After extracting himself from Inga, Caine rose, said, "We will continue this discussion tomorrow," and left. Inga wondered if he intended to leave her naked and spread-eagled all night, but a few minutes after his departure, two women wearing his indecent livery, both new to Inga, came in to release her. They led her back up to the main floor, then down what seemed like miles of corridors to a door identical to several dozen others they had already passed.

It opened into a suite consisting of a large bedroom with a four-poster bed, mirror-fronted wardrobe and picture windows with a fine view of an elaborate water garden, and an attached bathroom containing an enormous sunken marble tub. The tub was already filled with hot water in which floated rose petals, in anticipation of her arrival. Inga concluded that if Caine put his fuck-toys to hard use, he was willing to see to their creature comforts if their performance met his demanding standards.

Inga luxuriated in the tub, letting the hot water relax muscles still sore from her suspension. The places where she had been caned continued to ache after the rest of her body recovered, and she was not surprised to find dark bars indicating bruises on the back of her leg and high on her thigh. She tried to imagine how it would have felt had he administered the "real caning" he had threatened, and shuddered. Still, she reflected, so far he had humiliated her and taken his pleasure from her (and, she was forced to admit to herself, given her even more), but he had not hurt her very badly, in spite of Quentin Scales' dire warnings. Perhaps that was just one of Caine's tactics after all, to soften her up with intimidation, and add fear to the other tools he used to break in his slaves.

She heard someone enter and leave her room while she was in the tub, and when she came out, wrapped in a towel, a cart holding a tray covered with a metal dome was waiting in the bedroom. Under the cover was a delicious, steaming hot dinner. Inga wondered briefly if it was drugged, then dismissed the thought. If Caine wanted to drug her, he did not need to be subtle about it. As she had not eaten all day, she dug in, and soon cleaned the plate.

Almost as soon as she finished, she realized she was exhausted from a long day of travel and bondage. As she climbed into the soft bed, she wondered if Caine planned to have sex with her again on the morrow as part of her training program. If he did, she thought as she stretched in a tremendous yawn, it wouldn't be the all that bad. Then she fell asleep.

The next morning, she woke up to find another cart waiting beside the bed, this one containing breakfast. Just as she was swallowing the last fork-full of eggs and salmon, the door opened (apparently they did not believe in knocking or asking permission to enter here), and a trio of green-liveried slave-girls appeared. One took the cart and rolled it away down the hall, while the others seized Inga around her biceps, and marched her away in the opposite direction.

"Not a very chatty lot, are you?" Inga said to the girl holding her right arm, a short, pretty powerfully-built girl with black hair and pointed, conical breasts.

"Shut up," the servant growled, yanking Inga's arm to emphasize the command.

She was marched back to the basemen, to the same room as the day before. This time, however, she was strapped into a new restraint. The device was a complicated three-dimensional lattice of gleaming metal rods, which appeared to be capable of being moved into any number of configurations. She was spread-eagled in the device, although not under any great tension, and left to her own devices by the two servants. She did not have very long to wait before Caine appeared.

"Good morning Inga," he said. "I trust you are well-rested and ready to get on with our business?"

"If you are offering me a choice, I would just as soon forego the business altogether, Mr. Caine. If not, I don't imagine it matters very much whether I am ready." She answered loftily. Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, Inga wanted to take them back, but her pride would not allow it.

Perfect, you idiot, she told herself. Start the day by antagonizing him, as if he needed another reason to my life more miserable.

Caine displayed a smile that contained all the warmth of a Vinland blizzard. "As I suspected, yesterday's session did not have any lasting effect," he said. He walked up to the bound Inga, and patted her cheek as an ogre about to devour his helpless prey might first play with it. He produced from the pocket of his jacket a rubbery-looking object which he shook out and held up for her inspection.

It was, Inga saw, a full-face latex mask, designed to go all the way around the chin to the neck. There was a hole in the back for a pony tail, in case she had long hair, she supposed, and two much smaller ones in the front designed to fit over the nose. There was a zipper over the mouth area. Once he pulled the mask over her head, she would be effectively blind and mute.

