Bitch in Training

       My planned sabbatical of reflection and intention of finding seclusion in order to find an extended time in which to write had been transformed into a tortuous journey of degradation and self discovery. Sir Paul fulfilled every fantasy that I’d ever dreamed, and continually expanded my universe by leading me down paths of experience that I had never imagined.

       My new Master continued in his routine day-to-day activities, and I tried to get my thoughts together and continue writing while he was at work. But writing was proving to become more and more difficult. Try though I would to concentrate, my mind was bombarded with images of my experiences with Zeus and Sir Paul. My psyche was being tweaked and fine-tuned by his training. Both my mind and body ached for his attentions and longed to continue my indoctrination.        At the advent of each new experience orchestrated by my new Master, I would think to myself, “No Way!!” and when the event had transpired, I would lie flushed and satiated, and be slapped in the face with the realization that the “Way” is whatever Sir Paul intends.

       Paul is a fixture in his community with long-term ties, a diverse network of friends, and access to innumerable resources. He knows where to acquire anything imaginable to further my “education”. From medical and veterinary supplies, to leather goods and live animals for experimental purposes, he knows the number to call.

       The playroom in the basement of Paul’s home remains a place of mystery for me. Even after regular visits for more than two weeks, I shudder in fear the moment that he instructs me to go there. All I know is that the ceiling has been reinforced to house four remote control electric wenches, and that the floor has been fitted with evenly spaced anchors in a 36 square foot grid. The anchors can be fitted with two inch closed eye bolts in any configuration that Master desires. While some Masters display their tools on the walls to intimidate and inspire fear in their subjects, my Master knows that I have no idea what will next appear from the walk-in closet where he keeps his tools and toys. His psychological hold over me is comparatively greater that way. I can never assume that I have endured the cruelest whip, the heaviest length of cane, or the largest dildo. I can never sigh in contentment and delude myself into thinking I have reached a goal. Sir Paul has a bottomless bag of tricks and I have only begun my journey.

       Paul called me yesterday morning and barked the single word, “Now!!” I scurried to, regardless of what I had been doing, be on his back porch on all fours within sixty seconds. If I failed to meet the deadline, I would face dire consequences. I had just stepped out of the shower. I dropped the towel, having no time to dry off, grabbed a tee shirt and a pair of gym shorts and scampered toward the door trying to don the clothes as I rushed. I arrived on time and Sir smirked as though to say, “Adequate”. He glanced at my clothes and said, “Lose ‘em”. I was naked in a thrice. One firm hand gripped my shoulder and I knew where I was to go. I led the way to the basement stairs, descended, and went to the center of the room to await instructions.

       Paul inquired, “Bitch, are you clean?” I had been in the shower less than three minutes earlier, so I confidently answered “Yes, Sir” He stepped back and ordered me to spread my legs and grab my ankles. He inserted his ring and middle fingers up my ass and flexed his knuckles as though trying to dig even deeper. I started to moan and he yanked out his fingers and told me to stand and face him. He shook his middle finger at me as though giving me the “bird” and I noticed the small brown glob on the very tip. Master cleaned his finger on my moustache directly beneath my nose, grabbed me by the nipple, and led me to the downstairs bathroom I had never seen.

       Paul ushered me to the walk-in shower and turned me to be facing him. He adjusted his grip on my nipple and grabbed the other one as well. He began to pull and squeeze harder and harder until his forearms began to shake from the continuous exertion. He glanced down at the erection that his attentions had induced, and smiled. I blushed, thinking to myself that my Master knows my buttons more intimately and completely than anyone I had previously known. I am subservient putty in his hands and realize that he is molding me to be his consummate “bitch”.

Paul hands me the handcuffs and signals for me to put them on and raise my arms above my head. I comply and he affixes my ankles to opposite sides of the shower. He flips a wall switch and a wire cable descends from the ceiling. He attaches my handcuffs to the cable and presses a second switch which stretches my arms upward until I am barely on my feet.

