Amy\'s Education

AMY’S EDUCATION - PART THREE

THE INTEGRATION

By Lewis Chappelle

Clay, her dear Master, was going away for two months and Amy was determined to overcome her disappointment. She was 20 years old after all and competent even though she was completely submissive to him. It was her responsibility to make lemonade out of the bitter lemon he dropped on her.

“Master, may I speak freely?” she asked. She was curled beside him in the den nude before the fireplace. He was again somewhat preoccupied yet toying with her hard nipples and gave his affirmative response with a pull on one of them.

“Master, if it would please you, I could stay here at the mansion while you are away and I could continue my work organizing the library until you get back. You might even give me the key to the dungeon so I could check out the equipment,” she said.

His interest perked up. “Not a bad idea at all, slave. It might work. I’ll leave the keys to the Roadster so you can get around town and to school. I’ll just add you to my insurance policy and we’ll be all set.”

He settled back to his own world and to his nipple tugging. After about fifteen minutes Clay seemed to have a renewed spark of sexual interest and he told Amy to follow him to the dungeon. “What does he have in store for me now?” she thought.

Clay opened the heavy door and led Amy down the steps. He was going to give her instructions to be carried out while he was gone. She was commanded to stand at “slave attention” while he walked around her and admired her natural beauty.

Clay made no secret of the fact that he loved to see Amy nude. What a great body. He ran his hands up her back and felt the muscles in her strong shoulders. He touched her ass and prodded her asshole. Most of all he loved her tits -- firm and high on her chest with exceptional nipples. His touch thrilled her and she was wet with excitement.

When he finally brought himself back to the business at hand he gave her six specific instructions to follow during his absence.

First, she was to spend as much time as possible naked in the library and the dungeon alone. She could do her class work in her room, but, the library and dungeon were for her to study and meditate on how she could improve herself as a submissive.

Second, he showed her a finely detailed red “casket” that was partially hidden behind a few padded whipping benches. He opened the lid and showed her the soft lining and pillow. He told her to get in the casket with her hands at her sides.

He explained that the “casket” was really a sensory deprivation box to teach her to control her fears, relax, and give her an opportunity, without interruption, to think of new ways to please her Master and the subtle facets of her submissiveness.

The casket was an ingenious piece of equipment. Its lid was operated pneumatically and could be opened either by a timer or exterior or interior switches. Temperature was controlled to one degree below normal body temperature and an air exchange system worked silently from under the wheeled carriage upon which the casket was placed. He told her that when the lid was closed, the cushion lining would expand all around her except her head. He set the timer for two minutes and told her to shut the lid from the inside. She could open it manually if she needed to. The cushion pressed on her tits first and then she lost any sensation of her body. Two minutes seemed like a long time but she did not panic. “Piece of cake she thought.”

When the lid opened, he kissed her and helped her out of the casket. She was fine.

Third, he wanted her to spend time in the “slave cage” which under these circumstances only was intended to send the message that she was a captive of her Master and that he cherished her. Under other conditions, it would be strict punishment -- banishment really -- but not this time.

This device was attached to a small hoist in the ceiling. It could also be activated with a timer or exterior or interior switches if he so choose. She was to hoist herself high in the cage and stay there for extended periods in contemplation. He would keep track of the time she spent in the casket and cage; she should do her best not disappoint him.

Fourth, she was to take inventory of the furnishings and equipment in the dungeon.

Fifth, she was to purchase new whips. Of course they would be the ones he would use to whip her -- nothing like being beaten by a whip of your own choosing and suffering the humiliation that goes with that. She was to buy and charge the whips at “The Leather and Tack Supply Barn” on the outskirts of town. The owners had a big ranch and stables for riding. They sold saddles, rider's clothing, and other riding equipment from their store inside a big old fashioned barn.

The Barn had sectioned off a large portion for “specialty” items that they kept in two rooms; one with a green door and one with a red door. She was to ask for Celia. Clay noted mysteriously that she might want to get to know Celia since they had a lot in common.

Lastly, during his absence, and when she was at the mansion, she was only allowed to piss out of doors and then only in the nude, while tethered on a leash, held by Bee.

“Do you understand my instructions, Slave?

“Oh yes, Master, you were very clear. You are surely a creative teacher and I’ll be your obedient and respectful student. No short cuts; no cheating; no, Sir.”

