The Dutch Master Ch. 06

I was quickly discovering that the management of pain was something that can only be done inside the head. The serrated jaws of the clover leaf nipple clamps latched on tenaciously to the little nodules of flesh, creating an intense, if very localised agony, out of all proportion to their size. I tried various coping strategies but ultimately what it came down to was this: Gerd had applied the clamps with the express intention of them torturing me. And now, down in the silent darkness of his dungeon they were doing their intended job all too well. The only saving grace was that the length of time that I was to wear them was not as long as it could have been. I guessed that maybe an hour or so had elapsed before Gerd returned to the dungeon. The removal of nipple clamps that have been in place for any length of time however is not a straightforward case of relief.

The work of the clamp, as well as to give pain by biting into the flesh, is to restrict the blood supply. On their removal the return of the blood brings with it a huge upsurge in the level of pain. The victim of such clamps does very well not to cry out loudly at this point. Many skilled practitioners of domination often demand silence from their submissive on the removal of their clamps as a price to be paid to avoid further, often still more draconian, punishments. Fortunately I was not to be put into this predicament. On the removal of the clamps I squealed briefly before lapsing into a log bout of soft sobs as the blood returned to my tortured nipples.

Gerd led me back up to the kitchen. There was a scene of mild domestic chaos. Pans and dishes were stacked in the sink, two dinner plates on the refectory table bore the remnants of steak dinners. "You will do the washing up and then put everything away, I shall return in twenty minutes." My wrists were unstrapped from my waist belt and I set to work on my task. One of the plates still had a piece of rare sirloin on the edge. I slipped it into my mouth before sliding the plate into the washing up bowl.

Gerd returned at the appointed time and carried out a brief inspection of my work, which he appeared to be satisfied with. In truth there was nothing to be dissatisfied with, although I knew from my short experience with him that he was not above finding fault where none existed as an excuse to hand out further punishment. He produced the short leather leash that he clipped to my collar. "Get down on your knees boy." I was led in this manner from the kitchen out into the hallway and from there into a large sitting room furnished with two leather sofas and a large armchair, the plain cream walls hung with large paintings of a modernist style. At the far end of the room french doors opened out onto a patio area decorated with a variety of potted plants where I could see another person was seated. From the auburn hair I guessed that this was the woman I had seen earlier returning with Gerd in his car. As I drew closer it was clear that she had changed from the casual attire that I had seen her in earlier. One glance at her black leather outfit was sufficient to tell me all I needed to know.

Arianne de Vries reclined in her chair, a slender figure but nevertheless athletic and long limbed. A large brandy balloon was held in her outstretched right hand as she enjoyed her post prandial drink. The last rays of the setting sun were now just dropping below the horizon. After almost fifteen years as The Hague's premier professional dominatrix Arianne was entering that comfortable phase in her life where she could please herself what she did. International business clients were more than happy to pay the five hundred Euro fee that she charged to torture them in her lavishly equipped dungeon in the heart of the Dutch capital. It was a place that still regularly echoed to the anguished cries of men, and occasionally women, as they succumbed to the many pieces of equipment that were designed expressly to provide the ordeals that she especially enjoyed putting them through. But these days she could afford to be choosy over her clientele. Now she only accepted appointments from those she knew. These people were the ones who not only paid handsomely but also danced without question to her chosen tune. These days only the truly submissive interested her. Only last week she had declined an appointment from a senior judge at the War Crimes Commission on account of his chronic halitosis. She was amused when she considered that he would be trying people for a crime that he was unsuccessfully attempting to pay her to commit. Her power in this regard extended to the negative as well as the positive,

A tall woman at one metre seventy five, Arianne carried very little in the way of spare flesh. Throughout her twenties and thirties she had been a very competent long distance runner. Even now, at the age of forty five she was still capable of putting in some very good times, she still competed in several marathons each year around the world. Of course at this time all this was unknown to me. All I saw from my position on the end of the leather leash attached to my collar was this very attractive auburn haired woman watching me as I approached, crawling on my hands and knees.

