Picture this, a decaying manor house business firm, grimly clinging to its former grandeur, standing isolated deep in the English countryside, and inside it a dominatrix called Wanda blew smoke doughnut and admired her skinny behind in the full length mirror nailed to the wall of her modest grooming room. Touching six fundament in blackguard, late twenties, Wanda was a pallid beauty with exquisite lineament, tall and willowy, hardly any mammilla, with her long black hair tied up into a bun, smokey eye and carmine backtalk. She looked good, and felt hungry to visit pain. Her snatch was already tingling at the thought of splitting material body with her bullwhip, making the little squawk down in the dungeon squeal for mercy. The box-shaped windowless way, lit gloomily by a low watt bulb, was sparsely supply and carpeting less, containing a solid oak pectus of pants, crammed with bondage clothing, wee up and sex plaything, with an armless part swivel chair pushed against it. Mozart's ‘ lament'played tinnily on a dyad of lilliputian speakers connected to her smartphone, helping Wanda focus on the rituals of degradation she was to perform. She stubbed out her cigaret and checked her outfit, pleased with her minimalist alternative of wet look leather thigh high school boots with kinky blackguard, black studded body harness with straps covering her nipple with matching shank set and leather garter. The strait of footsteps on the steps broke her self-absorption. A hard rap on the threshold.

"Mistress Wanda, it is midnight,"came the gruff phonation of the Servant.

Wanda picked up her bullwhip and cracked it in front of the mirror, feeling her power, heels clicking on the concrete level as she turned and headed for the door.

The root cellar was dank and cavernous, used formerly to house a wine collection it had been transformed into an ersatz twisting chamber, with a pillory, a wooden framework to fix brain and deal mounted on a steel post drilled into the concrete storey, the centrepiece of the stopgap dungeon. Next to it a robust oak table covered with various BDSM paraphernalia including bondage mitts and turnup, mamilla clamps, speculums, flogger, butt plugs, spanking paddles and a shoulder strap on dildo. Some of the detail were still covered with the shit, piss and bloodline of their premature dupe. The cellar was atmospherically lit by half a dozen candelabrum, whose long candles had been assiduously set alight by the Servant. A diddly-shit, bulky and brawny man with a shaven head, dressed in a whiteness shirt with a Windsor cut and black tie, blood flecked white glove, Grey vest and black trousers, the Servant had worked up a sweat preparing the Slave for mistress Wanda and he had rolled his sleeves up his beefy arms.

"You have prepared the sleeping accommodation well,"said Wanda, her accent cut trash aristocratic, honed at stage schoolhouse years a decade earlier.

"Thank you ma'am,"said the retainer bowing.

She pointed the bullwhip at his bare weapons system, regarding him disdainfully,"I appreciate the prepping can be toilsome, but really we must preserve our standards…"

"The paddle Miss ?"asked the handmaid hopefully.

Wanda rolled her eyes back theatrically,"Of course…"

The handmaid shuffled over to the table and picked up a studded wooden paddle which he obsequiously presented to his Mistress.

"fountainhead hold this,"Wanda said irritably, holding the bullwhip out. ‘ And assume the position."

The retainer took the party whip and meekly hang over. fancy woman Wanda gave his buttocks one mighty thwack, eliciting a moan that ended with a prolonged ‘ Ooh…'

"That was a rather camp ebullition,"said Wanda, arching an supercilium as they exchanged whip and paddle.

"Go and tidy yourself up. tax return promptly in 30 minutes with a cup of Earl Grey."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am."

schoolmarm Wanda dismissed him with a waft of her rid helping hand. She watched him ascend the stairs and passing out the wine cellar door. Now for the Captive, groaning on the far side of meat of the bedroom. She picked up a candelabrum and went over to satisfy the flesh.

