The Dutch Mistress

The study now fell into complete darkness as my two captors left to relax and have their drinks. Even the tiny pinpricks of light that had penetrated the tightly laced leather hood around my head disappeared. I heard their two sets of already faint footsteps slowly receding along the corridor, each tap of their stiletto heeled boots taking the prospect of my release further away until the surrounding darkness was accompanied by total silence also.

I wriggled in my tight rope prison to absolutely no avail. Sapphira had learned her trade well. The multiple wrappings of the ropes, tight enough individually to compress my flesh, became, when used in concert, something more akin to the solid kind of bondage provided by the manacles and shackles that I had become accustomed to. The at least theoretically softer, warmer rope in reality offered little in the way of comfort. Each individual binding had been carefully used in conjunction with another to provide a sustained level of torture that now caused every laboured breath to emerge from my lungs as a pathetic groan.

My shoulder muscles ached so deeply now from the constraining ropes wrapped about my upper arms, drawing them cruelly together. This encirclement was repeated both upon my elbows and wrists, all three bindings now connected vertically by further ties, none of which Sapphira had failed to tension to the utmost so that my upper limbs provided a challenging torture in themselves. I had felt her booted knee in the centre of my back as she tightened each rope individually, hearing her breaths such was the effort she had devoted to the task. My ankles, lashed tightly together, were secured to the heavy leather collar buckled about my neck by means of a sturdy rope threaded through the steel D ring riveted before my throat. The rope had been cruelly shortened until the gap between my neck and my ankle bonds was little more than the width of my hand.

In such a manner my body had been bound by the cruel young Frenchwoman until it resembled nothing more than an aching ball of human flesh, every muscle and sinew totally infused with the pain of my bondage. But to have said that she didn't care about me would have been wrong. She cared deeply. Each rope had been applied carefully and in such a manner that it increased my pain. To Sapphira this was an art, over the coming weeks I would come to understand that I was important to her simply because I had been a gift from her lover, a lover whose bed she shared and whom she caressed each night and who in return had presented me to her unconditionally, to be used and tortured in every way that her deliciously perverted mind could devise.

So whilst I was not regarded in any way as something that needed to be cared for like a pet I was nevertheless cherished in a way that an inanimate trinket might be. I came to realise that Arianne derived great pleasure from watching her young protege exploring and learning the art of torture, something that she no doubt had in mind even as she wrote her signature on the cheque in Gerd's study back in Suffolk to purchase me. It was a place where I had no doubt my disappearance had raised no significant interest over the past week, it being part of my normal behaviour to wander off for long periods.

All these thoughts chased one another around my mind as I sat there helplessly bound on the floor of Arianne's study, barely a hundred miles from home but nevertheless in a foreign country and certainly with no prospect of release. I tried to estimate how long I had been held bound in this manner, but it was futile. The pain would ensure that every second would seem like a minute, every minute like an hour. I sobbed softly between every hard won breath, my chest restricted by the heavy pull of the ropes, I was coming to understand the art of Shibari the hard way.

When eventually the two women did return to the study I had entered a state somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness. I had no idea what amount of time had passed. It was a condition brought on I now know by the release of endorphins to help manage the considerable pain of the tight bondage. This benign state however was not to continue. My ankles were unbound, both from my collar and from each other. I was then guided by one of my captors - I have no idea which - from the study along the corridor and down the steps into the subterranean cavern, the room which had been dedicated by them as the chamber in which my torture was to take place. My head was still encased in the restricting leather hood that deprived me completely of one sense and partially of another, I heard muffled conversation, odd snatches of words as they conspired together, my guess was that Arianne was instructing her lover as to how best to aggravate my suffering, imparting the benefit of her experience to the beautiful young brunette who was so eager to learn these dark arts.

I was initially placed on the floor of the dungeon whilst I felt heavy leather straps placed around my ankles. Clearly both women were working together as each ankle was strapped simultaneously. I felt the cool leather as it encircled ankle and instep followed by more straps running beneath the soles of my feet. Soon the rattle of metal chains was followed by each leg being raised and I realised that I was being connected to some kind of hoist. The rattling continued as my body was slowly dragged upwards. First my shoulders were hauled clear of the floor, then eventually my head swung free until I hung in mid air like a massive pendulum, slowly swinging back and forth.

My vulnerability in this position was total. My arms, still pinioned by the ropes behind my back, the rest of my naked body exposed to whatever my two captors might decide to do to me. I was powerless to resist. The one saving grace of my bondage was that I had not been gagged, presumably because they considered this too risky while I had been left in bondage. Even that small mercy was now to be withdrawn as I felt the unforgiving hard rubber ball being forced between my teeth and the straps of a head harness tightened around my skull. My short attempt to protest was curtailed by the stinging slap of a leather gloved hand as another sense disappeared.

