The German Sub

Day and night!

Slowly it was drawn in until the edges met and she could put him into the training corset that she produced for him. The target was seventeen inches, no more than she could encompass with her hands. The target of every Victorian maid! As he wore it for the first time he was so wrapped in her toils that he walked around with an erection tenting his dress all day!

Sometimes she liked him to wear just the corset, stockings and high heels and sat for hours watching him complete his chores with a look of lust in her eyes that spoke volumes about the way that she too was developing.

Because the trainer is influenced by the trainee in such subtle ways!

As he became ever more feminine and subdued she became stronger and more definite.

More and harder punishments became the order of the day. The easy days of five light strokes of the cane for breaking dishes became the ten vicious strokes for lacing the bow at the bottom of the corset instead of the top because it made tying the bow easier. The slap on the bottom when he forgot to call her Madam turned into a quick blow to his balls when he was not walking quietly enough when she was reading.

But, the change was gradual and as the small errors were no longer to be seen, the even smaller errors became crisis of discipline.

All he while she reduced his rewards to a casual word or slight move of the hand.

By the time that Georg had spent two years serving Madam, he had managed just five perfect days where he was allowed to slip into her ripe pussy and experience heaven as he spilled onto her body after his withdrawal.

As the time fled by in a flash of perfect service and utter dependence on her he suddenly achieved the seventeen inches that she demanded of his waist. An hourglass figure that allowed him to slip into her formal dress with such ease that he had to take in the seams to make it hug his svelte figure.

Every month she disappeared to the local village and left him to fend for himself. He never dared to masturbate without her direct order, he just spent a leisurely day washing and ironing as she had directed. Georg wondered about the war occasionally, but apart from the distant contrails of aircraft, so far off the shore, there was never any sign of military activity.

'Had it ended? What was the peace?' he wondered, but no longer did he consider it to be even important.

All that consumed him was the endless list of chores that he had to work through to satisfy the very reasonable demands that his mistress made of him. He knew that she enjoyed punishing him more and more, but he was also aware that he was increasingly enjoying those moments too.

If he came when he was caned or slapped, the punishment always stopped and Mary seemed overjoyed that it had happened. It was so strange! The one thing that he would have thought invited more and stricter punishment made her give a little shout of joy and then kiss him on the lips as though it was what she wanted all along!

*** Asking For A Date.

One day he asked her the day's date.

"Third of July, nineteen forty five," she answered. "You have been here three years and have almost become the perfect maid."

He felt a rush of gratitude and love overwhelm him and tears welled in his eyes.

"You know what the reward is for asking, don't you?"

Punishments had become rewards and rewards had become punishments in the strange up-side down world of his owner.

Thank you, Madam," he said as he prepared for the caning.

Often he served her, maybe twice a day on average if he could just read her account book and check the balance. But, it had never been left lying around again and the key to it hung on a chain at her waist. In the last year or so she had never allowed a fuck, in fact she had never touched his straining prick or even allowed him to help himself to a climax.

Instead the whipping horse had become the centre of his pleasure!

She chained him to the padded wooden box and helped his prick into the leather clad hole that awaited him. Three leather straps held him rigid and almost unable to use the leather lined pussy. Georg had made it himself to her order. A painstaking job that had demanded that he create an instrument of his own punishment and pleasure.

As she fixed him tight and then drew the ropes taut he felt his breath constricted by the corset that allowed only shallow breaths. By the time that he was stretched, vulnerable and accessible he was gasping for air and ready be caned.

"Thank me now for the pain," she said.

"Thank you so much, Madam."

She whipped the hazel cane in the air to prepare him and then laid it on his back in a position of rest.

"How many strokes do you need?" she asked.

If he asked for too few he would not climax, if he asked for too many the pain would be unbearable.

"Three please, Madam."

"Very good, pretty maid. I can see that you are responding better all the time," she said as she whirled the flexible rod in the air and brought it with vicious force on those quivering buttocks.

The first stroke almost made him come as his body thrust his prick into the whipping horse's dry cunt. He screamed and she laughed at his agony.

But, he needed more and soon.

The second blow brought him to climax and he spurted into the cup that was so placed as to catch his gushing emission.

"That's good," she chuckled. "That gives me one more stroke to come for my own personal pleasure."

