As I herd her words, I nodded in agreement. My lesbian lover had talked over and over about modifying me, starting with my hair.

“I want you to be bald.” She had said on so many occasions, “I love the thought of you walking down the street with me, with no hair on your head, people staring at you because you look so different, wondering why a woman would have no hair.”

“Please.” She said again.

I lifted the scissors and cut through my pony tail and handed it to her. Tears were in her eyes.

“Thank you so much! Please let me go all the way.”

Now I had given in to losing the length of my hair I was not that bothered about the rest.

“You can do it.”

She kissed me and jumped up, went and fetched a razor and plugged it in the wall.

“Get on your knees!” She said excitedly.

I knelt down, my eyes stinging with tears that she was too excited to notice, but as I bowed my head and watched the floor knowing I would see my hair falling away, I felt a swelling in my clitoris. I reached down to rub it.

“No!” She said sharply, “You know you’re not supposed to play with it – remember what the doctor said!”

I took my hand away despite the way it was swelling and the wetness was running out. She was right – last time I had rubbed my clit it had swollen up for three days and throbbed unbearably. The doctor blamed it on over use of pumps and vibrators and I had been told this had led to the death of some of my clitoral tissue – it could not fill up the way it used to, it caused me pain now. The only way I could get aroused and cum clitorally was for my clit to get swollen and wait until I was close and have my lover brutally flick it several times, or to use a heavy duty vibrator which damaged even more tissue and left me feeling numb. I had been asked how I felt about possibly having the clitoris removed but the thought had filled me with horror, it seemed so barbaric to have my clit cut out! The doctor had told me that many women chose to have surgery to later their genitals for cosmetic or medical reasons and in those circumstances it was not thought of as mutilation. My lover had openly masturbated over the idea when I came home, she was black and from a country where many of her relatives had been circumcised, although she had left before she was old enough, and to this day often commented that she wised she had been ‘cleansed’ like her sisters and cousins. Sometimes she applied anaesthetic cream first to my clit and then to her own so we both went numb, then she would say,’ the circumciser has been to call…we have no clitorises, just a lovely clean scar, nice and neat…”

And I thought of this as I knelt down and my lover shaved my head. She buzzed me slowly; shearing it off slowly, then she took a bar of soap, wet it and rubbed it on my head. She took two new razors and took the safety off the first one.

“I’ll shave one side of your head with this and the other with the other razor – to make you soooo smooth!”

I felt the scrape, scrape, scrape, she pressed hard, thoroughly, when she had finished, she took a steaming hot towel and swiped it over my shining dome of a scalp, it stung and she laughed.

“Now you are truly shaven!” She exclaimed.

She rand her hands over my slippery scalp.

“Pretty pretty girl!” She exclaimed.

Then she looked in the mirror at the black stubble that grew on her own head.

“I shall shave bare also.”

I watched as she took a clean razor, wet it under the tap and simply scraped away all trace of hair from her head. She did not bother with soap, just shaved it right off there and then. Her head glowed when she finished and she put her arm around me and we looked in the mirror together.

“You look beautiful.” She told me, “And I want you to wear no hat when we go for your doctor’s visit tomorrow.”

I was dreading the doctors visit because the last time my useless clit had been examined it had caused me pain, it had been lifted free of its hood, griped by small forceps, squeezed, tugged, eve twisted, I had endured a skin sample being scraped off its tip with a wooden spatula and had it suctioned and tweaked, all to see how I responded and how much blood flowed to it. I had gone through all this naked with my legs pinned wide part and it was done by a doctor, an assisting nurse and a third assisting medical student who was very keen to hear how ‘abuse’ of the organ had caused tissue death. This examination was to see if I had the option of regular use of a numbing cream to prevent pain during arousal. I was also to have my clit injected and then scanned to see how many blood vessels still worked. I saw no point in any of this, my clit did not work properly any more and it was all so painful and humiliating.

My lover took a box of body paints and a brush from the cupboard. She began to mix some henna dye.

“I would like us to paint our scalps…I will give you ancient tribal markings on your bare head, and paint mine also. Then I will play with that clit of yours until it can be milked of an orgasm.”

I was surprised she wanted to after telling me not to touch it, but she took the thin brush and began to paint a swirling pattern onto my newly shaven head. It was henna and I knew they dye would last a while and not wash off, but when I looked in the mirror and saw the pattern pained on my shaven head, I had to admit it was beautiful. Then she painted her own head. While it dried she parted my legs and lapped at my cunt. She sucked my clit so hard the sucking noise filled the bathroom, pleasure filled the organ but then pain throbbed as she let go.

“We shall have fun tomorrow at the doctors.” She told me, looking up from my reddened hairless cuntlips, “I am having an examination also. I have paid for the doctor to treat us both together in the same room – we can watch each other!”

“What are you going for?” I asked her.

She smiled broadly.

“A routine procedure.” She told me.

Then her hand descended between my legs and she flicked my clit hard, battering it twice more with brutal force and the organ wobbled and I came with a loud cry.

We went to the doctors surgery at six thirty in the evening, we were the last two appointments and when the receptionist called out names she called them together. We walked down the corridor, my lover leading the way, into a white doctors room with two examination couches, the leg rests were in position and two nurses were attending, with a trolley covered by a towel and both were wearing masks and gloves.

I noticed the doctor and the nurses were black like my lover, she smiled and greeted us, then the doctor spoke pleasantly to my lover in their native language that I did not understand. As they laughed together, the doctor looked at me and I laughed also.

“You will both remove all clothing. I need you naked and on table” She said in broken English, “I have to examine the pubic region and open up for close look.”

My lover exchanged a look with me and smiled.

“We will be facing each other!” She exclaimed, “We can watch what happens to our pussies!”

She eagerly stripped off her clothes, hopped up on the couch and slung her legs into the leg rests. One of the masked nurses promptly spread her wider and swiped her bald cunt with a bottle of disinfectant. She groaned but managed to smile. The nurse held up the catheter and said something to her in her own language, she nodded and braced herself, as the tube slid in her pee hole she screwed up her eyes and her toes at the same time but took another breath and composed herself.

The doctor handed me two pills and a cup of water.

“Swallow please. It will relax you.” I obeyed, still fascinated by my lover’s medical ordeal that she seemed to be enjoying – and so was I, although my clit was swelling uncomfortably, I was getting very wet and juicy. I stripped off and lay back on my own table, my legs were fixed wide apart, my ankles strapped and tight straps placed around my thighs. I noticed the same was being done to my lover but I was feeling chilled and relaxed and just wanted to enjoy it. Then the doctor leaned over e and smiled.

“Nice and relax, yes?”

I nodded. The doctor opened my slit and moved her finger up and down, making my clit move.

“AAA aaaaHH!!”

“You are very prominent.” She remarked, “Big clitoris. No surprise it give you such trouble.”

Se tipped a bottle of clear liquid between my legs it stung and I groaned again, but the area was wiped with a towel promptly. The doctor spoke again.

“I have to open the labia majoria.”

I nodded feeling ashamed that I was suffering juice running out in front of my lover and the medical staff.

The tallest nurse patted my bald head.

“You share the occasion with your lady by tribal marking and shaving of the head! I have never seen a white woman have shave for the occasion!”

The doctor put on her mask and glanced to my lover as she picked up my catheter.

“You buy her wig tomorrow? Western lady need wig on head?”

I cringed a little but managed to smile as the doctor and nurses and my lover, who replied in foreign tongue, laughed together.

“Hold still.” The doctor ordered and slid the tube in my urethra.

“OOOOWch!!”

I relaxed as the pain subsided. Now me and my lover were restrained and catheterised, I looked over at her and my lover smiled as she watched her pee travel down the tube. Then she rested, relaxing as she looked up at the ceiling.

The doctor pinched my nipples. I smiled and gave a sigh. She dipped a finger in my vagina, it came out covered in fluid and she held it up to show the two nurses.

“She likes!” She exclaimed, “Bald white lady like!”

“She always like!” My black lover replied.

The doctor said something in foreign language and gestured between my open legs and the nurses chuckled.

“She will like afterwards – I hope!” Said my lover.

A nurse leaned over me and braced my thighs.

The doctor held up a hypodermic needle.

I looked at my lover and she did not smile, just nodded.

“For the best, my lover.” She stated coldly, “For the best!”

I tensed.

“Noooo!”I screamed, “Leave my cunt alone!! NO! No, no no…”

The nurse clamped my mouth open and stuffed in a double metal bar, it pressed down and gripped and immobilised my tongue. She fastened the strap at the back of my head.

“MMMMmmmmmmmmffff…aaaaaa…ammmmmmaaaafff..” I was gagged, helpless.

“Be calm.” The doctor said, and plunged the needle into my clitoris. I sunk deep, scratching and burning all the way. As she pulled the needle out I felt as if my clit was being dragged with it.

I thrashed my head from side to side; tears ran from my eyes as I clenched my fists. I felt my bowel spasm in fear and a small, hot lump of shit slithered out. The nurse retrieved it with a paper towel, and then wiped my anus clean with a swab soaked in surgical spirit.

“All over now.” The doctor said, no pain, all gone.” And she took my clit in her thumb and forefinger and pinched. I felt as if she were touching rubber. Then she picked up a thin, sharp par of scissors and spoke in her own language to the second nurse who came over, eyes fixed on my cunt. Se made a snipping motion with the scissors and the nurse nodded her head. My lover watched smiling.

“We want this.” She said dreamily, her own medication calming her, but she was happy she had always wanted this for herself!

“AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh……oooooooowwwww!” I yelled, unable to speak.

“Shh it all over soon.” The doctor said.

She lifted my left labia and, as the nurse skilfully gripped the lip high, she slid the blade under and began to cut. The second nurse colleted the flesh in a silver dish. Then she clamped my other cunt lip, it was held and stretched, and the doctor snipped through it with ease.

She shot a jet of water on my bloodied cunt; I stared in horror at my cunt with the outer lips missing.

“She nearly clean.” The doctor said.

Then she jerked my inner lips upwards, pressed the blades down and cut brutally, as if cutting tough cloth, as the two bloodied inner lips were dropped into the bowl I could only stare with tears streaming down my face as I witnessed the removal of my woman hood. My clitoris was sticking up, enlarged with shock, seeming vulnerable – my clit, mine, being taken.

“uuurrrraaaaaaaa…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

My voice echoed around the room but my protests were ignored.

She clamped the clit at its base, the nurse held it up, and with a brutal swipe of the scissors, she cut through my organ. It dropped into the bowl and blood pumped out. I was sprayed with a jet of water and given a second injection. The gag was removed from my mouth but I lay herein silence, tears running uncontrollably from my eyes as the nurse took a very long piece of surgical thread and began the slow procedure of sewing me up. While she worked I looked over at my lover.

She smiled at the doctor; the nurse held her hand as she was injected and although a tear ran from her eye, she did not change her mind. She looked down keenly. The doctor took another pair of scissors and, spreading her outer lips, snipped off the inner labia and kept cutting, working her way up, forcing the blades closed twice to lop off the pink nub of flesh that plopped into the kidney bowl.

“Ohh…” She moaned, although it was from relief the procedure was over. She was stitched quickly, a thin line of sutures. Afterwards she watched as the other nurse continued to sew me. I was stitched from one side of the labia to the other, and then the flesh was closed up. I had been given a total excision.

As the dressing was put on, the doctor patted my bald head.

“I give you through circumcision, bald western lady, You like?”

More tears ran from my eyes.

“I like.” My lover replied.

I turned my face away, sobbing again.

We were taken to a private room after our cunts were dressed and our beds placed side by side.

“I am sorry I did not tell you.” My lover said, “You have often said circumcision excites you, so I gave you a trial shave and paid for a full ritual circumcision by a good medical doctor. You are clean now and so am I.”

The doctor came into our room an hour later.

I was lying there, holding my lovers hand across the gap between our beds. We had  talked and I was beginning to accept this had not been an assault but a treatment that was better done like this than any other way later on due to my clitoral problems.

“How you feel now, bald western lady?” The doctor asked me.

I blinked tear stained eyes and exchanged a glance with my lover. My cunt, despite its ordeal, tingled in my holes as I turned weakly and looked at her, my face still tear stained and my eyes red and I replied, speaking the painfully honest truth:

“Clean” I replied, “I am nice and clean now, thank you.”

While Mary was stuck raising our kids, I hung out in bars after work and cheated on her with any bimbo who would have me.  I did work hard as a carpenter and did as much overtime work as I could get.  I paid off my house in only 15 years and when I needed a new pickup I could pay cash for it.  My wife and kids were well fed and clothed and I felt they should be grateful for that.  They owed me for everything they got.

Then one day disaster struck.  I was standing on a two by four while trying to nail a roof truss in place on a two story house we were building when I slipped and fell.  I fell 10 feet landing on a two by four on what would be the ceiling of the first floor.  I painfully had landed with one leg on either side of the board and blacked out from the pain.  Unconscious I then slid off and fell another 1 feet to the floor below.  I awoke in great pain in the ambulance and was given a shot of morphine by the paramedic.

They wheeled me into the Emergency room and soon they had nurses cutting off my clothes so the doctors could examine me.  The doctor in charge told me they were going to take me into surgery and try to save my life.  The anesthesiologist told me she had the good stuff and gave me a partial dose of a drug which made the pain go away and left me drowsy.  I barely remember them wheeling me into the operating room then all went black.

The next thing I knew I awoke in the intensive care section with a tube down my throat.  I could not talk nor could I move.  As I awoke more and more I realized I was in a body cast.  When the doctor came in to see me, he told me, ” You are a lucky man.  We are pretty sure you will live, but you will never be the man you were before.  We had to remove your sex organs and repair your torn colon.  You have a broken pelvis that we repaired by putting a titanium plate and screws in you.  We were able to save almost an inch of your penis but you will have no feeling in it.  You also broke both of your collar bones and your left arm”  He turned and left the room.  I lay there motionless pondering what he had just told me.  I had lost my sex organs and now had a cock of less than an inch with no feeling in it.  I found I could move my fingers but not my head.  A couple of days later the doctor removed my breathing tube and I was moved to a private room.  I learned that I was fixed into an immobilizer. A steel frame that was connected to me by screws into my bones.  I was in a plaster cast from my below my hips up over my head  and both arms inside of my cast.  They had put a catheter in me to drain off my urine but since I would be unable to use a bed pan they had me in a diaper.  I was helpless as a baby.

Mary finally came to visit me.  She told me that the company I was working for was fighting a claim for workman’s comp because I had violated their policy by not using a scaffold and standing on a mere two by four timber.  She told me that our son had connected her with a lawyer to advise her.  She had me sign a couple of papers by telling me that my hospital bills would be astronomical and she wanted to save our house.  She told me that she had a friend who was a notary and had dated the transfer of our house to a year ago.  She had also applied for an uncontested divorce and cleaned out our bank account.  If I were sued I was destitute and they would get nothing.  I had never given her credit for having so much acumen.  She was really quite crafty.  She sweetly asked me if there was anything she could bring me to make my life more pleasant.  I told her I was used to drinking alcohol every day and I wanted her to smuggle me in something to drink.

I was being fed intravenously.  Every 2 hours day and night the orderlies would come in and turn me over to prevent my getting pneumonia.  Mary had told the nurses to let her be the one to change my diaper and wash my bottom.  They had been glad to be rid of that chore and so Mary came to be a nurse to me.  When I was face down she would remove my diaper and wash my bottom.  She then rubbed my bottom with baby oil.  My legs were spread out by the frame giving her total access.  As she rubbed my bottom with oil I felt her shove a finger up my ass.  I told her, “Please don’t do that to me Mary.”  She answered me saying,” You thought it was fine to shove your nasty cock up my ass so it should be fine for me to use yours.” She soon shoved another finger inside of me. She finger fucked me for a good 20 minutes or so before withdrawing her fingers and putting a clean diaper on me.  She made me say, ” Thank you Ma’am”.  She had me helpless and in her power.

The next day when Mary came to visit me she reached into her purse and pulled out a baby bottle full of white wine.  She put the bottle to my lips and I greedily sucked on the nipple to get some alcohol into my system.  Mary said, “That’s it baby, suck on that nipple.”  She had never called me baby before.  She had an air about her I had never seen before.  She seemed full of confidence and was no longer the meek girl I had controlled.  She took out a razor and shaved of my moustache and goatee.  She told me, ” They make you look like a man, which you no longer are.”    I knew my diaper was dirty but she waited to change me until the orderlies had turned me over so I was face down.  Once they had left Mary removed my diaper and Again washed my bottom.  This time she did not use her fingers to poke in my bottom but she had a dildo she was screwing me with.  She said, ” You need to learn to use your pussy now sweetie.  Since you are no longer a man you must be a girl.”  She was certainly treating me like one.  I knew if I did not do what she wanted she would stop coming to see me.  So  I thanked her for fucking me.  She used her finger tips to massage my stub of a penis.  I felt nothing.  She said, ” You won’t be cheating on me with other women now.”  She was gloating over my condition.

Every day Mary came back to visit me again.  She kissed me on the forehead and told me my lips looked chapped.  She applied some chap stick on them and I asked her for my bottle of wine.  She told me to close my eyes and when I did she shoved a nipple in my mouth I began sucking on it.  It was urine!  I spit it out.  She told me I had to drink it or she would not give me my bottle of wine.  She said, “That is my golden nectar and you will come to love it.” She had me in her power and knew it.  I began sucking on the bottle of her urine.  She smiled and said I was a good girl. Once I had emptied that bottle, she gave me my bottle of wine.  She sat with me until I had emptied that bottle and then took the empty bottle from me and left.  When the orderlies came in to turn me over, they told me that the red lipstick looked good on me.  That chap stick had been lipstick!

The next day when Mary came to see me she had somebody with her.  I could not see who it was as I was face down.  But she was explaining what she was doing as she removed my diaper and then began fucking me with a dildo.  She even let the other person ram the dildo in and out for about half of the time.  She was explaining that this was all a part of my feminization.  I felt soft feminine hand rubbing lotion on my legs.  When I was turned over again I saw our daughter Becky with Mary.  I had to sweetly thank both ladies before getting my bottles fed to me.  Becky fed me the urine and Mary my wine. The hospital staff thought I had a loving family that took good care of me.  They were turning me into a girl.  The ladies made up my face before they left.  Strangely I had begun to crave urine and looked forward to either Mary or Becky showing up each day.

