PROLOGUE

On a dark November night, a weary motorist driving on the long straight Strada del Sole, the magnificent highway running up the entire west coast of Italy, saw in his headlights the unusual sight of a tall blonde girl standing by the side of the road. Unusual, because it was one in the morning, and this long lonely road stretched for at least fifteen kilometres before skirting the next town. Furthermore, she had not even signalled him to stop.

The driver, an Englishman who represented in Italy a British Publishing House, slowed rapidly and pulled into the emergency lane at the side. He kept the car in gear, ready to accelerate if it was a baited trap for an unwary motorist.

But she appeared to be alone, and walked slowly towards the car. He noticed she had high stiletto‑heeled black boots, and a long shiny green rubber raincoat, buttoned to the neck. She opened the passenger door, and with a heavy rustle subsided onto the seat. As he drove on, he spoke to her in Italian, but she did not answer. He tried English and then his limited French, but she remained silent, staring ahead as if in another world.

It was still two hours' drive to Genoa, and he had an appointment with a leading Italian publisher at ten a.m. He was tired and concentrated on his driving.

Suddenly she laughed (so he told me later), and spoke in perfect English, "What a gentleman you are! If you had tried to rape me you would have found I am totally nude under this rubber coat, except for my leather thigh boots. I suppose it was my Master's idea of a joke, or perhaps it had a deeper meaning. I can't seem to concentrate, I've been walking for hours."

"But why? Have you no money at all; Couldn't you have thumbed a ride? Aren't you cold?"

"No," she said distantly, "Rubber is warm if you keep moving. I was ordered to keep walking until midnight. From noon until midnight; without spending any money or talking to a soul. About an hour ago I reckoned it was after midnight and hitched a lift. He was a nasty little man with a stupid little mind. Finally, when he realised I wasn't about to play ball he dropped me at that lonely spot."

The bewildered representative had been trying to follow the sequence of her story. "But what are you doing here, in the middle of nowhere, obeying some lunatic orders?"

For the first time the tired blue eyes turned towards him, and in the reflected glow of the headlights he realised she was stunningly beautiful. "I've been sent back into the world for three months," she said simply, "Shall I tell you some of my story?"

Refreshed by several swigs from a brandy flask he always carried in his brief‑case, she commenced to tell an incredible tale in a low, factual voice. At first he thought she must be on pot or hallucinating on something stronger, but the details were too coherent to be a casual fantasy.

They entered Genoa a few minutes before 3 a.m. Still confused by this strange girl, he drove to the small hotel where he always stayed on his once‑a‑month goodwill trip from his base in Rome. It was off‑season and there were plenty of vacant rooms. He picked up his own reservation and the sleepy night porter gave him a tired wink and a key to the room next to his.

She was so exhausted she sat on his suitcase as the elevator crawled upwards. He gave her the key to her room, to show there was no funny business. “I must go out fairly early. You promise you'll wait till I get back? Before noon.”
   
Perfect teeth showed in a brief smile. "I'm in no hurry! But let's make it dinner instead of lunch, I'm going to sleep for at least twelve hours!"

She kept her word. At seven the following evening she knocked on his door. “I feel much better; I've taken a bath, and I'm ravenous. Will you take me to dinner?"

She wore the high‑buttoned rubber coat like a Dior creation, teetering gracefully on the high‑heeled boots. Although his loose schedule had called for him to drive on to Torino, his instinct for a story told him he would not be wasting his time by remaining here an extra night.

This is Gerda's story, related to the Englishman during that long evening, and afterwards 'ghosted' into dramatic form by me. For obvious reasons, Gerda changed some names and places.

J.E.D.

CHAPTER TWO

Gerda awoke from a nightmarish sleep to find the Mediterranean sunlight flooding through the windows, tiny motes of dust highlighted by the golden rays. She stirred uneasily, memory crowding back, feeling the rubber sack in which she was encased wet with perspiration. Anger trembled through her body at the humiliation of being locked into the heavy suit with the thick attached gloves.

The bedroom door opened and Maria entered. She was dressed in her skin‑tight latex suit, booted and gloved, with a steel belt encircling her small waist and a wide steel collar covering the bottom of her latex hood. As usual, she was gagged. She minced across on high stiletto heels, carrying a breakfast tray. She placed it on a table and unstraped her gag.

Gerda was in no mood for social conversation. Rustling loudly, she sat up and threw back the rubber sheets.

‘This has gone far enough! Get me out of this ridiculous outfit and find my suitcases. I'm leaving immediately.’

Calmly the serving maid poured out coffee. ‘Cream and sugar, Mistress? You'll feel better when you've had some toast and marmalade. Here, let me undo your sleeping suit!’

She brought across a silver latex dressing gown, then undid the padlock of the suit and zipped it down, helping Gerda out of the sack. Still furious, Gerda slipped into the cool gown. She found she was ravenous and ungraciously accepted the coffee and buttered toast.

‘Please don't fight it, Madam,’ Maria said earnestly, ‘Le Compte owns the island and there's no way you can leave without his permission. You have half an hour for breakfast and to take a bath, then Miss Dodds will arrive to give you an enema. After today, it will be my privilege to give you your enema every morning. Please don't resist, otherwise you'll incur Demerits and the Instructors will force it on you. Miss Dodds is really a nice person, she's very fair, but she can be very stern.’

Again Gerda had a feeling of complete unreality. ‘You must all be stark, raving nuts! This is the Twentieth century; you can't kidnap people and force them into some perverted form of slavehood! You seem a nice girl, I'll insist you come back to the mainland with me. Then we'll go to the police and you can tell them your story.’

Maria made a little curtsey, then knelt in front of her Mistress, looking up through the tight mask with wisdom‑old eyes.

‘Mistress, I know it's difficult for you to understand yet, but you can't leave. Nor would I come with you, I'm extremely happy here. I take pride in being a good serving­ maid, and I hope you'll find me very satisfactory. I love my smart rubber costumes; I'd feel horrible going back to the outside world, in grubby jeans and sweaters, with nothing to do in life. Now I'm a useful person, every minute of every day means something to me. For the first time in my life I'm happy!’

Gerda was horrified. ‘You've been brainwashed! How can you be a maid, dressed this, and be happy? I haven't seen your face, but you have a lovely petite figure. Get a job, get married, live your own life!’

‘This is my life! My parents are dead; I never really knew them. I was a very amateur prostitute when le Compte found me, beaten up in a Rome car park. He's a wonderful man. Everyone on the island adores him!’

‘Who’s everyone'? How many people are there in this insane place?’

Maria smiled through her mask. ‘I'm never quite sure! Most of the slaves are here for their six‑month training, then they leave to go to their Master. But some stay on permanently, and are visited by their Master. I think there are about twenty‑two slaves at present. There are fourteen serving maids, and ten Instructors. Then, there's Miss Dodds, and the Executioner ‑ she's responsible for all Punishments ‑ and the Doctor and two nurses; then there's two chefs and about four assistants; there's about six crew who take care of the two boats…’

Gerda broke in incredulously, ‘You mean they know what's going on here? And nobody tries to stop it?’

‘Nobody wants to stop it, Mistress! I must go now, please get prepared for your enema, I'll be back later to help you dress for your first day of Training.’ She stopped any further questioning by strapping the gag firmly into her mouth, bowing, then departing.

In her rage and frustration, Gerda had barely listened to her maid. This couldn't be happening to her! She was a cool, sophisticated 28‑year‑old top Parisien model! But the first seeds of fear had been implanted the previous evening, when Le Compte had shown how simple it would be for her to 'disappear' from the Paris scene.

She had meant to leave her address with the porter of her apartment building, and only when she was driving into the underground garage where Guy had his sumptuous penthouse, and where she could safely leave her car for the two weeks, did she realise she did not even know the name of Guy's island. And vaguely she remembered her dresser at Madam Poiret was under the impression she was leaving for Spain.

Her feelings for Guy were mixed; he had been a kind and tender lover in Paris, with an old‑fashioned display of manners which she found attractive and endearing. But last night she had heard him talk in a very different manner, clad in tight leather and superb in his own masculine way. She still adored him, but it was this talk of subjugation, humiliation, and training as a slave which upset her. She poured out more coffee while she strode around the bedroom, annoyed that the long latex dressing gown felt sexily cold against her skin.

She had taken a bath, again admiring the green marble and the gold taps, watching the expensive yellow bath salts being whipped from grains into lovely‑smelling bubbles, and had dried herself on one of the thick towels, when the door was abruptly opened and a woman and two men entered the bedroom, followed by a girl dressed from head to toe in a white latex uniform.

‘I am Miss Dodds,’ announced the woman, a matronly figure in her fifties. ‘You can love me or hate me. At my waist I carry a short whip, but on the other side is a flask of brandy. You will make your own choice as to which you will receive, but always realise I have complete authority over you and will never hesitate to carry out my duties.’ Gerda stared at her with surprise. Miss Dodds was dressed in a rubber uniform, but her serene face and cheery smile belied the threat in her voice. She went on; ‘I should have received you last night, but it was a busy evening. Now this morning I will give you an enema, because every slave must be very clean for her training, so I would appreciate your co‑operation. It's better for you, because otherwise my two assistants will cause it to happen anyway, and then under the rules you will receive an extra pint ‑ oh dear! I should use the continental terms ‑ a half litre. Now will you come over here and bend over?’

Her long red rubber apron rustled importantly as she moved across to an armchair. Gerda stared hypnotised as she saw the rubber tubes and liquid bottles which the nurse was carrying. The two male assistants were dressed in tight green leather uniforms with gleaming knee‑length black boots.

‘You're mad!’ Gerda breathed, ‘This is all a nightmare! I've never had an enema! I won't; and I demand that you return me to the mainland!’

Miss Dodds smiled briefly. ‘Oh dear! I only hope for your own sake that you will not be so capricious in your training. Now, I think we need some help!’

Before Gerda realised what was happening one of the green‑clad men had seized her arms while the other slipped a loose rubber hood over her head and secured it round her neck with a strap. The hood was thick and cold and she was totally encased in darkness. She found her breath becoming restricted and a panic rose as she imagined herself suffocating. Dimly through her struggles she heard Miss Dodds' voice.

‘I warn you to relax, slave. These punishment hoods have tiny holes in the side; just enough to give you air if you breathe slowly and carefully. If you struggle you'll find yourself suffocating!’ With a supreme effort Gerda forced herself to relax, telling herself they did not want a dead body on the island. She allowed her captor to lead her out of the room and guide her down a long passage. She could hear the swish and rustle of the others following them. She fought back tears inside the now‑hot, smooth, rubber hood; as Miss Dodds had said, breathing was easier if one took long slow breaths.

Miss Dodds opened a door and they entered a Training Room. In the centre, under large operating lights, stood a curious contrivance resembling a small gym‑horse with adjustable metal legs. The centre part was made of thick padded leather and at one end a heavy moulded facemask was attached. Gerda, of course, could see none of this.

Her gown was stripped off and firm rubber gloved hands forced her to bend over the rack. She felt her legs being pulled apart and tightly strapped to two of the metal legs. Her arms were pulled forward and down and secured to the front legs. A heavy leather strap was passed round her waist and another round the top of her thighs so that she was completely clamped to the rack, her bare bottom held high in the air.

Abruptly her hood was removed and before she could cry out her head was forced down into the facemask, and three straps passed round her head and neck. As the straps were tightened her face was pushed tightly against the contours of the padded mask, and she felt the wedge of a gag forcing itself into her mouth. Her nose fitted into a small hollow and thankfully she found she could breathe through a small hole. The rubber wedge filled her mouth, and there was no way she could move her head by even a fraction. Miss Dodds' voice, muffled by the thick clamped facemask, came to Gerda's ears.

‘You are now in one of the less sophisticated punishment racks. They are used for whippings, enemas, and sometimes just for a few hours meditation when a slave needs to be reminded of her sins. It is not for me to instruct you in your training, but I would advise you never to refuse an order. You see how quickly and thoroughly you can be overcome? Now, you will take your enema like a good slave, and I trust tomorrow morning you will accept it without the necessity of putting you on a rack.’

Miss Dodds turned to the nurse; a pretty Asian girl dressed in a white latex uniform, with high white boots, a heavy white rubber apron, and long black latex gloves. ‘Hang up the enema bag and fill it with exactly one litre. Keep the tap turned off until I'm ready’, She uncoiled several feet of rubber tubing, one end of which the nurse attached to the tap on the large water bag. The other end Miss Dodds dipped into a jar of mild disinfectant then smeared the first eight inches with Vaseline. She approached the exposed bottom of Gerda and expertly inserted the tube. Meanwhile the two male attendants stood rigidly to attention with their backs to the rack.

Gerda felt the tube slip up her rear and her soul cried out in despair. The ignominy of being strapped down, naked, in front of these loathsome people made her proud mind writhe. The rigid facemask encasing her head was so tight it even pressed against her eyelids, and the rubber wedge reduced her screams to a muffled grunt. She could feel her saliva wetting the hard rubber interior of the mask, and tears lubricated her black prison. Her muscles shrieked in pain as she strained against the powerful straps which held her inflexibly in position.

In a haze of self pity and anger she heard Miss Dobbs give an order to the nurse, and next moment in a flash of pure astonishment, she felt cold soapy water flowing remorselessly into her. Exhausted, she lay supinely within her straps for what seemed an eternity, her sphincter muscles too weak even to attempt to stop the flow. She quivered briefly as she felt the tube being withdrawn, then Miss Dodds' gloved hand inserted a rubber plug in her bottom and she felt the blessed relief as the straps were undone.

‘Right slave, you will be returned to your quarters, and you may use your own bathroom. Maria will have laid out your first training costume, and you will be dressed and ready to report in exactly half an hour from now. I beg you, my dear, do not fight your destiny any longer. This is very mild bondage compared with what you can, and will, experience if you defy orders.’

Gerda felt the facemask being unstraped, and a cool cloth was applied gently to her face. The rubber gown was wrapped around her and zipped up. She stood groggily, her eyes still closed, not wanting to face the humiliation of the group. Her long hair felt damp with perspiration as she pulled it back off her forehead. She felt a soft touch on her elbow and opened her eyes, blinking in the bright lights.

The attendants had departed. Miss Dodds smiled at her briefly and patted her shoulder, then rustled from the room. The nurse, her wide Chinese eyes filled with understanding, motioned her to the door. In a daze, Gerda walked into the corridor, feeling the rubber dressing gown soft and cool against her skin. Now the enema was taking effect and she was suddenly aware of the rubber bung up her bottom. Urgently she followed the nurse along the corridor praying she would reach her quarters in time.

Fifteen minutes later Gerda emerged from the bathroom, feeling slightly better but still weak from the stringent effects of the washout. Maria was waiting for her, tight and neat in her uniform, happily perched on her high‑heeled boots.

‘I'm sorry. Mistress,’ she said brightly, ‘but I must dress you for your Training. You haven't too much time and if you're late you incur Demerits.’

‘Damn their bloody Demerits!’ said Gerda shakily, ‘What's all this 'training' business? It sounds like an obedience class for dogs. Do it correctly, and you get a pat on the head. Do it wrongly and you get punished!’

Maria nodded. ‘That's just about right, Madam. And as the Punishments are never pleasant, you soon learn to accept it and 'do it right'. But you'll get used to it after the first few days, I'm sure you'll become a wonderful slave.’

‘I will not become a slave!’ Gerda retorted furiously, ‘There may be some morons here who think it's fun, but I'm leaving this mad island just as soon as I can find my clothes. Incidentally, if you're Italian, how come you speak such good English?’

‘I was an orphan, Mistress, but they taught us English as a second language. When I was twelve I was adopted by a couple who lived in Milano. He was British and refused to speak Italian with me, only English. He died of cancer when I was eighteen; he was a lovely gentleman. A year later his wife married again, a horrible man who kept trying to get me alone, so that was when I ran away and came to Rome. Mistress, please get dressed, you'll be late otherwise!’

For a moment Gerda felt inclined to refuse, but the recent memory of the two strong Instructors and the ease with which they had overpowered her made her shudder with fear.

‘Very well, let's get it over with. But mark my words, I'm not becoming anyone's slave!’

First she put on a pair of black latex stockings which came high up on her thighs. Carefully Maria smoothed them even tighter until there was no wrinkle. Then a very short and slim‑fitting dress of the same material, barely covering her bottom. The sleeves ended in short zips, and Maria gave Gerda a pair of thin latex gloves to slide on. When they were in place, the maid zipped up the tight wrists of the dress over the gloves, making them irremovable. Next came a short corset in boned leather which Maria pulled agonisingly tight, crushing Gerda's waist into a slim twenty inches; then a thin latex mask which Maria pulled over Gerda's head and zipped down the back, being careful to smooth the golden hair to avoid catching it in the zip. The mask fitted tightly but comfortably, and Gerda was relieved that she could see perfectly; nose holes and a shaped mouth enabling her to breathe easily. Over the neck of the hood Maria fastened a wide leather collar; it was not too tight but Gerda found she was unable to turn her head. She slid into the stiletto‑heeled black shoes and then Maria turned to the wardrobe of shelves and picked up a short rod made of smooth plastic, from which two gold chains dangled. She indicated to Gerda to bend over. This was going too far; Gerda shook her masked head defiantly.

‘You're not putting that up my arse! No way!’

‘Please don't make it bad for yourself, Madam! All slaves must wear a Rod to report; otherwise you'll get punished. You'll get used to it very quickly; it's quite comfortable.’

Gerda thought of the rack in the other room and shuddered. Meekly she bent over. Maria greased the rod and gently pushed it up the exposed bottom. When it was well in she hooked one chain to the back of the corset, then passed the other chain between Gerda's legs and up to a hook in front. Finally she picked up a pair of thick white rubber bloomers. Gerda held them up with disgust.

‘Not very glamorous, are they? And why not in black?’

Maria told her it was the mark of a new slave. Reluctantly Gerda sat on the bed, feeling the rod ease further into her. With difficulty, because of the rigid corset, she slid them over her feet and up her legs. The broad waistband clamped round her corseted waist, hiding the gold chains, and the legs of the garment came tightly to just above her knees. She moved over to the long mirror with a loud crackling of loose, heavy rubber. The effect was striking. Towering on her heels, she was entirely encased in gleaming black except for the strange breeches effect of the white bloomers. She walked across the room, feeling the rod gently moving in its grease as the chains tightened and slackened. The sensation, despite her apprehension and anger, was extraordinarily sexy. She wondered if she was really so kinky, even the heavy smooth rubber bloomers gave her a kind of shameful pleasure. She felt a sudden flush of determination as she thought of Guy’s treachery. If she was to be held an unwilling prisoner she would not give him the satisfaction of watching her beg for mercy! She was no weak‑kneed girl who would give into his threats and become his adoring 'slave'! She would play along with his game no alternative ‑ until she could find out more about this mysterious island and a way of escape. Then, dear Compte Guy de Rhislain, we'll see how you explain all this jazz to the police!

Despite the rigidly laced corset, she now felt almost at ease in her costume. She marched over to the door.

‘Come on, Maria, the half-hour is up. I'm dressed and ready to report for this ridiculous game. Where do we go?’

Maria came close to her, her eyes now troubled. She shook her head slightly and shrugged, then knelt and kissed Gerda's knee. She led the way down the long passage. Gerda strode behind her, the mackintosh breeches rustling and crackling, the rod playing gentle havoc with her emotions. She would show them that no strong‑willed girl could be forced into slavehood.

She had never been more wrong.

They reached some swing doors and Maria, being gagged, wrote rapidly on the pad which hung from her belt: This is the slaves' Rest Room. I leave you here until your Master summons you. Today will be hard for you, as you will be prepared for slavehood, but I urge you not to resist, it will only mean more punishment. Good Luck! With these ominous words she knelt, kissed Gerda's boot, and departed. Gerda watched her tightly latexed bottom with the gold padlocked chain disappear round the corner.

She pushed open the door and stopped, in surprise. In was a huge room, with French windows opening out to a terrace overlooking the Mediterranean. Sofas and armchairs in black and white leather were scattered around the room. Sumptuous rugs covered the parquet floor, and there was a long bar down one wall. Vaguely she noticed three Dali paintings which looked original, and a large nude by Picasso. A lighted bookcase with a glass front contained a fine collection of Meissen china.

But her eyes were only on the occupants of the room. There were seven girls, some sitting, some standing, all dressed startlingly in rubber or latex, and all tightly hooded. On the front of each mask was a name; on the back was a number. One of the girls stood up and came across to Gerda.

‘You must be the new girl, you've no name or number yet. As you can see, I'm Yvette. What's your name?’

Through the eye slits of her tight black mask, Gerda studied the girl, noting the superb figure and the tiny waist encircled by a corselette similar to her own. Yvette was entirely encased in a heavy red latex suit, with laced leather thigh boots and red leather briefs which divided her bottom into two halves. She wore long latex gloves which were chained between the wrists allowing several inches of slack.

‘I'm Gerda,’ she stammered, ‘but I'm not staying here, it's all a mistake. Can't you take off your mask?’

Yvette laughed, low and pleasant. ‘Whatever for? And earn fifty Demerits? Besides, I'd feel naked without it!’

Despite Gerda's previous confidence that she could outwit Le Compte, she felt a cold depression settle over her. ‘How long have you been here? Can't you escape?’

One of the other girls stood up. She was dressed similarly to Yvette, but her arms were encased in a single long leather glove and strapped tightly up her back. Despite that, she moved lithely and with elegance. On her mask was the name 'Marcia'.

‘You're talking to Yvette, a Top‑Level Slave, why should she want to escape? I'm Marcia, by the way, I've been here six months, Yvette's been here much longer.’

Gerda was aghast. ‘But why? You sound quite cheerful about it! Can't you get away?’

She could see Marcia's red lips smile through the mouthpiece of the tight mask. ‘Who wants to? We're highly trained slaves and have everything we want. We know how to please our man better than anyone alive. In return we have no problems, no worries, a superb sexual life, and the joy of being eternally masochistic and living both in pride and humiliation.’

Yvette put a gloved hand on Gerda's shoulder, fondling the latex gently. ‘Dear Gerda. It's difficult to explain, even more difficult for you to understand at this moment. The first two weeks will not be easy for you, until you can adjust your mind and your mentality. Try not to suffer too much and learn quickly to accept it!' She stroked Gerda's long blonde hair which spilled from under the neck of the mask. ‘Lovely hair! That's the only thing I regret!’

Marcia interrupted hastily, ‘Come and meet the others. We're all On Call, but some of them are finishing up their Punishments, and can't speak.’

She led Gerda over to a girl who was standing immobile by the window. To Gerda's astonishment she was encased in shining steel armour, with steel boots with high heels. The head was a round ball of metal with three tiny holes for breathing.

Marcia smiled. ‘This is Tania: She's heavily rubbered under her Punishment Armour, and gagged and masked, of course. She can hardly walk and can't sit or lie down. The steel suit is almost airtight and I imagine she's perspiring like the proverbial pig. She's been almost twelve hours in it.’

Gerda was horrified. ‘It's insane! It's cruel, can't you undo it?’

‘0h dear!’ laughed Yvette, who had followed them over to the window, ‘You really are naive! One of the strictest rules is you must never help or release another slave. Besides, just look at those padlocks!’ She touched Tania, who obligingly turned round with a faint clank of steel. A single bar of iron ran from the back of her head to her thighs, fitting over six metal hoops which came through appropriate holes in the bar and were all padlocked into place.

‘Tania's not too unhappy; she was brought up from her Punishment Room only half an hour ago, she'll be released any minute and then she'll have a whole twenty‑four hours off.’

‘But why did they do this to her?’

‘The silly girl tried to disobey an order for Dressing. Her Master had arrived from Rome and wanted her for a long Whipping. She reported in her proper Whipping costume, but she had put on three pairs of thick rubber pants underneath. After the first twenty strokes the Whipping Instructor knew there was something wrong and had her stripped; she received 200 Demerits and twelve hours in the Steel Maiden costume.’

Gerda felt faint. She gazed out the window at the sunny Mediterranean, so near and yet, now so far. She could feel her costume clinging coldly to her. ‘They whip you?

Now Marcia laughed, her large breasts jiggling through the tight latex. ‘You obviously haven't even started yet! You get a Training Whipping every day. You'll start at fifty strokes, and work up to the daily 150. Actually, you'll grow to like it. It's only the last ten that really hurt.’

Gerda turned and surveyed the other girls. Three of them had their arms fixed behind their backs and were wearing heavier masks with no eyeholes or mouths. Another was wearing a tight black rubber leotard, out of which protruded at the back a long Rod, making it impossible for her to sit down. Her gloved wrists were handcuffed in front of her. On her head she wore a loose rubber hood with a long tube coming from her mouth.

‘That's Sylvia,’ explained Marcia, ‘She's working off a week's Demerits. That’s the rather unpleasant Suffocation Hood for Punishment. You'll notice it's strapped tightly round her neck, and the breathing tube has a nozzle on the end, allowing her just enough air to breathe. She's had it on since last night, and every now and then one of the Instructors will tighten up the nozzle for a few minutes until she's almost unconscious. What they don't know is that Sylvia loves it, she can take Pleasure after Pleasure with that punishment. I honestly believe she deliberately incurs Demerits!’

‘But how?’ Gerda asked, aware that her breathing was faster and despite her repulsion she felt a sickly glow of sensuality in her stomach, ‘How can she get a kick out of it?’

Yvette smoothed up her long gloves to the very top of her arms. ‘Incidentally,’ she told Gerda, ‘Keep yourself always 'Tight and Tidy', which is the Centre's motto. You can get Demerits for a wrinkled glove or stocking. Well, I suppose Sylvia is a born masochist, and she loves her Master very much. He gets a kick out of dominating her, knowing that she's getting a thrill out of him doing so ‑ if you follow me. Actually, he's a nice little man, and not really tough enough for her. That's why she loved him for bringing her here. The harsher they train her the better she likes it. The trouble is that now he needs to be trained as a Master, he's too lenient with her. But he only comes once a month, and she's the perfectly devoted slave to him for twenty‑four hours, but I swear the rest of the time she's hardly ever out of some Punishment period.’

Gerda turned to the other girl. ‘But you, for instance, you really enjoy it here?’ She was now curious, as Marcia spoke with an educated voice and seemed an intelligent girl.

‘At first I didn't. Like you, I suppose, I was brought here under false pretences. I'm an orphan, was a not very successful actress, lived with a couple of men, was on pot and went to all the usual Chelsea parties, and didn't know, or care, where I was going in life. Then I met this very rich guy, moved in with him, and two months later we came down here 'for a relaxing holiday'. I was furious at first, fought against the whole idea, then suddenly found I was looking forward to my Training. It was the first time in my life I was being disciplined, both physically and mentally. He didn't come back for three months, and when he did we had the most fabulous weekend together. He's a bit of a sadist, and I took great pride in accepting everything he wanted to do, even urging him on. Yes, I'm a good slave and I love it. On my final exam to become a Top‑Level Slave he and the Whipping Mistress gave me one thousand lashes over a period of four hours. I think I took Pleasure about eight times. It was wonderful!’

‘But don't you want to return? To go back to everyday life?’

‘Sometimes, yes. But for what? I'd have all the old responsibilities, and sexually, I could never find the same satisfaction. My Master travels all over the world, and I’d only get into trouble waiting for him at home. Whereas here I suffer for him, making myself a better slave, and he usually comes once a month. I report to his private chalet for the weekend, and of course he has the use of all the Training Room, all the equipment for Punishment, and the rubber wardrobe here covers six huge rooms. As I said, we have a ball.’

The door opened and an Instructor entered. He was dressed in a close‑fltting green leather suit, with black riding boots, and a wide black belt from which dangled a short whip. He wore a leather mask with the numeral ‘7’ on the front.

‘He's a bastard,’ whispered Yvette, ‘Stand to attention and don't speak.’

She called out, ‘Attention, slaves!’ for the sake of the ones who could not see. In a moment everyone was standing rigidly still. The man came over to them, and Gerda could hear the squeak of his tight leather. He screwed down the nozzle on Sylvia's hood, then turned to Gerda. He gave an ironic bow.

‘Our new recruit, I presume. You have a good figure which I personally like. You won't have to suffer the Slimming and Heat Treatment too much. I'm taking you to the Preparation Department, after which you'll be given your normal working hood, and you'll be known as Gerda, slave number 21. You should be honoured! The previous 21 married an American Senator, after passing all her exams in under four months.’

Gerda remained silent, watching agonisingly as Sylvia’s heavy rubber hood crinkled frantically in and out as she used up the air inside.    

‘Tongue‑tied are we? Have you nothing to say?’ His cruel eyes through the mask seemed to be laughing at her. Despite Yvette's warning, she burst out: ‘please, please! That girl's suffocating!’ The Instructor took his whip in his hand. ‘Because you're new, I won't give you any Demerits.’ He slashed the whip across Gerda's tightly rubbered bottom. She gave a small scream but managed to remain still. The pain rippled through her. But her main concern was for Sylvia.    

Then she watched in astonishment as Sylvia bent her knees, trying to thrust out the long Rod, then straightening up again as it slid back into her. The hood was blowing in and out now in long gasps. The motions of the Rod increased, accompanied by a frenzied moaning from the girl. Gerda realised that Sylvia was coming to a climax. The Instructor grinned through his mask and loosened the nozzle so that she could breathe again.    

‘That's the cruel part' he said lightly ‘I'm letting her breathe again before she can take Pleasure! Now slave Gerda please follow me. The Preparation Room is waiting for you.’

He led the way out, Marcia calling after Gerda, wishing her luck. In trepidation she followed the Instructor as he walked rapidly down several corridors towards the rear of the huge building, Gerda trying to follow on her high-heeled boots, feeling her warm rubber suit rustling. Her mind whirled as she tried to assimilate all she had heard from the other slaves.

He stopped in front of a door and turned to her. Now his eyes behind the hood were not unsympathetic.

‘When you come out of here, you will have been prepared for slavehood. The mask you will be given will be worn at all times, except when you have permission to remove it or when in your own room. Try to adjust your metamorphosis and do not allow your rage and shame to affect your destiny. Think and behave like a slave, try to enjoy your Training; sink into it, and let it wash and purify you. In this way you will suffer little. Now enter this door and prepare yourself for slavehood.’

She looked at him in astonishment, seeking some kindred soul, some reassurance that this was not a terrible nightmare. But now the eyes were hard and cruel again. He opened the door and she entered.

The room was large, without windows. It reminded her of a make‑up room in a film studio. Several adjustable seats, like old‑fashioned dentists' chairs stood in front of neon‑lit mirrors. A serving maid stood motionless beside one of them, her slim figure tightly encased in latex, with the now‑familiar gag and mask covering her head. She indicated for Gerda to sit in one of the seats. Slowly, Gerda did so, squirming as she felt her greased Rod pushed further in.

The maid strapped her elbows and wrists to the vinyl arm supports, then applied steel clamps to her ankles, knees and thighs, finally passing a broad belt round the chair and her waist. She gently pressed Gerda's head back until it rested against the headpiece of the chair, then passed a strap round her neck. Gerda tried to protest, but the maid ignored her pleas. She unzipped Gerda's mask, and pulled it off, leaving her head free. Gerda shook her long head of blonde hair. She felt relaxed and quite comfortable in her tight suit. At least, she thought grimly, they can't rape me in my present costume and bondage!

In the mirror she saw a door open behind her, and an apparition appeared behind her chair.

The woman was nearly six feet tall. She was dressed in high‑heeled white rubber waders which came up over her breasts, the heavy and shiny rubber fitting closely to her superb body. Round her waist was a belt of steel. Over her shoulders was a thigh length cape of the same heavy white rubber, but now loosely thrown open. Her face was broad and sensual, covered by a half‑mask. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back.

Gerda could hear the woman's heavy rubber crackling as she moved slowly up to the chair.

‘Slave Gerda! How nice to meet you! I am The Executioner. Look well at my face, and remember it, because you will learn to fear it. Look at my hair, this golden hair which reaches to my bottom. Thick and beautiful, isn't it? Think of it and remember it!’ She took hold of Gerda's long hair and stroked it. ‘Now I will prepare you for your Training. It is necessary that all slaves have very short hair so that it does not interfere with their permanent masks. Servant, the gag, please!’

Before Gerda realised the meaning of The Executioner's words, the maid had thrust a thick rubber gag into her mouth, and strapped it tightly behind her head. The woman leant forward and felt the gag with her gloved hands.

‘Stupid maid! Ten Demerits for frivolity. I need it tight!’ She hauled on the strap of the gag, nearly choking Gerda from the strap round her neck, and pulling in the thick wedge until Gerda's mouth was pulled savagely back, the leather strap cutting deeply into the corners of her mouth. The Executioner then tightened the strap around Gerda's neck until she was immobile, able only to look ahead in the classical 'gag‑stare'

The maid brought across a white latex hood and handed it to the woman, who pulled it over her head. In the mirror Gerda now saw only a white mask with tiny eyeholes. The mouth was a painted travesty of smiling lips. She felt faint; the saliva trickling down her cruelly gagged mouth.

The Executioner picked up a pair of large scissors.

‘Now, my good slave, we will fit you for your mask! ‘ She took hold of hair and cut it off close to the scalp. She then handed the scissors to the maid. ‘Trim it up and put on her slave mask. She is to keep it on for forty‑eight hours, to get accustomed to it.’

Gerda screamed and screamed, but only muffled sounds came through the vicious gag. Her beautiful hair, her pride, the envy of Paris, lay on the floor. The tears flooded her eyes, the screams subsiding to choking despair.

The maid expertly trimmed her head, then unstraped the gag. She brought across a thick latex hood and pulled it over Gerda’s head. The mask had glass eyeholes, a shaped nose with two breathing holes, and a cut out mouth. She released the strap around Gerda's neck, and pulled tight the two‑inch boned neck of the mask. She laced up the back until the mask was skin‑tight, without a wrinkle, then passed a steel band over the neckpiece and padlocked it into position. Finally she released Gerda from her bonds.

Gerda, numb with shock, looked at herself in the big mirror. Through the built‑in glass goggles she saw her faceless hood, tight and shiny, anonymous, with the white letters 'Gerda' across the forehead. Her hands came up to the back of her neck, feeling the iron collar and the padlock. The Executioner was now standing in the background.

‘So be it, slave Gerda! You will report for your first Training Session. And I warn you, co‑operate well, or you will meet me again! I am looking forward to punishing you! You are conceited, proud, and wilful, and I know you will incur many Demerits before I break your spirit. I wonder how soon I will find you reporting to me in the Punishment Chamber!’

CHAPTER 4

Dimly Gerda became aware of light against her closed eyes. Her latex Whipping Suit was clinging wetly to her and she could feel a puddle of perspiration in the feet of it. She opened her eyes and found she was lying on the narrow bed in her quarters, with Maria gently sponging her head. The gag had been removed, and so had the hated helmet. Maria had taken out her own gag, and spoke through the mouth slit in her mask.

