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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2012 by The Technician ( [email protected]. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Doctor David Ryan Richardson rose groggily from the couch in his basement TV room and staggered upstairs to the shower. Despite not feeling well, he desperately needed to clean up and get ready for a very special night on the town. He was going to a Halloween party that he could not possibly allow himself to miss.

The previous morning, for the first time ever, he had cancelled all remaining appointments for the day and returned home sick. Unlike many of his doctor friends, he was almost never sick. That was probably because, unlike most of his doctor friends, he wasn’t around sick people all of the time, at least not physically sick people.

One of the reasons that David had become a Psychiatrist was that metal illness was not contagious – that and the fact that it gave him clear access to very vulnerable people who could not protect themselves from his sadism.

Dave had always known he was a sadist, even before he knew what the word meant. And he always knew that he was going to become a doctor, even before he knew what all was involved in making that happen.

His mother had named him David Ryan so his initials would be DR. One of his earliest memories was of her telling him that he already had doctor in front of his last name, now all he had to do was become one.

Most people become doctors because they want to help people, but not David. David knew very early in his life that he did not want to help people. David wanted to hurt people, or at least he wanted to watch people suffer. He became a doctor because his mother wanted him to become a doctor, and his mother was rich enough to pay for his medical education and powerful enough that no one, including David, ever went against what Mother Richardson wanted – at least not for very long.

Medical school was a nightmare for David – especially residency. Classes were not a problem. He held a perfect A average throughout college and med school. David was brilliant – perhaps beyond brilliant, so trying to learn all that a doctor needed to know was not the problem. The problem was…. all those suffering people you were supposed to care about… all those worried relatives who expected you to “understand”… all those do-gooders continually trying to talk you into a volunteer year or two in this or that Godforsaken country… and especially, all those sick people coughing and sneezing and oozing their filth and contagion all over you, trying to drag you down into the depths of their pit of woe. For David, THAT was medical school and it was only his fear of his mother’s power that kept him there into his residency year. Residency was even worse because he had to come into close contact with the puss and pestilence of everyday hospital life.

There was one shining spot in the midst of that dark hole of blackness called residency, and that was psychiatric rotation. Most of the other residents dreaded a cycle through psychiatric, but there David found his home. Others would complain of the poor demented souls who looked at them with such pleading eyes, begging to be released from that terrible prison of torment and pain created by their own minds. The sense of helplessness in the face of such hopelessness drained the energy from almost every other student…, but not from “Doctor Doctor.” He thrived on it.

The name of the on-call in the psych unit was never written out fully on the contact board. Even the doctor’s full initials were not used. Instead the initials of their first and middle names were written on the board in the slot permanently labeled “Dr.” When David was on call it read, “Dr. DR.” Thus, David became known as “Doctor Doctor.” He liked that nickname and often used it to refer to himself.

The other residents soon learned that Doctor Doctor was willing to trade assignments, and by making regular trades, David was able, for the most part, to avoid the normal wards which he hated, and the others were able to avoid the psych ward which they hated. It was a perfect arrangement. Normally, the supervising doctors would have objected to such continual trades, but David seemed to be such a natural in the psych ward and to have such a rapport with the patients, that they let it slide.

The other residents, and even some of the supers, were amazed that, when assigned to daily group sessions for the “permanent resident patients,” he could sit and listen for hours to them tell their same tale of woe over and over again. What they did not know is that David wasn’t really listening to what these demented souls had to say. Instead, he was warming himself in the glow of the pain and suffering that exuded from their bodies with every word they spoke. That’s why Doctor Doctor was not worn down by these useless attempts at therapy as were almost every other resident forced to participate in these sessions with the lost and unreachable. Instead, as he sat amongst their pain, he was fed… nourished… invigorated… by the feast of despair and anguish laid before him, which he sucked greedily into his body.

He sought and was accepted into a full, four year psychiatric residency, and following that went into partnership with a Psychiatrist at the hospital who was nearing retirement. During his four years of residency and another four years of partnership, Doctor Doctor honed his techniques of counseling and therapy, but more importantly he perfected his techniques of selecting, using and abusing certain, specific patients.

It was a given that Psychiatrists, male and female, would use their position to get a little sexual satisfaction once in a while. As long as it wasn’t too blatant, and as long as there were no public lawsuits, such activity was treated with a blind eye. But sex did not feed and invigorate David. Inflicting pain did, and that type of mistreatment of patients was not treated so leniently.

Doctor Doctor extensively read the histories of doctors, lawyers, teachers, pastors, and others who had been brought down by mistreatment of those entrusted to them. The lesson he learned from that record was clear. If he mistreated everyone, eventually everyone would know. If he mistreated a few, several would know and would corroborate each other’s stories once the story of one came out. But if he chose one carefully selected patient at a time as his “play puppet,” and if he made sure that selected person was not around later to testify against him, the worst that could happen would be a situation where it was the word of ONE certifiably deranged person against that of a well-regarded and highly respected Doctor of Psychiatry who had worked so hard to help so many people – all of whom were willing to publically testify on his behalf.

At first David selected people with masochistic tendencies, preferably with suicidal overtones. Such people would allow him to hurt them emotionally, physically, and mentally because, deep down, they enjoyed it. But Doctor Doctor found these relationships did not feed him adequately or warm the coldness that often permeated his soul. The flicker of the flame of pain and suffering within these people was actually weak, and all too often that flame was overwhelmed by the fire of the pleasure of release that came within or after the pain. That fire of pleasure did not feed David. It burned him and drove him away.

It was a part of David’s plan from the very beginning that if a puppet was not satisfactorily working out, or if he had just grown tired of them, he would dispose of them. That sounds difficult and risky in and of itself, but when a mentally unbalanced person is standing on the edge of the cliff of self-destruction, it is remarkably easy for someone, properly trained and skilled, to push them over that precipice while at the same time leaving a records trail that looks like all of the while they were trying to pull that poor, demented individual back from the edge.

Several rejected play puppets went over the cliff before Doctor Doctor finally refined his selection criteria. He discovered that he did not want a masochist who was drawn to pain because of the enjoyment it gave them – despite the cost of that enjoyment. What Doctor David needed, and carefully sought out, was a pain addict who was drawn to pain because they needed it – despite the fact that they derived absolutely no pleasure from it.

Some masochists progress – or regress – into pain addicts. David had even helped one or two make that transition. It starts when the person is no longer driven by the pleasure of being in pain, but rather by the unbearable distress of NOT being in pain. Like a junkie craving a fix, they begin to crave pain just to make the distress of withdrawal go away. And exactly like a junkie building up a tolerance, the pain they crave becomes more and more severe in order to give them their fix. Eventually it gets to a point where they no longer derive any pleasure at all from the pain, but are driven solely by the fact that the pain of being without pain is worse than the pain of being in pain. That is usually the point where they self destruct or seek someone to destroy them.

Although Doctor David knew that it was an impossible quest, he dreamed of someday finding the perfect play puppet. He even knew exactly what the perfect play puppet would be. That sadist’s unholy grail would be someone addicted to pain, but not willing to end their suffering through the tough road of therapy and life-style change that would release them from their addiction. At the same time that person would not be willing to end their suffering through the simple road of ending their own life. This ambivalence trapped that person permanently in the prison of their own mind. This person would seek pain, but then shriek in true agony when that pain was received. The warmth given off by that kind of pain and suffering could nourish David for a long, long time.

Seven months ago, Doctor Doctor was growing tired of his latest play puppet and gave her the final tap at the top of the precipice. He often did pro-bono work. Shelly was a “charity case.” His counseling with her was non-fee. He even arranged to pick up the portion of her in-house treatments that the entitlement programs didn’t cover. When she committed suicide, outwardly he was devastated that someone he had worked so hard to save had taken their own life by stepping in front of a bus. Inwardly he was laughing to himself about how simple it had been to put her in front of that bus.

All he had needed to do was to point out an article in the newspaper about someone who had been hit by a bus, and then add, “At least it was over so fast he didn’t suffer. One minute he was here, the next in he was in oblivion.”

