In 'My Mistress', Steven told us how his wife reacted to the news that he had lost his job; then, 'A 'Dog's Liife' in which he was sent to Madame Sadia and her friend, Caroline, to be trained for his new house-husband role. Now Steven is back home and his Mistress takes up the tale...
It would not strictly speaking be accurate to describe Steven as 'worthless'.
He has his uses. In the old days, when he was bringing money into the house, I was satisfied with that.
Financial security meant that I was free to pursue my own hobbies and interests so it was largely unimportant that the sex-life we had was pretty unrewarding.
I had been a virgin when we married so didn't know that things could be better: I had certainly never enjoyed an orgasm but you don't miss what you haven't had.
Then he lost his job.
It was on the night he confessed this to me that I discovered what pleasure was really all about.
When I began to flay the skin from his back with my belt I did not know that the experience would prove arousing - for both of us. My crop scarred his chest and the gusset of my panties overflowed with steaming passion until I straddled his hard cock and came and came and came.
In the months that followed he performed his tasks well in the bedroom.
I returned home from work, whipped him, then straddled his cock or his face, determined to catch up on all the pleasure I had missed in our earlier years of marriage.
Unfortunately he was not quite so attentive to his tasks around the house.
Often I found little things out of place: a plate that had not been adequately washed-up; a pair of silk panties that had not been perfectly ironed; a ring around the bath, that sort of thing. Since I simply had to go to work during the day - my wage being the only one we had - I was left with two choices: I could either hire an au-pair to supervise him during the day, or I could arrange to have him professionally trained. I chose the latter: it occurred to me that an au-pair might well be tempted to take advantage of his cock whilst she had him alone, depriving me of some of its voracity.
I contacted Sadia after reading her advert in a magazine that my boss - the company director - kept in his private drawer. She promised me that she could have Steven trained thoroughly in a fortnight: she would reinforce his conception of his lowly status in life and teach him that sloppiness would bring with it some terrible consequences.

Messalina supervised the beginning of the races. She kept a stable of young, fit slaves specifically for this purpose. Small "chariots", little more than a seat with wheels were used, with the slave securely chained between the shafts.
This was the final race, between Domitia and another guard. Messalina had promised, the winner, free reign with the slaves for the rest of the night, and they were eager to start the race. They had both been on duty and, having had to stand at the side, watching the orgy's progress, the mingled cries of pain and pleasure tormenting them, their frustration was obvious. Domitia, in particular, stood fidgeting and shuffling from foot to foot, her unfullfilled desire almost a physical presence around her. Each mounted her chariot, grasping the reins attached to the harness fastened to her slave's head. Domitia gave a hard jerk, pulling the bit back painfully in the slave's mouth. Experienced as he was, he knew what the warning meant without being told. Both guards took the long, tapering riding switches offered to them by the riding slaves' trainer, and waited for their Empress's signal to begin. Messalina raised her hand to start the race and silence descended on the huge hall. The guests' vices extended to gambling too, and huge sums of money rested on the outcome.
The Empress dropped her hand and with a vicious cut of the switch both Amazons set their slaves in motion. Despite the size of the hall the space reserved for slave-racing was quite thin; corners difficult to negotiate. Domitia's steed was further encumbered by the size of the domina in the cumbersome chariot, and soon began to flag.
Seeing her chance at relief slipping away, she began to lash at him with her switch. The muscles of his broad back and powerful shoulders were soon inlaid with vicious red weals and, crying out with the effort, he picked up speed. He was unable to turn properly however, and tripped, overturning the chariot and sending Domitia careering into one of the slaves chained to the wall.
Unable to avoid her, the full force of her bulk slammed into the hapless onlooker's ribs. As she righted herself, her face dark with fury, the crushed slave sagged, his breath coming in irregular, tortured wheezes. Domitia ignored him, and unclipped the bullwhip from her waist. "Fool!" she roared at the slave on the ground, advancing towards him menacingly. Eyeing the coiled leather in her hand he tried to move, but he was tangled in the shafts of the overturned chariot.

