The journey took at least a couple of hours, so I knew I was no longer in London. I had felt the crate being carried and then slid onto the floor of a van. The engine started, the van pulled away, and crawled through the rush hour traffic. Eventually the van sped up and I guessed I was now out of the city and motoring towards my destination, wherever that was. Eventually the van stopped, the crate was lifted out and manhandled up some stairs, before being put down. I waited nervously for it to be opened, for my first sight of my new surroundings.

At last the screws were undone and I closed my eyes as sunlight streamed in. When I opened them, I found a rather distinguished looking man – well built, elegantly dressed, in his late thirties I guessed – bending over me. He reached out and I felt the pressure of the inflatable gag reduce, bringing a moan of relief and also of pain as I tried to move my aching jaw. I felt his fingers behind my head and the gag was removed altogether, then he took out a pocket knife and started cutting through the ropes which had been digging into me for hours and had almost cut off the circulation in my arms and legs. When he had finally got me free, he offered me a hand to help me up, but I couldn't even lift up my arm. To my surprise, he slipped his arms underneath my body and lifted me out of the crate with ease, carried me across the room and put me gently down on the bed. I looked up at him warily, not trusting that this seemingly kind and gentle approach was going to last.

"I'll let you rest" he said in a deep, calm voice, "I'll come back later to see how you're feeling.” I watched in silence as he walked away and left the room, shutting the door behind him. I looked around the room, inspecting my new prison, to find that it was rather pleasant. The double bed I was lying on was incredibly soft with a bright white duvet and plump pillows. There was a TV and a clock, which showed me date and time – with a jolt I realised I had been held in that shop for over six months! There was a desk, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe – and, to my amazement and delight a row of books on a shelf.

But what really took my attention was the window, and I immediately went over to it. There were heavy iron bars in front of the glass and the window could only open a few inches, but I could see the outside world for the first time in – as I now knew – six months and I could feel the cool breeze playing across my naked body, which just felt wonderful! Looking out, I could see a patch of lawn through the trees quite close to the window, and a high wall enclosing the garden – not a particularly inspiring sight and with no view beyond the confines of the garden, but it seemed like paradise to me.

I turned on the TV and sat watching the BBC news channel, letting it cycle through the stories of the day, just soaking up what was happening out there and wondering what I had missed while locked away. Once the same stories were repeating for the third time, I explored a little more. The wardrobe contained a rack of dresses, trousers and even jeans – not a scrap of latex or leather in sight, in fact everything looked rather expensive and stylish. The drawers contained underwear, but once again elegant, nothing which would have been sold in the sex shop. There was another door from the room, and I found that it led into an en suite bathroom. I searched for hidden cameras but it all seemed 'clean', so I ran a bath and spent the most amazing hour relaxing in the bubbles, gradually starting to feel like a human being again, rather than a piece of meat.

When I had dried myself on the lovely fluffy towels, I put on normal clothes for the first time in months – normal bra and pants, a light summer dress, low heel shoes – chose a book from the shelf, and curled up in the armchair in the corner to read. I don't remember what I was reading, and I kept the TV on, half-listening to them burble on about wars, foreign disasters and the economy, just luxuriating in the mundane normality of everything (except the bars on the window, which I tried to shut out of my mind).

After a while I started to feel hungry and wondered what I would do for food. I had avoided trying the door, assuming it would be locked and my illusion of normality would be shattered, but I was astonished to find that it opened. I looked out cautiously into a corridor, with a door at the end and a door to my left. I found the door at the end of the corridor was locked, which I had expected, but the other door led into a small kitchen, which had a fridge stocked with real fresh food, cupboards stacked with tins, a fresh loaf, a small cooker and a sink – it felt like Aladdin's cave! There was another window, also barred, but providing another view into the same garden, revealing a swimming pool in the distance. I made myself tea and toast – I'm English, after all – and took it back to my bedroom. It felt like I had my own apartment, and if I ignored the locked door and barred windows, I could imagine I was back in the real world. But then I had to admit the door was locked and the windows barred, and I wondered where this was heading.