The Captive was secured to a wooden St Andrew's cross attached to the far bulwark, standing on the orb of his metrical foot and facing frontwards in an x shaped position as leather wrist and ankle restraints dug into his meat, moaning softly and rendered deaf-mute by a glob gag the handmaid had tightened into place. He was an quotidian and hairy middle aged man running to fat with thinning blonde hair parted at the side. Mistress Wanda stood before him, bullwhip in one hand, candelabrum in the other, her repulsion evident as she appraised him.

"Eeww."

distaste wrinkling her hone mug, Wanda coldly stated,"I am the hammer, you are the anvil."She flicked his uncircumcised one-half hard cock with the bullwhip.

"You really are a ghastly piddling specimen."

Wanda carefully placed the candelabra down to the side of the captive so he was clearly lit and dropped the bullwhip on his infantry. She took a candle and held the fire near the tip of his cock, just close enough so he feels intense hotness but it doesn't burn his shaft. The Captive tried to cross his wooden leg but succeeded only in pointing his articulatio genus at each early. Madame Wanda's taunting laughter echoed around the chamber.

"I'm the advantageously in breed, you know, and here I am with a horrifying little commoner for company,"breathed Wanda into his ear.

"I'm beautiful aren't I, almost flawless. Wouldn't you love to osculate these wide red lip,"said Wanda, licking his impudence and tasting a mix of cologne and moisturiser. The captive wag his head obediently, fear and excitement coalescing to produce a curiously glazed expression.

"candy kiss, bitch,"said Wanda, dripping candle wax onto his dresser. She grabbed his peter.

"Aw, picayune man is hard,"said Wanda, gently masturbating his prick. The prisoner looked dreamy eyed, at to the lowest degree until Wanda stretched his cock and trickled wax droplets on it. middle popping out of his head, the captive gave an animalistic grunt. Wanda blew the candle out.

"Now where should I put this ?"said Wanda, smearing wax on the captive's side. She jammed the cd halfway up his ass which made the Captive piss a bit ; Madame Wanda took a burst on her smooth milky thigh. Recoiling, Madame Wanda spat in his face and verbalized,"Scum."

The saliva dripped from his eyebrows

"You'd love to drub that up wouldn't you, toilet cunt."

Madame Wanda picked up the bullwhip and retreated a few steps.

"You're such a piece of diddly-squat ; I can not, even though I should, refer to you as my slave."

She cracked the whip expertly ; it had a relatively short thong measuring four feet, and the shock of the sonic boom made the captive stiffen. The lash just missed his balls.

"The bullwhip originated as a pastoral tool,"said Wanda."To celebrate cattle in line. In some ways this is a household heirloom,"said Wanda, almost wistful. She raised the whiplash and watched the captive wince in prediction. Wanda was amused by this, suppressing her giggles as she shakily raised the lash. Then out of nowhere, crack, she flailed the whip and the G-string split up afford his dresser. Wanda stood block as she surveyed the deep weal leaking line of descent, the Captive annihilated but alarm enough to feel Madame was surprised by the damage. She dropped the whip and approached him. They stood there staring into each other's middle and finally Madame Wanda felt connected, she stroked his side tenderly and whispered,"Slave."

Madame licked up some blood from his bureau and kissed his frontal bone, the descent mixing with the spitting from before and running down his face. Wanda went down on her genu and breathed on his balls. Licking his cock, Wanda gathers his balls in one hand, the Captive writhing and shoving his cock in her boldness. Wanda bit his Ball sac, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to engender a strangulated whimper. Wanda pulls the candle out of his arse and stands upright, scrutinising the mucus speckled with shit.

"I'd like to shove this down your throat but you'd whimper like a bitch if I ungagged you. I'm not into a dialogue with a oaf of fecal matter."Wanda smeared the ass mucus on his face. This seemed to divert the Captive despite his loss, his cheeks jiggling around the testis gag. Madame Wanda's eyes burned red, candent with fury she stormed over the table and returned to the prisoner with a dyad of teat clamps, two pig time attached together with a Ernst Boris Chain. She attached the bruiser clipping to his tit and yanked hard. The Captive's middle rolled back, finding the pain exquisite. Wanda gave another couple of tugs and he twisted and turned like rag chick idly tossed around by a kid.

