The result now kneels in supplication before the High Priestess. She inspects him carefully, there are certain rules that must be followed and she wants nothing to go wrong.
The slave, careful not to look directly at any of the Priestesses, or their acolytes, instead gazes up at the statue behind the altar. It is the first time he has seen it as, although he has lived at the temple since he was brought to the cult, he has never been allowed into the inner sanctum. Now he stares in awe at the perfect female depicted there.
When the cult was in its infancy, the founders had searched hard to find gifted slaves to craft it. It towers over fifteen feet, dominating the room. Its subject matter is the Goddess herself, Cruella, gazing down imperiously at the room where hapless males are subjected to unimaginable pain in her honour. The artists had captured exactly the look of cruelty that enhanced, not tainted, her awesome beauty, the same look that characterises every image of her - the other statues around the temple, the paintings and drawings that adorn every book in the temple library.

The slave thinks of the library, where he studies under the strict supervision of the Priestesses, the slightest mistake bringing terrible punishment. With the others, he has memorised all the works - Cruella's own sacred writings, her rules and commands for dealing with inferior males, the books written about her and her teachings, even the training manuals used by the young dominas learning their sadistic techniques.
Using the memory of the past to blot out the terrible reality of the present, he hardly notices Diana as she strides around him, only the sinister click of her stilettos on the stone floor and the swish of her robe reminding him of her presence.
The High Priestess slowly walks around her victim, carefully checking the work of the young dominas who had prepared him. He is shaved fully, to make his skin more sensitive to the treatment meted out, and so every mark is plainly visible to the eager audience. Ornate rings decorate him, through his nose and ears, his nipples and even his genitals. Polished manacles are locked around his wrists and ankles.
She wrinkles her nose as a faint aroma reaches her nostrils. It is unpleasant, but part of the ceremony. Whenever a lowly male enters the inner sanctum, he must be anointed first, and according to the Goddess's teachings only one female fluid will do. The young dominas who had prepared him had showered him thoroughly.
Nodding her approval she calls one of the other Priestesses forward. She carefully carries an intricately carved chalice, which she hands to Diana. She places it to the slaves lips and tilts it, forcing him to drink. She has provided the Sacred Wine herself, so is pleased to see that the slave drinks the warm, salty fluid eagerly, as he should.
The slave licks his lips as the cup is taken away, ignoring the taste lingering in his mouth. He clears his mind, trying to concentrate on the exact wording of the ritual.
Diana prompts the assembled dominas, who begin a low, rhythmic chanting. Above this, clearly heard, the slave delivers his speech. He recalls it word for word, carefully reciting it without stumbling as he has been taught.
He asserts the superiority of the females he serves, and his own worthlessness. Diana notices a bead of sweat form on his forehead as, voice cracking slightly, he offers his pitiful male carcass to be used in veneration of the Goddess Cruella, and supreme femininity.
At her order, the other Priestesses chain him to the altar, face upwards. As they remove the rings from his body, he trembles slightly, which Diana notes with pleasure. These slaves are the strongest imaginable, trained to take the severest punishment. To show the superiority of the female, she must break him, have him begging for mercy, before the final act of the drama. If he is already frightened, her task will be so much easier.
She carefully removes her robe, instantly taken away by one of her acolytes. The slave is unable to take his eyes from the gorgeous body revealed beneath, as the High Priestess is dressed only in thigh-length boots and G-string, leaving her upper body free for the exertions.
She sees his gaze, but decides to ignore the insolence. I must be going soft, she thinks. Then again, what could I do to him that's worse than this? She asks herself, and grins.
The slaves blood runs cold at the sight of the grin, the grin of a predator with its prey at its mercy. An acolyte hands a long, tapering switch to her High Priestess, and stands back to enjoy the demonstration.