I was startled by a knock at the door and realised I had dozed off in the chair.

"Come in" I said, rather flustered. The man who had 'unpacked' me came in, and I looked at him in more detail than before. Maybe in his early forties, I now thought, but he looked after himself, possibly working out in the gym or just being very active. He was clean-shaven and lightly tanned, with well-groomed hair and nails. He was dressed 'smart casual' – chinos, Ralph Lauren shirt, smart shoes – and seemed to have a pleasant, relaxed manner, with an easy authority.

"Would you like to accompany me to dinner, Kathryn?" he asked, and it felt like a genuine question, rather than a command, but I was still cautious.

"Yes, Master" I said meekly, submissively, wanting to keep on his 'right side'. He tilted his head with a slight smile, as if considering my style of response.

"You can call me Master if you like", he said, "It sounds good coming from you. Or you can call me Robert. Or Master Robert, it’s up to you. Shall we go?"

He led me down the corridor and into the main part of the house. I was surprised at how large it was, like a country mansion, although thoroughly modern. It was well-furnished and that word 'elegant' came to mind again, with striking but tasteful decoration and art on the walls.

We went into the dining room, where the table was laid for two, with fine cutlery, glasses and plates. He held my chair as I sat down, poured me a glass of white wine, then disappeared into the kitchen. I sipped the wine, which tasted wonderful, then suddenly thought, this is the time I should try and escape. But instead of getting up and running, I told myself the doors to the outside world would be locked, I would only get punished, I would ruin the calm and friendly attitude this new Master, Master Robert, seemed to have towards me. So, I just sat there, sipping my wine, looking around and waiting nervously for him to return.

The food was excellent – mind you, I'd been surviving on dog food, so not much of a recommendation – and over dinner Master Robert asked me my thoughts on the news I'd been catching up on, discussing everything from global politics to celebrity trivia. I spoke quietly, hesitantly, cautiously, until I gradually gained confidence – both in him and in my ability to hold a real conversation again. I recognised he was deliberately trying to put me at my ease, but I also recognised it was working. As we were sitting with our coffee, things got a bit more serious.

"Kathryn", Master Robert said as he put down his cup, "I think you deserve to know a bit about me and why I have brought you here.” I was suddenly back on edge, nervous.

"I used to be a city trader, just retired. I worked in London and used to frequent Soho, looking to satisfy my ... predilections. I happened to go into one of the sex shops and there you were, hanging by your wrists from the ceiling, while someone – apparently a customer – was thrashing you with a cane. I was immediately transfixed, both by your beauty and your predicament.” I felt myself blushing, and realised I enjoyed his appreciation of me.

"I knew then I needed you for myself. I watched from the periphery, night after night, not wanting to attract attention to myself. I didn't take part in your torture and humiliation, not because I didn't want to, but because I had no intention of doing it before an audience. I spoke to the shop owner, trying to understand your relationship with him. He was very suspicious of me, accusing me of being a policeman, but I managed to convince him I wasn't. Eventually, I found out he had forced you into this situation and effectively owned you.” I blushed again, embarrassed at recalling how easy it had been to manoeuvre me into that situation, but I stayed silent.

"I offered to buy you from him. He refused at first, saying you had boosted profits tenfold. Eventually, I struck a deal where I would not only pay for you but provide a replacement girl. I found a suitable replacement in a brothel, a girl who had been trafficked from China, and I bought her. Between you, you set me back a fair bit of money, but I got you and now, here we are.”

"Thank you for rescuing me, Master" I said, and I meant it – this was certainly infinitely better than the shop.

"Be careful what you wish for, Kathryn, you may live to regret it" he said seriously.

"You treat me as a human being, Master, the others treated me only as an object to be exploited. Whatever you do to me, it will be in that context.”

"You are a human being, Kathryn, a very pretty one. And yet I have bought you like a piece of property. I own you.” He looked intently at me, and seemed to make a decision.

