It was horrific to enter the dungeon again. For a start it was absolutely freezing, I was naked again, and some stocks had been placed in a spotlight. What were they for? With my last visit down here still a fresh and painful memory, I stared desperately around, trying to get some clue of what was likely to happen to me next. I couldn’t see the cane, and I hoped and hoped that he wouldn’t use that again….
It didn’t surprise me when he led me to the stocks, but when he put my ankles into them I was baffled and horrified. What was he planning? Surely he wasn’t going to hurt my feet? With the soles turned upward, they presented an un-guarded target, but surely not? Maybe being placed in the stocks was a punishment in itself. It was certainly painful, the floor was icy, and the wooden restraints bit into my ankles. Looking up, I realised he was holding another huge ball-gag. I put up a fight this time - I hated gags – but he yanked my hair back and made it in anyway, buckling it tight behind my head. My mouth was stretched wide and the video camera zoomed in, no doubt capturing my reaction as I struggled to adjust to the pain in my jaw, and the humiliation of being unable to look anything but startled and slave-like.
The demeaning position was certainly punishment enough, but when he selected a sturdy looking riding crop and I realised that indeed he did intend to use it on the bare soles of my feet, I panicked and scrabbled to protect them with my hands. I shouldn’t have bothered, he attached my wrists to the wall in front of me and I was left completely unprotected, and beginning to get really scared of what was coming. The first couple of strokes were deeply unpleasant, but not agonising. Alas, he seemed to notice this, and perhaps disappointed by my response he unclipped the vile strap from his belt again and applied it to my feet. This was true agony, of a kind I’d never experienced, and hope to never experience again. If I’d suspected him of sadism before, I was now quite convinced of it. He applied the strap again and again, until I was screaming desperately into the gag and, despite all my resolutions, was pleading for him to stop. Eventually he did stop (though I suspected he’d been deaf to my pleas) and left me shivering on the floor, trying to deal with the burning pain that didn’t seem to fade… then just as I’d allowed myself hope that it was over, he started again. This time it was so bad that I found myself struggling in the stocks, trying to escape, or even move my feet so the strap wouldn’t keep landing on the same, sensitive part of my instep. Nothing worked. He continued, just as accurately, just as hard. My mind started to wander as it struggled to cope with more pain than I’d ever expected to experience, and I found myself being whipped again, for forgetting I’d been supposed to keep my toes pointed. Now I was eager to please him (although this knowledge alone added to my shame), all I could think of was making it stop, which finally it did – leaving me kneeling, limp, in my bonds.
He left me for probably 5 minutes and then released me from the stocks, which terrified me anew since now I suspected he was capable of hurting me again, far beyond my ability to cope. He didn’t actually; he merely clipped the hated lead back onto my collar and prepared to lead me back upstairs. The giant gag still in my mouth, naked, and with my feet still burning from the strap, I wished for it to be over. I couldn’t please him, wouldn’t even try because trying and failing was more humiliating even than being tied up and hurt. I would not transform myself into his slave, I’d resist his attempts to ‘train’ me. Though even as I resolved to be brave, a small voice in my head whispered that perhaps, on this occasion, I’d do better to be resigned to my fate…
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