‘Take it easy, you're fine now. Was it very bad?’

Groggily Gerda sat up, feeling the thick suit 'mack' as rivulets of sweat ran down inside. Her bottom felt hot and tingling, and memory of her first flagellation flooded back,

‘I passed out! I've never fainted in my life before!’

‘The first time is a bit of a shock. Did they make you take a Pleasure?’

Gerda remembered the girl assistant holding the sinister Machine between her tightly strapped legs, and the way the last three cruel strokes had heightened her orgasm to explosive force before she had sunk into unconsciousness. She shuddered at the shameful memory.

‘God, yes! It's wicked ‑ cruel, and those last three strokes were bloody hard!’

‘You'll have a nice weal or two, but the thickness of the rubber prevents it cutting the skin. They're quite experts; they know exactly where to land each stroke. Come on, I'll get you out of that suit and into a bath, but I must put your mask back on, you…’

She broke off with a gasp as the door opened and a masked instructor stood there with a sheaf of paper in his hands. He laid them on a table. ‘Your instructions for the remainder of the day. You'll be glad to know…’

He stopped and stared at Maria, standing petrified with Gerda's helmet in her hands. ‘Serving‑Maid Maria! I saw in the Instructions that Slave Gerda was not to remove her mask for forty‑eight hours! Why is that mask off?’ Gerda could feel the tension between them.

‘Sir, she was brought up unconscious from her Whipping, I only took it off to wash her face and bring her round. I…’

‘That will be 100 Demerits for disobedience. You will report to The Executioner for immediate Punishment, after you have dressed Slave Gerda.’ He strode out of the room, the tight green leather costume creaking faintly. The door slammed shut.

‘What does he mean?’ Gerda exclaimed furiously, ‘You only did what any normal person would do, I was wringing wet inside that damned mask!’

Maria shrugged. ‘You don't understand. The rules here are absolutely rigid. I had no right to remove your helmet.’

‘What will they do to you?’

‘Something unpleasant, immediate punishment by The Executioner is always bad. Usually your Demerits are totalled up and you get punished at the end of the week. But 100! That's stiff!’ She held up the mask. ‘Here I'd better fix it on you before someone else comes in.’

Chastened, Gerda allowed the still wet mask to be pulled on and securely laced up the back. Thankfully, she stepped on to a rubber sheet which Maria spread and allowed herself to be peeled out of the streaming wet whipping suit.

Half an hour later she had bathed and dressed in the costume laid out by Maria. She had on high white vinyl thigh boots and a shimmering thin white rubber dress with a high mandarin collar. The wrists of the dress were tightly strapped over heavy silk mackintosh elbow gloves. Under the dress she wore a thin gold chain round her waist, on to which was padlocked a training Rod. The dress was fairly loose, held in by a broad gold leather belt. The rubber tickled her erect nipples as she moved. She would have been curiously comfortable apart from the black latex hood, although it no longer felt claustrophobic.

Maria had been unusually silent while she dressed Gerda, and now the slave felt guilty about her maid. It had been an act of kindness for which Maria would suffer.

‘I feel awful about this, can't I tell them I was suffocating and choking and you removed the hood to help me breath?’

Maria's lips moved in a brief smile inside her mask. ‘No! One never argues with Masters or Instructors. They'd probably double my Demerits and give you some as well, I'll be all right’.

‘How many punishments do they have?’

‘Hundreds. Some of them are really fiendish. They have the M.M.A. Handbook which they use, all the grisly punishments illustrated. One of the Instructors left it in a Training Room I was clearing up.’

‘They really love their work, don't they?’ said Gerda tartly, ‘How the hell did le Compte set this up? And doesn't anyone on the mainland suspect what's going on?’

Maria fixed the high steel collar round Gerda's neck and padlocked it at the back, effectively sealing on the mask. ‘Nobody is allowed near the landing dock without permission. The island is owned by le Compte, so we are not bothered by trippers. Also it's eight miles out to sea, so we don't get any little pleasure boats nosing around in the summer. On the mainland, they're led to believe it's a sanatorium for infectious diseases, so no one's too interested in exploring, even if they could.’

‘But this house, it seems enormous, and there's a lot of out buildings as well.’

‘It was built as a hotel, to cater for the very rich who wanted to get away from it all. It went bankrupt, and I believe le Compte bought the whole lot.’

‘But surely when someone leaves they might talk?’

Despite the immediate gloomy future for her, Maria laughed.

‘You still don't seem to realise that eventually no one wants to leave! The Masters pay an enormous sum to have their slaves trained here, and every slave is carefully chosen and screened by le Compte. The Instructors are dedicated to rubber and their work, and receive very high salaries. Maids like myself are accumulating money in a Swiss Bank, far more than we could ever earn outside. Single slaves, who are not brought in by their Master, know they will end up with a millionaire, and by then she will be so well trained she will probably need him as much as he needs her. I don't know all the details, but several slaves have married their Masters and left the island, prepared to continue their slavehood.’

‘Incredible!’ Gerda wondered again what le Compte had in mind for her. He had said she would become his personal slave. Fat chance! But she was in love with him, despite his treacherous deceit in bringing her here.

‘Just after I was brought here, three years ago,’ went on Maria, ‘there was a slave called Eva who was allowed to leave to marry her Master. A year later he was killed in a car crash, and three months later she contacted le Compte in Paris and asked to come back! And by then she was a very rich girl, but she found society life unbearable and boring. Now she's being trained as a Mistress, to have her own slave. Here, fix my gag in, as tight as you can, I don't want any more Demerits! I've to take you to the Slaves’ Rest Room’.

With difficulty, she pushed the large wedge of rubber into her mouth, while Gerda strapped it at the back of her helmet, pulling it in until Maria grunted.

She followed Maria along the corridor, and this time they took a plush elevator down the four floors to the ground. The Maid left her outside the handsome oak doors where she had met other slaves the day before. Maria made her customary bow and kissed the hem of the long white rubber dress.

‘Good luck!’ whispered Gerda, watching Maria's tightly clad figure as the petite Maid minced away on her high heels. Timidly, she entered the big Rest Room.

There were only two slaves this time, both sitting on stools at the bar. By the names stencilled on their masks, she saw one was Yvette, whom she had met the previous day. The other was called Tina, but her tight latex mask had no mouth or eyeholes. From the shaped nose protruded two small breathing tubes. Yvette greeted her warmly.

‘Thank God somebody's come. This dummy's working off fifty Demerits, she's gagged under her mask and has to wear it for four hours, so I'm carrying on a bloody monologue! How are you feeling?'

Gerda walked across to them, feeling the soft swish of her dress and acutely aware of the greased Rod up her bottom easing in and out of its chains.

‘Slightly better. I had my first Whipping this morning.’ She found it incredible to be talking so calmly, as if discussing her first fitting for a new dress.

Yvette pulled up another stool. She was dressed lightly in a thin latex 'working suit' which looked like a black skin. She was gloved, belted and booted. Again Gerda admired her superb slim figure. ‘Here, take a pew and have a drink.’

Gerda hesitated, eyeing the tall leather topped stool. Yvette sensed her thoughts. ‘Rodded‑up, are you? Come on, you'll get used to it. It'll only be a tiny Training Rod!’

‘It doesn't feel tiny,’ retorted Gerda darkly. She carefully hoisted herself on to the stool, giving a little moan as the rod was pushed fully in until its wide rubber base was flat against her bottom, which was still smarting. In the bathroom she had seen the three narrow welts, close together, across each cheek of her rear. She wished the thin white rubber against her breasts would stop exciting them. 'Can we get a drink? I need one.’

Unexpectedly, the other slave, Tina, stretched out a latexed arm and fumbled for a push‑bell at the end of the bar. Yvette laughed heartily. ‘No good, Tina, you've got another hour to go, but you can listen to us enjoy our martinis.’

From a door behind the bar a serving maid entered, heavily masked and gagged. She wore a classical French maid's costume of very tight short red rubber, black latex stockings and shoes with six-inch heels. She was tightly corseted so that her breasts and bottom strained through the thin dress. She wore long red latex gloves, over which were strapped on a pair of heavy black rubber mitts. She gave a small bow.

‘Martinis, or Scotch?’ Yvette enquired, ‘Sandra makes good martinis.’

‘Great. Large and very dry. But how can she make them with those heavy gloves on?’

‘She dropped a glass yesterday while there was an Instructor here. Now she has to work all today with those extra gloves. If she makes a mistake she'll get Demerits. It teaches her to be more careful.’

Slowly and very carefully, the Maid mixed the martinis, even to cutting up small pieces of lemon. When she bent down under the counter for glasses, Gerda saw she had a Rod chained in. She shook her head in wonderment. The maid poured out the drinks into iced glasses. Gerda and Yvette toasted each other.

‘Cheers, Gerda; I see you lost that lovely hair’.

Gerda had tried not to think of her long hair lying on the floor of the Preparation Room. She felt her eyes stinging. ‘Yes, the bitch, I think she took a delight in cutting it off. It feels so strange.’

‘You'll get used to it quickly. These hoods can get awfully hot when you're under pressure, and long hair is hell if you have a difficult costume with zips. I'm quite used to it now. What's your programme for the rest of the day?’

‘Apparently I'm free till late afternoon. Do they give you any food or is that forbidden too?’

‘Not a bit. There are two excellent chefs, and the food is terrific. Lunch will be served in about half an hour.’

Gerda realised she was starving. ‘But we can't take off our masks?’

‘Dear me, no! You can never appear outside of your own quarters without a mask and gloves, and boots or shoes. It's not difficult to eat through the mouth of your hood. Look, you're drinking that martini like a Top‑Level Slave. Of course, the tighter the mask is, the easier it is. There's no chance of dropping a piece of spaghetti inside. Personally, I love my various hoods, I feel protected and anonymous. If I ever went back to the outside world I'm sure I could never go out in the streets without one, I'd feel naked!’

‘Where are the others? I gather there are over twenty slaves here.’

‘That's about right. You'll meet some more in a few minutes at lunch. But some of the top‑level slaves eat in their own special quarters. Some are in Training, and some have their Master visiting, so will eat at his chalet. And of course, some are in punishment and won't be able to eat! ‘ She slapped Tina playfully on a rubbered thigh, ‘That's right, isn't it, my girl? Are you hungry?’ A groan came from the tightly helmeted figure.

Gerda could hardly believe she was sitting in a comfortable room at a bar, a rod up her bottom, completely clad in rubber, drinking a martini. Already that day, from 7a.m. she had been forcibly given an enema and had her hair cut off and sustained fifty lashes of the whip. She, who lunched at Alexandre and dined at Fouquet. She tried not to dwell on her plight.

‘You seem very lightly dressed,’ she commented, ‘Are you not being trained?’

Yvette laughed. ‘Goodness, yes, training is every day except Saturday. But I'm off ­duty until six tonight, then I have to take in a number 10 and keep in for an hour. After a week of that, taking it longer each day, I will have to sleep with it for eight hours. I'm both excited, and dreading it.’

‘What on earth is a number 10?' Gerda asked, with misgivings.

‘You start off with number 1 Rod, which you'll have in at the moment. Gradually you work upwards, each Rod being slightly thicker and longer. The number 10 Rod, the final one, is eight inches long and two inches in diameter. It's a killer to get in. By the time your Rod Training is finished, which takes about six months, your Master can then slide his penis in at any time without the slightest difficulty.’

Gerda felt faint. She asked the serving maid for another Martini. ‘But ‑ I won't have to go through that?’

Yvette laughed, strong white teeth parting the black latex of her mask. ‘Of course you will! And I'll tell you something else; it's absolutely delicious until you get 10, the final one. I completed the whole Training last year, but every three months, they give you an intensive course of rods 8, 9 and 10 over again, just to keep everything well stretched.

Gerda gulped at her new drink. ‘But two inches wide! I could never take it! The one I've got in now is no thicker than a fountain pen, and even that felt awful when they pushed it in.’

The door opened and an Instructor stood there. The Serving Maid stood stiffly to attention and Yvette slid off her stool, motioning Gerda to do likewise. She felt the Rod ease out in its chains.
 
'Slave Gerda, The Executioner wishes you to see your Maid, to understand the folly of disobedience. Follow me.’

Hastily Gerda left the Rest Room and hurried after the green‑clad figure. He turned abruptly at right‑angles and strode down a narrow corridor, past doors ominously marked 'Training Rooms.' At the end was a door marked 'Punishment Room 6'.

In the centre of the room stood a large glass tank full of clear water. It was ten feet long, about four feet wide, and seven feet high. But Gerda only had eyes for the figure lying on the bottom of the tank.

On a raised dais at the side, The Executioner stood, manipulating an electric pump from which a long rubber tube snaked down into the water and into the glass diving helmet worn by the figure. Even as Gerda watched, horrified, she saw through the face­glass the black latex mask underneath with the name 'Maria' stencilled across. A row of air bubbles rushed to the surface as she breathed rapidly in and out.

She was dressed in a green 'tote' diving suit, her wrists handcuffed behind her, her ankles manacled together. A chain round her waist was attached to a hook in the floor of the tank, holding her securely down.

The Executioner was masked to below the nose, revealing the wide cruel mouth. ‘Ah, there you are, slave Gerda. I wanted you to see one of the ways we punish disobedient maids or slaves. Watch now, while I reduce the air!’ She turned a small wheel on the pump which slowed down its beat.

In a few seconds the air bubbles were reduced to a trickle, and Maria started to squirm and thrash around as she desperately tried to breathe in oxygen. Her bound feet lashed out and she strained horribly to break away from the chain holding her to the bottom of the tank.

‘Please!’ screamed Gerda, ‘Please give her air, she'll die!’

‘Nonsense, slave, she's been there for twenty minutes now and I've turned it off five times. Look, I'll turn it off completely!’ She screwed up the wheel and the bubbles ceased. Maria's convulsions increased, and the Instructor caught Gerda as she started forward and snapped handcuffs on her wrists, securing them to her belt.

The Executioner opened the valve wheel and air gushed back into the diving helmet. Gerda could see Maria taking in great gulps of air, and gradually her struggles subsided. The woman above looked at a large clock on the white wall. ‘Six minutes to go. I'll give her one more suffocation. That's all, slave Gerda, you may leave now.’

Shattered, Gerda allowed herself to be led out, of the Punishment Room. The Instructor unlocked the handcuffs and took out a notebook and a pen. ‘Slave Gerda, you left that room without kneeling to me. As you are new I will only give you 10 Demerits.’ He made a note in his book and consulted his watch.

‘You may go to lunch now, I will show you the main dining room. After lunch you are free until five o'clock. Then you report for two hours' Meditation before dinner. Your Serving Maid will prepare you at 4.30 and show you where to go.’

Meekly Gerda followed him. She was only now beginning to realise this was no game­ of slavehood, but deadly serious.

The Instructor stopped in front of double swing doors.

‘This is the dining room. The slaves sit at the long refectory table, and you will find a nameplate with your number, 2I. On the edge of the table is a metal clasp. When you sit down you will attach the clasp to the ring on the front of your belt. Talking is normally allowed, unless there are special orders in operation.

The room was large, panelled in dark oak, reminding Gerda of her convent school days. A long antique table ran down the centre of the room. On a raised dais at the top end, where wide windows looked out over the Mediterranean, was another table forming a T, reserved for the Instructors, and another table which later Gerda learnt was for Top‑Level Slaves who had passed their final Exams.

Gerda found her number and sat down, obediently clipping the metal clasp to her belt so that she was obliged to sit close to the heavy table. She found Marcia sitting opposite her, and Tania, the slave who had been in punishment in a rigid steel suit of armour, sitting next to her. There were eight other slaves at the table, all fully dressed in tight latex suits, booted, gloved and masked. All had their names painted across the top of their hoods; ‘Hi there!’ greeted Tania, ‘what happened to Maria?’

‘It was awful,’ Gerda replied unhappily, ‘They put her into a watertight rubber suit and a kind of glass diving helmet and chained her down inside a tank of water. She was getting air through a tube and that bitch, The Executioner, kept suffocating her until she was almost unconscious!’

Tania laughed, strong white teeth showing through the mouth‑slit of her mask. ‘Maria probably loved it, she's a real sexy masochist. I've had that punishment, and once you get over the fright of being chained underwater, it's not so bad. Remember to start panicking before you're desperate for air, then with luck she'll turn on the pump again.’

Gerda was astonished. ‘You mean you can actually like that sort of torture? It's barbaric!

‘You've got a lot to learn Gerda. Just realise that you're here, that you have to suffer, there's no way to escape, and after a time you get to like it! In fact, if you're smart and let yourself mentally adjust, you'll look forward to it. Take me, for instance. I used to be quite claustrophobic; I hated even getting in an elevator. Now I've managed to reverse the feeling, and my greatest joy is to be tightly encased in rubber and the heaviest bondage. That steel armour I had to wear for twelve hours was no punishment. I could barely walk in it, let alone sit down, and I was heavily clad in two layers of latex and wigan rubber underneath, plus thick gloves which were sealed to my suits, a mask with no eyeholes, and a gag. The steel helmet was padlocked over that. I loved it; I took so many 'Pleasures' I was quite weak when they released me!’

‘I swear you're too much!’ Marcia chortled, ‘I think you incur your demerits deliberately. Me, I love the training, but I'm always scared of the punishments. I love to be whipped, but the bastards know this and usually devise some other way of working them off.'

Gerda listened, fascinated. It was true she had experienced a massive orgasm at the end of her first whipping, but it had been brought on by the fright, the humiliation, and finally because her instructor had ordered the serving‑maid to put the Machine, a harsh vibrator, on the rubber suit against her private parts. She moved restlessly, the thin rubber dress exciting her nipples, feeling the metal clamp tug at her belt.

‘What's the idea of securing us to the table? I can hardly move!’

‘A subtle psychological ploy,’ Marcia replied, ‘Just constantly to remind us of our slavehood. You have to get permission to release yourself. If you haven't eaten properly you may have to stay there all afternoon, like a naughty little girl.’

The doors to the kitchen swung open, then several serving maids hurried in with trays of plates. They were dressed in high latex stockings of dark red colour which matched their four‑inch heeled shoes, and short tight dresses which came only to their hips, revealing dark red latex pants through which a Rod was chained tightly to their belted waists. Small black rubber aprons, gloves, and black latex masks, with gags attached, completed the outfit. Gerda was surprised and delighted to have a plate of thin smoked salmon, with brown bread and a sliver of lemon, put in front of her.

She found it was not difficult to eat through the mouth slit in her mask. Then she noticed that the other slaves were pulling on short rubber gloves over their own gloves, from a basket at the end of the table. Tania motioned her to do the same.

‘These are dining gloves, so you don't get any grease or spots on your own. After a meal you have to raise your hands before being released, and if you've anything on your own gloves you're in trouble.’

Gerda pulled on a pair over her own silk gloves, the mackintosh lining of which was now wet with perspiration. ‘Later on, I'm being dressed for 'Meditation,’ she confided across the table to Tania, ‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘Absolutely nothing!’ giggled Tania, ‘You won't be able to. The basic principle is attributed to some Chinese culture, whereby the body is made helpless so that the mind is free to dwell upon its sins. Actually, when you've had it a few times, it's a good way to relax and catch up on your sleep!’

The maids served barbecued chicken with fresh peaches and a single glass of cold Verdicchio, followed by crème brûlée and coffee. Gerda's thoughts were mixed and chaotic; she was a prisoner and would‑be slave, yet eating food which would not disgrace the Ritz in Paris. To her irritation and astonishment, she was already accepting the feel and aroma of her rubber costumes.

It was all very confusing.

After lunch, she had fallen asleep on the rubber sheets of her bed, and was awakened by Maria, gently stroking her masked head.

It's four‑thirty, Mistress, I must dress you for Meditation! Do you want a quick shower first?’

Maria was once again trim in a serving suit of skin‑tight black latex, leather thigh boots, corselet, gloves and mask. A thin gold chain held her Rod, passing through a small hole in her suit, tightly chained to her belt.

Gerda still felt guilty over Maria's Punishment. ‘Maria, are you all right? Was it very bad? They made me watch for a few minutes. It was awful!’

Maria smiled through her mask, gently stroking Gerda's masked head, ‘Not to worry, my dear Mistress! To tell the truth, I almost enjoyed it! When you can learn to roll with the punishment you can turn it into a great scene. I know that The Executioner is not going to kill me, so I make myself believe she is cutting off my air so that I will be able to build up a sexual Pleasure. Of course I cheat a little, but she knows I cheat, so it becomes a contest between us as to how long I can last without blacking out. But if I do become unconscious, she gets furious, because she feels she's misjudged the Punishment. And despite her sadistic nature, she's extremely fair and correct. I’m quite fond of her. I just wish I could always work off demerits by her whipping me. She has a fantastic touch and senses exactly how far she can go to bring me to a 'Pleasure'. Unfortunately she knows me too well and usually orders some other grotty Punishment!’

Gerda undressed and took a quick shower in her black tiled bathroom, delighting in the temporary freedom from rubber and soaping herself all over with the Chanel Number Five which the Training Centre so thoughtfully provided. She dried and powdered herself and came back into her sitting room, where Maria had laid out her new costume. She picked up a pair of thick rubber pants, with three‑inch soft rubber wedges back and front.

‘I've greased them well,’ Maria said. ‘Be sure to pull them up tightly.’ Gerda no longer demurred, she knew that at any time there were attendants or Instructors who would come and force her to dress. She inserted the wedges into her front and back parts, securing them tightly in place when she pulled up the heavy pants. Next, she slid into a heavy black latex suit, gloves and feet attached, which fitted her like a second skin. Maria zipped it up the back and tucked the collar of the mask inside. Then, she brought a heavy vinyl leotard top into which Gerda stepped and pushed her rubbered arms into the thick sleeves. Maria laced it tightly up the back until Gerda felt she was encased in a straightjacket.

‘It's almost five o'clock,’ Maria said, ‘time to report. The rest of your costume will be put on down in the Meditation Room.’

‘Hell, I can barely move as it is, what else have I to wear?’

‘They'll put you into the Meditation Suit, which is a sheath of rubber lined heavy leather, and a thick leather mask over your own one. The idea is to cut you off from the world, so that you meditate!’

Maria pushed in her large gag and strapped it up tightly behind her head, then led Gerda downstairs. They walked along the passage to the training rooms, Gerda feeling weak with the sensation of the rubber wedges tightly filling her, every step causing a smooth sexual vibration. Maria stopped in front of the door marked Meditation Chamber. She knelt briefly and pressed her gagged mouth in a kiss against her Mistress's rubbered knee, then walked pertly down the corridor on her high heels, her rodded bottom swaying saucily against its chains.

By the big electric clock in the corridor it said exactly five o'clock. Gerda, now knowing that any minutes late for reporting caused instant demerits, pushed open the door of the Meditation chamber. Inside, the very brightly illuminated room contained a high narrow table, two serving maids awaiting her. Briefly she saw the walls lined with a myriad of straps and chains, then one of the latex clad maids not gagged like the other, came forward carrying a heavy black leather costume.

‘Please sit on that chair and we will slide you into the leather sheath. Inside there are built‑in sleeves into which you will fit your arms.’

Gerda obeyed the orders reluctantly. Twenty‑four hours ago she would have protested, but now she realised there was no way of rebelling. She allowed the heavy leather to be pulled over her feet and drawn up over her shoulders. Her arms slipped into the tight sleeves inside the sheath, making her completely helpless. The other maid started lacing up the back of the sheath, tightly encasing her in the stiff leather.

Gerda stood up, trying to balance inside the single enclosed leg of the leather sheath. The other maid held her shoulders as the suit was tightly laced up the back to the high neck. At that moment an instructor entered the room, his masked head proclaiming he was number 5.

The maid‑in‑charge whispered in Gerda's ear as she was knotting the final laces of the suit. ‘He's a bondage expert. When he secures you, try to flex your limbs. He does a really tight bondage.’

The Instructor came over and examined the lacing on the Meditation Suit. With her arms encased inside, Gerda had difficulty in standing upright, but the other maid was holding her shoulders firmly. Number 5 picked up the leather helmet and slipped it over Gerda's masked face.

‘I think my assistants have prepared you well. Now take the gag into your mouth, and nod when it is comfortable.’

Gerda felt a vicarious thrill through her body. Despite her nervousness, there was something horribly sexual about this deliberate assault on her freedom. How dare they limit her movements, how dare they reduce her to a mummified slave, unable to see or talk, or hear? The helmet descended over her head, and she reluctantly allowed the leather gag to enter her mouth. She felt the sponge rubber close over her eyes and ears.

The Instructor eased two small rubber tubes through the nose holes and up her nostrils until she was breathing easily. ‘Now I'm going to lace up your helmet, very tightly, so that you will be cut off from the world and will be able to meditate serenely!’

Gerda felt the mask closing on her, tighter and yet tighter as he laced up the back to its maximum. The gag was forced into her mouth and her eyes were enclosed in the foam rubber.

Then she was lifted on to a table, and she felt the straps tightening around her toes, ankles, calves, thighs, waist, above and below her breasts, around the shoulders, even the neck. Finally she felt a strap being passed over her forehead and secured. She breathed deeply through her nose tubes, trying to fight a claustrophobic panic.

‘You’re in Meditation now,’ said the instructor loudly, so that she could hear through the air‑foam rubber, ‘I understand from your reports that you are a very unwilling slave. I like that, because it will give me many opportunities to deal with you, very severely. So relax now, think about your sins and demerits, and prepare yourself for your Training!’

Then there was silence; deep, black silence while Gerda tried to come to terms with herself in her vicious bondage.

What am I doing here? (thought Gerda) I am one of the top models in Paris. Encased in hot rubber and leather and unable to move a muscle. Breathing through two tubes, unable to communicate with the outside world because I am cruelly gagged and unable to see. I have been strapped down so tightly I feel like a corpse. My arms and hands are already rubbered in elbow gloves and are now helplessly encased inside the thick leather sleeves of this wretched meditation bag. I am secured to a table with about twelve wide leather straps from my ankles to my head.

My reason tells me there will always be someone in attendance in case I choke or become ill. So I must relax and try to remember Yvette's words of advice ‑ 'Relax and enjoy it'.

I try to project my mind outside of my captivity and look down on myself. Mentally here I am, poised two metres above my bound body on the narrow table. I see that I am a tightly encased body in thick black leather, held down by heavy straps at my toes, ankles, knees, thighs, hips, waist, below and above my breasts, and neck and forehead. Out of the heavy leather hood sticks two rubber breathing tubes. Is that really me inside?

The mental image stirs me despite my anger at the humiliating position. To hell with my training. Just why should I be put into this insufferable and impossible situation? Why am I here, being trained as a slave for Guy, my loved one? How dare he inflict this on me? Willingly I will go down to him, pander to every sexual need he may require, love and cherish him in every way, so why this dreadful training for some weird subservience as a slave?

Abruptly I return into myself, the bondage cruelly tight and wrapping me into a cocoon of helplessness. My heavily rubber‑gloved arms are strapped inside the leather suit so firmly that it is impossible to move even a finger.

I try to remember the other advice I had been given, to sink into one's bondage and punishment. But how can I? Every single muscle of my body is constrained by tight rubber and leather.

So I lie here, immobile, breathing through my precious nose tubes. The wide rubber gag inside my leather helmet, stretching my cheeks and mouth, the soft foam rubber blindfold effectively keeping my eyes closed.

SuddenIy, a wonderful feeling encompassed me. The blackness over my eyes disintegrated, and I was in a palace where girls were waiting on me. Then Guy my devoted lover, entered, dressed in his fantastic white leather suit. He came to me, knelt, and kissed me through the thin rubber costume I was wearing, then indicated my girl slaves who were bringing in a figure dressed entirely in white vinyl.

‘Now look well, slave Gerda’, my lover said in a low voice, charged with sex. ‘For this is your slave. In that heavy costume, you cannot know if it is male or female. He, or she, is yours, to put to death, by any means you wish. But, to win my love, you must take Pleasure while you cause it’s death!’

I screamed and protested because I did not want to be responsible for anyone’s death, and suddenly I was the figure in the white vinyl, totally encased, with a hood with eye and nose holes only. I saw Guy and my other self through a thin mist and heard myself crying out to them.

‘Dress me properly and completely, in rubber and leather, then whip me to death. I love you so much, Cher Guy, that only in this way can I prove it to you. Gag and bondage me tightly so that I can suffer your strokes, and remember that I love you until I die!’ The scene faded and I came back into my meditation bondage. I felt numb all over, but it was a pleasant sensation and now I felt curiously happy that I was incapable of moving even a finger. I found, in my blindness, a difficulty in concentrating on my immobility. Again I seemed to be drifting through the air, untrammelled by a physical body. Now I was in a dungeon full of terrifying instruments of torture, but strangely unconcerned, as if I belonged there. My body was encased in tight leather, with holes to allow my breasts to poke through. My hands were manacled behind my back, and my booted feet were spread apart by a metal rod strapped between my ankles. I had no idea of time, had I been here for ten minutes or six hours? All I knew, in a flash of Pure sexual exhilaration was that I seemed to be enjoying it.

On the stroke of midnight, after seven hours of Meditation, Gerda was released from her bonds by an Instructor and a serving maid.

She was only partly conscious, her erotic dreams and fantasies mingling with slowly­ returning reality; that she was a slave in bondage.

Her limbs ached and tingled as the straps wore removed, and as her legs were lowered to the floor the Instructor held her securely by the shoulders while the maid unlaced the heavy leather sheath.

Curiously, Gerda felt wonderful as her senses returned. She did not want the terrifying helmet to be loosened, loving the complete and tight enclosure cutting off sight and sound so that she could escape into the Stygian darkness and soar into her own fabulous dreams. At the beginning, the heavy gag had caused her jaw to ache, but now she, felt a pleasant numbness, as if her face was encased in cement. It was with regret she felt the thick leather hood being unlaced, and next moment she was blinking in the light through the eyeholes of her own latex mask, clamped wetly against her face. As the gag was pulled out, she worked her mouth and gratefully accepted the glass of brandy offered by the Instructor.

The jovial faced Doctor was standing by, and he moved over and applied a stethoscope to her latexed chest.

‘Hi, Doc,’ she said weakly, ‘am I keeping you up? What day is it?’

He grinned at her. ‘You've a remarkable constitution, Gerda! It's midnight, you've been seven hours in Meditation.’ He released the stethoscope, 'A strong heart too, you're fit as the old fiddle. Feel all right?’

‘Fine, I think! Stiff as hell, but I'm thawing slowly. Doc, how is it possible for me to feel even tolerably good? I feel as if I've been on an LSD high, though I've never actually taken that drug. Does Meditation effect everyone this way?'

‘Only sometimes. Others emerge feeling religious. Some fight against it and suffer, and then I'm afraid I sometimes have to keep them in the hospital for a night. Nothing serious, just exhaustion. And then sometimes it can be very therapeutic.’

‘You're kidding!’

‘No. Pure meditation, with sight and sound and movement cut off completely, can soothe a troubled mind. Psychologically the victim feels she is completely helpless, and all responsibility and worry have been taken away from her. That, of course, is why so many women love slavehood after they've accepted to its rules. No more responsibilities ‑ just obey!’

The Instructor brought across a heavy mackintosh robe and held it for her to slip into. ‘Put this on, your circulation will be slow, you mustn't get chilled.’

Gerda buttoned up the long rubber gown, feeling slightly unreal and absurd, the three of them acting like civilised beings at a cocktail party. As if reading her thoughts, the Instructor smiled through his leather hood.

‘You're dismissed, slave Gerda, if the Doctor is satisfied. My congratulations, you came through splendidly!’

Maria brought in the breakfast tray at ten the next morning, removing her gag then gently awakening her Mistress.

‘No training today, Madam, but you've to report to the Lecture Hall at noon. The word is that you passed your Meditation test with honours! And, I've got a new costume for you!’

Gerda sat up in bed and allowed her maid to put extra rubber covered pillows behind her, then ate ravenously and drank three cups of coffee. She watched Maria busily tidying up and laying out costumes, moving easily and gracefully in her four‑inch heeled boots, her tight costume giving a faint rustle when she bent down, the narrow chains of her Rod tightening between the cleft of her small bottom.

‘You're always masked, gagged, and rodded outside of these quarters or your own room? Gerda enquired curiously, ‘Does it never hurt or bother you?’

‘It did at first, Mistress, my jaw got so sore with the gag, and I used to dribble out of my mask. But now it's a way of life, I love the sexy feeling of the Rod macking inside me with every step, and the gag never bothers me now. Funnily enough, in our cubicles in the dormitory we're allowed to sleep free and in the nude, but very often, after I shower I put on a latex suit and a mask for the night, I feel more comfortable!’

Gerda sighed, exasperated. ‘But it's all madness! I'm sitting here like a dummy, wearing hot latex pyjamas, between rubber sheets, knowing what horrifying things may be in store for me, and yet I don't seem to mind any longer! I should be trying to telephone the police to be rescued, or bribing one of the boatmen to take me on board!’

Maria grinned impishly through her mouth slit. ‘It's the same with all of us, dear Madam. Suddenly we find Women's Lib isn't so great, and if you can turn on to rubber and latex, then suddenly you're in Paradise’

‘But I never had this feeling for rubber before,’ Gerda mused, ‘It's true I wore a very smart maxi rubber raincoat in Paris, but only because of the colour and the fact that it was completely waterproof. Without it I used to get soaked dashing from one fashion house to another if my car wasn't parked nearby. But I swear it never had any sexual connotation. Yet now...’

‘That's fairly normal, Mistress. Not long ago I was a serving maid to a Master who was a psychiatrist. I heard him tell his slave that some men are born with a love for rubber, but very few women. A woman acquires it, usually through her husband or boyfriend. But if they're not asked, or made, to wear it, they may go all their life without knowing its beauty.’ She looked sad, sorry for all the women of the world who might miss out on such a wonderful experience.

Gerda laughed, throwing back the white rubber sheets. ‘You're impossible, Maria! You'd never have been a great suffragette. Do I really have to have my daily washout? Couldn't I skip it for once?’ Again she marvelled at the casual way she could speak of her enema, now a normal routine.

Maria's shocked expression was hidden by her tight mask. ‘You want me to get 50 Demerits? I'll prepare it for you right now.’

Fifteen minutes later Gerda started dressing in her new costume, having first put on her skin‑tight thin latex working suit. The new suit was of shiny black leather, fitting perfectly, and Maria laced up the leather helmet over her slave mask. The gauntlet gloves were thick and lined with rubber. She sat on the sofa while Maria fitted long leather thigh boots on her, expertly lacing them up the front. The stiletto heels were five inches high.