Drawing closer I saw that her hair was actually an attractive and most unusual shade of bright copper bronze. It was shaped in a modish and extremely becoming style. A straight cut fringe above deep emerald green eyes with their arched brows fell away to a shortish bob that reached to half way down her long, pale skinned neck. This served to lend her a most attractive but severe demeanour, a look that was perfect for a dominatrix. Her aquiline nose with it's little change of angle in the centre of it's bridge did little to diminish this distinctive aura of severity, lending her something of the look of a bird of prey. Indeed it added to the mystique of this sophisticated and unique woman. Her lips were glossed. Painted into crimson bows they seemed to speak of her utter disdain for any male creature that might crawl his way into her presence. His only hope would be that he might serve her sufficiently well to be spared her most cruel and unusual punishments. In most cases this would transpire to be a forlorn hope. Arianne de Vries enjoyed inflicting pain and was a connoisseur of all the dark arts of the dominatrix.

Few however who came under her suzerainty escaped lightly. Arianne de Vries was above all a skilled and effective user of psychology, one totally familiar with the innermost hopes and fears of those she encountered. She knew exactly how to exploit weaknesses, her understanding of the thought processes of the submissive encyclopaedic. The music that fell most softly on her ears was comprised of the pathetic cries of those who, having recklessly given themselves up into her hands, then discovered that once fettered and manacled within her dungeon there were no limits to this woman's cruelty other than those imposed by the need for safety. In the hands of such a skilled operator this allowed a considerable leeway. Her submissives were adrift on a wild and capricious sea that none of them had the ability to understand, let alone to tame.

My eyes fell first upon her boots. A dominatrix usually chooses this article of her wardrobe with great care. These had been superbly crafted by some outrageously extravagant continental studio and made of the very finest black leather with their dagger like twelve centimetre heels that tapered from stiletto points, the undersides of their soles of pale, cream leather contrasting with the polished jet black shafts that reflected the light in myriad mobile pools. She studied me as I crawled out onto the patio. I might just as well be some scuttling insect, such was the manner in which she regarded me. Her superiority was almost tangible. The brandy glass went up to her glossed vermilion lips as she sipped the spirit, savouring it's fiery, heady aroma. Those emerald green eyes followed my progress towards her. Gerd handed the lopped handle of the leash to Arianne. I looked down at the red talons of her nails as her hand closed around it. Gerd said something in their mutual language, which of course I did not understand. The hint of a smile played upon her lips briefly as she contemplated her latest plaything delivered to her feet.

She placed her brandy glass on the small side table and stood up. She jerked the leash so that my head followed her. "I am your Mistress Arianne. It is my intention to take over your training from now on. You will do everything that I command you to do immediately I command you to do it, is that completely clear?"

I nodded my head in abject submission and spoke softly to confirm my agreement. "Yes Mistress Arianne."

She clearly sensed my fear and my total sense of awe at her presence. Gerd had been a strict master but now we were moving on to quite a different level. There was something about this woman, a steeliness of character that said that she would get her way whatever the consequences might be. I would bow to her authority or I would be destroyed by her, that was the starkness of the choice that I now faced. I felt my body begin to shake with fear as those green eyes bored into me.

Her booted feet were set well apart, she shifted her weight slightly from one leg to the other. She wore leather jeans that were so tight that they might have been painted on, serving to display every ripple of her finely toned muscles. A matching laced bustier held small, pert breasts. "Kiss Mistress' boots boy." I began to tongue the polished black leather of her right boot. Suddenly I was aware of my cock inside it's steel cage, fighting hopelessly to reach a full erection. This was my third full day without release. I had been used to fucking Debbie every day, quite often more than once. My frustration now that I was at the feet of a beautiful woman was becoming unbearable, I desperately needed to cum. As long as my cock remained locked away inside this steel chastity belt there was to be no opportunity for release. Arianne was to own me in every sense, I was to give my all to this beautiful and dominant woman. It was quite possible however that I would receive nothing in return. That was the deal.

"Enough!". Her peremptory command echoed in my ears. I ceased my grovelling at her boots as a sharp tug on the leash raised my head. For the first time my eyes met her own. Their emerald translucence shimmered in the light from the setting sun, her face expressive but inscrutable at the same time. "Come with your mistress boy". I was led back through the sitting room and into the kitchen. It was evidently her intention to inspect my work. I felt easy about this, I had left things spotless. "Where is the piece of meat that I left on my plate boy?" I had no time to think if an answer to this question.

"I threw it away Mistress." It was the first thing that entered my head. She crossed to the bin.

"In here?" A blood red talon pointed to the pedal bin. Her boot depressed the pedal to reveal a pristine white liner. "I see nothing boy. It seems to have vanished."

