Rope, clothespins, branding irons, a nail-covered punishment stool, weights, violet wands, electrostimulation units, the full complement of CBT implements, nipple clamps, shackles, the hobble skirt, locks and keys, collars and leashes, chastity belts, cock rings, blindfolds, floggers, single-tail whips, bullwhips, riding crops, canes, cat-o'-nine-tails, gags, hoods, and the penetrative devices.
     My head spun as the items were pointed out to me. Here could be found every instrument a wicked heart might desire for corporal punishment. The room itself was suitably furnished, including a St. Andrew's cross, a Catherine wheel, a suspension rack, a spanking bench, a pillory, and a large cage. "And that was just the dungeon," Madame explained.
     My host and soon-to-be mentor led me down the hall to the medical suite. I was later to learn all the wonderful secrets contained within the antiseptic white walls of that chamber. I can only smile when thinking of the medical room's marvelous accouterments: the catheters, enemas, needles for play piercing, sounds, anal dilators, thermometers, speculums, portable toilet, diapers, gas masks, an IV—there was even a gynecological exam table! "Here, we play not only with a submissive's body, but also with his mind," she said, gesturing to a screened-off section where experiments in hypnosis, brainwashing, and mind control were conducted.
     Madame guided me to our last stop, the Pink Room, she called it, where a cross-dresser's every fantasy could be fulfilled, every fetish indulged. "Forced feminization is really our forte," she explained. The contents of this room reflected the more feminine, sensuous side of BDSM. Pair after pair of high heels lined the walls. Hat boxes filled with silk stockings and panties were stacked high; the antique vanity was cluttered with all the makeup and jewelry imaginable. An office job this was not, I thought to myself as Madame completed the tour of the mansion's interior.
     She looked doubtfully at my stiletto heels and commented that she would lend me some riding boots later, when we explored the grounds, where the pony training took place and where the kennels were located. "Oh," Madame said, "I think you will be charmed by the Gingerbread Cottage, where the sissies and adult babies are accommodated. It's ever so whimsical . . . There's an attached schoolroom where Governesses teach classes in gynosupremacy, female superiority, body worship, toilet slavery, Appreciation of Verbal Humiliation 101, all the important subjects for a well-rounded sissy. And you should see the little pansies, all tricked out like Catholic schoolgirls—it's really quite the amusing sight."

     My momentary awe was broken by a knock at the door. "Showtime," Madame said with a wink. My audition was about to begin. With a smile, I led my first unsuspecting submissive gentleman down the hallway. He had been told I was a novice Domme . . . Little did he know that I had eighteen years of experience in being controlling.
     Madame followed us inside the dungeon and ordered our slave to undress and get to his knees. Approaching the submissive, I thought how wonderfully smooth his bare bottom was. Soon that ass would be as red as the crimson lipstick I was wearing. I laughed to myself in anticipation and felt the surge of power course through me. My slave began to tremble as I fastened cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Leading him by the trailing chains that hung from his cuffs, I conducted him to the suspension rack and secured him within the arm and leg holds of the apparatus.
     Lightly trailing my scarlet nails down his spine, I began to slowly stroke his ass. With my palm open, I spanked my little pet, watching in fascination as my handprint began to appear. Stroke after stroke of my hands were followed by lash after lash with the cane. I couldn't help but giggle as I watched this grown man whimper under my hand. My laugh brought a satisfied smile and a nod from Madame, and I knew that I had passed the interview with flying colors.