Mark hesitated as he stood outside the oak door, taking a deep breath before knocking nervously.
He knew he was in trouble.
Miss Watson, the sales manageress, had sent a message via her secretary to say she wanted to see him, and with her an encounter was rarely pleasant. She had set the time to coincide with his lunch- break, which, as well as confirming his fears that he was in for a bollocking, had made him irritable.
To put it bluntly, he was sick of the bitch.
She was the youngest sales manager in the company's history, in no small part due to her total ruthlessness.
Rumours abounded of her outrageous methods, and it was no secret that she had frequently bedded both her customers and her superiors in her bid to get to the top.
As well as ruthless, she was beautiful, always dressed provocatively, and Mark had mistakenly made a pass at her not long after he had joined the company. She was a perfectionist, haranguing her staff for every mistake, but for his nerve in attempting to seduce her, she hounded Mark unmercifully. He remained a junior clerk, passed over for promotion repeatedly, yet he was stuck there. He suspected that his unsuccessful job applications to other firms were due to her influence, leaving him frustrated with the hold she had over him.
"Enter."
It was a command, though she didn't know for certain it was him stood there. She had become accustomed to giving orders, her gorgeous looks and manipulative ways meant that even the old fools in the boardroom meekly acceded to her every demand.
Tentatively, though inwardly seething, he entered her office.
She was alone.
Julie, her secretary, must be at lunch he presumed, the thought of food causing his empty stomach to signal his hunger with a soft groan.
He closed the door and turned to face Miss Watson, who was watching him, her face expressionless. He stood in front of her desk as she continued to gaze at him. His eyes were fixed on her, returning the stare until, despite himself, he raised his head to look at the window behind her head.
Finally she let out a sigh.
"Well?"
He looked back down at her.
"Well what?"
For the first time she showed some emotion, albeit briefly. A flash of irritation crossed her face, before she regained her composure.
"The Jameson contract, that's what. There were three pages missing from the contract that you sent them. You've made me look like a bloody fool."
Mark relaxed.
"That's down to the print room then. They must have lost
them."
He shrugged his shoulders, before making his biggest mistake. "It's not my problem," he drawled.
The blonde's face darkened, a mask of fury. Enraged, she leapt to her feet, almost spitting the words out.
"Not your problem? You useless little shit! It was your responsibility. You should have checked it properly, you moron."
She paused, breathing heavily in her anger.
"And now..." her voice rose further still, "now you have the nerve to stand there and shrug your shoulders. 'It's not my problem' she mimicked him, adding an effeminate lisp mockingly. "You pathetic creature, you can't even face your responsibilities like a man."
"Bitch."
He hadn't meant to let it slip out, but her taunting had got to him. It was the trigger that released all his pent-up resentment.
"That's it!"
It was almost a shout.
"You're going to pay for that. I had meant to fire you for you're ineptitude, but last night I had a better idea."
She picked a glove up from the desk and slowly pulled
it on.
"I'm going to teach you to respect your superiors. I doubt if I can turn a pathetic specimen like you into something useful, but I'm determined to try."

Messalina strode through the palace, her naked body gleaming with the masseuse's oils, heading for the slave's quarters. She smiled inwardly as the men she encountered carefully averted their eyes, finding something of interest even in the floor, but careful not to be caught staring at her. She was aware of furtive glances as she passed, eyes sliding round to follow her perfect body, pleasing her even more.
Their lust excited her, she knew she was the most desirable woman in Rome, but it was nothing more than a tingle compared to the intoxicating power. Whilst her husband was away, conquering some godforsaken lump of rock, she had complete control. As Empress, she had the power of life and death over anyone, not just slaves but citizens, even senators.