"I hope you like it," Caine said. "I had it made in anticipation of Quentin successfully obtaining you, and it was quite expensive, although it was cheap compared to what you cost, of course."

Inga nothing to like about the hideous mask. "I'm so glad to hear your money wasn't wasted," she said dryly.

Caine held up a rubber ball, said "Open", and when she did, shoved it into her mouth. Then he pulled the mask down over her head, plunging Inga into darkness. She experimentally tried to open her jaws and found, as she had expected, that her best efforts did not suffice to open her mouth more than a fraction of an inch.

"How is that, my dear?" Caine asked. "Is it a good, tight fit?" He patted her cheek again, then pain exploded there when swung his hand to slap the unsuspecting Inga hard enough to knock her head sideways, making stars flash in her skull. She screamed, or rather tried to, but only a weak "Uhh!" was able to get out through the ball and mask.

"Excellent," Caine said, "then we can proceed. You will recall, I hope, that yesterday I mentioned the two proven methods for altering the type of inconvenient and irrational beliefs that make it impossible for you to adjust to your current reality."

Inga nodded, this being the only way she could communicate at the present.

"The first way, by the use of pleasure, you have already experienced," he continued. His voice seemed to grow fainter, as if he was walking away, then louder again as he returned from whatever errand he had gone on. "The second way is in almost all regards superior, in that it works more quickly and obtains more permanent results," he continued. "The drawback, from the subject's point of view, is that it is much less enjoyable. I speak of course, of pain."

Caine's voice now came from in front. She heard the humming of electric motors, and felt her arms being moved by the device. "This machine is quite versatile," Caine said. "It can be adjusted to place you in almost any position I wish."

The irresistible power of the machine pulled Inga's arms back behind her head, straining her shoulders and forcing her to thrust out her chest. Then she felt a something pressing her back directly between her shoulder blades, exaggerating the outward curve of her spine even more and although she could not see it, displaying her flawless little breasts outrageously.

Inga heard a soft swishing sound. "I don't suppose you've ever had your tits whipped, my dear, have you?" Caine asked.

Inga shook her head rapidly back and forth, trying to communicate that she had not, and furthermore, had absolutely no desire to change that.

"Well, never have I seen a pair in a better position for a good whipping," he said, "so it would be inexcusable to waste this opportunity." She heard the swishing sound again, then felt a burning line of pain across her breasts just below the nipples. She tried to scream and twist away, but her bonds permitted neither.

"They bounce beautifully," Caine told her, "as well as any I've ever whipped, which is not a few."

I'm so happy you're pleased, Inga thought. Do you know how much that thing stings, you bastard?

Almost as if he had read her mind, Caine said, "In order to be effective, the treatment must be painful, naturally. The more severe the pain now, the stronger the memory of it will be and the greater the effect. It is the recollection of previously suffered pain that is most efficacious in this type of conditioning."

The whip hissed through the air again, slicing diagonally up from left to right, scorching directly across one nipple, and sending Inga into writhing contortions. The pain was sharper than that she had felt when he had caned her cramped muscles with the bamboo rod the previous day. This felt more as if he was flaying her alive, slicing thin strips from her soft skin.

Caine whipped Inga's fine breasts unhurriedly, pausing to watch and savor the litheness of her body as it twisted crazily after each stroke and the way her mammaries jumped under the strokes. After a dozen snaking red lines had been traced over her white mounds, he paused.

"Your continued belief that you are superior to me is obviously not reasonable," Caine said, "as this little demonstration should prove. What pain can do is reach the irrational part of your mind that will not let go of this illogical idea. Do you understand, Inga?"

The red haze of pain thinned enough for her to realize that Caine had asked her a question and was expecting an answer. Inga forced down the throbbing waves of agony coming from her abused breasts to review his words.

Yes, she thought, nodding vigorously, yes, I understand. I don't need any further demonstration.

"You do not disappoint me," Caine said. "Since you do understand, there will be no need to bore you with any more explanations which you would probably find tedious." She heard the whirring of machinery again, now releasing the pressure on her shoulders and drawing her upright again, back into her original position. Was it over? She wondered.