David knew that Shelly took the bus to and from her appointments with him and to work. He also knew – because she had told him – that the express busses, which also drove in the curbside “Busses Only” lane with the regular busses, did not stop at Shelly’s bus stop.

David’s comment was an “impulse grenade,” and he had pulled the pin and dropped it into her mind so smoothly that she didn’t even feel it lodge in her subconscious. Doctor Doctor had waited until after the session had wrapped up and the recorders were turned off to accidentally pick up the paper lying on his desk and make his comment. No video or audio was running, so nothing would appear in the records trail should anyone ever take the time or effort to go looking.

Three weeks later, the grenade exploded. Shelly was going to work. She stood at her bus stop and watched the express bus coming. She knew it wasn’t going to stop. It wasn’t even going to slow down. It never did. But then, as it approached, suddenly the image of a quick doorway into oblivion flashed into her mind. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped off the curb.

David had the front page story on the break room bulletin board for several weeks, but took it down because he was afraid that someone might notice that he smiled deeply whenever he looked at it. Now it was in a folder in the rack on his desk. He knew it was there, and he knew what it said. That was all that was necessary. His smile was just as broad as he glanced at that folder. In fact, the other day just looking at that folder had caused him to suddenly need to call Debra, the records clerk, into his office to review some case records.

Debra was a sex addict whom David had “cured.” At least her husband and her family thought that she was cured because she no longer wore provocative clothing or snuck out of the house at night to troll the bars. What he had actually done, however, was to change her addiction from general sex to sex with him. Those modest, loose fitting dresses and skirts that she wore were merely to disguise the fact that while at work she wore nothing under them except a dildo harness that kept plugs firmly in place in her cunt and ass.

She was not a “play puppet” for his sadistic pleasure, but merely a “normal” doctor-patient sexual release like several others whom he occasionally used. He had cultivated each of them carefully and was fairly sure that none of them would expose him, but even if they did, such scandal would, at worst, bring a letter of censure from his peer review board. More likely it would be just a “strongly worded verbal warning,” and a notation in his records that “a client complaint had been investigated.”

Debra had removed the harness and both dildos before coming up to the office. David had texted her to say that he needed to review “two files.” That meant he wanted her available for immediate sex. “A fast review of a case” meant to leave the harness in place because all he wanted was a quick blow job under his desk. “Several files,” or “some case records,” meant he actually needed records work done.

Debra was a properly trained medical records clerk. It was her job, among other things, to load the disks into the recorders at the beginning of the day. For some complex legal reason, the recorder had to be in the same room as the camera and microphone, so that meant going to David’s office first thing each morning to insert the properly labeled disks. It also meant returning to the office after the last appointment of the day to remove the disks and file them. An “overnight disk” was always left in the machine so that the doctor could record any emergency or evening session. The disks were not the only things inserted in the morning. Debra would set the disk case on a chair, reach up under her dress, remove her white “granny panties,” and hand them to David. She would then flip the dress up over herself, bend over and place her hands on the floor so that David could see her sex and ass. He would carefully fold her panties and place them in a locked drawer of his desk. From that same drawer he would remove the dildos and the tight leather harness. The anal plug was vented so that gas would not build up in her bowels during the day. The dildo in her cunt was remote controlled so that sexual passion could build up as David toyed with her during the day if he so desired. The remote connected to the internet so Doctor Doctor could access it from anywhere he was, even outside the building.

For several days following Shelly’s death, David “toyed with” Debra incessantly throughout the day and had called her up to review two files each day. At least once in the morning and once in the afternoon he had found the need for a fast review of a case. Debra knew that something was different when, on one of those occasions, he had her strip completely and lay over his desk rather than just flipping her skirt over her back. She squirmed and grunted as she tried desperately to remain quiet while his hands squeezed her breasts forcing her higher and higher into orgasmic bliss.

Three days after the accident, Debra was under his desk when a colleague called about a referral. The friend handled a lot of court-ordered therapy and had a case that baffled him. He thought it was more in David’s field of expertise and was wondering if he would accept the referral.

The patient’s name was JoAnne. She had walked up to an officer on duty at a street corner and slapped her in the face. Then she resisted arrest by kicking the officer between the legs. The fact that it was a female officer made the officer’s response no less violent. JoAnne had suffered two cracked ribs and pepper spray burns to the face and eyes plus a tazer burn to the side when she still would not stop kicking and flailing.

There were no drugs in JoAnne’s system. She appeared very normal and courteous in court and passed all psychiatric evaluations. What brought about the court-ordered therapy was primarily the fact that JoAnne, after collapsing to the ground and while she was still vibrating from the tazer shocks, looked up at the officer, smiled sweetly, and said, “Thank you. I needed that.”

The backup officer’s evaluation was “That bitch is crazier than a crack whore.”

Dr. Morrison’s evaluation was a little more clinical, but no less biting. “She’s not truly a masochist,” he told David. “We did the fully monitored image screening with pussy probe and everything. The physical tests say she receives no pleasure or sexual stimulation from pain, but the mental tests say she craves it – is almost addicted to it. I understand you have handled a few other patients like this. Would you be willing to take over her case?”

The unholy grail had been dropped on his desk like a gift from above. David knew that JoAnne was not self-destructive because she did not attempt to force the officer to kill her. But at the same time she knew and expressed the fact that she was addicted to pain. In Dr. Morrison’s short summary, Doctor Doctor could see that JoAnne was an addict who wanted a fix, not a cure. Hopefully, he could keep her dancing on the edge of destruction for many years.

She was going to be the play puppet of all play puppets, but first he had to make her his. And he had to move slowly. One does not suddenly grab the unholy grail as if it were a common cup of tea. One caresses it and strokes it and slowly works one’s hands around it until it is yours.

After his sessions with JoAnne, David would take copies of the disks home and listen to them while he masturbated himself or had sex with his sex addict neighbor. The neighbor was also one of his former patients whom he had groomed for his sexual release. Her moving in next door was not an accident. For someone who could easily manipulate someone else into killing themselves, maneuvering someone into moving next door when the house was up for sale was child’s play.

Besides, her husband was a part of her illness and didn’t really want her to improve. He enjoyed the thought of her having sex with other men as long as she made the pretense of keeping it secret from him and from the world. She would come home smelling of sex and cigarettes and want him to fuck her as much as he desired, as long as he desired, in any way he desired… and he would. Why would most men want to change that?

Whenever Cassie came over to David’s house, her husband would tell himself she was coming over for therapy. But then he would make her show him the whip and paddle marks on her ass when she came home. Sometimes he would wait for her on the back deck hoping that this would be one of those times when she ended up running across their adjoining backyards naked to get home. Then he would catch her at the back door, push her across the deck table and fuck whichever hole did not have cum oozing from it.

After JoAnne had been in therapy for several weeks, she began talking about “The Devil’s Doorstep.” David was familiar with all of the sexually oriented clubs in town because at least one of his patients belonged to each of them, but he had never heard of The Devil’s Doorstep.

“It’s a pain club,” explained JoAnne. “Membership is by invitation only. There’s sex and there’s bondage at the club, but mostly there’s pain.”

David let the topic drop for the moment, planning to pursue it further later. The following Friday afternoon, JoAnne again mentioned the club and went on to describe a pain session she had experienced there the previous night in which she had agreed to be used by “The Whipmaster.”

“He is so divine,” she said dreamily. “Or maybe I should say Devilish. He likes to string two of us up on spreader bars with our hands and ankles spread wide and then pull us up off the floor so we are suspended facing each other while our ankle spreader bars are firmly anchored to the floor at both ends. That way we can shake and vibrate all we want, but we can’t kick our legs or flail our arms and we are always lined up properly for his whips.”

She took a deep breath. It was as close as David had seen to sexual stimulation from her. “Then he stands there with a whip in each hand and sees which of us he can get to scream the loudest. He’s good – very good, and can hit from top to toes. He can even swing the whips between us and snap nipples or pussy. The pain is unbelievable when he pops you exactly on a nipple or… … your clit. He keeps going until one of us yells out our safeword.”