"I am a sadist, Kathryn", he said, "I gain sexual gratification from inflicting pain on another. I don't mean I will enjoy whipping you, I mean I will only achieve an erection and reach orgasm by causing you pain – extreme pain. I could never expect someone to willingly let me do that to them – unless they were a masochist, and then I wouldn't get the same thrill from it – so that is why I bought you.” I listened in silence, trying to take on board what he was saying.

"I won't need to ... use you every day, maybe not even every week. You will be able to do as you please most of the time, within the restrictions on your freedom I have imposed. But when I wish to use you, there will be no negotiation. Do you understand, Kathryn?"

"Yes, Master", I said quietly. He gave me a compassionate look, as if regretting what he was going to put me through.

"I think you need time to come to terms with that. I'll take you back to your room.” We walked back in silence and, when the door closed, I curled up on the bed, wondering what trials I was going to face.

Over the next couple of days, I started to think that maybe it wouldn't be that bad – after all, I had already suffered at the hands of some pretty sick bastards, and Master Robert seemed so ... kind. And then it arrived – I went to make myself some breakfast one morning and I saw the note, just as he had told me I would. As I read it, my hand was shaking – all it said was "Tonight. 6 pm" but it filled me with dread. I was sick with nerves all day as I wondered what was going to happen.

As instructed, I showered, shaving my legs, armpits and pubic area so I was smooth and hairless for him. When I had dried and perfumed myself, I opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, where I had stored the things he had told me to wear. There were leather cuffs for my wrists and ankles and a thick leather collar, which I strapped on securely. All of them sported multiple D-ring connectors, offering plenty of options for tethering or binding me.

And then there was the gag I was to wear. It was a simple length of wood dowelling, with a steel ring at either end and a leather strap. The Master had told me to strap it in as tight as I could, and as I did so, I realised just how wide open my jaws were forced, preventing me from closing my lips on the other side of the wood, making it almost inevitable I would soon be drooling like a baby. Master Robert had explained why this was the perfect gag:

"It prevents you from begging for mercy, but allows you to scream as loud as you need" he had told me, unnerving me even further. Now suitably 'dressed', I went into the corridor and knelt facing the door, waiting for him to arrive.

I was surprised to see that the Master had stripped to the waist, and I was impressed by his muscled and hairless chest, over a washboard flat stomach – he clearly worked out. He beckoned me to follow him, and we went through the house to a door off the main hall, leading to steps down into the darkness.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, we stepped into a large open space, but it was so dimly lit by individual spotlights I couldn't see the full extent of it. The floor and walls had been tiled with slate, bringing an image to my mind of blood being easily washed off the walls, an image which I didn't appreciate.

Master Robert positioned me squarely in one of the spotlights, reached up into the shadows above and pulled a chain into view, attaching it to my wrist cuffs with a couple of padlocks taken from his pocket. He walked away and a few seconds later a motor whirred and the chain started to rise up, pulling my arms up with it, until my wrists were above my head, then my arms fully stretched, until finally my feet were pulled off the ground and only my toes were in contact with the cool surface and I was hanging helplessly.

Master Robert stepped back into the light and I let out a little cry of surprise and fear. He was naked, except for leather cuffs around his wrists and a mask which covered the top half of his face, making him look like a medieval executioner. My eyes immediately went to his groin, and I could see he had nothing to be ashamed of in that department – his member was flaccid but even so was an impressive length.

But my attention quickly shifted to his hand, and the whip he was holding in it. This was no sex toy, this was a full-sized bullwhip, ten or twelve feet of plaited leather trailing on the floor. With a sudden flick of his wrist, the whip jumped into the air and let out a loud crack close by my side. I let out a squeal of terror and began struggling at the end of the chain, while my eyes were fixed on his arm as he drew it back. Another crack rent the air beside me and I screamed again, my heart pounding with fear now, as the Master took a step towards me and raised his arm again.

This time the leather flicked against the outside of my thigh as I turned away and I let out a genuine scream of pain, certain that the skin had been split open by the blow. A searing pain burst across my back as the whip wrapped across my shoulders and around my arm, followed by even more excruciating agony as it carved a line over my stomach.