She did not have to wait long for the answer. The device continued to hum, pulling her left leg up to one side until her foot was higher than her head, leaving the lips of her sex and her wrinkled rear entry hideously exposed. Inga had time to shriek "No! Don't!" at the top of her lungs (even she could barely detect the resulting, feeble "Nnn! Huhh!") before she heard the malicious hiss of Caine's whip cutting the air, and felt the tip biting the soft flesh of her inner thigh just below her sex an instant later. After that, Inga could do nothing but scream and twist about uselessly as the whip struck here and there on her body, never where or when she was expecting it, lighting up her armpits, nipples, thighs and worst of all, her tender lower lips and the sensitive starburst of her anus. The effect of the strokes on the last two places made Inga involuntarily try to launch herself into orbit to escape the blinding bolts of pain.

Her body remained tense in anticipation for several minutes before she realized than he had stopped, or at least paused. She realized he was talking to her, and she had missed the first few words.

"...to concede, to put aside your pride and surrender to me?" He asked.

Inga's body was on fire, burning in what seemed like a hundred places at once. Caine had done this to her; he could do even more, or hurt her like this again tomorrow, or the next day, if it pleased him. Yes she would surrender, if it meant an end to this unbearable agony.

She nodded her head, and urgently mumbled "Ssss! Sssss!"

Caine opened the zipper over her mouth and removed the dripping red ball. "What was your answer again, Inga?"

The words tumbled out of her mouth as soon as she could speak. "I said , yes, yes, you have my surrender, Master Caine. I am your slave, you are my owner and my superior."

The machine hummed, shifting her arms and legs until Inga knelt on the ground. "Of course, the three are not exactly the same things, are they?" Caine asked. "You seem convinced at the moment, but I suspect that as far as that last part, you may not continue to think that way. Still, this is as good a time as any to see what your surrender entails."

She heard the sound of a zipper opening. "Do you have any experience swallowing cocks?" As she heard these words, she felt something warm and rubbery press against her lips. She shook her head, which served to both answer his question and break contact with what she strongly suspected was Caine's penis.

"No, Master, I never...tried it," she answered. In fact, Inga had never considered taking a male organ in her mouth. She found the whole idea disgusting and, as it did not even promise the questionable pleasures offered by copulation, utterly pointless. Moreover, she thought the act demeaning, as it put her in a subservient position to a male.

"Then there's no time like the present to start," he said, directing her head back into position, with his erection poised before her mouth.

"But Master, I don't know how... " she began to protest.

Caine cut her short, pressing the head of his cock up against her lips. "Don't worry about that. I'll give you pointers as we go along. To begin with, run your tongue over my balls, then up and down the shaft, until it's slippery with your spit."

This task, although mildly repulsive, was one she could force herself to perform. The taste of his scrotal sack was a little gamey, but not unbearable, and as long as she didn't think about what she was doing, the process of wrapping her tongue around his pole to wash it with her saliva was not too difficult. As she worked, she could feel his meat expand and point more vertically.

"Not bad," he said. "Now comes the hard part. Open wide."

Inga reluctantly obeyed, and felt the swollen head pass between her lips. "Now you have to remember just a couple of things," Caine told her. "First, you do not want to let anything but your lips and tongue touch my cock, no matter what happens. If you do, you will be back up on the frame for fifty strokes on your pussy and asshole. Understood?"

Inga answered, "Yes Master!" as loudly as she could, considering how much of her mouth was already filled with Caine's meat.

"Right," Caine continued. "Second, you will have to swallow my whole cock, until my balls are touching your chin." By the time he said this, the head of his organ was already almost against the back of her throat, with the number of remaining inches unknown, at least to the blindfolded Inga.

She tried to estimate the length of his cock from when she had seen it the day before, and compare it to the length already in her mouth. By her very rough calculations, Inga guessed that she would need to engulf another three inches at a minimum, possibly even four, to meet his requirements. Since her oral cavity was already full, with the spongy mushroom head already crowding the entry to her throat and beginning to make her gag, she could not see how what he wanted was physically possible. She tried to explain this as well as she could with his rod jammed in her mouth.

