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For some people, dominance and submission are part of the games they play. Helen was not a player in those sort of games. During her working day she made important decisions, set policy for her company and drove her staff relentlessly. She was scrupulously fair, but if you were on her team, failure was definitely not an option. Her colleagues quickly learned to ignore her stunningly trim figure, or her five foot eleven inches. They never commented on the tumbling chestnut hair, or the cool grey eyes. She dismissed compliments aimed at her appearance, while devouring praise for her drive, intelligence and determination. Some of her colleagues would look over their shoulders in the men's room and then, in hushed whispers, compare their latest experience of the 'ball-breaking bitch.'

Helen was predictable. She would stride into the office, immaculate as always at exactly half past seven every workday morning. She would have exactly 30 minutes for lunch, eating at her desk, and she would leave the office at exactly five thirty. Her punctuality was legendary and nobody had ever seen her delay her departure.

What nobody from the office ever saw was the other Helen, who immediately changed out of her power dresses and waited for Marcus.

Helen drove her Miata roadster into the garage, closed the double doors and hurried into the house. She took the stairs two at a time, her breath roughened and her heart quickened in exertion and anticipation. She unfastened the dark blue jacket and skirt, hanging them neatly in the closet and stripped out of the plain cotton bra and panties. She peeled her hose down her leg and dropped it into the linen basket, before stacking her shoes neatly in the closet. Naked she sat in front of the dressing table mirror and brushed her long chestnut locks until they gleamed and hung almost to her waist. Taking a band from a jar on the dressing table, she pulled her hair into a pony tail, fastening the band tightly, high on the crown of her head.

Opening a drawer, Helen took out the only clothing inside. She pulled the ivory silk shorts up her legs and over her rounded buttocks, and then she struggled into the tight, matching corset. The snug, boned material left her nipples uncovered, and pushed her rounded breasts together and upwards, emphasising the warm cleft between them. Barefooted she hurried to the top of the stairs, just in time to hear the slamming of the front door and the sound of footsteps, heading towards the living room. Helen rushed down the stairs, almost slipping on the polished wood of the hallway.

Pushing open the door to the living room, Helen saw Marcus sat in his armchair, his long fingers tapping rhythmically against the leather on the arm. He looked up at her, then at the clock above the mantelpiece. Helen's eyes flickered to the clock and she registered the time, twenty five minutes to seven. Marcus stood without speaking and stretched his slender frame. The black suit, with a high collar made him look like a slightly malevolent shadow, his cropped black hair and deep set green eyes adding to the predatory aura. His hand moved and he pointed to the floor by the side of his chair. Helen knew what was expected and stepped across the carpet, then sank slowly to her knees. She knelt with her back upright and straight, her head lifted and gazing resolutely forward. Marcus reached down and stroked her cheek tenderly, before he sat down again.

"You're late."

"Yes Sir."

"Do you have any excuse or explanation?"

"No Sir."

"You understand the rules of this house?"

"Yes Sir."

"And the rule that applies here?"

"Yes Sir."

"That is? State the rule."

"Sir. I am required to be in my position at the side of your chair, dressed in whatever has been placed in the top drawer of my dressing table by six thirty pm."

"Very good, your memory for the rules is impressive. "

"Thank you, Sir."

"And this is the third time you have broken this rule in the past six months."

"Yes, Sir."

"And a breach of the rules must be punished."

"Yes, Sir."

"Go to your room and await me."

Helen stood and walked out of the living room. Instead of climbing the stairs to the luxurious master bedroom that was theirs, she crossed the hall and opened a door leading to the basement and the room that was hers alone. Carefully, one step at a time, she descended the rough wooden staircase and opened the door at the bottom. The heavy door had no lock, but was secured with heavy bolts top and bottom. Inside the walls were painted white and a mattress lay in one corner. A white painted steel cabinet was fastened to the wall and metal rings were cemented into the brickwork. In the middle of the floor stood a vaulting horse. Helen was puzzled but resolutely gazed into the corner.

Helen heard footsteps on the stairs and Marcus stepped into the doorway. He had changed out of his black suit into a pair of black silk pyjamas, with a black robe over the top. He was wearing black leather gloves that were an exact fit. Stepping into the room, he smiled cruelly. In his hands he was holding an old fashioned alarm clock, turning the key to tighten the main spring. When he had wound the clock fully, he carefully set the hands to the correct time and placed the clock on the metal cabinet. The loud tick seemed to fill the quiet of the room.

