Olivia was in another room in the basement of the great house, prepared according to Caine's instructions. She was naked, her hands were locked in cuffs over her head and spread far apart. Her feet were similarly restrained. She was bound to a framework of metal rods which could be adjusted to put a captive into almost any position desired. She was also efficiently gagged.

Olivia was still unconscious when Caine entered the room, with her chin resting on her chest. He filled a bucket with icy water from the tap, and then splashed it on the naked blonde.

The shock of the freezing inundation brought her suddenly to life. She screamed, or rather tried to. Her mouth was stuffed full of some soft material and her lips were sealed with a strip of silvery duct tape, so that all that came out was a low keening noise: "Eeeeeee!"

"Glad to see you're back with us," Caine remarked. He played with the whip he held, running it slowly through his hand as he strolled about her. Olivia's eyes were fixed on the whip, following it's sinuous motion with fearful intensity. "You have a great deal to learn, Mrs. Addison, and you are going to begin to learn it now." He snapped the whip sharply against the floor, making a loud crack! She flinched.

"Your main problem is that you are confused," he continued, walking around behind her and drinking in the soft curves of her buttocks, back and thighs. "You labor under the delusion that you are still Mrs. Olivia Addison, high society hostess, and queen bee at the local country club." He stroked her smooth flank, casually running his hand up her body from mid-thigh to ribs, then cupped her breast as he spoke. She turned her head to glare at him, undisguised hatred written on her face.

"Actually, that person, Mrs. Olivia Addison, no longer exists. Perhaps you are confused because you look a bit like her," he went on, slipping his fingers into the valley between the fine ovals of her buttocks. "But, of course, that Mrs. Addison would never have allowed me handle her aristocratic pussy..." Here he matched his deed to his words, probing inside her sheath with two fingers and making Olivia writhe in an unsuccessful effort to escape this unwelcome caress. "...or play with her tits...," he went on, reaching around with both hands to engulf her mounds. They were heavy in his hands, not too big, but extremely dense and solid. He was certain they would bounce beautifully, once he got around to punishing them. Olivia twisted violently in her restraints, vainly trying to shake him off.

He released her breasts and came back to stand in front of the enslaved housewife again. "The old Olivia Addison would never have stood still for this..." he said, slapping her on the face twice in swift succession with forehand and backhand strokes. She emitted a weak squeal from the back of her throat. The expression on her face indicated that if she could have killed him on the spot, she would have cheerfully done so.

"...or this..." he said, taking her nipples, one in each hand, and simultaneously pulling, twisting and squeezing them as hard as he could. She groaned and contorted in discomfort.

"But the reality, which you evidently are not yet able to face, is that you are no longer that Olivia Addison. The reality is that you are neither more nor less than a naked slave, a chattel without rights of any kind."

He continued the lecture as he moved behind her and forced his forefinger knuckle-deep into the tight ring of her anus. She gasped and arched upward, driven by the pressure of this invasion. "Do you know that a horse or a dog has more rights than you, Mrs. Addison? I am the president of the local Association to Stop Cruel Treatment of Animals, and I helped draft the law to protecting domestic beasts which the legislature of this state has adopted. I can assure you that there is no such law protecting you. "So, the first thing you must come to terms with is the fact that Olivia Addison, society hostess, no longer exists," he concluded. He began to methodically slap her firm tits back and forth. "Until you are able to accept that basic fact, you cannot start the training you will need to become a useful slave."

He pulled a black latex hood from the pocket of his jacket, and pulled it down over her head until it covered everything above her neck. She panicked when she thought she would suffocate, until she realized there were small openings for her nostrils, and she could breathe.

"With my help, however, you will become oriented to your new reality," she heard Caine say from somewhere behind her back. An instant later, she heard the whip crack, and felt pain blaze down her back from her shoulder to her buttocks. Her whole body arched out in agony.