Then proudly Maria brought over a pair of silver spurs and strapped them round the booted ankles. ‘You wear these for one week, Mistress, to show you have passed your first test. And now we can throw away the white belt of Novicehood! This is your new training belt.’

She fitted the wide black leather belt round her Mistress's slim waist, pulling the three silver buckles tight. Gerda crossed to the long mirror, on careful mincing steps, revelling in the slight creak of the tight leather.

She looked superb. Towering on her heels, tall and slim, gleaming in shining black leather from top to toe. Underneath, she could feel the tight latex suit warm and clinging against her flesh.

‘God’ she thought, ‘what's happening to me?’

CHAPTER 6

Two weeks later, Maria arrived with breakfast, in a state of excitement.

‘It's today, Mistress! Your first exam! Isn't that great?’ She poured out Gerda's coffee and handed her the cup. Gerda sipped it through the mouth‑slit of her mask, feeling curiously relaxed at the news.

‘I wish I knew what was in store! Will it be very severe?’

‘As I told you, we never k now in advance. My orders are to dress you in your very heavy latex suit, and to seal on your gloves and mask. No boots, no belt. Nothing.’

In fifteen minutes Gerda had been given her daily enema, had showered, dried and powdered herself, and had donned the thick latex overall suit which clung to her like a second skin, a black shining sheath, smooth and without a wrinkle.

‘All these costumes,’ she exclaimed, indicating the long wardrobe which held over seventy different outfits, ‘They all fit so perfectly! How do they do it?’

Maria held out a shoulder‑high latex glove, which her Mistress slipped on, repeating the manoeuvre with the other arm.

‘Everything is made to your exact measurements. One day you should ask to see the workshops behind the Training Centre. It's like a modern factory. Two cutters and several of the serving‑maids work there when they're not on training duty, they're superminded by a lovely old designer who's queer, but an absolute genius. He and Le Compte fight with each other to design the most outlandish costumes. Then there's the blacksmith who makes all the steel and bondage equipment. He's seven feet tall and looks like Frankenstein's monster, but he's a lamb.’

She took a roll of shiny black waterproof tape and expertly sealed the top of Gerda's gloves to her thick suit. She tucked the neck of Gerda's mask inside the high collar of the suit, then passed the' tape round her throat, sealing the mask to the suit. ‘OK, we're ready, you've got five minutes to report at the Preparation Room on the ground floor. Good luck, dear Mistress!’

Gerda entered the Preparation Room at exactly nine o'clock, hating the place with its rows of wardrobes and cupboards containing hundreds of costumes and strange equipment to further bedevil a slave. On one wall, supported on steel hooks, were heavy punishment suits, made of thick vinyl or leather, some of gleaming metal, their hoods and helmets with attached rubber tubes hanging in grotesque array.

Awaiting her was an instructor and two attendant maids. She saw by the number 7 on his helmet he was the one she feared, a surly and sadistic bastard who awarded demerits at the smallest infractions of the rules. He came towards her, insolent in his skin‑tight leather costume.

‘Good morning, slave Gerda! I presume you hope to pass your Exam today? Feeling ready?’

She knelt briefly and made the required sign of obedience on entering a room. ‘I hope so, instructor Sir. What are your orders?’ Inwardly she raged at her humiliation, but now she knew it was stupid to incur demerits by being rude to him.

‘Your exam is a prolonged Heat Treatment, my dear slave. The girls will dress you, then Le Compte will take over after I have checked your final costumes.’

She felt her heart beat faster. She had rarely seen her lover over the past few weeks, although he had assured her he would watch her training from afar and study her progress charts every night. Now she felt immensely strong, whatever the suffering or torture which had been planned for her, she would prove worthy of Guy, just as he had told her on that fateful first night on the island.

The serving‑maids came forward, and Gerda obediently climbed into the various suits which they held. There were three heavy latex cat‑suits, each one slightly larger than the other, each one zipped and laced onto her body until she felt like the advertisement for Michelin tyres. All the suits had attached gloves, and now she was unable to bend her fingers. When the serving‑maids had completed their dressing, the Instructor came over with a wide steel collar and padlocked it over the high necks of the suits, but loosely.

‘We'll tighten it later,’ he said roughly, ‘First I must put this tube through your mouth‑hole, down to your neck.’ He took a short length of rubber hose and carefully pulled away the mouth of her mask, pushing the tube downwards. One of the serving girls brought across a large metal can, full of liquid, and a plastic funnel, which she inserted, in the top of the rubber tube. ‘You'll like this,’ said the Instructor sardonically, ‘Little girls have even been known to take Pleasure with it!’

He took the can and slowly poured the liquid into the funnel. It was thick and oily, and Gerda felt it circle her neck, then start penetrating down into her undersuit, slowly trickling over her breasts and down her back.

Instinctively she rubbed her covered hands against her body, feeling the liquid spread against her stomach, and continue down into her crotch and legs.

The can contained nearly a gallon of the thick fluid, which took the instructor almost a minute to empty. It had a pleasant scented smell, and despite her forthcoming trial, Gerda felt overwhelmingly randy as it covered her entire body inside the heavy rubber layers. The instructor withdrew the tube, wiped his hands on a towel, and after pulling the steel collar tight, padlocked it into position.

Meanwhile the two maids had brought over a weird‑looking suit made of heavy leather, to which were attached long bars of steel, securely sewn into the legs and arms. With difficulty they pulled the suit onto her, the leather being so thick it scarcely could bend. The instructor laced it up the back until Gerda was tightly encased in it. Because of the steel splints, she found it impossible to bend her arms, and she could only walk stiff‑legged. One of the maids brought over a pair of heavy rubber thigh boots, several sizes too large in order to accommodate the four rubber suits and the leather costume she was now wearing. These were pulled on, stiff and tight and coming up to Gerda's hips.

‘Finally, your Heat Helmet' said the instructor with obvious pleasure. He brought over a heavy rubber hood with goggled eyes, no mouth‑hole, and a nozzled tube for the nose. He pulled it over her own mask and strapped the wide collar securely over the metal collar.

By now Gerda was almost panicking. The weight of the various suits was enormous, and already she could feel the heat building up. The heavy punishment hood pressed tightly against her masked face, the rubber already wet with her perspiration. She could breathe through the nose tube, but she knew that the outside nozzle could be tightened to restrict her air supply.

The Instructor stood back and surveyed her. She took two awkward steps, unable to bend her legs, and felt the grease slither sexily over her body and in her parts. Then suddenly Le Compte Guy de Rhislain was standing in front of her, and the Instructor and maids had silently departed. Instead of his usual white leather suit, he was wearing a shining latex costume, outlining his superb slim figure. Two‑inch‑heeled black patent thigh boots gave him a swashbuckling appearance. He was gloved and belted, but his head was bare. He bent and raised one of her stiff arms and kissed her rubbered hand.

‘So, ma chére, you have come to the end of your first period of Training. I sincerely hope you will pass your exam into slavery.’ She felt a warm feeling of deep love sweep over her; she would die for him, there had never been any other man in her life towards whom she had felt so intensely devoted.

‘Master, dear Master! Do whatever you wish! Only please let me see you more often. Then I can be strong and I can make you proud of me!’ The words echoed inside her masks, and she hoped he could understand them, muted against the tight rubber hood.

He took a black‑gloved hand and gently caressed her head. His other hand crept between her booted legs and she cried out with rapturous pleasure as he caused the grease inside her suit to enter every part of her body. In a hot whirl of emotion she realised she was close to a shattering climax. As if sensing this, he stepped back, his face hardening. He turned and picked up a wide iron belt from a table and with some difficulty padlocked it round her waist. The extra weight made Gerda stagger.

‘It weighs twelve kilos,’ Guy informed her, ‘So you are now carrying about twenty kilos of costumes and equipment. It is now nearly ten a.m., and you will carry out your Exam until midnight.’ Gerda felt her heart miss a beat. Fourteen hours! She was already perspiring in the monstrous costumes, and her legs felt encased in cement, the heavy rubber thigh boots holding her four suits rigid. The iron belt made her want to lie flat, anything to get rid of the weight dragging her down.

Le Compte picked up a small dial with a strap attached. He bent and fixed it round the bottom of her left boot. ‘You are free to wander where you will, inside or outside the Centre. You may rest when you are exhausted, but ‑ ‘ he paused and looked into her goggled eyes, ‘Your Test is to wear this costume for fourteen hours, and in doing so to walk three kilometres. On your left boot I have strapped a pedometer set at zero. When you report at midnight to me it must have registered 3000 metres. ‘Furthermore, your breathing must remain controlled.’

He stepped up to her and slowly tightened the nozzle of her nose‑tube. Within seconds she was breathing faster, desperate for the small amount of oxygen which was allowed into the helmet. She looked at him mutely, her eyes pleading. Suddenly he smiled and gently kissed the top of her helmet, then drew her wrists behind her and locked them together with handcuffs which he pulled out of a pocket.

‘Remember that I love you, slave Gerda. Keep that thought in your mind all the time you suffer. Remember, also, that you can apply to any Instructor to be released and undressed at any time. But then you will have failed your Exam!’

Next moment he had left the Preparation Room and she was alone with her uneasy thoughts. Stiffly, she walked over to a chair and managed to sit, her legs thrust straight out. She felt a wave of pure sexuality sweep over her as the thick grease macked inside her inner suit. Three kilometres! It was sheer cruelty, she thought, her breathing laboured and the heat of the suits causing sweat to cloud up her goggled mask. Even a hundred metres would be an ordeal. Then she remembered Miss Dodd's advice, and Yvette's untroubled attitude towards her slavery. Roll with it, accept it, turn it round into pleasure.

Suddenly she sat up, amazed at her own thoughts.

Is this really me ‑ the liberated girl who was the toast of Paris couturières; who dined and wined with the aristocracy, the model who could command five hundred dollars an hour in Paris, with double that amount being dangled from a New York agency?

So where am I now? In love with a sadistic bastard who has stripped me mentally, and physically made me into a slave, to pander to his needs. To hell with his training, I will pass this test, then demand that he release me and let me return to the mainland.

I must calm down and relax. That's probably part of this sadistic torture, to get me mad so that I'll perspire more and eventually have to beg to be released through sheer exhaustion. Never that! I’m going to last out those fourteen hours and complete his bloody three thousand metres even if it kills me.

It was awkward to walk in the heavy hip boots and the steel‑stiffened leather suit, but Gerda quickly found a way to propel herself along as if she had two wooden legs. Without shame now, mentally fighting her need to lie down and relax, she entered the Slaves' Rest Room, oblivious to the other slaves' curious stares. She found Yvette at the bar. With her restricted breathing it was difficult to talk.

‘Yvette ... if you're my friend... help me. I have fourteen hours to go and I've got to walk three kilometres. Can you come with me?’

‘Sure. For a short time. My Master is arriving at six, though, but till then I'm free.’

‘Then let's walk outside. Down to the pier and back again, that must be two hundred metres each way? God, I'm hot!’

The sweat was now streaming down her face, trickling through the sealed collar and into her undersuit. The grease was slippery and making her so randy she felt weak. On the way to the pier, walking peg‑legged; she gasped out her admission to Yvette.

‘It's diabolical, I'll never be able to last all that time! I've four heavy rubber suits on, then this double‑leather suit on top with the steel splints keeping my legs and arms rigid. Then the damned thigh boots on top! And the iron belt. It's impossible!’

Yvette smiled understandingly. Over her 'relaxing suit' she had donned a long black rubber mackintosh against the sea wind. ‘Why fight it, Gerda? You know that deep down you're enjoying the challenge. Your Master is testing you, and you must succeed. ‘

They reached the pier and were half way back to the house, out of sight of anyone as they walked through a small wood. Gerda's breath was coming in gasps through the restricted breathing nozzle, and she frequently stumbled as she tried to keep her balance with her hands padlocked behind her back.

She stopped, exhausted. ‘If only I could breathe easily. Can't you open that nozzle a fraction?

Yvette's masked face stared coldly at her. ‘Dear me, no! One of the worst sins is to touch or help another slave. Besides, you'll get used to it and you'll find the strength to carry on!’

Then suddenly her gloved hand reached out and grasped Gerda's crotch, gently massaging it. ‘But there's no rule that says I can't give you moral or physical satisfaction. Take a Pleasure now, you'll feel better.’

With a groan Gerda pressed herself against the other girl, through the air nozzle smelling the faint aroma of rubber and perfume from Yvette’s heavy mackintosh. Within seconds the insidious grease had done its work, and she was straining, and panting as warm Pleasure flooded through her body.

Twelve hours later Gerda stumbled into the Rest Room, her body soaked in perspiration and her legs aching. Four times she had lain down and rested for and then dragged herself together and walked back and forth to the pier. Now she was light-headed, her breath rasping and heaving, her body divorced from her mind. Most of the slaves had retired for the night, but Marcia and Tania were having a last nightcap at the bar. They rushed over in their high‑heeled thigh boots and helped Gerda on to a sofa. She lay there, heaving in restricted air, her head spinning, the sweat blinding her eyes.

‘Time, what's ... the time?’ she asked weakly, ‘Can't ... go on. Too ... hot. Walking ... hot, no air. Walking all night...’

There was little the other girls could do to help. Gerda's mask had no mouth‑hole, so there was no way to give her water or a brandy, which anyway was against the rules. Sympathetically they watched her struggle to gain consciousness.

‘The grease ... it's diabolical, makes me so randy ... but must keep walking ... three kilometres ... with this weight ... must sleep ... wake me up in a few minutes, keep walking.’

But Marcia and Tricia were both under orders to report for bed at eleven, and Gerda slept exhaustedly on the long sofa, occasionally snorting and stirring at the lack of proper air in her helmet. She awoke suddenly and saw by the electric clock over the bar it was ten minutes to midnight.

Despite all her heavy suits, she was cold and utterly miserable. Her hands, handcuffed behind here, were numb inside their layers of rubber. With difficulty, she swung her steel‑stiffened legs on to the floor and stood up. Panicky now, because she could not see the pedometer strapped to her left foot, she commenced walking stiffly up and down the long corridor outside the Rest Room. Her circulation returned, and soon the heat was building up again and her goggled eyes were misted over. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, and recognised the voice of an Instructor.

‘Relax, slave Gerda, it's midnight. I'm to take you to your Master. Follow me.’

In a daze she found herself in the Preparation Room again, Le Compte and two serving maids waiting for her. Gently her lover removed the steel collar and then the heavy helmet. She breathed in the pure air.

He unstraped the pedometer and studied it, a smile on his face.

‘Excellent, my dear slave, excellent! I knew you had the courage!’ He showed her the dial, registering nearly 4000 metres. One of the maids removed the heavy iron belt and she sagged against Guy, her masked face turned up to his.

‘Please, please, dear and wonderful Master, give me a Pleasure before you take off these suits. Let me feel your hands on me. Please just this one time!’

He dismissed the two maids, then gently laid her on a couch, kneeling in front of her in his tight black suit. Her own mask was wet with perspiration but he kissed her gently on the mouth.

‘Congratulations, my dear slave Gerda, it was a very tough test, because to be my personal slave you must suffer more than anyone. Now take your Pleasure!’

His skilled hands caressed her, and despite her body‑weariness she was transported into ecstasies of love and tenderness. As she took Pleasure in her grease suit she screamed in rhapsody.

‘I love you, Master, I love you! There is nothing I will not do for you, nothing ... nothing...’

CHAPTER 8

Next day, Gerda resumed her increasingly severe training. Her new whipping suit had only one thickness of heavy latex, and the 150 strokes hurt abominably, keeping her bottom permanently red, although only the final five strokes were delivered with maximum strength to create new weals across her bottom. But her daily breast beating, with the light balsa cane, was a more subtle torture as the Instructor invariably ordered a serving‑maid to put the dreaded machine on her so that her nipples hardened and throughout the final strokes she would achieve a huge Pleasure.

The days passed and the weeks slipped by. No television or radio was allowed, even calendars being forbidden. Gerda had formed a close relationship with Yvette and Marcia, and she now felt proud to be able to enter the Slaves' Rest Room, with its attractive bar and comfortable furniture, and be treated as an equal during her off‑duty periods.

It was seven o'clock one evening, her daily training finished, when Maria entered the large room and came up to Gerda. As usual, the serving‑maid was securely gagged when outside her Mistress's quarters. She handed over a note.

‘Dear Mistress. I have orders to dress you for dinner with your Master, so don't go to the Slaves' Dining Room. You have to report at eight, so can you come upstairs now?’

Gerda regarded her maid fondly; wondering how she could serve through the day so severely gagged through her tight mask. She felt a thrill of expectation that she was to dine with Guy, secretly hoping he would make love to her again as she was now a fully qualified slave, although not yet in the final top‑level category. She wondered when the next 'Test' would be inflicted on her.

She said her farewells to her friends at the bar, amidst ribald comments, and took the elevator up to her quarters on the fourth floor, delighting in the swish of her latex caftan and the subtle play of the Rod up her bottom. She had dined with Le Compte on several occasions, and each time he had allowed her to remove her mask and gloves, a singular honour.

As soon as Maria was inside Gerda's quarters, she removed her gag, thankfully placing the large rubber wedge on a table. ‘Dear Mistress‑ she said hurriedly, ‘this is not going to be pleasant for you. Le Compte is in a filthy mood and it could be a bad evening! Please, please, go along with it, you're doing so well and you could get your top‑level slavehood in another month or so, so don't get angry at tonight. Promise?’

Gerda looked at her maid affectionately. ‘Of course I won't! What's so terrible about tonight? I've had dinner with him several times, and always he's been just like his old self when we dined at Alexandre in Paris. Why should it be different tonight?’

Maria's masked face was expressionless, but her voice conveyed her doubts.’ Two of the serving‑maids tried to escape on the provision boat today, Mistress. They were found, of course, but it's the first time anyone has actually tried to get off the island, and Le Compte takes it as a personal affront. He feels he's failed somehow. Of course, they'll be horribly punished, but nobody has ever wanted to escape, after the first few days.’

‘OK, so the Boss‑man's ego is hurt! I'll soothe his shattered nerves, now just get me dressed. Anything special?’

‘Yes, Mistress, he wants you tonight as a classical Parisien whore!’

With slight misgivings, Gerda dressed in the outfit Maria had laid out. High black latex stockings, a number 6 Rod chained up her bottom, covered by thin latex pants. A short and skin‑tight black rubber dress, high‑necked and long‑sleeved the hem of the dress barely covering the top of her stockings. Long black silk gloves, mackintosh‑lined, and six‑inch‑heeled patent shoes. A red belt in heavy leather pulled her waist into a sexy nineteen inches. She adjusted the neck of her latex mask over the high collar of the tarty dress, and surveyed herself in the full‑length mirror.

She had to admit it looked good. Her long legs and slim figure accentuated the form­fitting costume, her breasts straining out against the black rubber. She took a few careful steps across the room in her high heels, the tight dress making it necessary to walk with small strides. She felt the Rod macking gently in its grease, and suddenly felt immensely aware of her power and sex. She turned to Maria.

‘Gag yourself, and lead on, MacDuff! I have a feeling it will be an interesting evening!

She sat in a deep leather armchair in Guy's private drawing‑room, tastefully furnished with antiques and with two walls lined with book shelves. Above the Adam fireplace hung a Durer and two Fragonards, and to one side three small Chagalls modestly adorned the door to a concealed bar.

Le Compte was not dressed in his usual form‑fitting leather suit, which she adored. Instead, he was clad in a tight latex sweater with roll‑top neck, a jacket of smooth rubber, and sinister heavy rubber breeches tucked into gleaming riding boots, all in polished black. As he brought across his glass of whisky the costume rustled loudly.

‘No doubt you have heard that two serving‑maids tried to escape today’, he said irritably. ‘You know why? Because Miss Dodds had refused their application to be trained as slaves! Incredible!’

Gerda wished he would offer her a drink. ‘That was the only reason, Master?’ (How easy it is, she thought, to address her lover as such; how much has changed over the past months!) ‘They were really trying to get back to the mainland?’

‘No! They were dissatisfied with their servitude; they want to be trained as Top‑Level slaves, and to meet a rich Master! Well, first they will suffer for their insolence and disobedience. Then we may see if they are slave material. I thought this might amuse you!’

He pressed a bell to the side of the mantelpiece, and in a few seconds two Instructors carried in the guilty serving‑maids. Gerda stared at the sight. They were both dressed in heavy white rubber suits, and were secured back to back. The myriad of straps held them tightly together at booted ankles, calves, knees, thighs, pelvis, waist, breasts, shoulders and neck. Heavy rubber straight‑jackets tightly bound their crossed arms over their chests. The thick rubber hoods were latticed by a cruel gag‑harness, with only nose tubes through which to breathe. The Instructors carried them to a heavy wooden apparatus at the rear of the room, attaching a high‑hanging chain through metal rings on top of their gag‑harness and padlocking it up tightly so that the wretched girls were forced to stand on their booted toes.

‘We'll find out just how much punishment they can take,‘ Guy said angrily, ‘Serving ­maids usually are too scared to become slaves, lacking the responsibility. It's difficult for you to see, but they are wearing a number seven V‑shaped joined‑Rod up their bottoms, so every movement one makes is reflected up the rear of the other. Their pressure gags are blown up to maximum, so at least I will dine without interruption.’

Gerda watched her Master, sensing his anger and cruelty, macking gently on her Rod and longing to assuage his pain. She felt sexually weak as she heard his black breeches rustle and crinkle as he paced the room. He turned on her suddenly.

‘You're a bitch, slave Gerda! You're trying to defy me! You passed your first Training Exam easily and now you think you know it all. We'll see about that! From now on you will receive special treatment. I'll break you down before you can become my personal slave. Tonight you will kneel between my legs whilst I dine!’

An hour later, a much‑chastened Gerda was allowed to stand up, stiffly at attention, as her Master finished his dinner, dispensed by one of the waitress serving‑maids. Her knees ached, and her mask was running with perspiration from being clamped between Le Compte's heavy rubber breeches. Several times she had felt his Supreme Master stir inside the black rubber, and willing she would have given him a Pleasure; but she sensed his anger would not allow him to indulge himself at the moment.

She stood before him, aware of the sexual effect of her gleaming Apache costume, while he helped himself to coffee at a side table. The only sound was the muffled groans of the tightly‑hung serving‑maids as they swung on tip‑toe, strapped helplessly together, their Rods teasing each other as they moved. Le Compte leant forward and felt Gerda's Rod inside the firm latex pants. Despite her annoyance at not being allowed to dine with her Master, she swayed forward in ecstasy as he pushed it further into her bottom.

‘You like your Rod, slave?’

‘Yes, Master,’ she moaned, ‘I love my Rods, the bigger they are the better it feels! I feel naked without it. Please take me again soon!‘

‘I will,’ he murmured, ‘Meanwhile your second stage of Training will be increased in severity. I want you to be able to accept any degree of Pain or Punishment. Tomorrow you will report to The Executioner to receive Advanced Suffocation. But tonight you will spend in the Punishment Dormitory.’

Unexpectedly he stood up, taking her in his arms and kissing her gently through her mask. ‘Always remember, dear slave, in your torment, that I love you deeply. But because I do, you must suffer more than any other slave; you must be the finest, the ultimate Top‑Level Slave, serving only your Master! Remember that, always! Now you may sit and drink a cognac before you leave for your ordeal.’

In a euphoric haze of delight and love, Gerda sank into a deep armchair. Just so long as he was hers, and re‑assured her, she would suffer even death at his hands. She felt wildly happy, a deep content stealing through her body. She could face any torture or training now, knowing that her Master loved her.

Gerda was in a happy mood as she returned to her quarters. Now there was nothing she would not suffer gladly for her Master. Maria had already received instructions from Miss Dodds, and Gerda's costumes were neatly laid out. She slipped out of her rubber Apache dress, gaily pirouetting around the sitting‑room in only high latex stockings, her Rod, and mask. The thick Rod, chained loosely up her bottom to the front and back of a leather belt, macked deliciously in its grease until she felt near to a Pleasure. She controlled herself and allowed Maria to strip her naked, then took a quick shower.

Maria scolded her when she returned from the bathroom. ‘Please, Mistress, don't fool around! You only have twenty minutes until reporting time. Don't drink any water; 'cause there's no way you can go to the loo after you're secured for the night. Here, slip into these pants, I've greased them thoroughly.’

With difficulty, Gerda pulled on the heavy rubber pants. Attached inside were two thick dildos, which she carefully inserted up her bottom and her front, groaning with pleasure as the lubricant allowed them to slide inside. Six months ago the very idea would have appalled her and revolted her senses, but now it seemed like a normal way of dressing. She grinned at the thought.

‘Lovely! What's next?’

Maria helped her into a thick and tight latex suit, with gloves and feet attached. It had a high stiffened neck and a hood which Maria left hanging down for the moment. She handed her Mistress a pair of heavy leather pants with lacing up the back. When Gerda had drawn them on, Maria pulled them so tight that both dildos were forced cruelly into Gerda.

‘God!’ Gerda muttered breathlessly, ‘ I do believe you're a frustrated sadist, Maria! But it sure feels marvellous!’

Her maid smiled weakly. ‘I'm sorry, Mistress, but now I have to prepare your face and head, it won't be very pleasant.’ She drew on Gerda's slave mask, zipping it tightly into position and tucking the long neck inside the latex suit. Then she took a large ball-­gag harness and after inserting the gag securely into her Mistress's mouth, tightened the straps firmly under the chin and behind the head. After all the weeks of training, Gerda was accustomed to her severe gag, but mutely gestured as Maria brought across what appeared to be a gas‑mask. Apart from the long heavy nozzle tube, however, it had no openings of any kind. Maria fitted it over Gerda's face, tightening the straps at the back. Gerda now realised it had rubber pads which fitted over her ears, and the eye­pieces were painted black, leaving her totally blind. She breathed deeply through the nose‑holes in her under‑mask and heard her breath echo hollowly through the heavy tube of the gas‑mask.

Maria now pulled up the hood of the thick suit. It had only a two‑inch aperture in front, through which she passed the breathing tube of the gas‑mask. Her Mistress was now totally encased, her head tightly held in three layers of thick rubber.

She guided Gerda along the corridor to the elevator, and they ascended to the fifth floor, consisting mainly of the Punishment Dormitory, and the serving‑maid's cubicles. The electric wall clock, duplicated in every Training and Punishment Room throughout the large building, indicated one minute to ten when they arrived.

The Executioner, who superintended all major Punishments, was waiting for them, with two leather‑clad Instructors beside her. She dismissed Maria, and gave a signal to the two men. They piloted Gerda into the centre of the big room, containing eight trestled beds, each supporting an eighteen‑inch plank of wood, six feet long, and covered by a thin mattress.

‘Slave Gerda,’ The Executioner said in a loud voice, knowing the slave could barely hear, ‘I am about to have you put into your Punishment Sleeping Suit. Then you will be corseted, very tightly, and afterwards attached to your bed for the night. Before I begin, is your breathing satisfactory?’

Inside her dark and heavy prison, Gerda felt a thrill of delight. Previously, the vicious Executioner would never have asked her! She was now being treated as a responsible, dedicated slave, on her honour to give the truthful answer. She nodded her head twice, the given signal for acceptance.

Then she felt the incredibly thick sheath being pulled onto her, while she sat on a bench. It seemed to weigh her down like a lead casket. Her arms were inside, and she felt the neck being pulled up tightly. Then she stood whilst an Instructor was lacing it up so severely that her arms and hands inside were helplessly squashed against her body. She tried to keep her balance, the bottom of the sheath allowing no movement of her feet. She felt one of the Instructors holding her firmly by the shoulders.

‘Now the leather straight‑jacket,’ she heard the Executioner command, ‘and I want that at maximum tightness! Le Compte has ordered there must be no mercy for this slave.’

The steel‑rodded leather jacket was wrapped around her from neck to thighs, then tightened and laced up the back until her chest and arms were aching with the pressure, her head held rigid by the tight application of the leather neck over her other hoods and masks. She felt herself being lifted onto the bed, then straps were securing her to the wooden plank, at her ankles, calves, knees, thighs, shoulders and neck, and finally a heavy strap was passed round her waist and the Executioner pulled it tighter and tighter until her middle felt as if it was being cut in two.

Gerda tried to move inside her incredible torture outfit. It was impossible; She was unable even to lift her head because of the restraining neck collars. Then she felt a band being slipped over her forehead and secured under the plank, making her head immovable.

‘There!’ she dimly heard the Executioner say, ‘I think you will remain secure for the next eight hours. Sleep well, Slave Gerda!’

There was silence, and she was in her own particular hell. She had never felt so completely and utterly helpless, incapable of any movement. She felt her saliva bubbling at her gagged mouth and dimly heard and felt her laboured breath through the long tube of the heavy, tight‑fitting gas mask. She forced herself not to panic, not to struggle, to accept her Training, knowing that her Master wanted it, had ordered her to suffer in this manner. She lay there in her black cocoon, the tightly inserted phalluses giving her a subtle remainder of past Pleasures.

The blackness swelled and receded, time meant nothing in her muted world. Then suddenly she became aware of a voice intruding on her immense solitude. It was Guy's, her beloved Master!

‘Sleep well, my lovely Slave! Dream of your tortures and Punishment, and of me, in the knowledge that the more you suffer, the more I will love you. And, as you will come to learn, the worse your Punishments, the more you will love me!’

She tried to move her tightly gagged and masked face, but could only give a faint grunt. She heard him speak again.

‘I will cause you to suffocate now, Slave, then afterwards your mask will be attached to oxygen and then a light sleeping gas. In the morning when you are released you will feel no after‑effects except unpleasant stiffness!’

She loved him so much at that moment that she was scarcely aware she was no longer breathing air. Suddenly she was gasping for the life‑blood of oxygen, struggling futility in her strict bondage, her thickly‑gloved hands helpless inside the heavy suits and viciously‑laced straight‑jacket, straining against the heavy straps which bound her to the sleeping‑plank.

Suddenly she relaxed, holding her breath with a superb effort, attempting to show her Master she was not afraid, that her trust in him was eternal. She was aware that she was breathing again, a sweet smell which made her senses reel. From a vast distance she heard his voice again.

‘Good Slave, I hoped you would not panic. Now sleep well in your bondage!’

The darkness was spreading, peaceably now. She was floating on a calm sea, and Guy was bending over her, naked and sunburnt. Vaguely she felt the security of her costume and bondage, holding her tightly to the Punishment Bed, then rhombuses flashed in front of her black sky and she sank under the blissful covering of unconsciousness.

I am drifting in a warm wind, a mind without a body, and in more lucid moments I return to that self, imprisoned in its monstrous bondage; then I am aware of my deep breathing through the thick tube of the gas‑mask helmet, my only connection with the world outside. My face is numb inside its masks, and I am only dimly aware of the tight harness strapped round my head and chin, holding in the ball‑gag, forcing my mouth open cruelly but at the same time seeming totally proper, for I have no wish to attempt to speak or cry out.

Then my mind wanders again and I am free as a bird and hating it, longing to feel the tight corsage of my implements of training and punishment. I am kneeling, nude and humiliated, in front of my beloved Master, begging him to dress me in heavy rubber and torture me for appearing naked in front of him.

My mind stirs lazily and wonders if this can truly be me – Gerda ‑ whom couturières fawned over and millionaires tried to seduce with their heavy armament of wealth and Cadillacs and yachts. Now I am working towards my final siavehood, and glorying in it!

At some point in my total blackness, when my spirit has returned to a vague consciousness in my helpless body, I become aware of the Executioner speaking, presumably to an Instructor. The voice vibrates as if in an echo chamber, ‘Cover her completely with the restraining sheet and lace it up to maximum tightness. We must keep her very warm.’

I feel a heavy crackling rubber sheet being placed over my body and head, and feel the long breathing tube being pulled through an aperture in the material, then tapes or straps being tightened so that my already immovable body is even further constricted, strapped inside a heavy rubber sheet like a corpse, heat building inside my helpless carcass. Then I am drifting away again, divorced from reality.

Now there are nightmares, horrifying but strangely sexual. My maid Maria is strapped over a Whipping Block and I am lashing her with a vicious six‑foot whip, feeling my big Rod slide in and out with every movement. I am screaming, on the verge of a Pleasure, revelling in the twitch of her tightly‑rubbered bottom each time the whip cracks across her buttocks. Is this really me, who would never dream of inflicting pain on a fellow human?

Suddenly I am conscious again, feeling pure cold oxygen flooding into my heavy mask. I try to move my body, and my hands, but there is only a pleasant numbness. My gag is salivating and my face inside the inner mask is streaming with perspiration. The oxygen has cleared my mind, and for a few moments I am aware of my situation, aware that I am buried inside my rubber and bonds, totally unable to move a muscle.

Now the sweet smell of the gas infiltrates my mask, my senses reel, and blackness becomes my silent friend ...

Gerda stared up at the white ceiling and realised she was in her own bedroom, with her masked serving‑maid wiping her face with a damp cloth. Then she became aware she was nude, covered only with a thin rubber sheet. She stretched luxuriously, conscious of a stiffness in her limbs.

Maria gave a sigh of relief. ‘Are you feeling all right, Mistress? I thought you'd never wake up. They brought you here half an hour ago!’

Gerda sat up, groaning slightly but feeling on top of the world. ‘What's the time?’ she demanded.

‘Nine‑thirty in the morning. You were kept in the Dormitory for ten hours. Was it very bad?’

‘Terrible,’ Gerda lied, ‘Actually, I must have had a damn good sleep, because I don't remember much about it! But I'm starving!’

She took a shower and accepted her daily enema from Maria, then returned to her sitting‑room to find her maid laying out the reporting costume for the start of the day's Training. She remembered with slight misgivings that Guy had told her she would begin her advanced Suffocation treatment. She noticed Maria had put out the thin skin‑tight black latex body‑suit with the nipples cut out. As Maria zipped it up the back, Gerda gave a faint shudder; there was something horribly humiliating about having her breasts poking outwards through the tight material.

She allowed Maria to lace on gleaming red leather thigh‑boots, with pencil‑thin heels, and a matching red corselet which pushed out her firm breasts even further; then a long pair of thin latex gloves over which Maria pulled a pair of heavy rubber gauntlets.

‘Why the extra thick gloves?’ demanded Gerda. Maria giggled nervously.

‘I'm sorry, Mistress; orders! I think it's to prevent you chafing your wrists if you struggle too much.’ It sounded ominous.

Maria zipped on Gerda's slave‑mask, then attached a heavy leather collar and laced it tightly into position, making it impossible for her Mistress to turn her head. On the back of the collar was a steel ring.

Despite her misgivings, Gerda felt refreshed and at ease as she strode down the corridor in her high heels, delighting in the faint creaking of her tight boots and the feeling of confidence they gave her. She knew she presented an erotic sight with her tiny waist and breasts straining through the tight latex suit. She still found it difficult to believe she was the same girl who, months ago, had rebelled against wearing a rubber costume. She had a definite purpose in life now, and was looking forward to her Advanced Training, however severe.