Marcus gripped Helen's shoulder in his gloved hand and turned her to face him. She could smell the leather of his glove as he took hold of her jaw and squeezed tightly. He kissed her, mashing her moist lips against her teeth until she could taste her own blood. Then he stood back and ran his eyes over her body. The hard, brown points of her nipples ached as they swelled and he reached forward to pinch and twist cruelly. Helen opened her mouth in a soundless cry and a tear of pain appeared in her eye. Marcus released the nipple and stroked her cheek with the palm of his glove.

"Good my sweet child. You have already learned the wisdom of silence. Now undress, we wouldn't wish to spoil those pretty things."

Helen unfastened the corset with trembling fingers, allowing her taut breasts to spill out of the material. She folded the garment carefully and laid it on the mattress. Then she pushed the silk shorts down and folded them neatly alongside the corset. Marcus nodded approvingly and then gestures to the horse. Helen was puzzled, but she knew that hesitation would only prolong her punishment and annoy Marcus. In his annoyance he could create punishments of devilish ferocity.

She stood in front of the horse and felt Marcus' hand at the back of her neck, bending her over the rough leather that covered the top. He crouched behind her and she could feel him fastening padded straps around her ankles, then pulling them tight, pinning them to the wooden legs of the horse. Her legs were spread apart until the tendons at the top of her thighs burned painfully. Marcus walked round to Helen's front and took hold of her wrists fastening each to another leg of the horse, pulling hard so that she had to rise up on her toes and then tightening the straps. Apart from the ache in her thighs and shoulders, where the joints were being stretched, Helen was only mildly uncomfortable, because the body of the vaulting horse supported her hips. She did wish that she had taken the time to empty her bladder though. Marcus knew that her bladder was full and had every intention of ensuring that her discomfort would be intensified.

He opened the metal cabinet and chose a number of items, which he arranged on a tray, then covered with a cloth. Then he fetched a small wooden chest from the main basement and set it down beneath Helen's face. Carefully he placed the tray on top of the chest and, next to it a tall glass of iced water with a long drinking straw on it. Then he removed the cloth covering the tray to reveal its contents. There were four items on the tray, two gold hoops, like earrings but smaller in size and heavier gauge, a spirit burner and a bradawl, similar to one used by a carpenter, but narrower. Helen could smell the sharp tang of spirit from the small burner and could hazard a shrewd guess about Marcus' intentions. She almost opened her mouth to protest, but recalled that he was already annoyed. The last time he had shown her these implements, he had described how he had used them to pierce a lover's nipples. He had not subjected Helen to that pain yet, but the description had coloured her dreams for a month afterward. She desperately hoped that he was only going to use them to remind her of how much he could hurt her – if he wished.

The scrape of a match and a tang of sulphur and phosphorus reached her nostrils as Marcus lit a candle. Dripping a little wax onto the top of the chest, he fixed the candle in place so that the glow illuminated the tray and its contents. Once he had the top of the chest arranged to his satisfaction, he guided the end of the straw between her lips.

"Now my darling girl, you look parched, so there's a little something to drink. I'll be back in a while. I expect you to have drunk this when I return."

Marcus turned in a swirl of silk and strode to the door. Stepping outside, he slammed the door, shooting the bolts home with resounding bangs. With a sweep of his hand he turned off the lights, leaving her in the darkness, alleviated by the faint glow of the candle. The dark quietness lay like a blanket in the room, only a slight hiss from the candle flame and the ticking of the clock breaking the silence. Helen closed her lips about the straw and sucked some of the water into her mouth, spluttering as a few drops ran into her nose. She swallowed the cold liquid and was instantly reminded that her bladder was already full.

Marcus had returned to the living room where he had left his brief case. Inside was a package about eighteen inches long. A highly discreet, trustworthy courier to his office had delivered it. H knew it was from a former lover, in fact, she was the woman who was the recipient of his first set of nipple rings. They had parted company when she had asked him to amputate her finger as punishment for one of her transgressions. He had refused, so she had behaved even more outrageously than before. He solved the solution by selling her to a surgeon acquaintance who had compromised and removed her little toe. Now they were happily married and she would send him an occasional present. The last package, almost a year ago, had been a quirt made of bared electrical flex. He had not used it on Helen yet, but the new package reminded him that he had it and he pondered, briefly, whether to use it on her.