For an entire week Mary did not show up at all, but Becky did.  Becky delighted in fucking me with a dildo and she even used a much bigger one than Mary had used on me.  She made me moan like a slut while she rammed it in and out of my poor bottom.  She made me tell her how much I loved being her bitch.  She even made me suck on the dildo to get it wet instead of using baby oil as lubricant.  She painted my fingernails and toenails bright red to match my lipstick.  The next time I saw Mary she was sporting D cup boobs.  She had gotten breast implants to match those of Becky.

As the days turned into weeks and then into months Mary came to see me less and less.  My facial hair never did grow back.  I supposed it was because I was no longer able to produce testosterone.  Becky was doing more of my care.  Every time she did visit me, she again put lipstick on me and painted my nails.  She made me drink a baby bottle full of her urine before she would give me my wine.  She told me Mary had taken a lover and he was a real man who treated her like a lady.  I was helpless in my cast and no longer a man.

When I finally got out of the cast and they removed the screws from my immobilizer I was weak as a kitten.  I had lost 35 pounds and was now a shadow of my former self.  I was finally able to see my nude body.  I had grown boobs while in that cast.  I had a little stub of a thing where my dick had once been.  With my painted nails and wearing lipstick I look like a girl.  My hair had grown long and shaggy while I was in that cast.  My body was covered with dead skin but my legs and face were baby smooth.  Those were the exposed parts they had treated with lotion and hair remover.  I went through some therapy to learn to walk again and finally was ready to be discharged.  Now that I was able to move I could use the bathroom and no longer needed to be in a diaper.  When Mary or Becky would come by to bring me my urine and wine, they made me fuck myself with the dildo while they watched.  They loved watching me suck it to get it nice and wet and also loved the way moaned while fucking myself.  They had turned me into a bimbo.

My hips were now wider and I was wearing a hospital gown.  Mary came to my room and she had her new lover with her.  He was a big strong looking black man.  I had never liked black men even though I had to work with some.  She told me that she and I were now divorced and she was in love with James.  She spelled it out clearly for me.  She told me that she and James would allow me to live with them in HER house as their maid, or they would be glad to drive me to a homeless shelter.  The bitch had snookered me out of all I owned.  In my weakened condition I would be fair game in a homeless shelter and so meekly let her redo my lipstick and nail polish.  She gave me a pair of thong panties and a skirt to put on for the ride home.  She fondled my boobs and told me I would need to wear a bra now.

James drove us to his house  where I began my new life.  Mary had sold my house and pickup truck.  She let me know that my clothes had been given to the Goodwill store and that they had been pleased to get them.  I all I had to wear were the skirt and blouse she had brought for me to wear home.  It was made very clear to me that I was to be obedient and do everything I was told or I would have to leave.  She had tricked me into giving her all I owned and now I had to hope I could get a small disability check from Social Security.  They let me know that I would have to turn over even that money to them to pay for my room and board.

Once inside James’s house, he told me, ” There can be only one man in this house and that is me.  You will be our maid, cook laundress and do what ever else we want you to do.  Mary told me how you used to treat her and your kids and now the tables are turned,  I am the attorney who advised Mary on how to handle the financial matters and she has a nice little nest egg now.  Your disability check will be $1200 per month.  I got you on Medicaid as a destitute person which you now are.”  I said, “But James”  and got no farther.  He slapped me so hard across the face that I fell to the floor stunned.  ” He told me, “You will call me sir or master you sissy little bitch.  Mary is now your mistress.  Is that clear?”  I looked up at his menacing figure and meekly said, “Yes sir.”

James told me, ” I am tolerating having you in my house as a favor to Mary but you may be of some use around here.  You are not a prisoner here, you may walk out the front door any time you want but you will take only what you are wearing.”  He went on to say, “While you are here you will be feminine at all times.  You will look pretty for us and any guests we may have here.  You will refuse no order and must smile and be cheerful around us.”  He wanted me to be his slave. He tossed me my new ID card and Medicaid card.  They both had my last name, but the first name on them was Fifi.   He saw my look of bewilderment and told me, ” Your name has been legally changed to Fifi.  We thought it better suited you in your condition than Steve did.  Your checks will be coming in that name and that is what you must use when you go for medical treatment.” Mary asked me, ” What is your name girl?”  I sobbed and told her, ” It is Fifi ma’am.”

She smiled knowing she now owned me.

Mary motioned at me with  her hand and said, ” Come with me Fifi.  I will make you look pretty.”  I got up off of the floor and followed behind her,  She led me to the bathroom and had me sit on the pot facing the wall.  She cut and styled my hair into a feminine pixie cut.  Then she  bleached my hair blond.  She told me, ” You will be a good blond bimbo Fifi.” She plucked my eyebrows and shaved my armpit hair off of me.  She put a collar on my neck that had Fifi inscribed on a brass plate.  She then led me down the basement to what was to be my bedroom.  It was a small windowless room with a double bed in it.  Two walls were made of stone and the other two were painted pink.   There was a dressing table with a mirror and a chest of drawers and a door to a closet.  There was also a teddy bear on the bed.  It looked like a little girl’s room.  I was going to be living in a feminine cell.  They were determined to make me a girl.  I wanted to run from here, but where would I go with no money and dressed as I was?  They had me in a box.  I had to be Fifi their maid, no their slave girl.

Mary opened my closet and showed me my skirts and blouses that I was to wear as their maid.  She opened a drawer and pulled out a short pink nightie and told me to put it on.  It didn’t even cover my ass but my boobs bulged out the flimsy fabric.  She led me back upstairs for my owner to inspect me.  James looked me over and told me he though I might be acceptable.  He was standing there naked and told me, ” As a sign of respect Fifi, I want you to kiss my black ass.”  I shuddered with disgust but knew I had to do whatever he wanted.  I knelt behind him and kissed his ass cheeks.  He snarled, ” Lick my asshole bitch.”  He wanted me to totally debase myself but I had to obey him.  I spread his ass cheeks and licked his asshole.  He told me, “Work your tongue inside of me Fifi.”  I worked my tongue inside of his asshole as far as it would go and wiggled it to please him.  When he finally let me pull my tongue out he made me thank him for the honor of tasting his shit.  He had shown me how low my status was now.

Mary handed me a baby bottle of her urine and I knew what to do,  I sucked it dry to get my alcohol.  I asked her if I could please drink it out of a glass and she told me she like the symbolism of having me using a baby bottle.  She knew it made me feel helpless as a baby.  Sadly I knew she was right.  I did.  She made me lay on my back on the floor and hold my bottle with both hands.  She delighted in seeing me act like a baby.  Only when I had emptied that bottle did she give me my alcohol.  Tonight my alcohol bottle was filled with straight vodka.  I was weaving as I made my way back to my room in the basement.  I lay in my bed and cried myself to sleep.

The first week was spent with Mary showing me how to cook, clean their house and do laundry.  When she a James would make love I had to stand beside the bed and watch how a real man pleasured a lady.  When they finished I had to lick and suck his semen from her well used vagina or asshole.  James liked doing her anally.  James would also have me lick his big cock.  His cock was the same size as the black dildo Becky had used on me.  When he fondled my tits he told me that I was going to get a boob job.  “All my bitches have D cup boobs.”, is how he put it.  All of my skirts were short and all my blouses had a low cut neckline.  With D cup boobs I would be showing a lot of cleavage.

The following Friday James drove me to a private clinic.  I had to sign a consent form using the name Fifi Johnson.  The procedure was done that morning and I was discharged that evening.  Under the bandages I now had D cup boobs and they were there for the rest of my life.  There was no way I could ever be Steve again even if I left James and Mary.  The weight on my chest would take some getting used to.  With my thin frame and these big boobs I looked very top heavy.  I was now a freak.

Once the bandages were removed my thoughts about my low cut blouses showing a lot of cleavage came true.  James made me go braless since it amused him to watch my boobs jiggle when I walked.  He also started making me suck his huge cock while he would squeeze my boobs.  He told me, “Fifi I  am going to teach you to deep throat a man.  It is a skill that will make men want you.”  He had me tilt my head back and look up into his eyes.  He then jammed his stiff cock partway down my throat cutting off my air supply.  Just when I though I would die, he pulled his cock out completely.  I caught a few deep breaths and he once again jammed his cock down my throat.  Each time he shoved his cock in it went a little farther down my throat until at last my nose was buried in his pubic hair and his entire 10″ cock was down inside of me.  He pulled out of my throat slowly and told me, ” You did well Fifi for your first time.  We will work on this every day until I can fuck your throat easily.”  I had tears in my eyes and was gasping for air but had to smile sweetly for him.

Mary had me exercise with her.  She told me a girl had to work at it to maintain her figure.  She had me doing leg lifts and doing bumps and grinds as well as crunches.  She looked beautiful and I regretted ever having cheated on her.  When we finished our exercising she took me into the kitchen.  There she told me, ” You have been eating the same food as us and that is hardly the way things should be around here Fifi.  From now on you will eat only this special mixture I am going to teach you how to make.”  She put some vegetables into the food processor along with some oatmeal and water and a 1/4th of a can of Alpo dog food.  She turned on the processor and soon had a pitcher full of a green mush.  She told me, “This had all the nutrients you need to stay healthy but should be less pleasurable for you to eat.  This pitcher should last you a week and it had better because that along with the urine and your vodka is all you will be getting.  Is that clear to you Fifi?”  I lowered my eyes and replied, “Yes Mistress.”

Each day I got up and dressed then did my hair and makeup before my owners awoke.  I fixed them a nice breakfast then had a bit of my green mush for my morning meal.  Then I cleaned the kitchen and did the housework for the day before exercising with  Mistress in the afternoon.  When James came home from work he would practice fucking my throat.  As the weeks went by I got to be good at taking him fully and working my throat muscles to get him to orgasm quickly.

Mary started using a strap-on dildo to screw me.  She enjoyed the feeling of power it gave her to bend me over and screw me doggy style so hard it made my boobs sway back and fourth.  She like James always made me thank her sweetly for doing me. In a few months they had stripped me of any shred of pride.  They had made me an obedient slave girl.

One day James told me, ” I am taking Mary to Paris for a vacation.  You will be happy to know I have found someone to baby sit you while we are gone.”  I had seen the suitcases and assumed they were going somewhere, but had hoped they were going to take me with them.  The doorbell rang and when I opened the door there stood Frank, my son.  He had bulked up a lot since I last saw him.  He said, ” Hello daddy, or should I say Fifi.”  He walked inside the house and looked me over closely.  James greeted Frank and told him, ” Fifi has learned some new tricks.”.  James then told me, ” Show Frank how you can deep throat a cock Fifi.”  I blushed despite myself, this was my son.  But I said, “Yes Master.”

I got on my knees in front of Frank and asked, ” May I please suck your cock sir?   You may shove it down my throat if you wish sir.”  It made my blood curdle to utter such things but it was required of me.  Frank looked down at me and laughed.  He was delighting in my disgrace and said, ” Say Pretty please Fifi.”  I did as he said and then he gave me permission.  He had made me beg to suck him.  How low I had fallen.  I undid his belt and unzipped his fly.  When I lowered his pants, I could see he wore no underwear.  He was much hairier than I had ever been and even better hung.  I kissed the head of his cock respectfully and then took it into my mouth.  As I sucked on it I felt it harden and grow.  I began to swallow it to get it in my throat as James had taught me to do.  As I looked up into Frank’s eyes he said, ” That’s it bitch, gobble that cock like a good whore.”  Mary remarked, ” Family togetherness is a beautiful thing to see.”  When Frank shot his load down my throat and pulled out, he told me, ” Pack some clothes Fifi, don’t forget your curling iron and makeup.”  Mary handed me a couple of trash bags to pack my belongings in and I went down to my room.  As James handed Frank a list of instructions for my maintenance I heard Frank tell him, ” Thank you sir, I will see that Fifi gets the care she deserves.”  Damn, even Frank called James sir.

When I had packed my things and returned upstairs holding two trash bags Frank took them from me with one big hand and Mary handed him another bag with enough ingredients to make my mush for two weeks and a couple of empty baby bottles.  They had obviously discussed me at length.  I was wearing a short black skirt, scoop neck blouse, panties and open toed heels.  Thusly clad, my son led me out into the snowy winter day.  He put my bags in the back of his van and had me sit in the front seat as he went back to get and load the luggage of James and Mary.  When all was loaded my owners came out and sat in the middle seats of the van.  As Frank drove them to the airport James was telling me to obey Frank as I would him or Mary.  He made me tell him I would be a good girl and do as I was told.

Once we had let them out at the airport, Frank drove me to his apartment.  As he drove he told me, ” Fifi you will love my lover Bruce.  He is about your size and kinky as hell.”                      That remark let me know that Frank was gay and not just using me out of hate for how I had treated him.  As soon as we walked into the apartment this young blonde man walked up to me and gave me a big French kiss.  I had never kissed a man and it shocked me as his tongue invaded my mouth.  Bruce told me, “Girl we will have a lot of fun together,” Frank told me to get my clothes off.  He said, ” In my house you will always be naked.” Frank threw my bags into a corner of the room and took me to the kitchen to start making my mush and their lunch.  He told me, ” I work nights so we have our big meal at lunch.”

They ate their lunch and I had some mush.  I knew now that I was mere property.

After they had eaten their lunch, Bruce asked Frank, ” Can I do her now?”  Frank just nodded yes.  Bruce led me to the bedroom and had me lay face down on the bed.  He smeared my ass with cold lard working some of it into my asshole.  He then proceeded to insert one finger after another into my ass until he had his entire hand inside of me.  As he rammed his fist in and out of me he told me, ” Moan like you love it bitch.  I want you to love me doing this to you as I do when Frank does it to me.”  This sissy fag was fist fucking me and telling me to moan like I loved it.  When he pulled his slimy hand out of my ass he made me kiss it.  The bastard even made me tell him how much I loved having him teach me a new skill.  If Mary had not given my guns away I would have shot the fag.  Now I was a toy for who ever wanted to use me.  Bruce fist fucked me and my son watched me being defiled by the feminine fairy he lived with.

Frank then took me to the bathroom and had me kneel in front of him holding my baby bottle in place while he filled it with piss.  Then he took a medicine bottle out of his pocket and using an eyedropper he squirted some fluid into the bottle of his urine.  I asked him what that was and he told me, ” Fifi that is your estrogen.  Mom told us kids she was making you feminine and doing it by having you drink her pee laced with estrogen.  You have no testosterone now and the estrogen controls you.”  That bitch had tricked me when I was helpless.  He also added some powder into the bottle of pee and then screwed the top with the nipple on it onto the bottle of pee.   He handed it to me and watched as I lay on my back and began sucking it down.  Frank told me that I was on a low dose of heroine.  The dose taken like it was gave me no pleasure but now my body had to have it.  That is why I craved drinking piss, it was spiked with heroine.  No wonder I had tits when they cut my cast off.  Mary had connived and manipulated me into a situation which left me no choice but to be a slave girl for her and her man.  I had become the family joke.

The next morning Frank took had me wearing heels and a robe when he led me across the hall to the opposite apartment.  When he rang the bell the door was opened by Becky.  My daughter and son had apartments across the hall from each other.  She had me come in and Frank went back to his apartment.  She had me shed my robe and then displayed me to her roommate Candy.  They were both naked and I could see that we all had the same size boobs.  James had converted them too.  They were also both blond as was I now.

Becky told me they were going to teach me to be a stripper so I could work with them at the club.  I told her, ” I would never get on a stage and take my clothes off in front of a bunch of men.”  She smiled and said, ” Yes you will Fifi and you will beg Frank to let you dance.  You will dance to get the special piss you need.”  She put on the CD with the song “The Stripper” on it.  They made me dance sexy to the song a few times naked before they dressed me and had me dance while removing my clothes in a sexy manner.  They told me it was important that I be naked when the song ended.  We took a break while they each had a salad for lunch.  Becky handed me the dildo she had me using in the hospital and had me demonstrate to Candy how I could suck it and fuck myself with it.  Candy remarked, ” That would make a wonderful scene at the club but would get us closed down.”  Becky said, ” Yes it would.  If Fifi can do it for two she can do it for 200.” By 4:00pm when Frank came to drive us girls to the club I was nailing my dance every time.  I wore a short black skirt, my heels and a white low cut blouse.  Becky was carrying my costume in a garment bag.  She explained that I was to perform twice that night and in between dances I would be a waitress serving drinks.  It was already past the time when I usually got my piss and vodka and I was getting stomach cramps.  I also had goose bumps on my skin.

When we got to the club, I learned that Frank worked there as an assistant manager and bouncer.  I learned that we all worked for James.  He owned this club along with several others and also had a real estate company who owned the apartment building where my children lived.  I was kept busy hustling drinks for the crowd that grew in size as the evening progressed.  I had to go to the ladies room and throw up.  I was getting sick.  Becky saw me doing that and told me, ” It will only get worse for you until you get your fix.  You are now a junkie bimbo.”  She took me to the room where the strippers changed into their costumes and had me get dressed in what I was to dance in.  She told me, ” You will be fine Fifi.  Just dance like you practiced and once you are totally nude do a slow turn completely around so all can see your body.  Then leave your clothes on the stage and run back to this room.  Leave you heels on, but everything else comes off.”

The announcer called me Fifi the Dancing Queen.  My music started and I began dancing.  I tried not to let the audience bother me and just did as I had practiced.  At the end of the song I stood naked in heels and all could see I was not a real girl but a freak.  After the required complete turn I dashed back to the dressing room while Becky retrieved my costume.  By the time she brought it into the changing room I was dressed in my skirt and blouse again.  She told me I had done well but to get back to serving drinks.  She gave me a swat on the fanny as I left.

The customers looked at me differently now that they had seen me naked  and most men I served drinks to tucked some money down my blouse.  An hour later I had to get ready for my second show.  It also went well.  My cramps were even worse and my eyes were watery.  I had to endure the misery until the club closed, we had cleaned off the tables and Frank had helped the manager count the proceeds of the evening.  As Frank drove us home I was doubled over in pain and crying.