She reported downstairs exactly on time to the small Training room marked with a large 'S' on the door. Inside, the Executioner and a serving‑maid were waiting. Today the dreaded blonde lesbian was dressed entirely in white, a shining vinyl suit and mask, her long thick pony‑tail cascading from a small hole at the rear of her hood. Only her hands were visible, and Gerda gave a slight shudder as she remembered that a rule of the Establishment was that, as a safety precaution, anyone administering Suffocation must not be hampered by gloves.

‘Good morning, slave Gerda! I trust you had a restful night and you are ready for your Advanced Training’

Gerda hated the Executioner, who had been the one to cut off her long hair when she arrived on the island, but she had learnt a grudging admiration for this dynamic woman who seemed to have an instinct for the extent a slave could suffer. Also she appreciated the girl had never forced her lesbian tendencies on her helpless victims.

‘A most restful night, thank you!’ Gerda smiled through her mask, determined not to be cowed, ‘I dreamt of you, Madam! ‘ For a moment she thought she had gone too far; the Executioner's eyes seemed to blaze through her mask, then abruptly she smiled.

‘Good for you slave! I have always told Le Compte you were excellent material. Now let’s make you comfortable.’

Obediently Gerda sat in the heavy wooden chair bolted to the floor. From dozens of assorted length straps hanging neatly on the wall the serving‑maid expertly selected several and proceeded to bind Gerda's wrists, elbows, ankles, calves, and thighs to the chair; the straps were wide and thick, no human power could have snapped them. Then longer straps, passed round the back of the chair over her stomach, waist, and under her armpits. Finally, Gerda's collar was padlocked to a steel ring on the top of the short back chair.

‘As you will notice,’ the Executioner said conversationally, ‘your chest is free so that you can breathe easily. However, in this advanced suffocation, you must also be aware of pain, so you will wear the nipple clamps.’

She brought over two heavy steel cups and fitted them over Gerda's straining nipples. Each cup had a small hole in the centre, with two ratchet screws at the top and bottom. After pushing each one tightly against the breasts, she screwed up the bottom part of the instrument until the steel shell compressed the rear of the breasts and forced them even further forward, the nipples being pushed cruelly through the front hole. Then she tightened the front screw, pinioning the nipples forward. Gerda gave a faint groan of pain. The Executioner gave each distended nipple a vicious tweak, causing Gerda to writhe in her bondage.

‘One day I will have the pleasure of giving you a very severe Punishment like that, dear slave! You'll wear these cups, then strong threads will be attached to your nipples and you'll be hauled onto your toes and left hanging like that, your arms secured behind you. After about twelve minutes the strain on your toes becomes intolerable. Should you lower your heels, however, you risk de‑nippling yourself. It's very amusing!’

Gerda shivered, despite her former confidence. It was another reason why she must become a perfect slave, to avoid such Punishment. She tried to ignore her cruelly crushed breasts and concentrate on her love for Guy. She must suffer for him, he had told her so!

Suddenly a black latex hood was placed over her head and darkness enveloped her. She felt it being strapped around her neck and she forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly, knowing it would be at least a minute before the oxygen inside was used up. She tried to console herself with the knowledge that the Executioner, by the Rules, must always remain close by, to give instant succour if faintness or sickness occurred. She felt the loose latex hood against her mask and face as she breathed in and out, then the familiar warmth came and she felt the panicky feeling as her breathing quickened, her lungs being starved of life‑giving air.

In another twenty seconds she was writhing in her bonds, futilely struggling to release her hands to tear away the suffocating hood, gasping frantically as the now useless air coursed in and out of her lungs. She tried to scream, to beg for mercy, to promise anything just to be able to breathe again, then blessedly she felt the throat strap being released and beautiful life‑giving oxygen flooded into her as the hood was removed.

‘Just a warm‑up,’ she heard her tormentor say. ‘Get back your breath and we'll fix you into the official Suffocation Helmet’

She felt a heavy rubber hood being drawn over her masked head and laced tightly round her neck. A thick tube forced itself into her mouth, and fresh air flowed in while she regained her breath. She realised the tight hood now completely restricted her nose. She had almost regained her composure when she felt the nipple clamps being screwed tighter until the pain caused her to moan in agony.

‘Now, slave Gerda, for your advanced Suffocation! Your breathing tube has a nozzle on the outside, and gradually I will reduce your supply of air.’

Inwardly, Gerda fought down her fear. She knew only too well that however strong her resolve, she would eventually panic when the terrible fear of suffocation overcame her. There was no way she could avoid that claustrophobic feeling of being unable to breathe and the awful terror set in when reason became a broken instrument and nothing mattered except the vital necessity of obtaining oxygen in the lungs.

She heard the Executioner walk in front of her, costume rustling as she moved. Then she felt the air passage restricted, and she forced herself again to breathe slowly, as if this would lengthen her life‑span, knowing it was only prolonging her own agony. She forgot the pain in her breasts in the effort to concentrate on the limited air infiltrating into the helmet. She felt the nozzle being tightened, and a few seconds later realised there was no more oxygen.
 
She started heaving and gasping, her frantic breath coming quicker, words incoherently tumbling through the breathing tube. She could hear the rubber hood crinkling in and out, then the stars began to flash and she heard herself screaming for mercy through the now useless mouth‑tube.

She had failed.

CHAPTER I0

Gerda was feeling in a blissful mood as she showered and began to dress for her five o’clock Training session, having spent two hours in Meditation while Maria had applied the once‑feared, now welcomed, vibrator Machine on her at fifteen minute intervals.

‘A massive enema,’ she chuckled as she slid into the tight black latex suit with the bottom cut out, ‘What would you think that means, Maria? I gave you 1½ litres and you hardly blinked. Normally I have almost a litre every morning, who are they trying to scare?’

Maria finished lacing the high thigh‑boots and commenced to tighten the black leather corset round her Mistress's small waist.

‘I don't know, but you are into your Final Training, and I know it's awfully severe. It's just like your Suffocation yesterday, they try to extend it beyond the limit, to break you down!’

Abruptly Gerda felt angry, It was true that the previous day despite all her training in Suffocation, she had panicked at the last moment and begged to be released. Today would be different; even if they gave her a huge washout there would be no necessity to plead for mercy. When one was full, one was full. Unpleasant, of course, but not something to fear.

Gerda was in a good mood again when she took the elevator down from her quarters on the fourth floor. The thick latex suit was covered by a short rubber cape, just covering her exposed bottom. Gloved and masked, striding in the high‑heeled boots and feeling the tight corset, she felt on top of the world. Amused at herself, she regretted the absence of a thick Rod macking up her bottom.

She reported to the Main Training Room, which in the early days had struck fear into her, with its strange torture and training posts and machines, and its antiseptic aura of a huge operating theatre. The whips hanging on the wall were now familiar, and she had a sudden sexual spasm as she saw the dreaded 'viper', six‑feet of thin steel whip with which she had been punished a week previously.

Almost in awe, she stopped as she entered the Room, remembering her fantasies earlier in the day, when she was being machined in heavy bondage. On the peak of a Pleasure, she found herself thinking of the Executioner, who she now knew was called Laura. She was dressed in almost the identical costume which had so stirred Gerda's imagination. But the outfit was all in bright red. Red rubber jodphurs, leather boots, tight latex jacket through which her large firm breasts strained for freedom, a broad red leather belt, and a close‑fitting latex mask. In her gloved hand she carried a heavy cat‑of‑nine‑tails.

‘Slave Gerda!’ The Executioner snarled through her mask, ‘you are one minute late. Lift your cape and bend over!’

Gerda could see the big electric clock on the wall was at five precisely, but she had learnt never to argue. With a vague thrill she pulled up the heavy rubber cape over her head and bent down to touch her toes.

The next moment she shrieked ‑in agonising pain as the lash cut cruelly across her exposed bottom, the waves of agony turning into a pleasant burning sensation. She waited almost eagerly for the next stroke.

‘Stand up, you bitch, ‘ she was ordered, ‘ You're becoming a glutton for pain. I told you weeks ago I would break you, and break you I will. Now get down and kiss my breeches!’

Almost dreamily, Gerda obeyed, slowly bringing her masked face to the gleaming red rubber, weakly trying to fight the enormous masochistic and lesbian tendencies with which this cruel woman seemed to excite her. She buried her face in the thick red rubber, and almost swooned when she felt the Executioner tighten her thighs round her masked head. For a half minute she was held against the breeches, barely able to breathe, feeling weak with desire for her tormentor, then Laura slackened her grip and stepped back.

‘Excellent, dear slave Gerda, now I think we know where we stand. For your impertinence I will see that you get the maximum treatment at all times. Get up!’

Obediently, Gerda obeyed, knowing she had revealed a part of her she barely knew existed, putting herself irrevocably at the mercy of this woman.

The Executioner was now coolly giving orders to two serving‑maids who she summoned from an ante‑room. Gerda saw they were properly dressed for the occasion, as always. They wore white latex nurses' uniforms, short and tightly belted, with thigh ­length vinyl boots. On top of their masked heads was an absurd nurse's cap. Long white rubber gloves were padlocked on by wide metal bracelets. She noticed they were not the two genuine nurses who served in the little hospital.

Each of them hurried over to a corner and donned long white rubber aprons, then one helped the other to tie on rubber surgical masks over their helmets; but each mask had a thick gag attached.

God, thought Gerda as she watched the two maids, they think of everything, but everything! Even to surgical masks with a gag! Oh, dear Guy, I love you and save me from this terrible woman whom I find so attractive!

She had almost forgotten she was reporting for the new high‑level stage of her Training. The serving‑maids took hold of her arms and lead her across to a metal contraption placed on top of a vinyl‑covered mattress.

She was lowered onto her back, and her wrists and arms strapped tightly upwards to the metal frame. Then metal fetters were screwed round her ankles, and pulled up and chained high above her head, her legs spread apart and her bottom held helplessly inches above the mattress, her weight resting on her shoulders.

Laura strolled across to her captive, in no hurry to carry out the new Training. Her breeches rustled loudly, and she smiled evilly down at her victim. Then she turned to the two maids, waiting at attention. ‘Keep those gags tightly in,’ she snapped, ‘Report back in ten minutes. I wish to talk to the slave alone.’

Obediently, the maids curtseyed and left. Laura let her whip drop between the out­stretched legs.

‘You've found a new life, Gerda, isn’t that so? You didn’t know that people like me existed?’ The whip rose and fell gently. Gerda moaned in pain.

‘Yes. No. Please let me down!’

‘Dear me, no! You're now in your official position to receive your special enema. But there's nothing in the rules to say when I give it to you! I think that you love me a little, Gerda, and I like your spirit. I want you to become my personal property. You're a fortunate girl, because in this way I can alleviate some of your Punishments.’

Gerda felt the panic rising in her throat. Her masochistic dreams of lesbianism had subsided, and now she could only think of her love for Guy. She hated this dominant woman standing over her while she was so helplessly bound and embarrassedly exposed. But still she felt a curious attraction.

‘Please, Laura ‑ Mistress Laura ‑ please don't do this to me! I'll serve you ‑ honestly ‑ I'll be your slave, but I love Guy. GUY! He's my Master.’

The Executioner looked down with cold eyes through her mask.

‘I think You're wrong, honey. But you play it your way for the time being! Now you're going to get an enema you will never forget!’

She recalled the serving‑maids from outside the door. They looked clinically sinister in their white rubber which rustled loudly with every movement.

Gerda felt the now‑familiar thrill of sickness and fear in her stomach, but there was an underlying exultation. The very fact that she was helpless and entirely in Laura's power was exciting.

‘Bring me my operating gown,’ she ordered one of the maids. The girl brought across a surgical gown made of heavy brown rubber, slipping it over her Mistress's outstretched arms and tying it at the neck and down the back. Gerda watched in helpless anticipation seeing the gleaming rubber completely protect her tormentor, reaching down to the high‑heeled booted ankles. Laura crossed to a side table and picked up a long coil of rubber tubing one end of which had straps attached about six inches back from the aperture. With gloved hands she smeared grease on the end then bent down and slowly pushed it up Gerda's exposed bottom. When it was well inside she passed the straps behind the slave's buttocks and pulled them tight, making the tube irremovable.

Meanwhile one of the maids had taken the other end and connected it to a brass tap on a glass tank high on the wall. Now the long rubber tube snaked down directly into Gerda.

‘Fill the tank with four litres,’ Laura ordered and Gerda watched in horrified silence as the maid carefully emptied each soapy litre into the tank nearly filling it.

But Laura was in no hurry. ‘I want to explain to you exactly how this enema works, slave Gerda. The tube inside you is thick and open‑ended to give maximum deliverance. The tank is high on the wall, you are lying on the floor, so the pressure of gravity is considerable, much more than your daily enema from a bag on the door. I shall open the tap slowly to commence, then gradually increase the flow as the pressure builds up. You will not be gagged, because on your slave's Honour I am ordering you to tell me every sensation you experience during this Advanced Training. For your own information, you will be securely plugged afterwards, so don't worry about the immediate consequences. Sometimes I like to watch a slave eject in front of me, hence my protective gown, but this time I shall take a great deal of pleasure keeping you plugged until I decide when you may relieve yourself!’

Gerda felt like screaming. She had on several occasions suffered a Punishment Enema, when she had been given more than a litre and had to retain it for several minutes or suffer more Punishment. She knew the agony of trying to hold it and the gradual breaking down of the sphincter muscles. She closed her mind to the thought; there was no way this bitch would have the satisfaction of her crying for mercy. She wished only that this sinister Mistress figure in her rubber did not excite her so much.

Laura's white teeth smiled down at her through the mouth of the tight latex mask.

‘Turn on the tap to a quarter.’ she ordered, ‘And remember slave, you are on your honour to give me a running commentary!’

For several seconds nothing happened as the water filled the rubber pipe, then Gerda felt a warm sensation as the enema started trickling in. The water was hot, not unpleasantly so, but she knew it had a more instant effect than cold water. Despite her resolves, she tried to block it, but the thick tube could not be squeezed by her muscles.

The Executioner's whip slashed across her breasts straining in their rubber. ‘I ordered you to talk, slave Gerda! Are you trying to defy me?’

‘No, Mistress,’ Gerda panted, shutting out the pain, ‘I can feel it now, it's very hot, it's flowing into me. I tried to stop it, but the pipe is thick and too far up me. There is no way I can prevent it coming in!’

‘Excellent, that's what I want to hear. Any other thoughts?’

Gerda was straining at her bonds. She had learnt by now that an enema gave her an enormous sexual stimulation. She saw this strange women towering above her in shining rubber, her long fair hair streaming out of the hole at the rear of her helmet. She felt horribly masochistic again, the insidious water pouring relentlessly in.

‘If I have to be punished, I want it from you,’ she mumbled, ‘I want you to be harsh and merciless, I want to serve you…’

She broke off as she felt her insides give a stab of pain as they adjusted to the water filling her. ‘I'm so full, Mistress Laura, I can't stand any more!’

‘Nonsense, you've only had a litre and a half. We've a long way to go yet! So you'd like me to punish you, that's a good sign. Keep on talking.’

Gerda closed her eyes, weakly struggling against her bonds, her mind a whirling rhombus of sexual masochism as the words poured out. ‘I need you, Mistress, I need your strength and your love and your cruelty. I want to see you always in tight black rubber, torturing me, but always with your face only half masked so that I can see your mouth, and your long hair! Please, Laura, I can't stand any more...’ Again the whip cracked across Gerda's breasts. ‘Insolent bitch, daring to call me 'Laura'. I am your Mistress, slave! Now we'll increase the flow!’

Dimly Gerda heard the woman stride across to the tank, her rubber costume and apron‑gown crackling loudly in the sound‑proof room. Next moment the water‑flow increased. She screamed as the pressure expanded inside her. One part of her mind knew she must keep talking.

‘The pain is dreadful, Mistress, I am so full but the water is still coming in. I accept this pain because you have ordered it, there is no way I can refuse it. I will do anything you wish, I am your servant and your slave, I'll fulfil your every whim…’ She broke off in agony, her body arched in a futile attempt to stop the torturing water.

Laura signalled the maid to turn off the tap. The water was low in the tank. Gerda gave a moan of relief as the pressure eased.

‘A good performance, slave Gerda. You have three litres inside you. Tough, but not dangerous. I believe it's possible to pump six litres into the human system, but Le Compte insists we don't exceed three litres, as a safety measure. But I expect you agree with him?’

Gerda was barely able to speak, but found to her chagrin she was enormously excited sexually. ‘Whatever you say, Mistress, I am totally in your power.’

‘And don't ever forget it’ Laura snapped, ‑Before you are finally trained for your Master, Le Compte, you will become my slave. You have no idea how persuasive I can become... Annabelle, bring me the heaviest rubber bung and unstrap the slave!’

Gerda felt the straps being released, and her legs lowered to the floor. The pipe was unstraped and she felt it being pulled out. ‘Hold your enema in,’ Laura warned, ‘One drop and you'll get so many Demerits your head will swim!’

The tube slid out, and almost thankfully Gerda felt the thick rubber plug being forced inside her bottom and strapped tightly in, securely scaling in the massive water enema so that she could relax her muscles.

‘Stand up at attention.’ the Executioner ordered. Painfully, Gerda rose, feeling her stomach horribly extended, her intestines screaming to be released. She found herself face to face with Laura, her svelte figure shapeless under the long rubber surgical gown, her eyes gleaming maliciously behind her mask. Suddenly Gerda could no longer control herself, weakened and cowed by the enema and the sexual implications. She threw herself down against the other girl, her gloved hands frantically caressing the back of the heavy red jodphurs.

‘Yes, Mistress!’ she whimpered, ‘Yes! I'll suffer for you, I'll do anything you want, just order me! I love you!’

Abruptly Laura stood back, her smile cruel and triumphant under the red mask. ‘Good. Very good. Just remember this moment, slave Gerda. I knew you were a latent homosexual; from now onwards I will make you so dependant on me you may never need your Master again!’

Immersed in the pain and pressure of her enema, Gerda only dimly heard the ominous words. Her will‑power had evaporated and she strained desperately against the thick plug, unable to relieve herself. The Executioner motioned to a maid to undo her rubber gown. ‘Go upstairs to your quarters, slave. Annabelle will accompany you and uncork you in one hour, I don't altogether trust that serving‑maid of yours. In due course you will come to me of your own free will, begging for my, favours. But not too soon, I hope; I shall still look forward to your Intensive Training!’

She strode out of the Training Room, her thick rubber breeches rustling loudly. The maid, Annabelle, still tightly gagged, indicated they should proceed upstairs. Slowly, and in an agony of body and mind, Gerda walked towards the door.

The hour had almost elapsed, and the three girls formed a curious triangle of obedience. Gerda, unable now to sit, stood groaning against the wall of her dressing­ room. Maria, worried for her Mistress and furious at the intrusion of another maid, stood protectively in front of her Mistress. Annabelle, passive and gagged, remained at attention at the other side of the room. Eventually she nodded, indicated the clock, and departed.

Maria turned to Gerda, bending to unstrap the huge plug. To her amazement Gerda checked her movements. ‘No!’ she moaned, ‘I've got to overcome this, otherwise the bitch will have succeeded. Give me a Pleasure first’

Not understanding, Maria brought across the Machine and carefully applied it to her Mistress. Within seconds Gerda was writhing as ecstasy and pain consumed her body. ‘Now!’ she breathed, ‘Undo the plug straps and take me to the bathroom. And have a whip ready when I come out!’

On the toilet, the bung removed, Gerda almost lost consciousness as she took a long drawn‑out Pleasure while she relieved herself of the massive enema. When it was finally over she washed and powdered her bottom and came back to the dressing‑room. Maria obediently handed her a long thin whip. Gerda regarded her maid tolerantly.

‘I'm sure you won't understand, Maria, some day I'll try to explain it to you. I don't want to whip you. You are going to whip me! In this way I'll try to banish the threat of Laura. You must whip it out of me, cleanse me of that part of me which wants her! That whip will cut right through my skin, so bring me a pair of very tight latex pants.’

Mystified, Maria did as she was told. When she had struggled into them, Gerda draped herself over the back of an armchair, her bottom high in the air. ‘Now whip me hard,’ she ordered her maid, ‘Wait! I want a severe gag so I don't cry out. Strap it in tightly!’

Maria took out a large ball‑gag from the cupboard and forced it into her Mistress's mouth, strapping it securely behind her mask. Gerda bent again over the chair then felt the stinging lash of the whip as it descended again and again across her thinly‑rubbered bottom, her screams muted by the gag.

Instinctively Maria sensed what her Mistress needed now, and the whip descended with heavy strokes until Gerda was whimpering and signalling her to stop. Scared, Maria undid her Mistress's gag and clasped her in her arms.

‘It's all right,’ Gerda snuffled, ‘I feel better now, I'm not a lesbian and I'm not going to give in to that bitch! Can you understand?’

Maria was sobbing now. ‘I don't, dear Mistress, but whatever you order I will carry out! I have no right to whip you. Will you punish me?’

‘No! That was what I wanted. I'll explain later! But I need more punishment now, to get away from that bitch. What are your orders for me?’

Maria unclasped herself, the tears still wetting her tight latex mask, and crossed to a large box on the sofa. ‘Mistress, this was brought only a few minutes ago, with orders for you to be dressed and ready to report in two hours. I only know that your Master, Le Compte, intends to take you to the mainland tonight’

Gerda was astonished, and faintly perturbed. She was now so accustomed to her Training on the island that the thought of leaving it worried her. Could this mean her adored Master had decided she was not worthy to become his Slave? Surely not, she was trying so hard to accept the terrible high‑level Training.

‘He can't turn me away now! See what it is, quickly!’ She dreaded that it might be the 'ordinary' clothes in which she had arrived on the island all those months ago. Her breathing calmed slowly as Maria pulled out various costumes, of latex and rubber. There was a dressing list which she consulted, then turned to Gerda. ‑

‘He's taking you to Rome for two nights. Mistress!’ she said excitedly. ‘You've to be dressed for his open Maserati, and I've to pack various other costumes for day and evening wear in Rome. That's wonderful, it means he completely trusts you and you're into the final stages!’

Gerda felt a glow of sheer happiness. Now she could really prove to her lover that she was ready for him. Away from the sinister influence of the Executioner, she could demonstrate in every way that she was Le Compte's Top‑Level Slave even though she had not yet passed the final exams.

‘Prepare me, Maria, prepare me for my Master’

CHAPTER 12

After her shattering Pleasure, she tried to remain calm although she was inwardly screaming for the touch of her Master. ‘You bastard!’ she whispered, knowing she could be incurring untold Demerits, ‘This was all part of your Training, wasn't it?’ Making me drink champagne, knowing I was chained into my rubber costume, keeping me here until I was forced to pee into my costume?’

He smiled at her with unaccustomed warmth, rendering her words weak and useless. ‘Of course, my lovely Gerda, I warned you earlier of my intentions, but I don't think you believed me. It is part of your Training, but now advanced enough that we can share it together, because you're ready for it!’

She realised what he said was true. Mentally, she could now accept the real meaning of total slavehood, and could understand and revel in it, whereas a few months ago she would have run screaming for the police. Suddenly it all felt good, and she smiled at him.

‘Of course you're right as usual, my lovely Guy, my adored Master! Here I am, in the smartest nightclub in Rome, in my superb black satin‑and‑rubber evening dress, with my grease‑pants awash because you plied me with champagne until I had to relieve myself. But how can it feel so marvellous? How can I sit here, calmly, macking on my big thick Rod, and tell you again that I love you desperately? It just doesn't make sense!’

He offered her a cigarette and she accepted it between her gloved fingers. ‘It makes very wonderful sense,’ he said quietly, ‘It means you are now capable of being a Top ­Level Slave, something comparatively rare and very much to be envied. It means you can attain a height of ecstasy which, unfortunately, not many humans will achieve. You will be able to turn your pain and suffering and humiliation into glorious orgasms of sheer Pleasure.’ Abruptly his mood changed, as if he had said too much. He stood up, offering his hand.

‘Shall we leave, my dear? You must be tired!’

Slowly she rose, feeling the liquid inside the tight drawers sluggishly caressing her buttocks and thighs, mixed with the grease of her Rod and causing her to come near to a second Pleasure. She stretched out her mackintoshed hand and allowed him to lead her to the stairs.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom of his penthouse, her awful humiliation forgotten, now clean and pure in a white rubber‑lined dressing‑gown. Guy had taken off his tuxedo, and was wearing only his black latex suit. He was smoking a cigar, moodily regarding the glass of brandy he was holding.

She knelt in front of him, half slave and half lover, pressing her lips against the thick rubber of his suit.

‘Anything, Master' she whispered, ‘anything at all! At my final Examination I want to be able to face the very worst, the most severe torture, I want to know you will watch me and be proud of me the way I will accept, and love, my Punishment just for you.’

He turned away almost roughly. ‘Easy to say, slave, much more difficult to carry out! Have you any idea what is in store for you when we return to the island? Nine slaves out often who are trained there only achieve the seventy percent mark.’ He took a heavy drag of his cigarette.’0h; I pass them as ready to receive their Master, because seventy percent is a high mark. I have done my task and they will certainly give their Master the highest satisfaction.’

‘Then what worries you, Guy?’ she asked, gently stroking his Supreme Master under the rubber suit. ‘Can't I reach those heights? Aren't I capable of being a Top ­Level Slave? I promise I will try, because I love you. I love you. There's nothing you can inflict on me which will destroy that love.’ She was very serious.

He looked down at her, tenderly, but his voice was harsh and she could not see his expression of concern. ‘Perhaps, slave Gerda, perhaps! Now get into your punishment sleeping‑suit, which is laid out in my bedroom. When you are ready, call me and I will complete your strappings and bondage!’

Fifteen minutes later, Gerda was almost amused. Having recently suffered a night in total punishment bondage on the island, her present costume seemed almost childish. It was a very heavy white rubber one‑piece suit with a hood and stiff rubber collar attached, and with straps and gold buckles welded onto the costume from head to toe.

Snug inside it, zipped and strapped up as far as she could manage, Gerda called her Master. He pulled back the rubber sheets on the bed and tugged her into position. ‘You will sleep beside me,’ he ordered, buckling up the straps round her thighs and waist, ‘And you'll wear your mask as well.’

Gerda smiled. For the past few months she had been locked onto her bed ' chained around her neck, and wearing her slave mask. Her adored Master obviously had forgotten the rigid rules of his own household. But his orders were to be obeyed, and obediently she stretched her heavily‑clad figure down the large double bed.

Abruptly she felt steel clamps around her ankles, then around the thick rubber gloves attached to the costume. In a few moments chains and padlocks had been attached, leaving her entirely helpless on the bed.

‘Come now, dear slave Gerda,’ Le Compte smiled, ‘you surely don't wish to be an amateur? Not only will you be securely chained into your sleeping position, but you will also wear one of the special Sleeping Hoods. It's a new idea; we're still experimenting with it. Your comments, or reactions, will be most useful’

Next moment a sponge‑rubber blindfold covered Gerda's eyes, being secured behind her head. Then she felt thin rubber tubes being inserted up her nostrils, and she passively nodded as she breathed freely through each one. One did not bluff or pretend about one's air supply.

Now she felt a heavy rubber hood being pulled over her head. Her two breathing tubes were passed through holes in the helmet, then it was being tightened and laced up the back. She realised now she was completely encased over her face and could only breathe through the two small tubes up her nostrils. The rubber hood, hot, and laced to skin‑tightness, was a terrifying threat to her existence if her life‑line of nose‑tubes were stopped up for any reason. She tried to relax, breathing slowly, remembering her Master's words. Already she was perspiring with excitement inside the heavy rubber suit.

She felt him lie down beside her, and her fears vanished. Her padlocked chains prevented her from moving over to him, but she turned her blind and masked face towards him.

‘When will I be allowed to Pleasure you with my mouth, Master?’ It was difficult to speak against the rubber hoods; ‘Surely this is the first duty of a good slave?’

She felt his hand caress her heavily‑rubbered suit, and in her tight chains she strained towards him. ‘In time, when you have passed your final Training. The next few weeks will be very harsh, and sometimes you will need every part of your love to carry you through. But always remember, however severe the pain or the suffering, that I will be there, in spirit, as well as in the flesh! Now sleep well, because you have a heavy day ahead of you!’

She felt the weight of several rubber sheets being laid over her helpless body. It was insufferably hot and already her thick white suit was soaking with perspiration, and she could feel the sweat running from her forehead into the watertight neck of the costume. She thought vaguely of protesting, but it was difficult to speak inside the two masks, and she felt pleasantly sleepy. It had been a long and tiring day, and all that champagne, and the excitement of her shame in the nightclub...

She was fast asleep in her rubber prison when her lover bent gently over and kissed her tightly hooded face.

The dream was a terrifying mixture of sex and horror.

She was in a huge operating theatre, naked, and hung from the ceiling by her wrists, although she felt no pain. Three nurses in rubber costumes, masked and gagged, were dragging across the floor an impossibly heavy suit, rubber or metal? She could not tell, but knew it was something evil. Laura, the Executioner, came in front of her‑dressed in a gleaming red evening dress, her long hair insolently cascading to her waist. '

‘Too late, Gerda, too late!’ she said spitefully, ‘If you had given yourself to me you would not be suffering this final punishment! When they've fitted you into this suit, it will be welded on, and you will wear it for the rest of your life!’

Gerda screamed as the nurses commenced to pull the inch‑thick suit up her dangling legs. It seemed to be made of a silver metallic material, cold and heavy and she knew that, like the Prisoner of Zenda, (or was it The Man in the Iron Mask? she thought crazily), it would be impossible to remove.

They had released her wrists now, and her arms were being forced into the rigid sleeves of the devilish suit. The Executioner, smiling horribly through her mask, had picked up some kind of blow‑torch, which hissed fiercely. ‘Close up the back,’ she ordered, ‘then I can seal it upon Gerda's body for evermore! Twenty five kilos, slave, to carry around day and night, you will never be free again!’

‘You'll burn me!’ Gerda screamed again, feeling the dreadful suit clamped round her body like heavy armour. Laura came towards her.

‘No, slave Gerda! It's a special material, airtight, watertight, and heatproof! When I apply the fire it will fuse into one piece which can never be removed!’

‘No! No! Please! I'll do anything...’

‘...anything, anything at all ... please!’ Out of the dim limbo of sleep Gerda became conscious, breathing heavily through her nose‑tubes. She was stifling hot and could feel her body moving wetly inside her sleeping‑suit. Her hands were numb within her chained gloves, and she vainly attempted to move her stiff limbs in their bondage.

But the relief of realising it had all been a dream made her feel much better. She called out tentatively, her heavy hoods giving no indication of whether it was night or morning.

Dimly she heard footsteps, then Guy's blessed voice.

‘Awake at last, my Gerda? I should give you I00 Demerits for sheer laziness! It's I0.30 and you've been asleep for nearly nine hours. I suppose I ought to congratulate you, last night I mistakenly imagined you would be pleading for release from your heat bondage after an hour!’

Gerda was only half awake, her dream still vivid, unable yet to believe she had slept so soundly. She felt Guy undoing her chains and straps. ‘There is no hurry,’ he said kindly, ‘Take a bath and then we'll have some coffee. I'll lay out your costume for lunch, I am interviewing a new client who wishes me to take his woman and train her. Perhaps you can be helpful!’

With difficulty Gerda struggled into her bathroom in the heavy white rubber suit, inches of perspiration now sloshing inside the feet. Her nightmare faded and by the time she joined Le Compte in the large sitting‑room, she was feeling refreshed and slinkily comfortable in her long mackintosh dressing‑gown.

She took a sip of café espresso and lit a cigarette. ‘Is it Guy and Gerda today, or Master and slave time?’

He laughed. He was wearing black latex pyjamas and they crinkled deliciously as he moved, taking her mind off the question.

‘Gerda and Guy for the moment. But at lunch you will be the perfect slave. I want this man to appreciate your qualities. He is from the Argentine, ridiculously rich, married to a girl twenty years younger than himself who he suspects is bored and playing around. I think she might be a good addition to the family!’

She leaned forward, intrigued. ‘You're a real Jekyll and Hyde! Sometimes you're like a little boy with a new toy, then suddenly ... suddenly you're an evil and attractive monster! Please, now, just as Gerda and Guy, could I give you Pleasure...?’

The lunch was at Capriccio, a popular restaurant only fifty metres from Via Veneto. Gerda, rodded and in tight grease pants, was wearing slim beige trousers lined in thin rubber, a jacket of the same material, and underneath a cruelly constricting leather corset which Guy had laced on mercilessly. Despite this, she felt curiously comfortable as she followed the maître to a corner table.

The couple arrived within minutes. Gerda was not impressed with the wife, a sullen blonde of around thirty, sloppily made‑up and with straggling unbrushed hair. Gerda amused herself by thinking of the girl strapped into the Preparation Room barber's chair and the Executioner, in her sinister operating costume and apron, cutting the locks and trimming her hair so that her permanent slave‑mask would fit correctly. She macked gently on her Rod and thought what a fine world it was.

By the end of the excellent lunch Bruno, the Argentinean, a handsome but worried man in his forties, had discretely made his offer to Guy. It was obvious to Gerda they had talked previously in private, or over the telephone, because Sonia, the wife, appeared to think she was being offered a holiday at a health spa in the Mediterranean. Bruno turned to her enthusiastically.

‘You see, my dear? You can remain there during the five weeks I will be visiting Japan on my dreary business. My friend Le Compte will ensure you are treated in the manner you deserve. This nice young lady here will be your close friend!’

‘Like hell!’ thought Gerda, wondering what dear Sonia would say if she revealed the enemas, the whippings, the suffocation, and various other items which were all part of the daily training. She had a crazy desire to undo her slacks and indicate the crackling rubber lining, then show this girl the thick Rod chained inside the grease pants. Instead, she smiled sweetly.

‘Of course! It's an island of Paradise, we have nothing to do all day but lie around in the hot sun!’

She was amused to see Guy's look of approval, then surprised to get a wink and a faint nod from the Argentinean. Her corset was clamping her like a vice, but she felt wonderful, and nonchalantly helped herself to the chocolate mints.

When lunch was finished, acting on Guy's previous instructions, she rose and suggested 'She and Sonia do some quick shopping. This was in order for Bruno to complete financial arrangements with Le Compte.

They left the two men and walked into Via Veneto. Gerda expected the blonde wife to make a bee‑line for one of the couturières or the expensive shoe or handbag shops. Instead, Sonia asked if they could sit at Doney's and have another coffee. Away from her husband, she had a much more attractive personality.

