The van stopped before the high fence and an electronic pass on the dashboard opened the gate. It was late afternoon. Once they were through, Magda pulled the van over to the side of the driveway. She came around to the back doors. She and Blaise removed the comfortable car seat, where Blaise had sat for the two hour trip. From the open back doors of the van they surveyed their captive, further inside, facing them. Martin moaned. He ached all over: his wrists chafed in the handcuffs behind the steel poles that comprised the back of the travel chair.

Blaise removed Martin's blindfold and gag and undid his handcuffs. He slowly moved his arms around to the front of his body. What an enormous relief at being able to move his shoulders again! His legs were still strapped wide open, to either side of the chair frame. He squinted. It wasn't bright in the back of the van, but he'd been blindfolded a long time. A stream of drool followed as Blaise pulled the ballgag from his mouth. His jaw felt numb. He couldn't completely close his lips.

They removed his leather collar and replaced it with a stainless steel ring around his neck. "Kind of a fashion item," Blaise murmured. "This says Slavea little more clearly than leather, don't you think?"

"Nice pressure marks," said Magda, as she ran a fingernail over the imprints of the leather collar on his skin. From Martin's neck, a chain dangled between his legs. She pulled his hands forward and joined them with different handcuffs than those he'd worn during the journey. These were rigid-cuffs with three connectors between each wrist, so the hands were forced to remain parallel and could not be twisted. Blaise put a pair of rounded steel shackles on his ankles that matched the steel collar. They joined the collar, wrist-cuffs, and ankles with the chain from his neck. He looked every inch a prisoner: naked, but for the plastic chastity cage he wore. His balls looked angry and sore.

Magda put a step stool on the ground and Martin descended. The asphalt was cold under his bare feet. Blaise tossed a pair of leather moccasins on the ground. He gratefully lifted each foot so she could put them on him.

"Get a good look at it." Magda pointed to a building on the hill. It wasn't quite an office building and it wasn't a residence either. There were several adjacent buildings. One was clearly a barn. They pulled a leather hood over his head and tightened the strap at the neck. The hood was not fitted, but because it lacked openings for the eyes, nose, and mouth, it contracted and inflated as he breathed.

They led him up the long stone walkway to the building. He was swept into the house. Two men dressed in dark blue uniforms took him, one at each arm. They went to an elevator and together they descended. When they got off, he was dragged down a hall and placed in a cold concrete holding cell. He was sitting on a cot, on a thin mattress, his wrists painfully jammed together over his belly. The cell door slammed and he heard locks turning. The men walked away. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the hood, but achieved nothing. It was like he was breathing the darkness itself. Someone was in the cell with him. He was pushed down on his back on the mattress. His handcuffs were loosened and removed. New single cuffs were attached in their place. A chain from each side of the bed was attached to his wrists, which were then pulled apart and secured to poles to either side of his body. The new cuffs were more comfortable, but they were snug and he couldn't draw his hands back. His legs were also loosed from his central chain, then they were separated and clipped to the corners of what he assumed was a steel cot. He could not turn or move much at all except his leather-hooded head.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He must have slept for a moment. He opened his eyes and could see something. His hood had been removed. The cell was almost dark. By a faint light, he could see he was in a corner unit: concrete blocks made up two of the walls. He could see various steel attachment rings in the wall over his head. Steel bars and the cell door made up the other walls of his cell. He was on his back, hands still tethered to the edges of his bed.

The shadow of a naked man loomed over him. "Awake? Good. You have an appointment with Head Mistress at 9 p.m. It is 6:30 now. I have to get you bathed and fed and into the interrogation box in that time. Then we go to meet Head Mistress."

The man reached forward for Martin's cock and balls, still trapped in the chastity. Martin flinched. Like Martin, the man hovering over him wore a chastity cage, his own genitals neutralized by an elaborate steel mechanism and steel belt that held everything secure and was joined front to back through his groin. "Don't worry. I'm your number two. I'm here to look after you between the times your mistress and the management have need of you."

Martin was only slightly reassured.

"I am not going to take advantage of you." There was a long pause while they looked at each other. "You can speak, you know. Tell me anything you want. You don't need permission. I'm not your dom."

Martin cleared his throat. "Do I have a mistress? Is it Blaise or Magda?"

"Neither one actually. No one's been assigned to you. Yet. You'll learn who you serve, after Head Mistress has interviewed you, after you have signed." Number Two flicked the switch on a small lamp beside the bed. The light shone directly on Martin's groin. Two reached in again with his left hand and held the lock at the top of Martin's chastity. With the key in his right hand, he deftly opened the lock and removed it from the cage. With a gentle touch the cage seemed to pop off, as if propelled by the coiled energy of Martin's compressed penis. Martin gasped at the feeling of freedom. Number Two removed the spacer and the rings above and below his balls. He gave Martin's penis a playful little smack. "Wake up!"

