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CHAPTER 3
The next thirty minutes were ones of sheer torture for the woman and a source of intense arousal for Dawson as he watched her suffering from the comfort of his lounge.
Finally, he switched off the television and returned to the chamber. She was in a sorry state, totally exhausted, her body limp and only the dried stains of her earlier arousal apparent on the inside of her legs and on the floor beneath her.
Dawson removed the neck restraint and removed the leg-spreaders. Then he removed the vibrator. Only when the vibrator had been removed did the woman even recognise his presence. She stepped forward and took one step towards the chair.
“Did I say you could move?” His voice was authoritative.
“Either I sit down or I fall down.” There was no fight in her voice, just a pure and simple statement.
“Fall down then, but not here, on the couch. Go and lie on your stomach.”
The woman did as she was told, grateful that she could finally rest her body. As she took the three steps to the couch, Dawson noticed that her buttocks were still bruised and the little indentations from the earlier paddling still showed where the blood had flowed.
Dawson allowed the woman a couple of minutes rest while he tidied away the equipment from the previous session and removed his trousers. Then he turned to her prostrate form. He walked behind her and without speaking dragged her down the couch until her knees were almost at the end. Then, placing a hand under her stomach, he forced her into a kneeling position.
“This might hurt a bit. It's best not to fight it,” he said, quite softly, menacingly softly.
“What are you going to do?” The woman asked lamely.
By way of reply, she felt his hand on her buttocks, prising the cheeks apart.
“Oh God, not that, please not that.”
“Yes, that.”
She felt the tip of his manhood as it touched her sphincter muscle. God, he was hard! Then she felt the brutality of his desire as, without mercy, he thrust against the tightly-closed anus. She clenched her buttock cheeks, determined to repel the unwanted invader, but she was too exhausted to maintain the battle.
Slowly, as he continued to press against her, she began to relax. Suddenly, the warmth of his manhood broke through the barrier of resistance and she felt him deep inside her.
“Christ,” she screamed as he broke through the portal, “that fucking hurts.”
“Good. Now keep on like that while I take you. This is your first time, isn't it?”
“Yes, and my last. Ow, you're hurting me.”
Dawson measured his strokes. From almost removing his cock from her anus, to plunging it as deeply into her body as he could manage, he held her tightly so she could not squirm away from him. Each time he thrust into her he felt the muscle being forced to expand around the width of his phallus. He knew it was hurting her and he was glad. Each thrust was worth all the misery she had caused him, and more. This was revenge, pure and simple.
He pounded her like this until he felt the surge of orgasm rising up inside him. Then, with one final thrust that almost split her buttocks in two, he came, filling the condom with the fruit of his excitement.
As he reached his climax he raked his fingers down her back, leaving red scratch marks in their wake. This action made her howl even louder, the kind of noise he loved to hear at the peak of excitement.
When he'd finished, he withdrew from her slowly, careful to ensure there would be no DNA evidence left behind. As he withdrew, he noticed the condom was streaked with blood. He smiled at the thought of taking her cherry, of causing her to be ruptured, of causing her pain.
His care was not really necessary, for his meticulous planning would ensure any DNA would be removed before she left, but he still knew he had to be careful. As he withdrew, she slumped forward, her aching buttocks adding to the pain from her anus, an anus that had been ripped slightly. After he had withdrawn she felt the blood as it seeped out onto her tortured flesh.
“Right, that's all for today. Come with me.”
He grabbed her arm and led her to the door at the far end of the chamber to the door he had used earlier.
“It's not much, but it'll keep you safe for the night. There's some food in there, and other things. We start again tomorrow at ten o'clock , and you'd better be a damn sight more cooperative and polite than you've been today.”
Dawson had reached the door. He opened it and levered her arm until she had gone through the entrance. She heard the door close behind her and then the key in the lock.
She stood looking round her cell for a few moments. There was a couch with a thin mattress and a duvet, a toilet, washbasin with soap and towel, a coffee table with a chair and a tray of cold food on top of it, and that was all.
She settled down for a long, lonely evening. Not knowing what the time was didn't help her, but that was all part of Dawson 's plan, to disorientate her as part of the process of making her compliant.
***
Dawson had a busy evening ahead of him. His planning for this occasion had taken some considerable time, and during it he had discovered a way that he could earn money from his newly acquired skills. There were, it transpired, a large number of women who desired what he could offer. His first realisation of this had happened at a party when he had playfully joked about his abilities to train women to be compliant. The joke had landed on the ears of a pretty young brunette. She was a strong character, a manager with a good deal of responsibility and staff that looked up to her for leadership.
Dawson knew she was a bully by nature and a number of his friends had commented about the way she teased people. He got talking to her and during the conversation he revealed that he was a CAT.
“Well, Karen, they don't call me the CAT for nothing,” the conversation had continued.
“CAT, that's a strange name. Why do they call you that?”
“CAT, it stands for Corrective Action Therapist. We, err, specialise in correcting the wayward habits of people using corrective action therapy.”
