Part 11.

Ben’s feet moved cautiously across the creaking floor, his hand in mine as I guided him blindfolded towards the sounds of the group. Goosebumps studded his naked form, still wet from the shower. I’d reapplied his makeup, but without the corset and striated with the marks of heavy use and a slight limp, he looked less magnificent now. After her frigid baptismal cleansing in the chemical room, Britney looked every part the fallen woman. But she wasn’t done falling yet.

“Just remember, I’ll be here.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Roger, Brad, Pierre and David stood beside the wooden chair between the machines. Cuffs dangled from the hook above. A case of red wine had been opened and the men were drinking and whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves, bottles in hand, their voices growing silent as we approached.

I handed Ben to Roger, who took him by the arms and guided him up to stand on the wooden chair, fastening Ben’s wrists in the cuffs so his arms were ballerina-like above his stretched torso.

I took the tasselled leather whip the men had left for me beside the chair and began teasing it over Ben’s nipples, feeling him stiffen as I moved it around his sides, a smirk forming on his face.

“It… tickles…”


“So, Roger, how good would you say the sound insulation of this place is?”

The tassels moved down Ben’s back, I flicked him lazily on his right buttock, playing with him. Roger harrumphed, pulling out what looked like a blade from his pocket and poking David gently on the arm with it. David drew back with a snap as Roger laughed.

Electro shock blades. I had seen these before but never had much desire to use them. Roger looked half cut already, which was disappointing. If he thought he was using that on my Ben, he had another thing coming. That said, I was game to test it out. I figured Ben had had ample time to show evidence of a heart condition by now – if I hadn’t shocked him into a coronary so far with my antics, chances were a little surge of electricity to the testicles probably wouldn’t do it either.

“The windows are obviously cracked, but no one comes here. I used to work part time as a security guard here in the evening. No one but the dogs.”



Ben’s body moved gracefully from side to side with every slap of the whip. A faint sigh. His cock, shrunken from the frigid water of the shower, started to grow again. I walked back to his front, cracking the whip down on his hips, his thighs, with increasing speed. Roger was playing around with the CD player – the Greenskeepers’ “Lotion” started to play. I had to stifle a giggle. It did help me get a fairly even tempo with the whip though, leather biting into flesh in two-four time. I’ve always been good at timing. At boarding school I played violin in the orchestra. These days, I do a fair bit of fiddling, but very little of it with strings.

I was going for Ben’s cock now with the whip, not as hard as I could, but hard enough to make him teeter and exclaim an occasional profanity.

“Language, Britney. Or I’ll make these gentlemen choose what to wash your mouth out with.”

Hardly a deterrent – the little pervert looked positively excited at the prospect, the beginnings of that irritating smirk on his face. Any hesitation I felt about him being too fragile disappeared with that smirk. Oh, we were going to play with him alright.

“Sorry Mistress.”

Half way through the song, David stepped forward with the marker pen Roger had given him earlier.

“I think the meat is sufficiently beaten now, Katia. Thank you.”

I stepped back watching as David ran his hand appreciatively over Ben’s thigh, his belly and his back. Ben shuddered at this new touch of coarse hands, as the butcher pinched and slapped his flanks. Evaluating.

“Have you heard of Kobe beef, Britney?”

“O.. of course… Why?”

David uncapped the pen and began drawing the cool ink down in a dotted line around his waist.

“Katia… Mistress?”

“I’m here, Britney. Try to breathe. Your hands tied above your head like that may make you dizzy after a while. Breathing will help.”


“Shhh, Shhh.”

David drew words between each line. Flank steak, brisket, stew meat. Short plate, fore shank. His handwriting was surprisingly elegant, not what I would have expected from a man in his profession. Almost a waste. Roger twisted the wine opener into the cork of a new bottle. Ben jolted in his restraints as the cork released with a pop.

“Well, let me tell you, Britney, Kobe beef is the finest of beef. Before the cows are slaughtered, they are massaged with sake for hours, to improve the skin’s softness. Sometimes they feed them sake, to increase their appetite. A plump cow is a tasty one. Here… you have a sip…”

Roger leaned up to Ben’s lips with the bottle. Ben, now so programmed to respond to anything near his lips, obediently opened his mouth and allowed Roger to pour the garnet liquid down his throat.

“Interestingly in France, they have a similar practice. Except there’s no massaging, they just fed the cows up to two bottles of wine a day. As with the cows in Japan, the booze increases their appetite. They get fat and happy. Not a bad way to go, eh?”

