I was kneeling in the basic uncuffed pose, back arched, breasts lifted as an offering. Although I could not move my head without breaking position, I knew from what I could see that I was in the marble columned temple, again. As I moved my head slightly, slowly, daring to search for clues as to what I was doing here, I could see a fur covered bed on the far side of the room. Gynestar was lying on it, her head turned towards me, her eyes wet with tears, again. On impulse, I began to crawl on all fours towards her; she sat up, arms outstretched.
"Oh Linzi, what I DONE?" she said, again. "I am SO sorry!"
As I crawled up onto the thick fur, she enfolded me in an embrace, kissing me feverishly. I returned her kiss, my arms reaching round her as my erect nipples rubbed against hers...
I was awake, looking at deep inky blackness until Trainer switched the cellar lights on shortly afterwards. Why was I dreaming of Gynestar every night? Why were my dreams of her so vivid and real? What was she so upset about and why was she sorry? These questions occupied my thoughts as I waited for Trainer to unlock my cage to begin the day's training.
The training days had by now accumulated into weeks; I had lost track of the exact number of days I had spent in the cellar, becoming fitter and more flexible, learning the complete catalogue of slave poses, enduring more deeply arousing pain through flogging, clamping, caning, electricity, suspension and all the other many ways in which a slave girl's body can be made to suffer to please a Master. Master John remained the Master with which I developed my sexual skills the most, but there were more than a dozen other Masters who were sometimes waiting in the little reading room instead of him, or sometimes with him, or sometimes in groups. Their collective assessment was that as a cocksucker I had few equals and that my bottom could milk any cock dry, as Trainer revealed to me after I had been used in that hole by three Masters in succession in one afternoon. The only expressions of dissatisfaction were concerning my pussy; while all agreed that it was amazingly tight, my supersensitive nubbin was, to them, highly unsatisfactory, since it was quite clear that I was enjoying vaginal use in pretty much any position far too much for their liking. While I didn't like to think that any aspect of my performance wasn't acceptable to my Masters, I really didn't see how the matter could be resolved, although, being fully aware that I was not permitted an opinion on anything, I kept my feelings on the subject to myself.
This particular morning, following my exercises and breakfast, Trainer informed me that I was ready to be fitted with a tongue stud, a piece of jewellery that had always fascinated me whenever I saw one in a pretty girl's mouth. I hadn't experienced being sucked by a girl with one prior to my transformation. He also shared the information that a special appliance that he had ordered for me was also ready; a latex moulding of my fully aroused sex had been made a few days earlier for the purpose. I followed him at heel down the corridor outside the cellar to a brightly lit room with clean white walls and ceiling, floor tiles polished to a mirror finish. A gyno exam chair was fixed to the floor in the rooms centre, illuminated with adjustable overhead lighting. I was ordered to sit in it and place my feet in the stirrups before sliding my bottom all the way to its edge. My wrist rings were secured to brackets that were obviously a modification, then leather ankle restraints secured my feet into the stirrups. I began to feel very nervous; the usual pleasurable throbbing in my belly was replaced with a sinking, churning feeling of dread. The door opened and a Master I had not seen before entered. His white physician's coat was spotless, his hands, wrists and elbows red from having just been thoroughly scrubbed. He pulled up a stool in front of me, as if he saw slave girls buckled into the chair as a matter of routine, before he spoke to Trainer.
"So, this is the new one?" he asked, not really requiring an answer. "Sexy little beast, I'll have to try her for myself when she's all healed up." he continued.
Upon hearing this, the knot of dread in my belly suddenly turned over, almost making me vomit.
While I had been subjected to physical abuse as part of my training, at no time since Gynestar had sold me to Master Zhang had I experienced any form of actual cruelty at the hands of a Master. I was given some strong painkillers with water before I was made stick out my tongue to have a deep numbing agent sprayed on it. The little platinum ball was quickly, efficiently and painlessly fixed into my tongue. By this time I had become extremely drowsy, my mind floating free of my body a little. I was vaguely aware of fingers retracting the hood over my nubbin and the feeling of it stretching as it was stuck back against my mound with surgical tape. I heard the hiss of the spray bottle as the numbing compound was applied to my now exposed clitty and a little pinching sensation shortly afterwards as what I took to be a hypodermic needle punctured my pleasure pearl close to the point where it joins my sex. I closed my eyes at this point and drifted off into a few moments of dreamless sleep. I moaned softly as I returned to consciousness, looking up to see Trainer standing beside the exam chair, smiling.
"So, awake at last." he said.
I nodded dumbly, my tongue still numb. He grinned, then took a mirror from the table beside him. Positioning it above my crotch, he then angled it so I could see the results of the special procedure I had just undergone. The surgical tape still held my little prepuce fully retracted; instead of the delicate pink of my pleasure bud I could instead see a small silver ball, like an old fashioned uniform button, the very front of which was engraved with the Triskele symbol. I was literally dumbstruck, my drug-fogged mind struggling to comprehend what had been done to me. Finally, and with considerable effort, I managed to ask:
