The Longest Weekend Ch. 02

It must have been a good half an hour since we had left the airport and we were still on the road, as far as I could tell, given that I was chained down to the floor of the trunk space behind the backseat, my head held to the floor by the chain clipped tight to the leather collar around my neck, and kept in the dark, literally, by a blanket thrown over me. I was being rocked and rolled with each change of direction. Some time ago I could tell that we had turned off from the highway onto a slower winding, hilly road. I could hear the engine rev up as it went up a hill and feel the swing of the tail as we slung around tight bends. It was probably six o'clock or so when the car stopped. She got out. A pause, and then we moved a bit. Stopped again and she got out again. Another pause and off we went once more. Opening and closing a gate, I guessed, and concluded that it wouldn't be long till we arrived at our destination.

The bumpy track seemed to slope downhill for another few minutes, maybe covering half a mile. The car stopped again and, as the engine died, I felt the chain at my neck go slack and heard the driver's door open. This is it. At last, we've arrived at the place where my long weekend of female domination was going to take place. Although a fair bit of female domination had already happened to me since I arrived at the airport an hour and a half ago.

'Out, Dumbo.'

I struggled to sit up in the trunk with my hands cuffed high behind my back, and had barely got to swing my shackled feet over the bumper when Mistress Monica jerked at the chain attached to my collar pulling me away from the tailgate of her car, Stumbling and half-hopping due to the one foot length baby steps the chain linking my ankles allowed me, I was dragged towards a nearby three foot high metal post with a ring at the top of it.

'Stay, Dumbo,' she said, clipping the other end of the chain to the ring on the post. She was already back in her car before I thought to do the 'Yes, Mistress' thing. I'd have being doing it to a cloud of dust, because she revved up and immediately drove away. I watched as the car drove past the building in front of me towards a large outbuilding about 100 yards away, turned into it large open door, and out of sight..

Hitched to a hitching post, like a pony, while bound and naked in the evening light should have been a cause for panic. But strangely, my nakedness and helplessness didn't worry me now. This was, I felt, how it should be in this place; a place where slaves are kept and trained and punished. And as I was a slave now, being displayed, tied and naked for all to see, was part of the package. At least the air was warm and the gentle breeze on my bare skin felt nice and soothing. The only drawback was that my bladder was demanding my attention again. I needed to pee. To distract myself I decided to examine the area and see what I could make of the place that would be my home for the next three days and nights. The sun was on the point of slipping down between two hills back the way we had come. I had only a few minutes before darkness fell.

We seemed to be in the centre of a dusty bowl shaped valley surrounded by scrub covered hills. The track we arrived on stretched back up the hill behind where Mistress Monica had parked, bending and curving, until it disappeared around the back of a low mountain half a mile or so out where the sun was setting. On either side of the track, dense scrub bushes, probably thorny, covered the bleak landscape. There were no signs of human habitation back up that mountain or anywhere else around us. Nobody up there to rescue me, if I needed rescuing.

Turning to look at the building nearest to me, about twenty yards away, I could see it was a glorified barn, about two stories high. Its timbered sides greyed by years of exposure to the sun. One small door and an equally small adjoining dusty window sat in the centre of the otherwise blank plank wall. Blank that is, save for the big faded sign that ran the width of the wall high above the door. 'Rancho El Caralito it stated. So a ranch then, not a simple holiday let. More significant, for my purposes, were the faded words in smaller writing underneath the ranch's name. 'Entrenamiento en Obediencia y Disciplina,' Okay, even I could figure that out; 'Training in Obedience and Discipline.' An involuntary shudder ran through me as the meaning became clear. This was an establishment that specialised in making people obey and, no doubt, making them suffer if they didn't.

My original expectation that it would be just me and Mistress Monica spending a weekend together in a quiet, remote, rented cabana was way off the mark then. Not going to happen. Not only were we to be joined by another submissive and a trainee Domme, as Mistress already said, but this seemed to be a professional human training facility, like halfway between a boarding school and a prison. The whole site was way too big an establishment for just Mistress Monica and her couple of slaves and her trainee to afford to rent for a weekend. There must be industrial level BDSM going on here I decided. But there were no harsh whip cracking sounds or agonised screams of tortured subbies to be heard. As they say in all the best horror movies: It was quiet... too quiet.'

Clearly, I was about to be incarcerated in a training camp for slaves or something like that. The place wasn't hiding its purpose in any way. So the locals would know all about it. Most of them probably worked here. If anybody came by and saw me standing bound, naked and hitched to a post, they'd say to themselves, 'That must be one of the new arrivals,' and carry on past without giving me another thought.

