This is a story I wrote some years ago. It was loosely inspired by "The Deposition, by Stern," specifically the mention of Lacroix the Inquisitor.
Also, I liked the notion of a "Court of Last Resort" to send unruly slaves to, when their Owner's needed to apply more extreme measures. I hope you all enjoy it.
As always, I and the other writers here thrive on the comments we get, either positive or negative. There is nothing more frustrating than to publish a story, that the counters show is being read, without receiving any comments. So if the story moved you in any way, please let me know. Thank you!
The Chairman
A Visit to Madame
Sylvia stood naked (save for her ever-present collar) on the stoop of the house. She didn't think what she had done was wrong, but her Master had insisted, so here she was. Of course, she didn't have to be here. Slavery was not legal in this country, so she could go to the police, or run away, but those were not really acceptable options. Not to her, at any rate. She really did love her Master, and didn't want to leave him, and she couldn't give up the kinky life, either. But her Master had been very clear. Either she visited Madame for discipline, or he would sell her. He offered her a choice, but really, it wasn't a choice at all. So here she was.
She pushed the buzzer, and there was a distant (or muffled) scream. Curious, she repeated the push, and heard the scream repeated. Then the door was opened. She stood with eyes downcast, as she had been trained, but a hand lifted her chin, and a voice said, "Let me get a look at you, dearie."
She looked (or, more accurately, was made to look) up into a face that reminded her of her own dear grandmother. A woman in her sixties, perhaps, possibly seventies, with green eyes behind tortoise shell glasses, white hair in a tight bun on the top of her head, and smile lines etched on her face. She smiled down at Sylvia. Sylvia realised the woman was several inches taller than her own rather diminutive five foot of height.
"You are Sylvia, are you not, dearie?" Sylvia nodded. "Good, I've been expecting you. Do come in, you'll catch your death standing out there like that."
The woman held the door open, and motioned Sylvia inside. Sylvia entered a comfortably warm kitchen, with a rather small table, and only one chair. The woman sat in it, and motioned Sylvia to come and stand before her.
The woman said, "Do you know why you're here, slut?" Sylvia nodded, again. "Your Master sent you to me for discipline. He is most dissatisfied with your behaviour, and hopes I can do something about it. I am a sort of Court of Last Resort, for really troublesome slaves. If I can't deal with a girl, she is generally either sold or..." She trailed off.
Sylvia caught the implication. She had heard rumours that sometimes, some girls just wouldn't apply themselves. Like Amanda, last summer. Her Master's best friend, Master Garibaldi, had owned her. She fought him constantly, and one day, Sylvia heard that Amanda had "gone to visit Madame." Soon thereafter, Master Garibaldi had acquired a new slave named Coral, and rumour had circulated among the slaves in the circle of Master's friends that Amanda had been so difficult that she had been "put down". No one could confirm this, of course, or at least, no one who could, would confirm it to Sylvia. But she was willing to believe it.
Apparently Madame could read the thoughts flowing through Sylvia's head, as she nodded and said, "Ah, yes, you knew dear sweet Amanda, did you not? She was one of my failures, I'm afraid. Some girls just aren't cut out for life as a slave." Sylvia thought she heard a slight emphasis on the word "life", but she might have been imagining it.
"Anyway, dearie," Madame continued, "I just know you aren't going to be that difficult, are you?" Sylvia shook her head. "Good. Glad to hear it. Would you like a cup of tea, slut?"
Sylvia nodded. She was under strict orders from her Master that she was to speak only when absolutely necessary. If a yes or no response was needed, nods and shakes of the head were sufficient, and even if words were required, she was to use as few as needed. Even common requests, such as permission to use her litter box, were done with gestures and mime.
Obviously Madame was aware of this, since she merely proffered a cup of tea. "Milk with two sugars, dearie," she said. "That's how I like it, so that's how you drink it. Drink up, and I will tell you a bit about your time here. And kneel, for heaven's sake. I'm tired of straining my neck to look up to you, stupid slut."
Sylvia knelt, and drank the tea. She didn't like milk in her tea, but at least it wasn't come, she thought, with a repressed smile. Smiling around people like her Master or Madame was never a wise idea.
Madame spoke. "Your Master has sent you to me for correction. You will be with me for at least three days, though at my discretion I can extend that to at least a week, and longer if I ask him. Do you understand?" Sylvia nodded. "You will be screaming in pain for pretty much all of the time you are here. I am a specialist in the ways of female agony, and know all sorts of tricks, and ways to hurt a girl like you, believe you me, dearie."