Rome had steadily declined into decadence, it's strict moral laws openly flouted, but even this corrupt populace had been shocked time and time again by Messalina's behaviour. She felt herself growing wet as she recalled the time she had challenged the Prostitutes Guild to put forward somebody equal to her sexual capacity, to contend who could wear out most men in a night. She had invited many noblemen, and all took part, some willingly and others not. She also cajoled, with the aid of her Amazonian bodyguards, a few of the assembled women to compete, including the wife of a respected senator, out of the country on business.
It was the first time she had used her authority sexually, her looks and seductive powers usually sufficed, and the thrill both surprised and delighted her. The excitement of having such dominance over people, not just slaves, not even citizens but nobility, spurred her on to orgasm after orgasm. Her competitor, a Sicilian aptly named Scylla after the famous whirlpool, had admitted defeat at dawn, having exhausted twenty-five gallants.
Messalina herself, on a wave of sexual pleasure had continued until the sun rose high overhead. She could feel the juices beginning to flow as she walked along the corridor, recalling the night, cock after cock pounding into her as her thighs and buttocks were coated with the sperm flowing out of her. Even more than the animal lust, she recalled her enjoyment as she watched the humiliation of those she had forced to take part, the shame on their faces as they slunk away.
Since then, she had turned the palace into a household dedicated purely to her own pleasure. She had surrounded herself with a host of like-minded hedonists, who joined her in her "games" to play out their bizarre desires.

Lady Jayne has kindly asked me - Mistress Caroline - to share with her readers some of my favourite experiences, and of course I am only too pleased to do so.
I am an experienced but young Mistress living just south of London where I have a superbly equipped playroom for the training of my 'slaves'. My firm 34-24-35 body and very long legs require constant worship and I accept only the highest standards of devotion and obedience from my slaves. My wardrobe is extensive and includes outfits in skintight PVC, rubber and leather that obedient slaves can look forward to dressing me in.
I reject many applications to serve under me as many would-be trainees seem to have little idea of how to write a respectful and humble letter of application to serve me. I accept only ,the highest standards of servility and complicity and any slave not measuring up can expect to receive swift and severe punishment. I am well-versed in all aspects of the Fem-Dom scene and have a vast array of equipment including full- size working rack, total suspension system, confinement cage (complete with straw 'carpet') and whips, crops, paddles, tawses, canes, gags, hoods, and restraint items too many to number.
I am pleased to have trained many new 'slaves' from little more than clumsy idiots to useful servants able to obey and serve my every whim and desire to my satisfaction. My training course is long and arduous but the reward of being allowed to worship my firm lithe body is more than ample enticement so it seems. I have recently introduced a five part home training video course which is designed to weed-out the pathetic nohopers before I sully my hands upon them. Each lesson was filmed in my playroom and contains direct instructions for the would-be slave to carry out at home. There are specific tasks set at the culmination of each lesson which need to be completed as directed before the pupil may progress onto the next lesson. I require detailed reports on the progress of each lesson and only if the trainee's levels of achievement are satisfactory will he be permitted to enter the domain of playroom ready to submit to me in person.
In the summer months I hold slave training days with a Mistress friend of mine at a castle (yes a real one) which is privately owned and which is situated some 30 miles south of London. These are most amusing as Mistress Tina and I select our highest level slaves and we plan an entertaining day's events.

"Steven, get your worthless ass in here, now."
Madam Sadia's voice echoed throughout the house. Where was the imbecile?
It really was inconvenient, having to put up with this.
She missed the smooth efficiency of her house- slave, Vassal, as well as being rather fond of him, in the same way that dog owner cared for her pet. However, he had broken a plate whilst washing up, and as her permanent slave severe punishment was called for. After a good cock-whipping, that left him rolling on the floor in agony, she had confined him to the dungeon for three days in severe bondage, including a spiked genital- sheath that enhanced the agony of the thrashing she had meted out to his cock and balls.
Despite his incredible appetite for pain, she'd found it necessary to gag him, to stop his agonised moans disturbing her peace.