She paused before looking up directly into David’s eyes and saying, “I never have.”

“Would you like to see what he did to my body last night?” she asked, and then stood up and began unbuttoning her blouse. David pressed a button on his desk and the receptionist hurried into the room.

“I need a woman present,” he said softly. Diane was a highly qualified medical receptionist and was not, nor never would be, one of David’s pain or sex toys. She was the one who would testify, if needed, as to how professional David had been with all of his patients and how he observed every rule of proper procedure, including summoning her into his office whenever a patient attempted anything that could be interpreted as a sexual advance.

She gasped as she came through the door. She could see JoAnne’s back… and legs… and breasts. Actually, she could see all of JoAnne since she was bent over sliding her slacks to the ground as Diane was entering the room.

“They still throb,” said JoAnne, arching her back so that she was thrusting her criss-crossed ass toward David. “You can touch them if you want. It might give me my daily fix. Then I won’t have to go out and get somebody to beat me tonight.”

“Diane, please stand next to me,” David instructed, “I want a witness to the fact that I am touching these welts solely to observe the patient’s reaction to my touch.”

David, in a very professional manner, reached out his hand and lightly brushed a deep purple welt that ran along the joining point between JoAnne’s back and the upper portion of her ass cheeks. Speaking to the recorders, he said, “Let the patient records note that the patient reacted in pain, not pleasure at the touch. There was no indication of sexual arousal in the face, nipples or genital area.”

The same could not be said for David. He made sure to turn away from Diane before she could see the ridge beginning to form in the front of his pants. Seating himself behind his desk, he said, “Diane, please help JoAnne re-dress herself. I think that we will end this session early. It would also be a good idea to have Debra come up here and switch disks early so that I am sure that this goes into the records properly. Would you please call her and tell her that I have two files that I need to review with her immediately, please?”

Diane waited for JoAnne to finish dressing and then accompanied her out into the waiting room. A few minutes later, Debra entered the office. “Naked, on the desk,” was all that David said. He “reviewed both files” very forcefully with her before letting her up from the desk and sending her back to the records area.

After she was gone, and David had insured that everything was cleaned up, he used an air freshener spray to hide the smell of sex and summoned Diane back into his office. “What does my schedule look like for the coming week?” he asked. “We need to leave plenty of space for emergency and special sessions.”

Diane looked puzzled. David tapped the calendar on his desk, “Halloween,” he said. “I can show you fifty different studies that say that moon and weather changes and holidays like Halloween have no affect on mental illness. But they think it does – tapping his appointment book – and that is all that matters.”

“I know Thursday is Halloween,” answered Diane. “But the electronic scheduling program is set to automatically keep space open a week before and a week after Halloween. Your schedule is pretty clear right now.” She paused and then added, “Except I’ve already used one of those slots for JoAnne. She said she absolutely has to see you Monday. She seemed truly terrified of something, so I gave her the nine am slot. Is that OK?”

“That’s fine,” answered David, “but check with me before filling any more slots. We may have to prioritize appointments.”

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JoAnne was David’s first appointment for the week. She was already in the waiting room when he arrived at 8:30 on Monday morning. Diane said, “She was here when we opened the doors at 8:00.”

He stuck his head into the waiting room and said, “Your appointment isn’t until 9:00.” When she started to tear up, he added, “But I will see you early. Why don’t you come into the office with me.”

They had barely gotten through the door to his office when she broke down and began crying almost hysterically. “You have to lock me up somewhere for a couple of days. I know you can do it. You can commit me to a locked ward for a 72 hour evaluation on Wednesday morning. I’ll be safe there.”

“Now, now,” he replied in his best I’m-showing-that-I-care-about-you voice. “Tell me more about this so I can understand what is happening.”

“Thursday is Halloween,” she answered.

“And….”

“Halloween is a special night at the club.”

“And….”

“Visitors are welcome. New people are invited.”

” And…”

“And.. and… and…” She began and then dissolved again into tears.

“Take you time,” he assured her. “We started early. You have plenty of time. What else happens on Halloween?”

She raised her head and looked directly into his eyes. “It’s a ‘no limits night’ at the club. If you go up on stage on Halloween night, you are there until you break. And that doesn’t mean yell-a-safeword break, because safewords aren’t honored on a no limits night. On Halloween, you go until you are totally broken, and that means submit-to-slavery broken. Whatever is happening keeps happening until you are totally broken and are willing to do anything to anybody or for anybody just to have it stop. If I go up onto that stage Thursday night, I will come off that stage a slave.”

“The solution sounds simple,” observed David, “just don’t go up on stage.”

“But I need it,” she whined. “I need it so badly.”

She looked back up into his eyes. “Even knowing how things will turn out, I can’t help myself. I will go to the club and I will go up on that stage,” she dissolved again into choked sobs, “… and I will be broken.”

“JoAnne,” David began, “just about any other time of the year, I could get you in for a 72 hour evaluation with no problems, but this is Halloween. The wards will be packed. In the meantime, I will look into some things and see what I can do. Let’s book you back for Wednesday morning, first appointment. OK?”

JoAnne nodded her head, wiped away her tears and said, “Thank you. I knew you would understand.”

Doctor Doctor understood. He understood very clearly that somehow he was taking her to that club and he, not The Whipmaster, was going to break her down completely and capture her as his slave forever.

“JoAnne?” he said before she could reach the door, “Do you think it would be possible for you to give me contact information for the Devil’s Doorstep? I think it would be a good idea if I could talk to the owner or manager and work something out.”

“Of course, Doctor,” she replied as she took her smart phone from her purse. I will text them and ask them to contact you. What number should I give them?”

David gave her his auto-forward number. It came up on his cellphone as an incoming call, but the caller did not know his true number. There were a lot of reasons for using a forwarding number like that, primary of which was that his location could not be easily pinged or traced by any law enforcement authorities.

A few moments later the “bing” of an incoming text chimed in the room. It said, “Painslut Joey called. What do you want?”

He smiled and typed his reply. “I want to come to the club as a guest Thursday evening. I will bring Painslut Joey so that she can be on stage, but I want to be the one who whips her into submission.”

The response was a single word “Done.” Then his GPS program self started and an address and map point appeared on the screen giving the location of the club. He knew the area well, but had never seen anything that looked like a club in that seedy, rundown area of town.

The Wednesday session with JoAnne was uneventful, but shortly after that session extreme indigestion hit him and forced him to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day. Doctor Doctor made a lousy patient. In fact, he hated medical doctors and would not go to one unless there was absolutely no other option. Besides, it was just indigestion. He must have eaten something too spicy or had one too many drinks last night. He would go home and sleep it off.

Before he left the office, he texted JoAnne. “I will be with you tomorrow night. Please meet me in front of my office building at nine o’clock tomorrow night and I will take you someplace where nothing can happen to you unless I allow it. Does that work for you?”

Her reply was “Done.”

“They must use that a lot in her circle of friends,” he thought to himself as he closed the connection. Immediately after putting his phone back into his pocket, he began sweating and feeling very ill.

= = = = = = =

The shower improved things. By the time he had dried himself, David was feeling much better and looking forward to the evening with great pleasure and anticipation. As he dressed, he could envision JoAnne strung up on stage, naked and sweating, her body striped with welts and cuts, screaming to be allowed to submit to him as his eternal slave. He savored that image as he splashed some cologne on his face and checked his hair in the mirror. Then it was time to go.

Doctor David Ryan Richardson, Doctor Doctor, pulled up in front of his office building at exactly 9:00 pm on Halloween night. He was hoping that JoAnne was on time or at least not too late. He didn’t like waiting.

He need not have worried. JoAnne stepped from the shadow of a tree in front of the building as he pulled up to the curb.

“Where are we going?” she asked as she entered the car.

“You need to trust me,” answered David. “We are going to The Devil’s Doorstep.”