"Now you may be thinking that over the course of three days, I'll have to sleep some times, and you are right, though the older I get, the less sleep I find I need. But just because I need to sleep doesn't mean that you get to. I know ways of keeping you in unbearable agony, safely, even when I am not around, so sleeping is very much a privilege for you. Behave, accept your correction properly, and I will allow you occasional rest breaks, sometimes even as long as an hour, for sleeping. Fight me, and three days will become seven, and sleep will be something you do while you are suffering."
"Now you might be worried, dearie, that the human body can't survive three or more days of non-stop agony, but you'd be wrong. With proper medical supervision, a girl's body can survive at least fifteen days of incessant agony, and I am a trained physician, so I can do this. I have done it. Her body did survive, but her mind, her sanity, were long gone. In the end, I had to put her out of her misery."
Sylvia shook. She knew that she had fallen into the hands (and torments) of a fiend. Madame noticed, and added, "I'm sure we won't have to worry about that in your case, will we, dearie?" Sylvia shook her head. "Good. Then if you are finished with your tea, you can follow me to the Room of Corrections. I'd like to show you what can be done with a stock whip."
Sylvia put her tea cup on the table, but as she moved to rise, Madame said, "Stupid slut! Crawl!"
Sylvia crawled after Madame, into the Room of Corrections.
Soon, someone standing on the stoop might have heard, faintly muffled, a woman screaming. A really careful listener might even have heard the rhythmic strike of leather on flesh. Said listener might also have noticed that the screams went on, and on, and on.
Sylvia's body was wracked with pain, stretched out in a standing spread-eagle on a St. Andrew's cross. She sobbed, quietly. She was blindfolded, so she couldn't see what Madame was up to, but tears leaked out from the blindfold, and she could feel them streaking her face. Her hair felt tousled, her body slick with sweat. She had never experienced pain like that, didn't even know a human could experience pain like that without dying.
She heard Madame say to her, "Did you enjoy that, dearie?" She shook her head, no no no! "Too bad, because that really was just the beginning, I'm afraid. You have a great deal more screaming and suffering to do before I am willing to see whether you understand the seriousness of what you did, my little slut. Oh yes, many more hours, many many more. After all, I promised your Master I would see you set right, even if it killed you. Of course, I hope it doesn't come to that, as he seems quite smitten with you, poor boy. Now, have you ever seen what can be done with a good hot flame?"
"Please, no, please, please, please, just give me a rest, let me rest for just a moment, please, Madame, please -- AAAAYYYYEEEEE!" This was followed by a great deal of sobbing and sotto voce mumbles of "Please, please!" punctuated by protracted screams.
"All right, dearie, I'm getting old, and need my sleep, but you are young and healthy, so I think it would do you a power of good to scream your way through the night. I've got a wonderful little electric torture box, built for me by a grateful friend in Japan, after I helped straighten out his wife. It's quite fascinating, and contains all sorts of bio-monitoring sensors and hardware. It can tell when you really need a respite, as opposed to merely wanting one (which will be about ten seconds after I turn it on, darling slut), and adjust itself accordingly. It can even summon me to your assistance, should you go into cardiac arrest, though I would say the odds are at least three-to-two against that, so don't worry your pretty little head about it. Under other circumstances I would wish you a good night and good rest, but you will have neither, I'm afraid. So instead, I'll just tell you not to worry about your screaming keeping me awake. My bedroom is sound-proofed for exactly that reason. See you in the morning, dearie!"
Sylvia suffered. She screamed, she cried, she begged. She was hysterical, but it didn't matter. The device was merciless. It tortured her, unceasingly, for approximately twice forever. Just when Sylvia thought she might lose her mind, the torment stopped.
"I trust you had a most unpleasant night?" asked Madame. Sylvia nodded vigorously. "Good, good. Glad to hear it, my dear. Since you were such a good girl, dearie, I'm going to let you have a rest while I have my breakfast. Maybe you will even be able to sleep, standing up, still tied to the cross. Maybe not. I don't care, quite honestly. See you soon!"
Sylvia slumped in her bonds.
"Wake up, you little slut. It's time to continue your treatment. I think we'll begin by seeing what you think about needles in your flesh, eh?"
Sylvia began to sob. Then she felt something sharp, against the side of her nipple. It pressed slowly through. She felt another sharp something against her other nipple. It slowly was pushed through. She sobbed, but was unable to muster the energy to scream. Then she felt Madame spreading her labia, feeling for her clit. "No, please, please, not my cli--AAAAAYYYYYYYEEEEEEE!"
Eventually, Sylvia looked like a pincushion. There were probably places on her tits, on her ass, in her pussy lips, where additional needles could have been put, she suspected, but it was hard to imagine where. She heard Madame say, "That's looks so very nice, dearie. Only one thing would make it better."
She felt the thud of a multi-tailed whip across her tits, mashing some of the needles in deeper, tearing others free. She screamed some more.