“Intriguing, and what wayward habits would I have to have corrected?” She smiled at him, teasingly.
“Well, for a start, you bully and tease people, then you piss people off with your whiney, whinge of a voice, and then you don't dress appropriately.”
“So, maybe I need some corrective action therapy. Would you be prepared to help me?”
“Of course, but we have one rule, once we start there is no turning back.”
“Okay, well why don't you come round to my place tomorrow evening and see what you can do for me?” She looked down at his trousers, and admired the bulge that was forming. She licked her lips, believing he was playing with her.
Dawson agreed to visit the young woman's flat the following evening. To be honest, Dawson had little idea what to expect, or what to do. He was new to this, but the thought of her delicious body reacting to his touch thrilled him.
He knocked on the door of the flat at precisely eight o'clock . She opened it, dressed as if she had just returned from work, still wearing her ‘uniform' of pinstriped trouser suit.
“Come in,” she said, and allowed Dawson into the flat. “So you reckon you can help me become a better person?” She started when they were in her sitting room.
“That's why I'm here – to show you the error of your ways, and to make sure you don't fall back into them after you have been corrected. Now, before we start, you have to accept certain rules.”
“Okay.” The smile on her face vanished as she spoke and she realised Dawson was not fooling around. “You're serious about this, aren't you,” she paled.
“I'm totally and utterly serious. It is for your own good.”
“So, what kind of therapy do I need?”
“In your case, quite a lot I'm afraid. We need to correct a number of traits, and we need to ensure that those traits do not return. Now, we can not do that all in one session, but we can make a start, if you are sure that is what you want.”
“I'm sure. So, what are we going to do tonight?”
“Well, for a start, you're not dressed appropriately. Someone receiving corrective action therapy never wears a pinstripe suit. The first thing a therapist would tell them to do would be to take it off. And for future sessions you should wear something more appropriate.”
As quickly as he said it she removed her jacket and started undoing her trousers. In a moment she stood before him wearing her blouse and underwear.
“Now what?” She said.
“Well, there's protocol. You don't talk unless I ask you a question, and then when you reply you say things like ‘yes, master'. Also, you do exactly what I tell you.”
“I see, master, well what kind of correction do you think I need?”
“Well, for a start, in future sessions, if you don't wear the appropriate attire, you can expect to receive a sound spanking. But for today I want to concentrate on your tendency to be a bully. This will require correction that starts tonight and will continue for a number of sessions until I hear of a real change from those you bully at the moment.”
“Very well, if you say so, master.”
“Okay, bend over my lap.” The woman did so, and she felt Dawson 's growing erection press into her stomach. If she thought he was playing games, her thoughts soon turned to fear. The first smack of his hand ripped into her partly-covered buttocks.
“Arrgghhh,” she groaned as the second smack landed.
“No one likes a bully, and the quicker you learn that fact, the better.” The third smack landed and the woman moaned again. These smacks were not particularly hard, but she clearly had no experience of being treated in this way – and it excited Dawson enormously.
Dawson continued to deliver a dozen open-palmed smacks to her rear. By the end of the delivery her buttocks were glowing nicely pink.
“Stand up,” he said.
“I promise I won't bully anyone again. Is that all there is to it?”
“No, that was just for starters. You don't seriously think a mere flick of the wrist is going to cure you, do you?”
“No, master.”
“Good, well it's time for you to get out of your clothes.”
She stood watching him for a moment.
“Now, not tomorrow, now! get out of your clothes.”
She undressed, revealing her shaven pussy and her large, pink-nipple breasts.
“Okay, bend over and grab your ankles. Keep your legs straight.”
As she did so, Dawson opened his attaché case and withdrew the extendible metal cane. He extended it fully and cut some practice strokes through the air. The swishing sound was intended to unnerve the woman, and Dawson 's intent was successful.
Crack! The first strike landed mid-height across the woman's taut, pink buttocks.
“Arrgghh,” she wailed.
“Shut up, it's not that painful.”
“It is,” she sobbed. “That bloody hurt.”
“But you want more, don't you?”
“No.”
“That was the wrong answer. Think about it.” Crack! The second stroke landed and as it did so it cut her flesh an inch above the first.
“You want more, don't you?”
“Yes, master,” she sobbed.
“Good, well I'm going to give you ten. You can count them for me. Don't move, because if you get up the stroke won't count. Now, do you understand?”
“Yes master.”
“Excellent. And you understand that it is not acceptable to be a bully?”
“Yes, master.” Crack! The third stroke landed. The woman gasped as it cut into her, and then called out, “One”.
“Very good, you're learning.” Crack!
“Two.” Tears were already falling onto the woman's face as she braced herself for the next strike. Dawson waited a few seconds then he picked his spot and a fifth stripe of dark red appeared on the woman's buttocks, crossing the first four marks.
“Three,” she sobbed.
Dawson delivered the next seven strokes about ten seconds apart. By the time he had finished she was crying openly, determined to hold position, her backside a raw, angry mess of bruised stripes.
“Right, kneel on the floor, with your back straight and your bum on the back of your legs.”