“NO!” screamed JoAnne, her face suddenly full of fear. She started to get out of the car, but the door wouldn’t unlock from her side. That was one of the many modifications David had paid to have done to his Mercedes right after he purchased it. Other modifications included removing the inside release from the trunk and modifying the seatbelts – other than the drivers – so that they could be electronically locked using a button on the dash. JoAnne’s door wouldn’t unlock and she couldn’t undo her seat belt.

“Don’t panic. Don’t panic,” he said in his calm, sooth-the-patient voice. This is best. It is really no different than me taking someone who is afraid of heights up to the observation deck at the top of a tall building. In order to conquer your fears, you need to face your fears – but in a safe way. Remember, I will be with you.”

He took her hand with his right hand and with his left turned her head so that they were eye to eye. “You will be in my hands,” he assured her. “Nothing will happen to you unless I make it happen to you.”

Had JoAnne known the true import of those words, her fear would have turned to terror, but instead she calmed down and asked, “Will you protect me?”

“Do you think I would harm you?”

She relaxed and answered, “OK, but don’t leave me alone – even for a second – while we are in the club.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her, “I will be right there beside you.” He then silently added to himself, “swinging the whip.”

David was surprised when they arrived at the club. He was somewhat familiar with this neighborhood and had never seen any indication of a club in the area, but then he noticed the wide alleyway that hadn’t been there before. There should have been a building there. He remembered it clearly. He had always assumed that it was a party room for the diner next door since it had advertizing for them in the blacked out windows, but now the entire building face was folded back like a huge door to reveal a wide alley and the marqueed entrance to a club that was apparently located behind the front buildings. The letters on the marquee, which were red and were intended to look as if they were dripping blood, spelled out “The Devil’s Doorstep.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said as they got out of the car.

JoAnne smiled at him and said in a strangely flat voice, “Aren’t we all?”

David paused for a moment trying to connect what she had just said, but then extended his arm and said, “Ready?”

In answer, JoAnne took his offered arm and began walking down the alleyway with him toward the club entrance.

The Devil’s Doorstep was everything that you would expect an “underground” BDSM club to be. It was slightly dark, slightly unkept, and smelled more than slightly of old cigarettes and stale alcohol. When he gave his name to the hostess, she said, “Of course Doctor Richardson. We have a front row table waiting for you. Please follow me.” She then led them up to a table right next to the stage area.

Shortly after they sat down a lean, middle-aged man with dark wavy hair that was combed straight back from his forehead came over to the table and said, “Welcome to my club. I am The Owner. Tonight you are a visitor. Perhaps you will join and come on other nights as well.”

From his accent, it was apparent that English was not his first language, but David could not place exactly where the accent was from. It sounded somewhat European, but had overtones of the Mideast or even the Orient. The Owner’s facial features were also not specific to any one racial or ethnic group. It was almost as if he were a blend of all the world’s racial and ethnic groups.

The Owner then bent down close to David’s ear and said softly, “Her’s will be the last scene and will begin at exactly Midnight. We close at two a.m. so it can be as long as you want. If it plays out well, I might even stretch my license and stay open until three or four in the morning.”

David took in a deep breath as he savored the image of JoAnne screaming beneath the whip for three or four continuous hours. The Owner stood back up and said loudly, “Order anything you would like. The first round of drinks are on the house for special guests like you.” He smiled and walked off to speak with other tables.

“What did he say to you?” asked JoAnne. Fear had returned slightly to her voice.

“He was just telling me that there was a discount on a lifetime membership.”

JoAnne laughed softly and answered, “I’ll bet they have even better deals than that.”

Again David couldn’t quite connect what JoAnne had said, but he had long ago learned to filter out any comments from his patients that didn’t make sense. He dismissed further thought about it from his mind as the house lights began to dim and the lights on the stage area brightened.

The Owner stepped out into the lights. “Ladies and gentlemen, our first scene tonight will help resolve a domestic dispute that has arisen from two switches falling in love for each other.” He laughed and shrugged in a Mediterranean sort of way. “Sometimes balance in a relationship is not all it is made out to be. In this case, neither is strong enough to overwhelm and conquer the other, but at the same time, neither is weak enough to submit themselves to someone not significantly stronger than themselves. Perhaps they would have been wiser to choose a different night, but tonight they have come to me, The Owner, to help them resolve their issues.”

A man and woman walked out onto the stage area. They were both naked and both had restraint cuffs on their wrists and ankles. Two sets of cables lowered from the ceiling. Each set was attached to opposite ends of a steel pipe. Another pipe was clipped just below the one to which the cables were attached. Stage hands hurried out and detached the second pipe from each rig. The man stood beneath one pipe, the woman stood beneath the second. The stage hands attached their wrists to the pipes and then bent down and attached their ankles to the second pipe which was now laying on the ground. The two sets of cables rose back up into the air until the feet of both people were off the ground. The stage hand then attached short cables from the ends of the lower pipe to attachment points on the stage floor. The cables then continued their upward motion until both the man and the woman were obviously held taut.

“Tonight, one of these star-crossed lovers will submit to the other.” announced The Owner. “And The Whipmaster will help them decide who will submit to whom.” He paused to let a figure dressed completely in black leather come onto the stage. “Whipmaster, if you please….”

The figure in black snapped two whips rapidly several times in succession toward the audience and then turned so that he was facing the two people hanging spread eagle. He made a quick motion with his arms and wrists. The whip crack echoed through the room, followed a moment later by the screams of both parties. With measured pace, allowing the couple plenty of time to absorb the pain of one strike and anticipate or dread the bite of the next, The Whipmaster repeated that action four more times. Then he went to the other side of the couple and began once again.

“He’s switching sides so the whip hand switches from one person to the other.” explained JoAnne. “Believe me, he is exactly the same with either hand, but some people have trouble accepting that, so he makes sure that both sides get equal treatment from either hand.”

David wasn’t keeping count of the blows, but he thinks it was around twenty-five or thirty that the man suddenly screamed out, “I submit. I submit.”

The Owner came out on stage and asked him, “Do you submit yourself totally to this woman to be her slave from this time forward and forever?”

“Yes,” the man cried. “Yes, I am her slave now and forever.”

The Owner turned to The Whipmaster and said simply, “You may resume.”

“What!” yelled the man. “I submitted. I gave in.”

“Yes, and it looks like you will enjoy being her slave,” answered The Owner as he brushed his hand against the man’s erect penis. “You want to be a slave, and you seem to like pain… up to a point. But did you not read the whole contract when you signed it? This is a special night. It is Halloween. There are no limits. Every scene goes until the person breaks.”

“But I broke,” screamed the man.

The Owner laughed what could only be described as a deep and evil laugh and said, “Yes, you have broken, but… .” pointing to the man’s wife “… she has not.”

Turning once again to The Whipmaster, The Owner issued a terse, single word command, “Continue!”

The Whipmaster’s pace was now much faster, and he didn’t stop at the end of every five strokes, but instead continued relentlessly. David was now keeping track of the strokes. There were sixty-three additional strokes, each one accompanied by shrill cries of pain, before the woman cried out, “I submit. I submit. I submit!”

The Owner stepped once again into the light and asked, “Do you submit to me? Are you my slave now and forever?”

She hung her head and answered, “Yes. You are my Owner from this point forward, now and forever.”

The Owner turned to the Whipmaster and said, “Give my slaves fifty lashes to remind them that I am The Owner. Then take them down and put them outside in the alley. Tie them to the slave post. I will pick them up later.” The woman screamed through all fifty strokes. The man passed out after about twenty, but even unconscious, he still had a huge erection.

“Masochists,” muttered David. “They will probably fuck each other senseless all night in that alley waiting for their new master to come and claim them.”

“Our next scene should probably be entitled, ‘Be Careful What You Wish For.'” called out The Owner. “Normally everyone here tonight receives a personal invitation from me, but this woman found out about us through her smart phone.”

He made another Mediterranean facial gesture. With his eyebrows raised and his mouth formed into an exaggerated frown, he continued, “It seems she installed a special hacker app on her phone that infected other phones and allowed her to monitor any incoming and outgoing text on any person’s phone who had ever texted her. In this case, she read my text to her employer’s phone. She contacted me because she craves sex and her current situation limits the amount of sex she can receive. She says she has never been able to get enough sex. She wanted to come on our stage on this special, Halloween, no-limits night in hopes that she could have unlimited sex.”