I was crying now, tears streaming down my face to join the saliva gushing out of my mouth, as I gasped for breath, trying to cope with the laceration of my body. I waited for the next strike but it didn't come, and I raised my head to see what Master Robert was doing.

He was suddenly close by me, his fingers tracing the ugly red welts on my body, making me wince. I could see that his cock was now semi-erect and had grown a little thicker and longer as he enjoyed my suffering. I tried to form words of pleading, to beg for his mercy, but as he had predicted, only pathetic, animal noises emerged. He stepped back, and the torture resumed.

Each impact brought fresh torment, as he expertly targeted unharmed landing sites for the snake-like whip, its venomous bites torturing my breasts, buttocks, thighs, back, stomach. It was cold in the cellar but I was sweating profusely, my hair plastered to my head.

As he took another break, I hung limply from the ceiling, my breath ragged and laboured. As he approached me again, I saw that he was now fully erect, my torture having finally aroused him. But as I watched him in dismay, he clipped a spreader bar between my ankles, spreading my legs wide apart, so my feet were no longer touching the floor.

He stepped back again and my eyes widened in horror as I saw him taking careful aim. I started pulling on the chain, making my body dance, trying to turn away from the next attack, but it was no use. If I thought I was in pain before, I was soon disabused of that illusion. With unerring accuracy, he fired the whip at me again and the very tip of it flicked up and struck me right on my exposed pussy lips. The room echoed to my desperate screams as the leather hit me again and then again, each time in the most sensitive area.

Suddenly I felt hands grabbing me around the thighs, pulling me forward and onto his now rampant cock, which he buried deep in my tortured sex. I continued to cry out in pain as he thrust hard where moments before he had been laying the whip. He started to cry out himself and I felt him cum inside me as his fingernails dug into my buttocks at the moment of his climax. He let me go and I swung at the end of the chain, every inch of my body either in acute pain or aching, but with a terribly familiar itch between my legs – despite the agony, I was suddenly hot for him.

I was not to get satisfaction. He let me down from my suspension and I subsided to a crumpled heap on the cold floor, unable to get my legs or arms to work. Master Robert scooped me up in his arms and took me back to my room, where he laid me gently down on the bed.

"I'm sorry I had to do that to you, Kathryn, but ... thank you", he said quietly, then leaned over and kissed my forehead, before leaving me alone. I had just enough energy to remove the gag and crawl under the duvet, before I started to sob silently but uncontrollably. Why was my life so fucked up, I wondered hopelessly to myself.

The next morning, I dragged my aching body into the bathroom and was shocked by the number of ugly red slash marks on my skin. I soaked in a soothing bath for a couple of hours and when I got out, I found several balms and skin creams amongst the toiletries Master Robert had provided, which eased my sores quite well.

I dressed in a shapeless tracksuit which covered me up (who I thought might see me, I didn't know) without pressing on the cuts and bruises. When I went to get something for breakfast, I found a large bouquet of flowers with a note – "Thanks. Robert. X" Oh wonderful, I thought bitterly, the man who is holding me prisoner and torturing me is an old romantic at heart!

I spent the day in my room and didn't see Master Robert until the next morning in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Kathryn, how are you feeling? Has your body recovered?"

"Much better today, thank you, Master" I said meekly.

"Good. Today, I need to take you back down to the cellar – don't worry!" he said quickly as he saw the look of alarm and fear on my face, "It's just that the lady who cleans for me, Anna, comes today and I think it best she doesn't meet you just yet.”

He told me I didn't have to be naked, and I could take something to read so I didn't get too bored. So ten minutes later, I was in the bizarre situation of sitting, reading a book, in a sex dungeon, wearing a gag to ensure I didn't cry for help and with a chain around my ankle padlocked to a fixture in the floor to stop me running around and making a noise. With a certain deliberate irony on my part, I was reading Long Walk to Freedom, about Nelson Mandela's time as a prisoner.

