It goes without saying that the man in question, who uses the name of `Paul' is a died-in-wool masochist who lives out in reality of life which most restrict to fantasy. Only a man of the strongest predelictions for humiliation and pain would be capable of enduring what he does. And, bizarrely enough, enjoying it. A strange inner force, over which he has no control drives him on to forms of suffering beyond normal under­standing. Above all, he never expresses any desire to escape from the life of servitude he has chosen. In its own way, it appears, his existence is complete and fulfilled ... and we hope this document, of which we hold exclusive rights, will add to the general knowledge and understanding of a sexual deviation which seems to be on the increase in present-day society.

Paul is the slave of a certain Madame D., who lives in a large and secluded country house somewhere in East Anglia. She, an Anglo-Romanian, is about 30 years old; he some half a dozen years older. Madame D. has recently had a young lesbian friend to stay (a double servitude for Paul!) but she has now returned to London and Paul resumes his solo role of Slave to his idolised, all­demanding Goddess.

The Diary begins

The somewhat withdrawn mood of my Mistress, which I mentioned in my last entry, continued until this evening. I am now more convinced than ever that it was Miss Kay's departure which set it off. I strove with all my might and main to satisfy completely her every whim and want but, to my chagrin, she remained absolutely indifferent to my efforts and attentions. I might as well have been a piece of furniture or some inhuman Robot.

However, this state of what might be termed lethargy finally ended. I was summoned to her bedroom at about six o'clock - after a hard day attending to the numerous chores which I m allotted. Completely nude but for a pair of red leather; calf-length boots, she was lying on her double bed dragging deeply and slowly on a cigarette. The sight of that sent a twinge of yearning through me. How often I longed for a smoke - but, of course, that is forbidden me. (Once, in early days, I was caught secretly puffing at a dog-end I had discovered. For this offence, deservedly I suppose since it was such a flagrant piece of disobedience, I had to report to Madame every two hours over a period of ten hours. That is to say, five times in all ... and on each occasion, having first tied me overthe back of a chair, she gave me five strokes of the cane.

You can perhaps imagine how felt as I made my way to her on the fourth and fifth occasions with my flesh already tingling with 

blazing heat. But I had to do it. Needless

say, perhaps l have not attempted to smoke since.)

Madame looked at me with eyes that

seemed to glint more sharply than usual and from the whiff of smoke that caught my nostrils I realised she was smoking 'pot' and not ordinary tobacco. This always roused her sexual as well as her sadistic lusts and my heart began to pound with mingled fear and longing. My desire to serve her was intense.

'Get out the massage table," she said huskily. My heart bounding more. This was a. task that satisfied me as much as anything could in my situation. Soon, when I had erected the framework and laid out the heavy leather squabs, my mistress stretched herself out full length upon the table. She lay face down and I switched on the vibrator I had alreay  attached. It was penis-shaped with a variety of heads and 1 fixed on the circular one which I knew I must use on her broad, smooth back, over the curvaceous softness of her hindquarters, and down her straight white thighs.

"Begin . . . " she commanded softly.

With tender devotion I applied the humming massager, working from the nape of her neck across her shoulders, then gradually down and down until I reached swelling lushness of her buttocks. What a delight it was to see that intimate flesh quivering gently under my work ... and to hear her sighing breath as she relaxed more and more. Then I worked down the thighs. Then up again ... slowly, slowly ... up over the nates again ... up her back to her neck.

Here I paused and she turned over on to her back. Now it was a repetition but with her magnificent breasts and the milk-whiteness of her oval belly to work upon. Thus an even greater delight for me ... hearing her breath coming faster as I worked upon her jelly­quivering breasts ... seeing the firming of her strong nipples. Her eyes remained closed. As ever I was of no importance. Just something on the other end of a vibrator that had its uses. My gentle ministrations terminated at the top of the triangular, fringe of dark down to her mound. To touch that region required a direct order.