Diana lays the switch on the mans chest, expertly lining it up with the nipples, before raising her arm and dropping it with incredible force. It is a perfect blow, catching the nipples just as she meant, but disappointingly the male does not cry out.
She begins to pick up a rhythm, raining blows on the muscular chest and stomach, but despite the occasional groan the slave remains resolute. He is stronger than Diana had thought, and a little flicker of annoyance crosses her face. She wants this to be quick, other Priestesses envied her status and she wants to show them that she is still the best.
She looks down between his legs, seeing his prick standing ramrod straight, his body now accustomed to the relationship between pain and pleasure. She places the tip on his balls, noting the widening eyes as she takes aim. She draws her arm back, allowing a brief moment for his fear to build, before crashing down with all her might, using every ounce of skill to add to the pain.
The slave screams as the switch hisses down, cutting into the soft flesh and sending a jolt of pain tearing into the delicate eggs. The sound of his agony washes over her and she smiles in triumph. She rains blows down on his genitals, occasionally aiming for the soft flesh of his inner thigh, as his cries increase.
Within moments the slave starts to beg plaintively.
"Please, Honoured Superior, please have mercy. Stop it, I beg of you. Please...please..." He is screaming the final words, over and over again, a litany of pain.
Happy with her success, Diana steps back. Her chest heaves with the effort of the beating, but the slave is too concerned with his suffering to notice the way her breasts move. She stands gloating over the angry red weals on his body, before turning to a couple of acolytes standing behind her.
"String him up."
They unchain the slave, and help him down from the altar. There are titters among the audience as he stumbles and falls, but good-humoured as Diana now is after her fun, she is impatient for the finale.
"Get up, pig, or it'll be slower. Move!" she snarls.
He scrambles to his feet, and allows himself to be led to the centre of the room, in fact the very centre of the temple. A chain is lowered from the ceiling, and his wrists fastened to it before it is raised again.

As he is suspended there, toes just touching the ground, the High Priestess studies him, his face a mask of dread. Pathetic bloody creature, she thinks, years of training and he's broken in ten minutes. How right we are to treat these worthless scum as the Goddess has taught us.
She accepts a bullwhip offered to her by an acolyte as the other Priestesses strip off their robes, each one clad in shining leather and PVC. They too take bullwhips and space out around the helpless figure. The acolytes form a circle around them, eager to witness the spectacle.
The High Priestess draws back her arm, and lets fly with the whip. It cuts through the air before the end wraps around the waist of the terrified slave, a loud crack echoing in the stone chamber as the tip snaps against his skin. The other Priestesses follow suit, and soon the air is filled with gunshot-like reports as they mercilessly flay him.
Once more, he begins to cry out, interspersing his screams with pleas for mercy, but this time Diana continues, revelling in them. He should be grateful, she thinks, as his cries grow weaker, put out of his torment by the cruel whips. He is one of the few males whose worthless existence has now actually had some meaning, as an offering to the Goddess Cruella.
Lady Tanya casually lights a cigarette as she eyes the limp figure with contempt. Fool, she thinks. Did he really think we wouldn't go through with it? Did he think his mistakes would go unpunished, that we would ignore the only use left for a failure?
Lady Tanya had agreed with the High Priestess immediately when she had decided on his fate. The cult is dear to her, it is the source of her power. She has used its influence to cement her position in society and, with the support of the other Priestesses, has designs on the position as head of State security. Rumours are rife that Lady Karla is to be offered a seat on the council, and Tanya intends to be in her place before the scheming bitch Aphrodite knows what is happening.
As she studies the vanquished male, her face softens. Not pity for the wretch, he is no more than a piece of meat to her, but despite the failure of the previous ritual the memory of it is surprisingly pleasant..........
.... David was taken to the most sacred of temples, Cruella's birthplace, for the Rites of Enslavement.
He stood silently as he waited at the entrance with the Lady who had brought him, Lady Angelica, a name that belied a ruthless nature.

A blonde and a brunette emerged and David bowed down respectfully. The blonde raised her leg and dropped her foot sharply onto his back.
"You don't bow low enough" she hissed, emphasising her point by grinding the heel deeply into his flesh.

Lady Angelica smiled at the pair and entered the building to prepare herself for the forthcoming ritual, leaving David with them. The blonde continued to crush down with her foot, twisting it viciously until he was forced flat onto the ground. He was ordered to kiss the brunette's boots

before being instructed to follow closely behind as they made their way to the slave's entrance.
As he was guided up some stone steps the blonde took special care to step on his hands as often as possible, aiming with her heels, but sometimes just catching him with the soles. She sliced at him with her slim riding switch to spur him onwards.
The brunette couldn't resist the opportunity to use her bullwhip as he crawled up towards her.