First, though, he was going to see what she had sent this time. He slit the tape and opened the box carefully. Inside, the box was lined with red silk and nestling in the folds was a whip, made from the tip of a stingray's tail. Marcus inspected the flexible rod, and ran his fingertip over the vicious spines. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined bringing it down across Helen's taut thighs and buttocks, the spines biting into the tender skin and drawing bright red blood. He unfolded the slip of paper and read the few lines of the perverse compliments slip.

"My dearest Marcus,

I have been privileged, to taste the pain of punishment with one of these. I am told that old fashioned Barbadian husbands use them to keep their wives mindful of their place in the home. Oh to be a Barbadian wife! I managed to procure two as gifts for the only two men who had any hold upon me. Here is yours

Sofia."

Marcus carefully replaced the whip in the box and moved into the kitchen. Reaching into a cupboard, he took out a large, stainless steel, mixing bowl. The bowl rang, musically, as the lip knocked gently against the edge of the counter top. Marcus glanced around the kitchen and saw a jar of sea salt on the counter. A thought occurred to him and he picked up the jar, placing it inside the bowl, and walked into the hallway. Treading softly, he climbed down the stairs and slid the bolts back on the door. He flicked the light switch and pushed the door open, slowly.

Helen had almost drained the glass of water and still had the straw in her mouth. The skin over her buttocks was stretched tight and seemed to glow like moonlight in the dim room. Marcus crouched down and carefully placed the bowl underneath the vaulting horse, directly beneath Helen's pussy. Then he went to the cabinet and unlocked the door. He ran his finger along a row of thin wooden canes, hanging from a rack. Finally, he selected a rod of pale rattan, flexing the oiled wood between his hands.

"Not a sound, sweet girl. I know you only made a mistake, but you must learn from such mistakes."

Marcus lifted the thin wooden can and brought it sharply down across the top of Helen's thighs. The wood bit into the taut skin raising a scarlet welt across the creamy flesh. Helen bit her lip as she tried to arch her back to escape the burning sting. All she managed to achieve, though, was to press her distended bladder against the rough leather covering the vaulting horse. Marcus flexed the thin cane in his gloved hands and brought it swishing through the air, cracking it harshly against her bottom. The pain burned her backside and she almost sobbed out loud. The pressure on her bladder was too much and a thin stream poured from her pussy to fall into the bowl with a loud ringing sound. Helen's face flushed scarlet as the bowl rang under the impact of the steady stream of urine. Some of the spray wetted the leather and the tops of her thighs but she could no longer control the flow and a steady stream splattered into the bowl on the floor. Marcus just stood and watched, waiting as the stream slowed to a trickle and them to an occasional droplet.

"You've made a mess you naughty girl. You must be punished for that."

Marcus raised the thin rod again and brought it crashing against Helen's taut buttocks. The cane cracked against the taut skin, raising a welt that ran a precise finger's width above the first. Marcus could hear the catch of Helen's breath, as she held back the cry that threatened to bubble from her lips. Slowly and rhythmically Marcus raised the rod and brought it cracking across the back of her thighs, or her buttocks, leaving bright red welts, precisely spaced. In his mind, Marcus counted the ticks of the clock on the metal cabinet, sometimes counting three, others four and, occasionally six strokes. Each slash of the cane made Helen convulse against the tight leather straps, grinding her sensitive clit against the rough leather covering the top of the horse.

"You have been very good, so far, my sweet. Not a sound. You may answer now, but do so truthfully."

"Yes, Sir."

"Have you, learned your lesson?"

"I-I-I'm not sure Sir."

"Then we shall have to make sure. Shall we not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Kiss the rod, and demonstrate that you submit willingly to your chastisement."