This was going to change the dynamic of the whole weekend from what I expected. I mean, I knew what I was getting myself into, generally, and I was prepared for that. Or I thought I was. Prepared to be humiliated and beaten and subdued by the imperious Mistress Monica. Made to beg and then to suffer, and then to beg again. That was the plan. But not this. A bit like if a work friend invites you to drop around to theirs for a bite to eat in the evening. So you slope up in your tee and jeans only to discover in fact it's a dinner party with twenty guests, including your boss and the division director, all dressed in their finest. You've been walked into it. But you are stuck and just have to plough on through the embarrassment of it all. This, I concluded was the same sort of thing, only worse, maybe.

Since there was no sign of Mistress Monica or of anyone else coming to get me, I continued my examination of the site in the gathering gloom, to see if it offered any clues to what actually was going to happen to me over the next three days.

Beyond the garage into which Mistress Monica had driven her car, lay a jumble of connected smaller buildings, possibly residential units. Overall, the place had the look of an old army training centre of some sort, I decided. On the other side of what the headquarters or office building, and standing apart from it, there as one building of a more recent build. It had the look of a large modern warehouse,

In the open area beyond the new building was an outdoor equestrian centre. There were various fenced off paddocks. Some had gymkhana style jumps for ponies, painted tar barrels, striped poles and so on. Others contained a simple dusty circular or oval track with an overhanging central swivel arm for training ponies to trot around in a circle, or something. Then it struck me: Ponies! But there were no ponies to be seen out around this ranch. No horses, or foals. No frisky stallions out in green pastures. Which meant only one thing. This must be a place where they did human pony training. This place was about pony play. For instance, I was hitched like a pony to a hitching post. The sort of thing you would see a pony standing beside, and tied to, while patiently waiting for his owner to come and unhitch him and take him for a ride, or give him a good scrub down after a dusty gallop across the mesa.

I got hard again at the thought of being made jump over those painted poles by Mistress Monica. She would be holding the other end of a long bridle clipped to my head harness. The horse bit in my mouth pulling tight against my stretched lips as she cracked the whip in her other hand and I tried to judge my run up to the next fence, a triple jump. Not the time for idle fantasising, I told myself sternly, and got back to reconnoitring Rancho El Caralito and its surroundings.

Past the main building on the other side from the garage and residences were several paths, probably human pony trekking paths I now decided, leading off in different directions. One went up the bare side of another mountain to the north. It followed a track running between the stony, rocky areas that contained a scattering of scrub bushes, the occasional giant cactus, and little else. Another wound eastward and disappeared between a gap in what appeared to be high sand dunes. The sea glinted dully beyond.

Looking back towards the office door, there was still no sign of anyone else about, neither humans, nor animals, nor human animals for that matter. It was as though I had been marooned in an abandoned ranch in the middle of nowhere. The urge to pee was hitting me in waves. I couldn't hold out much longer. And the obvious thought struck me. 'Why should I hold out?' It was getting dark, nobody about, this was my opportunity. Besides, if this is a human pony ranch they are well used to the ponies pissing on the ground in all sorts of public situations. It's probably part of their training, to get them to pee just like real ponies, out in the open whenever the mood takes them. And since Mistress Monica had hitched me to the post, like I was just a pony to her, well why not? Satisfied that it was almost the right and proper thing to do in the circumstances, I happily released a long stream of yellow pee enjoying the loud splash and the puddle it briefly formed before soaking into the sandy ground.

Sod's Law and all that, of course Mistress Monica emerged from the garage the minute I started to pee. It seemed she had intended to ignore me and had started walking back to the office. But the loud splashing of my pee must have caught her attention. She looked directly towards me, turned and headed my way, speeding up her pace. Uh, oh, here comes trouble, I thought, as my stream of pee faltered and weakened.

'Step over here, Dumbo,' she said crisply coming to a halt on the other side of the hitching post, making sure she stood well away from the wet spot.

I shuffled across, the chain between my ankle cuffs clinking, my hands still cuffed behind me, eyes cast down, as appropriate. But I knew I was in for it, anyway, no matter how humble my demeanour. Bang! Bang! Bang! Three hard wallops across the side of my face, Left, right and left again. I staggered a little, but kept in place, kept my eyes cast down, waiting for the ringing in my ears to subside. I caught the end of her sentence.

'..... tell me why, Just so I know you are not totally dumb, Dumbo.

'Because I pee'd without asking permission to go to the toilet, Mistress.'

She turned on her heel and headed back towards the office or reception, and went inside. I waited, naked and bound, hitched to the hitching post, my face hot and puffy from her slaps. I was grateful for the light breeze. It helped cool my burning cheeks.

Hearing the office door open again, I saw Mistress Monica emerge clutching a key with a big wooden fob attached. She unhitched me and led me away past the garage or whatever towards the smaller residential units. I decided to call them cabanas since we were in Mexico, but they were big enough structures when you got close. Each was set back from the next by half the depth of the unit. Nothing fancy in front, just a plain wooden door with a number on it and a window each side, each with blinds pulled down. The long high roof hinted at a loft or partial upstairs area that might have windows looking out to the rear -- the sea view. Mistress stopped outside the first of the row of cabanas. I noticed that we were next to a stable block which had regularly spaced small half doors opening out from each stall. No sign of sexy pony girls looking out from their stalls. But it set me wondering again about human ponies.