Two brought a sandwich and steaming bowl of soup and put the tray on the other side of the cot. He moved towards the locks that held Martin's hands to either side. "You must be hungry. One of my tasks is to make sure you don't starve or get too thirsty. I'm going to trust that you'd like something to eat. That you won't try something foolish like take me hostage and try an escape attempt." He picked up another set of keys from the table and released Martin's hands. Then he released Martin's ankles. Martin was free from the bed and could, theoretically, walk about the cell. He was felt incredibly stiff from being held immobile in the bed frame.

"Where's the toilet?" Two gestured into a darkened corner.

Martin took a long time to straighten up and hobble across the cell. At the toilet he relieved himself, washed his hands in the steel sink, and returned to the cot, his ankle cuffs dragging a few links of chain. He sat and began to eat. He was ravenous. "You mentioned tonight I have to sign something."

"Yes, the terms of your slavery, the fees to be paid, the terms of your privacy, and the confidentiality of your relationship with Abduction Inc. It's a pretty involved contract, and Head Mistress is the only person who can negotiate one."

After Martin had eaten he was taken to a shower room, where he washed himself as thoroughly as he could under Two's watchful eye. Next, Two ordered Martin to give himself an enema. Martin stomach turned. "What for?"

"You can't guess?" Number Two filled a large rubber bottle with water. He topped it with a white plastic nozzle and held it out for Martin.

Martin refused to touch it. "My back door isn't available to anyone."

"Just get down on the floor and do it." Number Two jiggled the enema bottle before his eyes. Martin realized his situation was hopeless. He half-raised his right hand, then he withdrew it.

"Have you ever had an enema, or given yourself one?"

Martin nodded. "When I was young."

"Do you want me to give this to you?" No, he didn't. Martin took the bottle and knelt on the floor. He slowly squeezed the lukewarm contents into his ass. Then he got up, waddled to the toilet and emptied his bowel. Luckily there was a ceiling light over the prisoner's toilet. He knelt on the floor again. Number Two refilled the bottle and put it before him. Martin repeated the insertion. He ached a little bit more every time he did it. Eventually, he was expelling nothing but water.

Two explained a little more about Martin's status. "What you make available, while you are here, is everything. All of your holes, all your openings are for the pleasure of a master or mistress to which you are assigned. The last thing I want – or that you should want – is to have some small fragment of shit turn up on a mistress's strapon. You'd be licking it off faster than you could believe."

Martin blenched. "But I've never . . . "

". . . never been fucked up the ass?" Two completed his sentence.

"No. I mean I don't wantto be fucked up the ass."

"But if you had to endure being fucked up the ass, you'd want it to be a clean ass, wouldn't you?"

"I suppose." Martin was confused. He wanted to say something else. He didn't understand why he'd been abducted. He didn't feel he was there willingly, though part of him was curious, if he had the courage to admit it. He thought he should have some say in what was going to happen.

Number Two looked at him. "Is any of this . . . what has happened to you today . . . was it enjoyable?"

"Some of it was. I'm not entirely immune to kinky pleasures."

"OK. But you don't know really, what it means to submit, do you?" Two continued. "To let another person take control of you. To accept the pleasure of going along for the ride? It's not about what you want. It's about what your superiors want. Your job is to put up with it, and to learnto enjoy it. Bend your body to their will. Most of them are very good at giving you some pleasure along the way. But if you show too much stubbornness getting there, you'll find yourself thrown out on the road, in handcuffs, naked, at three o'clock in the morning."

"You're kidding."

"Am I? And finally, every man is probably afraid of his own asshole the first time, but you know, once something starts hitting your P-spot, it's a whole new world. It was for me."

"P-spot?"

Number Two laughed. "Prostate, my man. Prostate!"

Two smeared some lube on his gloved fingers. He gently put several fingers-worth of the cool sticky substance past Martin's asshole and into his rectum. "It's pretty thick stuff. But it might be what makes the evening tolerable for you. Depends how your interview goes."

When he was done, Number Two moved Martin over to the curious wooden platform on wheels. The wheels were locked so the platform stood steady as Martin stepped on it and carefully sat on the floor of the device with his legs crossed. At each corner, wooden uprights would support the top of the "box" once it was installed. Number Two removed Martin's steel collar; his head was secured at the top of the box by two thick pieces of wood that fitted around his neck. These pieces also attached at the corners to the four uprights. Number Two added two padlocks at either side of Martin's head, to keep these stocks snug on his neck. Then he worked Martin's hands behind his back and slipped them into leather mittens with thick locking cuffs. Once these were secure, Martin's hands were joined by a lock and a short chain was attached to the lock on his wrists. Number Two pulled upward on the chain, causing his wrists to rise up into the middle of his back. The other end of the chain, which he couldn't see, was locked behind his head to the back of the "box" with a metallic snap.