This pain was quite unlike that inflicted by the slave collar. For one thing, it was localized in the area where the whip had struck her, whereas the collar had sent a wave of pain throughout her whole body. Much worse was the fact that the pain inflicted by the collar ended the instant the signal came from the remote control. The pain of the whip, on the other hand, lingered for a long time after the stroke. The hood added to her terror, for she now had no way to anticipate when the next stroke would come or what part of her body it would strike. She flung her head wildly from side to side, as if trying to see her tormentor.

Caine waited until he judged the throbbing had died down to an almost bearable level, then struck again, surprising her with a wicked stroke across her left breast and belly.

Olivia screamed feebly, pulled uselessly at her restraints and shook her head like a horse bothered by flies. It felt to her as if the whip was flaying a strip of flesh off her body with each stroke. The whip would master her, she knew. She was not strong enough to withstand this kind of pain for long. She was already prepared to surrender to Caine and to give him whatever he wanted. She tried to tell him, but all that she could do was mumble incomprehensibly. Then the whip cut the soft flesh of her inner thigh and she shrieked out her surrender with all her might, begging him to stop. The effort produced a muffled "Nnnnnnn", audible perhaps five feet away.

Caine ran his hand over the sinuous line of the welt that rose from her formerly unmarked, alabaster thigh. "As your owner, I have the right to give you a new name," he told Olivia as her body jerked helplessly before him. "As it may help you through this difficult period of adjustment, I will exercise that right. Suppose I change your name to 'Slut"?" He asked. "How would you like that?" He slashed her across both ass cheeks, leaving a bright red, curving mark and starting Olivia off in an energetic dance of agony.

"That doesn't appeal to you, hey?" he asked. "Well, perhaps you're right. I think 'Bitch' would be more appropriate." He snapped the whip up between her legs, and this time the tip found the protruding pink lips of her sex. To Olivia, it seemed as if her labia had been sliced with a knife. She threw back her head and howled. A weak "Urrr!" emerged from the back of her throat.

"Yes, I agree. 'Bitch' it shall be," Caine said, admiring her contortions. He waited until he thought she was beginning to recover, then snapped the whip again, sketching a sinuous line of white-hot agony across the expanse of her naked back.

After that, he said nothing for a long time, silently flagellating his defenseless victim in a methodical, unhurried fashion. Sometimes he waited a full minute between strokes, while other times he applied the strokes in rapid succession. He varied his targets, so that she never knew where the next blow would land. Over the course of the next hour, every part of her body between the neck and the knees tasted Caine's lash. Each stroke raised a red welt on the surface of her fair skin, and each seemed to Olivia to be more painful than the one before. After an unknown time, she found that her throat was so raw that she could no longer scream in agony. Would this beating never end? she wondered.

At last, he lowered the whip, saying, "That should be enough, for now." She heard him move away across the room and then return.

"Stand still," he ordered, and he began rubbing something that felt both icy and warm over the welts the whip had raised. She struggled at first, then realized that whatever he was applying to her was actually reducing the throbbing of her wounds.

"This stuff will heal these marks in no time," he explained, as he applied the unguent to a nasty welt just below her left nipple. "Two days from now, there will be nothing left but a few little white lines, and in a week, even those will be gone. That way I can whip you as much as necessary without spoiling your looks with scars."

She was glad to hear that he placed some value on retaining her beauty intact. Perhaps her new master was a little less harsh than he pretended to be. She wondered if it would be possible for her to seduce him, so that she might gain status in the household as his favorite.

He finished the treatments by dabbing the lotion on the wounded lips of her vulva. Again she heard him walk away, and this time he returned pushing what sounded like a rubber-wheeled cart.

"I'm going to leave you here until dinner, Bitch," he said, "but before I go, I'm going to give you something to help you settle your mind about who you are. I suggest you use the time to ponder your name and condition."

Suddenly she felt the bite of tiny metal teeth sinking into her right nipple. She tried to squirm away, but the pain was only increased by the futile twisting movements of her chest. The only result of her efforts was to make her breasts jiggle in a way that pleased Caine.

He closed another of the vicious biting objects over her other nipple. "Nnnnn!" she protested.

"There's one more," he said. "I suppose you can guess where this one goes."