       The shower features sixteen wide spray adjustable nozzles which are arranged in an array so that, when the water is turned on, a steady stream is delivered to every square inch of the targeted body. From the top of your head to the tops of your toes, the spray coverage is complete, and as I was soon to learn, unavoidable. Paul initiates the shower and the temperature is warm and soothing. He flips a switch on the wall and I can hear an air compressor start up. He reaches into the shower and rubs tingling peppermint oil based soap over my entire body. Paul flips a switch and the water spray begins to pulse. The jets aimed at my nipples and pubic area dance over my skin and arouse me. My erection has grown. My cock is being balanced in the air by pulsing pressured water from both above and below. My Master nods at me in response to my questioning eyes, giving me permission to cum. A thousand pulsing fingers caress me and cajole my orgasm. Paul and I both watch as I shudder and cum. The sperm congeals instantly in the warm water, scoots across the shower floor and down the drain.

       Master laughs as though saying “Let the fun begin!” I had had my moment, now he would have his. He turned a dial on the wall to change the resultant spray from gentle and soothing, to finely aimed needles of high pressure water. Every jet caused an unrelenting indentation on my skin. The water hurt and was hurting me more as the seconds of misery crawled by. I scrunched my eyes closed trying to avoid the concentrated spray. Paul had increased the water temperature to an unendurable level. Not hot enough to scald or cause blistering, but much too hot to be enjoyed. He stopped the nozzles that were aimed at my head and neck, not wanting to blind me or induce a potentially fatal fever. I opened my eyes and through the thick steam saw Paul wielding a handheld nozzle wand, like the ones used at a car wash. The pressured spray he employed was biting and cold. This was Hell. I yanked against my restraints trying to avoid the unwelcome onslaught. Twelve piercing wall jets of heated water were no contest for a single vicious spray of cold. I screamed continuously as he guided the spray wand over my entire body. Finally, he stopped the high pressure cold spray. He adjusted the temperature, severity, and spray pattern to one that would not hurt me, and jabbed the wand deep in my ass. He oscillated the nozzle deep within me and watched as the water poured out of my clenched ass. When the water exiting was crystal clear, he was assured that I had been thoroughly “power-cleaned” and withdrew the wand. Visibility was zero in the steam filled room. When my Master turned off the water flow and opened the door, the air started to clear. My entire body was lobster pink in color. My body temperature must have exceeded 104 degrees and I felt faint. I sensed Paul moving towards me, and he began to coat my body from the neck down with water based lubricant. I remember thinking, “What on Earth?” but the lube was cool and soothing, and I didn’t second-guess his intentions.    

            Sir Paul helped me back into the main room and showed me his latest construction project. He had modified the metal spring support of a single bed into a frame into which his trainees could be strapped. The springs and metal band had been removed and replaced with an ingenious system of guides and anchors that would function for strapping, rope, cording, or wire. Paul indicated the head and neck support and maneuvered my pink lubed body into the desired position. He immobilized my head with a padded leather strap. The he stretched and secured three inch width leather strapping beneath my arms, across my abdomen, and above my knees. My hands were cuffed to the edges of the frame at my sides, and my feet were spread far apart by padded ankle cuffs. Paul wheeled over the rolling examination table, locked the wheels, and lifted the frame which secured me atop it. I was comfortable. My neck was supported and the straps, though snug, were not cutting off my circulation. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I heard him go to the closet. He returned, showed me the black polyethylene sheeting, and fanned it over me as though making a bed. He secured the sheeting with black duct take on the strap that spanned my chest. The he bunched and piled the heavy sheeting below my neck to insure that my vision would be obstructed. I heard him lift a metallic can from the floor and felt him pour pounds of something cool and wet over my torso, crotch, and between my spread-eagled legs. My first impression was that it was cooked spaghetti or noodles. Whatever it was, it provided cool and welcome relief to my overheated body. My Master pulled the sheeting back down to cover my body, and tucked in the edges. Paul leaned over me and said he was off to work a short shift and would return in about four hours. He told me to close my eyes, and turned off the lights on his way out. Before he reached the top of the stairs, I realized that my body had been blanketed with something that was alive… not cold pasta. Though I felt their movement, it felt like a slow undulating slither, I felt no bites or stings. I was confident the creatures were not scorpions, centipedes, or dangerous snakes. I presumed they were some type of harmless earthworm and drifted off to sleep.