After unlocking the front door of the cabana, she led the way down a hallway past a couple of doors on either side. At the end of the corridor, an open door on the left led into a kitchen area and the one of the right led into a small bathroom. Which is where we were headed. I shuffled into the bathroom behind Mistress. Quickly unclipping my ankle chain and then freeing my wrist cuffs, she told me to step into the shower. There was no curtain or door on the shower cubicle. A liquid soap dispenser was fixed to the wall. The water came on automatically and I lathered and rinsed myself all over, happy to wash off the dried piss from my little accident at the airport, along with grime and sweat of the day's travelling.

Mistress stayed and watched, and I felt a little self-conscious, turning my back to her. I half expected it when she told me to face front. When I turned to face her she had that little sideways grin on her face again, sort of contemptuous. Clearly I would be allowed no privacy and it was a matter of getting used to it. So I continued washing while she looked me over with unblinking eyes, including letting her gaze linger unashamedly on my erection. She must have caught me glancing at her as she reminded me to look down and not to attempt to make eye contact. I had hardly rinsed off the soap when the shower stopped. Some sort of timer, maybe. Mistress handed me a small towel, almost a tea towel, and told me to dry off. 'Yes, Mistress,' I said obediently, making sure to allow my gaze travel no higher than her knees.

Hanging on a row of hooks behind the bathroom door were hung various lengths of chain with clips at their ends as well as other fasteners. A black leather riding crop hung there too. I briefly wondered if it belonged to somebody here for the pony trekking, but doubted it. It was not hanging there by accident.

Mistress took down one of the shorter lengths of chain and, clipping my wrist cuffs together behind my back once more, pulled them up towards my neck and attached them by the chain to the back of my collar. She clipped my ankles together once again so that I could only hobble like a ninety year old man. No possibility of running away now. Anyway, where would I run to? The choice was between crossing a minimum 10 miles of rough open country in three directions or heading into the sea in the fourth. I wasn't going anywhere

She shuffled me over in front of the bathroom wall by the mirror. A plastic coated card was pinned on to the wall beside the mirror. It was entitled Slave Rules. She said, 'Since you seem to have trouble remembering the most simple rules, here is an exercise for you, Dumbo. You are to learn these rules, as stated on this list, word for word, exactly. I will be back in five minutes. You will be tested on every rule over the weekend. The slightest mistake will be punished until you are word perfect. Do not move from this spot, a camera is monitoring and recording you at all times.'

'Yes Mistress.'

Mistress Monica left, closing the bathroom door behind her.

Slave Rules

1 Slaves must show respect for Mistress at all times.

2 Slaves must obey orders instantly, without hesitation and without question.

3 Slaves must acknowledge an order or direction of Mistress by answering, 'Yes, Mistress' or 'No, Mistress,' as appropriate.

4 Slaves must answer direct questions from Mistress immediately, accurately and honestly.

5 Slaves must ask Mistress' permission to leave the room, and may only leave a room when granted permission to do so.

6 Slaves must ask Mistress' permission to use the bathroom, and state the exact purpose of that use when asked.

7 Slaves must not speak other than as in rules 3, 4, 5, and 6.

8 Slaves must not touch their sexual organs at any time unless directed to do so in a supervised situation.

9 Slaves must not attempt to stimulate themselves sexually by rubbing against another object or person.

10 Slaves must thank Mistress after each punishment.

They were basically the rules I had already been sent. Why is it always ten, I wondered. Like the Ten Commandments. I remembered a good comedy sketch about that on YouTube. 'Why ten?' was the guy's kick-off point. Because it sounds good, he explained. Like, the top ten, the ten greatest hits, the ten most wanted and so on. Ten has a nice ring to it. You never hear anybody going on about the eleven most wanted, or the nine most wanted. I tried to focus, already having lost a minute thinking about the number ten. I was never good a learning stuff off pat. The number three works just as well, I thought then. The top three sounds okay. She could have just given me three rules to learn off. Or maybe five. I could have just about managed five.

When Mistress Monica came back into the bathroom I was sure I knew rules one, two and ten as good as word perfect. The last item on a list always sticks in your mind. The recency effect, the psychologists call it. I had a very fuzzy memory of what was rules three, four and five were about. Rules, six to nine were totally mixed up in my head. They would be wild guesses. This was not looking good.

She took down the riding crop, turned me around away from the list. While playfully tapping on my bum with the riding crop, she popped the question.