Until that moment, Olivia had believed she was too exhausted from the whipping she had just received to put up any sort of sustained struggle. But the thought of those metal teeth nipping her clitoris was enough to give her enough energy to fling her hips vigorously to one side the moment she felt his fingers touch her labia.

He slapped her face four times, (the latex hood provided no protection from the blows), and ordered her not to move, but she continued to jerk her pelvis away as soon as she felt his hand. She did not want to disobey; she was already too afraid of him for that. However, her fear of the little clip was so great that she could not control her body's reactions. The movements of her hips were purely automatic and involuntary.

After three futile attempts and more slapping of her already bruised face, until the ringing in Olivia's ears made her imagine that a boiler factory had set up shop in her skull, Caine desisted. He grunted, "All right then, we'll just have to do it the hard way."

She could hear him adjusting knobs on the panel that controlled the framework holding her. There was a hum of electric motors, and she felt her arms and legs being pulled apart, as the rods of the structure shifted into a new configuration. She was stretched until she thought all her joints would be dislocated at once, but the machine stopped well short of that. In the end, she was suspended off the floor with her toes just touching the ground, stretched as tightly as the strings of a violin, her entire body in agony. A little experimentation proved that she could not move her hips more than half an inch in any direction.

"This is an additional punishment you brought on yourself," he said. He opened the lips of her vagina and found the little button of flesh inside he sought. He toyed with the pink knob for a little while, until it expanded, filling with blood. Olivia's muscles clenched in agony when he closed the jaws of the clip on her love button. "You will remain under tension like this until I return."

She heard clicking sounds and a low hum. "The clamps are connected to an electrical device. The device will administer electric shocks to your nipples and clit four times every hour. Each shock will last one minute."

She whimpered in terror. "Don't leave me here," she begged. "I'll do anything you want, please." All that came out was an almost inaudible sound like a sigh.

She could hear his footsteps moving away, and then the sound of the door opening. "One more thing," he said. "The strength of the shock varies randomly from fairly mild to quite severe, just so you don't get bored with the process. See you in six hours." She heard the heavy door slam shut behind him, with a sound of finality.

She tried to call him back, but her throat was so ragged by now that she was incapable of producing anything above a whisper, even if she had not been so efficiently gagged. All she could do was hang, suspended and helpless, and try to steel herself for the first shock.

When it came, she discovered that all her preparation had been for nothing. She was still not prepared for the actuality of the pain. When the ability to form rational thoughts returned to her afterwards, she realized she would never be ready to handle it. Her nipples felt as if they were being toasted by a flaming match. But the pain coming from down between her legs was far worse. The shock was a blinding agony that made her want to crawl right out of her own body to escape it. The minute was unbelievably long; she tried to count off the seconds, but the pain was so great that she could not count past three without losing track. It ended only after a minute that stretched out for a lifetime. She felt wetness between her legs, and realized that her bladder had released at some point after her mind had fled her body.

She did a quick calculation, and despaired when she realized that she had twenty-three more shocks to look forward to, while her body was stretched as taut as the strings of a tennis racket for six hours. She wished that she had the power to will her heart to stop beating. She was sure that she would rather be dead than endure what the next six hours would bring. But she did not have a choice. She wondered if the first shock had been one of the mild ones, the severe ones, or in-between. A few minutes later, she had her answer... the first shock had been a mild one.

***

By the time Caine returned, Olivia given up any thought of struggling. When the shocks set flames in her delicate nipples and clit, she simply hung limply in her restraints, passively existing until the endless minute had passed. She had almost forgotten who and where she was. She had no hopes of any kind, no plans for the future; every particle of her being was concentrated on surviving the six hours without going mad. Her body gleamed with beads of sweat. She lacked the strength to raise her chin from her chest when she heard the door open.

She heard footsteps approaching. There was a click, and the soft hum of the electric torture device faded away.

There was a zipper on the latex hood where it covered her mouth. He opened the zipper and ripped the duct tape roughly from her lips.

"Open up," he ordered. When she did, he reached into her mouth and pulled out a mass of foam rubber. Before she could say anything, he asked, "Are you thirsty?"