The woman did as she was told, crying out as her tender, red-hot arse touched the cool flesh of the backs of her legs.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Again she did as she was told. She felt him tie her wrists individually and then bind them together. She attempted to wiggle them and realised there was no chance of loosening the bonds. She felt his hand in her back at chest height. He pushed her gently forward, pushing her breasts out in front of her. Then he tied a length of rope around her upper arms, forcing them back behind her, ensuring her breasts remained thrust out in front.
“After the pain, you have to learn obedience. This next lesson is not painful if you do exactly as you are told. Do you understand?”
“Yes, master.”
Dawson took her left breast in his hand and squeezed the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, caressing it until it became erect. Then he took a piece of thin twine and wrapped it twice round the base of the nipple, before tying the twine tightly, forcing the nipple into an even greater erection, an erection that could not subside as the blood in the teat was trapped. Then he did the same with the right nipple. Finally, he took both pieces of twine, ran them up over the woman's shoulders and tied them securely to the rope behind her back, pulling the breasts upwards as he did so. To ensure there was no movement he also tied the two pieces of twine together at the height of her neck.
Then Dawson retrieved the vibrator from his case. He lubricated the tip and turned it on. The soft hum accompanied his action of playing the instrument over the woman's left nipple. She groaned as he did so, the sensations sending powerful waves of sexual energy through her body. Dawson teased each nipple in turn, causing them to swell and pull at the tightly tied twine. The pleasure of the sensation intermingled with the pain of the pulling twine, and the woman lost control of her sensibilities. Crying, and groaning, she shuddered as she climaxed. Dawson smiled to himself, knowing that she was learning fast.
When she had reached her climax, Dawson reached back into his case and withdrew a large red candle. He lit the wick and waited for a minute.
“Now, what do bullies have to expect?”
“Punishment, master.” She spoke softly, as one who was coming out of a dream.
“Exactly, now the wax is quite warm, so when it touches you each drop can be a reminder of the pain you have inflicted on others.
He tipped the candle, holding it a few inches above her right breast. The wax dripped from the candle and splashed onto her pale flesh. She gasped in pain as it touched her.
“No, oh no, oh no, it's burning me,” she howled.
Dawson moved over and treated her left breast to the same, only this time he ensured some of the wax splashed onto the nipple as well. As it landed, the woman groaned even more loudly. As she did so, she failed to notice Dawson looking down her stomach to her shaven pussy. He smiled to himself.
Having spattered her breasts with the red liquid, Dawson forced the woman to lie on the floor on her back, her arms still tied tightly behind her. He dragged the coffee table until it was behind her head and then, raising her left leg over her head he tied it firmly to one leg of the table. In a minute he had secured her right leg to the other leg of the table in such a manner that her legs were spread well apart and she was wide open, her vulva clearly on display.
Without pausing, Dawson patted the woman's sex with his hand, not hard but firmly. She was powerless to resist.
“Have you ever had your cunt flogged?” He asked her as he walked back round to his attaché case.
“No, and I don't want it hurt now, master.”
“Oh come, we are trying to cure you of your bad habits, a little pain will help you remember.” Dawson had retrieved the short-handled leather flogger, the one where the handle gripped the nine fine flails of leather. He placed the bunch of flails between her spread-eagled legs as he stood directly behind her.
With a quick flick of the wrist the flails lifted and landed with a gentle ‘thwack'. The woman moaned, from surprise more than pain.
“Not too bad, was it?”
“No, master.”
“I told you so, but they will get harder.” The second switch was more powerful than the first, and the third was the result of a definite movement in Dawson 's arm. Still, the first three strokes landed softly on the freshly-shaven vulva. “It's time to see just what you're made of.”
“Yes, master, if you say so.”
“I do.” Dawson raised the flails and put a moderate amount of power into the next stroke. The woman moaned, this time more from the pain than surprise.
Dawson then released six stinging strokes on her tender area in quick succession. The lips surrounding her vulva turned pink as they became inflamed, and tears formed in the woman's eyes. Trussed as she was, she could see each stroke as it descended onto her tender sex.
Dawson put the flogger down and retrieved the candle.
“And now, heat therapy. This, if nothing else, will make you think twice before you bully anyone again.”
“Yes, master. Arrggghh, ow, ow, ow,” she howled as the hot candle wax dripped onto her legs and in between them, a small trickle of the hot liquid flowing onto her labia and onto the area between her vulva and her anus.
“Right, that is enough for your first session. But, you will need a follow-up session in a week, and in the meantime if I hear you have bullied anyone you can be sure it will be taken account of next time we meet. Do you understand?” Dawson sounded grave.
“Yes master.”
As he had been speaking he began to loosen the woman's bonds. Soon she was freed and sat tenderly on the carpet, her buttocks and the whole area between her legs sore and fiery.
Dawson tidied up his equipment and bade the woman farewell. That had been the first realisation that women needed what Dawson had to offer. Now, as he prepared for the evening he was stepping onto new territory. It would be exciting, a challenge, and his reputation was at stake.
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