He was thoughtful again then added, “Slave, as I’ve mentioned, Bee has no business in the library and you are not to let her in there and she should never be here in the dungeon either. But, I do want you to tell Bee about our special relationship and what I do to you in here. Do you understand that, Slave?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m sure Bee thinks something is up between us and if it pleases you, I’ll tell her you are my Master so she won’t be confused when I tell her you’ve directed me to have her take me outside to the garden, on a leash, to pee.”

In a real sense, her conversation with Bee was the first “outing” of Amy’s submission to Clay.

Bee listened when Amy took her aside for her little chat. She didn’t say much or ask questions at first. But, as the subject turned to Clay’s punishments of her and rules for her, Bee did become inquisitive. Amy affirmed that she would be nude, leash in hand, when she needed her time in the garden. She didn’t want Bee to be shocked at the first encounter; an encounter that was soon to come.

Rather than make a production out of it, she undressed, with the exception of her sneakers, and got a leash and collar from the dungeon. She put on the collar and headed to find Bee.

“Bee, I have to pee. Please take me for a walk in the garden. Here’s my leash” she said.

“Well, I declare. You are a picture. I often wondered what you looked like nude. You are something. Got a great body, wish mine was even half that good at your age,” said Bee as she picked up the leash. “Here’s the deal. Until I’m off this duty, I’m going to call the shots as to which pee position you will use. Since this is the first time, keep standing and spread your legs. Bend way over at the waist and put the palms of your hands on the brick wall here and let her rip. Next time, you will stand tall, and spread you cunt lips for me as you go. I’ll decide how you do it after that.”

Amy, felt Bee monitoring her every move every time she relieved herself; she was self conscious but understood that Clay was using this drill to teach her something about herself. The daily routine was easy: stand, pee; squat, pee; bend over, pee; straddle the bush, pee; sit on the low brick wall, pee; hug the tree, pee; on and on.

She did often wonder what lesson Clay was trying to convey. Was if for her? Was it for Bee? Was it for both of them? She found out a few weeks later.

In a moment of uncharacteristic self revelation, Bee told Amy that she felt Clay was testing her as much as he was toying with Amy. She said that since her late teens she had been involved in one lesbian relationship after another. About ten years ago, she was involved with a teen age girl eight years younger than herself. The father, a lawyer, told her that she would be prosecuted for contributing to the delinquency of a minor unless she signed an affidavit to the effect that she was not touch any women sexually who was younger than she was. And then he persuaded Clay, a friend of his over the years, to hire her on as a maid. A job that would keep her far away from his daughter.

Bee said that Clay knew she would be aroused sexually by seeing Amy’s young and luscious body. Watching her pee would also be a turn-on for her. But, if Bee even so much as laid a hand on Amy, he would make sure the entire nature of her relationship years ago would be reopened. “He knows I won’t approach you and you won’t approach me. He can imagine the fire I have in my own cunt and that I can’t do much about it,” she declared.

“Likely she is right.” Amy thought to herself.

Clay phoned Amy at least once a week to check on her. She gave him assurances that she was behaving herself, learning what lessons she could, and making faithful entries in her journal.

After the second week away, he removed the “naked pee on a leash” rule but added that she must start doing at least 500 abdominal crunches a day and that when in the mansion she was to wear tit clips with bells attached. He wanted her to not only have a flat stomach but also one that had added muscular definition which he though was sexy as hell. He also wanted her to toughen up her nipples so that he could play with them more aggressively without making them raw.

Amy had busied herself for a few hours each day after class in the mansion library. She did more reading than arranging and organizing. She would spend quite a bit of time studying pictures of various bondage positions and the use of punishment equipment shown in the collection he had accumulated. And, each time she came out, there was a damp spot in her crotch. She made many weekday forays to the dungeon as well.

She found his erotic collection of leather bondage clothing all neatly placed on shelves - corsets, cinches, bras with holes and bras with tiny pins in the cup, arm and leg cuffs, spreader bars, posture bars, gags of all sorts, blindfolds, single arm harnesses, body harnesses and binders, handcuffs, chastity belts, head trainers and discipline helmets, masks, stainless steel yokes, neck corsets, bondage mittens, tit clips with assorted weights, and various hobble items. And, now she had provided him with a customized tit press made exclusively to her measurements. She made careful notes on his dungeon collection.