Olivia suddenly realized that she never been so thirsty in all her life. Her throat was so raw and dry it took several attempts before she could speak aloud. She nodded her head weakly and finally forced out, "Yes," in a feeble whisper.

She felt a drinking straw between her lips. "Drink this," he said.

She wondered for an instant if the drink was poison or some kind of drug, but immediately decided not to worry about it. He could use her any way he wished; he could put her down like a rabid dog if he wanted to. She was his slave, legal for all purposes, and nothing he chose to do to her was forbidden. If he wanted to drug her or poison her, there was nothing she could do about it, so what was the point in worrying about it? She sucked eagerly at the straw, and was rewarded when an icy cold liquid filled her mouth. She gulped it down greedily. The fluid was sweet and slightly salty, with a light fruity taste. She had never tasted anything so delicious in her life.

"It's got glucose and electrolytes in it," he told her. "Drink it all. We don't want you passing out. We have work ahead of us." She was glad to comply, drawing on the straw until a gurgling sound told her that the container was empty.

She sighed. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Now I have some questions for you," Caine said. "The right answers will get you down from that frame. The wrong ones will leave you up there until tomorrow morning, where you will receive electric shocks at ten-minute intervals for the next eight hours."

"No, please don't... I can't... no..." she whispered in her terror. She trembled at the thought that she might give him a wrong answer. She could not face another eight hours attached to that machine. Death would be a hundred times more desirable.

"The first question is...," he paused. "What is your name?"

"I am Ol..." she started to answer automatically, and then stopped. Her mind was still in a fog from the recently ended six-hour session with the machine, but she knew "Olivia Addison" was the wrong answer. Olivia Addison was a rich, powerful, respected member of Celestial County society. She, on the other hand, was nothing but a naked bit of suffering flesh, subject to the slightest whim of her master. He had given her a new name. What was it? She strained through the fog in her brain to remember.

"Well, what's the answer?" Caine insisted.

She remembered at last. "Bitch," she said hoarsely, "my name is 'Bitch'." She smiled, happy that she had been able to answer his question.

"Correct," he said. "Now, Bitch, what is your status?"

That was an easier one. "I am a slave..., your slave, master," she added.

"Correct again," he replied. "Now, here is your final question. Who is Olivia Addison?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Why, she's nobody, master. She doesn't exist."

"Right again, Bitch," he responded. She heard the clicking of switches on the control panel, the hum of electric motors, and suddenly the four cuffs holding her opened and she fell to the ground. Her legs were still too weak to support her weight, but she managed to push herself into a squatting position, facing in the direction that she guessed Caine was standing.

"Put your hands behind your back, Bitch," he ordered. "Your right hand should be holding your left elbow and your left hand holding your right elbow." She followed the instructions, and he stepped behind her and slipped something around her forearms that tightened firmly after he closed it. He detached the wires from the three clips, but left the clips themselves in place.

"Now, Bitch, I need to know if you will serve me faithfully as my personal slave," he said.

She licked her lips. "Yes, master. I will serve you faithfully."

He placed his fingers on her lips. "Will you serve me with your mouth, Bitch?" he asked. The question had a feeling of ritual about it, and she answered in that spirit.

"Yes, master, I will serve you with my mouth," she replied.

"Kiss my fingers, idiot," he snapped, slapping her hard enough to knock her over.

"Oh! Ouch! I'm sorry, master," she said, scrambling up and making kissing motions with her lips while seeking his hand by weaving her head slowly back and forth. She felt a little spark of resentment at his unfairness. Why did he need to hit her?

He let her mouth find his hand, and her swollen lips pressed against his fingers.

"Will you serve me with your tits, Bitch?" he asked again. He reached down to support her creamy mounds in his hands from underneath.

"Yes, master, I will serve you with my... ahhhh!" she shrieked, when he took the two clips in his hands, released them and re-attached them to her nipples in new locations, causing pain to blossom anew in the sensitive flesh.

"Go on," said, twisting and pulling at the clips while she writhed on her knees at his feet.

"With... my... tits," she forced out through gritted teeth. "Please stop, master. It hurts," she begged hoarsely.