Frank carried me into his apartment where he stood me up and had me get naked again.  The tip money fell out on the floor and Bruce picked it all up and handed to Frank.  I was shaking badly and Frank asked me, ” What do you want now Fifi?”  I answered, ” I want my piss sir.”  He smiled and said, ” Perhaps you have earned it tonight Fifi, but I want to watch you and Bruce make out with each other first.  Lots of kissing and fondling each other by you two sissies will be fun to watch.  Make it look like you two are in love as I video tape you.”

We put on a nice performance for Frank as he recorded it on his video cam.  He kept us at it for a half hour and it ended with Bruce fisting me again.  He finally gave me my bottle of specially enhanced urine.  He smiled down at me as I sucked it greedily down.

My cramps were nearly gone when I got my bottle of vodka.

The next morning bright and early I was again taken to Becky’s  apartment where I had to learn a new routine for tonight’s performance.  There was no use in pretending to myself that I would not dance.  I knew now that I would do whatever it took to get my fix.  All those exercises Mary had made me do were the moves I needed to be a stripper.  Since I had my fix at around 4am I should be ok until I got off work again.  Instead of injecting the heroine they had me drinking piss to get it.  I was indeed a junkie and also a slut.

The night James and Mary returned from Europe they came to the club  to watch me dance and waitress.  After my second show they took me home with them.  James told me he was proud of the skills I had learned.  He said, ” You were a useless thing when I met you, but you have turned into a money making girl.  You now have the skills to be a whore, a waitress, a stripper or an escort for perverts.  Men will pay money to be deep throated by you or to have you drink their piss.  Besides it was fun for me to ruin your life.”  He drove us to his house.  Mary fixed my bottles and I gladly lay down to suck them dry.

As I lay drinking my fix, James told Mary that the trip to Europe and the fancy way they had lived while there was his way of thanking her but was also a fond goodbye.  He told her she was to move out tomorrow morning.  He told her, ” I give Fifi to you and you will have a 3 bedroom apartment on the ground floor of the building where your son and daughter already live.  They  will move in with you and Fifi.   You will all be one happy family.”  Mary broke down and cried and begged James to reconsider but he was firm.  He told her had another younger lady moving in with him tomorrow.  That night Mary slept in bed with me in my basement room.

The next morning Mary and I and all of our clothes were moved into her new apartment.  Becky and Candy moved into the second bedroom with Frank and Bruce taking the 3rd bedroom.  Mary and I had the master bedroom.  James had given Mary all of the money from my disability checks along with the money I had made dancing and waiting tables.  That money along with the  money she had from selling my house and belongings gave her financial security.  She took a job at the club as a beautician to the strippers just to keep busy.  Becky, Candy and I worked as dancers and Frank as the assistant manager and bouncer.  At home everybody was free to use me as they wanted sexually.  I hoped the novelty would wear off in time.

After being a stripper for a year I was told I was no longer needed there and let go.  My tips had dropped considerably from what they had been.  I had hoped to be allowed to stay home and be a maid for the rest of the family but Mary told me that was not to be the case.  She told me, ” You need to bring me money you ungrateful bitch.  No money no treat for you.”  I had to beg James for a job in another of his clubs.  He got me a job as a topless waitress in an after-hour night club which catered to black patrons.  He let me know that I was to please any customer who would take me into the back room.  I was now a prostitute.

That Job lasted about 6 months before I was replaced with a white girl.  Frank had me making porno movies which he marketed to the gay and perverted crowd.  His best sellers were those where I was having sex with animals.  When I became sick it was found that I had full blown AIDS and was dying from the disease.

These words are being written by a reporter who is going to use my tale to write a book she says.  I am laying in a bed in a hospice ward where every 8 hours the nurse gives me a methadone shot to ward off convulsions.  My eyes no longer focus and I am very weak. I hope others can profit from the mistakes I have made in my life.  If I had it to do over again I would very loving and faithful to my wife.  My kids would have found me a warm loving and generous father.  Perhaps they would have gone to college and had decent careers instead of being involved in the seedy sex business.  As it is now I am dying as a lonely freak of a human.  I wanted to leave something behind besides a useless corpse.

“How are we today?”

She was wearing her white coat.

“I got pain in my cunny again.”

“Let me see.”

She spread me wide.

“Are you still getting painful constant arousal?

“Yes, all the time, I hate it!”

“You have a swollen clitoris. It is terribly swollen, it indicates you have an illness that I must treat. You need orgasm and then some desensitisation treatment to stop your inconvenient feelings of constant arousal.”

She wheeled a trolley next to the bed and I gave a groan of alarm as I saw the array of instruments – this was new to me, there were medical clamps and scalpels and a suture kit, cutting equipment and things I did not even recognise. Then to my alarm her nurse came into the room. She looked between my legs at my naked groin and then smiled at me as she put on a surgical mask.

My doctor patted my arm as she lifted a hypodermic needle.

“You are going to have an operation, my love. A real one, a drastic one.  I sent the results of you examination to a colleague of mine and they were able to confirm that your clitoris is over sensitive, that it will continue to swell and ultimately become irrevocably infected without intervention.”

“What kind of intervention?”

By now I was scared, the nurse was strapping my ankles securely into stirrups and taping my wrists to my sides. My lover was now my Doctor and taking charge of the situation, this was not a game and her expression was grave.

“The pain you have been getting in your clitoris is indicative of the most serous form of clitoriditis I have ever seen. I gave you an enema this morning was part of your prep, it was not play. I did not want to tell you the bad news until it was time to take you to theatre.”

I wanted to panic but the injection made me drowsy. I was not so drowsy that I was unaware, and I could still move, but ll the fear was gone. I understood I had to have an operation on my cunny and my lover was going to perform it.

The nurse was helping her with her gown and gloves. I watched as they both donned surgical garb. My legs were relaxing in the stirrups and I gave a tiny whimper as the nurse slid in a catheter, but as the amber liquid flowed from my bladder a sense of peace came over me – I was in their hands now and I had to have surgery on the most sensitive part of my body. My lover had remarked the first time she had licked me that my clit had seemed ‘rather large and red’ but now I understood why she had insisted on all the private examinations when the clinic was shut, why she had made notes on all the clitoral pain I had experienced. She had guessed I had a condition. She knew I needed an operation and she was the best person to do it. My ankles were released from the stirrups and my legs were placed closed, although there was a gap now the tube protruded from my labia. I was covered with a small sheet and then wheeled down the corridor. The clinic was empty but all the lights were on and as I watched my lover wheeling me she looked down.

“It will be alright.”She promised me, “You have to be a brave girl.”

To my shame my fetish was taking over and I felt wetness sliding out of me, even making my catheter rub in a pleasant way.

This all changed when we entered the operating theatre. I was placed on the tale under the bright lights, an IV was put in my arm and my legs were opened, the table positioned and once again I was in stirrups, this time with my knees bent high and wide apart and the heat from the light beating down on that painful red organ that was swollen up despite everything. My lover looked at me sadly.

“You condition has been linked to abnormal brain patterns as well as hormones, for that reason I have to attach some monitor wires to your scalp for the duration of your treatment so these can be studied later for abnormalities. For this reason, I have to shave your head clean.I am so sorry.”

“No!” I shouted, but the nurse who had stood behind me simply lifted my ponytail and sliced through it. I started to cry as she switched on a small white hand held shaver and switched it on. She placed the blades at the front of my head and shaved a strip, leaving the centre of my head with a bald stripe. Then she did it again, and again, shaving me bit by bit, as each tress fell away, she lifted it free and dropped it into a bag marked ‘medical waste’. The nurse continued to shave me despite my sobs. She paused to use a cool hand to briefly brush the tears from my face.

She looked at the doctor as she held up my ponytail.

“Is this for disposal?”

“No, keep it, she might want it after the op.” my lover replied, “So she can remember her hair.”

They were talking over me as if I was barely there. Then my lover looked down at me.”Please, nooooo…”I begged weakly but she just spoke softly to me.

“I have had to make the decision for you to submit you to clitoral surgery and neurological monitoring. Your condition means you must have this operation and lose your hair as part of the treatment. You will have the best care, my love.”

The nurse seemed fascinated as she picked up the pack of ready to use wax strips.

“ShallI do the scalp wax now doctor?”

“Yes, at once.” My lover replied.

The nurse began to keenly press the strips down and then pull them off, a press and rip sensation that hurt but as my head was waxed it was the loss of my hair that made me cry mostly. My lover watched, still looking at me with compassion. When the nurse had thrown away the last of the wax along with the last trace of my hair she took a cool cloth and wiped over my head.The cloth glided over and she paused again to wipe off my tears. Then she took the top off strong smelling glue. My Doctor had taken a marker pen and was dotting positions on my hairless head.

“Be careful with that, nurse – it bonds in seconds.”

My lover lifted up a dish containing small silver discs. There were about a dozen of them.

She spoke t me slowly and clearly in case I was drowsy from the tranquilizer injection.

“These discs will stay bonded to your bare head for a month after your operation, they will fall off after that, they are to transmit your brainwaves to a remote unit. Your head has been waxed so you have no regrowth for at least two months, my love.”

I was past crying now.My hair was gone and that was it. I knew I was facing genital surgery of a serious nature and I lay there, looking up while the doctor and the nurse prepared the instruments and talked over me.

The nurse looked down between my legs.

“It’s a shame, your girlfriends got a lovely pussy.”

“Yes but see how engorged the clitoris is?”

My lips were splayed open sharply.

The nurse peered down.”Looks like its going to burst! It should not be that purplish colour around the hood, either. She must have found orgasm very painful.”

“She did.”

My lover parted my buttocks and invited the nurse to share the inspection.

“The rectum is shockingly tight, too. She’s bled after passing motions several times. I gave her a rectal as part of our bedroom play and I knew she had a lot of problems in the area – its all linked and it all needs surgery. We she wakes up, after the pain is gone, she will feel like a new woman.”

“How will she cope with her new look down there? And what about her hair? It might never recover enough for the roots to grow back.”

My lover leaned down and smiled at me kindly.

“I shall still love you the same.”She told me, “Hair or no hair!”

I blinked, tried to speak but my Doctor was gluing cold metal sensors to my smooth head and they felt chilly and the glue stung, then tightened as metal set against my newly exposed flesh. The nurse took up a hypodermic. She hovered between my legs, her other hand holding my labia open.

“Do we need to restrain her any further, Doctor?”

“No.”my doctor replied, “She is well tied by the restraints.”

The she leaned over me.

“I am going to give you an orgasm, my love, I know the nurse is present and you are in pain but please try not to feel ashamed, it is important we record your brainwaves during pre-operative orgasm.”

My doctor and lover stood between my spread legs. She glanced at the nurse.

“Keep watching the monitor and make sure brainwaves are recorded. This won’t take long, that poor clitoris of hers is about to burst!”

Doctor lowered her mask then dipped her head between my legs. She hovered above my shaven pubis for a moment, taking a last look before surgery.

“I’m going to lick that juicy cunny of yours.” She told me.

Then she kissed my pubic mound, before spreading me wide and taking a long, tender lick. The sensation of her tongue on my swollen rosebud seemed to grate and I gave a moan of pain. But pleasure throbbed also and she sucked on the reddening organ, licking sucking, pressing down as her tongue worked hard.

“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh ahhhh aaa  mmmmmmmm..mmm aaah!”

I was twitching and groaning, my voice echoing around the operating theatre. The nurse was studying the spikes on the monitor, which she began to print off.

My lover watched as my cunny twitched for the last time, then she wiped me clean, something that made me whine as the cloth scraped my clitoris, the organ was still huge and refusing to calm down. She took a brush and began to paint my groin with iodine, every stroke tickled despite the pain and as she glanced at me I managed a smile.

“That’s it, good girl.” She said.

Then she opened me wide and the brush soaked in bright iodine found its way into every crack and crevice – I groaned as she pained first my clitoral hood and then under it, before the brush went lower still and stung my inner flesh. She gave the brush a good soak in the iodine and painted around my rectum, then stuck the brush inside and twirled it for good measure.

Then she looked at me.

“Are you still aware, my daring? Nod your head for Yes.”

I nodded.

She lifted a pair of what looked like dainty silver tongs.

“Nurse, I want you to watch this.” She said aloud, “This is known as clitoral stretching and desensitisation. Its important  pre surgery , just to ensure the blood does not become too engorged.”

She held up the tongs and showed me.

“Take a deep breath.”

The tongs went between my legs, she positioned them slowly and carefully, then snapped them shut brutally. They locked with a click and my clitoris was trapped. She began to tug and pull on the tongs, from my position on the tale I could see my clit being stretched and crushed like a long piece of meat.  The nurse watched in fascination.

“How painful is it?” My doctor asked me.

My mouth as open but at first I could not find breath. Then she clamped the tongs shut even tighter.

“Aaaaaa eeeeeeeee aaaaah oooooooow!”

My voice was a high pitched scream.

“There there.” MY lover said casually and offered the tongs to the nurse.

“May I?”

“Yes, tug hard and then rotate left then right and pull again.”

“Thank you!”

The nurse obeyed her.

“Aaaaarrrghhh ooo oh oh noooo aaaaah!”

I fought to take a breath.

“Almost over.” My lover said to me, “Be brave, you are doing so well my dear.”

“It’s rather like tenderising a piece of meat.” My Doctor added, taking the tongs from the nurse, “The clitoris actually extends four inches into the body. It’s best that we draw as much of it out as we can. Check the print out to record her pain stats.”

The nurse went back over to the machine and watched.

“Once more.” Doctor said, then pulled on the tongs. I felt a sharp tug deep in my groin as if everything inside had been jerked outwards. I breathed in sharp and was grateful for the oxygen over my face. I stared upwards at the lights for a moment, pain stunning me. Then she pulled again.

“ieeeeeeeeee…ooooooowwwwwww…oooooo-oooo n-n-naaaa–noo -no- no-! “

I  gasped for air and looking down saw my clitoris as a glowing red bulb locked in tongs, swollen even larger than I had ever suffered it and the length of it resembling a small penis about three inches long.

She twisted the tongs again, twistng left and right. Tears ran down my face.

“MMMMmmmmmm….mmmm….aaaaaaa!”

As she caught the look in my eyes my lover stopped.

“Have you crossed into a brief sensation of pleasure?”

I nodded.

“Nurse.”

The nurse left the machine and came over. Her eyes widened as she saw how much of my clitoris hand been pulled upwards.

“Hold the tongs.” She ordered her, “My poor darling has some arousal remaining. I want to make her come again.”

Then she lowered her voice.

“It IS her last one.”

While the nurse held the tongs, my lover paced a thumb and forefinger either side of my blood red clit. Se began to rub frantically, until her glovedhand became a blur.

I came at once.

“OOOhhhh….aaaaaaaah aahhh AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHH MMMMMMMMM OOOOooo ohhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Then I relaxed, pleasure fading as the sensation of my clit being pulled came back, although by now the tip was numb.

I felt something run down my face, I realised I was sweating but my lack of hair meant it just ran onto me. My Doctor wiped my face and head.

“I have to give you a large injection in the pubis.”She informed me, “I am so sorry if it is painful Count to ten and your pubis will be numb.”

I nodded dumbly, bracing for the needle but as it dug in and the nurse slid the needle deep into the bone beneath my clit, I gave a weak yell, then as the pain throbbed and she pulled the needle out, my lover, still masked, cupped my face and looked into my eyes.

“Count with me – two, three four, five six…”

“Seven, eight.” I said weakly, then I felt the pain melt. I was aware of a prodding sensation but felt little else.

“Can she feel that?” The nurse asked.

My doctor shook her head.

“Shes numb and hazy, good work, Nurse, that needle hit the spot. Numb the rectal area, please.”

I was aware of a gloved hand that seemed to rummage between my buttocks, the I realised the nurse was applying thick white cream both internally and externally which she covered with a dressing and the taped to me. The way I was spread with all holes on show meant the dressing just sat there with ease, while I felt my ass turn to ice.

An oxygen mask was placed over my face.

“It is time, my darling. Be brave.”

As I looked into the eyes of my lover I got the oddest wish that I could spread my legs even wider. I glanced down towards my groin and looked back at her and smiled.

She seemed to understand, patting my bare pubis.

“I know, I know.”She assured me, “It will soon be over.”

Then she covered her mouth again and turned to the nurse who showed her the results of my first brain wave recording. She nodded to her and ordered her to clamp me wide open. If felt nothing but more tugging as I was clamped. The nurse stood beside her, watching with intense interest. I noticed The tongs were back but now I did not care as I was numb. She grasped the end of my stretched clit and held it up.

“Fascinating.” The nurse said. My lover was carefully examining my clamped, stretched clitoris. She looked up at me.

“Your clitoris IS diseased.” She told me, “I am sure that after surgery there will be no more problems but you do know what this means, don’t you?”

I smiled in an understanding way as I recalled all the times she had mock examined me and threatened to ‘cut it off’. This was it, it was real and strangely I felt very aroused by the idea.

“Are you going to remove my clit?” I said slowly and weakly.

She nodded.”And the hood, and the inner labia. I’m so very sorry.”

I managed to smile.

“Operate on me Mistress.” I said, words were slurring.

The nurse glanced at the Doctor and I saw a trace of arousal in her eyes as she realised her Doctor and boss was my mistress and about to cut off my clit and not only this but I wanted it. My Doctor lifted a scalpel.

She looked intently at me.

“I’m going to slit the hood and remove it, then cut off the inner labia and remove the clitoris last of all.” She advised me.But all I could see was the eyes of my beautiful woman doctor.

“I love you.” I said dozily, “Take my clit, cut my cunny…”

“She’s under enough for us to proceed.” My doctor said.

She lowered the scalpel and began to cut.

Moments later she drew back a blood stained knife and demanded the nurse suction the area. She wiped me again and applied another clamp, then as the nurse held out a silver kidney dish, she dropped apiece of bloody flesh into it.

“That was your hood.” She told me.