I worked back to her breasts and then Madame D. rolled over again. "Change it . . . " she said in that same husky voice. I knew from experience what was required. The penis-shaped knob replaced the circular massager. Her thighs parted a little to reveal the divide of her bottom cheeks. Delicately I ran the vibrator up and down between the widened cleft to be rewarded by her shivers of pleasure. Her nates frequently twitched and contracted with it -just as mine did with pain under her very different ministrations. She made no sound apart from the faster, heavier breathing. How clearly those heaving shoulders indicated her mounting pleas­ure ... and how I wished it was my face doing duty in that cleft rather than the device I held.

After some ten minutes she turned over again and drew up her thighs a little, parting them as she did so. Her most intimate feminine secrets were displayed to me. Here was the centre, the very essence, of my servitude. This was the part of her that I had to serve above all; the part that truly ruled and dominated me. I was the utter slave of her womanhood. And I truly worshipped her.

She said nothing but, with eyes still closed, signed that I might proceed. The vibrator ran up and down but I did not penetrate her - that, again, was forbidden without an order. Mainly I concentrated on her clitoris which was excep­tionally large and soon very firm. It was not long before those happy "mewing" sounds were coming from her slackly-opened mouth ... and her haunches began to shudder and jerk uncontrollably. Within perhaps five minutes I had brought her to a prolonged and intense orgasm. I switched off the vibrator and watched her lying there, thigh-flesh still quivering, hands over the fulness of her breasts. For all the frustration of my own fierce lust I felt an extraordinary kind of joy. Surely this humble slave had pleased his mistress perfectly! What more had he the right to ask! 

A minute or so went by and then those dark, glinting eyes opened and fastened on me. Was I now to be dismissed ... or was there some other service I might have to give? Absurdly, you may think I longed for that though I knew I would be driven to the brink of delirium with unslaked desire. My mouth ... my tongue ... oh let it be!

But no.

"Fetch the dildo, slave . . ." she ordered. This was indeed something rare for my mistress. I had used that maybe no more than three or four times previously. But I fetched the big, solid rubber replica of a male organ willingly enough. My mistress's pleasure was paramount; and it was my paramount duty to satisfy it.

With infinite loving care I allowed the dildo to pleasure her. She sighed contentedly. This task required both skill and patience. It was something that must not be hurried.

You will, I have no doubt, be aware of the supreme cruelty of what I had to do. There was I, a man of full virility, yet rendered as useless as a eunuch, forced to use a substitute to bring my mistress to her ultimate delight. Surely, surely, she would have preferred the male flesh itself! Maybe so ... but no one was more aware than I that she gained an additional and deeper pleasure from the very fact of denying me!

Gradually the pace of my administrations increased, always keeping carefully to the mounting rhythm of her haunches. There, right before me, was the sight and sound of the most intimate sex ... yet all of it purely for her pleasure. What a turmoil of anguished desire filled me, yet what a strange kind of ecstasy, too!

Faster ...

"Faster ... faster!" she suddenly cried out in a strangled voice. Her eyes were wide now, rolling from side to side; her mouth sagged open and hoarse gasping-groans were expelled from it. I thrust fast and furiously as I must and her haunches acted and reacted perfectly in time.

"Ahhhh ... aaagghhhhhhhh!"

The almost fearful climax came at last and she threshed in ecstasy upon the leather bench. Carefully and controlled, I began to slow. Gradually her moans lessened and her shudders decreased. After some twenty seconds the movement of my hand stopped completely.

My duty was done. And well done. I knew. But I would get no thanks. That I knew too. About a minute later her eyes opened again. "Get out . . ." said my mistress, coldly and simply. I was no longer required. Not even for me, on this occasion, the humiliating release of masturbation before her.

I bowed low and left the bedroom. Still, I reflected as I left, she has made use of me. That, surely is better than her indifference.

