Training a slave

Its true, I've always had an interest in the world of domination.
The thought that it could be possible to re-train someone to live entirely dependant on your instruction, without any capacity to use independent thought is one that I find fascinating.
To own another human being's existence is surely an idea that has inspired some of the world's greatest dictators, as human life is more valuable than any other known commodity.
Of course, along with anything else I've ever done in my life, it had to be done to the greatest extreme possible, or it just wasn't worth doing.
All this said, I didn't ever make a conscious decision become a master, it's just something that that curiosity and lust finally led me to.
My ex-wife will vouch for my enthusiasm in this quarter. Whilst we were still together I converted our loft into a crude dungeon, and inspired by sites on the internet (an incredible inspiration), I built hoists, whips from old belts and sawn off broom handles, cages from shopping trolleys and various other devices of captivity for us to experiment with.
In those early days, it was I who was the submissive, and my other half would enthusiastically strap me spread-eagled to the rafters, caning my bare behind thoroughly before descending through the loft hatch to watch television in the comfort of the lounge.
The juxtaposition of me in such deprivation and her in such comfort gave us both an immense thrill, and although at first she would pop her head through the loft hatch with worried frequency, after a while she would leave me chained in the loft for hours at a time, relishing in my discomfort.
On some occasions she would go out, leaving me wondering how long I was to be left in my uncomfortable bondage, shivering slightly from the cold.
Sometimes she would tease me by saying that she was going to fetch her friends to see me in my humiliating position, and on more than one occasion threatened to bring a man back to the house and force me to listen to their wild love making in the room below.
These comments excited me immensely, although at this stage I'm not sure how the reality of this would have affected our relationship outside of the loft.
These were all just idle threats however, and all-important parts of the fantasy.

Eventually these sessions began to happen with less frequency, as we grew apart.
I began to realize that the only reason I had accepted the lifestyle we had begun to lead was for research purposes. I wanted to know the levels of pain produced by whips, crops and the like. I wanted to know how it felt to be left in a completely dark, cold cell for hours perhaps days on end. I needed to know how tight bonds or cuffs needed to be to prevent escape. And most importantly, the effect that this treatment could potentially have on the mind of the hapless subject.

I didn't know whether or not I would ever get to use the information I was gleaning from the experience, but I felt it was important to know anyhow. As I think I said, when I do something I take it to its highest level, and the usual practice of lashing your other half to the bedstead with a dressing gown cord and slapping them with a rolled up woman's weekly just wasn't enough to satisfying my thirst for knowledge.

Essentially, I wanted to know if I could make the slave/master lifestyle a REALITY.
I mean, I know that a lot of people claim to have 'lifestyle' relationships, but if you untie your wife at six o clock so that you can both pop over to Tesco's to do the shopping it hardly seems fair to claim that you are living the fantasy to its fullest potential.
In most circumstances, it would seem that the shopping trip to Tesco's is the Reality of their existence, while the light bondage sessions in the bedroom when the kids are asleep is the fantasy.
I wanted to see if it was possible to turn this round, and see if it was possible to, get a female subject to accept the bondage as the reality.

I continued to use our loft space, but by now I had converted it into an office to enable me to work from home.
In between typing invoices, I began twisting the thread of my experience into a novel and before long I found with great surprise that I had written 70,000 words.
I still have a hard copy of 'The Training of Lorraine', and although I never made any attempt to publish it, it allowed me to explore the realms of my fantasies (for that that's they were at that stage) on paper.

That was that for several years. I continued to work hard, separated from my wife, and bought my own house on the outskirts of town, a detached property that was in desperate need of maintenance. I paid a pittance for it when you take into account that in addition to the two floors visible from the road, it also had an unusually large cellar that extended beyond the walls of the house and under the main road. What it was used for originally I can only guess at, but as you can imagine, my thoughts ran riot every time I went down there.

It was during the renovation of my house that I rekindled an old friendship with Debbie, the sister of an ex-girlfriend of mine. Before we lost touch we had a habit of getting blind drunk together and flirting outrageously.
We never took it any further than that, however, in fact I knew a couple of her ex-boyfriends quite well
I far as I knew Debbie had perfectly normal sexual desires. She had mentioned sleeping with two men as one of her fantasies, but never anything more extraordinary than that.
It took me by surprise then, when one day at my house, in my newly refurbished living room, she spotted a paperback novel with female domination as its theme and asked to borrow it.
A little surprised, I asked if she was into that sort of thing. She explained that although she had never experienced any bondage first hand, it was something that excited her and she wanted to know more.
She was a quick learner and an even faster reader, and before long she had exhausted my supply of literature, consuming books at the rate of one per day.
Safe in the knowledge that she was a fellow enthusiast, I began to tell her of my own experiences, and the hope that one-day I might find somebody willing to let me carry out my plans, and so create the perfect slave.