Caine seemed to understand, even though Inga was unable to form a single coherent word. "Don't worry, you'll soon learn the trick, just like the other girls did," he told her. To Inga's alarm, his hands were now on the back of her head, forcing her head closer to him, and his cock deeper into her throat. The unrelenting pressure pried her esophagus open to admit the head of his cock.

"The trick is to relax and breath through your nose," Caine told her. "Ah, that's the way to shake hands with it," he said as her overstretched food tube went into spasm around the invader.

Inga's windpipe instinctively contracted as Caine's organ pressed into her throat, and she panicked. She tried to pull away or turn her head to one side, to expel the thick log lodged in her throat, or to at least make room for her to breathe again, but to no avail. The framework held her in position on her knees, with her hands confined far to either side, and Caine's grip on her head was far too strong for her to resist. She tried to cry out, to scream that she was choking, that he was killing her, but all she accomplished was to make a kind of bubbling sound of distress.

This turned out to be the right thing to do. Caine found her attempts to protest so stimulating that he shouted, "God, that's good!", pulled out of Inga's mouth and, holding himself in one hand, directed the ensuing explosion onto the kneeling girl's face, befouling the mask with streamers of his semen.

He staggered back, feeling for a chair with one hand, then sat heavily, breathing hard. "These little...bitches will...be the death...of me yet," he panted, apparently to himself. "But what a way to go!"

After his breathing began to sound more normal, he said more loudly, "Now, lick up whatever your tongue can reach, Inga. I'll be back in a minute, and then you can clean me up as well. You will be expected to do this each time."

Inga was still breathing heavily herself, but she dutifully sent her tongue out to scour her lips, then following his directions, ran it over his softening cock, scrotum and clothing. "That was acceptable, for a first try," Caine told her. "It should go without saying, but just in case it does not, you should know that you will be expected to improve with practice."

A few minutes later, Inga was back on her feet, and Caine was treating her wounds, rubbing some kind of ointment over the livid tracks left by the whip. "If you were worried your body would be permanently scarred from that whipping..." (She had been worried about a great deal more than that: when he removed the mask, she had expected to see her flesh torn and bleeding, and she was shocked at how much pain had been caused by a terrible flogging which produced only some pink lines and not a drop of blood. What would a horse-whip feel like, she wondered?) "...you can relax. This stuff will have you looking as good as new in a day or so."

This reminded Inga of something. "Permission to ask a question, Master," she said.

"Granted," Caine said. He appeared to be in good mood after the blow-job.

"If this salve is so effective, why do all your servant girls have old whip scars on their breasts, buttocks and vulvas?" She asked. She had noticed pale white lines on the flesh every girl wearing Caine's bizarre livery she had seen so far, starting with the chauffeur. "Those are whip marks, aren't they?"

"Hmm," Caine said, pausing for a moment to study her. "very observant of you, my dear. Yes, those are whip marks. When I correct the green-suits, I do not normally use the light dog-whip as I did just now, but something considerably heavier; and the salve, although it is very effective, is not miraculous. I would hesitate to discipline a seventy-five thousand crown pleasure slave in the same way I would a two thousand crown house servant, as I am sure you understand. You must be aware that you are quite a valuable property."

Inga was pleased to hear that there was some limit to what Caine was willing to do to her. Her pleasure lasted only as long as his next sentence. "That does not mean that you should consider yourself exempt from even the most extreme punishment," he said. "If it is necessary, I am ready to sacrifice the life of one of my pleasure slaves, even a very expensive one like you, to encourage the others. If I do, I can guarantee that slave a very long and very painful experience before she dies. Do not test me, Inga." He warned.

"Oh no, Master," she said, hastily. "I wasn't thinking anything like that."

Caine gazed at her speculatively. "Let us hope not, for your sake. Tomorrow we will resume your training. I think you are about ready for some real discipline."