Chapter 1


I had long cherished the idea of having a person, a delicious female, entirely in my thrall to have and to do with exactly as I please whenever I please. I have never believed in giving women too much rein but taking was quite another matter. They need constant management of their desires which, if not effectively exploited, can all too easily get out of control. They are such wonderful creatures until they open their mouths and then all hell breaks loose. Loud and raucous, as they often lack steadfastness of character and cannot support the challenge of meeting men on an equal playing field. They often panic and hence constantly bawl about their predicament in an indiscriminate manner which prevents them from reaching attainable goals without the management of a man. They are always so damned ready to cry foul when things go against them because they have been allowed to get away with it. What they need is constant and very strict discipline. That is their natural medium. It is unnatural for them to break out into any kind of independent thought because they have no understanding of the finer balances needed to sustain it. It is just not in their make-up, something, perhaps, that creation planned to prevent the mothers of the species from gaining too much power. Build in a fault that will cause their own downfall should they get above themselves, a fault that can be exploited by the stronger, the more dominant and the more balanced sex who, conversely, are generally far less cruel. Just such a creature broken out of the bounds of strict womanhood was Kathy, the bitch. She made me want to spit hell fire and damnation at the television when I saw the news items about her wholly unscrupulous efforts to take her husband for everything she could get in a sordid divorce and why? Simply because he was away from home doing something important for his country and was therefore not able to give her the attention she so selfishly craved. More so is my anger aroused when I know her husband personally.

Harry and I had served together in the Falklands invasion where we had, if not become friends, developed a trust in one another that ascended well beyond obligation. This faith in a man who was soon to be bitterly hurt bowled me over. Kathy’s blatant and unbelievable greed and astonishing callousness in being willing to suffer the slings and arrows of adverse publicity to get all that she could in a sordid divorce settlement from so likable a man, while he, a career soldier, was serving abroad in a war zone. She was completely without scruple and that affront made my blood boil. But… and it is a big but, I have at least a month to put things right and bring Kathy, whom I had hitherto never met, back into line. Fortunately I could not have foreseen the profound effect she was going to have upon my life. Had I been gifted with that foresight I might have backed off and so deprived myself of this wondrous unfolding of a dream. 

In that moment of seeing the shameful headlines on television and later in the newspapers I made it my avowed intention to get even with the bitch, make her see sense and pull her back to being the loving wife that was depicted in all the papers and magazines. I was full of righteous indignation and determined to do the best I could for an unjustly treated comrade in arms. Suddenly Harry’s homecoming seemed to be all too imminent. My time scale in which to pull Kathy back to the status of loving wife was all too short. I must start at once. It will demand much from me, this redirecting of every ounce of her affection towards her very needy husband. I had to re-teach her the profound lessons of a rewarding human relationship, that of getting in return all that you put into it. It is a transaction in kind exemplified in the pony-girl/master relationship and that was the direction in which I was heading. From the moment Harry walks through their front door he is going to need all of her affection she can give him and some sort of slave humiliation was the only way to bring her to that position in the limited time available. From behaving like a spoiled bitch posing as if butter wouldn’t melt, a cold-hearted bitch to willing wife and slave was a tall order in which first I had to thoroughly cleanse her of the idea that her own immediate gratification was of paramount importance. What she needed was a serious lesson in behaviour and loyalty. She hadn’t actually forgotten her lessons. She had merely found them standing in the way of her having a great time while her husband was away. Disgustingly selfish! 

I phoned Harry to tell him of the news and to offer my services. He was, as you would expect, far from pleased at finding his affairs blazoned across the ‘red tops’ in lurid detail. I was pained by his anguish and deeply moved by the tragedy in his voice. So far from being his confident, ebullient self he sounded horribly depressed like a man in desperate straits not knowing which way to turn. The work of a cruel bitch who needed to be brought sharply to heel. Harry was not in a frame of mind conducive to commanding a battlefield. He was fertile ground for my persuasion. I calmed him by suggesting that he let me do what was necessary to sort things out. I told him that if he was prepared to put his trust in me, I would do something about it. He was like drowning man clutching at some sort of flotsam and was pathetically pleased with my suggestion. I hoped that I could be of more use to him than a mere piece of randomly floating driftwood. We talked for some time. It was largely all about me sounding him for reaction to some carefully worded generalities. I didn’t want to scare him with detailed descriptions of just how I was going to deal with his wife. I would have preferred a face-to-face discussion but that was impossible given his whereabouts so electronic systems had to suffice. I managed to gain enough of his confidence to propose a few more detailed ideas and in a phone conversation we talked of discipline and BDSM. I broached it most carefully but found my caution unnecessary. He warmed to the idea of physical punishment. What I hadn’t realised until Kathy and I were quite well on in our master/slave relationship was that, in fact, I had been planning all along to bring Kathy to heel and to turn her into my personal property. I was so desperately wrapped up in the satisfaction of my own gratification that everything I did with Kathy was, unbeknownst to me at the outset, directed to that end.