Dangling upside down from the hoist is a bizarre experience. Somehow the fact that one is suspended by the ankles adds to the already strong feeling of helplessness. It's partly the fact that one's naked body is there, displayed and totally vulnerable for whatever purpose might enter the captor's inventive mind. In the case of Arianne and Sapphira there was already considerable evidence as to their inventiveness. I distinctly heard the Dutch accented voice say. "He needs to be taught a firm lesson, pass me the box." Of course I had no idea as to what she was referring to. Soon I felt fingers on my penis, stroking me easily to an erection. What began as a pleasant experience however soon took a more sinister turn. I felt the cold sting of what I now know to be a sound, a long, thin steel rod, as it was inserted into my piss slit. It went down the full length. I then heard Arianne say. "Ok, that looks good, put the second one in, then connect him up."

Once more slippery fingers probed my body, this time lubricating the pink tunnel of my anus. I felt the cold steel of an anal plug now introduced, locating itself deep inside me.

What was to turn out as an extremely challenging torture began with a slight sensation deep inside me as well as running the length of my cock. I would hesitate to call it pain at this stage, more a fizzing itch, not entirely unpleasant at first. But then it grew, little by little into something far more sinister.

Then the pulses began, each one increasing in intensity above the last. I rocked helplessly in my bonds, desperate now to escape the strong shocks that were being delivered through the metal sound deep inside my anus and also down my penis shaft. I tried to cry out, to beg my torturers for mercy, even though my experience of them told me that no amount of begging would divert them an inch from their chosen course and that my pathetic desperation would most likely merely serve to spur them on to greater tortures. I had no doubt that my body was there, trussed and gagged for their pleasures, which they would take regardless of any concern for me. My body bucked and swung with every further pulse that hit me.

As the torture continued the occasional ripple of laughter reached my ears. The hopelessly ineffective tactic of swinging my bound body was evidently a source of great amusement to them, probably because from their position of power they realised the futility of my pathetic efforts to ameliorate the effects of their torture. The shocks continued to increase in their intensity. I of course had no idea whose finger was on the controls of the shock generator, my best guess is that they shared it, each woman serving to encourage the other to still greater excesses as the pulses of electricity ran from one electrode to the other via the shortest route, one that involved passing through my testicles and prostate, two areas that were certain to exacerbate the effect of the shocks.

I must have briefly passed out at some point. When I came to I realised that I was no longer suspended but was lieing on my side, the cool stone of the dungeon floor beneath my body. My gag had been removed. Later I was to discover that my captors had been concerned at my apparent loss of consciousness. Whether this was concern for me, or for the fact that Arianne had paid a considerable sum of money to buy me from Gerd I had no idea. Eventually it was Arianne that released me from the ropes, the two women had had their fun for the evening. Sapphira returned with a stainless steel dog bowl in each hand and placed them side by wise on the floor. One had the mass of grey porridge that appeared to have become my staple food, she poured water from a bottle into the other. They stood side by side and watched me as I ate and drank, my hunger and thirst such that my humiliation at my situation of being fed like an animal was easily overcome.

When I had finished eating Arianne pointed to the crude fold down wooden bed that was attached to the wall by two chains. "You will find a blanket and a pillow, that should be adequate, we don't believe that it is appropriate for a slave to be kept in luxury." Sapphira then said something to Arianne in French. The two women seemed to converse in either Dutch or French making it impossible for me to follow what was being discussed. I gathered however that she was making the suggestion that I should be incarcerated in the tiny cell built into the wall of the dungeon. I heard Arianne say "D'accord." I knew sufficient French to realise that she was in agreement with the younger woman's suggestion. Sapphira walked across to the cell and removed the steel locking pin before swinging the heavy cast iron barred door open. The bare, brick lined interior was hardly any bigger than the sort of cage used to hold a large dog. Her long leather gloved index finger pointed into the bare brick cavity as she looked at me. "In", she said curtly.

She watched as I folded my body into cell. The principle of this medieval device was that the occupant should be closely confined in a manner that allowed for no movement whatsoever, unable to stand, unable to stretch. Sapphira pushed the heavy iron door shut before sliding the long steel pin into place to secure it. I looked out at the two women standing side by side as they watched me, searching for the slightest glimmer of pity on either of their faces. I saw none. On the contrary Sapphira's face showed her satisfaction at having suggested this ramping up of my punishment. I looked forward only to a long night with my limbs forced into a cramp inducing position.

The night went incredibly slowly, sleep within such confinement being a total impossibility. The one saving grace was that I am not affected by claustrophobia, had I been then the confinement within the cell would have been sufficient to make me lose all reason, which was no doubt in the mind of the inventor of this cruel method of punishment. Eventually, when my misery had carried me to my lowest ebb the dungeon door was opened and Sapphira walked in. She was dressed in her day clothes, black riding jodphurs and a sweater. Despite the cruelty of her treatment of me I was forced to admit that she was a very attractive young woman. She stood, arms crossed before the cell, regarding me in my pathetic condition before eventually sliding out the locking ion and releasing me, stumbling out stiff limbed onto the floor at her feet. I was leashed and led behind her up to the kitchen where I was given another bowl of the bland porridge like food that was clearly my staple as a slave.