At her first opportunity she drove the roadster to “The Leather and Tack Supply Barn” to meet up with Celia and buy the instruments of her pending torment. Amy could almost tell who Celia was from afar just by her looks and demeanor. In her tight riding jeans, shirt tied up beneath her tits, and heeled boots she was a woman to watch. “She certainly fills out those jeans,” Amy thought.

“Hi, I’m Amy and I’m looking for Celia.”

“Well, you found her darling. How can I help ya’.”

“I was told I could find a good assortment of whips here behind some sort of green door.”

“Sure enough sweet girl. Follow me. We’ve got what you need.”

Once they were inside the green door Celia said, “Honey, have you ever felt the sting, bite and thud of one of these here leather things?”

“No, in truth, I haven’t which is why I’m here I guess; I’m supposed to pick out the ones that will be used on me.”

“Ouch!”

“My Master said you and I might have some things in common. May I ask you the same question you just asked me -- about the whippings?”

“Amy, how old are you?”

“Just turned twenty.”

“Well, I’m twenty five and I’ve had more whippen’s than I can count. See that big fella over there with the blue shirt and broad shoulders? He’s my guy. He rules the show. Whenever he gets close to me, no matter who is around, he tells me to bend over a grab my ankles, then he smacks my behind so hard I nearly fall over. Hurts like hell every time.

“And, then when the spirit moves his sorry soul he takes me out in the woods, strips me naked and ties me on tiptoe to a tree branch and whacks the crap out of me until I scream. He uses that devil over there.” She pointed to a 9 thonged, braided cat with 16 inch leather tails hanging along with almost a dozen other bull whips, riding whips, floggers, cunt whips, crops, canes, slappers, paddles, and tawses. “He sets me on fire from my shoulders to my calf’s then turns me around and gets me from my boobs to my knees. When he’s done I burn all over. He’s so good at wielding a whip, he never breaks my skin. Then he usually screws me standing up against the tree and I cum like a banshee.

“Sometimes, after he beats me, he lets a guy friend of his fuck me in the ass while I’m tied up. Boy do I hate that; and Big Al knows it which is why he finds a way to make it happen. Well, that’s enough about me for now. What’s your pleasure sweetie?”

“Well, I’m in the dark on all this whip purchase stuff, so I’ll pick up one of the ones displayed on the wall that I might be interest in, and you nod “good” or “no good, OK?”

Her selection started with a straight 30 inch foam filled leather paddle. “Good.”

An ostrich plum tickler just for fun. “Good.”

A 20 inch braided, multi tone, deerskin crop. “Good.”

An 18 inch soft cowhide pussy whip. “Try it you; might like it.”

A 24 inch soft suede flogger. “Good.”

“How much for all five?” she asked. “Really it doesn’t matter though, send the bill to Clay Wright, the rich guy in the stone mansion. Just put all of the stuff in one bag and I’ll get going.”

“I’ve heard of Clay.” Celia said. “He knows my guy. They share a lodge in the woods. He used to have a big account here, cause we sell other stuff too in the room with the red door. Haven’t seen much of him in the past year or so. You exclusive with him?”

“Ya, we are exclusive. He’s my Master and I love him.”

“What’s your relationship with the big guy?”

“I call him ‘my guy’ to most of the customers, but at home, he’s my Master too. But, he shares me with his friends. Except for that, I guess we do have some things in common. Come ‘round again Sister, and we can swap stories.”

“She’s a chick I can learn something from I’ll bet,” Amy mused on her way back to the mansion.

She hung the new whips in the dudgeon and decided to try the cage. A large chain was attached to a wench in the ceiling at one end and the cage itself was welded to the chain at the other. The cage was relatively small and Amy knew she would be cramped when she was inside. She would have to bend over with her head touching her knees. Good that she was flexible she thought. The floor of the cage was thick sheet metal. It was not meant for comfort.

She had left her clothing in the library and she could hear the video tape machines running. Clay had set them up to automatically record any movement in the dungeon. She lowered the cage and set the timer on the wall for fifteen minutes. She crawled into the cage through the small gate on the side.

As soon as she shut the gate the clutch engaged in the hoist motor and she was soon swinging gently and riding high to the ceiling. It was a bit warmer up there and she was cramped up so it wasn’t unexpected that she would start to perspire a bit. She had remembered to lubricate her ass and cunt when she got up that morning but now she did not need artificial lubrication.

