I was quickly discovering that the management of pain was something that can only be done inside the head. The serrated jaws of the clover leaf nipple clamps latched on tenaciously to the little nodules of flesh, creating an intense, if very localised agony, out of all proportion to their size. I tried various coping strategies but ultimately what it came down to was this: Gerd had applied the clamps with the express intention of them torturing me. And now, down in the silent darkness of his dungeon they were doing their intended job all too well. The only saving grace was that the length of time that I was to wear them was not as long as it could have been. I guessed that maybe an hour or so had elapsed before Gerd returned to the dungeon. The removal of nipple clamps that have been in place for any length of time however is not a straightforward case of relief.
The work of the clamp, as well as to give pain by biting into the flesh, is to restrict the blood supply. On their removal the return of the blood brings with it a huge upsurge in the level of pain. The victim of such clamps does very well not to cry out loudly at this point. Many skilled practitioners of domination often demand silence from their submissive on the removal of their clamps as a price to be paid to avoid further, often still more draconian, punishments. Fortunately I was not to be put into this predicament. On the removal of the clamps I squealed briefly before lapsing into a log bout of soft sobs as the blood returned to my tortured nipples.
Gerd led me back up to the kitchen. There was a scene of mild domestic chaos. Pans and dishes were stacked in the sink, two dinner plates on the refectory table bore the remnants of steak dinners. "You will do the washing up and then put everything away, I shall return in twenty minutes." My wrists were unstrapped from my waist belt and I set to work on my task. One of the plates still had a piece of rare sirloin on the edge. I slipped it into my mouth before sliding the plate into the washing up bowl.
Gerd returned at the appointed time and carried out a brief inspection of my work, which he appeared to be satisfied with. In truth there was nothing to be dissatisfied with, although I knew from my short experience with him that he was not above finding fault where none existed as an excuse to hand out further punishment. He produced the short leather leash that he clipped to my collar. "Get down on your knees boy." I was led in this manner from the kitchen out into the hallway and from there into a large sitting room furnished with two leather sofas and a large armchair, the plain cream walls hung with large paintings of a modernist style. At the far end of the room french doors opened out onto a patio area decorated with a variety of potted plants where I could see another person was seated. From the auburn hair I guessed that this was the woman I had seen earlier returning with Gerd in his car. As I drew closer it was clear that she had changed from the casual attire that I had seen her in earlier. One glance at her black leather outfit was sufficient to tell me all I needed to know.
Arianne de Vries reclined in her chair, a slender figure but nevertheless athletic and long limbed. A large brandy balloon was held in her outstretched right hand as she enjoyed her post prandial drink. The last rays of the setting sun were now just dropping below the horizon. After almost fifteen years as The Hague's premier professional dominatrix Arianne was entering that comfortable phase in her life where she could please herself what she did. International business clients were more than happy to pay the five hundred Euro fee that she charged to torture them in her lavishly equipped dungeon in the heart of the Dutch capital. It was a place that still regularly echoed to the anguished cries of men, and occasionally women, as they succumbed to the many pieces of equipment that were designed expressly to provide the ordeals that she especially enjoyed putting them through. But these days she could afford to be choosy over her clientele. Now she only accepted appointments from those she knew. These people were the ones who not only paid handsomely but also danced without question to her chosen tune. These days only the truly submissive interested her. Only last week she had declined an appointment from a senior judge at the War Crimes Commission on account of his chronic halitosis. She was amused when she considered that he would be trying people for a crime that he was unsuccessfully attempting to pay her to commit. Her power in this regard extended to the negative as well as the positive,
A tall woman at one metre seventy five, Arianne carried very little in the way of spare flesh. Throughout her twenties and thirties she had been a very competent long distance runner. Even now, at the age of forty five she was still capable of putting in some very good times, she still competed in several marathons each year around the world. Of course at this time all this was unknown to me. All I saw from my position on the end of the leather leash attached to my collar was this very attractive auburn haired woman watching me as I approached, crawling on my hands and knees.
Drawing closer I saw that her hair was actually an attractive and most unusual shade of bright copper bronze. It was shaped in a modish and extremely becoming style. A straight cut fringe above deep emerald green eyes with their arched brows fell away to a shortish bob that reached to half way down her long, pale skinned neck. This served to lend her a most attractive but severe demeanour, a look that was perfect for a dominatrix. Her aquiline nose with it's little change of angle in the centre of it's bridge did little to diminish this distinctive aura of severity, lending her something of the look of a bird of prey. Indeed it added to the mystique of this sophisticated and unique woman. Her lips were glossed. Painted into crimson bows they seemed to speak of her utter disdain for any male creature that might crawl his way into her presence. His only hope would be that he might serve her sufficiently well to be spared her most cruel and unusual punishments. In most cases this would transpire to be a forlorn hope. Arianne de Vries enjoyed inflicting pain and was a connoisseur of all the dark arts of the dominatrix.
Few however who came under her suzerainty escaped lightly. Arianne de Vries was above all a skilled and effective user of psychology, one totally familiar with the innermost hopes and fears of those she encountered. She knew exactly how to exploit weaknesses, her understanding of the thought processes of the submissive encyclopaedic. The music that fell most softly on her ears was comprised of the pathetic cries of those who, having recklessly given themselves up into her hands, then discovered that once fettered and manacled within her dungeon there were no limits to this woman's cruelty other than those imposed by the need for safety. In the hands of such a skilled operator this allowed a considerable leeway. Her submissives were adrift on a wild and capricious sea that none of them had the ability to understand, let alone to tame.