"Uhh. That's high." Number Two undid the lock and lowered the tension on Martin's wrists by two links in the chain.

"You look good like that. We should make a fine first impression with Head Mistress. She likes the bondage to be tight. She likes chains. She's a bit of a cynic about rope, I'm afraid." Number Two continued binding him with a blue ballgag that he worked behind Martin's teeth; he buckled the leather strap tightly around Martin's head. Then he slipped a black rubber hood over Martin's head, and zipped it down at the back. There was a small opening in the front for breathing. Number Two gathered up his keys and a few other things from the table. He unlocked the cell and pushed Martin's "box" out the cell door. The four casters rolled easily on the concrete floor. They proceeded down a long corridor and stopped. Eventually, Martin realized they'd entered an elevator. They rose four levels. Number Two pushed Martin out into a carpeted hallway. He attached a chain to the front of the box and pulled his captive towards the office of the Head Mistress. Though Martin couldn't see it, Head Mistress's office was known to everyone at Abduction Inc. by its distinctive green door.

Head Mistress looked up from behind her desk. Her secretary, having shown Number Two and his prisoner into the large inner office, quietly retreated to the reception area.

"Take off the hood and if he's gagged, take that out of his mouth too." Number Two did as he was told. Martin closed his eyes against the spotlights in the ceiling which all seemed to be focused on him. After the darkness of the cell-block and the rubber hood, the office seemed extremely bright.

Head Mistress came around from behind her desk and looked down at Martin.

"Name?" Martin didn't know if he was being addressed or not. Mistress took a handful of his hair in her leather-gloved fingers. "Name?" she repeated. He struggled to make a sound. His mouth was dry. Head Mistress wore a severe white blouse. Under her rib cage was a glistening black and red striped latex corset, drawn tightly to her waist. The lower part of her corset was covered by a long black-leather pencil skirt that ended well below her knee. She wore black stockings and five inch heeled ankle boots with decorative bands of leather. Silver clasps and dangling jeweled locks completed the boots and would draw anyone's eye. Anyone who was grovelling before her, of course.

"Martin Porter," said Number Two from behind him.

"An interesting case, Mr. Porter. I see from your dossier that you haven't paid for our services! No, not so much as a ten percent deposit. Nor have you – really – even agreed to these services." Martin tried to speak, but her fingers in his hair pulled his neck back and forth against the yoke of the box. She continued, "We have this agreement you entered into with Mistress Destiny, of course. But though she transferred it to us, I'm afraid It's not really worth the paper it's printed on." She paused. "Is it?"

She released Martin's hair, swept over to a wall switch and using the dimmer, lowered the lights. "Thank-you Mistress," he croaked.

"Unlock his wrists," she ordered Number Two. He undid the chain behind Martin's neck, releasing the strain on Martin's shoulders. Two left the chain as a loose tether around Martin's locked leather mittens. "Now, get him out of that box frame and put him in that chair." Number Two unlocked the sliding wooden boards around Martin's neck, and extricated Martin carefully from the box. He helped him rise and sat him in a leather-covered chair before Head Mistress's desk. Martin saw, across the room, a heavy wooden frame with curtains on either side. Behind the frame was a large picture window, giving those outside looking up at the fourth floor, a good view of anyone attached within the frame.

"Get those mittens off him!" Mistress added, with annoyance. "He's got papers to sign."

There was a knock at the door. It was her secretary, along with Magda and Blaise who came in behind her. Blaise wore a frilly maid's outfit: purple and white mostly with deep red accents. Her make-up was severe, giving her young face a sense of menace that Martin found thrilling. Her waist was drawn tight by black leather corset with red vertical piping. She wore knee-high leather boots, with very high sharp steel heels.  She carried a four-foot riding crop that she repeatedly tapped against the side of her boots. She gave Martin a sneering smile, verging on laughter. But she said nothing and looked away. She was clearly a maid with authority! Magda's outfit was quite different, but equally fascinating to Martin: a gorgeous black latex catsuit with black strappy sandals.

The meeting was ready to begin and they began discussing Martin's situation. Head Mistress, Magda and Blaise sat in a semi-circle behind the massive desk. Head Mistress spoke first. "You've got his wallet, cell phone. Anything else? What have you learned, beyond what surveillance provided to us weeks ago?"

