Taking the ring on her collar, he dragged her out into the living room and took her down to the corner of the room near the whipping stand. He released her and tapped the floor with his foot. She looked at him and then understood. She sank to her knees and looked up at him fearfully. He kept tapping it until she got the idea and lowered herself to her belly. Once down, he clipped her ankle bracelets together. He drew the chain from the whipping stand down and connected it to her ankles. He went to the side, and using an overhead pully, drew the chain down towards him, raising her feet. He kept pulling until she was well into the air, her breasts at the level with his waist. He affixed the chain to a hook in the wall.

The girl clearly knew what was about to happen. She had started sobbing heavily. She writhed in desperation and her body swung slightly from side to side. He took down the flogger from the wall. He stood before her for a full minute, letting what was about to happen sink in. The girl looked up at him pleadingly, sobbing steadily.

He reared back and struck her with the leather thongs across her breasts. She screeched and her body jerked. He struck her belly and the front of her thighs. She wailed and sobbed. He went around the back and flailed her buttocks and the back of her legs. He did her upper back. She jerked and twisted and screeched. He tempered his blows somewhat. He was well above average strong, and he didn't want to terrorize the girl into apoplexy. He would save that for the appropriate time. This was just a little getting to know you exercise. Call it getting off on the right foot.

He struck her repeatedly, circling around her, pausing between each blow to give each one its full effect. Her skin was turning a mottled red. Her breasts swayed and jerked nicely. Her muffled screams were well satisfying. His cock had gone rigid, as it always did when he administered a beating and he had worked up a little sweat. After the fifteenth blow, he paused. He didn't want to get carried away with the thing. He looked at his watch. It was quarter to 2 and he had to review some notes before the meeting. "Five more," he thought to himself. He administered them quickly and brutally, bringing the girl a whirlwind of pain. She howled and screeched and sobbed, jerking and writhing her body.

When he was done, he took a deep breath. Bob was right, she did take the whip well. And now she would be voraciously obedient.

He remounted the whip on the wall. He didn't say anything to the girl. It wasn't necessary. The message had been delivered. She was moaning and sobbing quite pleasingly. She looked up at him with fear-filled eyes. "I think she'll do very nicely," he thought. As advertised.

He turned, stepped over to his communications room and shut the door.

Yolanda swayed back and forth as she sobbed and sobbed. It was just as she had imagined it would be. Actually, worse. The man was fearsome. His silence was ominous. Mistress Jean and Master Bob and the others had almost continuously talked to her, whether to cajole her into greater obedience and alacrity, to admonish her for deficiencies or just call out in pleasure. This man had no need for language. His fearsomeness was enough. And she was his prisoner! His slave! She didn't know where she was, but she was sure it was somewhere remote and isolated. He could do anything he wanted to her.

She had seen the delight in his eyes while he whipped her. They seemed feverish. She knew that this was not the only time she would be whipped. Her whole body soured in deep unhappiness. How did this happen? Why did she deserve this? How would she ever be able to escape?