“Drink.” Roger pushed the neck of the bottle back up to Ben’s mouth, bumping it roughly off the sides of his lips, the glass chinking against the hardness of tooth.

“You will be more careful with my slave, Roger. I’m a Mistress, not a dentist after all.”

Roger shot me the scowl of a boy disciplined in front of his friends. This may have been his game, but Ben was still mine, so if Mr. Bigshot wanted to play with my toy, he had to play by my rules. Roger’s problem was not his imagination, or his eloquence, but how sloppily he conducted himself in the game. The shaky hands, drinking too much and the arrogance. So like a man to lose sight of important details. The problem, I suppose, with two heads rather than one to think with – when both are altogether too big.

“How about I pour. You can go back to your bottle. I’ll take the blade too, if you don’t mind.”

Ben’s smirk disappeared.

“Blade? Mistress? What blade? I never agreed to….”


“You will be silent unless spoken to, is that clear?”

“Yes Mistress. Sorry Mistress, but…”

I kneed him in the balls and he yelped, falling silent.

Roger, irritated, passed me the bottle of Merlot and the blade, which I stuffed into my bra. I climbed up onto the chair, tilting the bottle to Ben’s lips, who sipped and half choked with his trembling. David continued to scribble furiously below me, as I ran my fingers through Ben’s hair. Short ribs, porterhouse, chuck. Pierre shifted his weight impatiently on the balls of his feet, eyeballing the helpless captive, his pupils almost black with excitement.

“Pierre,” David turned around, “You’re up.”

“I’d be delighted.” Pierre giggled.

“You know, Britney. I’m a little disappointed,” David said, moving forward. “I took you for a lady when I first saw you, but I see now that you’re just a small cocked, deceptive little faggot who likes being jazzed on. I feel deceived. I think we should punish him, don’t you guys?”

“Cut off his balls!” cackled Roger, from the corner.

Ben’s thighs instinctively pressed together. His arms rattled in the restraints – he was trying to wrap his legs around me, as if that was going to help anything!

“Safeword! Mistress – What’s the safeword?”

“Oh you forgot to remind me about a safeword beforehand. Silly you. It’s too late now, my dear. If I were you, I’d go along with it as best you can. On the bright side, you’ll still have your cock…”


I slapped him. He kept on wriggling, trying to anchor my shin with his leg. It really got exciting when Brad turned on one of the metal saws. Sparks flew as an ear splitting screech of agitating metal ripped through the old building, making the thin panes of the windows chatter. Ben screamed then. I placed my face against his, kissing his ear, tasting the sweat running down the side of his face. Brad turned off the saw.

“W..what are you going to do to me? Please don’t cut off my balls… please!” Ben shook in his shackles, the chair legs clacking below him.

“Please… please….” Roger taunted.

I shot David a concerned look as tears started to stream down Ben’s cheek. The butcher mouthed ‘it will be ok’. Ben trembled in my arms. Pierre knelt down on a stool in front of Ben. His large hands running down the outside of Ben’s thighs, working inwards towards his erection, that – despite the terror – grew none the less.

“The problem with the whole slaughtering business…” David said, “Is that you don’t want the animal to feel the fear before it dies. Frightened meat tastes awful. You want to know why, Britney?”

“N…n… no….”

“Well, I’ll get Brad to tell you anyway. Brad – you spock – why don’t you tell us? You’re the biochemistry student…”

“Fear produces adrenaline. Adrenaline uses glycogen, glycogen converts to lactic acid post mortem. So less glycogen means less lactic acid means tough, acidic and tasteless meat.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Brad’s a smart kid, aren’t you?”

Brad raised his glass of wine. Thankfully barely touched. He looked the smartest of all of them. Shame he was so incredibly dull. But that’s the way it goes with excitement – chances are the people who excite you most aren’t the ones who are good for you.

“How about you, Britney? You finish school? How many teachers did you have to suck off to graduate? Ah, never mind. So listen, Britney, you’ll like this. So with this slaughtering business I’m in, the problem comes when the animal anticipates something terrible is coming. Animals are smart, like us – we have our fears for a reason. But as the slaughterhouse attendant, you have a duty to keep those animals dumb and accepting for as long as you can. Happy even. So even though you’re terrified now… your legs are quaking below you, you’re barely breathing…”

“Breathe, Ben.” I commanded. He took a deep breath. A tear was running down his cheek. His bottom lip quivered. I almost felt bad. Almost.