She took a fine needle and began to sew, it was a slow procedure but the nurse watched with her eyes wide.

“We are we performing clitoridectomy?”

“After labia removal.”

She took a tiny pair of forceps and gripped my left labia. Then she took up miniature heated cutters, as she did so they bleeped and she nodded.

“That means they are at the right temperature.”

She held my inner fold tightly with one hand and clipped with the other.The room was filled with the smell of burning and and a sound with each clip as if chicken skin was being cut.

As she repeated it the other side I saw the nurse eagerly position the bowl to receive the flesh. As the Doctor dropped it in she paused to look at it, seeming fascinated by an amputated labia and clit hood.

“Keep the hood and the labia minora in the bowl and get another for the clitoris.”She told the nurse, “They have to be sent to the lab as separate tissue samples because the clitoris is an organ.”

The nurse nodded, placing the bloody bowl to one side and eagerly selecting another, larger gleaming bowl which she hovered between my legs with, watching my lover work with eagerly gleaming eyes. My lover looked into my eyes.

“I’m taking your clitoris right out.” She told me”There may be a few nerve endings left behind and as soon as you are healed i will be down there between all you have left to give you the remains of pleasure, but your clitoris MUST be removed and it is happening now. I will put on the clamp first.”

The nurse stood behind me and ran her latex covered hands over my bald head.

“Stay calm.” She was reassuring me, “It wont take long. Once your clit is gone you will have no more pain or disease. You’ll be nice and clean and you will look lovely. I rather think the bald look suits you.”

My doctor looked up from my groin and smiled.

“I think my nurse finds you attractive with your hairless look. I certainly do. Remember I said I’d always wanted to shave your head?”

I smiled and nodded.

As my lover drew her hands away from my groin I saw they were heavily blood stained.

“Is…the..clamp on?” I said weakly.

She nodded.

“The clamp is on firmly.”

Then she gripped the handle of the tongs so hard I saw muscles flex in her arms. She drew the tongs upwards and pulled even harder. I saw my clit as a thick, red, swollen piece of meat gleaming by the surgical light and stained with iodine. She slid the heated blades down low, I felt pressure as she dug into the pubic bone.

“Here we are.” She announced, then closed the blades.

It happened fast, she released the blade as burning filled the room and the wide eyed nurse stared at the clitoris that was dropped into the kidney bowl. My lover picked up another suture kit and began to sew quickly, she moved my catheter as she worked and I guessed she was tidying me up.

“I want to keep the outer labia intact.”She explained to me as she worked, “Purely for my preference, so I get a lovely surprise when I part the lips and see a lovely thin scar ad a pee hole and a vagina.”

I smiled through my mask.

As she finished stitching she changed her gloves and ordered the nurse to cover my pubis. The nurse carefully dressed me covering the whole of my cunny but leaving a gap for the catheter to poke through. Once it was all taped up  she took the ass dressing off and wiped off the excess cream.

“Are you still awake?”

My lover was leaning over me.

I nodded.

“I’m going to give you a rectal muscle stretch.”

I smiled lazily, now longing for sleep.

I was aware of a vague prodding, then my bowel filled with liquid.

“It’s important to flood the rectum with lubricant.” She said to the nurse.

“Hold her buttocks WIDE apart for me, please!”

As I lay there I laughed in my drugged state as I heard a squelch and a pop, then another squelch as her hand worked in and out of me, I could feel my body sliding up and down despite the restraints.

“Now I can get one hand in, I’m going to slowly insert the other.”

She talked to the nurse like a teacher as she elongated her other hand. The nurse nodded and watched, she was clearly thrilled to be a witness to such radical surgery and I had no complaints. She held my buttocks wide, bracing them open. My Doctor pushed in her other hand. I felt a vague slopping inside, a popping and slurping that made me giggle through my mask. As she took both hands out  trapped wind popped out loudly like a series of sharp snaps. And I laughed even harder, as I realised I was bald, catheterised, circumcised and now farting loudly while my lover and a nurse tore me a new ass.

“That was a loud one.” The nurse remarked.

I laughed again. I could feel my face reddening all the way up to my bald head.

“Good thing I cleaned you out this morning.” My lover said playfully, “It’s just a big, big fart, calm down, my dear. Almost done.”

She slid her hands back into my ass.

“Now I’m going to do the interesting part.”

The nurse was still holding me open.

“Stretch her hole with your fingers?”

“Slide both hands in, grip both sides of the anal opening and pull -”

My lover grunted with the effort, she was literally pulling my ass apart. The nurses eyes widened as her hands pulled until my hole yawned like a gaping black pit.

“She’s tearing.”

“Scissors.”

The nurse handed her the scissors.

“I’m snipping both sides at the top and the bottom of the rectal opening much like a vaginal episiotomy.”

She handed the bloody scissors back to the nurse. Then she smiled at me.

“When you are healed my hands will slide in and out of you, my love.”

“Have I still got an ass?” I asked lazily.

“A very loose one.”

She took a wide tube. It was clear plastic and looked more like a pipe than any kind of catheter. It slid in with a slurp and a pop and then she took up a needle and thread.

“I’ll now sew the new rectal opening to the width of the pipe to ensure a wide hole.”As she was tying off the last stitch I felt a rumble and another fart exploded from me.

“Thats quite enough!” My Doctor said and  showed me a long, thick rubber tube. She inserted it high into my rectum, way past the support that held open my ass.

“No more farts for a while!”She teased me, then she kissed my brow.

“All over now.”

I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.

When I woke up I was high on pain relief but my Doctor lover showed me a mirror and when I saw my bald head, still with the sensors glued to it, I swore I felt a tingle somewhere in the region of where my clit used to be. She told me she had left a small cluster of nerves behind so that with much stimulation I would still have orgasm sensations – with her help, of course. Then she took the dressing off. It was a neat scar, I marvelled at the way the thin line was so tightly stitched.  wo weeks later the results came back from pathology and revealed my clitoris and other tissues were actually healthy. I said to my lover i had become bald, circumcised and had my ass wrecked for nothing, but the she smiled and asked me if I liked the result. I had t admit I could hardly complain because I had masturbated ver it so many times in bed with her.

“I love it.” I told her.

She planted a kiss on my pubis, spread my labia and licked my scar.  The pillow felt cool against my bald head and I sighed as her hands slid in and out of my ass. And as I was still recovering in her clinic, the nurse watched everything,her own hand toying with something I didn’t have any more – a clitoris. My lover asked if she could play with it n fro of me and I said yes, then my toes curled as the Doctors expert finger hit a small bundle of nerves where my clit used to be and the nurse stopped masturbating to take the brain wave reading from the machine beside my bed.

I came to think of her as my masturbation nurse and welcomed her assistance when my lover played with me.

Six weeks later I went home with my lover and found my modified body made our love life better than ever. And my hair did not row back. That was something that excited both of us, and even the nurse, who made regular visits once a week to enhance my ‘check ups’.

And that is the story of how my lesbian doctor lover changed my life forever.

I remain her bald patient and lover and have a beautiful scar between my legs that I think of as a work of art.

Ata eighteen years old, she had been modelling for a little over three months. Maybe that was a bit rich really, as she had actually only had one previous job, and that had lasted only a day.

Whether they actually used her photos she didn’t know, as it was for a foreign magazine.

But still, Robyn could call herself a model, and no-one was ever going to say different.

Standing five six, she had perfected what she believed to be the model stance. Head held high, shoulders pulled back to emphasise her breasts, over which she only ever wore a half cup bra. She wanted people to know that they were real, the movement in the upper half of the bra noticeable with every step.

When sitting, she always held her knees together, hiding what the short dresses covered, but intimating that there was more to be seen.

She had sent four pictures with her application. One was in her ball gown, one in jeans and shirt, one in a suit, and one taken on her holiday, wearing a very small bikini. The bikini didn’t really hide much, but it was the only swimsuit picture she had. Two formal, one casual, and one swimsuit picture were the requirements. And as it was now mid winter, she didn’t really feel she could go out in a swimsuit and get someone to take her picture. The bikini one would have to do. She hoped

To her surprise, she had been invited for an audition.

Robyn was so excited, and spent three days shopping for clothes. She had no idea what to wear, or even what the shoot would be for. But it didn’t matter. It was work, and that had been conspicuous by it’s absence recently.

She would have to travel over a hundred miles, but they had sent her return tickets for the journey, so the distance wasn’t a problem. She knew she could sleep on the train if she needed, as it would be an overnight journey. There was no chance of her missing her stop, as the train would terminate there.

She spent hours deciding on her makeup and hair. Normally, her hair hung straight, with a light curl where it reached her shoulders. But she wanted something different. Lack of money meant she could not afford the hair dressers, so it would have to be done at home.

After two hours of trying one effect, then changing her mind, she had returned to her natural look. Nothing else had felt right for her.

Blue eye shadow and waterproof mascara, a light pink lipstick, and Robyn was satisfied that she looked as good as she could.

The dress she would be travelling in would tightly around her slim waist, making her legs appear longer than they actually were. Though not low cut, the top did little to hide the swell of her breasts, but it was never meant to do.

Robyn knew that you never got a second chance to make a good first impression, and she wanted this job more than anything in the world. Her appearance had to be perfect. Anything less, and the job may go to someone else.

She still hadn’t told anyone about the audition. Her parents were against her doing modelling, telling her that only a few get the good jobs, and that there were a lot of people out in the world who would simply exploit girls for their own ends.

If she got the job, then she would tell them. Until then, Robyn decided it would be best not to say anything. After all, they would be pleased with the money if she got it.

She slept a little on the train, but spent most of it awake, wondering if she had done all she could with her looks to give herself a chance. There was nothing else she could do now, other than touch up her makeup.

She had no overnight bag, no change of clothing. She had committed herself, and the looks she got from some of the male passengers, made sure she knew she had got their attention.

If she could get a similar reaction at the audition, she would stand a good chance.

She was met at the station by a woman in her late forties, who introduced herself as Mrs Watson.

“I will be responsible for you until you go home, dear”

The accent was unplaceable. Robyn thought of it as English with a touch of foreign, but could not say exactly where from.

She wore a long dark coat, and heels. What lay under the coat was hidden from view, but the woman walked erect, as if she herself was a model. There was always a trace of a smile on the woman’s lips, but Robyn could not see it transfer to the woman’s eyes.

Models, she knew, had to smile even when they were tired, in a bad mood, or even if their pet dog had died on the way to the shoot. Personal feeling had to be masked, and perhaps the woman was masking the fact that she didn’t really want to be out in the cold at four-fifteen in the morning, meeting yet one more girl who really shouldn’t have bothered.

Robyn shivered as they walked to where Mrs Watson had parked the car. Right then, she wished she had worn the heavy coat she had considered, but instead had gone for the flimsy coat that didn’t hide much, but nor did it supply warmth.

“You will soon warm up” the woman said, seeing Robyn shiver. “The heater in the car is good, and we will be there in less than an hour.”

An hour?  Robyn looked at the woman as if to ask where the audition was being held, but by then they had reached the car, and she was busy unlocking the doors.

Inside the car Mrs Watson soon had it started, and had turned the heater up full.  Pulling out of the car park Robyn saw the first sprinklings of snow, and knew she should have brought the heavier coat.

Mrs Watson was concentrating on the road, as the snow started to get a little heavier. The heater was as good as she had been told, and Robyn soon felt herself warming up.

“There is a flask on tea in the glove compartment for you” the driver said. “We guessed you would be a little chilled by the night air”.

Robyn smiled a thank you to the woman, and opened the glove box. True the her word, there was a small stainless steel flask, and a cup. Waiting until the car had turned a corner, Robyn poured herself a cup of tea, and cupped her hands around it for the extra warmth. The tea was a little sweet, but delicious. Robyn though, at first, it may have been herbal, from the taste, but it had milk in, so it couldn’t have been. Still. It was very nice, and she had soon drained her cup, placing it, and the flask, back in the compartment she had got it from.

“Try to get some sleep” Mrs Watson said, her voice sounding a little distant now.

Robyn didn’t realise she was so tired, but her eyes were already feeling heavy. She felt bad about falling asleep, leaving Mrs Watson to drive in the snow without company, but she simply couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer.

As she slumped in the seat, Mrs Watson looked over at her, and smiled. She would do perfectly.

Robyn awoke and stretched her arms. As she opened her eyes, she was surprised to find she was no longer in the car, but in a warm bed. Mrs Watson had obviously arrived back safe and sound, and had helped her to bed. But she couldn’t remember anything after drinking that tea in the car. She would make a point of thanking the woman later.

Moments later and the door to the room opened, and a younger woman walked in, carrying Robyn’s clothes. It wasn’t until then that she realised someone had undressed her..

Pulling the sheets up around her body, Robyn sat up, watching the woman as she walked over to the bed.

“Your dress got a little dirty, Robyn, so we had it cleaned for you. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“No, thank you” replied Robyn. Her voice sounded a little strange, but she had only just woken up. ”I had just woken before you came in”.

“I hope you slept well”.

Without waiting for an answer, the woman placed Robyn’s clothes on a chair by the bed, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Once alone. Robyn climbed out of bed and reached for her clothes. She felt a little dizzy, but put that down to having slept so long. Her watch said three in the afternoon, so she had slept for almost eleven hours. Much more than she normally slept for.

Maybe it was her imagination, but her movements seemed slower than normal, as she pulled the lace thing up her legs. She stopped to look at herself in the mirror, wondering if she would be able to pull off the audition, and get the job.

It took her several minutes to get dressed. For some reason, fastening buttons seemed harder than normal for her. She wondered if she were coming down with the flu or something. That would be the last straw. After the effort she had put in, the last thing she needed now was the flu.

Just as she finished dressing Mrs Watson entered, carrying a tray with cereal and a steaming mug of tea.

“Hello, dear. Breakfast first, then we will bring you down for your audition. We are currently looking at another girl, then one more before your turn. Janice will come and get you when we are ready for you”

Robyn was taken aback. It had not occurred to her that there would e other girls trying for the same job. She knew she would not be the only applicant, but she didn’t expect them all to be there on the same day.

It did make sense to see everyone on one day, but it simply hadn’t occurred to her.

Before Robyn could ask any questions, Mrs Watson had placed the tray on a small table. And had left the room.

The cereal was nothing to right home about, but the tea was the same as she had tasted the night before. Robyn didn’t know what tea it was, but she knew she would have to find out before she returned home. Whatever it was, it was beautiful. She still couldn’t put a name to the taste, but it was certainly better than the Tesco tea bags her mother always bought. She would buy whatever this tea was, and let her mother keep the Tesco ojne for herself and Robyn’s father.

Still feeling a little dizzy, Robyn sat on the edge of the bed and sipped her tea. She was no longer cold, but still she felt herself shiver.

“Damn it. I don’t want flu. Not now”

had the room started to get warmer? Robyn was sure that it had, and looked at the windows to see if she could open them. But, probably for security reason, the window locks needed a key to open them, and Robyn didn’t have one.

Once again she sat on the bed. She needed this dizzy feeling to go, before her audition. This could stop her being successful. Why hadn’t she seen the advert in summer, instead of having to travel a hundred miles in winter.

She heard the door open and Janice, the girl who had brought her clothes back earlier came in.

“We are ready for you now, Robyn. Please, follow me”

Robyn rose to her feet and walked slowly across the room. Once again the dizziness washed over her, and she felt herself sliding to the floor, unable to hold herself up any longer.

She felt, rather than saw, Janice come to her aid, and lift her up in her arms. And carry her back to the bed.

Moments later Robyn heard voices in the room, but her eyes refused to open. She recognised the voices of Janice, and Mrs Watson, but the words were slurred, and she could not make out what they were saying.

Robyn knew she had blown her chance of the job. Whatever was wrong with her, would not disappear in the short time she had before her audition. She tried to lift her arms, to climb out of bed, but the felt heavy, and resisted her attempts to move them.

“What is wrong with me?” she questioned herself. But no answer came her way.

She could still hear Janice and Mrs Watson, but could still not hear what was being said. It was as if they were talking whilst Robyn slept. Their voices taking a dream like quality. Not a whisper, but too slurred to understand what they were saying.

Even as she tried to get out of bed another time, Robyn could feel the darkness starting to wash over her. Her whole body felt too weak to move. Her eyes refused to open, and she felt someone touching her forehead, as if checking a sick person’s temperature.

Then all went black.

Robyn felt strange and disoriented when she awoke. She knew she was standing up, but that couldn’t be possible. She had been on the bed, she knew that. But now, now only was she not on the bed, but she was standing, and from what she could see, no longer in the bedroom at all.

She tried to turn her head, but it refused to move. Her arms, they wouldn’t answer to her call when she tried to lift them up.

She couldn’t feel anything holding her arms, or even herself, but nothing was moving when she tried, except her eyes. They could move from side to side, and up and down, but not her head.

Her mouth fell full, and yet, she cold tell it was wide open. She tried to push whatever was filling her mouth out, with her tongue, but it could find nothing blocking her mouth. There was something strange about the roof and bottom of her mouth, it felt hard, very hard. Almost metallic. But it wouldn’t move when she tried to move it.

Mrs Watson suddenly appeared in her line if vision. Robyn tried to ask what was going on, what was happening, but nothing came from her. She knew she was trying to talk, but there was no reaction at all to it.

Mrs Watson stopped and smiled.

“You’re  awake then dear” the smile still filled her lips, but never reached her eyes. “ You will be wondering what is going on I guess, dear, well, let me tell you and put you out of your misery. The tea you drank in the car, and earlier was special tea, imported from South America. It contains a drug that immobilises people, without them realising it is happening. Just as it did with you dear. We need you to have that, so we could start work on the rest of you.” She paused and lifted a spray can into Robyn’s view.

“This can contains a resin that also comes from South America. We spray your body with enough coats of it, and when it hardens, it stops you from moving. The first three coats were administered just after you arrived, and fell asleep. That was perhaps why you felt dizzy when you awoke. Your natural sense of balance had been disrupted. The first three coats don’t harden at once, they take time. When you drank the second cup of tea, that gave us the time to add the last dozen coats. Then, by standing you here in front of the fire, as we have done, the resin starts to harden. We no longer need you to drink the tea dear, as we no longer need to worry about you moving, you simply cant. Nor will you ever again.