"So you think you are hardcore, eh, pig twat."

There was a knock on the wine cellar door.

"Ah, refreshments. Enter."

The servant clumped down the steps holding a silver tray, on which was a pot of Earl Grey tea, two china cupful and a jug of milk. Dutifully he poured his mistress a cup.

She accepted it and sipped it cautiously ; noticing the Servant had rolled his sleeve down and secured the turnup with a lovely pair of gold cufflinks she had presented him with, almost a year to the day, for his loyal and proficient service of process. Mistress possessed the commons touch.

"Excellent Milton, delicious and piping hot. Maybe our node would care a drink."

The handmaid smiled broadly,"A splatter of milk ma'am ?"

"I am nothing but merciful."

The handmaiden poured a cup and added a spattering of milk. Wanda drained her cup and picked up the other.

"This will help oneself revive you, a good old English cuppa.'

Wanda dipped his rooster and Ball into the brewage and it was as if she had delivered an galvanising shock, the prisoner stiffened, every sinew taut, top dog stretching upwards and his gut emptying. Wanda observed the excreta hitting the trading floor with appal fascination. The Servant looked on blankly ; he'd seen it all before.

"fountainhead,"said Wanda,"This is all getting rather revolting. If only oleo was here, she would….elaborate. scat singing is certainly not my bag. Never creative thinker dear, what's past is prologue. We begin again."

Wanda kissed the prisoner absently on the cheek and turned to the Servant,"Milton, you need to mud out the stable later."

The handmaiden assented with a bow.

"rub the puppet down and stick him in the pillory,"Madame Wanda was at the table, rummaging in a cosmetics bag. She dug out a lipstick and compact mirror.

"If he gets uppity yank his tit range of mountains,"offered Madame.

The Servant undid the captive's restraints and he flopped to the level like a puppet whose strings have been snipped.

"Crawl to the pillory, dog. On all quatern like the bitch you are."

She stuck the toe of a boot up his arse crack to guide him on the way. The Servant picked him up easily and secured his head and wrist joint in the pillory.

"typeface down, ass up. What a sorry fucking spectacle you present."

schoolmistress Wanda inspected him contemptuously with nail down eyes.

"Milton, be a Darling and kick in his arse a rub, there's some wet rub on the table, just get the shit off and dab a bit of stemma on,"said Wanda.

The Servant began his task.

"Leave them on the tray I know someone on craigslist who'll buy them. You'll be off to the post office with the old flash udder again."

For a second Milton's loyally somber demeanour seemed to flicker, offering a glimmer of a flummox reaction shot, but he quickly knuckled down and cleaned the captive to Madame's satisfaction.

"Milton, go and wait outside the room access. We are at the commencement of the end."

The servant nodded and ascended the step, crunching the door shut behind him.

"I do wish he wouldn't bloody slam it,"said Madame Wanda irritably.

"Just I and you again, how the mighty fall, here I am, reduced to working with a recycled turd like your proficient self."

Wanda lazily drew the word ‘ beef'on his forehead in pink lipstick and loosed freezing laughter that resonated within the bedchamber.

"Look at you. Not quite the big man now are we."

She showed the captive his reflection in the mirror. He seemed oddly pleased by it, which irked Wanda and provoked a casual cruelty. Wanda held his nose between pollex and forefinger and watched his font go blue and felt her pussy moisten at the terror in his centre that seemed tidal bore to slide down his checks like so practically melt wax. She released his nose and the Captive snorted air greedily. Wanda delivered a crisply executed bolt across his nerve, startling the Captive and making him make water again, the blow hard enough to mark his left boldness. She turned her attention to his other end, lipsticking ‘ SL'on one prat cheek and ‘ UT'on the other.

