Among a civilization of Female sadists she is a connoisseur. Her pleasure is in the duration of male suffering. She’s never hurried in her torments. The slave of the moment has no appointments to keep, no where to go.
The freshly bought pain slave begins his life as her property in a very tiny cage. Cramped muscles ache without any effort on her part. Aside from her occasional visits to relish his discomforts, his first weeks are of isolation. She wants loneliness and uncertainly to eat at his psyche. She starves him a little, often leaves him desperately thirsty.
Suddenly the hapless male finds himself placed in an ample room. Bare of any comforts there is space to stretch and walk. Food becomes plentiful. The Domme feeds the slave herself. Feeding times are the only events in his otherwise empty life.
He hungrily awaits her visits. It is not the food so much as her presence. Through slight personal attention she has become the center of his life. He comes to worship her.
The adoring look in his eyes is the signal she waits for. Now the slave is ready for the penultimate stage. A trip to what she calls the Agony Room.
She binds the new pain slave to a bondage cross. She inserts hooks into the more tender parts of the man’s body. The loss of false hope hurts almost as much as the sharp metal points.
Again, she lets his body do the work of torturing him. Every movement brings a flash of pain. After a few days the slave’s nervous system begins to adjust.
The final stage is whipping him, making him scream as his flinching body tugs and pulls at the hooks. The slave drained of all hope begs for death. Now she is bored with him.
Not that she would actually kill him. A dealer in such slaves pain a tiny sum for the slave. His remaining life spent at hard labor.
The sadistic Domme looks forward to her next pain slave.