'So, Dumbo, are you ready to be tested on the rules?' The slaps on my bum were very distracting. My penis responded, hardening and lifting. The tap, tap, tapping of the crop on my ass was driving whatever little I had learned out of my head. If I said 'No, I wasn't ready to be tested' I would earn immediate punishment, so I gambled and said, 'Yes, Mistress.' I steeled myself for an immediate and painful interrogation; my erection aching in anticipation. But I got lucky. Mistress said, 'I've others things for you to do just now. Besides, it will be more fun to see how much you remember in a few hours time.' With that she took my arm and led me, shuffling and naked, with an erect and dripping cock, out into the hall and along to what was probably the living room.

It was a nice homely room, done in the style of the old west maybe. A cast iron stove stood in the centre of one wall with a pile of logs stored neatly beside it. Two nice chintzy cottage style armchairs were positioned facing each other on either side of the stove. I guessed I would never get to sit in them. Mistress stood me in front of the stove and sat in one of the armchairs. I made sure to keep looking at the ground.

'I'll lay out your immediate programme for you,' she said, holding the riding crop in one hand and steadily tapping it into her other open hand It was a bit distracting, but exciting too. I just knew I would be receiving the business end of that crop on my ass the minute she asked me to recite the rules. I suspected I had already forgotten them all except for number ten. Thank Mistress after each punishment or something like that. Mistress Monica continued.

'As I mentioned at the airport, you are being joined on this bondage break by two women. One is learning to be a dominatrix. She is travelling independently and will join us shortly. She will practice on you to her heart's content -- whenever and however she wants. I will supervise and guide her as necessary, but not at all times. You will address the trainee Mistress as Miss.

'Yes, Mistress.'

'That means you will be used as a test dummy by her for various restraints, punishments and so on. This will have nothing to do with your behaviour, good or bad. You are just being used and you have no rights in the matter. Understood?'

'Yes, Mistress.'

The second person is a submissive woman who wants, among other things, to experience a realistic rape fantasy. Put simply, she wants to experience being raped. The good news for you, Dumbo, is that you are going to rape her. Or you get to try anyway. It remains to be seen if you can manage it.'

'Whaa..'

'Shut up, Dumbo. Can't you remember the most basic thing? Like that slaves are not supposed to speak. What rule is that?'

'Eh.. eh..'

'It's rule seven, Dumbo. That's seven strokes of the riding crop for you. Help you remember it in future. Now go around to the back of that armchair and bend over it.'

'Yes, Mistress.' So this is it, I thought, as I shuffled over towards the armchair, naked and with my arms tied up behind my back. It's about to happen. I'm going to be beaten. This is what I wanted. I can't do anything about it. Which is also what I wanted. I'm not allowed speak, so I can't beg. Or if I beg it will count as speaking and that might double the punishment.

All thoughts of getting to have sex with the other sub were suspended in the face of my imminent beating. I had got as far as deciding that I didn't really like calling what Mistress had asked me to do 'rape.' It wasn't rape really, because the other sub wanted it to happen. So it was consensual sex in fact. Like me about to get a beating was consensual violence. I wanted this experience. But I felt a bit nervous as I pressed my thighs against the back of the armchair and bend over to let my head rest on the cushion below, presenting my naked ass, high and taut, to receive seven strokes of Mistress Monica's riding crop..

'Legs wide apart as you can, Dumbo.'

'Yes, Mistress.' I obligingly shuffled my feet about one foot apart from each other, until the chain between them was taut.

'Push your head in to the back of the armchair. It will stretch the skin on your buttocks more.'

'Yes, Mistress.' I knew what Mistress was doing. This was the deliberate build-up of tension. Stressing me out with just the thought of what was to come. Letting my imagination run riot. And it was working. My breath was coming faster now as I pushed my chin into the fabric of the armchair back, making my naked self more of a U-shape. I instinctively tried to push my tied wrists up towards my ass so that I could protectively cover my exposed, helpless and stretched butt cheeks, but I couldn't reach. Images flashed through my mind of lived red weals, and even stripes that were bruised and bloodied where the flesh split under the impact. I hoped I would not start crying, or begging pathetically. I found some consolation in the likelihood that I wouldn't wet myself as I had emptied my bladder outside just half an hour ago.

'Are you ready, Dumbo?' I flinched when she placed her hand on my left buttock, before sliding it between the front of my legs and the back of the armchair where she took a firm grip of my scrotum, a thumb and forefinger closing tightly above my squeezed balls. One finger probed forward and slid along my erect and quivering shaft.

'Y.. Yes, M.. Mistress. ' I obliged, nervously, half wondering would she let me off the beating, if I promised to be a good slave in future. But also half wishing for it to be over, because deep down I knew this was going to happen no matter what. The whole weekend was about me getting punished regularly, so it may as well start now, I decided. Let the beatings begin.

Mistress Monica wasn't finished with the mental torture phase yet.

