Message-ID: <15221eli$9809110205@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15221.txt>
From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson)
Subject: Under Control part eighteen of twenty eight
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <35f5243a.8723374@news.telepac.pt>


Under Control - part eighteen of twenty eight
by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com

this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish
granted to Christine Stevenson.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 


Within an hour, Paul had been reduced to a whimpering wreck . . .
a grovelling creature that slobbered over Delia's boots, sobbing
and weeping. His hindquarters, which seemed to have a raging fire
lit upon them, were so criss-crossed with weals that whenever
Delia's whip-lashing rod fell, one new stripe simply had to
overlay another one. How many times in that hour had he had to
kneel, nose to the floor . . . to lift the short skirt . . . to
take the flimsy knickers down . . . and then squeal and squirm in
agony? He had lost count. Five . . . six . . . seven times maybe.
It was a nightmare of unrelieved, repetitive torment and he felt
that if the cruel vixen laid but one more stroke across him he
must surely die!

"M-Mercy . . . mercy . . . o-oh . . . o-ohh . . for God's
s-sake h-have m-mercy . . ." he blubbered. He was
right at the end of his tether. Even during his early
days of training under Gloria he could scarcely
remember such an extremity of agony.

"Get up, Pauline," ordered Delia relentlessly.

Somehow . . . he knew not how . . . Paul found
strength to obey. He staggered, swaying, the room
reeling about him.

"Pull your knickers up, girl . . . ."

Gasping, he did so. Already he had ripped one pair and was now
wearing a replacement. He had received an extra caning for that.
Would the ordeal never, never cease? He saw the lovely young
face, the shapely body, through a haze of tears.

"Walk . . ."

He walked. Mincingly, hips-swivelling, seductively . . . as he
must . . . from one end of the room to the other. Again . . . and
yet again . . . whilst Delia stood watching, still flexing the
cane menacingly.

"Halt!"

Paul almost burst into tears. Not again . . . oh God . . . no
more . . . not again!

"That will do for today," said Delia cooly. Such was the flood of
relief through Paul that he buried his face in his hands and
sobbed unashamedly. "We will have another session tomorrow. I
hope, for your sake, Pauline, you maintain your improvement!"

"Y-Yes . . . Miss . . . mmmff . . . mmmfff . . . oh y-yes . . .
Miss . . . mmmfff . . . mmmfff . . ." sobbed Paul. He felt he
truly was no longer a man, so why should he not let his tears
flow freely?

"You will now report to the Punishment Room annexe," said Delia.
"There one of the Duty Guards will apply some healing ointment
and then allocate you to a cell. Off you go now . . ."

Delia tossed away the cane and smilingly watched as Paul went
mincing from the room .

                                   * * *

Ten minutes later, naked again but for his cincher-belt and
high-heeled shoes, Paul was having his lacerated rump plastered
with some kind of ointment-paste that initially stung and then
quickly cooled. The guard, in her forties, was a hefty woman who
looked like something out of a concentration camp. Around her
waist jingled a mass of keys, all latched on to a chain. She was
none to gentle with her charge who was one of a number of girls
queuing up for similar treatment. Paul squealed and moaned just
like the rest of them. Then sighed, too, as the relieving
ointment began its quick-healing action. A hearty slap on Paul's
bottom announced that he was finished with. He slid off the bench
and lined up with the girls who had preceded him. They regarded
him without curiosity or surprise. To them he was just another
slave-girl.

He had, at last, truly become one of them!


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The Fem Dom Training Software. Runs on all computers (Macs too!)
Advises on how best to train your husband/lover.
http://www.mschristine.com/program.html
mailto:program@Ms-Christine.com

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

This story is being released as an illustrated web book, for
details of Victor Bruno Books available please contact

VictorBruno@MsChristine.com
http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html

Also published as text simultaneously on......

------------------------------------------------------
The DOMestic mailing list is free of charge.
Subscribe in subject line:- DOMestic@Ms-Christine.com
Moderated by David & Christine Stevenson.
Subscribe online at http://www.mschristine.com/domestic.html
------------------------------------------------------


-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>