“Even though you’re terrified, if we arouse you at the same time, there’s a chance that you’ll accept whatever we do to you next with far less resistance.”

“But I can’t resist, I’m tied up! Katia! Katia! I’m frightened! I’m frightened! Please… these people are crazy…”

I climbed up on the chair, embraced Ben tightly in my arms and wrapped my leg around him, kissing him. I enjoyed the feeling of his boner against me as I did so. Savouring the fear and desire of this helpless man who would, by now, foolishly do pretty much anything I told him to, because I was his Mistress.

“I think we’re all a little crazy, Britney. Perhaps you the most. You chose to come here, to this factory so far from civilization that no one can hear you scream. With these strangers who used and humiliated you. You had the chance to leave, and you didn’t. Obey the commands. I’ll be there throughout, and to hold you at the end. Whatever is left. Body and mind.”
I laughed, taking the bottle and pouring the wine into Ben’s mouth and letting it drip down his illustrated front, down his cock, to Pierre’s waiting mouth. Pierre lapped at the wine, then enclosed Ben’s erection in his large lips, sucking and smacking at the prize he’d craved from the beginning while Ben’s fear made him cry, and his arousal made him thrust into the stranger’s mouth. In this moment, fear and pleasure fused into something far more potent – Ben had the choice to hold both, but one cannot hold both forever. As Pierre moved to Ben’s balls with his admirable suction, Ben gave himself entirely to the pleasure of the moment. I poured more wine, a little, then a large stream, coming down over Ben like a river of fragrant blood. Sticky and warm from being stored in the hot entranceway locker.

As the bottle drained its last few drops, Ben writhed more on the chair, starting to feel the alcohol, but also the increasing, painful need to release in a way he hadn’t been able to under my care.

“Mistress… I’m going to cum…”

“You can wait…”

“I can’t… please… please can I cum?”

Pierre eyes were rolled back in his head as he fiercely slurped between Ben’s leg’s. Pierre wanted Ben’s cum just as much as he’d wanted Ben’s ass. I liked Pierre’s enthusiasm. When Pierre glanced over at me, I gave him a nod. He worked faster.

“Mistress I….”

Brad turned on the metal saw again. Ben screamed and came at the same time, his entire body shuddering in violent orgasm, pushing himself into Pierre’s mouth as Pierre latched hungrily to his cock and sucked as if he wished to turn Ben inside out. The wooden floor vibrated below us. Sparks bouncing off the plastic safety glass around the machine.

As Ben caught his breath, I approached him with the blade. The edge is not sharp like a knife, but thin enough to feel like one – if one’s mind has been addled by the play. The real pain comes from the voltage dispensed from the end on the push of a button. I passed the wine to Roger, who stood poised on Ben’s other side. David lit a candle, then pulled out of his pocket a tissue with some nail clippings in it. In some other circumstance, I would have been disgusted, but Roger had explained earlier the purpose of every move. Nails burnt in the flame of the candle release a foul smell, not unlike burning hair. Olfactory horror.

I grasped Ben’s sack in my hand, and slowly ran the knife edge along it. Ben pulled backwards, Brad helping to hold him steady.

“There’s nowhere to go, Ben. I suggest you breathe. I don’t want to do it, but I suppose I’ll have to. After all, it’s just the two of us against the four of them, mm? And you don’t want me to get into trouble, do you Ben? I mean, you’d do anything for me, right?”

“Y… yes but…”

“Even this.”

“B… but you said…”

“I promise you I’ll do this as quickly as I can, OK? If you squirm, I might miss and get an artery – we wouldn’t want that, right?”


“Shhh… shhh… Ben. Now – hold still.”

I pressed the button and the blade discharged the shock. Ben cried out, then slumped in his restraints, passed out. I checked his pulse. Still alive, but no doubt he’d be a little cross with me when he woke up.

Quickly, the men helped me unshackle him and carried him outside to the parking lot, disappearing inside to dispose of all evidence and close up before driving us back to the hotel.


Ben didn’t stir until we hit the expressway. His eyes blinked open, once, twice. Then suddenly his hand whipped down between his legs, grasping in the dim light for that reassuring softness he thought he’d lost.

“I still have… my balls! My balls! Yes! Yes!”

He was as excited as a kid at Christmas, fondling his beloved sack. It was almost cute.