"His cell phone contains a lot of texts and call logs to this number, which belongs to a girl named Melody Throckmortense. Here's a few photos of her." Magda passed the phone to Head Mistress. "Reading between the lines, it's a serious relationship."

"Wouldn't you say little Marty? You serious about your little girl?" Head Mistress echoed.

For Martin, sitting naked across the desk from these three dominas, it was a question he couldn't answer. Though he was unrestrained, in a normal boardroom-style chair: it was the first time his hands, feet, and mouth had been free – all at the same time – since lunch time at the mall. Finally he spoke, almost without thinking: "Yes, I'm serious about her. I wouldn't expect you to believe me, but we're in love."

"We're about to negotiate your freedom – or lack of it – for the next two weeks. Of course you can stay longer if you like. At a minimum you owe us $8K, the amount stipulated in Destiny's contract, plus interest on the unpaid amount since last year."

Martin suddenly remembered the company he owned, his role as the leader of hundreds of employees. This was not the time to act submissive. "Not paying. Not binding on me. Any judge in any court room would throw that contract out."

"Ah, but we aren't in any court room. You are with a therapy provider, a services company which is fulfilling a contract, your contract." Head Mistress paused. "Alternatively, we can withdraw the funds from your bank account, sell some investments of yours to raise the cash to which we are entitled."

"You would steal from my accounts and tell me about it beforehand?"

Head Mistress nodded. "We could. Of course, I don't particularly wantto do that. Why don't we simply create a new contract where you pay for our services and we'll keep you for a full week (or two) of submissive fun? Do it all properly. The way the other men you will see around here have contracted. We have guests from all over the world who come to Abduction to relax into their enslaved selves."

"I haven't seen any other men, except him." Martin turned to ensure Number Two hadn't been a figment of his imagination. "I could blow your whole operation up by going to the papers, the police."

Head Mistress shook her head. Magda laughed. "You can't tell a fantasy cop from a real one. Think, little Marty: about the ruin of your reputation, your company, your fortune."

Head Mistress intervened. "Tell me Marty. Do you find all this attractive? Do you find yourself yielding? Not even a little bit?" She stood up behind the massive oak desk. His eyes dropped from her face to her breasts, how they pressed against the fabric of her starched white blouse. She picked up a heavy blond-wood cane. Slowly she came around the desk. Martin, Magda and Blaise – from opposite sides – followed her every step. She leaned close to him. "How do you think this would feel, if I was to strike you with it?"

Martin raised his hands to shield his face. Head Mistress knocked his hands down with her free hand. "I'm not going to strike you in the face. I just wanted to see your fear."

Quickly her tone changed to anger. "Get out of that chair! Put your face on the floor!"

Martin slipped quickly off the leather seat; he put his hands and knees on floor. For a moment he looked down, but he couldn't help looking up again. He desperately wanted to touch the hem of her leather skirt.

"Hands flat on the floor before my boots!  Uh, uh. No! Don't touch my boots or any part of my person!" Martin put his fingers down again, flat on the carpet. She stood on the fingers of one of his hands. Slowly she increased her weight on him, until he was in agony.

Head Mistress addressed Blaise and Magda. "Ladies? Some of them cannot be brought to you in bondage. You must command them. You must create the necessary distance. Martin – it appears – on the evidence of the photos on his cell phone, likes the bound form, the bound female form in particular, but when it comes to hisability to submit toa woman, which I'm afraid is a very weak impulse in him at the moment, he simply cannot be restrained. We must use other methods."

Head Mistress released his hand from the pressure and went back behind her massive oak desk. "Martin. Rise. Get up from the floor and sit in your chair. So I can see you, so I can see your cute but also hopelessly pathetic face, such as it is."

He scrambled up and seated himself; he bravely faced them.

"You are a rich man. You can afford a contract here worth twice or three times what you agreed to pay Mistress Destiny. She comes here occasionally, did you know? If you stay long enough you may cross paths. If you'd like, I can make it happen." Across the desk, she handed Martin his phone. "You will transfer into our accounts, using the app I've opened on your phone, the amount of $2000. It will be a deposit. An act of good faith on your part. I can teach you something, Martin Porter. Something about yourself and your relations with women. But you have to be willing to learn it and pay for it." She paused. "Are you willing to enter willingly into slavery at the Abduction Company? Are you willing to learn?"

He knew he had no choice. "Yes, Head Mistress." Martin said in a clear voice. He was worked the new app they had installed on his phone.