January 24th

You will probably notice that there is a considerable gap in time since my last entry. Hitherto I have been able to maintain almost daily entries. The reason is that a terrible thing happened . . .and consequently I suffered terribly for it.
 

Madame D. discovered that I was keeping this Diary!

I suppose I should have known that, inevitably, one day she would. How could I have any secrets from her? She actually caught me as I was hiding the last entry under the floorboards. Her anger was great indeed, as can be imagined, and I trembled both inwardly and outwardly with dread as I stood rigid before her while she read every entry.

"This is the most serious offence you have ever committed, slave," she said in a voice of steel when she had finished. I was almost in tears, feeling in an odd sort of way as if I had somehow betrayed her. "It is all the more serious since it has occurred after you have been under my discipline for so long. In a way it is a reflection on my methods . . . "

"No ... no ... mistress ... never ... never" I cried out, falling to my knees. "Oh mistress ... I beg forgiveness! The last thing your slave would do is wish to offend you . . ." I literally grovelled at her feet.

"Precisely" she said acidly. "It is the last thing ... because you are going to regret it exceedingly. Follow me."

Weak-kneed I followed her down to the basement, sweating with fear. To my surprise I was not taken straight down to the Correction Room, as I had naturally expected, but to the "Solitary" Cell where, as I have earlier explained, I am frequently chained up. In grim silence she unpadlocked my leather restrainer then, instead of putting me in chains and fetters as was most usual, she pointed towards the heavy wooden Pillory which stood in one corner - andwhere I had spent several uncomfortable hours at a stretch. The top flap was raised and meekly I placed my neck on the lower half of the central hole and my wrists on the small

holes on each side. The flap came down again, pinning me, and the padlock went through the side latch and its key turned. Then my ankles were fastened by buckling straps to the lower cross member . . . fastened at its extremities so that my limbs were straddled wide. The sweat broke out on me anew, for the sense of utter helplessness and vulnerability that the pillory induces is truly frightening. What was she going to do? Flog me senseless there and then? I flinched as I felt a noose slip around my scrotum.

"M-Mercy . . . " I cried out involuntarily. For answer Madame D. simply tightened the noose. Once before I had undergone this form of disciplinary restraint - for two or three hours I think - and initially it gave the feeling that one was about to be castrated. But skin and gristle are far tougher than one supposes. After the first shock the torment simply has to be endured. Simply is scarcely the right word though!

"I shall consider what form your punish­ment shall take tonight," said Madame D. As if I was not being punished already! Relief flooded me momentarily at her words but when the heavy door slammed and was locked it was replaced by dismay. Quite evidently I was to spend the whole night in the Pillory. There would be little or no rest; or sleep. Soon my back would begin to ache - for the height of the device ensured that one had to crouch a little. Then the aches would spread to my neck, my arms, my limbs. Everywhere. Perhaps, I thought despairingly, the time would come when I would faint with exhaustion.

I think, possibly some time in the early hours I did. Or it might have been some form of part­sleep. Nightmare-filled. When I awoke from it, I could not check the repeated groans that came from me. My whole body was one constant throbbing ache and my eyes were moist with self-pity. Only by repeatedly telling myself that others had endured far worse (at the hands of the Gestapo or in the Far East, for example) was I able to maintain some semblance of manly fortitude.

When Madame D. at long last came to release me I could not at first stand and lay curled up sobbing on the stone floor. Sobbing with relief as much as anything. I suppose. When I was ordered to take a five­minute ice-cold shower in my quarters above, I had to crawl most of the way there. More like a dog than ever I reflected. However, those stinging needles of water revived me quite remarkably, even if I still seemed to ache in every muscle. Returning to the basement, and this time to the Correction Room, the tension-dread began to mount in me. In truth my real punishment had not yet begun!

My mistress had never looked more severe - nor in a way more ravishing. She wore a simple tight-fitting black leotard of the thinnest leather and a pair of thigh-length black leather boots with high heels. It made me feel weak just to look up at her as I knelt awaiting her words.