“You wanted to be a model, dear, and that is exactly what you are going to be for as long as you live, that is. Once we have finished, you will be sold as a manikin, to a well known high street shop, maybe even where you come from, so, for a while, you can see people you know. We do try to do that for our models.

“No-one is actually sure how long you will live. I do know that it can take up to forty two days to die from starvation, but perhaps you will go crazy before that time. Who knows. We never follow up on our models. Once we sell them on, that’s it. We never keep track of them.

Your voice, by th way, wont work, as the inside of your mouth, and your vocal cords, are also sprayed with resin, so that they will no longer function. The casing will hold any water your body excretes, without leaving a trace. And as you were given an enema earlier, and have not eaten since, you don’t have to worry about starting to smell.

“You see, dear, you wildest dreams have come true. You wanted to become a model, and we are pleased to say, you passed the audition.”

Robyn couldn’t believe her ears. How could they hope to get away with this? Surely, when her voice returned she only had to explain what had happened, and the police would arrest Mrs Watson. And there, Robyn realised, she had another problem. She had drunk the tea almost as soon as she got in the car, and fallen asleep shortly after and actually had no idea where she now was. Or how far it was from where she had been picked up.

Mrs Watson had said about an hour, but that may or may not have been the truth, and in which direction? There had been no-one else on the station when Robyn had arrived, so no-one would have seen her and Mrs Watson together.

Robyn felt as if she were crying, but no tears fell. As far as she could tell, she was dead from the eyes down. Nothing would respond to her mental demands. She tried frantically to get her arms to move, or her legs, but they remained statuesque, unmoving.

Surely, if they did as Mrs Watson had said, and sold her to someone close to where Robyn lived, one of her friends would recognise her, and call someone. But even as she had that thought, Robyn knew that was never going to happen. No-one looked at the manikins in shop windows, only what the manikin wore

The latest dress, the new line of lingerie, next summer’s beach wear. But not the manikin.

No-one would recognise her. No-one would alert the authorities that there was a living person inside that dress shop doll.

Robyn knew everything was useless to her. There would be no escape. No rescue. For as long as he remained alive, she would be trapped inside the hard skin that she now wore.

How long did Mrs Watson sat? up to forty two days. That was seven weeks. Seven weeks trapped inside the model, nothing to eat or drink. Nothing to stimulate her mind, other than the fact that each day was one closer to the last.

The silent scream that filled her head was unheard by Mrs Watson as she put the finishing touches to the last coat of resin.

One more model, another hundred pounds in the bank, and the new advert had already generated a few responses.

Robyn felt herself being lifted up, and carried across the room. She tried to follow what was happening with her eyes, but she was moving too fast for them to focus on anything. Only when they came to a halt, was she able to focus again, and then, she didn’t want to do.

She had been placed in a room ready for delivery. But she was not alone. Her eyes had already caught at least another six models. She knew, instinctively, that these were the other girls Janice had mentioned had also come for auditions.

The ;light was turned out as Janice left the room, leaving Robyn and the other girls to their thoughts, and the knowledge that they had succeeded in becoming models.

More than half an hour had passed since the last of her daughter’s whimpering had subsided which was an hour after her screams were at their fiercest. I finally permitted her mother, Nora,  to stand outside the unlocked bathroom door where Kitty hid inside. Hid inside from any further abuse from me, their kidnapper   and her earlier tormentor.

Nora knocked ever so softly.

‘Kitty. Kitty, it’s your mother. I want you to come out.’

There was complete silence as we both waited for a response, me in heightened anticipation. Such mother daughter moments were precious and irreplaceable.

Nora knocked slightly louder and faster.

‘Kitty, please come out. Come out or I’ll come in instead.’

Kitty objected quickly.

‘No, Mom, no. Don’t come in.’

‘Why?  Why not sweetheart? Why?’

‘Please Mom, please, because, because I don’t want you to see me. Not this way. Is he still out there? Is he out there with you? I don’t want you to see what he did to me.’

Nora directed her mother’s instinctive fury my way.

‘You bastard. What did you do to my daughter? How did you make her scream? You filthy bastard. What did you do to her? Why doesn’t she want me to see her?’

I was prepared for her anger, for her resistance, in that I had my trusty twenty-two pistol in hand, the one I’d used to kidnap them with several hours earlier and two hundred miles removed. I’d grabbed them in the underground parking garage of a swanky hotel where they were attending a benefit for Lymphoma, a form of cancer with a high survival rate, and they were dressed to the nines in their finest finery. I kept the gun pointed in Nora’s general direction, often aiming at her pussy area.

‘Nothing she can’t live with or without for that matter, and the same goes for you.’ I responded to Nora’s outrage.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you talking about?’

‘Get together with your daughter and you’ll see, you’ll find out.’

‘Kitty. Kitty if you don’t come out I’m coming in, so please sweetheart, please honey..’

Page 2.

After ten seconds we heard a rustle at the door knob as it turned ever so slowly. The door opened at an even greater snail’s pace and finally, at last, Kitty emerged from her hidey hole.

Most immediately evident, she was naked from the waist up, her party dress resting all bunched up on her hips and she had her slender arms crossed tightly across her flat chested front. Her delicate shoulders were rounded forward and she was trembling. Her hair was disheveled and many tears stained her cheeks.

Her eyes were pleading and incredibly sad.

She looked like a woman injured.

Nora was incensed.

‘You bastard. What have you done to her? Why does she have her dress down like that? You monster, you have no right. What did you do to her?’

Now the thing was, I had just instructed Nora that if I let her see her kid, see Kitty, that she could not run to her to hug nor comfort her and she couldn’t even tell her that I was forcing her to behave in such a distant manner. I advised her very specifically if she did, Kitty would pay a horrendous price, so there she stood, merely ten feet from her and could not move forward to embrace nor protect her. It was clear from the trepidation on Kitty’s face that she was confused by her mother’s apparent lack of willingness for physical contact and union. Her unwillingness to comfort her in her greatest time of need.

Kitty glared at me and began to berate me too.

‘How could you? How could you do it to me?’

‘What? What?’ Nora cried out to Kitty all alarmed. ‘Do what to you?’

I stepped back for the moment of truth wanting to take in the whole scene.

As I said, such were priceless, unrepeatable moments between mothers and daughters.

‘Mom. Mom, oh God Mom. What he did to me. Mom? God, Mom he, he, God, he cut..’

Nora’s face began to go ashen pale white sallow.

‘Mom, he cut, he cut, he cut off..’

Kitty opened her arms to reveal..

Nora shrieked at me.

‘You ungodly bastard. You sick, sick maniac. My baby. Oh God, my baby girl.’

Now Kitty was thirty-five so she weren’t no baby other than in her mother’s eyes.

She took a step towards me so I leveled the gun at Kitty’s head.

‘Try it. Just try anything and the bitch dies. You wanna be responsible for me putting a bullet in her head?’

Nora stopped short of her tracks.

‘Mom. Mom, why did he? Why did he cut off one of my nipples? I didn’t do anything to him, Mom.’

Page 3.

It was a question no sane, no loving, mother could ever answer with relevance for her mutilated daughter.

‘I don’t know. God, Honey, I don’t know how he could.’

‘But mom, how can I go on? I.. I know my breasts aren’t very big but I’ve never hated myself because of them. They’re what God gave me and now, now one of my nipples is gone. What am I supposed to do?’

‘You have to go on. You have no choice. You must remain strong and prevail.’

‘But Mom, there’s more. So much more. I’m a terrible daughter. I’ve been a terrible daughter and I don’t know how I can ever forgive myself. How I can ever make it up to you?’

‘No. No. No, Honey, no. No, it’s not your fault. No, he’s insane, so there’s nothing you have to blame yourself for.’

‘No Mom, you don’t know. You just don’t know. You don’t know all of it. You don’t understand.’

‘What? What, baby, what?’

‘He’s evil. He’s a monster. Before he did it to me, he told me he was going to. At least an hour before, he let me know so I could anticipate and be scared. And I prayed so hard but it didn’t make any difference to me. Look at me.’ (The mutilated woman pressed at her injured breast)  ‘Look at my breast. Now Mom, why can’t I understand? Why did this have to happen to me?’ Why did he have to do it to me?’

Nora answered softly, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know honey.’ **

And then she turned her vitriol on me. Nora shot her hatred my way like stabbing, firebrand arrows.

‘You scum. You degenerate piece of garbage. She’s my daughter. She’s precious, my precious. How could you? She never harmed you. She’s never harmed anyone. How, how in God’s earth could you?’

I shrugged my shoulders like the whole matter was funny and I didn’t give a shit, flying or otherwise and answered her, ‘Why don’t you let her finish. Go ahead, Kitty, finish.’

Page 4.

‘But Mom, he, he gave me a choice. He said, said, he said if I cut it off myself, if I did it to myself, he wouldn’t hurt you. Mom. I failed. I failed you. I tried. I really did, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t cut my own nipple off.’

‘Oh Honey. Oh Sweetheart, of course you couldn’t. Of course not. No woman could.’

‘But look at me. It’s gone anyway. It hurts just as much and looks just as horrible but he said, he said if I didn’t do it, he’d cut both your nipples, both of your nipples off.’

Nora shot her fiercest glare at me and I gave her a smug, power-filled look as I pointed the gun at her chest.

I smiled at Nora and nodded my head to affirm Kitty wasn’t lying, that she hadn’t made it all up.

I then looked at Kitty.

‘Tell her. Tell her the rest.’

‘Oh Mom. Oh, God Mom, he said other horrible, unimaginable things. Things he said he would do to your vagina too.’

Nora became a little less mother like and more unsteady and afraid for her own physical and sexual identity. It had never occurred to her that I’d torture her vagina and by extrapolation that of her daughter too. She hadn’t even thought I’d rape them, in that somehow she’d prevent me from having the opportunity. Y’know, a mother’s protective instincts and all directed towards her young one. Her legs were growing wobbly and she feared she was about to faint.

‘I have to.. I have to sit down.’

There was a chair (conveniently, since I’d anticipated her reaction) just off to the side.

‘Go ahead.’ I motioned to her. ‘Have a fucking seat if it’ll help.’

Nora slumped down to be seated and looked down at the floor for a few moments and then back up at Kitty still standing all guilty and afraid.

‘Sweetheart, I’m your mother. I could, I can never be angry at you for something you could not possibly help. You must understand that and accept it. As for him, that monster, no. No he will not.. I won’t let him. So don’t worry about that.’

Page 5.

It was so masterfully marvellous and really quite predictable. The main question was, what did Nora think she wouldn’t let me do? Didn’t she understand I could play Kitty against her just as effectively as I had played her against Kitty. Always and ever threaten to hurt one to get the other one to do something horrible and unthinkable.

Nora was a dunce when it came to motherly daughterly control. And of course about matters of sexual torture and mutilations. She knew nothing of how a tortured woman dies.

I decided to decidedly show her who was boss.

‘Mom. Mom, over here.  Stand up and take your fucking dress off. Take it off now.’

I pointed the gun at her face.

She looked shocked, like she never expected she’d actually have to strip for me. She was the older, wiser woman who was worthy of respect. She’d never been so humiliated in her life before nor forced into such a degrading unfolding situation.

She had the temerity to resist.

‘I will not. I won’t take my dress off for you.’

Kitty interjected, ‘Mom. Please listen to him. He’s made it perfectly clear to me that you’ll eventually have to do what he says. That I had to do what he wanted. Mom, I know you don’t want to, I don’t want you to either, but you’d better do what he says.’

It was two against one and Nora looked confused and hurt.

That her daughter would gang up on her hurt her.

As offended as her sensibilities were, she knew Kitty’s hurt went way beyond just the emotional. It dawned on her she’d have to comply but wanted to wring some concessions out of me. She revealed them slowly, layer after intricate layer, or so she thought. To me it was mostly so very simplistic since I’d heard it  many times before in different shades and nuances. Many hues of the same color.

‘I will take my dress off but I have to do it slowly. It’s an Italian designer, one of my favorites and very expensive so I will take it off but carefully. I don’t want to damage it.’

Page 6.

Was she for real? Her fucking daughter was standing there nippleless and she was fussed about her dress. Stupid, arrogant, spoiled rich bitch, indeed if she really was worried about the state of her ladi-da dress, I’d fix it for her.

She continued with another layer of her concerns.

‘And.. and I want you to tell me, I need you to tell us both that you were not serious about hurting me. That you only used it to scare Kitty, which you did terribly, horribly, but that was  it. The end and that you won’t hurt either one of us any more. I need you to promise before I take off my dress.’

I could have acted angry like I was outraged at her demands but what was the need? I’d get everything I wanted out of them eventually so there was no percentage in being a boor other than I could be a right fine one if I wanted to be.

‘I’ll think about that.’ I answered. ‘But before you undress which I know you will, so that dress is expensive? Huh? One of your favorites? It sure as hell fits you good. Show off your fucking figure. I love how it pulls across the front, across your tits.’

‘Yes. Yes, I already told you that.’

I reached  into a drawer in a side table and fetched out an Italian switch-blade knife with an ivory handle. It was from WWII.   I showed it to Nora and asked her, ‘So what do you think this is?’

She wasn’t a hundred percent sure since the blade was folded in.

I snapped it open with the push of a button.

‘Oh my God. My God, I can see it’s a knife.’

‘Indeed it is and isn’t it a coincidence, it’s from Italy too just like your designer dress. So maybe the two of them should get together.’

I stood up to approach her.

Now Nora’s dress was of the finest quality silk, a medium blue and stretched across her bosom  in a low gentle curve revealing two inches of her moderate cleavage. The finest feature were its spaghetti straps which made it look like lingerie, which it wasn’t. It was an Ungaro original which cost near ten thousand dollars. Spoiled cunt, I’d show her how much respect I had for such decadence.

Page 7.

Nora stood up defiantly and wanted to back away but I warned her ever so matter-of-factly, ‘Stand still. Stay right where you are or I’ll cut her other nipple off.’

Both women scrunched their faces up as I arrived at Nora’s shoulders. I raised the knife to her face and traced it’s sharp point down her neck and over to a thread thin strap. She fully expected me to cut it with a quick flick of my wrist and stood trembling with her breasts jiggling. Fuck was she turning me on. Of course, I surprised her. From a certain angle I was able to slide the blade of the knife inside her dress from just in front of her armpit and I didn’t make it go inside her bra which was a strapless variety.

I wiggled the blade inside her dress  and then said, ‘Oops.’

But nothing had happened.

‘Oh pardon me.’ I said again. ‘Oops.’ And with that thrust the knife point out through the fabric covering her bra and gave a hard slice and cut her dress open at the front on one side. It was royally and completely ruined. Ten thousand bucks down the crapper.

Nora jumped back.

‘You bastard. You miserable bastard. Why did you have to do that?’

I reached forward into the tear and ripped her dress right off her shoulders. It didn’t take much strength and the thin straps snapped.

‘Fine that’s better. That’s the way I wanna see you. So now it’s up to you. You gonna take your bra off or do I have to do it for you, with this?’ I raised the knife to her again.

‘No. No. OK. No. I will. I will. I’ll take it off for you. Just give me a minute.’

‘Sure, take all the time you want. While you are I’ll just check out what’s going on with Kitty over here.’ I moved in on her daughter.

Nora removed her bra before I ever got the ten feet to her kid.

‘Stand up straight. Don’t round your shoulders. Stick your fucking tits out like you’re proud of them.’

She tried her best and her best not to shake but she kept on jiggling her stuff.

Page 8.

I addressed her.

‘So Kitty told you the deal. She told you how she failed you. How I told her if she’d cut her own nipple off, I wouldn’t do it to you. But she failed. My God, how miserably she failed so I suppose it’s up to you now.’

She looked at me angry, humiliated and confused.

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘It’s up to you to chose. Which one? Which one of your nipples comes off? To start?’

Her mouth trembled and her chin quivered and Kitty cried out, ‘No. No, please you can’t. No please. Don’t do any more. I know I failed. I tried as hard as I could but I failed. But don’t make my mother pay for it. It’s not her fault. It’s not even my fault. It’s, it’s yours for.. Oh, please just don’t hurt my mother.’

I sauntered over to Kitty.

‘I see. I.. so.. I see. OK, what if I give you a second chance? Huh? A second chance to save your mom? Think you could do better?’

‘What? I don’t know. What?’

‘Sure you do. You have another nipple, at least still. So what if I give you another chance to cut it off and that way your mom gets spared?’

Nora piped up, ‘No Kitty. No don’t. Don’t even think about it. Don’t give into his preposterous suggestion. Kitty, Honey, I’m your mom, your mother. It’s up to me to protect you. So please, just let me deal with him.’

I went back to the older woman.

‘So you wanna deal with me. Huh? What kinda deal do you wanna make?’

‘Let me work up the courage and I’ll take my clothes off. I’ll take all my clothes off for you.’

Did she really think she wouldn’t be doing that anyway? Both of them? Still it was a treat to play along with her like her offer had significance and hope.

‘No more shit. No shit. No more delaying nor dodging and weaving. You’ll co-operate and just..’

‘Yes. Yes I will. If you’ll just let me have a moment with Kitty, a private moment. I’ll do everything you say.’

Page 9.

What neither woman knew was I had super sensitive microphones hidden in several locations within the room where they were imprisoned and also had a window that looked like a mirror from which I could observe them unknown from a secret adjoining room. Like the set up you see on TV cop shows where a suspect is included in a lineup for a victim to identify. I had a remote control panel which allowed me to activate the mikes and a tape recorder located in the hidden viewing room.

‘I suppose I could do that.’ I offered as I sidled-up to the right switch and set the equipment going.

‘I’ll just sit down over here so you can figure it out between yourselves. Take as long as you want.’

Nora sent me a suspicious, unsettled look. Take as long as they wanted, what did that mean? She would have expected impatience from me, like I’d want to get at whatever it was I was proposing to do, but no. Leisurely and relaxed, no hurry no fuss. What were the implications of that?