I had an enjoyable dinner with Master Robert that night and slept well. So it came as a jolt the next morning to find the note commanding my presence at another session in the cellar that evening. I was sick with nerves the whole day, unable to concentrate on anything I read or watched on TV. My hands were shaking so much I nicked myself shaving, which I thought a supreme irony, given what I was preparing myself for.

When he led me down into the cellar, I was surprised to see a chair in the middle of the room, but this wasn't like the one I had used the previous day – it was made from heavy dark wood covered in black leather and brass studs, with straps along the arm rests, legs and back. I sat down reluctantly and Master Robert proceeded to buckle me in, first my arms and legs, then my shoulders and body, then my hips, until I was almost welded to the chair, unable to raise myself up or even squirm. He fiddled with something on the chair and suddenly I felt the centre of the seat drop away, leaving me perched on the edge with my buttocks and thighs accessible from below. I let out a terrified wail and felt sick in anticipation of what was to come.

What came next was a drenching – Master Robert, having stripped naked, stood in front of me with a hose and turned it full on, making me scream at the cold and choke as the water flooded into my gaping mouth. I turned away and managed to cough and splutter my airway free so I could breathe, but it reminded me of the shower in my earlier prison.

Once I was thoroughly soaked, he turned off the hose and I was left dripping and shivering. I saw the Master approaching with a strange-looking box, with a silvery metal dildo on a shaft poking out of the top of it. He positioned the box directly under the chair and adjusted it until I could feel the tip of the dildo against my sex, just parting the lips.

He stepped back and I watched as he attached cables from the box to a control panel. Two other wires also came from the control panel and these ended in crocodile clips like the ones you use to jump-start a car battery. I could not shrink away from him as he came towards me with them, I was too tightly strapped down, all I could do was watch in horror as he closed the vicious-looking clamps around my nipples, then throw my head back and howl as they bit deep into the tender flesh.

He went back to the control panel and I watched as he twisted a dial. Slowly the dildo rose up, penetrating me and pushing deep into my pussy, before sinking back to its former position, then rising again. This rhythmic thrusting continued at a slow pace, Master Robert watching me intently until I started to react to the persistent stimulation.

As I let out a moan of pleasure, he turned the dial a little and the pace of the dildo increased, making me moan louder which in turn encouraged him to increase the speed of penetration. Soon I was panting as my level of arousal increased and I could feel myself approaching the point of orgasm. Just before the moment of climax, Master Robert hit a button and my world exploded into pain. The dildo stopped at its point of maximum penetration and I felt a burning agony as electricity coursed through my body from the clamps on my nipples and from the metal dildo. I put back my head and my screams bounced off the walls, tears streamed down my face and saliva flew from my lips.

The pain seemed unbearable, the more so as my body was unable to move and somehow shift or deflect the focus of the pain. Eventually it dulled to an aching throb through my body but most definitely worst in my nipples and pussy. Wearily I dragged my head up from where it had slumped onto my chest and looked at Master Robert. He was staring at me, his blue eyes framed by the black leather hood and he was holding his erect penis in his hand, which was moving slowly back and forth, massaging the stiff member. But his other hand was on the dial, and I felt the dildo start to sink and then rise within me, once again striking its infernal rhythm. I shook my head and whined out an unintelligible plea for mercy as the shaft picked up speed and I felt arousal start to build within me again, despite the pain I was already feeling in my tortured pussy.

I was not moaning in pleasure now, but crying out in apprehension at the renewed agony I knew I would get once I approached orgasm. If there was any way I could have controlled my body, then would have been the point to discover it, because at that moment I wanted nothing more than to stop myself cumming, but I couldn't.

I heard his hand slap down on the button and I screamed until I was hoarse, the waves of my climax riding on the electricity shooting through me, my whole body sent into spasm, jerking uncontrollably against the straps holding me down. At some point, Master Robert must have jerked off over me, because I was splashed with his cum across my breasts and stomach, but I hardly noticed it happening, totally consumed as I was by my own suffering. As my orgasm abated, I collapsed into a state of unconsciousness.