As I finished explaining I could see that I had shocked her somewhat, and she left in more of a hurry than usually, claiming that she had a headache.
I resigned myself to the fact that I had obviously said too much, and would apologize to her the next time we met. We had both had quite a lot to drink, and it wouldn't be a problem for me to blame the drink for my ramblings.

Several days later, she turned up at my door. Although it was quite late, I ushered her into the living room and poured her a glass of wine before taking seat opposite her.
I was about to apologize for my eccentric comments a few nights previous, when it became apparent that she also was waiting to get something off her chest. I kept quiet, waiting for her to begin.
She explained that she had indeed been shocked by the turn of our conversation on that night, but not entirely put off. Although she had previously assumed that the literature in my bookcase was there for light reading only, my comments had made her realize the depth of my interest in this field.
She began to ask questions, and as I answered as honestly as I felt I could, the atmosphere between us became easier again. The books she had borrowed had only served to whet her appetite, she explained, and she was keen to further her knowledge of the subject.
I switched my P.C. on, and logging on to a few of my favorite sites I pointed out items and articles of interest. Occasionally she would stop me with a light touch on my arm as she read a particular passage or strained over my shoulder to see a thumbnail picture.
Asking for a pencil and paper, she wrote down a few of the site addresses, and tucked it in her pocket to use at home.
By now we had finished an entire bottle of white wine, and it was past midnight. Rising from our positions at the computer desk I began to show her out, pleased that not had she not been angry with me, or thought me strange when I had commented on my desire to train a slave. Her next question threw me completely.
As I was about to close the door, she turned and hesitantly asked if I had ever wanted to enslave her.
Without waiting for my reply she hurried off into the night, her query hanging in the air like a giant exclamation mark.
Slightly flummoxed I prepared my self for bed, thinking about what she had said.

I felt that the issue needed further discussion, at the very least, so the following day I arranged to meet her again, this time for a meal in our local restaurant. I knew that the tables were positioned in such a way as to allow us to talk with relative privacy.