"I realise, you could be texting anyone, or calling anyone," she continued. "But I know you are not. I trust you Martin, because when you say "Yes Mistress" to me, you mean it. You are a trustworthy man. We will work out your debts in a way that pleases you and me. Do you agree?"

"Yes, Head Mistress. Here." He gave the phone back to her. The payment had been made. He had not texted or called anyone. Not even Melody or his personal secretary at his company. He was still absent without anyone's knowledge of his whereabouts. His staff believed he was on a two week vacation. Had it been a coincidence he'd been picked up on a Friday before his vacation had been about to begin? His camping trip was quite impossible now. He was falling into a space he'd never known before. It felt very odd. He should be afraid, but instead he was starting feel relaxed and a little excited.

Head Mistress unlocked a drawer in her desk, slid the phone away, and locked the drawer again. She drew a folder from the corner of her desk. "Now that we've agreed to financial terms, here your terms of residence. You will be fed sufficiently and housed sufficiently and given opportunity to void your bowels and bladder. You will not suffer any permanent physical damage while you are at Abduction Company.  To be clear, you will not have anything amputated. There will be no permanent alteration to your physique. We may selectively pierce you. Do you agree to this?" Martin nodded. He had no idea about piercing, but he figured if others could endure it, he could too. "You will endure tortures of temperature: heating and freezing. You will endure implements of pressure, such as nipple clamps, ball clamps, cock clamps, and stretchers too numerous to mention. Do you agree to this?" Martin nodded again. "You will be suspended, inverted and upright. You will be penetrated anywhere and everywhere your mistress or master decides to penetrate you, in any orifice they feel is worthy of examination."

"You will be beaten, thoroughly. You will be subject to electrical stimulation."

"You will submit to bisexual and group sex activity at the discretion of your superior master or mistress. Or myself. You will be humiliated before an audience of our choosing. You will be filmed and video and still photographs of your suffering will be sold on the Internet through our website. You may be recognized by others. Perhaps a friend or several friends of yours are kinky, and you simply don't know. It  is not any of our concern if you are recognized on screen."

"You will be fed and exercised for the maintenance of your health. You will be assigned to any weight-loss programs or exercise programs as determined by the practices of this centre. You will work at any tasks we assign. We will widen your orifices, as we see fit. The final cost of your treatment here at Abduction Company will be determined at the end of your stay. When you leave, you will have to buy new clothes of course, because everything you were wearing when we kidnapped you has been destroyed. You don't have to buy new clothes of course, unless you want us to drop you off on a busy Toronto street corner, naked in a locked chastity cage. It's up to you."

"Sign here." Head Mistress presented the 28th page of the contract by sliding it across the desk. She stood, came around to his side of the desk, and offered him a vintage fountain pen with which he was to sign over control of everything he took for granted, all of his physical and psychological freedom.

His two week vacation was supposed to have been spent in wilderness camping. Those plans had been blown to hell now. He recalled his gear stacked up in his apartment, ready to be used. he wondered if anyone had put in a missing persons report to the real police. Had security cameras at the mall had been examined for images of him leaving the food court with Blaise and Magda? He was glad he had no pets. It meant no one else was suffering in this situation. Except for him, of course, and possibly Melody.

Head Mistress looked at his scrawled signature. "Very good. By way of your initiation, you will be caned. Would you like to be caned now, Mr. Porter?"

Martin slid from his chair and put his face to the floor, his nose no more than three inches from her feet. He focused on the black, glistening tips of her boots. He'd never appreciated the look of a woman's boot as much as he did now. His left hand slid between his legs, found his dangling balls, and he began to stroke his cock. Slowly, drawing out his words, he said, "Yes Mistress. I have never tried the cane. I've always been afraid of it. But I want you to hit me with it. Show me what it is like. I need to be shown. Please . . . " His voice drifted away.

"Get your hand away from your cock!" she shouted. She smacked him hard with the cane. The blow was like a burn to his left buttock. He gasped and wondered if he could withstand another. "I will no longer refer to you as Mr. Porter. We have assigned you a number: 176. Tomorrow, it will be marked on your lower back as a temporary tattoo. "

Head Mistress pretended to swing the cane again – hard. It made an audible swish in the air. He flinched and then moaned as if he had been struck.

"Even without touching you, it is most effective."

"Yes."

"176. Tell me about your first sexual fantasies."

"I was ten or twelve. I saw ladies underwear, corsets, stockings, long-line brassieres and girdles in department store catalogues. I saw full rubber outfits on skin divers in the encyclopedia when I was young. The snorkel was like a gag. In high school I began to fantasize about girls who were skin divers all in rubber. Tying them up under water, or being tied up myself in rubber, under water. Dependent on someone to rescue me before my air ran out. Then, when I found some bondage magazines in a used book store, I realized that things like leather hoods and rope bondage existed. That it could all be a really sophisticated kind of thing. I once tied up a friend of mine, a boy, just to see you now, what it was like. I didn't have a girlfriend at that age. I also used to tie myself partially before I went to sleep."