When I awoke, I was back in my bed, and every part of me hurt. I had trouble walking for a couple of days and I had to put masses of soothing cream on my red and swollen nipples until the swelling finally went down. It was several days before I saw Master Robert again, which was fine by me, and then it was only to lock me away for the cleaner's visit. I was relieved to see the chair had gone, but it only made me wonder what it would be replaced by.

I was at dinner with the Master when he silently handed me a newspaper clipping.

"I thought you might like to read this" he said. I read the headline "Soho sex shop closed down for trafficking", then the accompanying story describing a police raid on a sex shop which had discovered a secret 'brothel' in the store room with a Chinese girl chained to a bed. Police confirmed they had organised the raid following an anonymous tip-off and that the girl was being cared for in a refuge. There was a picture alongside the article of Mr. Harman being led away in handcuffs.

"Did you do this, Master?" I asked. He nodded. "Thank you" I said as I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

When I received the next note, I rebelled. I couldn't face torture like I had suffered before and, though I could see no way out, I refused to acquiesce as submissively as I had before. I refused to prepare myself like a lamb for the slaughter, instead arming myself with the deadliest weapon at my disposal, a bread knife, and waiting in my room, ready to fight for my life. Eventually, there was a knock at the door.

"Get away from me, you sick bastard!" I screamed, brandishing the knife at the door. Slowly it opened and Master Robert entered, looking at me solemnly.

"Put the knife down, Kathryn" he said gravely, "You will only get hurt.”

"Oh, and I suppose it'll all be sweetness and roses if I do that, will it?" I said bitterly.

He knew there was no point in arguing, so he came at me. It was all over in seconds and was pathetically easy – he was stronger, bigger, heavier and fitter than me, plus he knew what he was doing. I found myself face down on the floor with him sitting on top of me, pinning my arms to my sides. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and removed a cloth from it, which he clamped over my nose and mouth. I quickly became dizzy and then passed out.

When I woke up, I was in the dungeon. I had been stripped, gagged and was suspended by my arms and legs, face up to the ceiling. It was difficult to see much as none of the spotlights were switched on, and there was only a dimly flickering light.

Master Robert stood over me, what little of his face I could see under the executioner's hood impassive. He was holding a large candle in his hand, and suddenly I knew the torture to which I was to be subjected. Once more I tried to beg for mercy but it was useless, he would not have understood me, even if he did have any capacity for mercy, which I doubted.

He stood in front of my head, so he appeared upside down to me, his naked body only a few inches from my face, and moved the candle over my body. I struggled to lift my head so I could see what he was doing, and watched with growing apprehension as he brought the candle close to my right arm and tilted it.

A single drop of wax dripped onto the crook of my elbow and I let out a squeal of pain as it burned into my skin, before cooling and solidifying. My head dropped back and I began to sob loudly as I felt a burning drip on my left elbow. I struggled uselessly, twisting and writhing in my bondage and heard the chains holding me in mid-air rattle, as the drips continued on each arm in turn, progressing up towards my shoulders.

I jumped as I felt wax burn into my left thigh, just above the knee, the hot liquid dribbling down the inside of my leg before solidifying. Another string of drops were delivered up each leg towards my pussy, and in each case the pain was intensified by the targeting of the inside of the thigh so hot wax ran down across my skin, leaving a scorching trail. When he had reached the tops of my thighs, he paused again, but I had no illusions that he was finished.

I was sweating now. I raised my head again to see what he was up to, and saw him standing by my waist, looking into my eyes, and at that moment I felt the first drop hit my stomach. But he kept tipping the boiling hot wax until a small pool of it had run into my navel, and I cried out as it seemed to burrow through the skin into my guts.

The pain only subsided slightly as it congealed and then hardened, but by then I could already feel lines of scalding droplets marching across my stomach to my chest, making a bee line for my breasts. Each breast in turn was burned in a pattern of dots which circled around in a diminishing spiral towards the nipple.

As I screamed to the blank walls, I felt the wax dripping onto my nipples, drop by drop, first one then the other, until they were completely encased by it, forming little shields which kept in the heat, increasing the torture. As I squirmed in torment, Master Robert paused again.