'I will repeat the rule in short. Then give your first stroke of the riding crop. You will thank me for that stroke, then repeat the rule exactly, word perfect, each time. Make a mistake and we will repeat the process.' She was speaking softly now, teasingly almost, while stroking the base of my erect penis by curling her finger along it while still gripping my balls. 'That way you won't ever forget it ever again. Isn't that right, Dumbo?'

'Yes Mistress,' I replied, more calmly now. Somehow her steady stroking and soft whispering eased my panic and brought me to acceptance of the beating that was about to happen. I was as ready as I'd ever be, and she knew it.

'Now Dumbo, You were supposed to know that rule seven says that slaves must not speak other than as set out in the rules. You did not quote the rule when asked and you are being punished accordingly. The first of seven strokes is happening now.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

I felt her left hand tighten its grip on my scrotum, pulling downwards. A pause. I waited, held my breath, tensed and listened for some sound, some hint of what was to come. A whistling of the crop through the air maybe. But nothing. Then, out of nowhere, came the loud smack of the crop hitting high on my ass. I jumped, lifting myself onto my toes, as much from the shock as from the white hot streak of pain that tore across my buttocks. Mistress pulled down hard on my balls, forcing my feet back onto the floor as the site of the impact settled to a throbbing painful burning sensation.

'T.. T,, Thank you, M.. M... Mistress,' I managed to gasp out the obligatory words as I took deep breaths. Silence. I realised she was waiting for me to say the rule.

'T... T... The slave shall never speak unless... unless... it's in the rules,' I blurted out quickly, silently cursing myself for not paying more attention. I knew what the rule was about, but I was never good on detail. Just not a detail sort of guy. The throbbing on my ass wasn't too bad now. But I knew I'd failed the test. Sure enough. Mistress quickly set me straight. I'd be sure to listen this time. She had got my full attention now.

'Not good enough, Dumbo. It's got to be word for word. We'll start again. Listen up. Slaves must not speak other than as set out in the rules.'

I felt her grip on my balls tighten once more, and quickly took, and held, a deep breath, just ahead of Mistress hitting me with the second stroke. It was a bit lower than the first. Being ready for it made it seem not as bad. But, again, I instinctively tried to rear up, and again Mistress effectively held me in place by her firm grip on my balls. Anxious to please I hurried my lines out, getting them right this time. It's easy when you know it.

'Thank you, Mistress. Slaves must not speak other than as set out in the rules.'

'Good boy, Dumbo. Six more to go,'

My beating moved along briskly after that. Not a beating really, more a correction punishment. While my ass was sore at the end of it, I still had an erection. That meant I was still in the zone. Things were good. I'd only been in the place for about an hour and and half, and I'd had my first punishment from my Mistress. This is what I came for. This was the sort of thing I hoped would be happening to me regularly for the rest of the weekend.

'Now, Dumbo, I hope you have learned that when I tell you to do something, you go and do it.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

'To get back to where we were. I was giving you a task before you decided to speak out of turn. That was a direct order and you will obey it. As a slave, you know that you must do as you are ordered. So go and find that girl and rape her. If she comes complaining to me afterwards that it wasn't like what she imagined a real rape should be, then you are in big trouble. That little tickle I gave your ass will be nothing on what you'll get if you fail in this task.

'Yes, Mistress.'

In addition, I will allocate to you normal tasks and normal punishments appropriate to your behaviour over the weekend. Clear?'

'Yes, Mistress.'

She indicated the layout of the cottage: 'On this level, besides this room and the bathroom that you are already familiar with, there is a kitchen, two bedrooms and a small storeroom I use as a dungeon or punishment room. The upstairs is the Mistress' quarters. It is off limits to submissives unless I direct you to perform chores upstairs. Occasionally I may order you upstairs to perform intimate services for me, or indeed for the trainee.'

'Yes, Mistress,' I intoned automatically, but my mind was elsewhere. It was in a land peopled by humble slaves and harsh masters and mistresses. I was proud of the warm tingling feeling on my ass. It meant I'd finally been initiated into that world. I'd been beaten by my mistress and justly so. I was a proper slave at last. And as my Mistress' slave, I felt I should move briskly on to considering how best to perform the t task my Mistress had given me, even though I had some doubts about my abilities in this area. I'm the submissive type. That's why I'm on this bondage break, I don't naturally do aggression. I'm supposed to be the one being dominated and raped. I'd fantasised lots about having to take it up the ass from Mistress Monica's giant strap-on and then say 'Thank You, Mistress as I licked it clean. A sharp tap of her riding crop up and under my balls brought me back to the now.

'Looking at your state of excitement and arousal, Dumbo, I'd say now is as good a time as any to set about performing your rape role play,' she pronounced, adding, as if she knew what I was thinking, 'I know it's only a role play but you are to make it as realistic as possible. Don't be gentle and don't be apologetic. Be aggressive and rough -- or else.' She finished her speech with a sharper tap on the balls, enough to make me wince.

