I knew my body had been positioned in such a way that my legs were restrained, but spread wide enough for me to straddle a hard surface. My arms were pulled taut behind my back, and attached to whatever apparatus I was straddling. My hair had been tightly gathered into a ponytail that was being pulled away from the top of my head by a rope. I couldn’t move, yet I was acutely aware of every item touching my skin.

            Wherever I was, the atmosphere felt cold and dank. I remember Jackson saying, a long time ago, that we would need a good dungeon, that he needed a proper place to degrade me. It appeared he had found that.

            Waiting in the hotel room, and the unexpected manner in which I had been delivered here had my level of arousal completely off the charts. I was so excited and full of anticipation, I could hardly breathe. I felt like my heart would just stop beating if something didn’t happen soon.

            That’s when the lights came on, the sound of a circuit breaker being switched was loud enough to make its way through the ear plugs. Fluorescent lights on a tall ceiling… much like a warehouse, assaulted my eyes. I couldn’t help but squint. As I slowly opened my eyes, allowing them time to adjust to the sharp contrast, I saw a figure coming towards me from across the room. It was Jackson.

            He was dressed exactly like in the videos I’d seen him in, black fitted tee-shirt, black pants. Simple, dark, and foreboding. I blinked my eyes, in effort to make certain this wasn’t a dream. But when he reached me, and gently traced my cheek with his hand, I knew it was real. He smiled down at me, smugly, before pulling out the ear plugs and tossing them on the concrete floor.

            He said nothing, but continued to lazily run his hand over my face, down my neck, and over my breasts… pausing to pinch my nipples through my shirt.

            “Hmmm,” he frowned. “This won’t do.” He walked to the side, although when I attempted to turn my head to follow him, my hair pulled and forced me back to facing front. When I caught sight of him in my peripheral, moments later, he had scissors in his hand.

            He stepped towards me and literally began cutting away my clothes. He started with my shirt, slicing a line down the middle, then ripping it apart. Then he cut off my bra, and continued to work his way downward.

            I said nothing, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was so calm, so matter-of-fact, so completely unaffected by my increasing nudity. I, on the other hand, was terrified, I wanted him to accept me so desperately.

            When he had effectively torn everything from my body, his gaze returned to my eyes, where tears were beginning to pool.

            He cocked his head slightly and asked, “Why are you crying, slave?”

            I didn’t realize I had been until I tried to speak and found the words lost in my throat.

            “Because I’m so happy and grateful, Master,” I managed to choke out. My eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment. For a moment, he said nothing. I was afraid to look up at him. But he pulled my chin up and leaned so close that I could feel his breath against my ear.

            “Don’t cry,” he whispered, before softly kissing my forehead, “or you won’t have any tears left for when you really need them.” And just as my brain was comprehending the mixed innuendo of his words, he slapped me across the face.

            I cried out, in shock, rather than pain. The tears were immediately gone. For one fleeting moment, I hated him for comforting me with tenderness, allowing me to feel cared for, only to violently take it away. But I quickly recognized the favor he had done me. If he had continued to feed my overwhelming emotional response, I would only have cried more, assuming permission to release those feelings. However, in one brilliant maneuver, he managed to acknowledge me, and then redirect my attention to the reason I was there… tremendously exciting me at the same time. The tears were definitely gone.

            Jackson had dragged a stool into the middle of the room, a few feet in front of where I was bound. He pulled something out of his back pocket before casually sitting down. It was my list of likes and dislikes. As he positioned himself, one foot resting on a higher dowel than the other, he unfolded the page, and allowed his elbow to rest comfortably on his thigh. His eyes scanned over the page, while I waited for him to speak.

            He silently nodded his head a few times, then looked up and asked, “Do you know why I asked you to do this?”

            “No, sir,” I said. I had assumed he would do whatever he wanted to me, without regard to anything I may like.

            “I wanted to know how to push you,” he replied. “You promised me no limits or safe words, proclaiming your undying submission to me, and I want to see if you break. I wanted to know what things you dread the most, so I can use them, to see when you stop being loyal to me and start caring only about yourself. What do you think about that?”

            “I think you’re going to be surprised,” I said, then quickly added, “Sir,” to the end of my statement.

            He smiled again, his expression dripping with arrogance.

            “That’s good,” he said. “I like your determination.”

            “Thank you, sir,” I answered. I was trying my damnedest not to give him any reason to be displeased with me.

            He looked back down at the list.

            “Of course, it does help to know what kinds of things are enjoyable to you, if I feel you deserve a reward…” he paused, then looked up at me. “It doesn’t say anything about having orgasms?” His words were laced with amused sarcasm.

            “I’ve…” I started to say, but hesitated, somewhat embarrassed to explain.

            “What?” he said. “Tell me what you were going to say.”

            “I’ve never had an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced,” I sighed, “I don’t seem to be capable of doing that with guys.”

            He laughed and shook his head.

            “I’m not worried about that. I’m a professional,” he said, and his grin was contagious.