One of my favorite portions of the sterling book, The Collector, by John Fowles, (highly recommended reading for any true fan of the kidnapping and hold ‘em sport) is where Miranda is negotiating for the length of her stay. Where at first she believes a day to be too long and yet eventually settles for four weeks. Not a month mind you which for the story would have been thirty-one days, but absolutely no more than four weeks. It was the same sense that Nora was picking up on. Did ‘take as long a you want’ really mean they wouldn’t be leaving that day or heaven forbid, not any time soon? It unsettled her and even Kitty sensed my generosity of time allotment held deeper sinister meaning.

So I did as I said, moved away from within earshot, and Nora moved close to Kitty. Her motherly instincts overpowered her and she gave her daughter a big, tender hug and consoled her head by stroking her cheek and her hair. She tried to sooth her mind. I guess she’d forgotten my threats about not embracing her, but surely I hadn’t. I just didn’t say anything about it right then.

I’d let them have almost half an hour and stood up.

‘OK. Enough is enough. What have you decided?’

‘If I take my dress off, oh God help me, I don’t believe I’m saying that, saying it. When I take my dress off, I’ll let you do it. I’ll let you rape me if you want to but you have to promise not to hurt Kitty anymore. You have to promise.’

Kitty cried out, ‘No Mom. No. That’s not what we said. No Mom you can’t. You can’t let him.’

‘Kitty, I’m your mother. Just please be quiet and let me handle this.’

‘By handle this you mean handle me, I presume?’ I interjected.

Nora gave me a more suspicious look.

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I just meant I don’t want Kitty making it any harder for me to stick to my resolve than it already is. That’s all I meant.’

‘Humph. OK. I guess. So you’re going to let me fuck you? I can stick it right up between your sweet legs. Huh? Right into your fucking cunt. Huh? Ram your twat? Suck on your clit?’

‘Stop it. Stop talking dirty. You have no idea how difficult this is for me and there’s one other thing you have to agree to.’

Page 10.

‘And what would that be?’

‘Not in front of Kitty. Not in front of my daughter. You don’t get to rape me in front of her.’

I strode over to Kitty.

‘What do you think of that? What do you think of your mom’s offer?’

‘Please. Just please, don’t do it. Don’t rape her. Can’t you see how desperate she is to protect me. She loves me. She really loves me and I love her too. So please, don’t hurt her.’

‘Tell you what. I’ll give it a bit of thought. Take it under advisement as they say. I’ve got something to do for awhile . I’ll let you know when I get back.’

With that I high-tailed it out of their prison room into my secret observation room and got all ensconced to watch them while I played back the contents of their conversation. I really wanted to know how much and what they had been plotting.

As Nora touched her daughter for the very first time since her mutilation she began, ‘Oh Kitty, oh sweetheart, let me see your breast. Oh God, how much does it hurt? Can you stand the pain? How can you stand the pain?’

‘Mom, I don’t know. It’s not as bad, not as severe as it was  when he first did it, but it still hurts. It hurts a lot. God, Mom, why did he do it to me? Why did he have to?’

‘I don’t know. I truly don’t know. Some men are just so sick that everything normal to us means nothing to them. They just live and operate outside the norms, the bounds of decent human behavior. I don’t know, Honey, but he must be crazy.’

‘Do you think he’s going to kill us? God, Mom, do you?’

‘No. No, I’m sure God won’t let that happen. I’m sure God will give me the strength and the opportunity to be sure that doesn’t happen.’

‘I dunno. I’m not sure. Look how he already got us. How he laid in wait and forced us into his van when we weren’t even aware of his existence. I don’t know, Mom, he’s gotten away with a lot already. And even more so, what he did to my breast. Isn’t that even so much more horrible?’

Page 11.

‘Yes. Of course it is, yes. Kitty, please tell me. I know it may hurt, it may be more than you want to re-live, but how did he do it? What did her use to, to..’

‘To remove my nipple? To cut it off?’

‘Yes. What did he use?’

‘That’s part of what scares me so much about him. He had, no he has, a whole array of medical instruments. Surgical stuff. Like the real thing from hospitals. He says he bought them on the Internet and he used a scalpel to perform what he called a

nipple-ectomy. He joked about it not being a radical mastectomy, and not even a radical nipple-ectomy since he didn’t take my areola too. How could he joke about it. How could he mom?’

‘Like I said he’s crazy and demented and we have to find a way to beat him. We have to find a way to defeat him so we can get away and be free.’

‘How? How is that possible? We don’t know where we are. It was a long drive, at least two hours. We don’t even know if we can get out of this room he has us in.’

‘I know. You’re right, but we can’t just let him abuse us and then kill us. We can’t just surrender our bodies to him nor our lives. I think we both know that.’

‘Yes. OK. What do you want to do? What do you want to try then?’

‘The only thing I can think of and I know it sounds horrendous and impossible, but the only thing we have to use against him is, are our bodies.’

‘What? Why? How?’

‘We have to trick him into thinking we’re going to co-operate with him. That we will be willing participants, even victims, and when the moment is perfect we have to attack him. We have to attack him to kill him. Anything less and I’m sure we’ll fail and end up paying for it even worse. We’ll have to find the strength and just do it no matter how reprehensible and horrid and foreign it might seem.’

Page 12.

‘After what he’s done to me, nothing would please me more. I hate to say it but I want to cut his penis off. I want to smash his testicles since that’s what’s motivating him to do all this in the first place. I hate him. I despise him. I want to murder him myself. You wouldn’t even have to help.’

‘No. No, we do it together. He’s injured my baby girl. No I want to kill him along with you. So we’re agreed on that?’

‘Yes. If we can, we’ll kill him together.’

‘What is your plan? What is your plan, Mom?’

‘I’m going to undress for him. I know I’ll have to do that. So I’ll offer. And you’ll have to do the same thing too.’

‘I don’t know if I can. Even though he’s already handled my breasts, and he suckled them too, I don’t know if I can offer to take the rest of my clothes off. You know Mom. You know why, about my vagina.’

‘Oh baby, I’m so afraid for you. God sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking. How could I be so forgetful?’

‘It’s OK. It’s OK Mom, but what am I supposed to do? Do about it?’

(I have to say here, they really engaged my heightened interest. What was the big mystery? What the fuck was with Kitty’s Kunt? I liked that, like KK, Kitty’s Kunt with a capital K.)

‘God, there’s nothing you can do. I don’t think there is. Why, oh why God when you asked for the reconstructive surgery didn’t I listen to you. Yes, it’s how God made you, but I should have listened to your concerns but I guess I felt it wasn’t urgent and any time you wanted to we could arrange to have it done. God, I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry Kitty, now you’re going to have to deal with him looking at you, leering at it and..’

‘Oh God, Mom, what if he want’s to cut it off too? What will I do then?’

‘I don’t think he would. I don’t think he could. I don’t know. I truly don’t know what to say.’

‘I.. I didn’t want to say. I really felt I couldn’t, but you could be wrong.’

‘No. Why? What makes you say that?’

Page 13.

‘No, it’s what he said to me. What he said when he was trying to convince me, trying to force me to cut my own nipple off, what he said besides if I didn’t, he’d cut both yours off. What he said about hurting your vagina.’

‘Kitty, you have to tell me. You have to tell your mother. I need to know so I have a truer, the truest picture possible of what we’re dealing with in him. So I know how hard I have to fight back to defeat him.’

‘If you can..’ Kitty replied softly.

‘Don’t think like that. Don’t say it either. Of course we’re going to triumph over him. I know God won’t let us lose to him, so please, please Honey tell me. What else did he say?’

‘I can’t. I can’t repeat it. It’s too horrible and disgusting. It’s completely inhuman and shows such horrid disrespect for a woman’s body. Oh Mom, please Mom, don’t make me say.’

Nora took Kitty’s face in her hands, at that point, I could easily see it from where I sat off in the distance and gave her her most sincere and serious motherly but stern look.

‘Tell me. Just tell me now. You must.’

‘Mom. OK, Mom, but I think I might be sick. I think I might throw up as I utter the words. I don’t know if I can keep it all inside, I’m so scared when I think of it and my own vagina.’

‘What.. what exactly did he say?’

‘He said if I didn’t cut my nipples..’

‘Yes I know it was about that. What did he say about me more?’

‘He said he would hurt your vagina. He said he would tie you down with your legs spread and he’d torture you between them. Mom, Mom, he said he would cut your labia, he would use the scalpels on them and oh God, heaven forbid, he said he would puncture and then burn your clitoris. Burn your clitoris, Mom. How could you ever stand that?’

Nora sounded audibly shaken.

‘Any more? Anything else?’

Page 14.

‘Yes. Yes, the worst part of all. He said he has a number of speculums, y’know what the doctors use for internal examinations to open the passage. He said he would insert one into you and, oh God, he would violate your cervix. He said he’d concentrate on torturing your cervix. Oh God, how could anyone think to be so cruel and then the last worst thing which I’ve never heard of nor ever even thought of. He said he’d put a big firecracker into your vagina and blow your cervix into your womb. How could any woman, no matter how strong or determined survive that? Survive all that? How Mom? How?’

‘No. No, she couldn’t and you know what, I think he knows it. I think he just wanted to talk as dirty and as horrible to you to try to terrorize you into doing something else he knew was impossible. I think it was just an extreme abuse of power and control. Control and power he thinks he has over us, had over you at the time.’

‘And I’d agree with you except he did it. He actually did it and if you look closely how he did it, he left a stub of my nipple. He explained to me by not cutting the whole end off, but leaving a fraction, about a quarter, it would be more painful since so many nerve endings would still be left. He even tried to maximize my suffering that way by leaving a trace of it. Like a nipple stump.

(I loved it. Spectacular. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? “A nipple stump.”)

‘OK. OK, give me a minute, please. This is so much to take in. Almost too much to absorb. I don’t know if I can, but I have to find an answer and the right one right off. I don’t think we’ll get a second chance with him.’

‘While you are, please tell me what to do about my minora labia. Please, and the way they hang out so far. What am I supposed to do about that part that hangs out of my vagina? I’m sure when he sees it he’ll want to torture it too.’

(My eyes grew wide and I ground my teeth. I knew. I fucking knew if she had one of those hangy-out cunt thingy-magigys, I’d be stretching it long and biting it off. I’d done it to two before her already. And it just proved the premise that there was no accounting for, nor predicting, vaginal construction. Some of the sweetest, tidiest females had sloppy cunts too. And I never took Kitty with her flat chested tits to be one of those also. Oh happy day, what a lucky time for me was ahead.)

Page 15.

‘I don’t know. God I don’t know what to think of anything about him. I don’t know what he’ll want to do to your minora and, Honey, I have to ask even though I don’t want to know.’

‘What? What is it?’

‘What did he do with your nipple?’

‘Oh God, that’s another horrible part. I almost forgot. I guess I wanted to shut it out, suppress it. How can one man, one monster, be so completely evil?’

‘What did he do with it?’

‘First he put it in his mouth like I thought he was going to eat it, almost like a wad of chewing gum and then he took it out and told me to do the same thing. And when I refused he said he’d cut the other one off so I did. Oh God, oh my Jesus, I had my own severed nipple in my mouth. How utterly disgusting and horrid.’

‘And then what? What did he do next?’

‘He asked me if I wanted to eat it and, of course, I said no so he asked for it back. My God in Heaven, what are we talking about here? We’re talking about one of my nipples but I gave it back to him and he thanked me and said it was just as well I wouldn’t swallow it since he wanted it as a souvenir of me. He said he already has a whole collection of them and he’d be happy to add  mine and then he said about adding yours to.’

Nora muttered, ‘God. Oh my God.’ Several times in quick succession.

‘I told him it wouldn’t last very long as a souvenir, like it would spoil and he said he had a method of preserving it in clear, liquid acrylic that when hardened, it, my nipple would always look just as it did when he cut it off me. He seemed so proud of that, like it took special skill or intelligence or something. God, Mom, how can any of this be for real?’

‘Yes, I have heard of certain sexual deviants keeping souvenirs of their victims but it was usually pieces, items of under-garments or maybe a lock of hair, never actual sexual body parts. My God, the man is highly demented. My God, he could be the worst. The worst ever.’

Page 16.

‘Do you think he’s a psychopath? A sexual deviant psychopath? Do you think that, Mom?’

‘I really don’t know, but from what you’re describing he could be. God, I hope he’s not. God, I hope we haven’t fallen into the hands of a torturing, mutilating, sexual psychopath because then he’s most likely a serial killer too since otherwise he’d've been caught by now.’

‘You really think he kills his victims?’

‘I don’t know.’ She paused reflectively. ‘I hope not.’

‘You think he’s gonna kill us?’

‘No, I won’t let that happen. I already told you he’s come to the end of his killing spree line, if that’s what he’s been up to.’

You might say she was right, not about the end of the line but about what I’d been up to. That would be up to number twenty-two  and counting and when their times came, it would make an even two dozen. Not to shabby for not even coming close to being caught.

And the crazy, but delightful, part of pursuing my proclivity was the endless supply of potential victims. I mean they were every where in the most unsafe and insecure of locations and positions. It was a bounty, an inexhaustible supply of female flesh to be rendered.

Take local regional shopping malls, the ones where ninety percent of the staff and customers arrived by car. Many had at least a couple of hundred of stores. Focusing on the staff possibilities first, it was common mall practice that they had to park quite far out from close to the entrance doors to facilitate the paying shoppers and, of course, because of the long walk, most clerks parked still where they could be closest to the entrance nearest to the store they worked in. And of two hundred stores, percentages dictated there would be a small but guaranteed number of female clerks who would be right up my alley. Especially in the women’s higher end stores or the trendy boutique type staffed by savvy young women on the way up, or so they thought. It took almost no smarts to wait for them at closing time to jaunt the long haul to where their cars were parked and follow them around and to learn their routines. Then under cover of darkness and bad weather, driving rain was the best, to kidnap them at gunpoint and spirit them away to my secret prison specially constructed to keep them in.

Page 17.

And some other ones were the female real estate agents. I mean how fucking dumb could they be? They even published little pictures of themselves with their listings and it was easy to scan them to find potential victims and delve further by accessing their web sites. The good looking ones, and there were always a few, why didn’t they just run a banner add, – Potential rape victim. Come and get it, come and get me. Here’s where I am. I’m asking for it. Cut the cunt out of me.

They might as well have, with the wording of some of their ads.

Yes, indeed, the listings themselves. The catch words and the watch phrases. ‘Immediate Possession’ and lately ‘Bank in Possession’ which meant the house was vacant. Was currently unoccupied and what better place to grab an unsuspecting woman than in a house that’s guaranteed to be empty. Also, ’secluded, very private, or estate like setting’, all indicating a level of privacy and isolation conductive to kidnapping a woman unnoticed.

Then there was the greed factor, ever the almighty lure of the slimy dollar. Find a property that fit the parameters and the targeted woman was the listing agent and as a potential buyer dealing with her, she would get both ends of the commission. I mean let’s say a million dollar house, common in many city and even rural areas, and the six percent commission so common, on both ends, was sixty-thousand dollars. What an incentive to ignore the danger signals that she could be being lured to her demise.        Another ripe area were seasonal properties. Cottages or camp as some of the upper crust liked to call them and again remoteness  and isolation  and nobody home all rounded out the feasibility.

Anyhow, enough on my theories and practical applications of victimology. Back on the ranch, er, in the prisoner’s pad, the two women had fallen silent.

Kitty looked at Nora really deeply and finally came out with it, out with the unanswerable question.

‘Mom, what if we fail?  What if we don’t succeed  in overpowering him or even deterring him? What then? What are we supposed to do? To do then?’

‘We’ll just have to believe that we will. That’s all we can do.’

Page 18.

‘No, but no, Mom. What if we can’t. Please answer me. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a grown woman. Please don’t treat me like a child. I know you’re still trying to protect me but look at my breast. You couldn’t protect me from that. What if we can’t and we know he’s going to kill us or he already has killed one of us and the other still lives. What then?’

‘You have to believe. I’m asking you to believe that God will take care if us. That He won’t let that happen.  That her cares for us and loves us and won’t let such a horrible fate befall us. You still do believe in God, don’t you?’

Kitty hesitated.  She scrunched up her face and gave an indication she wasn’t so sure anymore.

‘Sweet heart, you have to believe. I know you’re a good Christian and you believe in Jesus Christ as your personal saviour, so you must not let your faith waver. Is this what’s shaking your faith? You don’t see that is might be a test? A test for both of us?’

‘I understand that Mom. I really do, about God not giving you more than you, than we, can handle but I’m not so sure anymore. I mean not since Dr. Marla.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. Oh. OK, yes, I can understand that. I think I can.’

‘But Mom, think about it. I mean you appeared on her  programme ‘Balance TV’ and she was so healthy and vibrant and the aerobics workout you did together, it was really something. Like the fitness part and how two older women could still look so good at your ages, but I mean she was a doctor, is a doctor, and the thing about her breasts. I mean you told me how she confided in you about how important her chest was to her, even though publicly she said otherwise to others, how she claimed her breasts never defined her but how she was terrified and prayed to God she might keep them and yet, a double, a double one. She still had to have a double mastectomy so how much did her prayers matter to God then? And what she said about being ‘mindful’ about her life. How she paid attention to the smallest of details always watching for a moment that could be a turning point. Weren’t we mindful of our lives? I guess not, for this to happen to us.’

‘No. No I don’t think that’s it at all. You can’t say this is our faults. It’s just, to a large degree, bad luck.’

Page 19.

‘No, but Mom, no. Marla said about luck and chance too. She said about, it’s not the luck, good nor bad, but what you do with it. The chances that the circumstances present to you. What possible good chances can what he’s done to my breast already and what he’s still threatening to do, what good can come from any of that? I just don’t know. I just don’t see nor even sense any. And that’s why I think Dr. Marla is wrong. Her God didn’t care about her and she had to sacrifice her beautiful breasts to the devil of cancer. What’s spiritual or Godly about that?’

‘I know. I see, it might seem that way but she’s still alive and remains a vibrant and successful woman.’

‘Yes she does. She is, but she has no tits. And like I just said, her precious breasts still had to be sacrificed to her uncaring God so I don’t know that I believe anymore. I don’t know that I believe God will save or even help us out of this so we shouldn’t count on it.’