"Lunch time, dearie. Well, not for you, of course, I doubt you could eat anything anyway, and I certainly don't want you puking or shitting on my dungeon floor. But do drink some water!" She felt a water bottle "nipple" pushed in to her mouth. She sucked the water, ravenously. She was very dehydrated, after sweating all night.
The water had an odd taste. Madame must have noticed her quizzical expression, because she said, "Oh, yes, the water has some additives. Some caffeine, speed, a drug cocktail of my own devising that will ensure you stay awake, alert, and able to suffer for me all day today. Drink up, slut!"
Sylvia did as she was commanded. Finally, thirst slaked, she stopped. "Had enough, dearie?" She nodded. "Good, good. All right, I'm off to get some lunch. But before I go, I'll just remove your needles, and give your wounds a thorough cleansing with alcohol, and then rinse your twat with a solution of 20% capsaicin. Capsaicin, you know, is what gives jalapeño peppers their heat. A jalapeño usually has about 2000-5000 Scoville units worth of heat, but my little solution is rated at about 500000. Imagine, it will be like having several hundred jalapeño peppers stuffed up that gorgeous twat of yours. Won't that be nice, dearie?" Sylvia shook her head.
"Don't worry, slut! It won't kill you. Probably, anyway. It will only make you pray for death. But I promised your Master I wouldn't kill you unless you forced me to do so, so not to worry."
That afternoon, Sylvia learned how painful it could be to be beaten with a wooden paddle, and that evening she learned about the pain that could be caused by an expert with a single-tail. She screamed. It was all she could do, really.
That night, she spent another evening hooked to Madame's electrical torture box. Sylvia wondered why her voice hadn't given out, yet. She didn't think one could scream and sob for over thirty-six hours without going hoarse, but her body proved her wrong.
The next morning, she felt the torment from the electrical torture box cease. She heard Madame say, "Well, dearie, you are about half-way through your original sentence, so it's time to decide: Do you acknowledge that what you did was wrong, and that you deserve whatever punishment your Master deems appropriate, even if that punishment is me? Or do you still cling to your stubborn insistence that it was not wrong? Just nod your head for yes, and shake it for no, that's a good girl." Sylvia nodded, yes yes yes!
"I'm not sure I believe you, yet, but I don't disbelieve you either. Let's just carry on with today's program of torture, and we'll have this discussion again at dinner time, all right?"
Madame demonstrated the efficacy of a good thick cane, applied to a well-bruised ass. She was rewarded with a tribute of screams, tears, and blood.
"Please, oh please, just let me rest a moment, please, just--AAAAAAYYYYYYYEEE!" Madame found it amazing that even after over at least a thousand strokes of the cane, the girl still had the strength to plead. She could see why Sylvia's Master desired her.
That afternoon, Madame showed what could be achieved with just a breast press and a box of 200, one-foot long skewers. Sylvia showed that she had not (against all expectations) lost the capacity to scream.
"Well done, dearie, well done," Madame said. Sylvia simply sobbed, and drew great gasping, heaving breaths. She was simply glad that her tormentrix had paused, however briefly.
"Now, my little slut, I'm going to ask you again: Do you acknowledge that what you did was wrong, and that you deserve whatever punishment your Master deems appropriate, even if that punishment is me? Or do you still cling to your stubborn insistence that it was not wrong? This time, I want you to answer me. Convince me with your words, dearie."
"Please, please, please, Madame, please tell my Master how very sorry I am," the girl half-sobbed the words out, so there were little pauses after every word or two. "Please, I was wrong, please, I deserve any punishment he wants me to have, even a visit with you, Madame, please, please, please..." Sylvia lapsed into a muttered mantra of "please".
"I believe you, my little slut, bless me, I do. I'm so very glad to hear you say it! However, your Master requested a minimum three days of torture and screaming for you, and that is just what he will get."
"Please, no, please, I was wrong, please, please, please, please..."
"No, dearie, the customer is always right, and always gets at least what he paid for. Now stop that snivelling, this instant, or I shall add an additional day on to your stay." Sylvia quit begging, and resumed merely sobbing and crying.
"Better, dearie, much better. Now since you have been a good girl, since you made me believe in your sincerity, I'm going to let you sleep while I have some dinner."
When Madame returned, she unstrapped Sylvia from the St. Andrew's cross that had been her place for the last forty-eight hours or so. Sylvia felt her blindfold removed, and blinked in the sudden brightness of the dungeon. Of course, there were only a few lit candles, but after two days of sightlessness, any light was too bright. Madame allowed her a minute to adjust, then led her over the room to ... Sylvia shuddered. It was a "wooden pony". Her Master had one, and she hated it. He had only to threaten her with a ride on it, and she would instantly obey the most outrageous commands. This one looked a bit different, though. The top rail, that was meant to grind most horribly against her pussy and clit, was shiny.