He laughed. “And that is exactly what she shall get.” He laughed again – a colder laugh. “…. at least that’s what I promised her.”

After a rather long pause he continued, “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, she will get exactly what she asked for. She will get her wish for unlimited sexual stimulation. I present to you Slut Deborah.”

David was very seldom surprised by anything, but when his records clerk walked out onto the stage naked, his mouth dropped open. She stood there for a few moments very unsure of what she was supposed to do, but then two stage hands wheeled a small platform out onto the stage with what appeared to be a half-barrel on the top of it. There was a large pink phallus sticking straight up from the top. Two stage hands lifted Debra up off her feet and set her on the platform.

“That’s a Sybian female masturbation machine in case you’ve never seen one,” explained JoAnne. David had seen pictures and some videos of their use, but this was the first time he had seen one in person. He had never been motivated to investigate them because they gave pleasure, not pain.

Debra knew what to do and she straddled the machine in a kneeling position and lowered herself down onto the dildo. The two stage hands then began securing her to the platform. They attached a wide leather belt around her waist that had two large D rings on each side of it. The two lower rings they chained to the platform so Debra could not get off of the Sybian. She couldn’t even raise herself up. Then they put wide restraining cuffs on her forearms and attached them to the upper D rings on the belt, effectively immobilizing her arms. The final thing they did was to put two small clover clamps on her nipples with bright silver weights hanging from them. By the time they were finished, Debra was breathing hard and starting to grind her crotch into the machine — and it wasn’t even plugged in yet.

The Owner stepped to the front of the stage and addressed the audience. “It takes pleasure a little longer than pain to break someone, but it will be interesting to watch as the night goes on.” He then walked with the platform as the two stage hands rolled it to an area just off to one side of the stage. A small spotlight, slightly dimmer than the stage lights came up to light the area.

After the stage hands had plugged in the Sybian, The Owner picked up the remote and activated the motors. A soft hum filled the room and Debra started rocking slightly back and forth with the sensations. “That looks enjoyable,” he said. “But Slut Deborah said she wanted UNLIMITED sexual stimulation.” He looked up at the audience and smiled broadly before continuing, “There are actually limits to almost everything, including this marvelous machine, but lets see what a Sybian does on its maximum settings.”

The hum became louder and Debra’s eyes flew fully open. Her mouth formed a perfect O as she gasped and drew in deep lungfulls of air. Then she almost immediately began to climax. The powerful sensations were more than she could stand. She tried to buck and lift her body to escape the dildo rotating inside her, but the belt held her firmly in place. She twisted back and forth on the saddle, but she could not escape the intense vibrations. The Sybian’s combination of vibration and internal stimulation drove her into another intense orgasm. She threw back her head and a long “Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh” escaped her lips. This was impossible. She was already in orgasm, but at the same time was being driven higher and further into another… and another… and another orgasm.

She began grunting, “Aahh…, Aahh…, Aahh…, Aahh…,” until The Owner turned to the audience and said, “I think that will be a bit distracting from our other scenes, don’t you?” He gave a hand signal and the two stage hands came over and forced a large ball gag into Debra’s mouth. She tried to resist them, but could do little with her arms held tight at her sides by the belt. “I think we will check on her occasionally throughout the night to see how she is doing,” said The Owner.

Doctor Doctor was now watching raptly. He could feel the familiar warmth of fear and pain, and yet Barbra was experiencing pleasure, or at least she appeared to be experiencing pleasure.

“You’re a man. You wouldn’t understand,” said JoAnne. “A female orgasm is a combination of pleasure AND pain. Your nervous system overloads and every sensation is there all at the same time. If you push too far into an orgasm, your body can’t stand it and it starts blocking the pleasure. The pain, however, just keeps going. If she stays on that machine long enough, it will become one of the purest forms of torture a woman can ever experience.” She gave David a very tight smile. “And that is from someone who has experienced many different forms of pure torture.”

The light on Debra dimmed back so that she was visible, but almost in darkness. The lights on the stage came up once again. “Our next scene is very personal to me,” began The Owner. One of my own indentured slaves who is half-way through her contract made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. She has an extreme, almost unbelievable tolerance for pain, and was willing to bet me that I couldn’t break her in thirty minutes. She has withstood The Whipmaster’s greatest efforts for over three hours, so she is pretty confident that I could not come up with anything that would break her in merely one-half hour. But I think I can, so I took the bet.”

“The wager is simple. If she lasts the full half-hour, she is free from her slavery. If I break her, she is mine forever. Let’s bring out Slave X27.”

A very beautiful girl stepped out onto the stage. She was totally naked – “totally” as in no clothing, no hair between her legs, no hair on her head, no eyebrows, not even the hint of fuzz on her forearms. To be more naked she would have had to have been skinned and standing there in just her muscles. She stood there looking very haughty and confident and self-assured. When The Owner asked, “Are you ready?” She answered with a smile, “You bet your ass.”

He laughed and responded, “Actually you are the one betting your ass, but since you say you are ready we will begin. Put your hands above your head and grasp the bar when it comes down to you.”

Four stage hands had moved a rather strange looking machine out onto the stage behind her. It looked like a much larger and longer version of the kind of lift that you would use to take an engine out of a car. The boom was at least twenty feet long. There was a large tripod-like base and a rather massive counter weight on the portion of the boom that extended past the base. The boom was lowered so that a trapeze-like bar hung just above Slave X27’s head. She reached up and grasped it with both hands. The stage crew then taped her hands in place with several layers of camo duck tape. After making sure that she was secure, they lifted her up off the ground and moved her through the air to the edge of the stage.

While she was in the air, a small forklift pushed something out to the middle of the stage. It was a large plexiglass tank about three feet across and seven feet tall. It was apparently filled with water. The forklift left the stage and returned with another tank, and then another. A stage hand connected what appeared to be electrical or control cables from the tanks to something off stage.

The Owner walked over to next to the suspended slave. He made a hand motion and she was lowered until her feet almost touched the ground. Two stage hands carried in something that looked like a heavy bar of metal about two feet long. They set it down with a resounding clang just in front of the slave’s feet and, using two very short chains, cuffed her feet to the bar so that she was more or less standing on it.

“That bar weighs sixty pounds,” explained The Owner. “Not only will it keep her legs together so they will enter the tanks properly, it will make sure that she sinks immediately in the water.”

He then turned to the slave. “I know that you once almost drowned and fear water. I know that you hate winter and cannot stand the cold.” He laughed his very evil sounding laugh. “I know that I can break you.”

“One of those tanks is filled with water at 34 degrees Fahrenheit, what most people would consider freezing. The second is at 94 degrees, what most people would consider the optimum bath temperature. The third is at 125 degrees, just below what would immediately scald your skin. You will not know which tank you are going into until your feet hit the water. It might be freezing. It might be scalding. It might be just right. But regardless, you are going into the tank until your feet – or at least the bar beneath your feet – hits the bottom of the tank. That would put the water level…” Reaching up his hand and holding it a little above her head, he finished, “… about right there.”

Slave X27 no longer looked so confident.

One of the stage hands came out carrying a piece of cloth of some sort. “We are going to put this bag over your head for two reasons,” explained The Owner. “One, you won’t be able to see which tank you are being dropped into, and two, as you come out of the tank, it will be wet. When you try to breathe through it, it will most likely trigger the drowning reflex because your body will think you are still under water… or that you are being waterboarded at some government interrogation center.”.

“We will be switching tanks every thirty seconds, so you will experience the tanks sixty times in thirty minutes. If you endure, you are free. If you break, you are mine. If you die, well… some would say at least you are free.” He shook his head, laughed, turned toward the audience, and added quickly, “I wouldn’t say that.”