The cameras were tilted up to catch her every move. She was to use this time for introspection not to marvel at the wonders of modern technology and she only had fifteen minutes to meditate. She closed her eyes and touched her hands together. She started a pattern of shallow breathing. In time she could almost hear Clay, ever the teacher, asking her questions. “Is there a difference between ‘embarrassment’ and ‘erotic embarrassment’ my dear slave?”

She let that thought rumble around in her mind and started to sift through all the words in her vocabulary that might help her understand what she was to learn from the answer to that question. She had not reached any conclusion when the clutch engaged again and lowered her to the floor. “Not enough time. Need to set the timer for a longer period next time.”

And, when she did try the cage again, this time for almost an hour, her body began to ache because of the cramped confinement and she could not concentrate very well on philosophical questions.

But, she did remember Clay’s “big question” and it ran through her mind again at that moment. “How can someone be embarrassed if they aren’t forced, through coercion or unwelcome subjugation, to do something they would not wish to do? If a submissive willingly and actively participates in any activity, do the conditions required to cause genuine embarrassment or humiliation really exist? ”

Amy thought she might do better meditating in the casket or having a “sisterly” chat with Celia. She did make note in her journal of the questions she had but for which she had no answers. Amy did Celia, since she had more experience as a submissive and thought she might get some insights from her on various aspects of the dominate and submissive relationship. They met over morning coffee the next day.

Celia said it was her opinion that good English words, understood by everyone in the “vanilla” community had vastly different meanings in their world; and even within their world not everyone agreed with her definitions.

Celia made distinctions. For practical purposes, “erotic” words and actions in the context of their world had the intent of adding sexual and emotional stimulation; some had greater potential for the intended result than others and some individuals reacted more or less intensely to some actions and some words than did others.

She was not above embracing any action intended to embarrass, humiliate, or degrade as having a legitimate place at the table in some part of their world. She herself, was not in favor of degradation, which she felt was debilitating and not part of a healthy relationship, but that was her side of things.

She felt her Master did not “inflict” pain on her; he “gave” it or “administered” the pain she craved -- not just because she was a masochist, which she admitted being, but because she wanted to please her Master. In this sense, she didn’t receive his torment as “pain”. He did in fact want to hurt her, abuse her, and make her cry, and that made her wet, because she knew she was pleasing him. But she trusted him not to harm her, disfigure her, or inflict any long term damage to her.

Amy related personally to those thoughts and had integrated them into her life of submission to Clay. She had come to realize that after Clay laid the preparatory ground work on her emotions and erogenous areas she was actually exalted by his torment of her and that it enhanced her sexual responsiveness. She thought perhaps the release of endorphins into her blood stream was able to transfer what would normally be pain into pleasure -- not everyone might be built that way but it seemed to work for her.

Clay had made it clear that for him it was important that she think of her submission to him as consisting of several different levels or modes of behavior.

First, she was going to have to function in the vanilla world and be successful there -- she had to shop, go to class, and tend to the normal things an adult women needs to do. She would plan, organize and conduct business as usual. She would be lighthearted, analytical, and even assertive as the situation warranted. Hustle here; hustle there. Get things done. He thought of this as the “Normal” mode.

She could not always be near him and it would not be practical for her to wait for him to give her orders all the time. Nor would it be practical for her to flaunt her submission or even her sexuality. That said, she would know that in important matters his judgment would prevail and that even though the vanilla world did not need to know her slave status, it would always be on her mind.

Then there would be times when he would want her to be quiet -- be less intrusive of his space and time. Certain times when he would cherish her thoughts but would not want to be overwhelmed by them. Perhaps he might want a moment of tranquility before setting the stage for more active domination and sexual activity. He called this the “Transition” mode.

This mode required her to be generally acquiescent and passive. It would be triggered by some word or deed from him; generally a subtle one. She would be expected to adjust to his mood and stop what she was doing. Essentially it was a waiting period. If she did not get any further cues from him to the contrary, she would eventually resume work in the “Normal” mode.

The next submissive threshold level he called the “Controlled” mode. It was the one that required her to increase her vulnerability to his demands and to be extremely compliant and servile. It was the mode in which she was to prostrate herself before him and get her mind in a place where he could use and abuse her and know she was actually enjoying the highest level of submission. Moderate use of bondage and discipline would take shape at this level and gave him some warm up time if he decided to engage in more aggressive domination play. In this mode her blood chemistry would begin to change and her outside awareness levels would start to diminish.