"But for the note of submissive respect that runs throughout this Journal you have been keeping," she said, "your punishment would have been all the greater." A littler flicker of hope burgeoned within me. "Nevertheless the seriousness of the offence cannot be overlooked. You are going to learn once and for all, I trust, the folly of disobeying me, of deceiving me, and in a way, deliberately flounting my authority over you."

My heart was pumping like a steam­hammer; the sweat was beading on me again. Oh God, I was going to need more strength, will and courage than ever before!

"Your punishment" intoned my mistress, "is going to take place over a period of three days. On the first two days you will be chastised. Not once. Nor twice. But three times each day. At ten o'clock, two o'clock, and eight o'clock. What is more, each successive punishment will be more severe than the one preceding it. We start with five ... and then you receive an additional five strokes each time."

My nerves and brain flared as automatically I calculated. Five ... ten ... fifteen. Thus that day I would receive thirty. And ... oh God ... tomorrow she would start with twenty and end with thirty! Such was the dread that turned my belly to water. I scarcely took in her next words.

"On the third day," she said, "Twenty strokes."

My mind reeled. How could I survive? Then the absurdity of that struck me. Had not sailors in former times been flogged round the Fleet and survived? Had not soldiers been sentenced to a hundred lashes with the Cat and survived? Oh yes ... I would survive all right ... but what would I not suffer!

Her features were implacable. The futility of pleading needed no emphasis. My mistress had decreed, so thus it would be. Inevitably.

At her command I moved to the Birching Hurdle. This was a sort of tube of solid leather, three foot long and about a foot in diameter, suspended between two posts so that it was a little over two and a half feet from the floor. Over this I bent to have my wrists fastened to my ankles by means of straps. The posture ensured that the flesh of my buttocks and thighs were stretched taut.

Afterwards, she left me bound to the Hurdle for two hours. For reflection, as she put it. Then she took me back to Solitary ... but fortunately not to the Pillory; merely the collar and chain and other fetters. It seemed there were to be no duties for me during my prolonged ordeal. Only torment. In any event I would be virtually incapable of duties towards the end.

At midday, to the minute, I was returned to the Correction Room and, with the same ritualistic formality, was secured again. Again I summoned all my resolve and scarcely uttered a sound at my punishment.

Despite all my resolve, the six o'clock punishment broke me. For now Madame D. covered familiar ground. Agonised yelps were torn from my throat and I begged her for mercy ... of which I received none. That night I spent chained in my cell, sleeping in chains and only fitfully, waking ever and anon with dread of the morrow.

It came relentlessly as it must. "Now," said my iron mistress as she secured me yet again, you are really going to suffer!"

Indeed I did. Can you not understand how I wept and I begged with utter abjectness at her feet before that final degradation? I think you can. Yet she was as merciless as ever.

And yet ... and yet ... there was still the morrow to come. My mind could not grasp it then as I lay in my sleep in a half delirium ... and still in chains. But my body and my flesh grasped it well enough at mid-morning on the following day.

It is impossible adequately to describe that final terrible torment in my nether regions. It is enough to say that flesh and blood, fortunately, has its limitations however much spiritual and physical strength a man has. I think I must have reached that limit before the final deadly deed was done.

It took me several days to recover sufficiently to resume normal duties ... and, of course, I am still exceedingly tender. So be it. But of one thing I do assure you: I shall never, never dare to disobey, or deceive, or flount my mistress's authority in the slightest degree. She has given me a corrective lesson to be remembered for a lifetime.

You may wonder perhaps why I have therefore been able to write this final installment in my Diary.

The answer is simple. My mistress ordered me to continue. She now says she will find it amusing to read regularly of the true mental and physical sufferings of her slave - as recounted at first hand.

Thus I must now continue to record faithfully, and with all due humbleness, every facet of my servile existence.

The  End