Fear approaching absolute terror now showed in the slave’s face. It was obvious that it was not going to take sixty dunks in the tank to break her. The Owner held the bag in front of her as he spoke. “I will break you tonight NOT because I know exactly what you fear and what you hate, but because I know that deep down you WANT to be my slave forever and for all eternity. It pleases you to be my slave. You get sexual satisfaction out of being my slave. I am so sure of this, that I will predict to this audience that once you have broken, and you no longer have any reason to hide that fact, you will cum for me as you are slowly dipped in and out of the freezing water tank. Remember, when you break, the next tank will be a very slow trip through the freezing water and we will see if I am right.”

The slave was slowly shaking her head in disagreement with what he had said as he lowered the bag over her face, but she didn’t look too sure of her answer. The Owner tied the bag in place. “Start the clock,” he commanded and the boom lifted her high into the air. She screamed as her feet went into the middle tank, even though that was the bath water tank. She screamed again as she came out of the tank, or at least she attempted to. Her voice was cut off suddenly as she attempted to inhale through the waterlogged fabric before being plunged into the freezing tank. She began screaming again as her feet hit the frigid water, and was still screaming as her head went under the surface.

The four men manning the boom were working frantically to keep to the thirty second schedule. They would drop her into a tank and then immediately begin moving her back up again. Her screaming finally seemed to be coordinated with their movement. She would scream as she came out of the tank and then thrash her head about as she tried to get another lungfull of air. Then, depending on which tank she was dropped into next, she would either scream all the way into the tank, or scream until she recognized that it was the bath water tank. Her screams were especially loud when she went directly from the freezing water to the scalding water or from the scalding water to the freezing water.

The clock read just under twenty minutes when she broke. David was truly amazed she had lasted that long. “I submit! I submit! I surrender! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop!” she screamed as soon as she started to come out of the water.

But the stage hands didn’t stop. They moved her so that she was over the tank of freezing water. Then they slowly began to lower her into the tank. It took nearly a minute for her head to reach the water and she was screaming loudly up to the point where her mouth went under water. They drew her back out of the water almost as slowly, and again she was screaming all of the way back to the top. Then they stopped. It was totally quiet in the club except for the continued humming of Debra’s Sybian. The Owner said very quietly, “Wait for it. Wait for it.”

Suddenly a new scream split the silence. This one was different. It was not a scream of terror. It was not a scream of pain. Just as The Owner had predicted, Slave X27 was screaming out in orgasm as she hung above the tanks which had broken her. The audience drowned out her screams and moans with thunderous applause. The stage hands, still keeping the boom high in the air, rolled the mechanism off stage with the slave still thrashing in orgasm beneath the boom.

= = = = =

The lights on stage went down and the light on Deborah came up. The Owner walked over and stood next to her. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were held tightly shut. Her body was shaking and quivering.

“Too soon,” The Owner observed. “We will get back to her in a little while, but first we are going to do a little product evaluation. There have been many different spanking machines throughout the course of human invention. One Egyptian Pharaoh had one powered by a water wheel that could beat a slave to death while he and his guests feasted and watched. Even today there are many different models on the market, but all of them break down into two basic categories, the swinging arm and the flail. And for each style, the implement that actually strikes the skin can be either a paddle, a cane, or a whip. So, in effect, there are only six different machines. We have randomly selected six members of tonight’s audience to help us test these different configurations to see which is most effective.”

He moved to the center of the stage and held his cupped hand up along side his mouth as if he were shouting a great distance. “Bring on the test subjects,” he bellowed, and six stage hands pushing six platforms came hustling into the stage area.

On each of the platforms was a spanking stock. The naked person on the platform was kneeling on a padded board with their stomach lying on a higher padded platform. There were straps holding their legs in place and a wide leather strap across the small of their back holding them down tightly against the bench. A slight gap separated the raised area from a short stock which captured their head and hands. The six test subjects were lined up on stage so that they were facing the audience.

Upright beams were attached on either side of the raised padded platform and held an angled mirror high above the trapped person so that the audience could clearly see each test subject’s ass. The audience could also see what type of spanking machine was on each platform. For the three on stage right, there were flails. The first of these “spanking wheels” held a series of cord- like whips. The second held multiple birch switches. The third was a series of leather paddles.

For the three on stage left, there were swinging arm machines. Again, the first was a whip, the second was a cane, and the third was a paddle. One difference between the two approaches was immediately obvious. The flailing type spanking machines needed to use something very flexible, like a whip, switch, or leather paddle, while the swinging arms could use something solid, like a cane or a heavy wooden paddle.

“Are we ready to begin?” asked The Owner.

“NO!” yelled one of the people in the stocks. She was a woman in her late twenties with what appeared to be naturally blond hair and very blue eyes. She also had almost pure white skin that would definitely show every mark of the flailing whips which were behind her. “I didn’t volunteer for this! You put something in my drink and took me backstage while I was unconscious! I didn’t agree to be up here. I just came to watch the show.”

“Didn’t you read your invitation when you got it?” asked The Owner sarcastically. “Didn’t you read the back of the ticket when you came in here? Both say very clearly that audience members must be willing to participate in the stage show if asked. You agreed in advance. Once we start, you can scream all you want to, but if you aren’t quiet until then, we will gag you.” He paused and looked the scared blonde directly in the eyes, “And I assure you, that it will be much, much more uncomfortable with a ball gag in your mouth while your ass is being beaten into hamburger.”

The blonde’s eyes remained wide open, as did her mouth, but she said nothing more.

“Our test is very simple,” explained The Owner. “We turn on the machines and let them go until you submit yourself to me as my eternal slave. When one of you yells out your submission, all machines will stop until I verify that you truly submit to me. Does everyone understand that?”

All six heads nodded slightly, although it was obvious all were afraid of what was going to happen to them.

“Since all of you will EVENTUALLY break and submit yourselves to me, I think I need to give you a little incentive to keep going. This is what is going to happen. The first one to submit, gets fucked by a Minotaur – or you can suck him off, your choice.” He turned to the audience, “See, I do care about my slaves and give them some choices in what happens to them.”

He turned back to the six now totally terrified product testers. “The second one to submit will be fucked by or will suck a Centaur. The third a Ram Satyr. The fourth a Goat Satyr, better known as a Faunus. The fifth a Telekhines. And the sixth….. ME!”

JoAnne leaned close to David and said, “The Telekhines built the Devil’s Bull.”

Again he disregarded what she said as meaningless.

The owner turned back to the audience. “Begin the test,” he shouted and all six spanking machines burst into action.

“Who do you think will break first?” asked David.

“Are you asking which machine is worst, or which person is weakest?” answered JoAnne. “The absolute worst is the swinging arm cane. It hits in exactly the same place each time and becomes overwhelmingly painful almost immediately. Next would be the swinging arm paddle for basically the same reason. The swinging arm whip and the flailing whips would be next since they sting like mad. The flailing paddles can be absolute torture if they are just the right distance from your ass, but usually they don’t get a good enough pop to be more than mildly painful. The flailing canes hurt, but are very erratic. They hit all over the place and not with anywhere near the force of a solid cane.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” observed David.

“I have a lot of experience, but the person with the most painful machine may not be the first to break. If I had to bet, I would say the pasty-skinned blonde will break first. She doesn’t look like she is used to pain and the flailing whips will be more than she can endure for very long.”

As if to prove her right, the blonde suddenly screamed out, “I submit. I submit. Please make it stop! Please make it stop!”

All of the machines stopped and The Owner walked over to in front of the tearful blonde. “Do you submit yourself to me as my eternal slave?”

“I submit. I submit.” She answered.

“Suck or fuck?” he asked.

“What?”

“Should I release you so that you can suck the Minotaur’s cock or do I leave you where you are so it can fuck you?”

She had to try several times before she could bring herself to say anything. Finally she said, “Release me. I will suck his cock.”

One stage hand released her while two other stage hands led in an extremely large and heavily muscled man in an extremely strange costume. From about half-way up his chest, his body seemed to morph into the head of a bull. The rest of his body was huge, but more or less normal, except that he had on strange boots on that made his feet look like the cloven hooves of a bull. His shoulders also looked like the front haunches of a huge bull. Keeping in character, he snorted and bellowed when he saw the pale young girl kneeling before him.