As I came to terms with the pain of the existing burns, I struggled to look up and see what Master Robert was doing. He was standing between my outstretched thighs, waiting for me to look up, so he could see the look of fear in my eyes as he held the candle over my shaven pussy. I watched in silent horror as he used two fingers to spread my lips, then slowly tipped the candle, allowing a steady stream of wax to fall directly onto my clitoris and the soft, moist flesh of my vagina.

My screams reached a new level of volume and desperation as the most sensitive area of all was subjected to the terrible torture. I twisted and struggled in the chains, trying frantically to get out of the way, but he held me in place easily with one hand on my body.

Just as I thought it could not get any worse, I felt the broad base of the candle placed between my breasts so that Master Robert could grab my hips in both hands and thrust his rampant erection deep into my tortured pussy, slamming his thighs and balls up against my burnt flesh, intensifying the pain. He rammed his cock into me, clearly enjoying the extra suffering this was causing, as I sobbed and cried in agony.

He came pretty quickly, his semen mixing with the rapidly hardening wax as he shot his load across my pussy and up onto my stomach. I hung limply from the chains, my mind and body having given up the struggle to cope with the torture, with no coherent thought able to form in my head as I sensed only pain.

Master Robert let me down onto the floor and released me from the chains, before scooping me up and taking me upstairs, laying me down gently on the bed. But he didn't just leave me there, he gently peeled off the solidified wax, kissed each area of damaged skin and covered it with a skin cream which soothed the irritation.

As he kissed and rubbed cream into my arms, stomach and thighs, my tortured body began to respond to his ministrations, and by the time he started to massage and kiss my breasts, I was clearly becoming aroused, moaning now in growing pleasure rather than the pain of earlier.

As he peeled away the wax covering on my clitoris, I gave out little whimpers of pain and pleasure as I clasped and unclasped the duvet, trying to control myself. I let out a long, loud sigh of contentment as I felt his lips gently caressing the tender flesh of my labia and clitoris, then groaning with excitement as his tongue began to work me up into a frenzy.

He switched his attention back to my breasts for a while, then returned to my pussy which was now aching for him, rather than just aching. I really wanted him inside me at that moment, but I realised he just couldn't get it up without hurting me, and for the first time I felt sorry for him, finally understanding that he had an affliction, not just a predilection. But then my focus shifted back to the immediate situation as I squirmed and panted and whined and moaned my way to a wonderful orgasm.

"I'm so sorry for what I have done to you, Kathryn" he said as I lay there, recovering.

"Hold me, Master, please" I whispered, and he did, the whole night, the two of us curling up under the duvet. It wasn't until I awoke the next morning that I realised we were in his bedroom, the first time I had spent the night outside my room / cell.

Our relationship began to change from that moment. Don't get me wrong, his need to treat me cruelly and in a sadistic way to get his own sexual gratification continued to happen and continued to be a source of great tension between us. But, in between those sessions, we were much closer, and I ceased to be a prisoner in any obvious sense, although he didn't offer to release me and I didn't ask to be released – it became a non-subject.

We became lovers in a more traditional sense, and I gradually gained freedoms. I asked if I could be allowed out into the garden and to use the swimming pool to get fit. The next day, he provided me with a range of bathing suits and bikinis, and had an exercise bike and rowing machine installed in the garden for my use.

I finally met Anna, the cleaner, and we became friends. I guess she thought I was just his girlfriend. I realised she had known him for many years and I was genuinely grateful that she 'approved' of me.

After several months with Master Robert, as I continued to think of him and call him, I realised I missed the education which had been so abruptly stopped when I had been kidnapped. After I discussed it with him, I was surprised and delighted when he signed me up to an Open University course in Psychology, my chosen subject, and presented me with a laptop with full internet access, so I could study. This represented another significant step to freedom, but I was now held by a much stronger bond than any rope or chain – I had fallen in love with my captor.

Which is, of course, when my shitty life took another turn for the worse.