And, lastly there was the “Sub Space” mode known to almost all submissives who have endured the extremes of domination behavior. At this level she was completely vulnerable; where normal pain became arousing and where her blood chemistry masked body signals which normally spelled trouble or pending damage -- where her whole body could be on fire from a flogging but it didn’t actually hurt in the normal sense. She would experience a warm, floating feeling; slightly unattached to her body.

This was the space where her tolerance for pain was unbelievable. She would feel a “physiological high” and her erotic sensations were increased while at the same time her communications skills would become virtually nonexistent. She didn’t get into that space very often, but when she did, Clay stayed with her and allowed her return to a previous level to occur slowly and with care.

With an understanding of the various submissive modes and mental thresholds, Amy realized that being submissive and having a Master did not mean she had to live the lifestyle every minute of every day. She was a thinking adult with responsibilities as a student for example. Her Master never said he wanted to own her, just control her for his purposes, and she was having the time of her life with him.

Celia had confided to Amy that there were certain demands made by her Master that were harder to deal with than others. She was more humiliated by having her tits fondled in public than by being bent over and whacked on the bottom for example. And, she didn’t like to be fucked in the ass by Big Al’s friends. She didn’t know why particularly, and she really wasn’t interested to find out why, that was just the way she was.

Both women recounted that they often felt more submissive and sensual when dressed in erotic and revealing clothing than when they were completely nude. Amy said she liked to tease Clay with erotic attire but felt being naked allowed her to get rid of all the trappings of the outside world and allowed her, in an unencumbered way, to more fully abandon herself to the service of her lover and Master.

Both agreed that it was important for them to have their Masters be attentive to them and know them well enough to know their limits. The confessed that they did in fact have limits despite their declarations of complete submission. However, these limits seemed to change from day-to-day and even from week-to-week. They confessed that they liked their Master’s to actually push them through their limits occasionally -- either thresholds of pain or preserved thresholds of humiliation.

They were confident that their Masters watched them closely and were intuitive enough to know when they were being pushed too far given a particular circumstance.

Celia revealed she even got a thrill when her Master called her his “fucking bitch” or his “pain slut” or when he told her to masturbate for his pleasure. Amy confessed that she got excited when Clay made her count the individual slaps of the flogger during her first punishment session. Both, had experienced “denial” of their own pleasure and were able to experience an alternative sense of exhilaration when they had to subjugate such natural instincts at such an intense time.

They were complicated people and Sister’s indeed; kindred spirits. They would get together again soon.

Amy decided to let all that she had heard during her time with Celia simmer in her meditative moments while in the “Red Casket.” She made notes in her journal and set the timer for two hours. Before the lid closed and was held tightly by the air cushion, she took a moment to rub her tits and pull her nipples. And, she ran her finger across her cunt lips and clit. She wanted some stimulation on her body if she was going to be deprived of sensation for so long a period.

She was able to meditate well in the coffin. She could hear her heart beating and the breath from her nostrils seemed louder than any time in the past. She could feel the pulse in her chest and even in her fingers. Then the thoughts drifted in; soft and penetrating. She could hear Clay’s voice prodding her and asking her questions. She was able to find answers this time. And, she was just about ready to start preparing a list of things she wanted to do that she felt would be pleasing to Clay when the lid opened. The two hours had gone quickly.

Over the next several weeks she spent less time in the cage and more time in the casket. She couldn’t wait to ask Clay if some of the ideas she had while meditating would be pleasing to him. She had been obedient to him in his absence.

The library was taking shape and the dungeon inventory was complete. And, actually she wanted him to consider rearranging the library so he could have a wall of pictures of her in various stages of provocative, dress or undress, bondage, or punishment that might amuse him. She would get his reaction to that project and some others when he got home. It would be his welcome home present from her.

It was a Friday night in late February when he called her from his cell phone to say that his limo driver was about ready to bring back into town. She was to be naked and kneeling in his bedroom waiting for him to arrive.

He found her with a blindfold on, kneeing with her knee's side apart, arms behind her head, back arched and tits pressed forward. She was wearing tit clips with bells. When she heard the door open, she giggled her bells as a welcome home gesture. Clay reached down to finger her cunt and found that she was indeed happy to see him. He brought her to her feet and gave her one of his giant, tit crunching hugs and deep throat kisses. His cock sprang to full erection.