She used all her might as she sent the cruel leather tip cracking loudly across his back with deadly accuracy. David flinched. He was strong she thought, just a flinch, and so she lashed out twice more before coiling it up.
They entered a large room, dominated by a Japanese-style bath. They left him standing there while they left to prepare themselves. David looked around and his heart sank. Standing against a pillar was the Leather Bitch, Lady Tanya.
She enforced, ruthlessly, the rules of the cult, administering the verdicts of the Priestesses without mercy, skilled in the use of whip and cane, with mastery of countless other punishments, As he looked at her, dressed in her usual uniform of leather corset and thigh-length boots, a knowing smile on her beautiful face, he recalled with a churning stomach his previous encounter with her.
Angelica had brought him here, to the dungeon that lay underneath the temple, as a lesson. As she calmly watched, Lady Tanya had tortured him for over two hours, a demonstration of what he could expect if he ever stepped out of line. It was a lesson most men needed only once.
She knew that he was not to be permanently marked, at least not until he had undergone the Rites. Within this, she tormented him with pain he had not thought possible, far surpassing the punishments his teachers had used on him.
She had begun with the whips, ignoring his back and instead aiming for the sensitive areas of his body, flailing his cock and nipples with a savagery that had appalled him, causing him to writhe in the chains that held him

She had then tortured him by hanging weights from his already inflamed nipples, cock and balls. She had released him from his chains and, with flicks of her crop to encourage him, had forced him to jog on the spot, causing the weights to bounce around, pulling on the clamps agonisingly, until he was sobbing with pain. She had reached over and yanked the clamps off, each pull bringing forth fresh cries, then continued to lay into him with a cat o'nine tails until he was grovelling on the floor, furiously kissing her boots, pleading for mercy through his tears.
Eventually, the thrashing had ceased and, relieved, David had continued to kiss the gleaming black leather, thanking her profusely. He had been mistaken, however, at the temporary reprieve. Smiling, for the first time, at his false sense of security, she had ground her needle-sharp heel into his back. It had been the prelude to fresh torment as, spurred on by his pathetic pleadings, she had taken him to new heights of agony.
Now, he faced her again. Automatically, he dropped to his knees in front of her.
"Lady Tanya..."
"On your feet, worm," she sneered, her contempt unmistakable. "I've got to get you ready for your ritual."
David stood, careful to keep his head bowed.
"Strip."
As he did so, there was a jangling sound as the blonde and brunette returned, naked apart from chains that ran from cuffs around their wrists and ankles.
Lady Tanya indicated the bath with the crop she habitually had strapped to her wrist.
"In" she commanded. David climbed in, aware of the smirk on her face. As he put his foot into the water he found out why. It was freezing. He did not hesitate, his terror of the dominatrix overcoming his discomfort, and plunged in. He did not pull back even as the icy water reached his waist, as he felt his balls and cock contracting, as he sensed Lady Tanya watching, eager for an excuse to punish him. Finally, he was enveloped in it, tightening his chest so that he could only take short, gasping breaths. Disappointed, Lady Tanya turned to the others.
"I'm going to prepare for the ceremony- you know what to do."
With that she turned on her heel and strutted out.
David, shivering, watched as the two girls removed each others chains, admiring their ripe bodies, but his cock remained shrivelled in the freezing water. They climbed the steps to join him, easing themselves with gasps into the ice-cold bath. They moved to either side of him, and began to wash him, scrubbing him roughly.
Tentatively, he began to strike up a conversation, in the hope one would let slip some hint of what his rituals would entail.
"I didn't realise there were female slaves," he said to one, trying to draw her out.
The two stopped what they were doing, looked at each other, and laughed. David looked from one to the other, his bewilderment bringing fresh giggles. Eventually, the brunette calmed enough to explain.
"We're not slaves," she told him, "merely trainees. Every Mistress who wishes to join the cult, and be a true domina, must first learn to serve the Goddess through her Priestesses and followers. After our initiation, we will be free to join the other followers at ceremonies, instead of serving."
"We're both experienced Mistresses," continued the other. "Every punishment or humiliation I receive at the hands of the Priestesses or the others I inflict on my own slaves tenfold. Although," she added with a glint in her eye, "I shall miss some of the humiliations."
"Especially involving male slaves," giggled the brunette, before they both began laughing again.
When they had calmed, they resumed washing him again, evading any attempt to coax further information from them.
They worked down his chest, then his stomach, and soon he felt a hand grasp his prick. The brunette's face lit up with sadistic glee.
"What's this?" she smirked. "Not much is there?"
He felt his face redden as her hand was replaced by the blonde's.
"No, quite pathetic," she sneered. She turned to face him. "Is this how you show your respect for the superior sex? Aren't you excited by having two Mistresses forced to bathe you?"
David hung his head in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry...the water..." he mumbled.
"Well, we'll see about that. Get out."