‘I can't seem to make contact with Bruno,’ she said after they were seated at a table, ‘He married me, then rushed off to have his sordid little affairs! What does he want from me? I love him dearly, but sometimes I think he only wants me as a housekeeper, or a hostess for his dinner parties!’

‘Have you ever tried to be a slave?’ Gerda asked, thinking if she was going to help it was necessary for some straight talking. She expected a puzzled response from the blonde girl, but Sonia seemed to know what she meant.

‘Of course I would be his slave! Before I married him I told him I would do anything he wanted; but he never asks me! Obviously, I'm too stupid in some ways; I don't know what it's all about! ‘

‘I think you should come to Le Compte's island,’ Gerda said thoughtfully, ‘Perhaps I can help you, as well as Bruno.’

Later, at Guy's apartment, she told him of the conversation. He nodded, his intentions serious.

‘Yes, she's coming to the island, and I'm glad you've made her want to visit by her own free will. I've told Bruno we will need the minimum period of three months, and I believe by then she will be a different girl.’

‘You should be a marriage counsellor,’ Gerda said lightly, ‘but just remember I am your chosen slave, so don't get other ideas! Now, as we're returning to the Island tomorrow, what horrifying training are you imposing on me tonight?’

He regarded her fondly, but his eyes were cruel. ‘Tonight my dear slave, you will receive a full enema, and you will take at least one Pleasure, in the middle of the Via Veneto.’

She suddenly felt cold and sick in her stomach.

‘How?’ she whispered, ‘In the car? You'll give me an enema in the car? Please not, what will I do afterwards?’

He smiled at her, fondling her masked head. ‘I'm glad you haven't read the M.M.A. Handbook! Trust me, I'll dress you at six o'clock!’

A few minutes before six, the elderly servant knocked at the door to Gerda's suite and handed her a heavy mask.

‘The Master has ordered you to wear this, otherwise completely nude, at exactly six o'clock,’ he instructed quietly, then withdrew.

The mask the servant had brought was of black leather, lacing up the back and lined with red rubber. It had nose and mouth holes, but no eye holes through which to see. She laced it up tightly, undressed, then sat on the edge of the bed to await her Master.

He knocked, then entered, his arms full of her costume. He approved of the way she stood up proudly, unable to see, slim figure bare and longing for its rubber coverings. He detached one of the outfits and handed it to her. ‘Gloves on first, then slip into this heavy leotard. The body is reasonably loose, but the thigh‑bands and the wrists are very tight. At the rear of the suit you will find an anal‑hose. Fit it right up your bottom, with grease, then tighten the belt of the suit.’

Guy watched as Gerda completed her awkward task unable to see. Her gloves were now sealed on by the tight sleeves, and the rubber tube was inches up her rear. The tube, sealed into the suit, extended several feet out the back, and now Le Compte passed it between her legs and strapped it into position on her chest. Then he took a large rubber bag, full of water, and suspended it round her neck by a strap, attaching the bottom tap to the tube.

Next, he helped her into thick latex trousers with feet attached, which held her tightly round the waist. Finally, a heavy rubber jacket was zipped on, but leaving an aperture where the water bag lay snugly against her breasts.

‘You are in luck, slave,’ he remarked, ‘It has started to rain outside. So put on high‑heeled boots over your undersuit, and I will have ready for you a long mackintosh cape to cover everything. When your boots are on, I will padlock your hands behind you.’

Five minutes later she obediently presented herself, her Master locking her arms behind. Then he fixed the green rubber cape round her neck and undid her helmet. She blinked in the light, and in the mirror saw only a booted girl in a shining green cape. She watched him struggle into a black rubber coat, covering his hip‑length boots. He smiled at her, savouring her fear.

‘I think we are ready, slave Gerda. The elements are evil tonight’

Her Master was in a good mood as they descended in the elevator, and Gerda felt weak as his black rubber coat crinkled and rustled as, he gestured, knowing he was wearing a tight latex suit underneath. She was aware of the horror which lay ahead, but conscious that her Training over the past weeks allowed no compromises. She closed her eyes and smiled as she wondered what a passer‑by would say if he knew what she was wearing under the cape.

They were in the lobby, then outside, with the rain drizzling. Suddenly it seemed natural, and she strained up to kiss him on the lips. ‘As usual, my darling Master, you even have the weather trained! God! At this moment I want to feel your whip, a hundred times!’

They walked into the rain. Via Veneto was only slightly deserted, the faithful tourists sitting under the umbrella shelters. They walked slowly up towards La Hotel Flora.

Casually he put his hand inside her raincoat and turned on the tap of the heavy bag hanging from her neck covered by the loose cape. ‘Keep walking naturally,’ he instructed quietly, ‘Any sudden movements will earn you Demerits!’

She felt the green rubber cloak rustle loudly with every step, aware of her steel handcuffs under, conscious of her great love for Guy; whatever he inflicted on her, or wanted from her, she would carry out without question.

Suddenly the water from the rubber bag started to flow into her bottom. She paused only fractionally, then continued her stride, her words low and for him alone.

‘Bastard! It's running in! Please, not too much. I won't be able to hold it. Please. No, shut it off, I can't cope with any more!’

He was nodding to acquaintances and seemed to be ignoring her. Her tightly­ manacled wrists beneath the long cape made it impossible for her to grasp his arm or draw attention to her problem. In desperation she stopped, feeling her bottom and stomach now distended. He turned back to her.

‘Something wrong, my darling?’

She could hardly talk. ‘Please, quickly, get me back to the apartment, I can't hold this! What the hell are you trying to do...?’

She felt like screaming as the water continued to trickle into her from the large rubber bottle. She wanted to kill him, but she knew she would obey him, obey and understand his instructions, and above all suffer every degradation he ordered. Meekly she opened the sphincters of her bottom and allowed the gravity of the dreaded bag to empty its contents into her.

Now they were crossing the road at the top of Via Veneto, a darkened area where cars hurled by, unlit by the bars and restaurants.

‘You may make one movement, slave,’ he said conversationally, ‘I'll slip my hand through the slit pocket of your cape and loosen the belt round your watertight leotard. You will then be able to expel the tube from your bottom.’

‘But I won't be able to hold it in!’ she hissed, then remembered with dismay her experience the previous night, when she had not been allowed to keep back her urine.

‘Oh God!’ she exclaimed, ‘Not that again! Please Master, not that!’

He did not bother to answer. To him, the results were inevitable.

The huge washout from the rubber bag around her neck was causing cramps in her stomach. Suddenly furious, she pushed her chained hands downwards and gently pulled out the pipe from her bottom. She felt a spurt of liquid pass down her anal passage, and she raised her head in proud bondage, although her thoughts were chaotic.

‘Oh, no!’ she whispered. ‘Not here! You bastard, please... not here... no... please’

As they started to walk down the other side of the Via Veneto. Gerda's enema two litres of soapy water, flooded into her thick rubber leotard. In a daze, Gerda managed to walk down the wide pavement, her movement showing nothing to the few passers‑by.

As the soapy water rushed out of her, filling her grease pants and watertight suit, Gerda felt a huge feeling of relief. If this is what Guy wants, she thought, then this is his privilege. She felt again a deep feeling of love for her cruel Master.

Now every step was a step of Servitude, macking proudly in her own enema in front of all these senseless people who had no knowledge of her Master, or his superb training. She felt alive again and she stopped suddenly, so that he turned to her. She was wonderfully confident as she felt the handcuffs tightly holding her arms behind her, the long green rubber cape artfully covering her bondage and humiliation.

‘Kiss me, Master, here in public! You've made me shit in the middle of Via Veneto, into my rubber suit. Kiss me now and tell me how many hundreds of Demerits I have earned! I love you!’

He leaned over and kissed her mouth slowly, his hands gently fondling the enema ­filled suit beneath the green rubber mackintosh.

‘You are a wicked slave,’ he murmured, ‘And you will be suitably punished. Now you will walk carefully down until we come to Le Café de Paris, and we will sit there and have a night‑cap. Sit slowly, slave, so that you do not make a rude noise in your rubber suit.’ But now she was passed caring, and she walked the hundred metres to the café with a careless abandon, feeling her enema caress every movement of her bottom, so aware of its sexuality that she wanted to cry out to the imperturbable Master walking beside her. But suddenly she stopped, an enormous Pleasure near.

‘Clasp me close to you,’ she said quietly, ‘Because I'm going to take Pleasure...and I ... love ... every part ... of your‑macking body...!’

For the first time in his life, Le Compte was slightly embarrassed as his rubber‑caped companion pressed against him, mouth to mouth, her arms secured tightly behind her back under the cape.

‘I'll have you whipped for this,’ he hissed, and she smiled at him.

‘I hope so, dear Guy, Hundreds of times!’

He held her tightly as Pleasure wracked her body. The few passers‑by, hurrying in the rain, saw only two crazy foreigners kissing in the downpour; at least they were sensible enough to be wearing long mackintoshes.

In the elevator going up to his apartment Guy turned fiercely to his slave and fondled her bottom through the layers of protective rubber. After a half‑hour at the Café de Paris she felt proud and excited in her watertight womb. She sensed that most of the enema was only soapy water, but the mere fact she been forced to evacuate her bowels in public still gave her a horrendous thrill. She wished her manacled wrists were free so that she could caress her Master's shiny wet coat.

‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘keep me in my shame suit while we have a drink. I feel so wonderful, and so proud! Was I a good slave?’

‘The best!’ he smiled, his hands now under the long green cape and kneading the thick watertight leotard, the sloshing sound making her feel faint with excitement again. 'All right, I will unlock your handcuffs and you may remove your cape, put on your mask and an extra pair of long gloves, and join me for a night‑cap.’

Earlier in the day, in a drawer in the bedroom, she had found leather wrist and ankle straps, attached by a few inches of fine chain. She strapped these on now, over her boots and gloves, and came mincing into the large sitting‑room, which opened onto a small roof garden.

Le Compte was standing by the French windows, a panoply of stars above him, a half moon glowing brightly. ‘I think you must be Faust in disguise,’ she said quietly, ‘the rain has stopped and the clouds have vanished! But it should have been a new moon!’

He looked magnificent in his heavy skin‑tight black suit, the polished latex reflecting the light from the lamps in the room. He turned to her, nodding with approval at her self‑imposed bondage, ‘Faust I must be, but I take no credit for the weather! Rome is famous for its quick changes from sun to rain. But hopefully tomorrow we will drive back to the Island in very warm weather! But do not worry, Gerda mine, whatever the climate, you will be suitably dressed!’

She knelt in front of him, the enema water gurgling faintly as it caressed her body inside the heavy rubber suit. ‘ Guy, dear Master, ‘ she said wonderingly, ‘I love you so much! I can never go back to my previous life, what will happen to me?’

He sat on the long sofa, allowing her masked head to lie between his black‑rubbered legs. His gloved hands gently stroked her shoulders and neck.

‘Don't say that, yet.’ His words were slow and with an obviously deep feeling. Slavehood is a state of mind and body, and despite what one reads in books, it can never be imposed upon, or beaten into, a human being. Curiously, the perfect slave is always a person who has made that decision herself! There have been times over the past few years when I have made a mistake in my selection of trainees. When, after a few weeks, I've realised the girl will never willingly accept her role as slave, however severe the punishment. Of course, for the 'moment she must obey, to avoid the inevitable Demerits, but my principle has always been to mate the right slave to the right Master. A true slave, not one beaten into submission and just waiting an opportunity to escape.’

‘I often wonder about that,’ Gerda murmured, artfully pushing her masked nose tightly against her Master's black‑rubbered crotch, ‘what happens when you have a real failure? A genuine no‑no? Do you keep them locked up on the Island? I've never seen any, all your slaves and maids seem to be insanely happy, they look upon you as God!’

She could not see the pain‑filled expression which crossed his face. ‘I have been very lucky,’ he said quietly, ‘In six years I have had only three failures. Three unfortunate girls who responded to nothing, because they believed they knew all about life! They were true members of Women's Lib, they wanted no love, no restriction, certainly no pain or bondage or Orders!’

‘So what happened?’ Gerda asked.

‘You're a crafty bitch! ‘ Guy said fondly, gently squeezing her head between his legs. ‘But I think you're past the point‑of‑no‑return, so I have no secrets from you! I have a reasonably successful import and export business in Paris and Rome, which deals with the Far East and Australia. It owns two 707's, and one 747 jumbo jet. Freight aircraft, of course, but occasionally a sleepy passenger can wake up on board, bound for Australia, with a certified money order for twenty thousand dollars in her handbag.’

‘But it's a risk, Guy, she could get on the first plane back!’

‘Possibly. But don't forget I never take on a prospective slave unless she has no close relatives, no living parents, usually desperate for money, and already is one of life's failures.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Not in your case, of course, I was in love with you. But there would be little reason for them to return. To spend that money trying to find an island in the Mediterranean and sue me for abduction? I hope` it never comes to that!’

Suddenly he tensed, as if his mere conversation was a sign of weakness. ‘We have talked too much today. You are still a slave‑in‑training, go to your quarters and get cleaned up, and report to me in your heavy sleeping‑suit in an hour!’

Despite the thick rubber sleeping‑suit with its twelve straps and attached hood, Gerda slept soundly through the night. When she awoke, her body wet with perspiration, she called out for Guy, her tightly strapped arms numb and helpless.

Le Compte's servant came to release her, apologising for Guy's absence as he undid the tight leather straps. ‘It is almost noon, Signora, and Le Compte wishes to leave at two. Please to bathe and then I am instructed to dress you for the journey. Your Rod, grease, pantellone, and your regular suit are prepared in the bathroom for you to put on yourself. When you are ready I will serve you lunch, then complete your dressing according to my Master's wishes.’

It was one‑thirty when Gerda finished a delicious meal of cold salmon and salad, with two glasses of chilled Soave. She stretched luxuriously in her tight black 'working' suit, feeling the Rod macking underneath in the grease pants. ‘OK, amico mio,’ she smiled, ‘Get me dressed for that awful character we both call 'Master' ‘

The sun was shining brightly outside, and she recoiled slightly at the sight of the mass of heavy rubber costumes laid out on her bed, already neatly made by Guy's servant. He picked up a thick black latex suit and she slid into its powdered confinement, with rubber gloves attached.

He zipped it up the back, and she heard the sinister click of a padlock as the high neck was locked into position over the top of her black undersuit. She obediently donned a second pair of long gloves, then climbed into a thick black rubber one‑piece motor cycle suit. With a murmured apology the servant zipped it up the back to the tight collar.

But now Gerda felt at home again. She turned to the old man and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Don't apologist, dear Enrico! I know you love Le Compte, and so do I! Whatever he has ordered is 'va bene' with me. Capisce?’

His face cracked into an understanding smile. ‘Is good, Signora! I have served him for many years. He is the stern Master, but with a molto simpatico heart. Perhaps he hurt you a little but never to harm you.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Gerda feelingly, ‘Now what else does that monster want me to wear?’

Already she was perspiring inside the three suits. It was a warm day but obviously Guy had no intention of allowing her to get sunburnt in some light costume. Enrico picked up heavy rubber chest waders, strapping them tightly over her shoulders, and finally a massive rubber coat made of brown hospital sheeting, the sleeves ending with heavy rubber gloves attached. The front of the coat had smart leather buttons up each side, but the coat itself zipped up the back. He left a few inches open at the top while he tucked in her slave mask, then handed her a heavy leather helmet.
‘Mi scusi, Signora, is necessary you wear this. Please to put on and I will lace it at the back. ‘

She pulled on the hood, noting it was rubber‑lined and finding a large gag attached. The eyes were built‑in perspex, but there were breathing holes at the nose and a hole through the centre of the rubber ball‑gag. She smoothed it into position and the servant laced it tightly up her head, then zipped the thick collar of the coat over the neck‑piece.

The weight of the total outfit was enormous, and Gerda's head was fixed immovably, able only to see in front of her. She clumped across to the long mirror, and was surprised how 'normal' she appeared. The well‑cut brown rubber coat came to her knees and only revealed what could have been Wellingtons. Her leather‑masked head was no more than one could see on a motor cyclist on a wet day, and she knew this would be covered by a crash helmet anyway. Enrico tightened a broad belt round her coat and kissed his fingers in Italian style.

‘Magnifico, Signora! You are the beautiful sight! How I envy you!’

Gagged, there was no way Gerda could make some smart response. The servant made a gesture of regret. ‘Please to sit, Madam, it is ten minutes yet before I take you downstairs to Le Compte.’

Thankfully, she relaxed in a chair, her Rod macking into her and her grease playing havoc with her sexual senses. The costume crackled loudly with every movement, and she moved deliciously inside her soaking inner suit and wondered if Enrico would notice if she took a Pleasure. Again, she marvelled at Guy's ingenuity. No matter how much she perspired, she was totally watertight and the outside world could never guess of the sweat streaming inside her inner suits; just as the heaviest downpour could never infiltrate her outer layers.

Enrico returned, bowed, and handed her a crash helmet. ‘Is not really necessary, Signora, but just in case we meet some person in the elevator or in the garage.’ She buckled it into position with difficulty, her three sets of gloves hampering her movements, feeling like an astronaut being led to his rocket capsule.

In the basement garage, a black rubbered and booted figure was waiting, helmeted like herself. Guy raised a gauntleted hand and indicated a huge gleaming Honda motor­bike. ‘A small hobby of mine,’ he exclaimed modestly, ‘I used to race them in amateur competitions. I thought you'd enjoy the fresh air on the way back!’

He helped her onto the pillion, fitted her legs and boots to the stirrups, then attached steel clamps round her ankles.

‘This is to make you more secure,’ he said ‘But don't worry about them. They are made so that in the event of an accident they will automatically break away. Enrico, you'll bring the Maserati up to the port tomorrow and leave it in the usual place?’

‘Si, mio Conte; have the good journey!’

Helpless and slightly scared, Gerda felt the big machine roar into life, and soon they were expertly weaving through the traffic. The warm sun beat down on her thick costume, and her face felt wet beneath its masks. She held on tightly round Guy's black rubber coat.

Then they were out of Rome and the speed increased. She became aware of the springing of the pillion, her Rod greasing in and out with every undulation of the road. Now the road was speeding past, thankfully cooling her suits, but accentuating the superb feeling of the rubber tightly encasing her body. She wished she could speak, but the heavy gag was firmly in place.

‘I want you to enjoy your outing!’ Guy shouted, ‘You may take Pleasure whenever you wish, just hold tightly on to me. I hope to do 160 kilometres an hour, so that should either scare you or encourage you!’

Now there was only the tearing wind and her Rod vibrating. She felt safe in her cocoon of rubber, utterly secure against the perils of the road and the vibrant roar of the engine, pulling herself closer and closer to her adored Master as the Pleasures swept through her.

CHAPTER I4

‘Son‑of‑a bitch!’ Gerda mumbled to her serving‑maid as she undressed in her quarters a few minutes later. ‘My own dear Master loans me out like a Hertz car to one of his cronies! What's more, his Slave Yvette is my best friend here, what's she going to think!’ She groaned as the huge Rod slid gently out of her bottom. ‘How dare Guy do this to me!’

Maria, young and wise and devoted to her Mistress, grinned through her tight yellow mask. ‘It's all part of your test, Madam, le Compte is doing this deliberately to see how you re‑act! Besides, you're lucky in some ways, because everyone likes The Baron Karl. At least you didn’t get one of those pigs there tonight.’

Gerda paused, struck by what her maid had said. ‘You're right as usual, Maria, that awful little Pierre man was longing to hurt me, but Guy stopped him. I see what you mean. You're trying to tell me that my shitty Master is doing this deliberately?’

Maria was consulting a dressing‑list and laying out costumes from the enormous sliding closets. ‘Of course, Mistress. It's all part of The Final Treatment to make sure the slave will accept anything. It'll get more difficult over the next few days, just play along with it!’

‘You bitch!’ Gerda said affectionately. You know more about what's going on then I do! OK. what does the Baron want me to dress in? Obviously it's been all arranged beforehand! ‘

Maria giggled. ‘You're not going to like it, Madam, but he wants you to report as a Mistress! I think he wants you to punish his slave Yvette.’

Gerda groaned. ‘That's all I need. Yvette's going to love me after tonight'

She climbed into the outfit, which Maria had laid out. First, the heavy latex pants with front and rear insertions, well greased. Then her tight black latex overall suit with feet and gloves attached. Then, curiously, an English riding outfit. Thick beige rubber breeches, a smart black wigan riding jacket, and black polished boots, the only difference being they were high‑heeled. She dressed in them quickly, and as she pulled on the boots she murmured, ‘Whatever will the Master of the Hounds say? Maybe he'll get turned on’

She stood up, accepting the black vinyl riding cap from Maria. In the long mirror she surveyed herself with approval. Apart from her slave mask under the cap, her rubber gloves, and the high‑heels of her riding boots, she looked the epitome of a member of an English Hunt. Her heavy inner suit and greased insertions did not show, and she had delicious thoughts of riding a horse so dressed. ‘Anything else?’ she enquired.

Maria consulted her list. ‘A heavy white rubber riding cape, which you'll receive downstairs at the Preparation Room, and a riding whip. The Baron is using his chalet tonight, you are to report there when ready.’

Gerda kissed her maid, then crackled downstairs, feeling the dildoes inside mack excitingly in their grease, wondering what the evening would bring forth; afraid only that she might offend her friend Yvette.

In the Preparation Room, a wide cape in heavy white rubber had been laid out for her. The Instructor strapped it round her neck, his face expressionless under the green leather mask. He handed her a long thin riding whip without comment.

She swished across the grounds in the long enveloping cape to number 9 Chalet, her Rod and front insertion easing in and out and making her feel horribly randy. So, dear Guy had given her over to a fellow Master, now she would act the role!

She entered the commodious, chalet when a masked serving‑maid opened the door, expecting to find the Baron and Yvette drinking cocktails and waiting for her. She stopped in surprise in the large living‑room, finding Yvette hanging from a rafter by her wrists, her legs in long thigh boots, strapped together, swinging slowly and helplessly high above the floor.

The Baron appeared from the bedroom door. He was dressed now in tight red latex, masked, booted and gloved. ‘Welcome, slave Gerda! On time, I see. I strung up Yvette five minutes ago, and promised to let her down only when you arrived. She will be very glad you came promptly!’

He signalled to the serving‑maid, who immediately crossed to a small winch and started to lower Yvette, then released her wrists from the strong leather straps. ‘Ungag her,’ ordered Karl, ‘this is a pleasant social occasion!’

Yvette sighed, as the heavy gag was unstrapped, then rubbed her gloved wrists. ‘Always promises,’ she said brightly, ‘I thought I'd be there for at least half an hour. But no, dear Gerda has to be on time!’

The Baron smiled in amusement. ‘The night is young, dear Yvette, I think we might find time to punish you properly. But I must admit, after that severe whipping I gave you earlier, you do seem to be in very good spirits!’

Yvette, possibly deliberately in order to incur Demerits, ignored him and crossed to Gerda, clasping her closely. ‘I love that cape,’ she said sexily, ‘I bet it's covering some gorgeous dress!’

Cool it, Yvette,’ Gerda whispered rapidly, ‘I couldn't help it, but I've been sent here as a Mistress, so don't hold it against me if I'm made to punish you tonight!’

Yvette laughed, her gloved hands caressing the long cape. 'Jesus, honey, I'm longing for some real punishment! Karl's becoming soft in his old age, try to stir him up a bit.’

They parted as Yvette's Master strode across and unfastened the long white cape, allowing Gerda to step out of it. She stood there, whip in hand, feeling slightly ridiculous in her hunting costume. Karl motioned to the maid to bring over a drink.

‘Vodka, this evening. Relax for the moment, slaves, I have some really horrible tortures for later!‘

‘Bully for you,’ said Yvette coolly, appearing to take a delight in insulting her Master, ‘more promises, promises?’ She accepted a neat vodka from the maid and turned to Gerda. ‘He gave me 150 strokes this afternoon, my bottom's hardly burning, and now he's exhausted. Gerda, never get stuck with a tired old Master!’

Gerda was appalled. In her wildest nightmares she would never have dared to talk in such a manner to Guy. Then she remembered Yvette had been Karl's Top‑Level Slave for two years, and no doubt this was part of their foreplay and understanding, and she already knew that Yvette was entirely masochistic.

Karl came forward, smiling beneath his red leather mask, glass in gloved hand. ‘You look much too lovely and relaxed in that latex dress, liebchen, go and prepare yourself to be a trussed chicken. Your maid here, Cheryl is her name, will help you into the costume while I talk to my guest.’

Obediently Yvette finished her drink, knelt and paid homage to her Master and departed with Cheryl. As she rustled out the room, she called back: ‘Watch him Gerda, or he'll be up your bottom like a randy adder!’

Karl motioned Gerda to sit down. The grease and Rods macked sexily and she tried to keep her composure. She liked this tall German Master, clad from head to foot in tight gleaming latex and leather, sensing now that Guy would never have 'lent' her out to some of the other Masters.

He raised his glass. ‘You must understand, slave Gerda, that whatever happens tonight, whatever you hear, it is Yvette whom I love. I am divorced, with two teenage sons I adore, but I know it would be fatal for me to take Yvette from the Island and marry her. I have seriously considered it, but she agrees with me, she could never live the social life I would require of her. She is beautiful, in mind as well as in body, but she is a sexual maniac, in the most masochistic way. She needs her punishment and training just as another girl needs her daily vitamins.’

‘I'm beginning to catch on,’ Gerda said slowly, ‘this is why you allow her ‑ lets face it ‑ those insulting remarks!’

‘You're beginning to understand! After a certain period, there is a rapport between Master and Slave. You, too, will have it with Guy eventually. He is a very worthy man, and my very good friend. Believe me, Yvette tries to ‑ how do you say ‑ needle me so that I will get angry and punish her more severely. Now I know her so well, sometimes I refuse to punish her at all, which makes her weep with frustration! Oh yes, we play some good games together!’

Gerda was loving it. At least she could learn more sense about her own switch from haughty socialite to a willingly serving slave.

‘Please tell me, Master Karl, am I right in giving in to this feeling of slavehood? To this awful desire to be subjugated and dressed in rubber and bondage? I never knew about this before!‘

He picked up a Monte Cristo no. 1 from a humidor on the desk, snipped it with a gold Dunhill cutter, and lit it slowly.

‘How can I play God to you, dear slave Gerda? Each one of us must lead our own life, decide our own future. But if you have this feeling now, after all your months of training, and have no desire to escape or return to your previous life, I would say you were a very lucky person. There is no disgrace in slavehood. On the contrary, it needs enormous willpower and pride to withstand a challenge!’

Gerda stood in front of him, looking very much a Mistress, her inner thoughts that of a slave. ‘You really love her, Karl? I know I shouldn’t talk to you like this, but Yvette has been very close to me; are you sure she wouldn’t rather be married to you?’

‘I can only say, my good friend Gerda, and you can confirm this with her, that I have proposed marriage to her four times in the last year. She has turned me down each time. Believe me, she is happier here! I could never give her the eternal punishments she needs, and she is sensible enough to know that eventually she would turn elsewhere for it.’

They were interrupted by the serving‑maid returning, leading Yvette by a chain round her collar. She was dressed in the dreaded 'trussed chicken' outfit, crawling in awkwardly with her wrists padlocked back to her ankles. Over her normal undersuit she was dressed in a heavy rubber brown suit, through the bottom of which protruded a Rod fitted with a 'cocks‑plume'. She edged forward on her knees to the centre of the room, looking up at them defiantly.

Underneath the severe leather chicken‑mask she was tightly gagged. Karl bent down and gently pulled the Rod in and out until Yvette was moaning and starting to take PIeasure on it. ‘You see,’ he said conversationally to Gerda, ‘there's no way of hurting her, she just turns pain into her own brand of ecstasy and eventual Pleasure. Cheryl, fix her tightly into the 'Trussed Chicken' position while we finish our drinks!‘

Gerda watched, fascinated, as the serving maid, in the new yellow and brown latex serving suit which her own maid had showed off so proudly earlier strapped Yvette's back tightly down against her legs, then fixed her neck to her knees until her head was touching the floor. The hands were already pulled back cruelly against her ankles, and Yvette's bottom, with it's waving plume, was saucily up‑ended inside the thick brown rubber suit. It was a highly uncomfortable and helpless position.

Karl sat down, waving Gerda to a seat. ‘Now, we must decide what you are going to do to my slave tonight. She needs pain, but I want something new for her. She got a severe thrashing tonight, and you heard her insulting remarks. Have you any ideas?’

Gerda was torn between a thrill of desire and her mutual friendship for Yvette. ‘Not really Master Karl, if you have already whipped her I'm sure I could do no better.’ She felt weak at the thought as she macked in her grease.

The Baron sat up suddenly, like a mischievous schoolboy ‘Well I know what we are going to do tonight! You, slave Gerda, are going to brand my dear Yvette. You are going to brand my initials onto her bottom with a red‑hot iron!’

There was a gasp from the gagged Yvette on the floor, then a gush of slow anger from Gerda. ‘Are you serious? Or joking to scare her? Then get yourself another slave, no way will I get into that scene!’

Baron Karl laughed affectionately, finished his drink, then crossed over to the cruelly bound Yvette. He started to undo the gag filling her mouth. ‘Dear Gerda, your Master has trained you well, but I fear you will never pass The Final Treatment, you are too immersed in your ethics!’ He pulled the wet gag out of Yvette's mouth. ‘'What would you say to you friend Gerda?'

Yvette, her head still tightly pulled down to her knees, spluttered strongly through the saliva. ‘Silly bitch, Gerda, I've been trying to persuade him to do this for months! I want his brand, now don't bugger it up because of your stupid principles. Do what he orders. I want it! Please!’

Karl replaced the gag, strapping it cruelly into Yvette's mouth again. ‘There's really no question about it, your Master has lent you to me for twenty‑four hours, and you must obey my commands, especially as you're on your Final Treatment. I allowed you to hear Yvette's attitude only because it may make your task a little easier. She's given you permission to brand her!’

Gerda was aghast. ‘I brand her? You must be out‑‘

She broke off as Karl swung towards her, his eyes hard through the red leather hood. ‘Shut up, slave Gerda! Cheryl, fetch one of the heaviest gags and strap it in tightly. I'm beginning to wonder, Gerda, what fabulous qualities your Master sees in you! We'll see how you react to a little discipline.’

In moments Gerda was viciously gagged with a huge gag‑mask, a choking big rubber ball criss‑crossed by straps over her face and secured tightly behind her head. The whip was taken from her, and her wrists were forced behind her back and handcuffed. Then the Baron hauled her across to the centre of the floor and strapped a wide leather collar round her neck, attaching it to the chains and pulley from which Yvette had recently been lowered. He crossed to the winch and turned it until the chain tightened and she was desperately trying to keep her balance on the tip of her boots, her breath heaving and the gag choking her.

Karl picked up Gerda's black whip, then slashed it across her rubber‑jodphured bottom several times, causing Gerda to spin round in agony. Then he crossed to Yvette, and in her tightly bondaged position, gave her four vicious strokes with the whip, causing an agonised moan from his slave.

‘You slaves need a constant reminder of your position, it seems! Cheryl, release my slave and get her prepared for her branding. Everything was sent across from the Preparation Room earlier.’

The masked and gagged maid hurried to obey. A serving‑maid was a robot, trained only to follow her Master, whatever her own feelings. Gerda swung in agony, almost choking, hardly aware of Yvette being released and led away. The baron sat down, after pouring himself another drink.

‘Let this be a lesson to you, slave Gerda. You look very luscious there, almost strangling in your leather collar, your arms secured behind you, standing on the tips of your boots. One inch higher and you would really suffer! Now later, when we are suitably prepared, you will carry out the branding of my slave, or I will report back to your Master you have failed miserably. But as I have you for twenty‑four hours, I will first make sure you suffer, if you disobey me. I will attach your nipple‑screws and hang you off the floor by them; just keep that in mind. Then I will give orders to an Instructor to give you the Punishment Enema which lasts for two hours, the colonic one you've probably heard about. Now do we understand each other? ‘

There was no way Gerda could convey her feelings, but now she was beginning, perhaps for the first time, to understand the unlimited powers of the Masters. She choked against her vicious gag, feeling the saliva running down her masked face. Incredibly, she felt a superb thrill of pure sexuality run through her wracked body. This was her life! This was what she wanted, a superb and subtle relationship with her Master, with the threat of unmentionable punishments always hanging over her head like the Sword of Damocles. She knew now that Yvette felt the same way.

Minutes later the chain was slackened, then the collar and gag unfastened by the serving‑maid. Karl stood at the fireplace, tall and dominant in his superb costume, watching her.

She came towards him on her high heels, her bearing and approach, that of a proud mistress, except that her wrists were still manacled behind her. She stood level with him for a moment, eye to eye, then she sank to her knees and buried her masked face against his latex suit.

‘I thank you, Master Karl. Perhaps tonight I've learnt something valuable. Of course I will obey you, and I will brand your slave Yvette. I envy her, and I hope you will be here when my Master does me the honour of branding me!’

It was almost as if the difficult moment had never occurred. Gerda felt her wrists being unchained, then Cheryl was offering her a drink again, as an honoured guest. The Baron was again his charming self.

‘You have great perception, Gerda. Guy has not made a mistake! Now, the branding. It really is not so terrible as it sounds! The irons have been fixed with a ‘K' and an 'S', about one inch high, meaning of course, 'Karl's Slave'. The 'K' will go on the left cheek of her bottom, the 'S' on the right side. Although you will apply the actual irons, the Doctor will be in attendance and will cover the burns with antiseptic. I'm assured that within two days my Yvette will be able to sit down comfortably!’

Gerda felt unbearably sexy at his description, moving imperceptibly inside her grease pants. The thought of the awful pain, which Yvette would endure stirred her feelings, she was revolted by it but at the same time excited. The Baron watched her with amusement, well aware of her reactions.

‘Relax, Gerda liebchen, I want to get you truly aroused before we carry out the Branding Initiation. That's why I ordered your somewhat strange costume for tonight.

It's a Whipping Outfit, a true Mistress costume, and tonight we will see whether you can be sadistic as well as masochistic.’

She was afraid suddenly. Already she had experienced wonderful flashes of sadism when she had whipped her maid. She knew, too, that her lesbian relationship with The Executioner was no longer one sided, that at certain times she longed for the feel of her cruel Laura. But not this! She was a masochist, a superb one according to her reports; what were they trying to prove now?

An hour later the incredible scene had been prepared. The chalet's kitchen, furnished in early American style, had a sturdy long wooden table, which the maid had covered with a thick rubber sheet. Upon Karl's instructions, she had placed a pillow under the sheet for Yvette's head, and half way down a large bolster bulged upwards.

By now, Gerda had drunk several vodkas and, was alternating between pity for her friend and fierce excitement and horror of what was to come. The German Master had insisted she wear a long and heavy red rubber apron over her mistress costume, and it rustled loudly with every movement.