"Say the whole thing," he demanded, pulling up so hard that she rose half-way to her feet.

"I... will... please stop! ...serve you with... ahhhhh!... my ...oh God, it hurts! ...tits!" Olivia finally forced out.

He released her, and she fell back to her knees, weeping. Her nipples screamed with renewed agony and she felt her anger growing. She had followed every order. She had even given up her name and was now prepared to do whatever disgusting thing he required of her. Why did still he have to hurt her?

"Please, master," she sobbed. "What have I done wrong?"

As if in answer to her question, she felt the sudden heavy impact of his boot, when he kicked her head, directly on the temple. A red flash of pain exploded in her head and she fell again. This time, she could feel the sole of his boot pressing down on her ear, pressing her head into the cold concrete floor.

An instant later, she felt the sharp impact of a stiff rod lashing into her breasts. She screamed in shock and pain.

"What you did wrong was question my actions," Caine said, as he beat her exposed breasts and abdomen repeatedly. "I do not explain my actions to my slaves."

"I'm sorry, master. Please stop," she whimpered.

He stopped and said sternly, "You will apologize for your presumption, Bitch."

"I will," Bitch said quickly. "I am sorry I questioned you, master. I promise never to do it again." She thought resentfully that she had only asked him what she had done wrong. Why did she have to apologize?

"And you will humbly beg me to punish your nipples with the clips," he went on. When she hesitated, he added, "Otherwise, I may change my mind and put you back on that frame for the night."

She swallowed hard. She could not spend an entire night hooked up to that infernal machine. Anything was preferable to that.

Slowly, forcing out each word with an obvious effort, she said, "Please... punish my... nipples with... the clips."

"Show me your tits," he ordered. "Present them to me."

Reluctantly, she straightened her back and pulled her shoulder blades together, causing her fine breasts to lift up and away from her chest.

He seized the offered mammaries by the metal clips, and began once again to twist and pull them unmercifully, until she feared that he would tear her nipples off.

"Will you serve me, Bitch?" he asked again and again, while she tearfully begged him to stop and promised to serve him. Without warning, he released her, and she dropped down, curling into a ball, trying to protect her suffering nipples and soothe the pain by rubbing them against her legs.

"Get up, Bitch," he said harshly.

Reluctantly, she rose again to her knees.

"Will you serve me with your cunt?" he demanded, resuming the catechism.

"I will serve you with my... cunt," she repeated weakly.

"Open your legs and show me your cunt," he directed.

She was not sure exactly what he wanted, but she was afraid to ask him. She lay back over her bound arms, spread her knees apart, and arched up her pelvis, glad that she could not see herself in this degrading position. She waited nervously, wondering if he would begin beating her again if her position was not what he had in mind.

To her relief, he did not take the opportunity to whip her exposed sex. Instead, he explored her open pussy with his fingers, casually stroking her for a time. Without any warning, he suddenly took hold of the clip on her clitoris and began to viciously pull and twist it, as he had done a moment before with the nipple clips.

Olivia screamed weakly, but she had to force herself to not fling herself violently around for fear that her fleshy button might be damaged or even completely torn off. She babbled pitifully in her distress, begging him to release her, to forgive her, to be merciful and so on. At last, he released her and she fell back, her punished clitoris throbbing terribly.

"Will you serve me with your ass?" he asked. "Get up, Bitch, and answer me," he said when he saw that she continued to lie on her back and cry. "Will you serve me with your aristocratic ass?"

She spoke the required words between sobs. "I... uh... will serve... oh... you... with... ah... my ass," she responded.

"Then show me your ass, before I lose my patience, Bitch," he said.

Still weeping, Olivia rolled over onto her front. Keeping her face on the floor, she arched her back, and presented her buttocks to him, lifting them as high as possible.

"Spread your knees," he snapped, striking her bottom unexpectedly with the rod he had used on her earlier. She yelped, and quickly opened her legs.

A moment later, Olivia felt his fingers invading her tiny bottom hole, first one, then two, and finally three at once. The fingers formed a little cone, beginning by delving into her, then spreading apart to stretch her anal opening painfully. She groaned, but did not dare move away from his unwanted attentions.