"Like it, dearie? It's a variation of my own devising. I call it the Electric Pony. The rail is a conductor, and hooked to ground. Additional positive leads will be attached to your nipples, clit, and to metal dildos in your pussy and ass. Every time you are resting on the rail, not only will you face the pain of your body weight, grinding your pussy in to it, but you will be shocked. Oh, and the longer you are off the rail, the stronger the following shock will be. Conversely, the longer you are on the rail, the more leads will become active. Enjoy!"
Sylvia screamed all evening long. Madame wondered why she bothered to have cable TV, when she had this sort of entertainment most nights.
"Well, dearie, you've done well on the Electric Pony," said Madame, some hours later. "But now it's time for me to go to bed. However, I think it would be cruel to put you back in the electrical torture harness for a third night running, don't you?" Sylvia nodded, yes, please, yes!
"So instead, I'm just going to leave you to ride the Electric Pony all night long. Oh, and I'm going to increase the voltage and the current, so there will now be a small, but non-zero, chance of a fatal shock, just so you don't get too comfortable. Have a really unpleasant night, dearie, and I'll see you in the morning if you don't get zapped, okay?"
The next morning, Sylvia was still alive, and still screaming and sobbing. Any normal human would have been moved to tears by it. Madame was moved to greater acts of cruelty.
"I think that's enough, don't you, dearie?" Sylvia nodded. Her pussy ached, in a deep and bone-crunching way. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to have sex again. When Madame lifted her off the Electric Pony, she slumped in her arms.
"I've got just the thing for you, dearie." Madame helped her back to the St. Andrew's cross. "It's another gift, from an inventive German friend of mine. I call it the Automatic Asphyxiator. It is basically a computer controlled garotte. It will strangle you, almost to the point of death, then let you get a small breath, then strangle you, again and again and again. You will think you are going to die, and you know, you just might. I have seen a few girls die in this, even when I didn't set the severity level to 'Lethal'. But they were older, and not as healthy as you, dearie. You, I am sure, will be fine."
Sylvia shook with silent fear. The last few days had taught her the futility of pleading. Once Madame had determined how she intended to make Sylvia suffer, nothing would deter her from her plan. Sylvia wondered if her Master had told Madame about her fear of asphyxiation. Probably, she guessed. It would explain why Madame had saved this torment for the last day. Even in her shell-shocked state, Sylvia could feel fear, and knew that this was going to be the worst torment yet.
Sylvia spent the remainder of the day on the edge of unconsciousness, slightly loopy from oxygen deprivation. Her neck hurt, and her body ached. The aches were made worse by her asphyxiation, but also by Madame taking a flogger to her all the while.
Finally, Madame stopped. She released Sylvia from the Automatic Asphyxiator, and freed her from the St. Andrew's cross. Right on time, there was a knock at the door. "Come in, we're in the Room of Corrections."
Sylvia's Master entered the room. He immediately walked over to Madame, hugged her tightly, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Mother," he said. "Sylvia give you any trouble?"
"No, son, no trouble at all. I can see why you want her. She suffers so beautifully."
"Yes, she does." Sylvia boggled at her Master. Mother? Son? WTF?
Her Master read the confusion on her face. "Yes, Madame is my Mother. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"But Master, she told me that several of my tortures could kill me, if I was unlucky," Sylvia sobbed at him.
"You weren't in too much mortal danger. Mother knows how much I want you, and wouldn't have killed you without more provocation than you would ever give her."
"You mean she would have killed me if I'd provoked her?"
"Of course she would have. You are just a slave girl. Do you think I plan to let you grow old, fat, ugly? Don't be silly. One day I will have you killed, and it will make your three days here seem like a holiday in the Bahamas. They will need to invent whole new words to describe your suffering. But why worry about that now? You are okay, and will be returning home with me."
Sylvia nodded. She hadn't really thought about it, but she wasn't surprised by his words. She was aware that none of her Master's friends had old slaves. She had simply never thought about it.
Madame looked at her son. "I have a favour to ask of you," she said.
"Anything, Mother, you know that."
"I'd like at least one twenty-four hour session with Sylvia every week. She really is exquisite, and a weekly dose of maintenance torture will do her good."
"Of course," he said. Sylvia shuddered. "And you know, she turns twenty next month. A week-long session with you would be a terrific birthday present for her. My girls are ever-so-much better slaves after a visit with you, Mother."
Sylvia knew she was doomed. She knew that the remainder of her life held pain and suffering, torture and screams, but it would be with her Master. She loved him with all of her heart, and if this was what would please him, she would bear it for him.
Sylvia was shaken awake by her Master. "Come on, sleepy-head, it's time to go meet my Mother."
Fin