Karl consulted his watch. ‘The good doctor should be here any moment. Meanwhile, I think we'll get my slave prepared.’ He called for the maid and a minute later Yvette appeared from the bedroom doorway.

She was faceless in a heavy leather hood laced tightly on, and Gerda could see the outline of a severe gag strapped inside. Her tall figure was encased entirely in a heavy ­gauge, form fitting black latex suit, with two holes cut open against the cheeks of her bottom. She wore a broad leather belt with steel rings attached and similar wrist and ankle straps, and a heavy leather collar, also with metal rings.

The doorbell chimed, and the maid admitted the ever-cheerful doctor, dressed in white rubber surgical jacket and trousers. Incongruously, he carried a normal doctor's bag.

‘Good to see you, doctor,’ said Karl conversationally, ‘Would you like a drink before we start?’

‘Thank you, no. Not while on duty, as it were. Perhaps afterwards!’

‘Then we'll go ahead. You know slave Gerda, of course? She will carry out the actual branding. Cheryl, guide my slave to the operating table and start securing her down.’

Gerda felt herself trembling. ‘May I ask a question, Master Karl' He nodded approval, and she turned to the doctor.

‘Is this branding dangerous? I mean, could it have any serious effect on slave Yvette?’

The doctor chuckled. ‘No and yes. No, to it being dangerous. Painful, I grant you, but the antiseptic salve I apply immediately stops any chances of infection. As to the effect, the scars, which will heal very rapidly on the cheeks of the buttocks, will remain there for a long time.’

‘I think Yvette is ready now, shall we proceed?’ Gerda found herself rustling into the kitchen in a daze. Cheryl was finishing her task of passing long chains through the various bonds, padlocking them tightly under the table, so that the slave was now spread‑eagled by her arms to the front legs, while her rear, raised up by the thick bolster to achieve maximum tightness of the bottom, allowed her legs to be strapped together from thigh to ankles. Both ankle bonds were chained securely to the legs of the table.

‘Two long straps now, Cheryl, under the table and round the top of her buttocks, and the same round the top of her thighs, to keep her bottom absolutely immovable.’

While the maid carried out Karl's instructions, he carefully examined and tested the taught chains, especially the one holding the heavy neck collar rigidly so that Yvette's face, turned to one side, was held firmly against the pillow. He kissed her gently through the heavily masked gag. She gave a little whimper of approval.

He returned to Gerda, standing uncertainly in the background, still horrified by the task in front of her. ‘You needn’t worry liebchen, slave Yvette has been wanting this for a whole year. All I ask is that you do it properly! The irons will be red hot and it needs only two seconds, but don't pull back at the crucial moment so that she has to suffer this over again!’

All was ready finally. The doctor stood by with swabs and ointment, a hypodermic ready in case of faintness or an emergency. Karl handed the first branding iron to Gerda. It looked like a soldering instrument, plugged into the wall by a long cord, and on the end of which was fixed a one‑inch letter 'K', now glowing brightly red. She took hold of the wooden handle, her senses racing with excitement and fear. She approached the tightly encased bottom of her friend, seeing the two bare patches of flesh straining taughtly against the cut out holes.

‘Go on,’ urged the Baron softly, ‘it hurts less if you do it quickly!’

She poised the iron carefully in the centre of the white flesh, then quickly thrust it hard against Yvette's cheek, holding it there for a brief two seconds. There was a sickening smell of burning and Yvette let out a long moaning scream through her gagged face, her body rigidly straining against the steel and leather bonds. The doctor hurried forward and carefully wiped the burn, an angry red welt in the centre of the left cheek.

Mutely, Gerda handed back the iron to Karl, accepting the second instrument with an 'S' fixed to the end. Without waiting for instructions she pressed it firmly against the other cheek, wincing at the sizzle and Yvette's body thrashing helplessly inside its bondage.

Gently the Baron took the iron from her, while the doctor attended to Yvette. On her white bottom was now burnt the final proof of slavehood, a 'K' and 'S', Karl's Slave, branded into her flesh.

When the doctor had departed, after salving and dressing Yvette's angry scars, Karl bent down over the chained and strapped body of his slave and gently kissed her masked and gagged face. ‘Now you are truly mine, darling slave, otherwise you must search the world for a millionaire with the initials of K.S.’

It was too much for Gerda, keyed up as she had been for the horrific moment of applying the branding irons. She burst into hysterical laughter. The German Baron signalled to Cheryl, the serving‑maid, to release Yvette from her chains and padlocks. ‘Serve dinner in half an hour, and let slave Yvette join us in whatever costume she wishes.’

He took Gerda by the arm and steered her into the comfy sitting room of the chalet, then poured out large vodkas for both of them. Gerda gulped it down, the fiery liquid making her feel better. Her inner latex suit was warm and streaming with perspiration, and she macked thankfully on her Rod in its grease pants. He undid her long apron and she looked down at her beige rubber jodphurs and high‑heeled boots, the 'mistress' costume she has been ordered to wear for the evening.

‘I feel terrible,’ she said finally, ‘Yvette is my best friend, how will I ever face her again? She's branded for life, and I did it!’

‘Nonsense, liebchen, you heard her beg for it? Wouldn’t you wish your Master Guy do the same thing to you? He will, you know!’

A thrill ran through her. To be branded by him, her cruel and loving Master, to bear his mark for evermore! Of course he would, and now she felt better about Yvette. Abruptly Karl changed the subject.

‘As you are my guest for the night, with le Compte's blessing, you will be put into the Corset Suspender, a pleasant if somewhat restricted way of sleeping. But I'm sure you've had plenty practice sleeping in heavy bondage!’

She smiled through her mask. ‘Yes, Master, after a night in the Severe Punishment Sleeping Suit, which I experienced recently, nothing could scare me anymore!’

For some minutes more they talked of Gerda's Training, then the bedroom door opened and Yvette emerged. Masked, booted, and gloved, she wore a long white rubber evening dress, loose from the waist down. Coolly she crossed to the bar and made herself a drink. Then she came over to Gerda, her smile radiant through the opening in her tight latex hood.

‘God! It was wonderful! I've never experienced such a fiery pain before. If I hadn’t been so stupidly scared I'd have taken a Pleasure. Thank you, dear Gerda!’ She bent forward and kissed Gerda on the lips, mask to mask. Gerda had an uncontrollable surge of love and clasped Yvette closely to her, suddenly aware of the lithe body inside the rustling gown.

A magnificent dinner was brought across from the main kitchens, and served by Cheryl. Yvette sat gingerly on a soft cushion, her scars protected by ointmented lint and plaster. She was in a sparkling mood, hyped by the painful but exciting remembrance of her branding. The Baron joked constantly with her, and Gerda felt small and humble in front of these two loving people.

Later, after coffee and cognac the Baron ordered Cheryl to bring in the Corset Suspender. ‘We're going to bed now, dear Gerda, so I must make sure you're comfortable in your harness. You'll find it most interesting if you've never been hung in one before! You may retire to the bathroom to clean your teeth or whatever little slaves do!‘

When Gerda returned a few minutes later, Cheryl was holding out a very stiff brown leather corset with short legs. At a. nod from Karl, she climbed into it, finding it lined with heavy rubber sheeting. Her arms slid into sleeves attached inside the corset, rendering them helpless. Under the Baron's instructions, Cheryl laced it tightly up the back to the high boned collar until Gerda was unable to move her body or head.

‘You'll love this,’ Yvette said cheerfully, ‘I've spent some happy nights in it, especially if you're greased and Rodded.’ Gerda watched with misgivings as Karl attached four chains to the reinforced belt of the corset, then hooked them onto the chain passing over the ceiling pulley where Yvette had been hung earlier. She heard the soft click of the winch ratchet and next moment the chains and corset tightened and she was lifted off her feet, her greased insertions pushing tightly into her.

The Baron brought across a soft half‑hood which he pulled over her own mask, effectively blindfolding her but leaving her nose and mouth free. ‘Darkness is always an asset in these circumstances, and you can call out if anything troubles you too greatly.’ Then he turned to the winch and Gerda felt herself lifted several feet off the floor, her arms tightly laced inside the strong corset, her booted legs dangling helplessly through the leather sack.

It was a wonderful secure feeling, her head held firmly by the high leather collar. She heard them say goodnight, and minutes later she herself was sound asleep, hanging in her tight leather and rubber bag.

Black darkness gave way to bright strip‑lights overhead, and slowly she realised she was in a hospital bed. The Executioner, in a shining black rubber nurse's uniform, masked and gloved, looked down at her, her red mouth grinning evilly through the mask.

‘Get up, slave Gerda, you are perfectly well now after your operation! I want to fit you into your new suit which I've had specially made for you. It will be very smart!’

Obediently Gerda struggled to get up. Her arms felt numb and a Japanese nurse had to help her out of bed. She was already clad in a tight black latex suit, and now they brought across a gleaming brown leather costume with boots attached, and held her body while her legs were slipped into the lower part. Carefully, she stood up in the high heels of the boots while they pulled the tight garment over her shoulders and she felt it being cruelly laced up the back to the high stiff neck. Then a wide corselet of the same material was being tightly fastened round her waist, so that not a wrinkle showed in the shining brown leather.

‘Beautiful?’ the Executioner said reverently, ‘Such a much slimmer and more aesthetic effect without the arms!’

Gerda looked down in horror, barely hearing the sinister voice continuing, ‘The doctor did a nice job cutting them off, and a good slave must learn to serve without arms. No more handcuffs, slave, and just look how well the leather suit fits without any sleeves...’

Gerda saw the smooth tight suit, devoid of any hands or arms, encasing her body. The heavy gag prevented her from screaming, and the other nurse came forward with a faceless leather hood…

She awoke from the nightmare to find herself swinging gently in the Corset Suspender; her arms numb inside the tight leather bag. She could just flex her fingers inside their latex gloves, and gave a sob of pure joy when she remembered her situation. The mask prevented her seeing any vestige of light, and thankfully she allowed herself to drift off into the dark void again...

CHAPTER I6

Gerda awoke early. It had been a reasonably warm night and the air‑conditioning had been set high by Maria, so she had slept in the nude between the dark blue rubber sheets.

She was astonished to find herself feeling alive and well, with only a slight ache in her neck and arms from the severe bondage of the previous night. She remembered, with slight shame having the rubber tube pulled out of her throat, then being half‑carried back to her quarters by two Instructors, still pleading to be taken to a Punishment Room and cruelly whipped. Dimly she remembered Maria unscrewing the heavy helmet and unlocking her chains and Rod, then a long session on the toilet, after which she had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Much later she had taken a shower, now compus mentis, and slipped back between the smooth sexy sheets.

There was twenty minutes before Maria would report and bring her breakfast. She entered the sitting room and unlocked the drawer in the desk and opened her diary. It was dawn, chilly now; so she crossed to one of the big fitted cupboards and slid open the door. She chose a dark red mackintosh lounging suit, the loose trousers with feet attached, delighting in the cold rustle as she pulled it on. She crackled loudly as she moved back to the desk and sat down.

What a diary this has turned out to be! I'm writing this now, while waiting for breakfast, aware there are many days which are blank (days of total suffering?), but when I've been too exhausted even to fill in a page.

So where am I now? Last night I disgraced myself, ‑as usual ‑ by completely breaking down and screaming for more punishment. Me! The Parisian Iceberg, as one rejected journalist unkindly labelled me. Admittedly last night was a very tough session, and that bitch Laura systematically destroyed my willpower with a vicious laxative, and the treacherous grease, and some sort of sexy gas, but I have a horrible feeling I was all ready for it. I blush mildly when I remember some of the ridiculous statements and pleas, which were forced out of me. Or were they? Can't I even be honest to my own private diary?

OK. I shouted them willingly, wanting them, especially a whipping!

That feels better. But where do I go from here? Why do I love and hate that awful bitch and find her so attractive? Guy is my only love, my adored Master. Why am I complicating my life?

There was a faint knock at the door and Maria bustled in with Gerda's breakfast tray. She laid it down and unstrapped her gag, bubbling over with excitement. ‘You're up early, Mistress! Apparently you were magnificent at last night's test, and I have marvellous news. I've to bring up the Wedding Outfit. You know what that means?’

'I’m getting married today?’ Gerda said jokingly.

'Almost! I'm not supposed to tell you, but it means you are to serve your Master officially! Even though you haven't yet finished the Final Treatment, he is accepting YOU as his Top‑Level Slave! Oh Mistress, you must be so happy!’

She strapped in her gag and departed down to the Preparation Room to collect Gerda's costume. Gerda felt curiously detached. It was the moment she had longed for, for many weeks, but somehow she had expected some terrifying ritual attached to it. Now she was to dress in a wedding‑gown and present herself to her Master! It seemed an Anti‑climax.

She stood, suddenly remembering the night before last when she had spent an incredibly sexy night swinging helplessly in her heavy corset‑bag suspended from its chains in Karl's chalet. In the early morning her legs had scrabbled wildly and her body swung crazily as she took a long sustained Pleasure, desperately trying to mack on the greased dildoes forced so tightly inside her. The humiliation of hanging from the ceiling, arms locked inside, had helped her achieve the massive orgasm. She wondered how she could arrange such a Punishment sleeping position again. Perhaps she could ask Miss Dodds. Then yesterday, sexually disgracing herself in front of the Executioner. She closed her eyes in shame.

Maria, returned, staggering under the weight of a large case. ‘It's all here, Madam, you'll look sensational!‘ Suddenly she looked troubled. ‘There's only one thing, Mistress, it's a no. 10 Rod!’

For a moment Gerda was horrified, then she smiled. ‘I suppose it makes sense, and I did wear it again last night, monstrous as it is. Perhaps this Wedding outfit will be more interesting than I imagined!’

It was indeed. First the awed maid had to insert the huge no. 10 Rod into Gerda's bottom. But Gerda had happily worn it the previous night and after the third attempt the massive penis‑like object slid smoothly into her in its grease. She straightened up, moaning, but partly with pleasure, and quickly slipped on the heavy white latex pants; brief and very tight, to keep the Rod in position.

She returned to the, sitting room, where Maria had laid out the remainder of the outfit. Everything was in white. A thin latex all over suit, with the breasts cut out; two pairs of long gloves, one of thin latex and the other of white satin, mackintosh‑lined; a three‑inch high leather collar; a gleaming white leather hood, with a latex yashmak attached; and a magnificent pair of high‑heeled leather boots, lacing thigh‑high. Finally, the gown itself, of shimmering, thick white latex, tight‑fitting but elegantly cut, with long sleeves and a high neck.

Half an hour later, Gerda regarded herself in the long dressing‑mirror. Maria gave an exclamation of delight. ‘You look fabulous, Mistress, I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful!’ The tall figure stared back, only the five‑inch heels of the long boots showing beneath the svelte white gown. The long satin mackintosh gloves swept up to the shoulders, giving no hint of the other pair sealed under the first latex suit. Her breasts, held extra firmly by the holes in the undersuit, strained against the wedding gown, her nipples tight and hard against the smooth latex.

Her masked head was held proudly high by the wide white collar. The perfectly ­fitting laced hood was demurely covered in front by the latex yashmak, leaving only her eyes visible through the leather mask. There were also a nose and a mouth‑hole, allowing her to speak freely through the veil.

‘It’s fabulous!’ Gerda breathed, subtly moving her body to hear the gown rustle against her. She could feel the delicious imprisoning sensation of the tightly laced boots coming to the very top of her thighs. She moved around the room, the huge Rod reminding her at every step she was still a slave.

‘It's almost time, Madam,’ Maria exclaimed after consulting the wall‑clock, ‘Look, there's one more item in the case. Isn't it beautiful?’

She unfolded a floor‑length cape of soft white leather, lined with smooth red rubber, and draped it round her Mistress's shoulders, fastening the collar with a heavy gold chain. Gerda almost swooned with the sensation. She wondered vaguely what incredible price this outfit must be worth. The cape alone, with its perfect skins, wide and voluminous, would have cost a reasonable fortune if she had modelled it in Paris. She blinked back tears as she realised how lucky and honoured she was to have such a wonderful Master. And now she was to be accepted as his Top‑Level Slave and wife, to Serve him, the highest honour of all!

Maria fixed in her own gag, then Gerda clasped her briefly in her arms, trying to convey her love and gratitude to the little serving maid who had helped and advised her since that terrifying moment – months? Years? – ago, when she had innocently come ashore with Guy, imagining she would have a restful holiday as a guest on the Island. They descended the four floors in the ornate elevator, and Maria led her towards Le Compte's drawing room, a huge room impeccably furnished with elegant antique furniture and valuable paintings. She opened the double doors and stood aside for Gerda to enter.

Gerda strode in and stopped abruptly. Nearly anyone in the Establishment Centre was there. She saw Guy, Miss Dodds, the chief chef, the costume designer, and the doctor immediately, amongst those who were not masked. Then she saw Laura, The Executioner, ravishing in a tight white leather suit and half‑mask. Then the green leather‑clad figures of the Instructors, their number stencilled on the front of their hooded faces, and finally about sixteen slaves and their serving‑maids.

There was a cry of welcome and a round of gloved‑applause. Guy came slowly towards her; magnificent in a skin‑tight, leather suit, with a short cape flung back over his shoulder, and thigh‑high boots, a dashing cavalier. ‘Keep on your cape,’ he whispered, ‘I want to talk to you first of all. We'll go into my study.’

He steered her through the admiring crowd. Gerda noticed that none of the slaves was gagged or restricted, and were being served drinks by the maids, who were circulating with glasses of champagne. Obviously Guy had declared an amnesty for the moment! In his small study adjoining the big room, she sank into the familiar leather armchair where she had sat many times before, sometimes to be lectured, or to hear a report on her progress. She felt her bottom extend under the pressure of the no. 10 Rod, but now it gave her only a feeling of pleasure. She remembered briefly the horrifying session when she had been forced to wear it for the first time.

Guy sat opposite her, smiling.

'I feel like that English fellow who sneaks up and suddenly says 'This Is Your Life!' But, ma chre Gerda, this is your life from now on. You will still continue with your Final Treatment, and eventually you will undergo Tests and Exams for your Top-Level Slavehood, but I have no doubt now that you will pass them.’

‘But how do you, know, Master?’ Gerda said worriedly,’ I panicked and failed the Advanced Suffocation test the other day! Sometimes I'm not as strong as I want to be.’

He made a gesture. ‘Remove that veil for a moment. I can only see your eyes, and I like to watch your mouth as you talk.’ Obediently she undid the white latex yashmak, revealing the whole of her tight leather mask, but with her lips now visible. Guy stood in front of her, tall in his tight leather.

‘Nobody is as strong as he'd like to be, otherwise we'd all be supermen and women. The strength of human beings is in their weakness, and their perpetual fight to overcome such weakness. Slavehood, although you might not agree, is largely a mental process. Until you are prepared to accept it, no amount of physical punishment will succeed, permanently. Of course, one can break down a human being until he, or she, is a slobbering wreck and will willingly agree to anything. Vile torture chambers exist today in many countries, where depravities are practised on the human body to obtain a fake confession. But that treatment has no part in my philosophy.’

He paused. Her love for this strange man was overwhelming.

‘You really believe in what you're doing, don't you, Guy?’

‘Of course I do. Apart from the lucrative financial angle, I really believe there are many unhappy women in this world who will benefit from my training. I don't always approve of some of the Masters who register here, but there again, I am often wrong.’

‘I'm not sure I follow you.’

‘Take Pierre, for instance, that nasty little man who the other night took hold of your extended Rod and would most certainly have hurt you just for the pleasure of it. Apart from his desire to cause pain, he is a hard‑working, conscientious member of the French Government, a brilliant lawyer who has recently been appointed a judge. He has a wife and four lovely children, gives a small fortune to charity, and serves on many useful committees.‘

Gerda was astonished. ‘Then why is he here?’

‘Because, dear one, he is sensible enough to come to terms with his own weakness. Rather than visit some sordid prostitute, where he risks recognition and subsequent blackmail, ruining his career and home life, he has chosen to have a slave trained here who will accept his unusual punishments. He pays me fifty thousand dollars every year for that privilege, or weakness, but at least he knows his secret is completely safe. I still don't like the man, but at least I admire his intellectual honesty. His slave, who suffers considerably while he is here, has 20,000 dollars a year paid, by me, into a bank account in Switzerland, so she is not too unhappy!’

‘Coming back to us, Master, you really believe I can pass my Tests? God, I want to, but I'm scared. Also, and I have to admit it to you under my Slave's Oath, I have a horrible attraction to Laura. I'm not really lesbian, am I? I love you so much I feel revolted at my thoughts sometimes’ but there are moments when I want her domination and ‑body desperately!‘

Le Compte laughed, leaning forward to hold her gloved hand peeking through the heavy cape.

‘There's nothing wrong in that, chre Gerda! There is not one human being on this earth who is completely 'normal'. I Realise this is all part of your Final Treatment. Under your drugs, I am encouraging your feelings for The Executioner. I want you to love her; I want her to be your Mistress, to see just how far your tendencies go. Just as long as you come back to me. But if you are truly a lesbian, then I will know, and will accept it. But I must know the complete truth, and I beg you to go ahead with your affair with Laura!’

‘But‑‘ Gerda stammered, ‘How can you ever know?’

He looked at her kindly. ‘I will know, Gerda. There is nothing, which occurs on this island I don't know. Now, we must rejoin the others. You are, in effect, becoming my own personal slave, a Top‑Level Slave, capable of receiving or carrying out any order, however bizarre.‘

She suddenly felt wet inside her inner suit.

‘I feel shy, Guy darling ‑Master ‑it feels as if I'm getting married!’

‘You are, ma chre. But marriage is a contract, which can be broken. Shortly you will take the Oath of Allegiance to Slavehood,‘ he looked at her with sombre eyes, ‘which cannot be broken. Are you sure ‑ very sure ‑ that you are ready to accept this vow? After you take it, as Master of the Island, I am entitled to inflict any Order or Punishment, from Life unto Death.’

She regarded her Master fondly.

‘I have an alternative?’ The heavy latex rustled deliciously as she lifted an arm.
‘Yes. You may walk through this other door and return to your quarters, and continue with your Training. Everyone will be dismissed and there will be no stigma on your Report.’

She stretched out her arms towards him. ‘Dear stupid old Master! I've been dreaming of this moment. I want and need your cruelty, I just pray you don't become a protective slob after we're 'married'! I don't really know my feelings about Laura, but no doubt you will punish me enormously if I go the wrong way. We should have a very interesting life!’

He stood up, his smile radiant. ‘Then let's go back to the others. Let me take your cape now, so that they can see you in all your finery!’

She eased herself out of the chair, her huge Rod inching it its grease, aware that she had made a final decision. Nor did she attempt to assess her intensely pleasurable feelings while whipping her serving‑maid. All that mattered now was to become her Master's per­sonal Slave, to be bonded to him forever.

She replaced the yashmak in position over her nose. As Le Compte opened the door the conversation died away, all heads turned towards them. She stood inside the room, proud and beautiful in her white rubber, demurely clad, her eyes sparkling through the leather mask.

‘Ladies, Gentlemen, Instructors, Slaves and Serving‑Maids,’ Le Compte Guy de Rhislain intoned, ‘I am happy to announce that my Slave Gerda has agreed to take the Oath of Slavehood. Therefore she will now become my wedded Slave. She will continue her Top‑Level, Final Treatment Training, but she will not be available to any other Master. The Ceremony will be carried out in one hour in the Island's church. Until then, enjoy yourselves, because…’ he paused and made a mock‑grim expression, ‘tomorrow you may suffer for it!’

There was a burst of cheering and clapping. Yvette and Karl came up to congratulate her, the former clasping Gerda fondly to her.

'You're a lucky bitch, Gerda, although your dear Guy is a swine! You'll suffer, all right, but you'll love every moment of it! God, I'm hurting, I can't even sit down, tell whoever's taking the Ceremony to hustle it up, otherwise I'll have to stand during the service.’

Karl kissed her latex veil. ‘I wish you well, liebchen, I think you will be worthy of your new Master. May I compliment you on that lovely outfit! A true bride; fit for a king!’ He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, ‘Well Rodded too, I hope?’

She returned his kiss through the yashmak. ‘Yes, you bastard! A no. 10, fully inserted, I hope you have an orgasm during the Ceremony! Meanwhile thanks for a lovely evening, and keep our gorgeous Yvette in constant punishment!'

Suddenly she was alone, facing The Executioner. The wide mouth smiled in apparent delight, the masked eyes unfathomable.

‘Congratulations, dear slave Gerda! Che sara, sara! But we will be meeting often now, and I hope you remember your promise to me!’

Gerda rustled round the room in a daze, accepting her slave friends' homage, worrying about Laura's sinister words.

She had imagined Slavehood would be simple, with no responsibilities, carrying out orders faithfully.

But now, like all of life, there would be decisions again...

CHAPTER I8

Le Compte Guy de Rhislain sat back in the wide armchair, his long limbs stretched in front of him, affectionately regarding the two latex clad serving maids who were busily lacing up his high white leather boots over the legs of his skin‑tight suit of shining black latex. He liked the contrast of white and black; and the red vinyl belt, too tight to be really comfortable, gave a sinister splash of colour.

It was a costume he wore only for special occasions, such as the first of the Final Tests which Gerda would endure this evening. He smiled as he thought of her, the poor darling even now being solemnly dressed for her exam, probably scared stiff.

So, he was now a married man. The delectable girl with whom he had fallen in love all those months ago had turned out to be a perfect foil; beautiful, proud, and intensely masochistic, with a very definite spirit which no amount of slavehood would ever quench. He drew on his Monte Cristo and slowly exhaled the blue smoke, mentally thanking his God that at long last he had found his soulmate.

There had been many slaves who had served him, most of them honoured to do so, and some of them he had genuinely loved for a time. But now, at the ripe age of 45, he knew he had ended his long search. His only immediate worry was whether she could withstand the heavy Punishment Tests ahead of her for the next week, seven days of severe trial. If not, she would have to revert to several months more Training. Few slaves passed the Exams the first time, although that delightful bitch Yvette, one of his favourites, had waltzed through them. But she was a total masochist and the week's trial had seemed like a special holiday to her. Karl, her German Master, was a lucky man, he thought; but conversely, she was lucky to have Karl, a fine Master with a keen sense of humour, intelligent and sensitive. Apart from inventing astonishing tortures for Yvette, he had insisted she read good literature and generally educate herself to the world's affairs. He was also very generous, and when she eventually left the Centre she would go into the outside world a rich woman.

One of the gagged maids politely indicated he should stand up for her to complete the top lacing of the gleaming boots. He perched carefully on the three‑inch thick heels, wondering again how it was possible for slaves actually to walk in six‑inch stilettos. He saw by the name stencilled across the girl's mask it was Mirenka, a comparative newcomer to the island, brought by one of the Masters who hoped that eventually she might be slave material. He recalled Mirenka had been jailed for shoplifting, served her sentence, had no living relatives, and had, in desperation, amateurishly tried to set herself up as a call girl. She was tall and well endowed, but he remembered her face had been plain and typically Slavic. Here, where a slave or maid was always masked, only the figure mattered. She had been pathetically eager to be taken into the Centre and to learn her new job.

The other serving maid was Anne, a slim girl who had originally been sullen and difficult, but over the past year had settled down well and had now applied to be trained as a slave. In wonderment Guy shook his head; despite the training and hard work and humiliation, it seemed the life suited many of today's young women.

There was a knock on the panelled door of his study, and Miss Dodds entered. She was in her Matron dress, of thin blue and white rubber, which rustled gently as she strode in, always busy and highly concerned about her 'girls' (never 'slaves'). Because Of the two maids present, Miss Dodds addressed him formally instead of by his Christian name.

‘If you are nearly ready, Monsieur Le Compte, Miss Gerda will be reporting in five minutes. Everything is prepared. The Heat Cell has been warming for an hour, and I have two instructors and four maids on duty, and the Doctor, of course. The Executioner will carry out the opening ceremony, as you ordered.’

Guy dismissed the two maids and waited until the door had closed behind them. ‘Help yourself to a drink, Didi, while I get myself hooded‑up. Tell me, what are her chances of passing?'

Miss Dodds crossed to the Sheraton sideboard and poured herself a small drink from a heavy cut‑glass decanter. ‘You made the rules, Guy; a slave doesn't know it, of course, but she automatically passes just as long as she doesn't give the emergency signal to be released. She can scream and holler all she wants, so long as she doesn't give in. I'd say your pretty wife has too much pride to beg for release. She's a very determined young lady, and I hope she gives you a lot of trouble in the future! Anyway, I've ordered her to read and learn the Oath of Slavehood, and to make quite sure she understands it!’

Guy had pulled on his black leather mask and was lacing it tightly down the back. He grinned through the mouth hole, eternally thankful for this strange elderly woman who ran his organisation as if it was an aristocratic English Girl's school, standing no nonsense but many times comforting a new slave or a hurt ego.

‘You're an old softie, Didi! I know you don't approve of these exams, but it's a psychological necessity. The slave must feel she's really achieved something after all those months of Training. When they do pass, they're as proud as peacocks, and the newer slaves are envious as hell and treat them like goddesses!’

‘I suppose you're right, but those Tests are awfully severe! I think Doc has nightmares for weeks before. Anyway, he's just been up to examine your girl, and she's fit as a fiddle. Shall we go?’

Gerda crackled along the corridor, her gloved hands on Maria's shoulders, already hot inside the strange rubber costume she was wearing. Surprisingly, Maria had laid out only one suit, with a pair of comfortable lace‑up boots and a leather belt as accessories; no gag, no Rod, no other garments. The suit itself was made of the very thick and shiny 'tote' material from America, heavy and fairly loose, ‑ designed to withstand the perils of deep‑sea diving around wrecks. Even a pair of scissors would make no impression on the material.

The feet and gloves were attached, as was the helmet. Maria had eased her into the top of the suit, which had only a short flanged zip to allow entry. The mask had been pulled up over her face, zipped down the back, and then a wide flange laced over the zip, drawing it tightly against her face. There were two tiny glass 'eyes', and the only means of obtaining air were through two nostril tube that were now securely inserted up her nose. Finally, Maria had strapped a blindfold over her eyes.

Maria paused at the door marked with a large 'H'. She knew it meant 'Heat', but there was no way she was allowed to inform her Mistress in advance. She knocked and led Gerda into the ante‑room, then curtseyed and left, her mind full of sympathy for her beloved Mistress.

Gerda stood stiffly to attention, sensing she was now in the presence of her tormentors. She felt the blindfold being removed, and blinked through her goggled eyes as the blinding light struck her.

Despite her resolution to accept whatever lay before her, she gasped as she saw the line‑up in front of her. The Executioner stood in the centre, slim and sinister in an all black vinyl suit with attached high‑heeled boots, her half mask revealing the wide sensuous mouth, smiling in sinister anticipation. Beside her stood the Doctor, his usual cheery face now serious. To one side was Miss Dodds, flanked by two leathered and masked Instructors and four gagged serving maids.
‘All for little me, she tried to joke inwardly, then her Master moved in front of her, and she nearly fainted with joy and fear as she saw his tight vivid costume. She tried to read some secret message in his eyes, but they were remote behind the leather hood.

‘Slave Gerda, ‑ this is the first of the series of Tests which will prove whether you can attain the honour of a Top‑Level Slave. Each day, for seven days, you will suffer one such Test. At any time it proves too arduous, you may give the three Emergency grunts, or call out if you are not gagged. You will be released immediately, but you will have failed. Good luck!’

He stepped aside, and the Executioner came forward, clicking a gloved hand at a serving maid. ‘Fix on the second hood,’ she commanded, and the maid came forward holding a heavy rubber helmet, with no eyeholes or mouth holes. She pulled it over Gerda's heavy mask, carefully passing the nostril tubes through two small apertures in the hood, then laced it up the back, and around the neck.

Gerda felt buried in rubber, her head encased in two heavy thicknesses, and now blind inside her dark prison. She breathed heavily through the nose tubes, feeling the rubber draw tightly over her mouth. Her hands felt wet inside the thick gloves attached to the suit. She became aware of the Executioner speaking again.

‘Slave Gerda, your first Test will be carried out in the Heat Cell. You will be taken in there by a serving maid and attached to the metal chair. A maid will stand beside you to give you instant freedom should you faint - in which case the Instructors will immediately carry you out. Each maid will be relieved after ten minutes. You, however, will spend one hour in the Heat Cell at maximum temperature.’

Gerda wondered if she had heard correctly. In the slaves’ Rest Room it was tacitly acknowledged that thirty minutes at maximum was almost impossible to bear, and was considered a severe Punishment unless one was heavily dressed in four thick suits, which took longer to absorb the heat. Heavy though her suit was, Gerda knew it would warm up within two minutes in the intense heat.

She felt herself being guided over to the door of the small Heat Cell, then gasped as she breathed hot air through her nose. A serving maid pressed her down onto the chair, which almost immediately felt uncomfortably hot through her suit. Her arms were pulled behind and handcuffed, a wide strap tightened around the chair and her waist, and her booted ankles secured to the metal legs. Dimly she heard the door thudding shut.

Although she sensed there was a serving maid beside her, she knew there was a large glass panel in the Heat Cell door through which her tormentors could watch every move. She turned her head slightly sideways, as if making the hoods more comfortable. Are you there? Can you speak?’

She heard a faint rustle of rubber, then one grunt. The maid was gagged. ‘I want to talk to you,’ Gerda said, mouthing the words with difficulty against the inner hood, otherwise I'll never last out. God, I'm streaming wet already, you must be hot as hell too!' She was relieved to hear two grunts, the affirmative response if being asked a question when gagged.

The heat seemed to be building and she felt the perspiration running down her face and into her suit. She had wanted to talk, but the effort seemed too great. She heard the door open and close again, as the first dripping maid was relieved. It was too much trouble to establish contact with the next one.

The blackness inside her hoods seemed to be expanding like a balloon when she heard the door open and shut again. Twenty minutes only! Her lungs felt on fire and her rubbered feet were tightening against her boots with the continual flow of perspiration.

The clock on the wall indicated 35 minutes had elapsed since the slave had been put inside the Heat Cell. Not wanting to appear prejudiced or unduly worried, Guy had left the outer room and returned to his study for half an hour. Now he was back and casually asking Gerda's progress. He noticed the sadistic curl of Laura's wide mouth as she answered.

‘Suffering a lot, I would say. The serving maids can barely stand it for ten minutes, one of them nearly fainted; but of course they're not used to real punishment like slave Gerda. Another 22 minutes, this should be quite interesting! The heat is at maximum!’

Guy turned to the Doctor, peering anxiously through the glass window of the Heat Cell door. ‘You think she'll make it all right?’

