Mistress Stella walked out of the lounge to step over the terracotta tiles to the basement door. The sound of her four inch heels clicking on ceramic tiles was as deafening as the noise outside. As she reached the door she stopped momentarily to listen to the gale outside. The sound of the rain beating on the tin roof of the shed sounded like the devil wailing to raise the dead. There was a wind howling through the trees, its force could be sensed as it thundered against the windows. Looking through the half round window at the top of the door she could see the flashes of lightning. The clap of thunder was followed by it rolling over the house as if trying to shake the very foundations. Its sound was only adding to the coldness of the winter night.
A wisp of a smile was on her lips, as her mind acknowledged the task that she was about to commence. Punishing a trusted slave was a task that she never thought she would have to do.
She pressed down hard on the sticking latch that was so tight at first it never moved. Then it suddenly gave in to her strength, forcing the business end of the latch to strike the stop. The noise in the quiet of the hallway was like the sound of a pistol being fired, overshadowing the wailing hurricane outside. It was like music to her ears, as she bit her bottom lip lightly in anticipation of what would be taking place in a short time.
As she pushed open the door, there was the piercing screech from the un-oiled hinges. Even that unearthly sound had been left to serve her. It was her battle cry, informing the guilty that she was getting closer, and to prepare their mind for correctional therapy. The crime in this case, was a miserable wretch that had dared to leave her domain. He had returned that day looking for mercy, but she was now unsure if mercy was in her heart to give.
She stepped on the first of the fifteen stone slabs, only to turn and close the door. She was taking her time setting the latch once more, knowing that below the willing victim would be listening to her every move. Slowly she walked down the stone steps to the semi darkness below. She could already sense the smell of fear and hear the sound of him tugging on his bonds.
The slave had heard the latch being opened and turned his head towards the steps knowing that this moment had been a long time coming even though it was only a few weeks. He was thinking, 'there are many things that a person can run away from but it is impossible to escape a bond.' The slave had watched the mistress take the fifteen steps that were bringing her closer to him. The naked submissive was at the bottom of the steps ready to do her bidding, showing her his loyalty to gain her favour. The slave felt no resentment that he was free and showing his loyalty it was only what the slave expected.
At the bottom of the steps the Mistress turned to see the position her most trusted assistant had placed the wayward slave. Her assistant that was always fully naked fell to his knees before her kissing the riding boots the Mistress was wearing. She touched his blonde curls saying and ran her fingers through his hair in a ritual that she had got used to, and said. "You serve me well slave. Go to the far corner and await my command."
The slave listened to the sound of her voice that was soft but authoritative, but the slave knew that for him it was only the calm before the storm. Mistress Stella had always talked to her pet in that tone because he could not do any wrong. He had never received any punishment the like he was about to receive, there was no need because both he and the Mistress knew and respected the submissive's limits.
Mistress Stella watched every step her assistant took as he made his way to the far corner of the room. Baring the sandals on his feet he was as naked as the day he was born. She could see the muscular shoulder blades with the square shoulders, the arms with their toned biceps showing even from a back view, the power within.
At the corner he stopped and turned as she stared at his magnificence, never tiring of the sight she beheld. She glanced at his muscular chest with the not too narrow waist, and the legs that showed the same power as his arms. He had a round face with thin lips with a button nose. His cold, steel blue eyes were looking back at her. The Mistress could see that there was no fear in them, because he had no need to fear her ever. His only expression was that of adoration.
He had no reason to fear her, because she was his Mistress who he treated like a goddess. His smiling face made her feel warm while contemplating the fate of the slave that had his head in the yoke. She smiled back at her assistant knowing there would be work for him later. His tasks were many but he never showed his tiredness. In Mistress Stella's eyes he could never be weak or fail her in his tasks.
The slave was looking at the mistress especially at her expressions as she appraised her assistant. The expressions on her face told the story of what she was looking at, but when her body turned and she faced him her face has no expression. He never expected to see any regret or hate and Mistress Stella had not let him down as she looked at him with her stern look of the Mistress of the domain.
To her left she could feel the eyes of her charge staring at her, and she knew he was trying to predict her mood. It was that which had brought him into her domain once again, along with his many other faults. She turned and stepped to his front looking down into those emerald green eyes, and there was no mistake they were beautiful eyes. The Mistress had hoped that they had lost their magnetic hold on her, but again they were drawing her in and softening her heart.
There was a ball gag in his mouth but there were no sounds of pleading, because he and the Mistress both knew that there was no mercy to be found within her soul for him. All that he had now was sadness and a realisation of his fate, and like her he was most probably going over the history they shared. She looked for that little spark of remorse in his eyes that she was hoping to see, but defiance that was alien to her was the only expression returning her gaze.
She ran her hand with spread fingers through his coal black hair as she stepped to his far side. She knew that he had accepted his fate because his head never moved. Her hand travelled over his shoulders still spread while slipping through the knots of thick body hair. He too had a magnificent body that was so powerful and strong, but a weakness of the flesh had brought him back to her. His torso was resting on another almost invisible yoke with his legs spread and the ankles fixed with bonds to floor. His manhood was hanging down placid but still looking menacing. He would be remembering the routine knowing it would be his manhood which she would see to first. His buttocks moved slightly as he realised what she was interested in, but as fast as the movement started it stopped. It was the first and only movement she had seen until then.
Walking over to the table by the wall she undid the clasp on her cloak, and then sliding it from her shoulders placed it on the chair. She was dressed in her riding jodhpurs and brown boots. Covering her torso was a white blouse with a black string bow at the neck. She had no need for the lace garters or the fancy corset pushing her breasts out to the extreme.
She knew who and what she was and so did all her slaves that came to worship her. It mattered little to the slaves how she was dressed, because they would still worship her before receiving their particular need. She was Mistress Stella, the Mistress of Ivy Towers who commanded respect. She untied the black string bow around her neck, and placing her long auburn hair in a pony tail, she used the cord to tie it neat.
The Mistress took one more look at his body before she picked the parachute off the table and walked over to his rear. Squatting down she slipped it around his sack giving it a slight tug. She heard a tiny murmur slip from behind the gag. Then in the box between his feet she picked up the lead weights tossed them in her hand and then put them in the box once more. She picked up the silver ball that was just heavier than the lead weights but more manageable. Mistress Stella lifted it up, and hooked it to the bottom of the parachute gently letting his sack take the weight. She knew that this was not the time to be spiteful or cruel.
There was no sound escaping his lips this time because he was too busy concentrating on his breathing, posture and movement. She moved to his side and screwed a clover clamp to each nipple, before hooking a three ounce weight to each one. Stepping back she looked at her handy work and was happy with what she saw, but by the time she would be finished with him those ornaments would feel twice their actual weight.
She stepped back over to the table once more looking at the floggers, and when she returned in her hand she held one only slightly lighter than the cat. She walked around to his left side and stopped, and up until that moment the only sound was the clicking of her heels on the stone floor. She ran the flat of her hand down his back once more, but as she lifted the flogger a tear ran from the corner of her eye as her memories flooded back.
Thwack, thwack, thwack, the flogger was hitting his back with force until she realised that there was all night to torture him. Thwack, thwack, thwack, her strokes were lighter now, and although still painful she could not see his powerful body jerking as much. He would feel the heat in his back before long and then she would show him more of the same on other parts of his anatomy. It was then she decided to change the area at that time, so that when she came to the heavy instruments he would be ready. She had no intention of hurting him, as she only wanted to show him pain.