He stood in the middle of the room as they replaced their chains, then dried him, wincing as the harshness of the towels, abrasive against skin made more sensitive by the ice-cold water. The brunette took hold of his cock again.
"Well?"
Before he could reply, she grasped it and slowly began to rub it back and forth. He felt the blonde reach round from behind, cupping his balls in her hands and massaging them gently. He could feel her body pressing against him, her large, firm breasts rubbing sensuously against his back, the nipples rock hard from the icy water.
He felt his cock grow stiff as blood pumped life back into his organ. His balls loosened under the expert caresses, and he felt excitement surge through him. Within a matter of seconds his prick was rock hard, the veins bulging, as the brunette began to wank him harder, her fist clenched tight.
As he was beginning to enjoy their attentions they suddenly let go, to his disappointment announcing that they had still a lot to do to get him ready in time.
He was ordered to lie on the floor, on a towel that the blonde placed there. They both walked to a table at the back wall, each picking up a dish of water and a plastic bag. They returned and knelt either side of him, level with his legs. Each emptied her bag to reveal shaving gel and a razor.
David relaxed. This was familiar territory to him as he had been shaved whenever he had been required to provide pleasure for a lady.
They shaved his back, legs, pubes, balls, then worked up his stomach and chest. He knelt up as they began to work on his arms, before turning their attention to his head. The blonde produced a trimmer, which she used to crop his hair, before shaving his scalp completely. The other removed his facial hair, including his eyebrows, before they made him stand to examine their work. They probed every inch of him, carefully removing any stubble, as he marvelled at the feel, the sensitivity his hairlessness produced.
Eventually, satisfied that their efforts would be sufficient to please their Priestesses, they made him kneel again. The blonde fetched a jewellery box, and gold rings were inserted in the holes in his ears, two in each, and the one in his nose. Once more, he was made to lie on his stomach.
He smelt strong spices as they began to massage oil into him, coating every inch of him. Again, they missed nothing, turning him over and repeating the process, until his body gleamed with the thick, aromatic lotion. The erotic caresses were gone far too quickly, and he was disappointed when a chain was attached to the ring in his nose and he was led back downstairs.
They led him to a part of the temple he had not visited before, stopping in front of an ornately carved door, scenes of dominant women, of the Priestesses themselves, subjugating both men and women, were picked out in unbelievably intricate detail. At the top of the door was depicted a face of divine beauty, the Goddess herself, looking down on her sadistic followers with approval.
"The Inner Sanctum."
The blonde indicated the door. She had lost much of her sneering manner, she was flushed with excitement.
"Wait here."
She entered, slipping carefully through the door so as not to allow him a view inside. It closed to leave him standing next to the silent brunette, but David did not try to speak to her. The sensuality of his preparation, of his shaving and oiling, had taken his mind from the real reason for his presence. Now, as he stood on the threshold of their place of worship, the ordeal ahead filled his mind.
He almost panicked, only the presence of the woman holding the chain that stopped him running. As it was, he was barely able to control his fear, his heart hammering, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth with the lack of moisture. The wait seemed eternal, each second dragging in silence, his tortured imagination teasing him with images of sadism he had only read about.
Abruptly, the door swung open.
"On your knees," said the brunette beside him. "Men aren't allowed to walk in the Goddess's shrine."
He did as he was told, and she walked through the door, jerking the chain so that he was led in painfully by the nose, crawling on all fours. She took him to the middle of the room, unable to look around because of the way the chain pulled his head forward. She stopped, made him kneel up, and unclipped the chain from his nose-ring.
Once freed from this restraint, he was able to take in the room. He was facing a large stone altar, decorated with the same inscriptions he had seen on the door. Towering above it, almost to the height of the ceiling, was a statue of Cruella herself. The Goddess stared down onto the altar where lowly males were degraded and abused in her honour. The mason proved to have real skill, showing every quality of beauty and power that had inspired such love and devotion in her citizens, had caused men to fear her name, and had moved these modern amazons to enshrine her here as a Goddess.
To the right of this magnificent effigy, half-hidden by shadows, was the sinister leather-clad figure of Lady Tanya. His heart skipped at the brazier burning next to her, an iron handle protruding from the holes. He tore his eyes away, to look around him. Arranged in a semicircle behind him were the worshippers, faceless in their white, hooded robes.
His head jerked round as he heard a door open. It was hidden behind the statue, as the Priestesses entered, four red-robed and then finally, the High Priestess, clad in black. They came to stand around the altar, the High Priestess directly in front of him. He tried to calm his nerves, to try to remember what Angelica had taught him, knowing that a mistake would mean failure, and his being given to the arch-sadist Lady Tanya.
Eventually the High Priestess spoke.
"Why are you here?"
David took his time, careful of his answer. It was not a simple question, he knew, rather part of the ritual.