The Doctor mopped his brow with a tissue, as if suffering the same pangs of heat. ‘It depends, my friend. If she panics and starts to struggle, she has no hope, as the extra exertion will flood her with more heat and she will give up or faint. But another twenty minutes! I doubt it. But at least she has a very strong heart, there is no danger.’

Guy peered through the window. The serving maid on present duty was fidgeting, her mask running wet with sweat. Gerda was heaving in slow lung-full of air, her head thrown back against the chair. There was no way of knowing her condition.

The serving maid was replaced by another and the clock showed twenty more minutes to the hour.

I can't make it, I'm drowning in perspiration, there's not enough air, they're trying to kill me. These thoughts rushed through Gerda's disorientated mind while she grimly hung on to consciousness.

She no longer had any idea of the time. Her world was a streaming mass of heat and sweat, her hair soaking and the hot liquid being wrung from her body trickling down inside the heavy suit. Weakly she tried to cry out for mercy, anything to get away from this hellish heat.

But into her confused mind flashed some words her friend Yvette had said some days before: ‘Whatever happens don't panic. If it gets too bad, then try to faint! They'll take you out immediately and it won't count against you. Just let yourself drift off, but whatever happens, don't struggle!’

Black darkness, the heat pressing in further, her mind crying out for release. How does one try to faint, she thought weakly, just wait till I see Yvette again! Her brain wandered, in the total darkness of her hoods there were bright flashes of light. She felt remote now, the awful heat a part of someone else, but her lungs still hurt with the hot air and she wished to go swimming in a cool lagoon. Perhaps that was the answer, but where to find a cool lagoon?

Her head slumped forward and she was again aware of the vicious heat battering her rubber‑encased body. But her mind had cleared and she lifted her masked head in defiance. No way was she about to fail her exams on the very first Test! She breathed hot air into her lungs and felt her senses slipping.

Miraculously, she was lying on a leather couch, cool air flowing into her lungs through an oxygen mask, and the Doctor smiling down at her bared face. The outer room was now empty.

‘You made it, girl! You were just keeling over when they opened the door. But they had to carry out the last serving maid, she didn't even last ten minutes!’

CHAPTER 20

Up to now, most of her daily Exams had started in the afternoon and Gerda had the whole morning free to relax (or worry) about the Test to come. Earlier in the week, she had dressed lightly in comfortable boots and a long rubber caftan, masked and gloved, and descended to the Slaves' Rest Room before lunch. She had been glad to find Yvette, similarly clad, on a barstool.

Gerda, darling, I haven't had a chance to talk to you since the wedding! How does feel to be an old married woman?’

Gerda ordered a large vodka on ice from the masked serving maid behind the bar, then I rustled onto another stool.

‘Great, I think! But after that first night I haven't seen Guy, I'm on my Finals now.

‘I know. We're all rooting for you. How's it been?’

‘The Heat was the worst. I just made it, but it was grim! Tell me, how's your bottom? Is it healing all right?’ She still felt guilty that she had been the one ordered to brand her friend.

Yvette chuckled. ‘No problem! The Doc was right, after two days I hardly felt it. Karl had to leave directly after your marriage, so there's been no whippings to mar the sunny days. Look!’

She stood up and raised her thin latex caftan, revealing her long legs in thigh-high laced boots, and a neat bare bottom. The initials 'K S' stood out in red scars against her white cheeks, but already almost healed. ‘See? I'm proud of my branding!’

‘I never had the chance to ask you, but was the pain terrible?’

Yvette resumed her seat and took a sip of her drink. ‘Yes and no. For a few seconds, it's the end of the world, and it's a good thing one is securely strapped down. But within moments it's just a glowing pain, and one feels awfully good about it. Morally, I've never been better, I feel now that I really belong to Karl, whereas before I was always scared he might find someone else.’

‘Perhaps branding should become part of the marriage ceremony,’ Gerda observed dryly ‘it might be more effective than just a piece of paper!’

‘I think you have a point there, kid!’ said the irrepressible Yvette, ‘Now don't forget my advice; accept it and roll with the punches, don't fight it, and try to turn the pain into pleasure!’

Today Gerda was ordered to report at 11.30 in the morning. When Maria had brought up breakfast, she had seemed unusually serious, and Gerda had no doubt her maid knew something highly unpleasant was in store. After the morning enema and a shower, Gerda came into her sitting room to get dressed. After climbing into a working suit, with tight sleeves pulled over her long latex gloves, and adjusting her mask, she found Maria holding open the heavy brown rubber watertight costume, which she had begun to dread. There was something sinister about its totally encasing qualities, with the feet and gloves vulcanised on, and the attached thick hood which was pulled over the face and head, then zipped down and padlocked to the top of the back zip of the suit.

When Gerda was finally in the costume, she realised she was rodless, a most unusual situation. Maria came in front of her and took hold of the heavy helmet hanging from the neck. It had no openings except two short nostril tubes.

‘You won't be gagged today, Mistress, but after I've fitted this into place, I have to put on a special helmet over it, which will be very tight, but your nostril tubes will be free. I think it'll be too tight to speak through, and you won't be able to see, of course, and hardly able to hear. Are you ready?’

Gerda breathed deeply through her nose, making sure it was clear, then nodded. Che sara, sara, she thought, feeling a pleasant sexual thrill as she smelled the stiff rubber as it was drawn up over her face and then the tubes being pushed up her nostrils. The zip was pulled down the back and the heavy material tightened round her head and finally the ominous click of a padlock as the two zip tags were connected. In black darkness now, she moved cautiously, the rubber suit crackling loudly in her ears, her double-­gloved hands pleasantly warm. The outer suit was not tight, fitting comfortably. She breathed easily through the nostril tubes.

She felt Maria adding a belt, then her head was pushed back gently and another hood was being passed over her head and tightened under her chin. But the tubes were free and she could still breathe easily.

Maria smoothed the brown leather helmet around her Mistress's hooded face. It had only a one‑inch aperture in front to allow the breathing tubes to poke through. She made sure they were in position, then started to lace the helmet down the back of the head. She pulled them as tightly as possible, knowing that any failure or lassitude on her part would only mean Demerits for her Mistress and herself. The Executioner examined every item of costume and tested all lacing and every strap.

Gerda felt as if her head was in a vice. The new helmet seemed to constrict every part of her face except her tubed nose. Her mouth was now held immovably closed, her eyelids pressed tightly shut, and even her hearing now deadened by the three rigid hoods.

Totally enclosed in her heavy rubber, she was led along the corridor to the elevator and taken down to the Examination Room. Maria carefully steered her inside, then curtseyed and left, making a brief sign of the Cross as she closed the door.

The Executioner examined the slave carefully, noting with approval ‑ Maria's competent abeyance of the dressing instructions. In the big room the harsh lights reflected from her black vinyl suit and gleamed on the tight green leather suits of the three Instructors standing at attention. On a nearby chair, the Doctor toyed uneasily with the stethoscope round his neck.

Laura came close to Gerda, speaking clearly in order to be heard through the heavy head coverings.

‘Slave Gerda, you are reporting now for a further Exam. I wish you to understand exactly what you will suffer for the next twelve hours.’

Gerda felt a twinge of anxiety, twelve hours? The Heat Exam had been one hour, the others two or three hours at the most. What devilish torture was this?

‘You are going into Meditation, slave Gerda, but of a special kind.’ Gerda was relieved; she had accustomed herself to this severe bondage, and could almost relax and sleep through it.

‘This will be a test of your mental processes, as well as your physical endurance,’ continued the Executioner. ‘You will now be encased into your leather sheath and made very secure. You will then have rubber pipes attached to your nostril tubes, and connected up to an air pump, similar to that used by deep‑sea divers. But there is no need to fear for your air supply, suffocation is not part of this exam.’
Gerda waited; up to now, it was not too bad. She had endured long nights in on and heavy bondage. She heard the faint crackle of Laura's costume as she back and forth.
‘You will then be laid into a coffin, which has been made to your exact measurements. A wooden sarcophagus, in fact, fitted to your body. Your breathing tubes will be passed through small holes in the lid, which will then be hammered down, taking it airtight. You will remain inside for twelve hours. Rest assured that your air pump will be constantly attended, and there are two compressed air tanks ready in the unlikely occurrence of the pump breaking down.’ She turned to the Instructors. ‘Put her into the Meditation Suit.’

Dimly Gerda was aware of the thick tight leather sheath being slid onto her, and her arms being forced into the enclosed sleeves, then the familiar tightening of the laces from the feet to the neck until she was a rigid piece of humanity, totally incapable of moving or crying out. Her fear of claustrophobia flooded back. It was one thing to be in helpless Meditation secured to an operating table or bed, quite another to be nailed into a heavy coffin. She tried to protest, to ask them to wait, to reason that this was too serious; only muffled grunts emerged from her strict hoods.

Effortlessly two of the Instructors lifted her up, then lowered her slowly into the wooden coffin lying on top of the operating table. It was a tight fit, and they had to push her body into it. She felt the rigid wooden sides, curving in to hold her thighs and legs equally closely, her arms and hands and fingers useless inside their layers of rubber and leather. She tried to scream in protest, but her mouth was too tightly closed by the rigidly laced hood.

Then, blessedly, she heard her Master speak. He leant down close to her head, so that only she could hear his voice.

‘Relax, my little slave! Remember all your Training now, and always remember this is an Examination to test your own qualities! It is not a Punishment you have to endure; it is your exam! Be brave now, for I love you and I want you to return my love with your own strength.’

She felt tears in her eyes, wetting the inside of her mask, then she felt a constriction at her nose as rubber pipes were attached to her nostril tubes, and cool air was flooding into her lungs. She realised she was now totally divorced from the world, helplessly dependant upon the oxygen being pumped down her breathing tubes, the rubber piping passing through two tiny holes in the lid.

Impassively, Le Compte nodded to the Executioner, and one of the Instructors fitted the lid of the casket over the top, while the other took six nails and hammered them through the lid. Unknown to the hapless slave inside, two thick steel jemmies had inserted at either end to ensure instant opening of the coffin.

Gerda felt and heard the hammer blows as the coffin top was sealed down over her body. She tried to sit up, but she was so tightly squeezed into the box, and the lid so low, it was impossible to move. She drew in great a lung-full of air, as if to reassure herself could still breathe.

‘I’ll never stand it,’ she thought in a frenzy. ‘I must get out somehow, how can I give an emergency sign through this thick wood? I'd be dead long before they could get me out.’ In frightful expectation, she breathed in deeply, expecting the air to be stale or the tubes to be blocked. It was fresh and clean. ‘Steady, girl, remember what Guy said, they're not going to murder me, it is only a Test!’

She wished she could move just one finger, or even open her mouth; now her face felt as if it was encased in concrete.

Above, the Executioner looked down impassively at the sinister coffin with the two pipelines emerging like snakes, connected to the smoothly purring air pump. She tried to imagine what her slave was suffering, and felt a surge of sexual pleasure. Mentally she ignored it, she had a heavy responsibility, as this was her own idea and Le Compte had only reluctantly agreed to it being part of Gerda's examination. It would be time for fun and games with the slave later. She turned to the three Instructors.

‘Two of you must remain on duty all the time. You, no. 4, arrange a relief every two hours. You must not move away, even for a moment, and keep your eye on that pressure dial. If it falls in the slightest you bring her out immediately, you understand? If it rises you call me at once, but don't do anything, it will only mean she is panicking. I can be here within one minute and will make any decision. If for any reason the pump malfunctions, even for a moment, switch her tubes to an air tank and open her up. Is that very clear? We will take no risks whatsoever.’

The Instructor with the number '4' on his mask spoke up. ‘Madam, you really think she'll be able to last for twelve hours?’

‘With slave Gerda, anything is possible!’ replied Laura enigmatically.

Several hours had passed, although Gerda had no means of knowing it. One minute could seem like an hour if she was panicking, or an hour could drift into the past without any lapse of time.

She knew she was now slightly delirious, as between bouts of sanity, when she regained some control of her mind, she sensed she was hallucinating. She welcomed these dreamy spells, as she became unaware of the tight restrictive hoods and the cruel bondage of her costumes. Most of all, it cut off her consciousness from the awful fear of being coffined and utterly helpless.

Eventually it became difficult for her to grasp where she was, even when she returned briefly to her actual state. Her arms were numb and for a few moments she imagined her nightmare had become reality and they had been amputated in some dreadful tribal ceremony. The darkness was so intense she no longer tried to open her eyes against the tight masks. Her jaw was welded shut with steel clamps and she knew she would never speak again. Only the pure air being gently pumped down into her lungs re‑assured her that she was not already dead.

For a time, in her dream world, she had the Executioner suspended in the nude by bound wrists, while she tried desperately to whip the slim white bottom. But try as she might the whip swung through the air in slow motion, her blows landed uselessly across her buttocks, while Laura turned in her bonds and mocked her, urging her to whip harder.
Then suddenly Gerda was fully conscious in her dark prison, aware of her situation. She tried to move, relieved to feel a gentle 'gluck' of perspiration somewhere round her middle. She breathed in deeply, thankful at least there was no lack of oxygen, trying not to imagine what it would be like to have the air supply cut off.

Her mind was very clear now. ‘This is what it's all about,’ she reasoned, ‘to be able to accept any punishment or torture or test without panicking. Panic was the destructive agent, if you could somehow cast it aside you could reason with Fate and come to terms with your problems.’ She wished she had a Rod to mack on, then realised her bottom was so tightly laced into the leather sheath it would have been impossible anyway.

‘Dear. Guy,’ she thought, ‘I bet you're suffering for me at this moment, knowing what I’m going through. Don't, sweet Guy, I can stand it now and I can relax, and, as Yvette advised, almost turn it into Pleasure. I'm warm and comfortable ‑ well, I'll make believe it ‑ and now I'm going to drift off to sleep...’

She awoke suddenly, panting for air, black darkness a physical blanket fighting her very reason. Her invisible arms fought invisible enemies; then she was taking deep breaths of pure air, her senses returning.

Above, the two Instructors already had hold of the jemmies to force open the coffin, the dropping dial suddenly alerting them to her lowered breathing rate. They watched with relief as the pointer returned to its normal position.

She lay there, conscious and pleasantly unworried. She knew the worst was over and ‑ there was no need to panic or become anxious. Slowly she drifted off onto a cloud again, but now her dreams were pleasant and her breathing deep and regular.

After twelve hours Guy, the Executioner and the Doctor stood by as the coffin was opened. She was lifted out by the Instructors and gradually released from her heavy bondage and masks. The Doctor took her pulse rate and heart beat and somewhat incredibly pronounced them reasonably normal.

Wearing only her working suit and mask, she found her limbs were still too numb to support her weight. Le Compte Guy ordered her to be carried up to her quarters, then leant over and kissed her still rigid mouth.

One bleary eye winked at him through the hood.

CHAPTER 22

Gerda was awake long before Maria was due to arrive with her breakfast. She threw aside the rubber sheets and wandered into the sitting‑room to stand in front of the full ­length dressing mirror.

Her tight latex sleeping suit was clinging wetly to her body, outlining the small waist and long slim figure, her firm breasts sexily outlined as they pushed upwards against the thin material. She no longer missed the feel of her long blonde hair falling down her back; instead, she rather welcomed the boyish haircut she had received the day after she arrived. ‘So that it doesn't get in the way of zips or laces,’ Laura had explained with innocent evil.

Gerda tried not to think about Laura's blackmail threats over the past few days, concentrating instead on her Examinations, which had now reached their penultimate day. But she knew that whether she became a Top‑Level slave or not, the Executioner would sooner or later bring up the fateful question: Do I take the tape to Le Compte, or will you become my very private slave?

And Gerda knew she must make a decision, and she realised whatever happened her beloved Guy must never hear that dreadful tape, with her voice pleading and begging to serve the Executioner in every humiliating manner.

She stripped and took a long scented bath, her mind wandering over the problem, regretfully discarding plans to throttle Laura to death, or set fire to her study and destroy the tape. She knew she could never actually commit murder, and she was certain Laura had the tape either locked in a safe, or nestling in some deposit box on the mainland.

She was unwrapping the large towel and slipping into her mackintosh dressing gown when Maria arrived with her breakfast tray. As always, she was severely gagged, but hastily unstraped it in the security of her Mistress's quarters.

‘I hope I'm not late, Mistress ? You've already taken your bath?’

Gerda sighed, her mind still on the Laura problem, ‘No problem, Maria, I woke early, I'm just trying to find a way of murdering the Executioner!’

Maria, knowing little of the problem, misunderstood her. ‘She's only doing her duty Mistress, and if it wasn't her, it might be somebody much worse. At least she's always fair, and there has to be somebody to carry out the Punishments.’

‘But she's a Iesbian, Maria,’ Gerda blurted out, ‘instantly regretting involving her serving maid. ‘Well, I think she is!’

To her surprise, Maria continued calmly to pour out the coffee.

‘So what, Mistress? Lots of girls have lesbian tendencies, just as lots of respectably married men have homosexual inclinations. Usually they're a bit brighter and more intelligent. Haven't you ever felt like going with a girl?’

‘That's the trouble, my wise little Maria, when I get turned on, I have lesbian thoughts, which I never have normally. What's the matter with me? When she whips me in that damned outfit and I hear those black rubber jodphurs rustle I just melt. It's all wrong!’

Maria put down the, cup of coffee and knelt in front of her Mistress, her masked face against Gerda's white rubber gown, wet latexed hands clasped round Gerda's waist. She looked up, adoration shining through the eye slits.

‘Forgive me, Mistress, but I've been here a long time, and I've served many Masters and Mistresses, and perhaps I know too much! But now I'm your slave and I've told Miss Dodds that I will serve no one else. I do have that privilege, you know! So I plead with you, don't let this worry you. Under certain circumstances, every girl feels attracted sexually to another female, but it doesn't take away the love for a male! Your love and devotion for Le Compte oozes out of you, but he would be the first, to understand there are times when you yearn for the Executioner. Believe me!’

She stood up, ashamed now. ‘Forgive me, please, I have no right to talk like this.’

Gerda stroked her masked face affectionately. ‘My dear little Maria! I owe so much to your advice and wisdom, and as long as I'm here you will always be my friend. But I haven't told you all the problem, it's not quite that simple. Come on, it's my second last day of Examination, get out a bottle of champagne from the fridge and we'll celebrate at breakfast! At least they treat their slaves luxuriously in this joint!’

Gerda had guessed that one of the two final Exams would be a Whipping. It had been noticeably absent during the past week, and now she saw a faintly tipsy Maria laying out her costume. It was no longer the training whipping suit with the double thickness, over the bottom, but a heavy tight costume with the bottom cut out, over which she was allowed to wear only one pair of medium latex pants. But before she was about to pull on the costume, Maria stopped her and inserted a short greased tube into her vagina, holding it firmly into position by a tiny front chain passing up to a thin waist strap. The rear part of the chain passed between the cheeks of the bottom, up to the back of the belt. She then helped Gerda into the tight suit zipping it up the back and padlocking it to a chain round the high collar.

Gerda sat in a chair while Maria laced up knee‑length boots in gleaming red leather, then attached a stiff leather corselet and laced it tightly up the back. Gerda was relieved when her maid brought over the latex pants, half-afraid that she might have been made to suffer a bare‑bottom whipping.

She realised suddenly Maria was weeping inside her tight yellow latex mask, and when Maria had pulled on the second set of gloves over Gerda's wrists, she impulsively clasped the petite maid to her.

‘Come on, now, Maria, nothing's that bad! I’m the one who's going down for the Punishment, not you!’

Maria burst into sobs. ‘I'm sorry, Madam, but I wish I could go instead! I know that woman's determined to break you down and make you fail, I just know it! It's going to be very vicious!’

Gerda knew instinctively her maid was right, and it did nothing for her morale. ‘Come on then,’ she said hastily. ‘Put my mask on and let’s get the show on the road. Hey, we're going to be late!’

Five minutes later Gerda reported to the Whipping Chamber, the sombre room containing only the thick wooden Whipping Post and the low leather gym horse Block. On the white walls hung dozens of whips of all lengths and thicknesses,   tawse and canes, and several assorted cat‑o‑nine‑tails. In a corner stood a rack from which dangled thick straps of all lengths. It was a room to chill the marrow of a slave.

Gerda tried not to be intimidated by it; she had been in this room a few times already, for Punishment Whippings. But as the normal daily ones were carried out in the main Training Chamber, inevitably a slave feared being ordered to report to the dreaded Whipping Chamber.

But she reasoned she was now accustomed to her daily 150 strokes, and she had several times, over the past months, suffered a Punishment Whipping of 250 strokes. Admittedly, for most of those months she had worn three layers of latex over her bottom, but during the last few weeks, when her Training had been stepped up, she had worn only normal latex pants over the cut out bottom, and it had not been too insufferable.

But her heart gave a beat as she saw the Executioner. She was clad entirely in red, the ceremonial Punishment colour. No jodphurs this time, but a tight, gleaming, latex suit with crotch high leather boots and a breath‑taking red leather corselet belt; secured by three parallel gold buckles. Long leather gloves were secured by narrow straps above her elbows, and the tight leather mask was laced down to her elegant high neck.

Two serving maids were in attendance. One came across and strapped a blindfold over Gerda's eyes. Laura spoke softly, ‘There's no need for you to see any more, my slave. No Whipping Coat today, I need all the freedom of my arms and shoulders to deal with you. Strap her up while I choose my first whip!’

Gerda was guided to the Whipping Post, a round pillar running from the floor to the ceiling. She felt, heavy straps being attached round her wrists, then her arms were pulled upwards round the pillar until she was standing on her toes. Next, she was ordered to stand on a stool placed under her feet, her arms tightened again, and a heavy strap passed around the post and her waist, another one across the top of her thighs, and a third one round her shoulders, securing her tightly to the column.

She felt the stool being withdrawn, then her ankles were pulled tightly round the column and secured, leaving her body viciously strapped to the Post. Another strap pulled her knees further together round the other side of the pillar, cruelly widening her thighs and extending her bottom. She was now pinned helplessly to the column, her legs and feet secured several inches above the floor.

She had forgotten about the strange tube, which Maria had chained up her front. She felt someone manipulating it, then a slight weight pulling on it gently. Despite her humiliating position she was reasonably comfortable in her web of straps. Suddenly she heard her Master, Le Compte, speak close to her masked head.

‘So, my slave, you have almost reached the final Examination. Whilst some of your others have been a test of endurance, or of mental discipline, this one is purely a test of Pain.’

He paused, and Gerda felt a cold thrill of fear run through her.

‘Your test will be in three parts. Over the next four hours you will receive One Thousand lashes of the Whip.’

Again he paused, as if waiting for some reaction from the slave. Gerda was not gagged, and she knew better than to make any remark. But inwardly she was desperately afraid. One thousand strokes!

‘You will receive the first five hundred during the next ninety minutes. After a short rest, you will be ordered to give your serving maid Maria one hundred strokes, the final five of which will be on her bare bottom and must draw blood. As she has requested that she become your personal serving maid from now onwards, we will ascertain whether she really deserves this unusual honour.’

Now Gerda had to speak. ‘Dear Master, I accept my Examination with due humility, but I beg you not to order me to whip Maria. She has always implicitly obeyed her orders, never broken her vows, and it is highly unfair that I should have to punish her for her loyalty to you and the Training Centre!’

There was a sharp hiss from Laura. ‘How dare you question your orders! Monsieur Le Compte, I ask permission for the maid Maria to be given two hundred strokes.’

‘Negative, Madam. Negative, also, to slave Gerda's appeal. Let the sentences be carried out as ordered. I shall return later.’

Gerda heard the door swish shut, then the Executioner was speaking again. ‘So! We'll start with fifty fast lashes with the long tawse. Just to warm you up and let me get into my stride!

A serving maid standing at strict attention was counting aloud every stroke, and she had called out 475 a little over an hour later. Gerda was groaning slightly, but more from the viciously tight straps than the actual pain of most of the whipping. The thick leather tawse and the cat‑o‑nine‑tails, which Laura had wielded with heavy sweeping strokes, a regular twenty to every minute, had bitten and stung her bottom, but she had succeeded in sinking into their rhythm and absorbing the pain into masochistic pleasure. But when Laura had taken one of the leather crops, or a whip, and given her ten or twenty slow and hard strokes, each lash of agony had seared through her, causing her to gasp and whimper. Her bottom felt a fiery mass of welts, despite the slightly protective pants. She rested her sweating mask against the cool pillar. She heard her merciless. Mistress speaking again.

‘Now, my slave, you shall have the final 25 of the first part of your Examination. I will give these to you with a steel whip, very thin, but leather covered so that it will not split your whipping pants. Moreover, you will have the advantage of the Machine, which has been attached to your internal wedge. You will have exactly twenty seconds between each stroke to recover and prepare yourself for the next one. Anne, turn on the vibrator!’

Gerda jerked out of her apathy as the Machine now attached to her vagina tube came to life. She squirmed against it, resenting the interference to her intense concentration of the whipping. She felt the vibrations course through her body and was unprepared for the first stroke of the thin whip as it lashed across her bottom. She screamed out in agony.

The pain gradually subsided, then the whip descended again, the pain knifing through her and wringing another shriek of agony. But now the Machine was slowly building up her resistance, and the next stroke caused her only brief pain before being washed away into a stinging sense of pleasure.

After fifteen strokes Gerda was moaning in ecstasy, pulling on her chained wrists and grinding her strapped body against the Whipping Post, fearing and longing for the cruel bite of the steel whip, hearing the thin hiss as it descended and then accepting the raging pain across her bottom, sucking it into pure delight a second later.

It came as a surprise when she realised the maid was no longer counting, and her arms were being released and her booted feet were once more on the floor. She heard the Executioner giving orders.

‘Disconnect the Machine, give her a brandy and let her relax for fifteen minutes. Then put her maid Maria into position, and call me. Undo her blindfold.’

Gerda felt herself being led to a chair, then her blindfold unstraped. She sat down gingerly and accepted the glass of cognac. Then the serving maids departed and she was left alone, but not for long. In a few minutes Maria was led into the Whipping Chamber, blindfolded and with her wrists handcuffed behind her. Gerda stood up and crossed to her.

‘You know what is about to happen? You know I don't want you to suffer for my sake? I've been ordered to give you one hundred strokes, and to draw blood across your bottom. I told…’

Maria interrupted gently. ‘Please, dear Mistress Gerda! I knew this was to happen when I applied to be your serving maid. You must carry out your orders faithfully; otherwise it will count against you. I shall be well gagged and very helpless, but I will enjoy every stroke. And please, Mistress, don't go easy with the whip, as the Executioner will know, and then we'll both suffer and you may fail your Test!’

Gerda regarded the petite serving maid standing serenely in front of her, masked and blindfolded and her arms shackled behind her, totally composed for the cruel whipping which she knew lay before her. She felt, humble at the girl's willing acceptance of the punishment, then the Executioner's voice cut across the room, ordering her assistants to strap Maria onto the Block. She strolled across to Gerda, her tight red latex and leather making an ominous creaking sound.

‘Now, my good slave Gerda, let's see you behave like a cruel Mistress for a short time. One hundred strokes! Maria is wearing thin leather pants over her whipping suit, so you will whip hard! For the final five lashes, we will remove the pants and you will whip her bare bottom, and I want to see five weals with drops of blood. If there is no blood, you will give her extra strokes, so I advise you not to pull back, otherwise she will suffer much more. Now choose your whip. Anne, bring slave Gerda a heavy black rubber whipping coat, then attach the Machine to her front wedge!’

Almost in a daze, Gerda felt herself being helped into a heavy rubber coat and being buttoned up the side to the high neck; then one of the serving maids knelt and attached the Machine to her vagina tube. She stood paralysed while the sexual vibrations coursed through her and she looked at the heavy tawse she was holding in her gloved hand.

Maria was now strapped down to the Whipping Block, her small pert bottom in its tight leather shorts proffered up. She was gagged and blindfolded and Gerda felt a wave of lust course through her as she saw Maria's slim legs in tightly strapped high-heeled boots secured firmly to the Block. She tried to fight against the Machine and her sexual vibes, feeling an overwhelming sadistic urge to whip that tight bottom.

‘This isn't me,’ she thought frantically. ‘I can't be both a masochist and a sadist, but God! I've got to whip that superb leather‑gleaming bottom?’ She lifted her arm, nearly swooning at the sudden crackle of heavy black rubber from her whipping arm; then she lashed down the tawse on the helpless bottom. Again, and again, and again, while the Machine purred away its evil encouragement and the black rubber whipping coat macked and rustled and crackled with every stroke and the loud THWACK of the tawse rang out like a pistol shot.

Eventually, she stopped, moaning and breathless and near to a massive Pleasure. She heard faint groans from the gagged maid, but all she could think of was the wonderful sensation of whipping that tight little bottom. She felt the tawse being taken away and another whip being put into her hand.

‘Excellent, dear. Gerda mine,’ whispered Laura against her masked head, you were quite sensational, you have given her over a hundred very hard strokes without once stopping! Of course, the tawse does not have the same imprint as a nice long thin whip, but now you will give her the final five strokes!’

Vaguely Gerda saw the serving maid had loosened the leg straps and stripped off the leather pants, leaving Maria's naked bottom jutting upwards through the latex suit, and now was re‑strapping her legs to the Block. The Machine continued to vibrate through Gerda's body.

‘Please, Mistress Laura, please! Take it off me, I can't stand it any longer…’ The Executioner moved languidly in front of Gerda, displaying her lithe figure in its tight red latex, and pivoting slowly on the stiletto heels of the red leather thigh boots.

‘No, dear slave, you're just about ready now, you're on your own Cloud Nine, ready to give those five lashes for real. There is your helpless maid, her bare bottom waiting for your whip! Whip her hard, Gerda, give each stroke your maximum effort, be a cruel Mistress now in your shining black whipping coat'

For a few seconds Gerda fought against the inevitable, but the insidious Machine was heightening her sadistic tendencies to a point of no return. She saw drops of perspiration fall from the nose of her mask onto the sleek black front of her whipping coat. Almost in a dream she felt her arm rustle as she lifted the long black whip and brought it swishing down on the inflamed nude bottom of her serving maid.

Maria screamed faintly through her thick gag and her body twitched helplessly against the tight bonds. A thin weal appeared across the cheeks of her bottom; tiny bubbles of blood appearing like a magic trick.

The Executioner's eyes gleamed happily through her mask. ‘Excellent, my slave, perfectly centred, and just the right pressure! Now four more!’

Gerda was sobbing now, a mixture of sexual exhilaration and dreadful shame at the agony she was causing her maid. The whip rose and fell again then a third time, the weals almost together, but with only the barest trace of blood. The fourth stroke was erratic, cutting the far cheek and causing Maria to give a shuddering jump of extra pain. Laura had to steady Gerda's body as she swayed. She pressed her red‑clad figure against the black whipping coat.

‘Now concentrate, Gerda, for the last one. Right across the cheeks, and really hard, or I will order you to repeat it. She is your serving maid, and meant to be punished. Now I order you to take a Pleasure as you give her this next stroke!’

Now with no will of her own, Gerda stood meekly for a moment, letting the Machine bring her to a climax, unable to control the fantastic sensation of holding the long whip and feeling the rustle of the heavy rubber coat every time she moved. She lifted her gloved hand and in one long sweeping stroke brought the whip cracking across that beautiful bare bottom, then collapsed weakly into a chair while a huge orgasm wracked her body.

She had been allowed to rest for an hour on the recovery sofa of the Whipping Chamber, the sinister Machine and the black whipping coat removed. Dimly she had seen the Doctor being summoned to apply disinfectant to Maria’s weals, then everyone had left and she had fallen into a fitful doze for half an hour.

Now she was feeling stronger and trying to analyse her appalling behaviour. She had actually enjoyed whipping Maria, had even taken a huge Pleasure while inflicting those final terrible weals! How could she ever face gentle, wise Maria again!

She had almost forgotten her own predicament when the door opened and Miss Dodds came in, rustling in a white rubber uniform. Gerda tried to make a weak joke.

‘You've been demoted, Miss Dodds! Last time I saw you, you were a full Matron in blue, now you're just a nursing Sister. What happened?’

The stout woman crossed to the aluminium sink and turned on the cold tap to fill a glass. ‘It depends on the action, my dear. I play many parts, as you know! But at one time I was Matron‑in‑charge of a big London hospital, so whatever I wear, I'm not cheating! Here, take these two pills, and just try to relax.’

‘They're going to give me another five hundred strokes, aren't they, Miss Dodds? I feel terrible about what I did to Maria; I can't think what happened to me. Is she all right?’

‘She won't be able to eat dinner sitting for the next few days, but she's fine. She may be small but she's very tough. If it is any consolation, she would have lost some respect for you if you hadn't carried out her whipping severely; in a curious way, she wanted you to know that she can take anything you like to give her. Now she's happy as a sand-­boy, whatever a sand‑boy is.’

Gerda swallowed the pills, sipping the water. ‘What are these for? I hate taking pills.’

Miss Dodds rustled towards the door so that Gerda could not see the sudden pity on her face. She sensed that the girl did not fully realise she was to face a further five hundred lashes of the whip.

‘They're a type of mild painkiller,’ she answered, ‘but they also give you a pleasant relaxed feeling. Good luck, my dear.’

Within minutes the serving maids had returned and were strapping her down again, this time to the Block, which Maria had occupied earlier. It seemed appropriate to Gerda that she was to receive her final punishment in the same position as her maid. She felt curiously calm as her legs and ankles and thighs were strapped tightly to the Block, then her body was bent forward onto the flat padded top and heavy straps held her rigidly in position. She welcomed the large rubber gag, which was forced through the mask into her mouth, then strapped cruelly into place. A moment later sight and light were blotted out, as the leather blindfold was tightened over her eye‑holes, and finally her gloved hands were pulled forward and she felt the steel bite of handcuffs as her wrists were secured to the far end of the Whipping Block. She was totally helpless, her latexed bottom, raised up for it’s punishment.

She heard the faint rustle as the Executioner returned then the first vicious stroke of the whip cut across her bottom. The pain tore through her, and as it receded, the next stroke descended until the world became a black pit of searing agony. The saliva leaked past the rubber wedge in her mouth as she screamed thinly and bit fiercely on it.

Keeping an average of eight strokes to the minute, Laura paused only once during the first hour for a five-minute break, to rest her arm and change over whips. After the four hundredth stroke she ordered one of the serving maids to apply the Machine between Gerda’s thighs.

The Executioner continued whipping, solid relentless strokes, which lashed across the slave's tenderised bottom. But suddenly Gerda was riding with the pain, the pills and the Machine turning the agonising kiss of the whip into a dull pleasure that helped Gerda to remain conscious.

Finally, the whipping stopped, and she heard the Executioner speak from a remote distance. She tried to concentrate, her body wet and weary from struggling against the tight bonds, her mind leapfrogging between pleasure and searing pain. She was vaguely aware of her legs being released and her thick latex pants being removed, then her bonds were replaced and tightened.