Magda and Blaise were making notes on a tablet. When Martin fell silent, Head Mistress continued: "How do you come to have some pretty pictures of Melody on your phone? Did you take them, or did she give them to you?"

"I took some. Some were taken by someone else. She's on Fetlife, you know. She's been to dungeons and stuff, with her girl-friends. I was stunned when I met her. She's more experienced than me."

"So you carry pictures of her on your cell phone? Not worried they might fall into the wrong hands? What if you were to lose your phone?"

Martin shrugged. "Password protected."

"Not very well. Our IT guys got past it pretty quickly." Head Mistress stepped back from him, removing the temptation for him to touch or lick her boots. "Get up! Bend over the back of the chair!" Martin did as he was told.

Then, without warning . . . she shrieked, "You little pervert!"  She brought the cane came down hard on his bare, quivering buttocks. Martin cried out. it was a scream of pain. Perhaps the pleasure would come later.

It was almost midnight. Martin had been hanging in the frame in Head Mistress's office, for over an hour, with his legs spread to the lower corners and his wrists, equally spread and seriously aching as they pointed to the upper corners. He was forced to look out the window into the dark. He'd been pulled into place with two steel cables, one attached to each wrist. His hands had been raised together, up the top of the frame, and then relentlessly pulled apart. His wrists were kept to the corners by expensive thick leather cuffs. His fingers gripped a wooden dowel riveted between the two heavy leather straps in each cuff. These were joined by a heavy steel ring. The top ring of each suspension cuff was connected to a steel wire that ran though links in the corners of the frame. The frame itself must have been made of several hundred pounds of wood. It had been painted black and contrasted sharply with the off-white walls of Head Mistress's office.

A huge cloth gag had been stuffed in his cheeks. It filled his mouth entirely. Very sticky white medical tape had been wound around his head many times, until the entire lower part of his head, from the underside of his chin to the tip of his nose was seamlessly covered. Microfoam tape they had called it. They had spent a long time smoothing it into place. Caressing his face. In the end, it was so strong and tight his head felt like it was both squeezed and packed full. He could neither open his jaw or close it even slightly. Summoning his tongue against the gag was simply too much work.

Besides, he had other things to worry about. Head Mistress struck his extended calf muscles repeatedly. His screams and groans continued, heavily muffled. Once his calves were red enough and covered with the desired number of welts, she moved up to the backs of his thighs. She caned the insides of this thighs too. The pain was so excruciating he thought he must be bleeding, that he would never walk again. She caned the backs of his legs, his buttocks, his upper back, and the soft tissue on the front of his body. She caned the soles of his feet. Again and again, she returned to his suffering ass and then would reach around to beat him, more gently, on his cock. She repeatedly tapped the head of his cock, from above and below. She made it bounce under the impacts that went on and on. He screamed loudest at this, a high pitched series of yelps, most unlike the sound of a man's voice.

His whole body was covered with welts, bruises and small cuts. His balls ached too, from the long wooden paddle she had used on him. "You will live under my direction, 176. I have chosen you because you have such and attractive backside. And you are an anal virgin. Actually, you're a virgin in so many ways. I like that in a man. The challenge of bending one like you to my will. It will be so much fun. I'm going to finish you off with this nice six-foot single-tail whip I recently received from one of my slaves in South Africa."

Head Mistress stopped to catch her breath. He heard Magda's voice: "I was going to offer to take over, but on second thought, I don't think he can take any more." Head Mistress looked up at Martin's face as he dangled in the heavy black frame. Martin looked away, his tears and sweat ran everywhere, all over the gleaming white tape that obscured the lower part of his face.

Head Mistress waved off Magda's concern. "He'll take it. You'll see." Head Mistress hit him hard with the single tail ten times. The last three strokes of the whip opened cuts across his buttocks and back. "If you weren't gagged, you would say Thank-you Mistress!"

Martin moaned. He tried to hum out the phrase through the cloth in his mouth. Someone was unfastening his ankle cuffs which had kept him spread wide to the lower corners of the frame for more than an hour.

Head Mistress spoke to Magda. "Get a me strapon. A little one. Six inches long, maybe more. But not too thick." Magda looked up at Martin as he stared out the window. He tried to look down at her. He hoped she was still dressed in black latex. Out of his sight, she brought a flesh coloured strapon for Head Mistress from a cabinet against the wall.