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‘I don’t know Kitty. I don’t know that it’s the same thing.’

‘But it is Mom. Don’t you see? God didn’t intervene, He didn’t prevent us from being kidnapped in the first place. Why didn’t He keep this from happening at all?’

‘I don’t know. How can I know? I only know we have to find a way to defeat him and the only realistic one is to use our bodies to fool him into thinking we’re going to co-operate, no, into thinking we want to participate to show him what a pleasurable time we can allow him to have and then do it. Kill him. Execute him. That’s what we have to do. Oh, look. He’s coming back. I’ll have to lead off with our plan.’

It had been over twenty-five minutes so I’d been really generous allowing them so much time to commiserate and to plot. Of course, I knew I was going to be able to play back every one of their secret words so wasn’t in a hurry to stifle them. But my crotch was getting itchy for some pussy so it told me to get on back in to deal with them.

Page 20.

I fairly skipped back in to join them. I mean there’s no more exhilarating nor satisfying thrill than the anticipation, the knowing, that I was going to eat and beat a beautiful woman’s cunt. They were in there and I was joining them for some serious vaginal mayhem. Of the two, I suppose Kitty was the more beautiful, but Nora had a quiet strength and presence about her, a dignity, that made her even more appealing, like she’d be a tougher broad to break. The differences in the degrees of satisfaction I’d exact from each women were so miniscule I suppose they were insignificant but I decided to really go for Nora. I wanted to lay a beating on her and see how hard she’d fight me back.

‘So ladies, what’s up? What have you decided? I gave you lots of time, more than I expected, so I’m sure you’ve worked something out. Right?’

I strutted right up to Nora.

She could sense the aggression, the focus in my demeanor.

‘You’re gonna take your dress off? Right? Huh? Just like I was saying before?’

‘Yes I told you I would but only if you promise. Just like I was saying before too, you don’t rape me in front of Kitty. You don’t make my daughter watch.’

‘What if I rape her in front of you instead? How would that be?’

‘No. No, of course not. You know that wouldn’t be acceptable.’

‘So look, I don’t give a shit which one of you it is. My cock’s got a real itch and if it doesn’t feel some pussy lips around it soon, real soon, I’m gonna get mean. Really mean. Understand? And I’m sure Kitty will be tighter than you.’

I stepped towards the younger, trembling woman.

‘No. No. OK, no. Look. Look, I’m taking my dress off. Leave her alone. Look.’

She wriggled out of her party dress and let it fall to the floor around her ankles. Normally she would have treated it like

spun-gold but since it was already ruined from my knife cut across the bust she didn’t care that she stepped on it.

Her bra was a marvel. Even though it was strapless, it was thin and near see-through. Her nipples were normal with tight, hard, encircling little areolas. Nothing puffy about her nerps. Her panties were the rest of a matched set. Again, near see-through and very light, feminine pink. She didn’t shave herself but still her bush was tidy and trim just like the rest of her was.

Page 21.

She was so focused on me not attacking Kitty anymore that she’d forgotten to cry or even tremble but when I left off confronting Kitty to attend to Nora’s display, she became more scared and self-conscious about her near nakedness and vulnerability. She tried her best to look brave and strong, even defiant, but her lower lip and chin quivered and were giving her fears away.

I moved to within five feet of her and stood like a vision of authority looking her up and down and up.

‘Not fucking bad. Not fucking bad at all. How old are you anyway? I mean you’re her fucking mother and she’s gotta be forty-five.’ I motioned to Kitty.

(Calista Flockhart, born Nov. 11, 1964.)

The thing was I already knew she was over sixty but could easily pass for forty-five too.

(Sally Field, born Nov. 6, 1946.)

Nora’s face contorted more.

‘I’m old enough to know you shouldn’t be doing this and you are too. That you have no right and that you should leave us alone.’

‘Dressed like that, or undressed like that, you think I’m gonna leave you alone? Get real.’

Her face contorted and quivered more and her eye lids batted rapidly.

I decided to tease her.

‘What is it? What is it? What are you crying for?’

‘I’m not crying.’ She protested with a quavering voice that caught in her throat.

‘Maybe not yet but you’re pretty fucking close to tears. Right?’

She calmed herself and sucked in a deep breath of courage (and foolishness) to inform me, ‘I’m not going to let you make me cry. I won’t. I’m scared. I’ve never done this before.’

‘What? Stood in front of a man in your underwear?’

‘No. No, not that. Of course I’ve done that before. I’ve  just never been forced to before. That’s why I’m scared. Surely you can understand and accept that.’

‘So what if I do? What difference is it supposed to make?’

Page 22.

She gave me a plaintive, sad look.

‘The difference that you see me as a person and understand me as a human being, both of us, and you don’t do anymore horrible things to us. That’s what I want you to see.’

‘Y’know what I’d rather see? I’d rather see your nipples out so take off your bra.’

Nora was catching on.

She gave me a shape, piercing look but took the bra off right away. She new it didn’t hide anything anyway.

I groaned.

‘Oh fuck. What, you about a thirty-four C? Huh?’

She simply glared at me.

‘Give me your bra. Hand it to me.’

I was only five feet away in front of her.

She extended her hand tentatively and I accepted the garment and looked at the label inside.

‘Right. Fucking on right. I got it right. Says thirty-four C here. Damn I’m good. I really know my tit sizes.’ I paused to gloat at her. ‘How come she’s so flat when you’ve got so much body to your tits? You sure she’s your daughter? Maybe she’s adopted.’

‘Go to Hell. Stop being so mean and insensitive, disgusting. Go to Hell.’

‘Maybe when I compare cunts, maybe then I see the similarity. Right?’

Of course Nora had no way of knowing I’d heard Kitty lamenting her hangy-out minora labia and Nora clearly didn’t have the same, not that I could make out through the sheer, stretchy fabric at her panties’ crotch. So that would prove to be a bigger hoot and difference to be exploited.

‘Anyway, so you’re almost there. Give me your panties.’

She had maintained a facade of strength and dignity, believing the woman in her, the femininity in her soul, would carry her through but she could not surrender the last vestige of protection covering her intimacy. Her vagina belonged to her and she could not surrender it without some level of protest. She could not surrender it at all, she then knew, so her plan to seduce me seemed pretty much skuppered and doomed.

Page 23.

She began to tremble remarkably and her legs jiggled at the inner top thighs. She was near to pissing her panties and I didn’t want them soiled.

‘You piss yourself and I swear I’ll make Kitty lick it up. You understand?’

She scrunched her bladder muscles shut and squeezed her vagina tight.

‘Now give me your fucking underwear, the rest of it.’

She swayed and resisted. She was going to lose her balance.

‘I can’t. I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.’

‘You’re sorry? Really? If you don’t, it’s her that’ll be sorry.You want her to lose another nipple? Or worse? You want me to cut her vagina? Maybe even burn it?’

‘No. God, no. No don’t. Don’t make me. Don’t threaten her to make me. Please. Don’t. Just leave us alone.’

I decided to change the topic while keeping on the subject.

‘Did she, did Kitty ever tell you how she came to lose her nipple? The one that’s gone? The one that got away? Did she?’

I knew she hadn’t.

Nora shook her head and looked even more fearful.

She didn’t want to hear any account.

‘Well maybe I should tell you. It’s quite a story and maybe it’ll help you to co-operate better, so let’s see. Let’s see if I can go back an hour or two.’

Nora twisted her face and Kitty contorted hers.

‘Y’know that compared to you, she’s a mouthy bitch. She’s a know-it-all. She thinks she knows it all. Isn’t that right, Kitty?’ I called out to her.

‘You bastard. You miserable miscreant. What’s wrong with you? It’s bad enough what you did to me, you did already, stop tormenting my mother with it. Stop it you misfit creep.’

‘Geeze, I must say, you’re getting better at the name calling. You’ve almost got it down to an art but not a science. Better leave the really detailed stuff to me.’

It sort of went over her head that I considered her an amateur.

I addressed Nora again.

‘Y’now if she’d've kept her fucking mouth shut, just like now she didn’t, checked, kept her attitudes in check, she’d still  have her nipple. Dumb feminist cunt of a daughter you have.’

Page 24.

‘I taught her to be strong. I taught her to stand up for herself.’

Nora defied me with her assertions.

‘That you did and that you did well, the way you taught her. Too bad you didn’t teach her to be sensible and pragmatic. Y’know, when to be flexible.’

‘Everything I could, I taught her the best I could. I did my best as her mother.’

‘Yeah, whatever. So you know I separated you two when I got you here. You already know that. So I took Kitty off into another room, a bedroom actually, and the moment she saw the bed she got uppity, all uppity. If I recall she said something like, “If you think you’re getting me on there, you’re crazy.” Yeah,  that’s exactly what she said, “If you think I’m getting on that bed with you, you’re crazy.” So I suggested she should give her attitude a second thought, like an adjustment and she suggested I should live in Hell which wasn’t very charitable since I hadn’t done anything to her, at least not yet or then.’

‘You hadn’t done anything?’ Kitty piped up. ‘You’d kidnapped us and brought  us here against our wills and you say you hadn’t done anything? You’re deluded. You’re sick.’

‘Enough from the peanut gallery unless you want to finish the story. Do you? Do you Kitty?’

She shook her head, no.

‘Didn’t think so, so don’t interrupt again or you’ll have to.’

I was sure she muttered, ‘You can’t make me’ and something about a pig’s eye but I let it pass. I’d deal with her severely later. I just knew she was in for a minora labia-ectomy and Nora was going to assist. Man could I fantasize their screams in my mind.

‘So anyway, you wouldn’t believe how she slagged me, how she starts in on me. I mean you’d think she was a fucking lawyer or something like the Ally McBeal bitch on TV, so I says to her put a lid on it or I’d cut her tit off. That was before I saw how little she had. Fucking pancake tits. There’s hardly a decent meal there. So anyway I tells her to strip and she’s  even worse  than you. She don’t want me to see her twat. I can’t imagine why. I mean she’s a good looking woman so she’s going to have a good looking cunt. Right?’

Page 25.

Nora looked at me dumbfounded.

‘Right?’ I repeated.

She nodded and said, ‘Yes. OK. Right.’

‘Anything I should know about her vagina? Anything you want to tell me?’

Nora’s eyes grew narrow with suspicion and calculation.  How could my question be so pointed without prior direction? Something smelled fishy and it wasn’t their humid cunts.

‘Go to Hell, you despicable bastard. Go straight to Hell.’

‘I’ll take that as a no, then. I hope you’re not lying to me. Y’know, like lying by ommission.’

She felt she should say something but how does a mother describe her daughter’s sloppy, untidy cunt to a murdering, mutilating rapist. Where would she start? What would she say?’

Nora took my inference seriously, my verbal threat to heart.

She believed I was a misfit of my word.

‘Kitty’s vagina is unusual and it’s my fault.’ She blurted out.

‘Mom. No, Mom, don’t.’ Kitty cried out.

‘Really? How so?’ I asked Nora like I had no idea.

‘I’m sure you’re going to find out anyway from the way you’re behaving, from how you’re treating us, so I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you. I have to tell you.’

‘Mmooomm. Mmooomm, don’t. Please don’t.’

‘It’s alright sweetheart. Mother knows best. Her minora labia protrude from her majora labia.’

I gave my head a shake.

She’d actually said it.

Fuck was I in control.

‘Oh shit, Mom. No shit. You almost made me spunk my pants. You mean she has an outie, like with shit hanging out between her lips?’

‘I mean she’s formed differently than some women. She’s formed differently than me.’

‘And you’re sure, as I said, she’s your daughter?’

‘Of course, I gave birth to her. Of course I am.’

‘OK, good on you for honesty. We’ll have to see about that later. So back to how Kitty lost her nip tip. I didn’t take it all, y’know. I don’t know if you saw that. Did you?’

Page 26.

‘I saw it. I noticed it.’

‘Y’know why? Why I didn’t take it all?’

Nora’s face twisted in fury and hatred. She remembered what Kitty had told her and it was the ultimate in despicable as far as she was concerned. She would not offer an answer.

Of course I knew she knew so I gave her an inspired, superior look.

‘OK, never mind. I can see you’re upset.’

‘Since when did that matter to you? Huh? Since when?’

I looked at her like she was no more than a bug to be squished or a cunt-roach to be hammered.

‘Fuck you. So like I was saying, like Kitty ditty, she sees the bed and says, no way. No way on the bed, so I tells her either on the bed or on the floor. I didn’t care which where. So you know what she says next? No, of course you don’t.  Well she lies to me, isn’t that right miss high and mighty liar Kitty? Tell you mom what you lied to me.’

Kitty locked eyes with me and could tell I was dead, as in murder, serious.

‘Mom, I told him I had my period. That’s what I said to him.’

‘Fucking lied about it, didn’t you? Said you were on the rag when you weren’t. That’s the oldest, dumbest trick in the book that a woman often uses when she’s about to be raped and wanna know another? AIDS. They fucking claim their twats are infected with AIDS and you know how I respond to that?’

They both looked non-plussed.

‘I offer to burn it out of them. To burn the fucking AIDS right out of their cunts and you never seen a faster cure. I mean, oops, all of a sudden the disease has gone, disappeared in a poof like a lie being untold. HIV positive shit. Of course that doesn’t stop me from still burning them later, roasting their fucking cervixes as retribution for them lying to me. So what do you think? Kitty, should you look forward to that? What do you thing Mother superior Nora? Should I burn the pussy out of your baby, for lying?’

Nora trembled and tried to measure her response.

‘Please, you have to stop. You must stop. None of this is right so you have to..’

‘Cease and desist?’ Is that how they say it on the cop shows?’ I taunted her.

Page 27.

‘Please. Please. Just stop.’

‘Yeah. OK. So anyway back to how Kitty lost the end of her bud. I’m getting pretty horny seeing her shivering there so close to the edge of the bed and my pecker can imagine grinding away inside of her. I mean I really wanted to split her labia. I took her by the arm to force her onto the mattress and Kitty twisted violently and managed to elbow me in the gut. I mean she got super strong and winded me. She went to bolt for the door but it was bolted so she had nowhere to run to. She really thought I was mad. I guess I certainly looked it but it was all an act. I fucking love it when a bitch fights and Kitty wanted to prove she could out-wrestle or perhaps out-box me. Well.. Fucking well.. Tell her Kitty. Tell her what happened next.’

Kitty raised her cheeky chin at me and her jaw trembled. She remembered only too well but had no intention of repeating it to her mom who was watching her daughter with dismay and pity.

She got stupidly spunky.

‘Go to Hell. You know what you did. Go to Hell you miserable little excuse for a worm.’

‘Come on. That’s not nice. Not nice at all. Fucking tell her.’

‘Go to Hell.’ Kitty persisted.

‘Fine. Fine, I’ll show Nora, I’ll show your mom what happened instead.’

I moved in on the older woman.

‘No. No. OK, no. Don’t. OK, I’ll tell.’

‘Thought you might.’ I gloated back to her. Actually gloated back to them both.

‘Mom. Mom, I made such a mistake.  I thought he was really mad. It seemed like he was so I was even more scared but I was angry too. Why hadn’t I seen that the door, bedroom door, was bolted and that I couldn’t run to escape. I was really disturbed with myself so I tried to keep up the momentum. Y’know, keep up an offensive, an attack,  so I ran at him again. He may not look it, but he’s very agile. I don’t know, maybe he works out or something but as I arrived to clout him again he did a small side-step, like he deeked me and he punched me. He punched me really hard in.. God in.. God he struck my vagina. He punched it. Oh God, he did. And he did it so mean and hard.’

Page 28.

‘Oh Kitty. Oh Kitty sweetheart. Oh my precious. – You miserable bastard. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hope you die. You deserve to die.’

‘I’m sure you do and I’m sure you should.’ I replied with a smirk and a lilt in my voice. ‘So anyway, yeah, she got that right. I planted my fist right into her pussy. Fuck did she fold. Fuck did she ever stagger and collapse and it was nothing to grab her to hoist her onto the bed.’

‘You raped her. You raped her? Kitty you didn’t tell me he raped you.’

‘No, Mom, no, because he didn’t. I wish he had instead.’

‘Yeah, fucking right she wishes that. So I did follow her onto the bed, bounced onto the mattress already to tear her clothes off and the cunt hadn’t learned. Not a fucking thing. She twisted and hoofed me in the goolies. I don’t know how she got her feet around so fast and into position for such an accurate shot but she folded me right over again. I mean, Kitty you’re a fucking little scraper. Aren’t you? Take after your mom here, do you?’

‘Go to Hell.’

‘Fine. We’ll see. We’ll find out about that. You a fighter too, Nora? You fight as good as your bitch, arrogant daughter?’

It was a challenge.

Or was it an invitation?

Nora sensed the change in my tone. A change in my attitude, even though it was only slightly perceptible. But she was worried I was gearing up for more and probably greater violence against Kitty so she needed to shut me down and failing that at least to divert me.

‘I know who you are. I know what you’re doing. My daughter is not a bitch. She is not arrogant. She’s never been a bitch and you have no right to degrade her like that. Yes, I’m a fighter. Yes I am. I taught Kitty to stand up for herself. I already told you that. So I taught her how to be strong because I know how to be strong too. You think she was a fighter? I’ll show you what it means if I get the chance.’

‘What, you want me to give you the chance to fight me?’

Nora looked shocked.

Page 29.

She hadn’t meant that expressly. What she’d meant was if I was careless and she ever got the chance to be free, then she’d show me who knew how to fight and who didn’t. But she was fast on her feet and sensed an in.

‘You wouldn’t fight me. Not fairly. Bullies like you never allow… You wouldn’t fight me in a fair contest.’

I eyed her trying to look as suspicious as she was looking suspicious at me.

I’d set many women up for such a contest before and I didn’t want Nora getting a whiff that she was being maneuvered into an inescapable boxing-ring corner. That she was on the ropes before she even started.

‘You really think you could mount a credible effort? You think you’re strong enough to do that?’

‘There’s only one way you can find out. Right? Only one way you can ever see for sure.’

‘Hhmm. Fuck. Hhmm. Interesting. Fucking sounds interesting.’