"I offer my worthless body to you and your followers, as a sacrifice to your goddess, and the superiority of women."
David tensed as there was silence, but the formality of his answer was enough.
"Good. Let us begin."
She drew back her hood, and David gasped. She was a worthy High Priestess to the goddess she served. Chillingly beautiful, her face snow-white, contrasting with full, blood-red lips. Her eyes, almost black, had been emphasised by dark eyeshadow that gave her a cold, haughty air.
"Lie on your back."
David did as he was told, settling on the cold flagstones, his arms and legs outstretched. He knew what to expect. He must be baptised - cleansed - before his torments were offered up to the Goddess.
The four lesser Priestesses removed their robes, the other three as beautiful as Angelica. They stood over him, two on either side, and he gazed up at their perfect bodies. They moved their legs apart slightly, and he closed his eyes. Soon, he felt the first stream of warm liquid splatter on his body, then the others. He felt it shower over his face, over his chest and stomach, over his cock that was now rock hard. His skin, sensitive in it's shaven state, tingled as it was bathed in the hot female wine.
When he had been baptised, he lay for a moment before opening his eyes. He revelled in the humiliation as he lay there, his entire body glistening with the golden fluid, as his Mistresses looked down on him.
"Sit up," ordered the High Priestess.
He got back up, kneeling on the floor that was now damp with the water that ran off him.
"Are you ready to show your devotion?" she asked him.
"Oh, yes, Mistress."
There was a clink of chains as the blonde who had prepared him stepped forward, holding carefully between her hands an ornate cup. David knew what it meant. Not content with showering him with it, they were preparing to make him drink the Sacred Wine of Womanhood. He glanced round to see who would step forward.
To his surprise, the High Priestess herself slipped off her robe and as it fell to the floor the brunette came forward to collect it, but David barely saw her. His eyes were fixed on the High Priestess.
She was incredible, her body matching her beauty. It seemed to have been carved from alabaster, no trace of fat visible on the firm, slim flesh, every inch toned to perfection. From his lowly position her long, elegant legs seemed to go on forever, culminating in full. womanly hips that emphasised her trim waist.
She stood with legs apart as the blonde stepped forward, kneeling before her. She held the chalice as the High Priestess filled it with the Sacred Wine.

She turned towards David, who looked at her expectantly. She stepped up to him and held the cup to his lips. David was acutely aware that all eyes were on him as she tilted the chalice, and he began to drink. The taste, warm and salty, repulsed him, yet he gulped it down.
He drained the cup, careful not to let a drop fall from his lips, fearful of the punishment for such sacrilege. The blonde lifted the cup, retreating back behind the watching Mistresses. She returned with the chain, fastened it to his nose-ring, and led him to the altar. He was made to stand, and bent over so his chest was laid on the cold stone. Again, the chain was removed.

The worshippers gathered round in a circle, each now with her hood removed. The cult consisted of varied dominas; the Priestesses were all Ladies, the acolytes their most trusted Mistresses and a few selected scientists and senior guards. Whatever their social standing, they were all the cream of womanhood. All were achingly beautiful, some hard-faced and cold, others angelic, but each secure in the knowledge of her total superiority over the male sex. Only the most skilled and genuine of dominants had a chance of admittance to this sect, so David was aware that each and every one was sophisticated enough to appreciate his suffering, that they would be able to savour every cry of pain, every degradation he underwent in honour of Supreme Femininity.
His arms were pinned again. He twisted to see Lady Tanya approach, the crop in one hand , a red-hot branding iron in the other.
"A mark of your undying respect and devotion" she laughed.
He closed his eyes, and laid his head against the cool stone. A hard piece of rubber was shoved into his mouth so that he wouldn't bite his tongue, and he grasped it gratefully between his teeth. He tried to position Lady Tanya by the clicking of her stilettos, and braced himself when he heard her stop. There was dead silence, as if all of them, both Priestesses and congregation, were holding their breath in anticipation.
The pain when it came was incredible, only the gag preventing his screams. Time seemed to stand still as Lady Tanya went to work, a burning pain spreading from his backside blotting out anything else.