‘You have now received 490 strokes of your second session, slave Gerda, making a total of 990 of the required One Thousand due to a Top‑Level Slave. The final ten will be given by the steel whip on your naked bottom. You will have a full thirty seconds between each stroke, and you will have the benefit of the Machine.’

Frantically Gerda grunted loudly through her gag, a signal that she wanted to speak. With an irritated gesture, Laura signalled for a serving maid to loosen the gag. ‘Well? You wish to speak?’

‘Please, Mistress,’ Gerda asked faintly, ‘let me suffer this without a gag or a blindfold. I promise not to scream, but I want to see you whip me. Please?’

Laura liked the idea. 'Very good, slave Gerda, but if you scream out loud I will repeat the stroke. On your own head be it!’

The maid removed the blindfold, and Gerda blinked through her mask in the glaring neon light, turning her head against the latex pillow so that she could see the Executioner through her eye slits. She gloried in the sight of her cruel Mistress, tall and slim in her tight red costume, the extra‑long leather boots sweeping smoothly up to her crotch. Even the red leather gloves seemed more sinister than usual, wrapped tightly above the elbows. Despite her pain, Gerda felt sexually weak as she noticed how the wide leather corselet was laced and strapped so firmly that Laura's breasts above were straining against the red latex.

The Executioner gave a brief order, and one of the serving maids brought across the dreaded 'Viper' whip. It was four feet long, with an extra foot of thick‑cork handle. The thin flexible steel was bound in leather, an evil black casing which took away none of the power of the metal. Apart from a Seventeenth‑Century Whipping Rod with protruding nails, which was mounted and hung in the Main Hall, Gerda knew The Viper was the most feared whip of all.

She felt the Machine being switched on, and closed her eyes, now anxious to make it an ally, to raise her resistance as high as possible against the dreadful pain to come. In a few seconds she felt the sexual thrill course through her body, deliberately allowing it to grow until she was near to a Pleasure and her mind was adjusting to a superb masochistic longing for the Steel Whip. She opened her eyes, to find the Executioner looking down at her, the grey eyes fathomless inside the gleaming red mask that covered her head. She spoke softly, so that the maids standing at attention in a corner could not hear her voice.

‘Suffer now, my little one, because we have a wonderful time ahead of us! A Top-­Level Slave has many privileges and more free periods. I will show you Pain and Pleasure until your mind reels, because off‑duty and unofficially, you will become my own personal slave. But I will treat you like a Queen when I am not punishing you; your life is about to begin!’

Abruptly she turned and carefully measured her position from the table, tapping the long whip gently on Gerda's exposed bottom. Gerda was so randy now that she wanted to beg for her whipping, to feel the wonderful pain of that awful whip, wielded mercilessly by her adored Mistress, She watched, a detached onlooker as the gloved arm rose and then the whip descended with a tearing swish.

The pain was so sudden her whole body arched frantically and the thick straps creaked as they took the strain. The sexual longing vanished and she was biting her lip to control the scream, agony running through her tortured bottom. The Executioner stood back and carefully wiped the whip with a white cloth, leaving long streaks of red on it. On a small table beside her stood a clock with a large second hand ticking round. Gerda saw twenty seconds had passed, ten more seconds to go before that agony was repeated. She closed her eyes and let the Machine do its duty.

The seventh stroke must have landed exactly across a previous weal, causing such pain that Gerda screamed out. The Executioner spoke for the first time. ‘A penalty, slave Gerda, you will have that lash again!’

Gerda tried to relax her muscles, knowing by bitter experience that a tightened bottom, a natural inclination, hurt much more. Unexpectedly, she felt the machine being turned on stronger. Thankfully, she attempted to move a fraction to give it maximum effect. She felt her black latex pillow wet with saliva and perspiration, trickling through her eye holes and mouth opening.

The penalty stroke seemed remote, and she took the eighth and ninth with only a low moan. She opened her eyes to watch her Mistress give the final stroke, and with five seconds to spare she realised her body was starting to vibrate with a massive Pleasure.

‘HARD, HARD, HARD! Dear Laura, please, really hard, I love you!’

The Executioner was surprised, she gave no sign, raising the long thin whip high behind her head then bringing it down with ripping force across the bloodied cheeks of Gerda's bottom.

In the midst of her incredible Pleasure, the searing pain was absorbed into the prolonged orgasm as Gerda strained frantically in her bonds, screaming with ecstasy, wishing she could remain strapped and chained for the rest of her life, to serve this glorious Mistress who could punish her so beautifully.

She fainted briefly, then became aware that the Machine had been removed and her straps loosened. The Doctor was bending over her rear, and she gave a cry of pain as antiseptic liquid stung her bottom as painfully as the whip. Gently the Doctor covered the scarred area with wadding, then helped one of the serving maids to keep it in place by pulling up a pair of latex pants.

She stood up groggily. He handed her a glass of brandy, which he had poured out for her. The strong liquid felt wonderful and she swallowed it gratefully while ashamedly trying to wipe dry her streaming mask.

He smiled, and for no reason she wondered what quirk of fate had brought him to the island to tend to wounded slaves. He seldom drank, so it could not be the usual classic reason for being struck off the Medical Registrar. He was a cheerful, kind man, but always had refused to talk about himself or discuss the 'politics' of the Training Centre.

‘A bit nasty, eh? I've tried to have that steel whip banned, but I must say old Laura knows exactly how far she can go with it. If she'd used all her strength your bottom would be stripped of skin, whereas, despite the blood, those scars will heal within two weeks and your bottom will be untouched and lily‑white again!’

She groaned. ‘It's no consolation! It's on fire at the moment, I'll have to eat standing up for weeks!’

‘Not at all. This new antiseptic jelly is marvellous stuff. Cuts and wounds heal much quicker, thank God for modern science! You'll be able to sit ‑ gingerly, I admit – by lunchtime tomorrow. Off you go, you're a very brave girl!’

As a curious ceremonial finish to the Test, the serving maid brought across a long and very thick white rubber cape with a high gold collar, which she fastened round Gerda's neck. It gleamed and shimmered almost to the floor, and Gerda pulled the loose heavy folds around her in ecstasy, loving the crackle and rustle as she moved. The serving maid knelt in front of her.

‘Slave Gerda, My Lady Executioner ordered me to present you with the Cape of Servitude, which may only be worn by special slaves and only on ceremonial occasions. It signifies that you have passed your Whipping Test. Meanwhile you are free until noon tomorrow, when you must report for your Final Exam.’

Gerda departed to her quarters, walking slowly in her pain but delighting in the heavy rubber cloak encompassing her, feeling like an Inca Priestess. Boldly she took the elevator to the fourth floor, although unaccompanied slaves were not supposed to use it. She took a mild satisfaction by accomplishing this without being spotted by one of the Instructors.

Maria was waiting at the door, and they fell into each other's arms, Gerda now with tears brimming. ‘I'm sorry, Maria, but if I hadn't carried out my orders we'd both have been horribly punished.’

Maria was her usual perky self. ‘I loved it, Mistress, and I'm feeling fine ‑ except when I bend down! But you, is it agony?’

‘Not too bad now, the old Doctor knows what he's doing, that jelly stuff has certainly taken away the soreness. I'm going to have a shower and a snooze then I'll dress in something light and go down to the Slave's Rest Room. Win or lose, I've almost finished my Tests! Wait till I see Yvette and the others!’

CHAPTER 24

A thoroughly exhausted Gerda had slept twelve hours when Maria awoke her at 10.30 the next morning. Despite the days of Punishment tortures, the week of the Final Tests, Gerda felt reasonably relaxed. She had done her best, and now the decision lay in other hands. She knew she had behaved badly in some of the Exams, but if she had failed, she was subtly excited by the thought she would have to start her Training again for another six months.

Maria bustled around, pouring out coffee and telling her the latest gossip, which seemed to filter through the Centre like summer lightning, carefully avoiding any mention of Gerda's Final Exams.

‘Estelle has a new Master, he's Lebanese and very rich. Her other Master died of a heart attack in New York, poor man, but he left 200,000 dollars to Le Compte, and Estelle will get half of that. Funny, isn't it? She's a rich woman and yet she wants to remain a slave and take a new Master!’
    ‑
Gerda knew only too well how Estelle felt. ‘Money isn't the be‑all and end‑all, Maria. It's a tough world outside, and maybe she likes the security of the Centre and the love of a good Master.’

She knew she was echoing her own sentiments. Even if she had not been lucky enough to become Guy's slave and wife, she now would dread going back to her previous life, its shallow pretence and unrewarding future. In Paris she had had many acquaintances and few friends. Here she had wonderful and genuine friends like Yvette and Marcia, dear little Maria, the cheery Doctor, the no. 4 Instructor (would she ever see his face?). But underneath he was a kind soul and had a strong sense of humour), and even Miss Dodds when she was 'off‑duty'. Her heart sank but her pulse beat quicker as she thought of Laura, the Executioner, Friend or Foe?

Maria was hustling her to get dressed. ‘You mustn't be late for the Ceremony, Mistress, imagine getting Demerits on your Passing‑out Day! I've brought your special suit, it's gorgeous!’

It was indeed; an all‑over catsuit in gleaming black leather, lined with thin rubber, with stiletto‑heeled boots attached. Before she was allowed to dress, Gerda stood obediently in the nude, showered and powdered, while Maria pulled long thin latex gloves up her arms, then helped her into thick latex pants which had two dildo attachments front and back, already greased. They were normal size, and Gerda realised they were more of a ceremonial reminder than any sort of punishment.

The leather catsuit slipped on with erotic ease, tight and comfortable. The attached leather gloves fitted firmly over her latex ones underneath. Maria laced the suit tightly up the back and fastened the high collar.

‘The corset and Chastity Belt now, Mistress,’ she said with her impish grin, ‘and Miss Dodds said it had to be 'bloody tight'!’

‘Dear Maria!' After yesterday's steel corset it'll feel like cotton wool!’

The corset was of thick black vinyl, reinforced with strips of metal, with several buckles and steel rings welded on. Maria laced it up the back until the eyeholes overlapped. To Gerda, it felt pleasantly comfortable, although the severity of the corset had already tightened the leather catsuit, so that her two dildo insertions were thrusting into her with sexual insistence.

Maria now brought out the Chastity Belt and buckled it over the corset. It was of shining gold vinyl, thick but pliable, and she passed it between Gerda's legs and strapped it up the back, pulling it so tight that Gerda protested.

‘Hell's Bell's, Maria, don't get so enthusiastic! A Chastity Belt is a safeguard against rape, and I'm already well plugged inside! This is supposed to be a Ceremony, not a bondage punishment. Anyway, they've probably failed me, so I'll look an awful creep in this outfit!’

Maria was still busy with the dressing instructions, and brought across a beautiful black leather mask, lined with rubber, with the eyes slanting exotically upwards. She gently pulled it over Gerda's head, then laced it up tightly until there was not a crease to be seen. Then she brought a very long wig of blonde hair and carefully fitted it onto Gerda's head. ‘It's a symbol, Mistress, you had hair like this when you arrived here. That's it, except I must padlock on the steel belt. It's a sort of symbol, too.’

The three‑inch band of shining steel was padlocked over the corset. Gerda looked at herself in the long mirror, the adrenaline flowing now, eager to know her fate. She gave a grunt of approval at her appearance.

Her tall slim figure in the high‑heeled boots gleamed in its black leather, without the suspicion of a wrinkle. The shiny black corset with the steel belt tightly encased her waist and pushed her still tender breasts forward against the leather suit. The strange Chastity Belt, narrowing between her thighs, seemed like a band of pure gold. The long and beautiful wig, falling loosely to her waist, surprisingly gave her no nostalgic regrets, much as she had wept when the Executioner had cut off her long hair on arrival. She smiled through the mouth hole of the leather mask and thought she looked very sexy. She moved across the room, loving the feel of the tight rubber‑lined suit encasing her body.

It was five minutes to twelve. Time to go to her nemesis, to learn what her Master had decreed. Just how high was the standard of a Top‑Level Slave? And if by a miracle she had passed her Exams, would she really have to swear the Slave's Oath in front of everyone?

Maria accompanied Gerda down in the elevator and along the passages to the Main Hall. Outside the double doors a serving maid waited, a hood held ready.

‘Mistress Gerda, I must put this on you, then I will guide you to the, Seat of Judgement.’

Suddenly Gerda felt nervous and uncertain. She had joked to Maria and tried to fool herself about the Final Tests, but now she realised how desperately she wanted to pass them and become a Top‑Level Slave. Meekly she lowered her head and felt a heavy latex hood envelop her. The neck was left loose and she found she could breathe fairly easily.

She put both her hands on the serving maid's shoulders, the proper manner in which a blindfolded slave was led, and they advanced into the big hall. From the sudden hush that descended, she realised that most of the Establishment had been ordered to attend the ceremony, and her nervousness returned two‑fold. But she held herself proudly, remembering how svelte and elegant she had appeared in her mirror, hoping it was not all conceit and that at least no. 4 Instructor would appreciate her figure. She did not dare to think of Guy, Le Grand Duc, the Master, the final Inquisitor who would decide her future life.

The maid stopped, then gently pushed Gerda down onto a hard bench. She sat rigidly straight, the corset and steel belt cutting into her stomach, reminding her that she was still only a slave in Training.

On the raised stage, facing the hall, were seated the Principals of the Island. In the centre was Le Compte de Rhislain, flanked by Miss Dodds, The Executioner, the Doctor, and the four Chief Instructors. The audience facing them consisted of almost everyone in the Centre, as all Training and Punishments had been suspended for the occasion. Apart from the resident slaves, there were now fourteen serving maids, another six Instructors in their gleaming green uniforms, the Catering Manageress, two chefs, three assistants, four laundry maids (hopeful to become serving maids eventually), and the two special assistants who were qualified nurses. Even the head seamstress in charge of the tailor's workshop was present.

Le Compte rose from his chair and moved to the dais in the centre of the stage, carrying a sheaf of papers. He was dressed in his white leather outfit, tightly belted, his official uniform on the Island.

‘It is not often we have a chance to meet altogether,’ he commenced, ‘but the Final Test of a slave is always a special occasion, because it means she has been brought to the highest point of Servitude, and has willingly renounced her previous life for Top‑Level Slavehood.’

‘Today, as you all know, it is an extra‑special occasion, as slave Gerda, my new wife, has elected to take these Final Tests. Because of the personal affiliation, I have deliberately not been involved in the daily marks and decisions over the past week. So now I will ask Madam Laura, the Executioner, to give the verdict which has been decided daily, after each Test, by herself, Miss Dodds, and two attending Instructors.’

There was a murmur of voices as the masked assembly digested this news. Usually Le Compte was in full charge and read out the results without any reference to a jury or other opinions. Conversation died as Laura came forward to the raised desk. She was dressed in a gleaming white vinyl suit, with her usual half mask, leaving her mouth and chin free.

‘I do not intend to go through the results day by day. Sufficient to say that slave Gerda has successfully passed her Final Tests, and has now been elected a fully-fledged Top‑Level Slave. Remove her hood and let her come up to receive her Belt of Office and declare the Oath of Slavehood!’

In a daze of delight, Gerda felt the hood being removed, and the smiling serving maid pointing the way to the stage. She moved forward, trying to appear nonchalant and graceful, aware of the clapping and cheers from the rubber‑clad audience.

Up on the stage, she bowed in front of Le Compte, who had taken over from the Executioner for the final ceremony. He looked down at her with a stern face, his eyes fathomless.

Gerda knew the time had come and what was expected of her. Slowly she knelt in front of Le Compte du Rhislain, her Master and husband, prepared to bind herself to him forever. Remembering Miss Dodd's instructions she held her body stiffly upright and folded her arms behind her back, the gesture of total servitude.

The Main Hall was now as silent as a tomb. With the exception of the very new slaves, everyone knew and appreciated the severe training and tortures Gerda had endured over the past year to obtain this high badge of Slavehood.

Gerda took a slow, deep breath, the vicious steel belt and corset crushing her ribs, the Rod and dildo now forced tightly into her body. She raised her masked head and looked up into her Master's eyes.
‘My Lord and Master,’ she intoned in a clear voice, ‘I kneel before you, of my own free will, prepared to swear the Slaves' Oath of Allegiance and Servitude.’

She paused theatrically, revelling in her cruel costume and the drama of the moment.

‘I hereby swear I will serve as your dutiful and devoted slave for the remainder of my life, acknowledging no other Master and renouncing all previous connections with my previous existence.'

‘I promise at all times to be dressed in Rubber or an associated material approved by my Master; I will always appear masked, booted, and gloved in front of my Lord, unless he has ordered otherwise; I will accept my chains of Bondage at all times.'

‘I promise to carry out implicitly any order from my Master, however severe or rigorous. Willingly I will accept any Punishment that my Master deems fit to inflict on me.’

‘On my Slave's Honour I will never cheat or take advantage of the Emergency Signal, nor attempt to alleviate my Bondage or Suffering by false means.’

‘Finally, I hereby swear never to disobey my Lord and Master, in the full knowledge that he holds the power of Life or Death over me.’

As her ringing voice died away, there was no sound except for the faint surf of the Mediterranean breaking against the nearby rocks. Then Le Compte raised Gerda to her feet. He placed both hands on her shoulders.

‘Thank you, Top‑Level Slave Gerda. Humbly I accept your Oath, and the trust and responsibility which is involved.’ Then he turned towards his audience, his voice lighter.

‘First, let me congratulate you, Slave Gerda. From now onwards, all instructions to you will be addressed with a capital 'S' for Slave. You have also earned the privileges accorded to a Top-Level Slave. I'm sure you know them, but Miss Dodds will give you an official list; it would be a shame if you incurred Demerits through ignorance of your rights!’

When the laughter had died, he spoke again. ‘This ceremony always makes me happy, because it means another human being has found her place in life. In the outside world, there are too many unhappy women; some who are unmarried and lonely, others who are married and who find themselves a drudge, much worse off than the lowest serving‑maid. We cannot change the world, but I like to think that this Island, this Training Centre, has a meaningful purpose, and that there is not one person today, apart, perhaps, from our very new trainees, who regrets being here!’

There was a burst of gloved clapping and a cheer.

Guy beamed at his wife and slave, then switched to his serious expression. He extracted a key from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Here is the key to your steel belt of Novicehood Slave Gerda, unlock it and take it off your body, along with the Chastity Belt. Then you will receive the Silver Chain of Top‑Level Slavehood.’

Gerda unlocked the steel belt round her waist and with mild relief undid the gold Chastity Belt, giving an inward sigh as the dildos inside her slid fractionally out in their grease. Then the Executioner came forward, carrying a heavy silver chain, which she looped round Gerda's waist and locked into position with a silver padlock. She stood back, the grey eyes glinting through her mask.

‘Wear it well Slave Gerda, for you have earned it. But never shirk your responsibilities as a Slave in the future!’

The applause was long and loud, but Gerda felt a sickness in her stomach as she fingered the silver chain and saw Laura's mocking eyes.

CHAPTER 26

The next morning the summons arrived which Gerda had been dreading. ‑ Maria brought in breakfast and regarded her Mistress with concerned eyes through the slits of her mask. She removed her tight gag and poured out Gerda's coffee.

‘You're to report to the Executioner, Mistress, at noon. You're not going to like the costume very much!’

Gerda had known she must eventually face Laura and make her own grim decision; whether she was to call Laura's bluff and let her take the tape to Le Compte, or allow the Executioner to dominate her subconscious lesbian tendencies.

She sighed. Better to face it now than have it hanging over her. ‘Layout my costume, then; dear Madam Laura's going to have the surprise of her life!’ Immediately Gerda saw the outfit she realised how clever the Executioner was, a cunning psychological ploy.

Naked, she stepped into the tight white latex pants with an attached dildo in front and a short thick Rod up her bottom, both of which Maria had covered with grease. Then a heavy leather corset against her skin, which Maria apologetically hauled tighter and tighter until Gerda's small waist was reduced, to an agonising I7 inches. Gerda pulled on the thin black latex stockings, and fastened the elastic suspenders attached to the corset.

The long latex gloves ended in thick padded mittens with only a thumb, squeezing her fingers together. Next came a close fitting white latex blouse, over which was a very short and tight black rubber gymslip. Maria tucked the neck of Gerda's working mask inside the high collar of the white blouse, then carefully polled a thin rubber hood over her head. It fitted tightly and had the face of a sulky young girl with rosy cheeks.

On top of Gerda's head, she drew on a blonde wig with long pigtails, caught at the bottom by two black satin bows. She fitting a wide leather collar over the neck of the masks and strapped it tightly at the back, cruelly raising Gerda's head and holding it rigid. She then attached a thin steel belt over the gymslip, turning the worm pinion screw at the back until it was crushing the corset underneath.

Finally, she brought across a pair of black patent shoes with thin towering seven‑inch heels and made Gerda sit while she slipped them on her feet.

‘The bitch!’ Gerda gritted through her masks, ‘In this corset and collar I can hardly move, how the hell can I walk in those shoes?’

With difficulty, assisted by Maria, she stood up. The heels were so high her foot was almost perpendicular, her whole weight on the tips of her toes. She took tiny wobbling steps across to the long mirror, and gasped at the strange apparition staring back at her.

It was the travesty of a young schoolgirl. The sullen face was that of a spoilt fifteen ­year‑old, and at first glance the short gleaming gymslip and suspendered stockings fitted the young image. But the incredibly small waist with its shining steel belt, and the full breasts straining against the material, gave a subtle sexual quality, which was enormously enhanced by the erotic and tarty shoes. The hands, too, seemed strangely sexual, enclosed in miniature boxing gloves.

At exactly noon Gerda knocked on the door of the Executioner's office with her elbow, swaying perilously on her mammoth heels, her toes already aching. With difficulty she turned the handle of the door with her mittened hand, and with tiny steps entered the room.

Laura rose slowly from an armchair and Gerda felt an unwanted sexual thrill run through her body. The girl was dressed only in tight black latex shorts, gleaming black thigh boots, long gloves of supple leather, and a full mask, over which she wore sinister dark goggles. Her long blonde hair was pony‑tailed through a hole at the rear of the hood and cascaded down her back. Her bare breasts were magnificently firm and the hard nipples seemed to point upwards. Round her waist, covering the top of the shorts, she wore a tight black leather corselet.

'Welcome, my Top‑Level Slave Gerda. May I congratulate you again on your new status? I'm glad you didn't try to leave us yesterday, I thought perhaps my threat might have driven you away.’

‘No, Mistress,’ Gerda said meekly, determined to meet this woman as an equal, ‘Your attempted blackmail does not disturb me.’ She hoped her bravado was convincing.

‘Really? Then you've decided you will reject my advances and that I should properly take that tape to Le Compte?’

Gerda wavered. Under no circumstances did she dare let Guy hear that awful babble when Laura had broken her down and recorded her mixed‑up thoughts. But she could try to bluff this evil but devilishly lovely woman.

‘I hope you won't do that, Mistress. But I am not a lesbian and under normal circumstances I would never have said what I did. I was drugged and brought to an orgasm by you and made to say those things. Le Compte will understand.’

Laura shook her masked head, the black goggles staring remorselessly at her victim.

Dear me, what a difficult girl you are to convince. Many women are part lesbian, but can still enjoy a man! I don't know why you seem to be ashamed of it.’

‘I am not even part lesbian,’ Gerda said in a rising over‑emphatic tone, ‘You tricked me!’

Laura came across until she was standing close to her rigid slave. 'Very well, Gerda, we'll have to prove it for once and for all. Now, I like that sulky schoolgirl face, fresh and virginal but not very co‑operative. I will call you Rosie, I think, a nice name for such an attractive schoolgirl. Before we begin our little session, let me tighten your belt I so that we can see your superb tiny waist. How envious I am.

She came behind Gerda and tightened the screw of the steel belt, clamping it closer and closer round the corseted waist, a band of iron which made Gerda gasp, although the heavy corset prevented the steel from cutting into her skin.

Eventually Laura was satisfied, and took a tape measure from her desk and passed it round the steel belt. ‘Sixteen inches on the outside of the belt, dear Rosie, that means your waist is just over fifteen inches inside the corset. I must say you look superb. Squat down on your haunches, Rosie!’

With enormous difficulty Gerda tried to do so, her stockings tightening alarmingly and her Rod and dildo sinking deeper into her. But it was impossible to keep her balance in the cruel shoes and she fell over. She stood up and Laura smacked her masked face several times.

‘Stupid little schoolgirl bitch! I'm going to punish you now so you will learn to obey your Mistress instantly. There's a serving maid waiting for you in Room Three, she'll prepare you. Hurry!’

Her face still smarting from the heavy slaps Gerda knelt carefully and kissed her Mistress's tight bottom, then left the room and minced down the corridor to the Punishment Room. Inside, a serving maid was standing stiffly to attention, a heavy gag strapped into her masked face.

The maid seemed to have her orders. She beckoned Gerda to cross over to a short steel post, which was firmly anchored into a 3‑feet square iron base. By the side of the post were lying two steel devices looking like pieces of cut out leg armour, lined with foam rubber.

Gerda knew its purpose, and stepped out of her shoes with relief, then knelt at the front of the leg pieces, her knees and legs fitting firmly into the shaped metal. The maid locked each leg into position with four straps attached across the steel. Gerda's ankles, calves and knees, spread wide apart, were now holding her immovable in a kneeling position.

The maid turned a ratchet on the upright post and moved it until it was pressing against Gerda's back, then handcuffed her wrists behind the post, and passed a heavy strap round her waist, drawing it tightly back against the metal upright. A further strap round her shoulders and the post made Gerda utterly helpless.

The maid now brought across a large vibrator Machine with a web of straps attached, and expertly fixed the Machine against the greased dildo inside the tight latex pants, gradually tightening all the straps round the waist and thighs until she was satisfied it was correctly centred.

There was no point in talking to the serving maid, who was unable to answer anyway. Gerda was not uncomfortable, the foam padding lining the steel legs cushioning its hardness. She tried to let her rigidly clamped body relax against the heavy straps, wondering what this Training would entail. Or was Laura using her 'schoolgirl' covering as an excuse to punish her? Whatever it was, Gerda was determined she would squash this lesbian game for once and for all.

She heard the door open, but the tight leather collar prevented even the smallest movement of her head. She heard the Executioner dismiss the maid, telling her to remain outside, then, Laura moved slowly in front of her helpless victim.

Over her semi-nudity she was now wearing a thin latex dress of shining silver, tightly belted at the waist so that her breasts strained against the material, and with a very loose skirt dropping in folds to below her knees. She moved gracefully on her high‑heeled thigh boots. She had removed the dark goggles, and Gerda could see her large grey eyes through the mask slits.

‘My little Rosie is somewhat helpless, yes?’ she said mockingly, ‘How does Rosie like that nice thick Rod up her bottom? My, what a lovely tight waist we have, and such firm boobs for a fifteen‑year‑old!‘ She came across and her gloved hands caressed and squeezed Gerda's tightly constrained breasts until Gerda was moaning with pain and a certain ecstasy, which she attempted to ignore. There was no way she would allow Laura to turn her on.

Abruptly the Executioner crossed to a wall cupboard and returned with a leather blindfold, which she strapped around Gerda's head. The Slave felt a pang of fear as darkness encompassed her; she preferred to see what devilment this woman had planned. She heard Laura's dress swish as she moved across the Punishment Room, but she could not see the small table with the microphone and recorder being placed close to her bondaged figure.

'Now Rosie, you are a very young girl, and I am your stern and merciless teacher. You have sinned, and must be punished. But you must also learn how to please your teacher, so I am going to stand against your face and you will gently rub your nose against my thin rubber shorts while I talk to you. I shall put my skirt over your head so that you will become very hot and may have difficulty in breathing, but under no circumstances will you stop nuzzling my crotch. You understand?’

Gerda now realised the reason for her present kneeling position. But this time she would certainly not lose control of herself. ‘Yes, Mistress,’ she said docilely, then felt the slithery latex dress being lifted and dropped over her head and then in the warm darkness she sniffed Laura's perfume and felt the warm rubber shorts against her face. Obediently she eased her masked nose against her Mistress's crotch; sternly fighting down the excitement it was causing her body.

For the first few minutes Laura remained silent, occasionally sighing with satisfaction and pressing herself more firmly against Gerda's face. As the heat increased inside the latex shirt draped over the post, Gerda started perspiring through her masks and could feel the rubber shorts becoming slippery against her nose and mouth.

Laura gave a low laugh. ‘Not too bad, Slave Gerda, is it? You're made of sterner stuff than poor Rosie. Let's see if we can't get you more into the mood.

Gerda strained against her bonds as the Machine came to life, turned on cruelly high and the vibrations pulsing madly against her dildo and shuddering up her body. Laura pressed against her face, forcing her head back against the rigid post. ‘Harder, Slave, do it properly or I'll take off my shorts and to hell with the regulations! I hope you can feel a small vibration through your own rubber?’

Gerda tried to shout out to stop this fiendish plan, but the combination of heat; perspiration, saliva and Laura's sleek shorts effectively gagged her to a moaning grunt. She tried desperately to dislodge the Machine, but the maid had known her business and the straps held it relentlessly against her dildo.
Rational thoughts and her strong resolves faded into deep blackness, and a red-hot glow suffused her body. At last she was Laura's slave, helpless and about to give her Pleasure as woman to woman. She screamed mutely and forced her face tightly against the streaming wet shorts, feeling her adored Mistress grind against her masks, suffocating her for moments at a time, no longer caring about the sweat streaming down inside her blouse and short tunic, turning her white pants and black latex stockings into a wet shining symbol of her ecstasy.

Suddenly, Laura stood back and lifted her skirt off Gerda's shoulders, panting and near to an orgasm. Gerda's masked face strained forward, seeking the tight shorts like a baby to its bottle. She groaned and sucked in great mouthfuls of air as she realised Laura had released her.

‘Talk, Slave Gerda, tell me what you want, what you need… Tell me!'

Gerda rocked futilely against her bonds, her mind sunk in a deep black crevice with the Machine thrilling through her body and forcing her masochism and lesbianism relentlessly to the surface.

‘Mistress…dear Mistress Laura…I want you so much…I want your cruelty and your punishments…and your love…I want to please you in any way you order…I want your whip God, I want your whip to lash me until I'm screaming for mercy…I want to serve you, to grovel at your feet…to be humiliated by you in front of others in order to show my love for you…oh, please…please let me give you Pleasure…keep me always in heavy rubber as your adoring slave…Mistress, let me Pleasure you, force me to Pleasure you…suffocate me in your rubber…’

Her voice rose as she struggled to keep back her orgasm. Laura smiled evilly through her mask and bent forward to switch off the tape recorder. Now there was no way Gerda would allow her to give the tapes to Le Compte. Le Compte’s new wife and slave was hers now! Under the guise of further Training she could have this beautiful girl obeying every sadistic sexual whim, and loving it!

But Laura, the Executioner had a strict sense of fairness. Having achieved what she wanted, she had no wish to cause trouble between Gerda, and Le Compte, whom she adored and respected, and who had saved her from a shallow life of cruel embarrassment. Now she had a certain dignity in bet exalted position; she was feared and respected, and she, knew Guy trusted her judgement implicitly. In her own mind she realised that if Gerda had not broken down under the influence of the Machine, she, Laura, would never have carried out her threat of blackmail by giving Le Compte the original tape.

But now she had I Gerda doubly booked, and with two tapes she was certain the girl would gradually come round to accept her lesbian tendencies, and still maintain her obvious love, for Guy.

She moved forward to the moaning slave, feeling her orgasm mounting again as she looked at the ridiculous baby face of the schoolgirl, the satin bows of the pigtails now sodden. Her mind seeing only the stunning figure of Gerda the woman underneath, the breasts heaving against the constricting black rubber gym dress, the cold steel of the belt cutting viciously into the tunic and corset underneath. Gently she raised her skirt and drew it over Gerda's head, then pressed her tightly rubbered pelvis against the streaming mask.

‘Give me Pleasure now,’ she murmured, almost swooning as Gerda’s head eagerly buried itself against her thighs. ‘Then you may take Pleasure yourself.’

Gerda only dimly heard her instructions. Her world was black and beautiful, her only thought was to please this strict and wonderful Mistress who could whip and torture her and make her suffer the most severe and degrading Punishments. She felt her Mistress shudder and part her legs and then her head was gripped between strong thighs and her breath was cut off as Laura crushed her face against the thin shorts and started to take a huge Pleasure.

The suffocation sparked off her own orgasm, and she screamed silently against her Mistress as the Machine carried her upwards into a mind shattering climax. She felt herself suffocating and gladly let herself fall into a cool black sky where there were no stars but only Laura's firm pointed breasts.

Gerda recovered consciousness to find herself lying on a leather couch in the corner of the Punishment Room. Her rigid collar and both masks had been removed, and the steel belt and corset loosened. She realised the Executioner was cradling her in her arms, the grey eyes now soft and anxious through her mask. Dimly she heard Laura's whispered voice.

‘Baby, baby, what did I do to you? I've never had an orgasm so wonderful, but I cut off your air. It was unforgivable of me. Are you all right now?’

Gerda nodded weakly, feeling horribly naked without her mask. Laura took a cloth and wiped her damp face tenderly. Then she bent down and kissed Gerda's lips.

Gerda closed her eyes as the tightly latexed face came towards her, then she felt the lips gently touch hers, and despite herself she let her mouth eagerly return the kiss. ‘Please!’ she whispered, ‘take off your mask and let me see your face!’

Laura drew back, eyes hardening. ‘No, slave Gerda. No one on the Island has ever seen my face, except Le Compte. No one ever will. If you feel strong enough to move, you may put on your working mask and return to your quarters.’ She turned away abruptly. For a crazy moment Gerda thought she heard a sob. Then she was alone as the Executioner strode out of the room.

Slowly Gerda replaced her mask after wiping it dry. She took a long rubber smock off the back of the door and zipped it on to cover her wet and now slightly ridiculous costume. The sulky girl's mask and the sodden wig and pigtails lay forlornly in a corner where Laura had thrown them after Gerda had fainted.

She saw the tape recorder on the table by the metal post, and realised it contained more damning evidence against her. She made no attempt to steal the tape; whatever had happened could be made to happen again. She felt only love and pity for Laura now.

Automatically, she put on the seven‑inch heeled shoes, made sure her mask and gloves were without a wrinkle, and teetered down the corridor towards the elevator she was now entitled to use by herself. The heavy rubber smock rustled reassuringly against her, and her dildo and Rod macked enticingly inside the wet latex pants. She felt curiously relaxed, knowing she had been close to death by suffocation, locked between the Executioner's thighs.

But she had found Laura’s Achilles heel. Why could nobody ever see her face? Why had she suddenly turned away and sobbed?