me completely. As before, the pain was bearable, maybe even pleasurable.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Karen lubricate a butt plug with an evil grin on her face. “I am going to enjoy this,” she said, anticipation in every syllable. “Hold your cheeks open for me.”

My face flaming at the lewd intimacy of this act, I obeyed. This was all new to me. I’d been taken so many times by so many men. But those had been acts of violence and my consent wasn’t required. Here however, I needed to offer myself to my master’s will. I was being measured on my active participation.

The butt plug was inserted in. A sharp pain greeted this act, but my response was born more of fear than anything else. It took every bit of will power I possessed to hold still. At least my pussy had the memory of Marc to assure me that sex could be pleasurable. My anal passage has no such reassurance. But Karen and William were clearly experienced at bringing their submissives to great heights of desire. When the muscles of my sphincter closed around the neck of the plug, I felt full. I felt hyper-aware of my pussy and my ass. I felt like a creature of sex, ready to fulfil my master’s desire. It made me feel sensual, not afraid.

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