"If only your mother could see you now,"mused Wanda."I'm for certain she'd be overwhelmed with pride.'She picked up a spanking paddle and delivered a ferocious black eye to his behind, then followed it with four more in Sceloporus occidentalis succession. Wanda stepped back to look up to the results of the thrashing,"Your hindquarters is red raw, dear boy."

Wanda sensed the captive was near the cosmic connection extreme ritualistic pain and controlled humiliation compelled, spent physically his mind was lost to the adept, time to gently take him home, to orchestrate a conclusion. She lubed his anus and slid a cigaret pug in, playfully wiggling. No real rough stuff now. His cock was rock hard, mind annihilated. Wanda put on her vampire boxing glove ; blacken leather with alloy tacks set into the fingertips, and dragged them slowly down his backs.

"gift you goosebumps, baby,"breathed Wanda into his ear. She stood behind the prisoner and reached around, wanking his slit with her right mitt and massaging his orchis with her left wing. Wanda knew silence was what he needed now, to fully work on the pleasance after all the pain, to reconnect with the self through orgasm. Wanda felt his clod tighten and gripped his cock hard, masturbating it faster. The prisoner was mewling softly and thrusting his rooster and then it was all over, three hot spurt as he convulsed. Wanda clocked the decent wad of ejaculate on the concrete floor and thinking of another potential craigslist post.

"Milton,"screamed Madame Wanda.

Madame Wanda stepped out of the shower feeling cleansed and half human again. After towelling her hair dry, she slipped into a second joint length cream robe and flopped on the bed. Wanda was always drained after a session but the ridiculous midnight start time the node had stipulated meant she could barely stay fresh her oculus open as the clock edged towards two in the morning. He must give a gothic streak or it possessed something psychologically emblematical for him concluded Wanda. The client had paid additional and handsomely for the tardily commencement of bodily process and in full up front, a stipulation of Wanda's to avoid any awkwardness when the act was consummated. He had expressed immense satisfaction with the experience, telling her, once John Milton had removed the ball gag, that it had been a mind blowing, transcendent experience and she was the greatest dominatrix he had known, and he had met many. Wanda had accepted the compliment with wonted grace and self-deprecation. She had stuck to the smoke pointed notes he had emailed her beforehand scrupulously, with only a few tiddler deviations, requirement to instil real veneration and gratitude for mercy, the main one dunking his ballock and balls in a cup of woman. Wanda flopped on the bed. The customer was tucked up snugly in one of the guest bedrooms. She knew cypher about him, aside from he was high up in the oil diligence and he was loaded. They had to be, you needed serious coin to procure Wanda's bespoke services. Wanda needed them to be as anonymous as possible so she could treat them in the abstract, like the corporeal trade good they were. Milton had patched the Client's wounds up, run him a hot bathroom, got him settled. The node had declined the offer of beer and sandwiches, instead necking a large brandy and quickly drifting into a deep rest. In the dawn Wanda would breakfast with the client, no uncertainty he would be urbane and charming, they usually always were, and after he had finished his buttered kippers and grapefruit Milton would drive the client to the caravan station in the silver Rolls Royce Phantom VI her father bequeathed to her. All office of the bullshit experience. Wanda yawned and turned off the bedside lamp, forsaking her usual nightcap of large gin and tonic and a coffin nail through sheer tiredness and lay staring into the darkness, trying not to cogitate about how genuine awe in the eyes of her prisoner really made her wet, how one day she might just…Wanda pushed the thoughts away, ***********ing something lighter to chew over on till the blackness swallowed her. One affair that had sincerely perplexed and amused her earlier was the first words the customer had uttered when Milton removed his testicle gag. After gulping air, the captive had asked, ‘ Who is marge ?"

"Marge,"Wanda had replied, torching a cigarette,"Is a very dirty girl."

Smiling to oneself, Wanda allowed the Night to soak her up, and she enjoyed the sweetest of dreams, her bounder clicking in phantom recession .