With Vassal lost for three days, she had decided to keep Steven to skivvy for her until Vassel's release.
However, he could not compare with a full-time slave, somebody who knew her routine and habits inside-out. Here she was, performing her morning toilet, preparing herself, doing her hair and make-up, only to look down to see that the shoes she'd slipped on were dull from the day before.
She had a huge wardrobe, filled with rubber, leather and PVC, and expected every item to be kept shiny and clean. She was physically perfect, always dressed and made-up immaculately. Her reputation was founded on her pursuit of excellence, and she knew the client who would be calling later that morning would expect nothing less than perfection.
"Steven!"
She shouted again. If I have to go and find him, she thought, I'll flay him to within an inch of his life. I'll shove red-hot needles into his...
"You called, Madam Sadia."
The slave entered, panting, on hands and knees, the rule for all men in Madam Sadia's household.
"Yes. Where the fuck have you been? When I call, I expect you at my feet immediately."
"I'm sorry, Madam Sadia, I was..."
"No excuses, slave," she interrupted.
"You'll report to the dungeon at three o'clock for your punishment. In the meantime, come over here."
Steven crawled over to where his Mistress stood.
"Put your hand on the toilet seat," she ordered. Steven was puzzled, but did as he was told. Madam Sadia raised her foot, and placed it on his hand.
She pressed the six-inch stiletto into the back of his hand, bringing a sharp intake of breath from the kneeling slave.

Having accepted his wife's desire to inflict pain upon him to satisfy her sexual desires, Steven was sent to her friend, Madam Sadia for further training:
Madam Sadia and Madam Caroline looked down upon the worthless male who knelt before them. Although he appeared very obedient, the two ladies could not help thinking that he might benefit from some specialised training techniques.
Both were very experienced dominatrixes who had, on many occasions, quelled the soul of an obstinate male.
This was their latest charge for training.
Neither cared much for his name, and in view of the forthcoming training session, simply decided to refer to him as 'dog'.
It was Caroline's idea that the slave should be treated to a regime of what they called 'Dog & Doormat, Domestic Training'.
Using this method, the ladies could cheaply and effectively teach manners and total obedience whilst crushing any hint of an over-inflated ego. Domestic chores would be set and carried out to a required standard, whilst accommodation and feeding would be of a basic canine nature. Punishment would be short, sharp and strict. "Dog, come here," snapped Sadia from the far side of the room.
The imbecile hesitated then rose from his scuffed knees and walked across the room.
Sadia looked at Caroline and they both started to laugh. As their laughter grew, so the idiot began to laugh also. The laughter soon subsided, however, and the room fell silent.
Caroline clip-clopped across the floor, teetering slightly on her high heels.
She opened the pantry door.
Although "Dog" did not know this place, he looked solemn and his head drooped.
Caroline's slender finger gently ran along the row of assorted crops, tawses and belts which dangled from neat little hooks on the inside of the pantry door.
She licked her lip and thoughtfully bit her lower lip.
Then, in an instant, she plucked a swish riding crop from its hook, slipped the leather loop around her shapely wrist, wrapped her fingers around the firm handle, and shut the larder door. The implement fitted her almost naturally, like a glove.
At its tip was a neat, leather thong for the purpose of exerting an additional sting after the main force of the whip had struck.
It was almost as if it were designed to rub salt into the wound. Taking the thong between the thumb and forefinger of her free hand, she flexed the crop into a smooth arc until it almost made a semi-circle.
Very slowly, she stepped across the floor. Dog glanced up momentarily as the clicking of her heels got nearer and nearer.

I wonder if this guy is as wimpy as Sandra has made out, thought Mistress Alison as she drove down the windy drive towards Sandra's house.
Suddenly, the figure appeared from nowhere, or rather Alison was taking the corners far too quickly.
She hit the brakes hard, skidded into him and knocked him into the ditch.
She got out of the car and approached the man who was scrambling to his feet.
"You stupid damn cow!" he cursed, waving his fingers at her. "You could have killed me, you bloody ".