       I awoke when Master returned and turned on the lights. Because of the way my head was secured, the ceiling lamps shone right into my eyes. I was a little groggy, but attributed it to having been through the physical rollercoaster ride of hot and cold water torment. I noticed that whatever had been sharing my space beneath the plastic sheet was no longer constantly wriggling. I tried to remember if earthworms die if separated from soil too long, like a fish out of water.

       Master Paul explained that he intended to suspend my body, strapped within the frame, face downward, and angle me at forty five degrees. He said he was positioning a mirror so that I might have a clear view of my entire body, and more thoroughly appreciate my predicament. I still felt disoriented, but could not surmise a possible cause. Paul surprised me by fitting a blindfold over my eyes. He rarely resorts to using one, usually preferring to witness the reactions of my eyes. Paul lowered the wench chains and affixed the first two to the right side of the metal frame. Then he routed the other two chains over and past the first attachments, under the frame and attached them to the left side. When the wenches pulled upward, I was violently flipped over and my body was horizontal, faced downward, and suspended in the air. The straps had held tight. Paul continued as he had foretold, and lowered the lower half my body until I was at a forty five degree angle to the floor with my eyes pointed at, but unable to see, the mirror that would reveal what my Master had accomplished.

       Master Paul, my tormentor, my teacher…I shiver in anticipation incapable of imagining what is about to transpire. You do not give me hints. You do not play coy and tease. Your intentions are thoroughly planned and expertly executed. You keep me guessing every moment. I usually am so discombobulated that I cannot tell “up” from “down”.

       Paul untucked the plastic sheeting and peeled off the duct tape that had secured it around my body. Like a magician revealing what was hidden behind the curtain, he pulled the sheeting aside and simultaneously jerked off my blindfold. My eyes struggled to focus and then I was confronted with the vision of over a hundred blood engorged leeches dangling from my body. No wonder I’d felt so drained. The leeches were plumped with my blood and dancing like fishes hooked on a fishing line. But the leeches weren’t dancing to escape, but instead to secure their grip. Gravity made me feel the pull of their tiny writhing bodies striving to maintain their grasp on my inverted pink body.

       The sight was unbelievable. My cock and testicles were dark with a concentration of leeches that had migrated to moist warmth of my groin. It appeared that four leeches were clamped on the head of my penis, and eight had spaced themselves along the shaft. My scrotum however must have been the most tempting tender target. Over twenty leeches were insistently feasting, and their combined weight tugged my balls towards the ground.

       Master Paul laughed out loud and I knew that this horror was only the prelude. He operated the wenches to return my body to horizontal, and started to lower me on the examination table… but he stopped. He had no intention of inadvertently dislodging any of the nagging bloodsuckers that were relentlessly draining my life juices. He lowered the edge of the platform to the stabilized table, and rearranged the cables so that when they were retracted, I would be returned to a face-up position. This time when the frame flipped over, I was acutely aware of the scores of fat wet leeches slapping my body, and every damned one held its tight grip. Paul leveled the floating frame and lowered it slowly to the floor.

             Master released the strapping which had secured my head, and he released my hands from their confinement. I reached up to embrace him, but he pinioned my shoulders down with his knees, put cuffs around each of my biceps, and secured them to the frame. Now I could touch my face, but my hands could reach any lower than where the duct tape had been stretched across my upper chest. Paul leaned forward, grabbed the back of my head, and pressed his clothed crotch hard against my mouth and face. I licked my lips and smiled as an invitation, but he jumped up and said, “I’ll be right back”, leaving me longing for his taste.  