Number Two was back. Martin heard his voice behind him. Two placed a stool under Martin and guided each of his feet to stand on it. Then he mounted a small ladder and loosened Martin's wrist cuffs in the pulleys. Then he allowed the steel wires to come together over Martin's head. He began using the winch to lower Martin so he was close to sitting on the stool. Before he let his slave's punished buttocks touch the polished hardwood, Number Two took several large wet wipes and a towel to clean his wounds. Nice welts, Two observed. He took it well.

Once Martin was seated, facing into the room, his hands were loosed from each other. He watched Head Mistress, gingerly slip off her leather skirt. It fell to the floor. Number Two quickly picked it up and put it over a hanger. Magda handed Head Mistress the strapon she'd requested, a relatively slim, but long one, compared others Martin had seen.

"We'll start small, as you are a virgin. Magda will finish you off in the mouth with something larger. You have permission to masturbate while we express our superiority with our cocks. Do you understand, 176?" Martin nodded. He bent over, then fell to the floor.

"Up on the platform!" Magda ordered. She pointed with a leather-gloved hand. Martin crawled across the room on all fours, then he gingerly mounted the low stage she had indicated. Magda selected a red strapon from the cabinet and put it on over her latex suit. Her waist was cinched by a red striped latex waspie. The strapon looked to be more than six inches long. But Martin was not a good judge of these things.

Number Two packed some more lube in his ass. He worked a thin butt plug into his ass. Martin was trembling with fear. "Give him a minute," Number Two asked on Martin's behalf.

'We can do that," Magda said, grinning at Head Mistress, who nodded. Magda mounted the platform behind Martin and ran a few fingernails gently across his back. She found a Wartenberg wheel and added that to his torment. Back and forth she ran the sharp points of the wheel, over his clavicles, up and down his back, where several angry welts crossed his spine. Then she produced heavy nipple clamps and attached them to each of his bruised nipples. The spikes in the nipple clamps dug into his flesh. Martin kept crying out every time she touched him or the chain between the clamps. He struggled to remain on all fours. Magda positioned the head of her ruby-red strapon under Martin's nose. "Open."

Martin swallowed to clear his mouth of saliva. "You should have lubricated it with what you just swallowed," she advised. "Let's see what you can take. A test of your oral skills. You'll start learning deep-throat tomorrow. It's a continuous thing. Overcome your gag reflex. Practice and more practice. Use it or lose it. All slaves must become proficient with a dick in the mouth."

Martin licked the head of her red cock. A little rubbery, a little hard, not unpleasant. He put his lips around it, then opened his jaw to let it slide in. It seemed to thicken with every inch. It filled his mouth. He felt like he was choking, then that he would vomit. He pulled back and looked at its length and girth. He figured he'd just taken three inches. The dildo had to be seven inches in all. He really wanted to please Magda. She'd driven him in the van, guided him into this den of pleasure and constant – and so far, for him – total slavery. She spoke softly: "Relax, try to open the back of your mouth. Take it until just before you feel the urge to gag, to retch. Pull back a fraction of an inch and then, take your time. Keep it in your mouth, catch your breath, get comfortable. Then, when you are ready, go back to it. Back and forth. Learn to control the gagging feeling. You can actually enjoy this." She put her leather gloved fingers on either side of his head and guided her cock to his mouth.

Martin felt Head Mistress's hands on his hips. She had removed the small butt plug Number Two had put there. Something slick and warm was entering his ass. "Relax. Just let your hole settle, be loose." Her rubber-gloved finger had pushed all the way in, now she had withdrawn. He could feel two of her fingers now; her knuckles were passing back and forth through his outer ring and into his rectum.

Not to be outdone, Magda pushed her red strapon into his mouth with a gentle pull on his head. "Pay no attention to your back side. Look up at me." Martin looked up, his mouth stretched wide around her cock. Its ruby red colour thrilled him.  Magda's black latex catsuit shone under the light. She towered over him. He was delirious for her breasts, her incredible curves, her tight corset-waspie. He took as much of her cock as he could. But he was tiring, he could get no more than the large red glans behind his teeth. Behind him, he felt a rubber prod against his asshole. Head Mistress pushed it a little and rocked it back and forth. He was going to have to take a larger butt plug than the first. Martin cried out. He was afraid he'd be torn, that he'd start to bleed. The prod rocked in and out. He had the sensation of his hole widening and tightening as Head Mistress worked the butt plug against his ass. "Not to worry 176. Just opening you up a little bit. You will have to take a plug of some kind on a daily basis while you are here. We have all kinds, all shapes and sizes, some of wood, some of steel, some like this are all rubbery. Let's get you past the beginner's size right away, shall we?"