Arianne sat at the kitchen table, a coffee cup before her, the bright morning sun streaming in through the long glass panelled doors playing on her rich auburn hair. After I had eaten Sapphira ordered me to stand in the corner as they now began to discuss me, this time in English. "He appears strong and healthy, he should be capable of giving us a very good chance of winning this year." I had no idea as to what Sapphira was referring to but after breakfast I was to find out. I was led by the leash attached to my collar out behind the house where the large red brick outbuilding that I had seen from Arianne's study was situated. Once inside I began to realise their intentions for me. The garage was well lit with a neat grey painted floor. To one side stood a pair of small carts with bicycle style wheels. The larger of the two had a black leather upholstered bench seat big enough for two passengers while the smaller was in the style of a Roman chariot, a metal platform separated the wheels where the driver would stand. It was a design that I was to become familiar with, one that the two women referred to as a "slave racer".

Arianne walked over to the larger cart. "You see boy, every year we compete in a very special type of event. This one is our leisure sulky for rides out, but that one," She pointed to the smaller one, "that is our racing cart and it is our intention to train you over the next few weeks so that your performance may be good enough to win us the coveted Equus cup." This came as something of a shock as the realisation dawned on me that Arianne's use of me back in England had been a sort of trial to see how I might perform under race conditions. I had evidently passed the test. She turned to Sapphira. "Ok, harness him up, we will give him a run out."

I was given training shoes and a pair of brief black leather shorts. Once I had put these on i was soon pinioned between the shafts of the larger sulky cart, my forearms held to the metal projections by a series of buckled leather straps. Sapphira then strapped me into a wide saddle leather waist belt that served to anchor me even more firmly into place. A leather head harness was strapped around my skull with an attached metal bit that slotted behind my teeth and was pulled deep into my mouth, a most effective method of control. After both women had donned expensive looking pairs of black leather boots Sapphira selected a riding whip from the wall rack and attached a set of leather reins to my head harness giving her an easy method of commanding my movement from the seat behind. Arianne picked up the electronic control and the garage door rolled upwards to reveal an expanse of clear blue morning sky. They both climbed into the seat. "Walk on!" The curt command came from Sapphira. I felt the jerk of the metal bit followed by the tip of her riding whip brushing across my shoulders and took up the weight of the sulky. It was surprisingly easy to pull along the paved track once we were under way and I headed out along the tarmac drive that led down between white painted picket fences to a gate. From there a further jerk of the bit turned me onto a small road on the right that ran parallel to the canal. I maintained a decent pace quite easily despite the weight of my two passengers and the sulky cart. I could see a small group of buildings in the distance and these now drew closer as I trotted along the road at a brisk jog. After perhaps fifteen minutes at this pace we entered a village and drew up onto the forecourt of a small shop. We had passed one or two people who acknowledged Arianne and Sapphira with either a wave or a nod of the head. Evidently the sight of them being drawn in a cart pulled by a semi naked man was something that they were quite used to.

Arianne went into the shop and emerged a few minutes later with a morning newspaper and a small bag of groceries, taking her place back in the seat behind me. "Giddy up boy!" Sapphira's whip brushed my shoulders once more and I turned for home back along the road. "Allez, allez." Her command accompanied by the whip being laid across my back in an enthusiastic manner made it clear that she wanted more speed and I soon built up to a fast trot. We were perhaps half way back when the lashes increased further in intensity. Sapphira was evidently keen to test my speed and endurance and I was soon running as fast as I could manage. My lungs felt as if they were bursting, despite the fact that I played football regularly and had been a passable distance runner in my teenage years, I still regarded myself as very fit but I was being pushed to my limits now. I slackened my pace slightly, only to be encouraged by more cuts of the whip, making the final few hundred metres with the last of my strength. We turned back into the drive of the house and came to a halt beside the garage, I was totally exhausted and sagged to my knees as the two elegant ladies dismounted.

Club Equus Nederland was a most exclusive club. The members were all very wealthy. Amongst their number were businesswomen, industrialists and media personalities. Twice a year they held what was known as a "trotting event". This took place on the country estate of one of the founder members, Grietje van der Horst, a well known personality in The Netherlands. She had presented an evening news program on television for many years before setting up a publishing firm that was apparently very successful. She spent the week in Den Haag and owned a property that was close to Aachen on the border with Germany, the estate was unusual in Holland in that much of it was on high, undulating land, some approaching three hundred metres. Grietje was a well known horsewoman who competed in many events and fifty hectares of her estate had been developed into an equestrian complex. Most of the year this was used exclusively for horse riding but on two week ends the site was taken over for the Equus Games, an event where men replaced horses and the club members competed against one another to drive their carts through the estate. The course wound for just over a kilometre along the shaded paths that ran through the woods and it was here that the ladies of Club Equus would compete for the silver cup once every six months. The record time for the course was just a few seconds over six minutes. It was a record that Sapphira had set her sights on, and it was me that she expected to win the cup for her in the upcoming October event.