Amy dropped to her knees again and asked if he would be pleased if she worshiped his cock with her mouth. There was no hesitation on her part. He laid her down on the carpet and flipped her legs over his shoulders and entered her easily. He told her to work with him so they could achieve a simultaneous orgasm something they hadn’t done before.

He restrained himself but she wiggled, bucked, and shifted her position. She moaned and groaned and hissed. “May I have a climax Master, please don’t deny me Sir,” she whispered. He shoved hard against her in assent; she shouted and screamed and dreamed and creamed. He shot his full, warm load into her. He moved her to the bed and, they cuddled again with her cheek against his chest.

She told him about the whips and her conversation with Celia. She recounted the meditation experiences she had had in the casket and the insights she had regarding her submission to him. She asked him if it would be pleasing to him if she could talk freely about the ideas she had which were intended to help her serve him more completely. Again, another tug on her nipple told her she should proceed.

“Master, you know I love you and have found a sense of personal freedom and completion in my submission to you. You treat me the way I need to be treated. You are understanding and wise. You are letting me build the foundation for my slavery to you.

“I realize that you are letting me grow at my pace and that you are allowing me to know who you are and what motivates you. I trust you.”

“I have read that most slaves don’t grow to their full level of maturity and understanding with their first Master. But, with you I feel I am growing and learning every day. You are caring. You keep me safe. I love what you are doing for me. You told me to spend time in mediation striving for greater understanding; to help me understand myself and integrate all the ideas you have given me in my life.

“You will find my journal up-to-date. And, while I was in the casket, I came up with some ideas that might help me learn to be the best submissive I can be for you. I do have some ideas for our future that I’d like to suggest.”

“Tell me what you have in mind Slave. The worst thing is if I’m not happy with you, I’ll punish you severely for your impudence,” he said twisting her nipple hard once more. “And, if you make me hard again, you know what will happen to you!” He rubbed his foot up and down against her smooth calf's and thighs, moved his hand lightly across her flat stomach, felt the downy softness of her strong arms, and felt the gracious curves of her full, firm, tits. “What a woman!” He thought.

“Master, I want to give you a gift. A gift of pictures of me in my service to you. A gift of myself in my, submission, nakedness and humiliation. If you would allow it Sir, we could get a photographer to take pictures of me in whatever poses or position you want and we could hang them in the library on the big north wall.

“And, Master, if it pleases you, you might test the new tit press on me soon. It looks awesome and I’m sure it will hurt my sensitive tits when it is clamped down tight.

“To go along with the tit clamp, I also bought a devise you might like. They call it a “Pullout” or “Tit Puller”. It has a base plate which would fit between my tits. A large threaded post fits into the base plate which extends away from my body. A hand screw turns and raises a cross bar along the post. Thin wires attach to each side of the cross bar which are then attached to nipple grippers. As hand screw is turned, the crossbar moves forward onto the post away from my chest. As it does, it puts a pulling tension on my nipples and tits. I imagine the trick is to get the cross bar farther and farther way each time you use it. It could really be a trip especially if you put the nipple grabbers in actual nipple rings or studs.

“Also, I have hung the new whips in the dungeon. One of them I just bought on a whim. They call it pussy whip. It makes me excited to even think about it. Then there are the regular floggers and hand whips. I hope you are pleased with the results you get. And, I also bought an ostrich plume feather. When I’m bound it could make for an interesting sensation especially when used alternately with one of the whips.”

“Second, as you know, I only have a few months to go until the end of this semester. If it pleases you, I’d like to leave the apartment then and make my room here my permanent residence. That way I’d be here when you want me and no doubt would be better able to learn from you and serve you.”

“Is that all?” he said.

“While I was at “The Leather and Tack Supply Barn”, Celia mentioned they not only had a green door but also a red door with even more erotic merchandise. If my hunch is right, there would seem to be a fairly large population in this area who share our lifestyle or something akin to it; apparently large enough to support an establishment that stocks an extensive collection of erotic clothes and equipment.

“So, perhaps during the summer vacation, if it pleases you, I’d like to see if they would hire me to sell their erotic goods, strictly on a commission basis. Not that you need more money, but it's the principle of the thing.

“And lastly, if there is a group of folks who share our life style in the community, again only if it pleases you, perhaps we could expand our social agenda, such as it is, to include some of them. I have in mind in particular, Celia and her Master.”