I was caught, there was nothing to say. Her hand moved so quickly that I had no time to prepare for it. The stinging slap caught me hard across the left cheek, knocking my head sideways with its power. "Theft and lies. That is two offences already and we have only just met. You clearly consider me to be something of a soft touch, is that what you think boy that I am easy? I suppose that it is because I am a woman that you show me such disrespect?"

I opened my mouth, intent upon a grovelling apology in an attempt to placate her. Before I could speak a second stinging slap caught me square across the face. "I don't wish to hear from you boy, it will only be more lies. I know your sort. There are only two ways to prevent your lies, a gag will stop them coming out and a sound thrashing will hopefully go some way towards your re education in these matters. I will give you good reason to reconsider lying to me again".

Arianne led me from the kitchen. She strode at her normal pace with me being dragged along behind on the leash. Her descent to the dungeon similarly took no account of me being on all fours. She un barred and pushed open the heavy timber door before applying a hard kick to my backside that sent me sprawling to the floor, face own on the cold, unforgiving stone. Quickly I was dragged back onto my feet only to feel myself pushed over the waiting punishment bench. One by one the heavy leather restraining straps were placed around my limbs, Arianne savoured this moment of triumph as she buckled up each one in turn. Satisfied that I was going nowhere the rubber ball gag was placed between my teeth and the straps of the leather head harness tightened to ensure my silence, however hard she might decide to punish me for my earlier sins.

She moved away, out of my sight line. I could see her in the mirror studying the rack of canes and whips. Her hand reached out and picked up a cane. I felt relief go through my body. Then she suddenly seemed to have a change of mind. She replaced it and I saw the thick shape of the rhino hide sjambok in her hand. I watched in horror as she gauged it's heaviness. I imagined her ancestors, the Voortrekkers out on the African Transvaal using such a weapon to punish their workers.

Now she was before me holding her chosen weapon. The sjambok, although classified as a whip, has through the solidity of it's thick rolled rhino hide more of the characteristic of a solid cane. Much heavier than either it is capable of delivering a truly stupendous amount of pain in the hands of a determined exponent. I had no doubt whatsoever watching the leather clad Arianne de Vries as she weighed the sjambok in her hands that she knew exactly it's terrible capabilities in terms of it's ability to inflict damage to the human body, damage that would inevitably be accompanied by a degree of pain the like of which I would not have experienced before.

I could tell that she was enjoying the preparation almost as much as she would the whipping of me. The slow deliberation with which she moved told it's own tale. Her athletic body encased in shining black leather from her toes up to the small rounded breasts contained within the tightly laced black leather bustier. Above that milky alabaster skin, a paleness that suited her complexion perfectly. Prominent clavicles, something that I had found especially sexy on Debbie led to surprisingly muscled upper arms that looked well capable of handling the weight of the sjambok.I feared the whip incredibly, but strangely looking upon this strong beautiful woman I now sensed another emotion. Whatever the outcome on my own body, and I guessed that it might well be dire, I detected the notion that her punishment of me would bring her a strange pleasure that nothing other than the extreme suffering of another human being could provide. Strapped down helplessly before her I was in a position to give her that unique pleasure, and now in a curious melange of abject fear and raging desire I now needed her to quench that desire. I was more than prepared to sacrifice myself on the altar of this woman's sadism.

To those who are attempting to get an idea of the pain produced by a sound sjambok whipping executed by a fit, athletic woman who has no intention of holding back, indeed is probably driven on by a high level of excitement, sexual or otherwise, my advice is this : Don't! You won't come close to understanding the level of pain that the sjambok induces.

From the very first stroke you have only one though, escaping. If that isn't possible then your best hope is that endorphins come to your rescue. Should the strokes be applied in quick succession it is much worse. Fortunately the majority of those with sadistic inclinations will savour the event and therefore allow time for the body's natural painkillers to flow. The first few strokes however inevitably produce pain levels that are simply incomprehensible to most people, you would give anything to escape the cut of the sjambok.

Arianne de Vries had moved from standing before me, allowing me to see the terrible weapon that it was her intention to use on my helplessly bound and gagged body. Her stiletto heeled boots clicked on the stone floor of the dungeon. I watched in the mirror as she steadied herself, feet set apart, her powerful right arm raised in preparation for that first stroke...