When, finally, it did dawn on me it was too late. I had never experienced difficulty in picking up women. Indeed that was all too easy in the general sense of one who was not too choosey but, for my long-term plans, I was more particular. I wanted a woman so unique in character and spirit that neither my eyes nor my emotions would ever tire of her. She had to be one who would evolve into my perfectly trained partner and for the rest of her life would find nothing more important than providing of herself for me. She must have the brains to give me cerebral gratification as well as physical pleasure whenever and wherever I needed it. I am not too perverted in my desires. My demands are those normal to any red-blooded male; free, uncomplaining access to her pussy, her anus and her mouth; care of my physical person with food and drink, ablutions, comfort and gratification; to fit herself to my desires be they to serve me as a pet, a slave, a maid or a pony. I want her to speak only when spoken to and to be so alert to my needs that she can pre-empt me. If I couldn’t be bothered to move she would provide for my convenience and ensure that the house was in perfect condition at all times. I would not be too arduous in my demands but she, the chosen one, would be total in her devotion. Chastisement would be a matter of daily fare and various degrees of bondage entirely in my whim. That, believe me, is what all women crave. They just don’t know it. Ask any bondage babe what it is that they love about being so completely helpless and they will tell you that it is the relinquishing of all cares and woes. She doesn’t have to worry about anything at all beyond that she is loved by her master.          

“I want to get even with the bitch, Jack!” Harry had declared bitterly. “How the hell am I ever going to trust her again?” That was not the kind of language I was accustomed to hear from him. It was a measure of his distress and a measure of just how far he had let in to his heart and into the very core of his life. Women should never be given such rein until they understand how to handle it. They will start to think too highly of themselves and that makes recovery difficult.

“You can’t, Harry, but if you divorce her she’s going to get ev…”

“Dammit, Jack don’t you think I don’t know that?”

“Let me deal with her, Harry.” I could almost hear his nod over the phone. “She’ll be a very willing mare by the time you get home. Count on it.”

When men under stress are encamped together in barbaric conditions they talk among themselves telling of intimacies which, in any other circumstances, would remain very private indeed, closeted in the mind a mere fantasy that, sadly for most, was never likely to see the dreamed of action realised in their own home. Harry and I, serving together, had been no exception and we had often discussed the more complex sides of relationships with women so much so that he probably got as much of an insight into the workings of my mind as I had got into his way of thinking.

Because of this I was able to read into the tone of both his e-mails and telephone calls the direction in which his mind was moving. His ideas were overlaid by some of my own. I kept my own discreet council because, heedless of Harry’s more gentle nature towards women, I was necessarily going to breach some of his reserve in teaching Kathy some very serious lessons, lessons which Harry, helpless in his present situation, was well and thankfully removed from. He would have found many of my methods a little too much to stomach. Kathy will not like them either but her desires were of absolutely no importance whatsoever.   

If I was being cruel and heartless it was because I was being retained by Harry to ensure he got everything, and I mean everything, that he needed and wanted and expected from her. Kathy had to be brought into line and quickly. That is the full authority I have for dealing with her and if it wasn’t quite carte blanc then it was close enough for me to be ruthless in my approach. Her husband needed her back and I would not fail a friend.

And so, with that ideal in mind, I set out on the great reformation of Kathy. The first part of my punishment was necessarily to extract from her a full confession. That would have to be done in conditions of the severest chastisement because I felt sure, from what I had seen on television, kindness of any sort will hold nothing for her but contempt. I intend to inflict upon her harsh punishment, partly to assuage some of my own anger at her behaviour but also to necessarily unravel all her misdeeds. She will offer nothing willingly and after all, confession is good for the soul. I needed to have a new canvas upon which to create the desired bitch, or more correctly, the desired mare already taking shape in my mind.

You have, I know, learned very little of this woman from my sketch, but so far as it goes, it will have to suffice because regarding Kathy, I, too, was treading in the dark. I had no knowledge of her beyond that gained from my eavesdropping. I had been tapping into her website, listening to all her telephone calls both on her home phone and mobile ever since the story broke. It provided more questions than answers. Why had she made the filing of her divorce so public? It was brutal. It made my fingers itch to get hold of her and wring her bloody neck, amongst other things. As part of my armoury I decided to visit the necessary websites and gather together all the equipment I would need and some that I might not. Once Kathy was in my clutches I needed to be sure that I had enough gear to subject her to the most stringent BDSM: leather, rubber, electrical, rope, tawses, breathing control and masks, gags and scolds, screws and vices, bolts and clamps. I spent a lot of money, especially on the pony harnesses that I purchased more in hope than in expectation. The intimacy of master/pony relationship was one for which I didn’t fully believe myself entirely capable but I lived in hope.

But of course, dear reader, you see in all this my intention, not yet fully realised in my own mind, buried in my subconscious, to bring Kathy forward far beyond that of merely being a good and faithful wife but to reach out beyond and become my very own life-long property. Warning bells should have been ringing in my head. They were not.