He removed his fingers from her rear orifice, unzipped the back of the hood and lifted it from her head. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the presence of light after long hours in total darkness.

"Look at me, Bitch," he commanded, his hand under her sculpted chin.

She stared up at him steadily with her pale blue eyes.

"Will you beg me to fuck you, to fuck you like a dog?" he asked.

She paled and hesitated, but only for an instant, before replying, "Yes, master, I will. Please fuck me, sir. Fuck me like a dog."

He pulled her roughly to her feet by her hair, ignoring her groans of pain.

"Get over there, and lie face down," he ordered, pointing to a stainless steel slab that looked something like a coroner's examining table. Olivia staggered across the room to the table, and placed her face, breasts and abdomen on the cold steel surface. She yelped softly at the sudden icy chill of the metal table under her naked flesh.

"Put your head in the cradle," he said. There was padded semi-circular block attached to one end of the table. It had a hinge on one side, and attached to the hinge was an identical semi-circular block. It was a pillory, designed to capture and restrain the head of whoever was on the table.

Olivia obediently placed her neck on the block, with her head on the far side looking down at the end of the steel table a few inches under her nose. Caine closed the top over her, and locked it. Her body was now completely hidden from view by the pillory.

He left her for a moment, and returned wheeling a large mirror, which he placed in front of the table, facing back. With this aid, she could see what most of he was doing, except when he was directly behind her. This of course, was not the reason Caine had put the mirror there. It was there so that he could see her face as he had his way with her.

"Now plant your feet apart, with your legs straight," he said. "I want your ass in the air, begging for a fuck."

Her position was certainly inviting, almost asking to be sexually violated. The beautiful blond slave was stretched across the metal table, bent at the waist with her legs wide open, offering unobstructed access to her golden-tufted pussy and the wrinkled brown rosette of her bottomhole. When he stood behind her he could see her face clearly in the big mirror.

He released the clip on her clitoris, and put it away in his pocket. She sighed with relief. He inserted his fingers in her sheath and began to expertly arouse Olivia, teasing her clitoris with flicks, rubs and tugs. In a few minutes, lubrication began to flow inside her pussy and she felt the glow of sexual excitement spreading over her body.

"You want to be fucked like a dog, like the bitch that you are?" he asked, opening his fly and pulling out his long, stiff rod

"Yes, master," she said, looking back a little nervously in the mirror. In truth, she was ready. "Yes, please fuck me like a dog."

"You beg me to fuck you up the ass, like a dog?" he said. He was invisible now, standing behind her, his thighs touching her buttocks, his penis resting in the valley between her rear mounds.

"Oh, no, not that way, please," Olivia said in sudden alarm, falling forward onto the table and closing her legs. "I've never done it that way, sir. Please don't... aahhh!"

He responded by placing his hand on the small of her back to keep her from moving then taking the clip back out of his pocket, and re-attaching it to her now swollen clitoris. It was much more painful than before, since the tissue was so engorged with blood and every nerve was tingling. He pulled and twisted the clip viciously, and Bitch had no choice but to make her lower body follow wherever the metal teeth led, while fresh pain ripped through her with every new motion.

"No, stop... I'll do it... oh God, I'll die... please let me... ah," she begged.

When he finally relented, squeezing the handles to open the spring and removing the little clip, she was babbling, "Fuck me, fuck me in the ass, please, like a dog. Fuck me any way you want. I'm your dog. Don't hurt me anymore, please, fuck me, I beg you. Use me..." and so on for a long time.

He ordered her to resume the original position, with her ass held high. She obeyed without hesitation, never ceasing her servile pleading.

Caine now slid his member into her still-wet pussy, and stroked deeply in and out a few times. This quickly brought Olivia back to a boil again. She tried to match the strokes with movements of her hips, to increase the growing sensation coming from her slot.