Rushing in, slightly late and out of breath, Debbie came through the doors, scanning the tables for my familiar face.
She was obviously quite excited about the content of our forthcoming conversation, and she waste no time in getting to the point.
"Have you thought about it then?" she exclaimed, barely giving me time to finish pouring her wine. I nodded, but said nothing, collecting my thoughts as I took my first long sip.
"I'm not sure you realize what this entails", I began
She raised her eyebrows encouraging me to continue
"I'm talking about completely changing your lifestyle, sacrificing everything you've learned since you were old enough to listen"
"I'm not completely naive", she said,
"I realize that I must make sacrifices"
"Not sacrifices" I corrected "THE sacrifice, you are to give up your whole self to me, everything, unconditionally."
Silence fell between us as the waiter arrived to take our order.
"I realize how serious this is!" she hissed, the moment he was out of earshot.
"And I've given it a lot of thought"
She paused and took a slug of the wine.
"I live in tiny flat, I have few friends, I haven't spoken to my mother for over two years, and the boyfriends I have had have all failed to satisfy me in every respect." She began, speaking carefully
"I hate my boss and I hate my job, and I've handed in my notice" she raised her hand as I tried to interrupt
"I would have left anyway, it wasn't entirely down to you. I just feel that I want a change."
"Yes," I replied, "but this is the sort of change that you could live to regret very quickly!"
A couple passed us, on their way to the door and she paused, staring intently at me as she waited to resume her conversation.
Leaning over the table, oblivious to the view I was getting of her cleavage (for I had begun to take notice of her attributes recently), she spoke again; with a yet more eager note to her voice,
"Tell me what I have do!"
I sat back in my chair, sighing. It was obvious that she was determined to see this through, and while the thought of finally realizing my dream was exciting me beyond belief, I felt obliged to continue warning her.
"You realize that once I start the program I would not expect to stop under any circumstances." I offered,
"No safe words, no leniency, no pity, no escape" I continued, sure that I must be putting her off.
She looked at me and nodded with a half smile on her face.
"When I was a little, girl, I spent almost an hour at the top of the diving board at our local pool. I never gathered enough courage to jump, and so never experienced the marvelous rush of adrenalin that my friend's had achieved. If only somebody had pushed me..."
We paused as the waiter laid out our starters.
After a few mouthfuls, she continued.
"I've read all the books, and frankly the thought of being owned by a man, kept only for his sexual amusement and unconditionally serving him sets me tingling all over.
I don't know why, I just know that the thought of being your, or anyone else's slave excites me.
Just tell me what it would entail, give me some idea of what I'm letting myself in for, and I go away and think about it." She said, reasonably.
"Well..." I began, trying to contain my mounting excitement,
"It would involve eradicating every principle and moral you have been conditioned to accept since you were born and retraining you to accept a whole new set of ideals, most of them, related to or about sex, and revolving around me, your master. You would in effect be a completely different person, re-designed as an object of sexual gratification, a being totally and utterly committed to pleasing your master in every respect."
I took another mouthful of wine and gave her an example,
"For instance, every time somebody passes this table you stop talking"
"Of course, I don't want them to hear what we're saying" she replied, blushing slightly.
"As my re-programmed slave, " I explained, "I would expect you to obey me if I demanded that you undress immediately and offer yourself orally to the waiter"
I scrutinized her face to judge the effect my comment had had. Her face took on an even deeper shade of red.
"But surely that would make me a prostitute, and you a pimp" she queried
"Its not about the actual act, I could be asking you to do anything" I said
"Its about the fact that you are prepared to obey any of my requests unconditionally, even if that means completely debasing and humiliating yourself in public. You
Would be trained you to carry out my every wish unthinkingly."
She looked startled and I realized that she probably hadn't thought of a third party ever being involved in my plan.
"So..." she began, looking thoughtful
"I would offer myself to the waiter purely because you wished it, with no regard to my own feelings on the matter?"
"You are not entitled to an opinion on the matter one way or the other, your only thought is to obey"
"And if I refuse to carry out any particular order?"
"As a fully trained slave, you would not have the capacity to refuse, but as a trainee you would be chastised most severely for disobedience of any kind" she raised her eyebrows
"And what form would this chastisement take?"
"That would all depend on the seriousness of the transgression. Publicly disobeying your master would merit pretty severe retribution, probably with a whip or crop. As with an animal, you would learn to obey by association.
The subconscious association between, disobedience and extreme pain would force you to obey my commands without hesitating."
As I spoke I realized that I was becoming hard under the table at the thought her becoming my slave. I fought to contain myself and continued.
"I know that the suggestion of that probably excites you, it must, or you wouldn't have continued to read the books, but that's all it is at the moment, a suggestion. The reality of being lashed naked to a whipping post whilst I punish you may seem less attractive in reality! What's more, our relationship as friends would be changed permanently, our relationship would become irrevocably different."
Silence fell between us once more as we concentrated on our food, although I stole a few sneaky glances at her face, trying to judge by her expression what she was thinking.
"What if I said I was prepared to submit myself to you for a given period of time, say, a year? And was prepared to sign a contract to that effect?"
I nodded.
"I would need at least a year to try out my program," I said,
"If it hadn't transformed you after that, it probably never would."
Again she paused to think.
"Look" I said, resigned to the fact that she was determined to see this through, "If your really that sure, Ill e-mail you the name of a BDSM site that has a printable slave contract connected to it. Its quite detailed and lengthy, and it would need amending slightly for our purposes but it would give you something to think about. How much notice do you have to work for your boss?"
"Two weeks, why?"
"That gives you two weeks to think about it and make any necessary arrangements, in the meantime Ill make some preparations at home for your 'stay'"
I smiled and she smiled back. Both of us amused by the word 'stay' as if she was booking into a hotel for the weekend.
"If you decide to call it off just let me know" I offered, "Its not to late to forget the whole thing and we need never bring the subject up again."
She nodded silently, hanging on my every word,
"Of course the moment that contract is in my possession, nothing you say or do could change the course of events"

I knew from the expression on her face that she was treating this with the seriousness it deserved. I also knew, however, that in her wildest dreams she could not possibly imagine the extent of the suffering that awaited her on the path to servitude

So that was that. The matter was all but settled. As I suspected she might, she rang me the following week to say that she had decided to accept and would I please e-mail her the amended slave contract for her to sign ASAP.
At last, my dream was becoming reality. I immediately dispatched the contract, and set to work converting my cellar into Debbie's new home, at least for the next twelve months.