         

Paul bounded up the stairs and turned off the lights. I heard the front door slam. Moments later, I heard the front door open and as Master neared the basement door, I heard a cacophony of screeches and hisses. Paul had borrowed seven unadoptable feral cats from his friend at Animal Rescue. The cats were agitated, loud, hungry and menacing. These weren’t cuddly kittens, but large vicious street cats. Paul placed the two cages on the side of the room. He approached and knelt down beside me. He reached down and grabbed a leech that was lodged in my armpit. He ripped it out of me, my body stiffened in pain, and he held the leech in front of my face as the blood trickled down his fingertips. Paul took the leech to the cages and the first cat to which it was offered, sniffed it first, and then took it into its mouth. Paul had hoped for hoped for a more dramatic reaction. He went to the bar, and from the refrigerator removed some frozen tuna steak and a small rainbow trout. He proceeded to the blender to prepare his special “cocktail”. The blender whirred, the cats were caterwauling, and I was shivering in fear. Paul strained off the solids in the cocktail and poured the juice into an empty spray bottle. He came back beside me, yanked a leech off my abdomen, and thoroughly moistened it with the fish water spray. As Paul approached the cages, the cats were fighting to get closer to the scent. The second that Paul dangled the leech between the wires the cats jumped in unison to capture the prey. One cat’s claw left Paul with a two inch bleeding gash on his finger. Master just smiled. “That’s the ticket!!” he thought to himself. Paul took the spray bottle and made sure that every leech on my body was thoroughly doused. He liberally sprayed my breasts and crotch as though marking intended targets. Paul had made certain that the cats had not been fed in a couple of days. He went to media center and double-checked the camera angles. He left the music level low, knowing that between my screams and the screeching of the cats that there would be a new symphony written. Paul put on his leather gloves. Suffering one scratch had been enough for him. He turned on the spotlights to fully illuminate the scene. He stood behind the cages and simultaneously opened the doors to each one. Seven balls of fur, teeth, and claws flew across the room. I could move my hands to protect my neck and face but the rest of my body was vulnerable. My slippery softened skin made the cats dig in their claws to get a grip. The cats fought atop my body. They jockeyed for position, puncturing my flesh as they tried to secure a foothold. The leeches which had painlessly insinuated themselves into my body were latched on tight. The cats would grip each leech in their teeth, and then tug and shake them trying to rip them from my body. The cats pounced from leech to leech. The scene was incredibly gory. When the cats would capture the leech within their mouths and bite down to secure it, the leeches would pop like blood-filled balloons. The faces of the seven relentless cats were soaked in blood. The cats looked and administered pain like beasts from Hell. One cat had attacked my head from out of sight and scratched my forehead, but otherwise I was able to protect my face and neck. The remainder of my body however was at their mercy, and they had none.

          

                 My body was red with blood from the shoulders down. The blood soaked coats of the cats had spread the coating over every square inch of my anterior. As the cats reduced the number of leeches remaining, it became even worse for me as they would fight, and claw, and jump all over me. 

       Master came over and reattached to cables to the frame. He raised me about four feet off the floor. Now the cats would have to jump up to continue their feast. Half the time, I was too slippery for them to secure their claws, and the cats would slide off slowly digging in their claws for the entire futile trip. The largest cat found a foothold between my legs and proceeded to tug, gnaw, and devour each successive leech within his reach. He would bat my cock around with his claws and confront his prey one by one.

       To compound my agony, I am allergic to cats. Every scratch, puncture, and bite had puffed up with swelling. My cock had become engorged with blood and painfully rigid, not in excitement, but in an allergic reaction. My scrotum had swollen to the size of an orange and the skin encasing my testicles was taut. The cat between my legs dug its talons into the tender flesh of my inner thighs and dove in under me to wrench out the leeches that had crawled between the cheeks of my ass.

       Three other cats were fighting over the last leeches on my breasts. One damned leech on my right nipple simply would not surrender its grip and the frustrated cat raked his claws across my upper abdomen as he struggled. I glanced down and saw the cat had resorted to eating the leech bit by bit even though it was still latched on to my nipple. The leech was already half gone, and I screamed in horror as I realized the last bite might include my entire nipple. At the last second, just as I had concluded that my nipple was doomed, the remainder of the leech was ripped out and the voracious cat gobbled down the last morsel.