Helen pursed her lips as Marcus lifted the thin rattan cane and, straining her neck, brushed them over the smooth surface. Then she lowered her head and fixed her gaze on the candle flame. Her bottom burned and she could feel the pain of each lash as a separate fiery line on her skin. In her heart she felt pride that she had pleased Marcus and his praise had added to the moisture that filled her pussy. Marcus bent and loosened the leather straps around her wrists and ankles. Once he had freed her limbs, he stepped out of the room into the basement, returning with a stool. Placing the stool on front of the mattress, he unfastened his robe and folded it neatly next to her clothes. Beneath the robe he was naked, except for the black leather gloves. His cock was massively erect, swollen and purple with excitement. He placed the box he had received on the floor next to the stool and beckoned to Helen. Meekly, she crossed over to him and stood by his side. Marcus reached up and placed his left hand behind her back, pushing her forward, so that she lay across his lap, her hands on the floor. Her breasts hung down, the undersides brushing his thigh as the blunt tip of his hard meat pressed against her damp pussy. His hand rested upon the back of her neck, trapping her there. Helen heard the scrape of card against card as Marcus opened the box, then the rustle of silk as he took out his new toy. The whip cut through the air silently, hitting her rounded bottom with a loud slap. Against her will, Helen yelped as the tiny barbs tore at her skin

"Silence my pretty, or you shall receive an extra stroke for any noise you make. Eo you understand?"

Helen nodded. Marcus raised the whip again and slashed it down across the small of her back. A narrow welt appeared, as if by sleight of hand, spotted with tiny dots of fresh blood. A deep breath and a hardening of his cock, that Helen felt pressing into her belly, and he brought the whip cracking down, a finger's width below the first welt, drawing a little more blood. Slowly, rhythmically Marcus flayed Helen's tender buttocks, Twelve strikes each minute, for two minutes. By the last stroke, his chest was bathed in sweat and he could feel her trembling with the effort of holding back her cries of pain.

Placing the whip, now stained with droplets of Helen's blood, back into the silk lined box, Marcus stroked her buttocks with his leather gloved hand, the hide dragging against the fresh welts. Reaching down, he dipped his hand into the salt jar and massaged a small handful of crystals into the tiny wounds. The salt burned in the tender flesh and Helen felt the tiny sharp crystals grinding into the lacerated flesh. Still she maintained her silence, desperate to please Marcus with her stoic obedience. When he was convinced that every wound had been thoroughly salted, he released his grip on her nec and stripped the gloves from his hands.

Helen stood, slightly trembling as she felt the pain in her buttocks peak and then subside to a dull burning. Marcus remained seated as Helen straightened and then reached over to the chest, retrieving the candle and the metal tray. Tilting the candle he lit the spirit burner and adjusted the flame, Then he picked up the awl and slowly passed it through the flame until it was glowing a dull red. Placing the awl back on the tray, he reached upwards and took her left nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching it gently and rolling it. Despite herself, Helen could feel her nipple swell and harden, filling his grasp. He could smell a sharp tang in the air as her pussy flooded for a moment. Keeping hold of her nipple and pulling gently, Marcus picked up the awl and placed the hot tip against the base of her nipple. She could feel the sizzle and them a pop as the point broke her skin. The pain was unbelievable and she clenched her teeth against her bottom lip, drawing blood. Marcus rotated the handle, scraping the hole wider as he pushed the point through the flesh. The heat of the blade sealed the wound instantly and there was only a single drop of blood on her creamy skin, as he withdrew the tip of the tool. Placing it on the tray he selected the first gold ring and threaded it into the piercing. Looking into her face, Marcus could see the beads of perspiration dotting her forehead and the pleas in her eyes for him to finish the task quickly.

He took the awl and heated it in the spirit flame, watching the droplets of blood sizzle and then dry to flakes, before they crumbled away. Satisfied that it was hot enough, he laid it aside and took her other nipple between his finger and thumb. Pinching cruelly, he felt the swollen hardness as despite herself, Helen responded to his cruelty. She was almost panting now and the air was heavy with the musk she had secreted onto the top of her thighs. She looked down in fearful lust as the tip of the awl came nearer to her hard, erect nipple. The sizzle of hot metal against her skin was no less exciting than before and she fought back a groan as the sharp point popped through her skin. The scraping of the blade as Marcus enlarged the hole had her pussy flooding with nectar. She trembled as he fitted the second ring and she felt the weight of the cold metal pulling at the base of her sensitive nipples.