“Slave, you have been a busy young lady and a thoughtful one at that. I’m too tired to beat you or fuck you any more tonight. Go to your room and I’ll see you for breakfast at 8. Bring your journal with you. Then we will go to the dungeon. Let me sleep on your suggestions. I assure you I’ll give them all careful consideration.”

At 8 sharp they met at the breakfast table; Amy was already set with sexual anticipation. They rose to go to the dungeon through the library that was looking more organized that ever before. She gave him the journal and stepped out of her clothes. He guided her down the dungeon steps.

Clay found a penis gag that filled her mouth. Then he pulled a full leather training helmet over her head. She could breathe easily but not see or talk. He slipped her into 4 inch heels that had the effect of tilting her ass out provocatively and giving her legs a wonderful sensuous appearance.

He slipped the tit press in place; the top section of curved wooden devise went over her tits and the lower section went under her tits. The two sections were attached around her back with leather straps and to each other by long bolts that could be brought together with long bolts and wing nuts. He did not tighten the press until he forced her arms behind her and bound them together at the elbows and wrists.

Then he twisted the wing nuts of the press downward slowly on each side. The press was custom made for her and her tits were forced in the only direction they could go -- out. Her nipples were hard and the flesh of her tits was squeezed so tightly he thought they might burst. He could hear her muffled moans.

Next he pulled her each nipple toward him and snapped on a clip with a bell as close to the aureole as he could.

“I’ll fiddle with the new tit puller gadget next time.” He said.

“I’m going to read your journal entries now, Slave. Keep up a good face for me, and ring those bells,” he taunted.

Amy was feeling the pain and knew it would not abate any time soon. “The stressful life of a slave,” she thought.

Clay was quite impressed with Amy’s insights. She was a bright girl and making straight “A”s in his book.

“Amy, I am really very pleased with your progress as my Slave. You have shown great promise and initiative and I appreciate that. In fact I agree with all of the suggestions you made last night.

“I see you struggling under the stress I’m putting on your tits but, I’m not done with them yet because now I’m going to whip them with a crop and a flogger.”

She had never had her sensitive tits whipped before, nor has she had them so painfully squeezed. Clay removed the clip from her right nipple. Pain! Hot pain!

He sucked her nipple and played with it with his tongue. He pulled it with his teeth and heard her moan.

He raised and lowered the crushed orb and played with the heft of her tit in the palm of his hands.

To warm her up, he then stroked her raising tit fifty times lightly with a small leather crop with an inch wide tip until it was pink with blood flushing through it’s sensitive skin surface.

Then he pinched her right nipple between his left pointer finger and thumb before he cracked a new 16 strand flogger hard directly across the tit itself. Her knees buckled. Nine more cracks.

She broke into a major sweat and moaned from within her gag and hood. She knew he would torment her left tit the same way. She was not to be let down. The pain that coursed through her left tit was just as intense as that which lingered in the right one.

He loosened the tit press and removed it. Then he flogged each tit again ten more times. They were red and swelling.

With the crop in hand once again he took aim at each nipple alternating left and right. One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Shattering, searing pain!

He made her spread her legs and felt her wetness; she was flowing. He released her arms and removed the hood and gag.

“On your knees, slave. Suck me dry, bitch,” he hissed at her.

She was on him in an instant. Deep. While she eagerly sucked him, he let his hands stroke her sore nipples then he let her drain him. He could feel the ejaculate come from deep within him and he cried out in an explosive climax and watched some of his warm cum ooze from around her lips.

Her tits and nipples were afire.

When she went back to class on Monday, her face had a glow which seemed almost radiant. Those who saw her did not fully appreciate the glow that still remained in her tits.

She would have a story to tell her journal..

The rest of the semester passed rapidly. Clay got Amy the summer job she wanted. He hired a professional private workout trainer and tennis coach for her during her stay at the mansion. No Slave of his was going to the college gym -- especially one with the exceptional good looks and body of his slave, Amy.

What neither the trainer of Amy knew was that she would not be wearing panties under her short tennis outfit during her lessons. She still had a lot to learn.

The End of Part # 3

Note: Dear readers, please take a moment to drop me a note, either at my e-mail address or as a review, and let me know what you like about this part of the story and what you don’t like; and what you like and don’t’ like about the story in general. Thanks, LC