"Open wide and hold the position," he said, taking his massive organ in hand and placing it at the entrance to her rectum. "If you move again, I will hurt you." Strangely this threat, coming after everything he had done to her already, was the most frightening thing he had said to her yet. Perhaps it was because of the vagueness: it left open so many possibilities, from bamboo splints under the fingernails to boiling in oil. Or perhaps it was the implication that he had not hurt her yet, not really. If that was true, Olivia did not want to find out what Caine's idea of "hurt" might be.

He grunted, and forced the head and the first two inches of his rod into her rectum with slow, steady pressure. Olivia screamed as her little ring conformed itself painfully to the girth of the invader, but she did not dare to move again. Her face was contorted with pain and fear as her little hole was obliged to grasp his fat rod in a tight embrace. The pain was of a new kind, both personal and intimate. This violation was worse in a way than when he had whipped her or even the torment of her clitoris with the metal clamp. The pain, although sharp, was not as bad perhaps, but the sense of humiliation made her want to cry. Her rectal ring went into spasm, involuntarily squeezing his insistent, probing cock.

"Stop, you'll tear me! Please stop," she begged.

"Keep your ass up, Bitch, or you'll be back in that frame all night," Caine growled. She wept, but complied. "Now lock your legs, and beg me to fuck you harder," he demanded.

She obeyed as well as she could. "Ow, oh please, fuck... fuck me... ow, not so fast, please... harder... f... fuck me harder, sir... please oh! Ow!" she stuttered.

He continued to drive into Olivia until his entire length was buried in the suffering housewife's colon and his scrotum bounced gently against her lower lips. He rested for a moment, and then he began to back out. She cried out in her weak voice, "Help me, god, please help me! I'm going to die!"

"Nonsense," grunted her master. "You're not going to die from a fuck. Now start fucking me back, or I will punish you."

She was desperate enough to try anything. Perhaps if she cooperated with him, he would climax and end it at last. She bit her lip and began to draw her hips forward to assist his upstroke.

As she continued to ride his length, she stared up at the ceiling and howled for mercy, sounding very much like the dog she had called herself. At long last, after what seemed like hours, she felt his penis pulse as he shot off deep inside her bowel.

He seemed to be in no hurry to pull out; her rectal ring clutched him so firmly that his engorged cock deflated very slowly. His erection seemed to last forever inside her.

Caine reached over the pillory to wrap his hands around Olivia's slender neck. "I imagine that back in Celestial County, you would call being fucked in your ass 'a fate worse than death'. Am I right?"

"Yes, master, that's true," Olivia whispered with what remained of the tatters of her voice. She remembered wishing for death just a short time ago, when she had hung helplessly from the metal frame, her body wracked by electric shocks.

"I'm going to give you a chance to escape from a future in which you will suffer that fate worse than death many times," He tightened his grip on her throat, with his thumbs pressing into his beautiful slave's windpipe. She made a gurgling sound. "So, if you prefer death to serving as my slave, just tell me and I'll snap your skinny neck like a chicken. Then you will never have to be used by me again."

Caine had no intention of carrying out this threat. He had by now assured himself that Olivia would never deliberately choose death to escape slavery. This was merely a demonstration, whose purpose was to hammer home the lesson that he, Caine, was the master and no other.

There were black spots dancing before her eyes from the lack of oxygen. She knew now that she was too much of a coward to choose death as an escape from her enslavement.

"No, master," she whispered, barely able to force the words out through her constricted windpipe. "Please don't kill me. I don't want to die. Let me be your slave."

"I thought you would say that," Caine sneered. "Better the life of a cum-slut than no life at all, hey?" He looked down at her in satisfaction. "If you want to continue to remain my slave and alive, you will improve your ass-fucking technique, Bitch, until you are as skillful as a hundred-crown whore."

Olivia hurriedly reassured her master. "I understand, sir, and I will be much better next time. I'll do it just the way you like it."

The words were the right ones for a thoroughly broken slave, but Caine thought he still detected some rebellion in the fallen aristocrat, lurking below the surface of her eyes. He had owned many female slaves over the years and he prided himself on his intuition in these matters. He had another technique that he used in such cases, one which invariably reduced the proudest slave to complete submission. He had no doubt it would be just as successful with the former Mrs. Olivia Addison, who was now known by the name of Bitch.