She looked at his monstrous face and equally monstrous organ and hesitated, but The Owner said, “You have one minute or I put you back in the stocks and run the flailing whips until they have taken all skin and muscle off your ass.”

The blonde dropped to her knees and reached out to stroke the Minotaur’s sheath. It’s penis emerged almost immediately. It was exceptionally long, and it’s head was almost more than the blonde could get in her mouth. As she licked the head, the man in the Minotaur costume started to bellow and stamp around and two more stage hands came out to hold him in place. Finally the blond was kneeling in front of him with the tip of his penis in her mouth. She was working frantically trying to get him off while not being stomped on by his frantic movements.

Suddenly he rushed forward as if he were pushing further into a woman – or a cow from behind. He pushed the hapless blonde beneath him across the front of the stage, sliding her backwards on her knees, her mouth still firmly clamped on his penis. Suddenly she gasped and thick, white cum spurted from her mouth and nose. She rolled onto the stage and rose to her feet coughing, sputtering and gasping for breath.

“Take them both back to their pens,” ordered The Owner. “We will transport them later.”

While the stage hands were taking the man in the Minotaur costume and the pale young woman off stage, Richard leaned over to JoAnne and said, “That costume was phenomenal and the actor seemed almost like a real bull . The owner of the club must have access to some really first rate makeup artists… and actors.”

JoAnne smiled – or was it a grimace – “Or maybe he just has access to the real thing,” she replied.

Her comment made no sense, and David was about to ask what she meant when The Owner yelled out, “Resume.”

The spanking machines again came to life. It was only a few moments later that another of the bound women, this time a brunette, screamed out her submission. JoAnne’s evaluation of the swinging arm cane seemed to be accurate. After she verified her submission, she also chose to suck rather than fuck. “At least I will survive it,” she said bitterly.

JoAnne leaned close to David and commented, “She really doesn’t understand yet.”

David was going to ask her to explain what she meant, but instead just shook his head slightly and returned his attention to the brunette who was now kneeling beneath a black horse-like being with a human torso in place a horse’s head.

Either she had done something like this before, or she was a fast learner from watching the blonde and the Minotaur, because she quickly brought the Centaur to climax and managed to get her mouth off his massive member before he filled her head to overflowing with his spunk. As it was, her face and hair were covered in white slime as she knelt in front of the elaborately costumed man.

“To the pens,” ordered The Owner. Then he called out once again, “Resume.”

The four remaining “testers” screamed and cried out, but no one yelled their submission. After about ten minutes, the dirty blonde in the flailing paddle machine screamed, “No more! No more! I submit. I submit. Yes, I will be your eternal slave.”

“So,” asked The Owner, “Do you want to fuck or suck the companion of Pan?”

“I’ve screwed worse,” she answered. “Let him at me.”

One stage hand removed the machine from her platform while two stage hands led another strangely costumed man onto the stage and brought him around behind her. From the waist down he was a goat or a ram, but from the waist up, he was human, except that he had the huge horns of a ram sprouting from his head. He definitely knew what he was supposed to do. He placed his hands – or was it his front hooves – against the upright beams holding the mirror and hunched forward to mate with the captive girl. She screamed as he entered her and screamed again as he began thrusting. Evidently she had, indeed, screwed worse, because after a few thrusts, she was moaning and thrusting back against the Satyr’s movements. After a few minutes, whatever it was supposed to be brayed loudly and stopped thrusting. She moaned, “No. No. Don’t stop yet. Not yet. I’m almost there.”

The audience laughed and applauded as the stage hands rolled her platform into the darkness.

“Resume”

The machines had barely started again when one of the remaining two males yelled out, “I submit. I submit.”

“Will you be my eternal slave?” asked The Owner, and the man, dropping his head, said “Yes.”

“Suck or fuck?”

In a voice almost too soft to hear, the man answered, “Suck.”

This time the stage hands did not release him from the stocks, but instead brought another costumed man out on stage in front of him. This one was much like the previous Ram Satyr, but had a much kinder face and a smaller body that more closely resembled a small goat. His horns were also smaller and straight. They turned the man’s platform sideways so the audience could see what was happening, and then lifted up the Faunus’ hooves so that they were on the man’s back. His goat-like prick was now in front of the man’s face. It was hard to say whether he was sucking that goat-like cock or the Faunus was fucking his face, but in either case, the goat prick soon spurted into the man’s mouth and across his face.

The man looked like he was going to throw up, but The Owner smacked him loudly on the ass and said, “If you throw up, you will lick it up and eat it.”

The man was swallowing hard and trying to control himself as he was rolled off stage.

“Two machines left,” announced The Owner. “Will the swinging arm whip break her first? Or will the swinging arm paddle break him?”

It was almost twenty minutes before the crowd got their answer. The middle-aged woman in the swinging arm whip machine yelled out her submission.

“I’ve done zoo before,” she said when she asked to be fucked by the Telekhines rather than suck him.

This man was dressed in a costume that David had never seen before. He had the head and body of a very large dog and the hands of a seal with thick black flippers. He placed his flippers on the woman’s back and howled as he entered her from behind. It was very much like watching a dog mate. Dogs hump at a frenzied rate and this man was imitating the speed of the fastest canine. All the while the woman just lay there passively. She obviously didn’t enjoy what was happening, but as she said, she had “done zoo before.” Finally the Telekhines gave a long howl and collapsed across the woman’s back. Stage hands immediately came on stage and began pushing the platform off the stage.”

After they had been wheeled away back stage, The Owner addressed the remaining man. “There is no need for you to continue. You will eventually break. Why don’t you just submit to me now?”

“Never,” sneered the man.

“Then I will make you a deal,” replied The Owner. “If you can last twenty more minutes with the machine set to maximum, I will let you go free. If not, I will accept your submission and then fuck you here on the stage in front of all of these people and again every night at my place until next Halloween. It is your choice. Do you wish to submit to me or do you wish to bet a year of fucking against your possible freedom?”

“I will never submit. I’ll take your bet,” he snarled.

“Resume at maximum,” yelled The Owner.

The man made it to seventeen minutes before he screamed out, “I submit. I submit. I submit. Fuck me if you want. I am your slave, forever.”

The stage hands quickly removed the spanking machine as The Owner positioned himself behind the man’s bruised and bloody ass.

“Your blood will do for lubrication,” The Owner said with a laugh, and then opened his pants to reveal one of the largest penises David had ever seen. The man’s screams while he was being paddled were nothing compared to his screams as The Owner thrust the full length of his cock into his ass.

David said to JoAnne, “I don’t understand it, he only had to hold on for three more minutes. He had endured almost an hour of that machine before that. Why would he break when he was so close to freedom.”

“You’re right,” replied JoAnne in the totally flat voice she had used all evening. “You don’t understand. There is no freedom. Everything is already set in place.” The last platform was rolled off stage and the stage lights began to dim. “Let’s check on Slut Deborah, shall we?” asked The Owner. The light over in her corner brightened and everyone turned to see what was occurring. She was covered in sweat and shaking in the saddle. Her cries, though greatly muffled by the ball gag, were a series of loud grunts that seemed to be timed with the thrusts of her legs as she tried to lift herself off the machine. The Owner removed the ball gag from her mouth and she cried out, “No more. No more. It’s too much. It’s too much. I can’t stand it.”

He put the ball gag back in place and asked, “Do you submit to me?” She nodded yes. “If I let you off that machine will you suck every cock in this club?” She nodded yes. “Will you lap every pussy out there?” She again vigorously nodded yes. “Will you let any man or woman out there fuck you in any hole in your body?” She was bouncing and crying as she nodded her head yes.

“Good,” he said smiling broadly and slightly laughing. “You will be the after show entertainment for the audience. You just sit there and enjoy yourself for another fifteen minutes or so. The last scene starts at midnight.”

He then went over to David’s table and said quietly, “It’s time.”

“What do you mean, ‘It’s time.'” asked JoAnne. Her voice was now tense with emotion. Her face was white. Her eyes were wide open and staring at David. “You said nothing would happen to me unless you made it happen to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you,” replied David.