He stopped mid- sentence as soon as he noticed the riding crop that she clenched on her hip.
No, not another woman with a whip, he thought.
A shocking realisation had suddenly dawned on him as he recalled the agonies of Sandra's whip.
In his confused state, having been nearly knocked senseless, he was about to apologise for addressing her so rudely - it had just been his instant reaction to being knocked down.
Too late.
With fierce savagery, a smirk on her lips, and an evil glint in her eyes, she swung her right leg forwards and kicked him between the legs.
Jeff doubled up in agony as the toe of her shoe smashed neatly into his balls.
He fell across the bonnet of her car, gasping for air as the pain coursed through his body.
Alison quickly drew back her foot and then thrust it forwards again, stamping onto his groin with the needle-sharp six-inch stiletto heel. She jabbed it in several times and twisted her foot as she leant into him.
Jeff howled in pain and slid off the bonnet.
Alison raised her riding crop and brought it down with tremendous force across his face, a resounding crack that echoed throughout the still country air.
As he cowered at the front of her car, she glared down at him.
"What are you doing on this private drive anyway?" she demanded.
"I've got to report to Mistress Sandra Glenn" he replied, trying to fight back the tears and the pain.
Alison laughed.
"So you're the scrawny little git who's supposed to be learning respect for women. Well, you've not learnt much have you?"
"IAA ..... I'm sorry," he stammered.
"You will be!" she announced.
"If you thought that Sandra was severe with you, then you've got a shock coming, especially after this little incident. Sandra beat you to teach you manners. I will beat you for pure pleasure - mine! Now get up and start running towards the house. I will drive close behind you. If you fall over, I shall simply run over you and crush your puny body into the road.
And believe me, it will feel no different to crushing an insect beneath my shoes. You are that worthless, and anyway, we can always make it look like an accident."
Jeff trembled with fear. Did she really mean it? Would she actually crush him beneath the wheels of her car?
The sound of the engine starting up brought him out of his trance and he started to run along the lane towards Sandra's house.
Alison drove close behind, increasing her speed to push him to his limits. She lit herself a cigarette with the car's lighter, and as she took her eyes off the road for a second, her car bumped into Jeff. Incredibly, he stumbled forwards, but managed to regain his balance and continue running for all he was worth.
He glanced back in terror, now sure that she would crush him if he fell. Alison grinned as she drew on her cigarette, half-tempted to accelerate forwards and drive over him. It would be quite nice to feel his bones being crunched beneath her wheels, she thought.

Andy settled back into his seat as the car pulled away from the airport. The Swedish girl who had picked him up, his host's au pair she had informed him, was a real looker he thought, and he began to look forward to his stay.
He had only decided to come on this student exchange as a means to avoid attending sixth form for a couple of weeks, if it wasn't for his parents threats to throw him out he wouldn't bother attending at all. At eighteen he knew what he wanted from life and hard work wasn't part of it.
He was surprised that he had been allowed to sign up at all, none of the subjects he studied were really related to Germany, but he suspected that his parents welcomed a break from his disruption. What had been the real surprise, though, was the encouragement of his tutor, in fact she had suggested it. Mrs. Williams rarely saw eye to eye with him, yet she had been eager to get him to go, even arranging for him to stay with a German teacher that she knew personally.
He was surprised that the teacher had not come to meet him herself at the airport, but the girl was not very forthcoming, after her initial introduction she had led him to her car and not spoken since.
"Why couldn't Stern come herself?" he enquired, "Is she working today?"
"No, it is the vacations," she faltered in her heavily-accented English, "but she exercises every day, she is very strict about her...her routine." Having stumbled to the right word she lapsed into silence, and brushed aside any further attempt at conversation.
The rest of the journey was spent in silence, Andy alternating between staring wearily at the bland-looking suburbs they passed through and leering at the girl sat next to him, enjoying the curves revealed by her tight jeans and blouse, oblivious to her obvious discomfort.