It was the encouragement I needed. Okay, I can do rough, I decided, and gave a crisp 'Yes, Mistress,' in reply.

'You are free to roam the downstairs area now-for that purpose. Go to find the submissive and rape her. She will protest and struggle, and say no, but will you overcome her and take her by force. That's all part of her fantasy. I have her doing some chores, so go find her, rape her and report back to me. You will be punished severely for each failed encounter.

While speaking Mistress Monica was freeing my wrist cuffs from behind my back and taking off the ankle chain. It felt good to be handled that way, like I was a thing belonging to my Mistress, a utensil being put to use. My erect penis pulsed and oozed another drop of precum.

'Well,' she said, patting me more gently under my scrotum, 'You seem more than already for action. So no time like the present, Dumbo. There won't be many chances to make this happen. Go to work.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

Mistress Monica sat back into her armchair and took out her phone. Clearly, I was dismissed and headed out into the corridor on my strange mission. I hadn't expected to find myself in such a role, or with such relative freedom. I couldn't resist feeling my still warm ass. I could feel a series of gentle raised areas where the riding crop had struck. I twisted around and got a glimpse of the damage. I could make out the edge of several light pink weals where the end of the crop had reached to the side of my bum. Marks of the true slave, I thought proudly. I was a marked slave now.

Next I decided to make my way to the kitchen which wasat the back, directly across from the bathroom. I was quite thirsty, maybe from having to drink pee. I turned in the kitchen door, wondering might I even have the opportunity to grab a cookie as well, when I almost tripped over a pair of woman's feet, behind the door. There she was, the submissive, right inside the kitchen doorway. Down on her knees loading washing into the washing machine. From behind, I could see that she was dark-haired, wearing a white polo shirt, a short blue skirt, tights and pumps. She hadn't heard me. I was horny and ready. I knew I should be decisive and bold, and, as Mistress said, no time like the present.

I moved in right behind her, grabbed a handful of her hair on the top of her head and pulled her face up level with the kitchen worktop, her nose just an inch from the edge. Putting my mouth just behind her ear, I said, in my most menacing tone, 'One word out of you, one sound, and I will smash you nose on the edge of that worktop and ruin you face forever. Understood? She nodded carefully.

I pushed her head down again and told her to place her arms into the open drum of the washing machine. I then pushed her head in after, giving her a shove up the ass from behind with my knee to help her along. I now had her trapped and under control. I kicked the kitchen door closed behind me before putting my arms under her bent-over waist and pulling her up from her kneeling position so that she was now standing and bent over from the waist with her bum sticking up and her head, arms and top half pushed into the washing machine. Perfect. I lifted her skirt and pulled her panties and tights to her knees. She struggled a bit and shouted, but her voice came out all muffled and echoing from inside the drum. She tried to back out, but I was right behind her and it was easy to push against her and keep her trapped in the drum of the machine.

This was going so well. I couldn't resist running my hand over her smooth bottom and trickling a finger down along the crack of her ass, tickling the pink rosebud of her ass and making her jump. I eased my finger into her asshole and wriggled it around. She squirmed a bit and shouted something that came out was muffled and garbled from the drum of the machine. I supposed it was part of her fantasy to protest and shout for help. I knew nobody in the cottage would be rushing to rescue her, so I relaxed and got on with my 'job.' I was enjoying myself actually. Such power and control -- and with punishments to come when I've done. Besides, with a week of not touching or relieving myself, and constantly fantasising about this weekend, I was more than ready to deliver the goods.

'Shut up you dumb bitch and take what is coming to you,' I snarled in my best rapist on the prowl growl. 'It will be worse for you if you keep making a racket.'

She went quiet. I slid my hand down under her and between her legs. I eased her lips apart and probed deeper into her vagina. She shuddered and made another half attempt at struggling free but gave up quickly after I jabbed my thumb sharply and deeply into her anus and pushed her back in place. She was well and truly fucked and about to be literally fucked. In that moment I could feel her give up finally and surrender to her fate. She was now waiting quietly for it. As she waited, she shuddered a bit more and maybe there was a few muffled sobs from inside the drum.

My instructions were that this was to be like a rape. I decided I would make it rough and quick. I guessed there would be a report from the submissive to the Mistress afterwards. I would probably be given marks out of ten and punished accordingly. I slipped my wet and drippping penis between her thighs and rammed it into her with no preliminaries, quickly thrusting in and out. There was a hollow echoing thump from the washing machine as each thrust banged her shoulders into the edge of the drum. There was no other sound from her. I had given her about 10 thrusts when, unexpectedly and suddenly, I came in her; big time. I hadn't intended that, and probably wouldn't have but for my week of abstinence. I was pent up like champagne in a bottle. I just couldn't hold back.