Magda withdrew her cock from his mouth.  "Thank-you Mistress," Martin mumbled to neither Magda or Head Mistress in particular. His own cock had become utterly hard at the sight of Magda. He felt so helpless when her leather gloved hands gripped his head and pulled his mouth to her. Suddenly he felt a hot pain in his ass. It grew harder and more painful for a moment and then, as the butt plug slipped in, he felt relief. A sense of accomplishment.

"Very good 176. You've taken the second smallest plug we have." Head Mistress laughed. "Hey, that's progress right? I'm proud of you. We'll leave that in for a few minutes. You get used to it. So your ass remembers it. In a little while, I'll take you with mystrapon."

Head Mistress and Magda retreated to the other side of the room and asked Blaise, in her "maid" outfit, for some champagne. Blaise found some glasses and filled three of them. They offered some to Number Two. He humbly accepted a small amount from Blaise's glass. Martin tried to look behind him, to see what the four of them were up to, without moving his hands or knees from where knelt. Number Two returned, collared him with the steel slave ring he had worn in the cell and then tethered him loosely with a chain to an upright in the centre of the stage. For ten minutes or more, they enjoyed the bubbly wine and chatted about things that made no sense to Martin, unless they were jokes at his expense. The phone on Head Mistress's desk rang twice, but no one answered it.

Finally, Head Mistress returned to Martin, showed him the strapon he was to take up the ass and ordered him to lick it and deep-throat it. It was smaller than Magda's but it seemed to him, very long. He retched as she pushed to the back of his throat. "You need to be trained in oral, as well as anal. Make a note, Number Two." She circled around behind him, pulled the plug from his ass and dropped it in a bucket with a thud. "Nice and clean. Your Number Two is looking out for you. You're lucky. Not all slave assistants are so diligent."

She added some cold lube to her strapon and slowly slid herself into Martin's ass. "No longer a virgin. How does that feel?" Martin was surprised how easily he was taking it. How horny it made him. He couldn't place the source of the feeling but something inside was reacting like crazy to being penetrated by Head Mistress. She stayed in full penetration for over twenty seconds until Martin began to whimper. She pulled out, then re-entered him and then slowly began to thrust. Martin cried out.

"Am I hurting you?"

"Just a little, Mistress. I had no idea. No, no, no idea anal, no . . . how it feels . . . oh god, oh god, oh please fuck me and fuck me, so fucking good . . ."

Head Mistress leaned over and whispered in his ear. "How deep is the ocean, how high is the sky?" She giggled. "Songs come to me at the damndest times. How deep is yourocean? Oh, my poor little Marty. So much farther to go."

Magda withdrew from his field of vision and sauntered slowly back to the toy display wall. Martin's heart sank. Head Mistress saw that Magda had more of his attention than she.

"You stupid whore," Head Mistress cried. "You didn't take much convincing. What an anal slut you are." She began slapping him with a long wooden paddle. Magda undid one of her strapon's hip buckles, and stepped out of the harness. She dropped the gorgeous red dildo into a laundry hamper for cleaning. She dawdled back to Marty, making eye contact and smiling wickedly. At the level of his eyes, he was utterly focused on the zipper to her catsuit that descended from her belly and between her legs.

Magda watched Martin's cute ass being opened again and again, in a slow gentle rhythm, by the strokes of Head Mistress. "All those lovely whip marks on your back and ass. Look at you. Taking some cock on your first night here. Head Mistress and I will widen you day by day. Don't you worry." Magda looked into his upturned eyes. She pulled his face to her groin. He smelled nothing but rubber. She worked his face up and down, stimulating herself. He felt like he was being smothered.

He wished he'd been able to take more of her red strapon in his mouth. To please her, that's what he should have done. Now it was gone, he wanted to suck it greedily. He would try harder next time. Did this make him gay, to enjoy these rubber cocks so much? Oh, the strokes in his ass. They were beginning to burn. He didn't care. He was lost in his desire. He didn't want to ever leave this place, to ever be found. Head Mistress withdrew, poured more lube on her dildo and plunged into him again, harder than before.

Suddenly he was overtaken by an impending orgasm, a deep powerful feeling unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He held his cock hard, stroked it rapidly a few times. Head Mistress saw this and kept working him firmly from behind.

As she withdrew, softly whispering something he couldn't hear under his own breathless panting, Martin thought of Melody, how she had expertly sucked his cock a week ago. Had Melody ever fucked a boy with a strapon before? He would have to ask her. If he ever got out of the Abduction Mansion. If he ever returned to the life – and to the sex life – he used to have.

End of Part 3