Eventually they arrived at a large, nondescript, house. She left him to struggle with his bags and, cursing under his breath, he followed her through the front door. As he stood in the hall he saw a door open from the corner of his eye, quickly doing a quick double-take as he caught sight of his host, Fraulein Stern.
As the young Swede had indicated, she had indeed been exercising, her body still glistening with a sheen of perspiration. Although in her late thirties, her body was in excellent condition, long legs revealed by a high- cut leotard, breasts still full and firm, unaffected by the demands of the years.
She accepted Andy's insolent leer evenly and eyed him up and down, as he had her. They stared at each other for a moment but Andy was the first to break the contact, looking for the girl who had preceded him into the house, unused to people, especially women, standing up to him like this.
The teacher followed his gaze, and a look passed between the two women that even Andy could not mistake, causing him to groan inwardly. Just my luck, he thought, two weeks abroad with two good-looking women and they turn out to be into each other.
"I'll show you to your room," she said, turning back to face him, "No doubt you'll want to settle in straight away. Anna will help you with your bags," she continued, glancing at the waiting au pair.
The crotch of the teacher's leotard, already skimpy, had ridden higher to expose her firm buttocks, through her exertions or on purpose he did not know, and Andy gazed lustfully for a few moments as he followed her up the stairs, before he glumly realised that his were not the only eyes fixed in admiration upon the magnificent globes.
They left him to unpack, but he soon grew tired of the spartan room and left in search of his hosts. He heard soft voices from down the corridor, from a door that had been left ajar. He paused as he lifted his hand and instead leaned forward to put his eye to the crack, breath catching at the sight that greeted him.
Fraulein Stern stood in the centre of the room and her appearance captivated the young man. She was dressed only in a black basque, tightlaced to emphasise her womanly shape to an incredible degree, and stockings displaying her long legs to perfection.
High heels added to her commanding posture, legs splayed and arms folded.

I looked at my watch and as soon as it registered six o'clock I rang the doorbell of the large house.
As I waited, I reflected upon the events that had brought me to this small mansion set alone and hidden in a vast expanse of woods. The directions were very good; I would never have found it in a million years without them.
This thought sent a shiver down my spine and I became a little apprehensive.
I recalled buying my first contact magazine a little over two weeks ago. I had paid a visit to my local adult shop in order to purchase a few Female Domination magazines.
On this occasion, however, there had been no new titles and I had already purchased those that were on display, so I bought a fetish contact magazine rather than go home empty handed.
As I read through it, back at home, I began to wonder just how genuine the entries were. Some had small photos with their entries, and a few of these looked quite tasty I thought.
So I took the plunge and decided to reply to a few, not really expecting an answer.
Having received replies from most of them, which surprised me, I continued to correspond with those that interested me, by post and by telephone.
It became apparent that the majority were 'on the game' and doing it purely for financial gain.
One, however, who called herself Mistress Caroline seemed very genuine. From what I could work out, she was very wealthy and was not interested in taking my money. It was for her own pleasure that she enjoyed to humiliate and dominate men.
Well, she certainly doesn't need my money I thought, and I rang the bell again.
Moments later the door opened and I was greeted by a man, naked apart from a small black leather g-string. I followed him inside to a large entrance hall. There was a beautiful staircase in the centre that ran up to a balcony above. There were many doorways both downstairs and upstairs along the balcony.
I was then taken into the first room on the left and told to wait for a moment as he left me alone. It was a large room, very well furnished with expensive items. I sat down in a leather armchair.
Moments later, I heard the sound of high heels clacking on the marble floor of the entrance hallway.
I was suddenly flushed with apprehension and my heart raced as the door swung open. Then she appeared, closing the door behind her.
Lost for words, I remained seated in the chair. She was incredibly beautiful, more so than I could possibly have dreamed.
About six feet tall in her high heels, she stood there and transfixed me with an obvious look of contempt.