After coming, I pulled out quickly. I reached into the drum, roughly grabbed the submissive by her hair and dragged her head out of the washing machine. I told her not to look around. I pushed her back down on her knees and told her to get back to doing her washing. She stayed bend over her washing her with her tights pulled down and her panties at her knees. She didn't look around, afraid of getting her nose broken I suppose.

I really was getting into the role now. I said she was not to mention this to anyone or I would make her regret it, which I thought was a nice realistic touch -- a bit of menace. Also, as she hadn't actually seen my face she would never know for certain just who had raped her -- added mystery. I turned and left, congratulating myself on the efficient performance of the first task I had been assigned to perform as a slave. My Mistress would be proud.

Full of these happy thoughts and enjoying a satisfied sense of accomplishment, I almost bumped straight into Mistress Monica outside the kitchen door. She couldn't help but notice the self-satisfied grin on my face.

'Been busy have we, Dumbo?' she asked, turning me towards the wall and clipping my wrist cuffs together again behind my back, and up onto the short chain that hung from my collar, before turning me around to face her. My moment of freedom had ended. I was a bound slave once again. But a happy one. I had served my Mistress well. A reward was probably coming my way.

'Yes, Mistress,' I chirped, making sure to keep my eyes looking downwards at her shoes as I was required to do, But no disguising the happy grin on my face. I was full of that satisfied glow of achievement that comes with a job well done. Maybe she will take me into her bed tonight and have me lick her to orgasm as a reward, I speculated.

'Well then, let's see what you have achieved.' She grabbed my balls and pulled me back to the kitchen. The sub was slowly standing up and beginning to pull her panties up. As she stood upright and turned around, shakily, Mistress addressed her, 'Lucy! When did you arrive? What happened to you?

That didn't sound right. Mistress would never call a sub by their first name. When the Lucy person said, 'I have just been raped,' I got a horrible sinking feeling that this wasn't going to end well. The Lucy person was explaining what happened to Mistress Monica.

'I still can't believe it happened. Judging by the goo dripping off his dick, it was that thing standing beside that raped me.'

Mistress Monica glared at me, ordering me kneel and look at the floor while she got a handle on things, she said. I was not going to be consulted of course. I was back to being a slave with no rights and no tongue. Mistress rested her hand casually on my head while the Lucy person went on with her story.

'When I arrived I could hear you were busy in the shower-room, probably with this thing,' indicating me. 'I hadn't had time to get my gear and clothes sorted before I left LA this morning so I decided to bring everything and put on a wash here. I had just started loading the machine, when this thing, our slave I take it from the look of him, came in, grabbed me and fucked me from behind -- just out of the blue. Is he mad?'

As she said this, I could see a big glob of my cum drip from under her short skirt and land on the crotch of her panties, which were pulled to just over her knees.

I couldn't believe what had happened. I realized I was in big, big trouble. This was real bad. I'd raped the wrong person, and not any old wrong person, but the person who was supposed to be training to be a dominatrix! I knew the retribution would be terrible. How could this Lucy person ever really dominate me after what I had done to her? And the whole idea of the weekend, for her, was that she would get used to dominating and subjugating me. This was going to take some fixing, and I would be bound to suffer terribly as part of that process. I had potentially wrecked the whole weekend for Mistress Monica. Much as I would have liked to explain how the mix up happened, but I knew better than to try and speak. Rule seven was coming back to bite me again.

Eventually, Mistress turned to me and said; 'Dumbo, I'll deal with you later, but you will lick up your mess first.

'Yes, Mistress.'

Mistress grabbed me by my ear and had me shuffle on my knees over to Lucy, or Miss, as I know her to be now.

'Now lick Miss Lucy's pussy clean of your disgusting mess.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

I sucked up the gob of my cum that lay in the crotch of Miss' panties and then Mistress grabbed me by both ears with both hands and pulled my mouth up to clean my victim's pussy. I licked her clean as best I could while Mistress pulled my head over and back by the ears like I was some sort of a facecloth.

'Since he's to be our toilet for the weekend,' said Mistress Monica to Lucy, 'maybe you'd like to use the facility, now that he's in position.'

'I surely would,' replied Miss Lucy, placing both her hands at the back of my head and forced my open mouth hard up against her pussy. She pissed into me, long and hard and hot, like she had been bursting to go. I gulped and swallowed and choked it down as best I could. No doubt she was trying to re-establish her dignity and power over me by debasing me in return. At the same time I felt the first savage cut of the riding crop on my backside.

This was way different from my first punishment. Miss held my head in place hard against her pussy while Mistress continued to lash my behind unmercifully. It felt like she was drawing blood- In her email setting out the terms of the break, Mistress Monica had said that the punishments would not normally be so severe as to draw blood, but that accidents could happen. I had done my 'no hard limits' thing, but I suspected all limits were off now no matter what I might have said. Mistress Monica kept whipping my ass as I swallowed down the last dribbles of Miss Lucy's pee. My ass felt raw. My muffled cries had no effect.