            “All right,” he finally said, returning the page to his back pocket and standing up. “We’re here to train you to be a good slave to me, and I have high standards, so you’re in for a long afternoon.”

            He set the stool to the side and picked up a short flogger, snapping it against his palm. He walked to me with a smile on his face.

            I wished I could capture and hold that picture of him in my mind forever. It was the sexiest image I’d ever seen in my whole life, to see such a beautiful man coming towards me – the expression of pure ownership radiating from his eyes. He could do anything he wanted to me and I couldn’t stop him. I savored the helplessness, and the anticipation of what was about to come.

            Jackson dragged the flogger teasingly over my body, each strand of leather tickling me, awakening my skin.

            “You’re going to let me do whatever I want to you?” he asked.

            “Yes, sir,” I whispered, following his movements with my eyes.

            “No limits?” he asked.

            “No, sir,” I said.

            “You’re not going to ask me to stop?” His voice was gentle, but his eyes were gleaming with sadism.

            “No, sir,” I said.

            He chuckled, then began lightly swinging the flogger between my legs. It didn’t hurt, but the sensation of contact there caused me to gasp and quiver. He continued to swing the flogger, the intensity gradually increasing.

            He locked eyes with mine, silently initiating the battle of wills. I held his gaze as each strike came swifter, nipping at my pussy.

            His grin widened when my eyes began to blink and my breath became shallow in reaction to the growing sting. Not once did I turn from his stare, nor did I make a sound louder than the rapid intake of oxygen.

            “That’s good,” he praised. “Good girl.” Then he stepped back and began swatting at my thighs, alternating between right and left. It hurt considerably more than his previous ministrations.

            I closed my eyes, pressed my lips tightly together, and began moaning. Every time the flogger bit my tender skin, I flinched slightly.

            “Do you want me to stop?” he taunted.

            “No, sir,” I yelped.

            He began hitting harder, including my stomach and breasts. It felt like he was sparking little flames all over the front of my body. My moans turned into open-mouthed whimpers. He paced quickened until it almost felt intolerable.

            “Do you want me to stop?” he asked again, knowing I was in pain.

            “What I want doesn’t matter, sir,” I cried. He stopped.

            “Why is that?” he asked, with a rhetorical inflection.

            “Because I’m your slave,” I said, catching my breath. “It only matters what you want, Master.”

            He smiled at me and draped the flogger around my neck.

            “Mmm hmm,” he concurred. “That’s right.” His hands found their way to my nipples again, twisting and pulling them in ways they were never meant to go. I whimpered through my nose.

            “You know what that means being my slave?” he continued, “It means you’re my property. Nothing but property. I own every inch of you, isn’t that right, slave?”

            “Yes, sir,” I replied, through gritted teeth.

            SMACK! His hand struck my cheek.

            “Louder,” he demanded.

            “Yes, sir,” I yelled.

            SMACK!

            “Louder.”

            “YES, SIR!” I screamed.

            “Mmm hmm,” he said, again, caressing my cheek where he had previously assaulted me.

            I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand.

            “Thank you, Master.”

            He dug his fingers into my already tightly bound hair, pulling it even harder. My eyes began to water.

            “How come you didn’t thank me when I was hitting you?” he said, his voice becoming terse. “I thought you were so grateful to be here. You should be thanking me every time I touch you.”

            “I’m sorry, sir,” my voice rising to a soprano tone, as he continued to tug at my hair, “Thank you, Master. Thank you for whipping me.”

            “That’s better,” he said, releasing his painful grip.

            He crossed past me, out of sight, then returned holding nipple clamps.

            “I believe this is one of those things you don’t like very much, is that right?” he asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

            “Yes, sir,” I answered, a distinct hint of displeasure in my voice.

            His hand flew up and closed around my throat, constricting the amount of air I could breathe. He leaned in so close, his forehead practically touched mine.

            “Watch your tone, slave.” The warning was unmistakable. He emphasized his point by spitting on my face, once, twice, three times.

            “Thank you, sir,” I choked, and even though he released his grip on my throat, he continued to glare at me.

            “I’m sorry, Master,” I began apologizing profusely. I hadn’t been with him for an hour yet, and already I had pissed him off. “I’m so grateful to be here. It won’t happen again.”

            “Shut up,” he said, slapping my face. “I don’t care how fucking sorry you are. I don’t ever want to hear that disrespectful tone in your voice again.”

            I closed my eyes and quietly waited for him to affix the clamps to my nipples. I could feel his stare penetrate the dark visual barrier I had created for myself. I felt the burning sensation of the first clamp pinching me and sucked in my breath. The second clamp closed down around the tender skin and I let a tiny moan escape. I immediately heard the chuckle he made in response.

            “I wasn’t going to do this…” he started to say, as he walked away from me again, “You’d been so good up to this point, but now I don’t fucking care anymore.” He returned to me holding weights.

            “I understand, sir,” I said. “I deserve this. Thank you, sir.”

            SMACK! Again his hand struck my face so hard that my ears rang for a moment.

            “I thought I told you to shut up,” he said, his voice was filled with ire.