Suddenly she knew. She knew that he had lied to her all along. She knew that he had brought her here for exactly this. She knew that he wanted to see her suffer. He wanted to see her break.

“How could you?” she asked with pleading eyes as two stage hands led her away. “How could you?” she repeated as she was taken behind the curtain.

The Owner then sat down at the table with David. “Before this final scene plays out, I need to explain a couple of things to you about this club. This is a very special club because… well, because it doesn’t always exist… at least not so most people can see it. In fact it only exists completely in your realm on this one day of the year. And no, there is nothing really special about Halloween as a day, but many mortals believe that there is and that is all that is important. I think you have some experience with that.”

He paused, but when David didn’t respond he continued. “In any case, on this one night of the year, we can invite outside guests into the club – mortals who are not yet bound to me or to the club.” He smiled a very cold smile. “Some go home in the morning. Most stay. You have been invited for a very special reason.”

David asked, “What are you getting at?”

“Have you ever heard of Perillos, the metal worker?” asked The Owner in response.

David sat silent.

“He was from before your time…, long before your time…, but not mine. Anyway, he was a citizen of Athens, Greece who made a fortune selling war machines to the Emperor of Sicily. He was an amazing metal worker – not as good as the Telekhines, but outstanding for a human. He had an idea that he wanted to sell to the Emperor for the perfect instrument of torture. It was a brass bull specially constructed so that the howls of a person being roasted inside of it would resonate and sound like the bellowing of a bull. It would be a horrible, but very entertaining death.”

He looked directly at David. “The Sicilian Emperor bought his design and built the brass bull. But do you know who the very first person was to be roasted alive inside that Sicilian Bull?”

“No,” answered David. “And I don’t know what this has to do with me.”

“It was Perillos, himself,” answered The Owner.

David looked even more confused, so The Owner made it clear for him. “JoAnne is your brass bull. You think that you have betrayed her so that she will hang on that spreader bar being whipped by you or The Whipmaster until she breaks and submits herself into eternal slavery to you. But you are wrong because JoAnne doesn’t really exist.”

“What? That’s not possible!” exclaimed David.

“Yes, it is possible. And if you must insist, yes, she exists, and has for a long, long time…, but the truth is, she is just the Sicilian Bull, or should I say the Devil’s Bull. JoAnne was the name of the demon who came up with the idea of imprisoning a soul inside what is, in effect, a mechanical body. She said it was her own idea, but I knew that she actually stole the idea from Perillos when she went to bring him to me. So, in honor of him, after the Telekhines had constructed the Devil’s Bull, she was it’s first occupant. That seemed fitting at the time. She was in there for quite a while until she found someone to replace her.”

“There have been many different people inside the Devil’s Bull through the centuries. The person currently inside JoAnne has spent many years looking for someone to replace her… or him – I don’t remember which it used to be any more. In any case, they have been in there for a long, long, time. The reason that it is so difficult to get out of the Devil’s Bull is that the only way to escape my bull is to find someone else willing to enter it – or should I say someone else willing to try to use the Devil’s Bull as it was intended to be used – as an instrument of torture.”

The Owner looked almost wistful. “JoAnne was really a brilliant demon,” he stated with a smile of satisfaction and a nod of his head. “She made many improvements to Perillos’ idea. The beauty of the Devil’s Bull is that the person inside of it has a measure of control over what happens to them as they roam the earth…, but not total control. They can decide where they go, whom they meet, what they do to earn a living. But the thing that they can’t control is seeking out pain.

The bull craves pain. And no matter what they do, the bull will get the pain it needs. The bull finds the pain, but it is the person inside the bull that feels the pain. The bull craves humiliation and degradation, but it is the person inside who feels the shame.”

“It takes a very special person to recognize the Bull for what it is and then desire to use it as an instrument of torture. The hunt for that person can take decades. There are not many people who deeply appreciate torture and know how to properly inflict true pain. But they do exist. You are proof of that.”

He stared intently at David for a few moments of silence, and then continued, “When the person inside the bull finally finds someone who wants to use the bull to inflict uncontrolled pain, degradation, and humiliation, then escape is simple. All they have to do is get that person to come to the club on Halloween night. At midnight, they are released and the new person takes their place. I like the arrangement, because after a century or so in the bull, the released one makes a very good and willing servant. They will do anything to keep from going back into the Devil’s Bull.”

David was trying to understand what The Owner was telling him, but he was having trouble thinking because his indigestion was pressing hard against the base of his chest. “In a few moments,” continued The Owner, “JoAnne will be brought out on stage just as you requested. Her oiled, naked body will be suspended just as you envisioned her with her wrists spread wide on a spreader bar. Her ankles will be cuffed to their spreader bar and that will be secured to the floor. Tonight, she will be stretched especially tight, and everyone will see her naked body vibrate from the tension.”

“Despite the tension stretching her, she will be free to writhe and buck as the whips crack into her flesh on her front and her back at the same time. She will be free to scream and yell and beg for mercy. She will be free to finally break and submit to her punisher as her eternal Lord and Master. Everything will be exactly as you imagined it to be except for two… … minute details.”

David was beginning to have trouble hearing The Owner clearly. The pressure on his chest was becoming unbearable. The Owner’s words were becoming muffled and faint, but that didn’t stop The Owner from completing what he had to say. “The first thing that will be different is that it will not be you who is swinging the whips. It will not even be The Whipmaster. It will be me…, … and I am the one who trained The Whipmaster and taught him everything he knows.”

“The second thing that will not be as you had imagined is that it will be you hanging from the spreader bar. The people in the club here tonight, and, after tonight, all the people of the world will see JoAnne – the Devil’s Bull that encases you – but have no doubt, it will be you. It will be you screaming for mercy. It will be you asking why this is happening to you. It will be you begging and pleading. And eventually, it will be you submitting to me, your natural Lord and Master.”

The pressure exploded in David’s chest and things went completely dark. Then suddenly everything was bright once again. In fact, David was bathed in bright light as spotlights shone down on him from all sides. The pressure in his chest was now gone, replaced by a pulling sensation caused by the spreader bar from which he was hanging with his arms stretched wide apart. He looked down at his breasts trying to comprehend what was happening to him. Then the first strikes of the whips crashed into his ass and pussy. Doctor Doctor knew deep in the very pit of his soul what had happened, and David, now JoAnne, screamed the first of many screams that would bellow forth from the Devil’s Bull.

= = = = =

The two detectives stood with the owner of the diner taking his statement. “No, I don’t know how he got in here,” the man said. “The front door to the party room has been locked for years. I don’t even have a key to it anymore, but somehow he opened it.”

A medical examiner walked up to the pair of detectives. “His name is Doctor David Richardson. He’s a shrink. Nobody in his office has any idea why he was here. He left work early day before yesterday complaining of indigestion. It looks like maybe he had a massive heart attack while he was driving by and got disoriented. He pulled over to the curb and came in here for some reason. From the looks of it, he just walked in, seated himself at this table, and sat there quietly until he died.”

He paused and then asked, “Since there’s no signs of foul play, and no apparent crime committed other than possible trespassing, why are two detectives checking out what is very likely a death from natural causes?”

“Chief thinks something is hinky,” answered one of the detectives. “The Doc told his secretary he was going out to a club downtown last night with a patient to help her over her fears. Only problem is that there is no such club and no such patient and his medical records clerk, a Deborah Wilson, is also missing.”

“Unless something else comes up,” said the other detective, “I think this one is going into the ‘Weird-Shit-That-Happens-at-Halloween’ file.”

All three laughed as they followed the ME’s cart out the door. “Yeah,” said the ME. “We’ve got one of those files too. Nobody in our office got the day off yesterday or today, and probably won’t tomorrow. Too much weird shit happens on Halloween.”

He laughed again as he and his assistant maneuvered the Gurney into the back of his vehicle. “It’s a damned big file, too,” he said. “Good thing Halloween only comes once a year.”

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END OF STORY
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