As usual she lifted her skirt to show him the wet cunt that contrasted with the dry leather of the whipping horse. Then she slowly drew the cane through that slit in a motion that suggested lust pure, and temptation. Her breath came in short pants as she orgasmed from the contact with the instrument of torment. All the while he had to wait for the final stroke, wait in foreboding for a blow that would be his punishment for wanting to come too much.

Georg looked at her and felt nothing less than love.

An overwhelming desire and love of the pain that she administered with such pleasure. That she had trained him to love her and the agony that she meted out, was neither here nor there. The pain made him come, the shortness of breath made it more intense and the bonds that fixed him forced him to understand that he was hers whenever she needed him.

The third stroke was like a line of fire that made his world into a stormy sea of agony.

He gasped and sobbed and longed for her to finish the ritual.

She leaned down and kissed her German sailor on the lips. Foam ringed his lips as he fought to breathe and she licked it off with relish. Finally she took the cup and gave him his own ejaculate to drink.

"You know that it pleases me so when you are punished properly," she said as he licked the cup clean.

"I love you, Madam."

"I know that you do and to show how much I understand, I shall order you to beg me for another stroke of the cane!"

His eyes misted with tears, he felt choked and was fading from the world, but he begged her as she asked. This was Mary's pleasure, her need and her gratification.

"Please, Madam. One more, because you require it of me."

The blow cut over the first one. It scored no new line of blood because the position was so exact.

Despite the chains and the three belts that held him fast to the whipping horse, his body bucked with the pain and he fainted with a small cry.

Mary opened her mouth and ran her tongue over her lips. Her hand was already pushing through that flesh that led to her clitoris. It required just a touch to set the reaction off, a light tickle that almost made her faint with the orgasm that it brought.

She regarded her maid and felt the pride of ownership. The excitement of owning someone so completely that they were ready to do anything in exchange to give a moment of sexual bliss to her.

*** Unconditional Surrender.

He came to in his bed, the familiar chains that spread his legs and arms tightly fixed and comforting.

His mistress sat by his side and stroked the corset that she knew would never come off. It was his forever, as was the pain and its attendant pleasure. Soon she would replace the boned corset with the steel one that she had ordered.

A brutal cage for him to wear all the time.

Finally she had come to that point that she had foreseen on the misty horizon that first night.

All she required was a final willing sacrifice that would put the seal on her need for a slave.

It was not enough that she had taught him to climax from pain. It was not enough that he had to take every breath at her command.

His breath, hers to take and give.

It was not enough that he had given up desire and replaced it with a masochism so deep that he begged her to punish him so that she could orgasm again.

All of that was not enough for her.

Now he had a final declaration to make, way beyond love and passion. way beyond the bounds of servitude, into the searing territory of abject slavery.

He had to give up everything for her, be hers forever to dive ever deeper into pain for her all-consuming gratification.

Her hand slapped his face sharply and she smiled at his enjoyment of it. She slapped him again to ready his mind for what she was about to demand of him.

"Georg," she said. "You asked me the date. Why?"

"Because I had to know how long it was that I loved you. How many years, Madam."

"But you did not ask where you are?"

"I am with you, Madam!"

"Do you want to stay her with me forever? To suffer ever more for my personal pleasure?"

"Yes, please, please, I beg you. Madam."

He was almost incoherent. A man without sane reason or thought.

"Then I will let you stay here, in Ireland, with me forever as my pain slave!"

His thoughts coalesced and reason returned.

'Neutral Ireland,' he thought as he began to laugh through the tears of love and pain.

The Emerald Isle that the war had not touched! The Ireland where, he could have surrendered to the Garda without fear! The place where Mary had enslaved him and made him love her through a red mist of degradation and suffering.

The place where he would serve her, willingly forever and without end!

The End

*** Historical Notes:

* U145 was actually surrendered at the end of the war, in 1945, in Helgoland. It was then scuttled in Operation Deadlight on the 22 Dec, 1945, near Ireland.

* About 250 U Boats in total were lost to air attack during the entire period of WW2, several to the attacks of the Short Sunderland flying boat, known to the Germans as the Flying Porcupine because of the vast number of machine guns that it carried.

* Ireland stayed neutral in WW2, but interned all Allied and German prisoners in the Curragh Internment Camp.