I had learned enough about Kathy’s movements and her extra-curricular activities to know just when it was suitable for me to storm her citadel and dive unbidden into her life. I needed to time my arrival at the house just moments before one or another of her many lovers was due to turn up. More particularly Kemi, a West Indian, with whom I had an extra-special axe to grind.

I knew all the family habits, including the habitual parking the car outside the garage. When it wasn’t locked away it stood close up against the boundary hedge, hidden from the road by a massive tangle of rhododendrons. I had even gone to the trouble of changing my car to match their family 4X4. Her lover for the night would turn up see the family car and smile to himself, confident in his anticipation of a wonderful night of uncompromising mattress-gigging. Oh boy, was he in for a shock. Their telephone conversations had been free and very frank, quite titillating in fact. Kathy’s descent into prurience was nothing if not thorough. She explained in graphic detail the depths of her desires and just how dirty she was prepared to get with the right man. Such suggestions as to the plentiful use of mouth and pussy, of anus and tits, anything, was explicit and no doubt designed to bring the fly into the web with promises he would never enjoy. Such subterfuge in blatant offer was for poor dupes totally beholden to whatever the woman was prepared to offer. “Fuck that!” I had often told myself whilst listening to her, “I will take what I want when I want. A woman is the repository of my seed and will take of it all I wish to offer. It is not for her to tell me what she will accept and when.” 

I had stocked up the car with enough boxes of food to withstand a siege. In the 4X4 there was also my box of recently purchased tricks or tools of the trade with which to constrict her into the severest bondage for this was my own personal art form. I had whips too, to bring her to proper submission. Oh yes, I was really going to enjoy myself for the next month until Harry came home. I would straighten out his wife by bending her into the most excruciating poses designed to concentrate her mind on past misdeeds and prepare her for a very, very different future.

It was a cold and blustery evening in early spring when I parked the car on the road several yards beyond the entrance to her drive. I got out of the car, donned my raincoat and entered the property. There was a row of outhouses and barns to the right of the house, gardens to the left. It had in a past life been a farm. I found adequate cover in the huge rhododendron hedge. It also provided me with shelter while I waited for the arrival of Kathy’s lover. Such cover as was available to me was supported by the heavy rain. No one surveys familiar surroundings in heavy rain. I ran into the barn and there waited for my prey.   

With the aid of a pencil torch I checked my watch then I stood poised and alert, waiting for the approaching headlights. Right on time the sporty looking MR3 swung into the drive. The driver wasted no time. He switched off the engine, doused the headlights and opened the car door with practiced ease. He was a stocky man if of diminutive height. He slammed the car door and was already running as he flicked the self-locking. With all the stealth of my commando training I crept up on him, moving swiftly to prevent him reaching the house. I intercepted him silently about half way between car and house, flinging an arm around about his neck and clutching at his throat before he could utter a word. It was then an easy matter to find a pressure point and quickly render him unconscious. I slung him over my shoulder and carried him off to the stables. In the dull light I saw, as I had hoped, that it was Kemi the West Indian. I stripped off all his clothing, expensive but garish, the sort of piss-elegance which I despised. It crossed my mind that he might have been a drug dealer. I am suspicious by nature. I slung his naked body, glistening and muscular, into the farthest stall and tied him to the feeding trough with cable ties on his thumbs. Useful things cable ties. I always carry a goodly stock. I left him there to regain consciousness and to contemplate what might have been and what will be in the future. I closed the outer door and ran towards the house. I didn’t want Kathy wondering at the delay. I reached the front door and stood upright beneath the porch rallying myself for the fray. I intended to start as I meant to carry on.

Taking a deep breath, I massaged the doorbell with a blunt finger and heard it echoing somewhere in the bowels beyond. In the few moments of waiting I prepared myself by tensing every muscle in readiness to shove the door aside and charge right into her. To Kathy I was of course a complete stranger and she’d be naturally cautious. In the event she opened the door wide enough to look at me but just enough to shield her from the weather. I lunged forward to widen the gap but Kathy suddenly opened it fully. Caught wrong footed I fell forward at a run as if leaping into a wrestling match. Kathy laughed as she closed the door behind me:

“My goodness, Kemi, you are…” Her voice turned too easily, I thought, from mild surprise to downright hostility. “What the fuck…?”

I recovered my balance and took a little more time to re-order my thoughts. The hallway was brightly lit so it took a moment for my eyes to adjust.

“Who the fuck are you? What d’you want?”

For a moment I gaped at her stupidly. I was confronted by a vision of such beauty that it took considerable effort on my part to bring myself under control. Her pictures had not done her justice. She was so open and unashamedly provocative that it occurred to me to make some lame excuse about not being very photogenic and let the relationship take its course from thereon in. But that was flogging a dead horse and it was a momentary weakness, natural perhaps when confronted by a magnificently beautiful woman in revealing negligee, yet wholly repugnant to what I had come here to do. I had to take immediate and complete control. I could not allow her even a shred of opportunity to trounce me. I had already learned of her quick mind and her ability to manage situations. I must put her squarely, uncompromisingly, in the picture, my picture.