When Mistress finished whipping me, Miss Lucy let go of my head and stepped back. I knew better than to look up. A full head mask or sack was quickly pulled over my head and I was told to stand up, feet apart. I shakily got to my feet. It was difficult to stay balanced when I couldn't see a thing and my arms were tied up behind my back. My ears were full of the sound of my ragged breathing amplified by being trapped inside the sack that was pulled tight at my neck. My ass was on fire. While I was no longer suffering the sharp cutting sting of each stroke of the whip, the whole area was very sore and throbbing.

No doubt they weren't finished with me. I was trying to listen, to get some clue as to what might come next when I got an unmerciful blow to my balls. I collapsed onto my knees and would have curled up on the floor but that someone grasped me by the shoulders and hauled me upright. Immediately I was hit or kicked again. Three more times I got hit in the balls with full force. I think I blacked out after the last time.. Miss Lucy no doubt, getting some therapeutic revenge. I came to crumpled on the floor, moaning in agony, my stomach heaving and threatening to throw up, only there was nothing to throw up. I hadn't eaten in hours. I felt I couldn't breathe with the shooting pain in my groin.

I could tell that they both dragged me, one on each side, each holding me by the bent elbow of my tied arms, down the hall and through a doorway. There, Mistress took off my hood. She said she was going to lock me up while they decided how to deal with me permanently. I managed to stutter out a 'Yes, Mistress,' as she left, closing the door and locking it behind her.

This had to be the punishment room, I decided, looking around me. There was a metal cage in one corner and little else in the room except a shelf with some boxes on it. A row of hooks below the shelf held various whips, crops and cane. No window.

Almost immediately, a key turned in the door and Mistress re-entered holding a black latex skull cap, which she roughly pulled and tugged over my head. It completely covered my face and was pulled tight around my neck, probably held with a strap. I could breathe through my nose so I assumed there were two small holes at my nostrils and that was it. I couldn't see a thing and breathing through those two small holes took effort. I was helpless and blind, totally at the mercy of these vengeful women.

Mistress Monica wasn't finished with me yet. I felt one of her hands on my head pushing me down to a crouch and the other hand pushed me from behind She was forcing me into the cage. The strong wire mesh of the cage door pressed against the tortured skin of my ass as the cage door was pushed closed behind me. I could only crouch like an animal. I heard Mistress padlock the cage, then walk away and slam and lock the door of the punishment room behind her. The dull grey that was apparent through the latex became total blackness. There must be a light switch on the wall outside the room, I decided.

Through the raging pain, I barely registered her footsteps fade away, leaving me in total darkness, tied and caged. The pain and throbbing in my groin and balls would not stop. The fierce burning of the welts on my backside seemed minor in comparison. My stomach gave a few dry heaves but there was nothing to throw up. I had been fasting for twelve hours on her instructions and had given myself two enemas. The idea had been that my asshole would be totally clean and evacuated so as to be available for Mistress to play with her dildos and whatever else she wanted to stick up my bum. Which seemed like an exciting prospect at the time. But now I wasn't so sure. I concentrated on getting my breathing back under control.

Gradually the pain subsided to a dull throbbing that allowed me to think about my situation. Only a couple of hours in to the weekend of our BDSM break and I had wrecked it for everybody. I had raped the wrong person. Worse, I had raped a dominatrix. As a minor matter, I now needed to pee again. What goes in must come out, indeed.

What's would to happen now? I wondered. While I had survived Miss Lucy's immediate revenge, I was in no doubt that Mistress Monica would dream up some fiendish plan to make Lucy feel better. Though it wasn't my fault, strictly, because. Mistress told me go hunt down a female and rape her, and I did that. Did it with some style, in fact. I was quite proud my performance, but I know the drill: The submissive is always in the wrong and must be made to suffer. Also the junior dominatrix now needs to have her confidence re-established. After what happened that will require that I am made to fear her utterly. So it will be grim. Then when they are finished subjugating, humiliating and punishing me, the two of them could make a trumped up report of rape to the Federales. I could end up spending ten years in a Mexican prison. They have enough to satisfy the medical and DNA evidence requirement. It would be two corroborating statements, plus evidence, against my mad sounding claim that it was all an accident. I could hear the police saying, 'You meant to rape someone else? I see'.

Things looked very bad. More immediately, I wondered what the two Dommes would do to me tonight. Many questions, no nice answers. After what seemed like a long time sitting in the dark, scrunched up in the wire mesh cage, my hands bound behind me, sightless, due to my head being enclosed in the latex hood, I heard the click of the light switching on and the door opening, followed by the sound of a few footsteps, then the snap of the cage door being unlocked. My bondage weekend was about to take a turn for the worst. That much I knew. As for how bad it would be? Well, I was about to find out.