       As I had mentioned, this was a gory scene. Though I could sense that my skin had been shredded, when I looked down to assess the damage, all I could see was an even red coating. Leeches secrete an anticoagulant so that they can efficiently feed on a continuous flow of blood. The water based lubricant and non-congealing blood had combined to become a shiny red non-drying paint.

       When the last leech had been attended to, Paul returned with spray bottle and concentrated the spray on each of my breasts and my crotch. One cat at each breast and four tussling for a position from which to address my groin began to lick me with their sandpaper textured tongues.  Normally, licking is associated with soothing caresses, but every accursed stroke of each tongue seemed to touch upon an abrasion and I writhed in agony.

       Finally the last cat became sated and bored, and leapt down from the suspended frame. Paul put on a leather hood to protect his face and put on his gloves, and then returned the creatures to their cages one by one. Paul couldn’t take the cats back to the Animal Shelter soaked in blood, so he took the cages to the shower and hosed them down.

       

            Paul lowered my body on to rolling examination table. He removed my restraints and playfully swatted my obscenely swollen cock a few times. He wheeled the table into the bathroom and, using the handheld sprayer gently washed away the blood and lube from my body. As the “paint” was removed, the extent of the damage caused by the cats and the leeches became apparent. I looked down at my body in disbelief. The only areas that had been spared were my head and neck and the spaces that had been covered by the leather straps that had secured me. The damage was more extensive than could have caused by a wire brush. A single tormentor wielding a whip or flogger would have fatigued before my flesh had been this thoroughly been torn asunder. I pictured a multi-blade shredding tool with razor sharp blades and a fence to minimize penetration to 1/16th of an inch… but this damage was worse than that. The feral cats had gouged me with their claws over and over again; both fighting between themselves, and to get a better grip. Every exposed area of flesh had been scratched repeatedly. There were short deep scratches, like when a cat would dig in and rise up on its haunches, and long continuous scratches, like when the cat could not maintain its grip. Every scratch had swollen and felt hot to the touch. Master continued to rinse off my body. When I was finally clean and the bleeding had abated, he sprayed the affected areas with a non-stinging antiseptic. He had me sit up and take an antihistamine, knowing that if the scratches started to itch, I could injure myself even more. Paul had had medical training and knew how to proceed. He applied liquid bandages where necessitated. Three “scratches” were actually tears that would have required stitches, but none were at stress points, so Master knew he could minimize scarring with suture tape.

       I couldn’t talk. I was in shock and still weak from the loss of blood. Imagine one hundred barbed fish hooks embedded, almost painlessly, just under the skin. The line attached to each hook is pulled taut and your skin is painfully distended as the barbs hold tight. Seven “vestal virgins” surround you with a studded flogger in one hand and a cruel gleam in their eyes. As they initiate their assault with the floggers, they pluck and pull at the fishing lines with their free hand and fingers. Then one after another, the virgins, while continually flailing their floggers, wrap the line around the palm of their free hand and rip the hook from your body. The pain is so insistent at each embedded hook that you have no inkling as to where the gut-wrenching event will occur next. That almost describes the pain, but the cats from Hell were even crueler. 

       Master wrapped me in a silk robe, knowing that a whisper of abrasion on the front of my body would cause additional pain. He sent me home, saying that he had to return the feral cats and log in some hours at work. Master Paul patted me on the head as though I had passed a test, and again swatted my cock a few times and watched it bounce around. He instructed me to drink plenty of fluids and to take additional allergy medication if the itching sensation arose. I unsteadily made my way across the lawn towards my apartment. Paul had diverted his attention to the tasks at hand. I looked back as he was backing the truck past me and out of the driveway. I swear I heard all seven cats hiss in unison just as they passed me. My hands instinctively rose to protect my face, and remained there, even as the truck sped down the street and out of sight.