Kitty cried out. ‘Mom. No, Mom. You can’t be serious. No. He’s evil. God he won’t play by any rules of decency. No Mom, you can’t.’

‘Now you know she’s right. I mean if we fight it’ll be no holds barred. Nothing’s off limits, nothing’s off the table or the floor, so to say.’

‘Just give me a chance. Give me the chance and I’ll show you how much I care about rules of civility. How much I care about my daughter.’

‘No Marquis of Queensbury shit for you? Huh?’

‘Just let me and I’ll show you. You’ll see.’

‘Y’know I just might take you up on that. Could be interesting. I’ll give it some thought. Meanwhile let me finish telling you how Kitty lost the end of her nipple.’

Nora looked disappointed. She thought she had diverted me from the terrible tale but I was ready to begin re-accounting.

‘So Kitty hoofed me in the balls, in the goolies, like I said and I had no choice but to buckle over. I mean my balls aren’t made of brass, just flesh and lots of blood like any other guy’s are. So she sees it as an opportunity to try to escape, to go running out the door but unfortunately for her I’m blocking the way. But that doesn’t stop her from trying. She came running at me like a little steam engine with her long legs whirling and crashed into me to knock me to the floor. It doesn’t quite work, although almost, as I bang up against the wall. The door’s closed and she can’t wrench it open. At least I’d had the good sense to lock it. She fires over to a window but it has unbreakable glass in it. The stuff’s called Lexan and you can’t put a bullet through it. So all the while she’s trying to find a way out, I’m getting my act back together and I sucked up the pain in my groin and finally started back after her. I mean we played one helluva game of tag. Didn’t we Kitty?’

Page 30.

Kitty gave me a disgusted grunt.

‘Isn’t that right, Kitty? We played a decent game of tag?’

‘If you say so. I wasn’t playing. Only you were playing so if that counts I guess you could say you’re right. You’re still stupid and a monster and I hate you even more. You’re not going to fight with my mother. If you’re going to fight with anyone, it’s going to be me.’

‘Maybe the two of you? Maybe I should fight with the two of you at once?’

They could not hide their hope.

They could not conceal the prospect of their good fortune.

Whatever else came to be, they had to entice me into fighting the two of them at once.

They exchanged deep glances of intrigue and plotting.

‘You’d never do that. You don’t have the courage to fight just one of us.’ Nora piped in. ‘Let alone facing a mother and daughter together. I know you’re not that brave. I know you’re not that stupid.’

‘Geeze, you’re giving me an awful lot to think about, but we’ll see. We’ll see later. So to continue, I finally got my shit back together and Kitty could tell I was more than pissed. As I got in close to her in a corner she made a desperate flight to sail by me and I grabbed onto her thin, fine, long blonde hair. I mean she’s lucky she isn’t fucking bald. I ripped back on it so hard she flew off her feet and landed on her ass, on her fucking tail bone on the hardwood floor. No carpet there to soften the blow. The crack to the end of her spine, really did it. It fucking stunned her and I had no trouble

re-dragging her to the bed and hoisting her up onto the mattress again. All the while pulling her by the hair with her legs kicking and wielding about. On the bed I smacked her head to the bed post. It dazed her. Kitty went woozy but not out cold. So I took a firm hold of her chest and right away I knew she had no tits. I mean how could you make a daughter, an adult woman, with so little tit meat? Huh? You proud of that, that you spawned a titless daughter?’

‘You vile, vile monster. Go to Hell. You despicable bastard. Let me loose so I can send you to Hell.’

‘We’ll see. Not yet though. We’ll see.’

Page 31.

‘You’re disgusting. I hate you.’ Nora shot back.

‘Yeah, that I am. So anyway I had to find out. I mean I’m trying to use her its for handles to lift her but there’s nothing to grip onto so I had to see. I ripped her party dress away and she’s got this stupid little bra on. I mean she doesn’t even need a fucking training bra so I guess it was just to hide her nipples. That right Kitty? You didn’t want your pokies poking out? Guess you don’t have to worry about that now for one of them, huh?’

At that point all the two women could tell me to do was go to Hell.

‘Go to Hell, you despicable bastard. You didn’t have to hurt me like that just because my breasts weren’t up to your expectations. You had no right. You didn’t.’

‘Yeah, but it was fun. Was it ever delightful.’

‘For you maybe. But not for me and I know you know that.’

‘So ask me if I care? Ask me if I fucking care.’

‘I know you don’t. You don’t care but you should. If you were any kind of a human being you would.’

‘Whatever, so why don’t you tell your mom what happened next? Why don’t you share it with her?’

‘Uh uh. No. No, I won’t. You’re telling the story. You’re the one getting off on it, so no, I won’t.’

I trotted over to Kitty with intent on my mind.

I took hold of her face by gripping her cheeks.

I planted a mean kiss on her reluctant, fighting lips.

I stated my purpose clearly and slowly.

‘Tell her. Tell her now or one of her nipples comes off now.’

Kitty’s face defied me but her mouth started to work.

‘Mom. Mom, he… Mom, when he saw my bra, he almost had a fit. For some reason it fascinated him and he told be to take it off carefully, that he wanted to keep it as a souvenir. Mom, I should have listened. I know I should have, but my anger got the better of me and I tore it off. It ripped across the front and through a cup and as I threw it at him he punched me in a breast. God Mom, he punched me for the first time in my breast.’

Page 32.

‘I hate you. I hate you.’ Nora screamed out towards me but mostly it bounced off the ceiling.

‘Look Mom, it’s getting boring. You’ve already established that, that you hate me so come up with something more original or shut the fuck up. So continue Kitty. Tell her some more.’

‘I hate you too.’ Kitty added uselessly.

‘I will pop her nipple in a heart beat if you don’t continue. Believe me. You want that?’

‘No. No. OK, no. Yes I threw the damaged bra at him and as he examined it he told me I would pay. That I was gonna pay for being so impulsive and contrary. That my breasts were gonna pay. Then he noticed. God, Mom, I couldn’t help it. From the fear and the cold, my nipples got erect. They got hard. I couldn’t stop it nor help myself and right away he zeroed in on them. That was the start of him cutting one off.’

Kitty looked at me like maybe I should finish telling the story. It would be too difficult for her to go on.

No such luck.

I gave her a smirk.

‘Go on.’

‘Please. Please, you finish. I can’t.’

‘Then your mom can’t keep a nipple.’

‘OK. OK.’ She blubbered as she continued. ‘Like I said he focused on them and started insulting me and saying degrading and horrible things about the size of my breasts. Like he has said to you too about them being so small that a young girl would have more. You know, you know Mom, how sensitive I am about that. How sensitive I’ve always been and I spat back at him. I couldn’t help myself, he made me so mad and furious showing such disrespect for my person, for the woman who I am and so somehow it got around to him saying maybe he should cut one of them off. He meant one of my breasts off but then made his sick joke that it would be impossible since there was so little there. Y’know, of course, then he played on how easily a nipple could come off instead. He made sick, terrible, horrible jokes about how it would hardly damage me and how I could easily go on living without one. God he was a monster. An impossible creep.’

Page 33.

‘I was a monster. Wasn’t I?’ I interjected proudly.

‘And you still are. You’re despicable and I hate you more than I can ever say.’ Kitty retorted.

‘So don’t say and finish the fucking story. Your tale of tit woe.’

‘Mom. Mom, once he said about cutting a nipple off instead, I couldn’t get him to change the subject, to get him off the idea or topic. It didn’t matter what I said he just stayed focused on it. I even offered to let him rape me but nothing would dissuade him.’

‘Oh baby. Oh my sweet baby.’ Nora cried out softly to her.

‘So that’s where it got to. He told me he was going to do it for sure and that he had to get the right, God, he called them tools. Tools. That he had to get tools to cut one of my nipples off. He left and came back with surgical instruments he said he got off the Internet, scalpels mostly, but forceps and clamps too. I couldn’t believe what he was showing me.’

‘Pretty decent stuff. Weren’t they?’ I added.

‘Go to Hell. – Mom, I started to cry. I couldn’t help it but it only turned him on more. He said he loved how it made my meager chest jiggle but he wanted to see me screaming too. He said he wanted to see my tonsils. It really scared me so as he finally got around to nearing me to actually do it, I stuck out at him again. I had to. What choice did I have?’

‘None, sweetheart. I’m sure you had none.’ Nora supported her.

‘No I didn’t but I wasn’t very good. I was so scared seeing the scalpel in his hand and when I tried to kick him, I only kicked the air but he punched me again and you know where.’

‘You loathsome, impossible bastard. I swear. I swear I will kill you.’ Nora fired her promise at me again.

‘We’ll see about that. In a bit we’ll see but for now, your fucking cunt daughter’s about to get to the best part. Go on Kitty, finish telling her the best.’

‘Mom, he pinned me. He dragged me off the bed by my hair and pinned me to the floor as I doubled over and held the scalpel to my throat, right to my jugular vein. He told me he’d slit my windpipe and I’d bleed to death if I didn’t hold still. I had to. I had to freeze. He, God, he. God he, he pinched my nipple out and was ready to cut it off when he stopped. I mean, I had no idea. How could any woman? He handed me the scalpel.’

Page 34.

My boner was getting firmer just hearing her recount what had happened then.

‘What? OK. Yes. OK.’ Nora knew what was coming next.

‘He told me. He told me I had to do it myself. To myself. He told me I had to cut my own nipple off.’

‘Baby. Baby, sweetheart. Mommy’s here. Your mother’s here.’

‘I tried. As impossible as it sounded and was, I really tried and when he saw I was never going to succeed, that I threw the scalpel away, that’s when he made the horrible threats about what he would do to you if I didn’t. I tried, I tried again but it hurt way too much.’

I trotted over to Nora.

‘Fucking little cunt, really let you down. Didn’t she?’

Nora slapped my hand away from her face.

‘I will kill you. I swear I will.’ Nora had unqualified hatred for me.

‘So good. Wonderful. I think you’ll make one hell of an effort to try, so anyway I think I’ll finish the story. I mean Kitty got it right. Right on. Like she said, the first thing I threatened to do was to cut your nipples off instead. Both your fucking nippers. Think you could live without them? Humm mommy dearest?’

‘I can do whatever it takes to defeat you. That’s what I can do.’

‘Yeah, I suppose, so when I told Kitty about slicing your nips off I figured it’d turn the trick and she’d do her own off but no such luck so I figured I had to up the ante, like make the stakes more severe, so I told her what I would do to your cunt. Your cunt. Your fucking pussy. That I’d torture it inside out. That really freaked her so she tried harder but still no nippy off.’

I placed my hand to Nora’s throat and squeezed on her wind pipe. I lowered my other hand to grope her crotch. My eyes narrowed and my grip tightened.

‘You want me to torture your cunt? You want me to spread your legs and mutilate your womanly vagina? Huh?’

Nora twisted her hips in a circle.

Kitty cried out for me to leave her alone.

I didn’t as I pressed my thumb into the crack of her crease.

Page 35.

‘I’ll tell you what I told her so you can make up your mind.’

‘Stop it. Stop it. You’re hurting me. Stop it.’

‘No shit. You think that hurts? What about this?’

I found the nub of her clit and dug my thumbnail into it.

She shrieked and jerked her ass back.

I twisted on her nub and pulled it forward as her bum shot back.

‘Hold still. Fucking hold still or I’ll cut it off. I swear.’

Nora froze with her vagina in my hand.

‘So yeah, I told Kitty I’d tie you down. I’d tie you down good and tight and spread your legs so far you’d think your hip joints were going to dislocate. Then I’d come at your vagina with the scalpel. I’d cut into your clit, – fucking like how I’m pinching it? Do you?’

‘Stop it. Stop it. Please stop it. You’re hurting me.’

‘Stop it. Stop it. Please stop it. You’re hurting her.’ Kitty echoed her mom.

‘So anyway then I got down and dirty. I told her that I could burn your clit too. That I could apply a soldering iron to it and fry the crisp out of it. And then came the really good stuff about your cervix. That I have speculums and I can open your canal and burn and pierce your cervix. That sound appealing to you? It certainly didn’t to Kitty. And finally I told her I’d insert great big firecrackers into you and blow your vix clear into your uterus. Now wouldn’t that be a fireworks show to end all womanly matters? Huh?’

‘You’re sick. You’re the most degenerate person I’ve ever heard of.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment. So I mean I’ve told her all that and still, still the selfish little cunt bitch, she won’t cut her own nipple off. What the fuck would it take? What do you suppose?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s not at all possible. I don’t know.’

‘No you don’t because there was nothing. It all ended so fast for her. I came back to do it to her and she fought and flailed like a banshee. She would not let me proceed. I kicked her. Right, Kitty, I kicked you?’

Page 36.

‘Ohh God. God ohh. Ohh God. God, no, my precious baby.’

‘Yeah, I hoofed her alright. I’m surprised I didn’t crack some ribs under her nipples. I fucking booted her chest. But the one to her pussy, my fist I mean, that’s the one that sent her out cold.’

‘I hate you. I’ll kill you. God, let me kill him.’

‘So now Nora, now ladies, we get to the good part. We get to the surprise. The whole thing, the whole fucking thing, I got it on video and now we’re gonna watch it together.’

They looked stunned.

Completely flabbergasted.

‘You.. What? What? You.. You mean you’ve been making us, making me recount all this when you  recorded it? What? When? How could you? I didn’t see any cameras.’ Kitty was beside herself.

‘You incredible monster. What’s wrong with you? Have you no shred of human decency?’ Nora added to the cacophony.

‘I’m just full of surprises. Aren’t I? So whatever, let me show you the vid. Show you the best part of all. I wanna see it anyway. I haven’t watched it yet.’

The women objected uselessly but predictably as I got the TV screen all set up where they both could readily see it. I set the unit to play with remote control in hand. It started to roll as they used to say in the olden days of film.

I let it start at the beginning where I’d shoved Kitty roughly into the bedroom and she said just as I’d already told them, ‘If you think you’re getting me on the bed, you’re crazy.’ Of course I had a good memory for those kinds of first words. I zipped the fast forward to where I’d returned to the bedroom with the scalpels and other funky and sundry tools.

‘Fuck. Fuck we gotta look at that. That’s a good place to start. Give me a sec while I rewind it.’

I got it back to where Kitty took her wild kicks at me as I approached her with a scalpel but she only connected with the air.

I could see clearly why I punched her cunt since I hadn’t really intended to. Her dress had ridden up and her power blue panties were stretched so tightly across her labia and my eye caught a glimpse of her crinkly stuff hanging out of the center of her crease. Of course, all under the privacy of the double fabric of the silk gusset of her undies. It was like my hand was on a spring, like a, ha ha, Jack-in-the-box only it would be a Jack’s-fist-into-the-box.

Page 37.

‘Ooofff. Fucking Hell, would you look at that? Fucking look how my fist connected with her labia. Fuck Nora, what do you think of that? I guess she shouldn’t have shown me her panties. Huh? She should have had more modesty. Right Kitty? You should have kept your snatch to yourself?’

‘You scum. You scum. We’ll kill you. You scum.’ Nora wailed out. Kitty was just embarrassed.

‘Fuck I gotta rewind that. I wanna see it in slow motion, y’know like freeze framed.’

I did the slo-mo thing and could freeze the frame where my knuckle penetrated the deepest into her slit. It showed her labia splay out and my knuckle burrow in. I left it frozen there.

I went to see Nora.

‘So what do you think of that? Huh? That’s your fucking precious daughter with her cunt almost ruptured. Look, she’s all doubled over. She can hardly breath and she’s convulsing. What do you think of that?’

Nora took a swing at me.

I gripped her striking hand and twisted it down to force into her own crotch. I pulled it back and made her punch her own vagina. I pulled it back farther.

Kitty wailed out, ‘No stop it. Stop it. Finish showing us the video instead.’

I pressed Nora’s hand hard to her crease and slid it up and down along her slit, like she was pleasuring herself. I smelled her palm.

‘Fucking right. That’s what I gotta do. I gotta finish showing you the video.’

I got up and gave Nora a light back hand to the face and resumed with the remote control.

‘Oh look. Fucking look. She’s barely conscious. Look how I pulled her off the bed by her hair. Isn’t that sweet, ladies?’

They didn’t concur.

‘So there, look. I’ve got her on the floor and there’s the scalpel, right at your throat Kitty. You really thought I was gonna slit your neck, didn’t you? Open up your windpipe. Look how you’re fucking begging me not to kill you. What a sap. What a baby.’

Page 38.

‘You scum. You bastard. You scum.’ Kitty derided me.

‘Oh fuck there it is. Fuck and fucking shit look how I’ve got your nipple. Like fuck, pulled way out from your tit or at least what you’ve got that passes for a tit. Fucking sweet. Fucking delicious. And there it is. There it is. There, I give the scalpel to you. Let’s hear the words. Let’s pay attention to them. Let’s hear it louder.’

I increased the volume using the remote.

(Me: Kitty: Are the direct words from the recording. A line space has been left when switiching back and forth from the recording and what the women watching it (and me) are saying.)

Me:     ‘Here. Here bitch. It’s too fucking easy if I cut it off. You do it. You do it to yourself. You cut your own fucking nipple off.’

Kitty:  ‘No God. No God. No God, I can’t. You must be crazy. No don’t. No . No. For God’s sake, no.’

Me:     ‘Take the fucking scalpel.’

Kitty:  ‘No, God please. Don’t make me.’

Me:     ‘Take it or I’ll cut your cunt open’ (I’d forgotten I’d said that to her so she took the scalpel.)

Kitty:  ‘Please. Please. Please stop no.’

Me:     ‘Pull your fucking nipple out and do it. Just fucking do it.’

‘Awh look at that. Look at the little bitch crying.’ I interjected into the playback as Kitty took the scalpel in the video.

‘Awh shit sweet. Fucking sweet. Look how you’re pinching yourself. I mean you’ve even got your fingernails dug into your nipple. Fucking sweet.’ I interjected anew.

Me:     ‘That’a girl. You’re doing good. Pull it out. Pull it fucking way out and get the knife to the side.’

Kitty:  ‘I can’t. God, God, I can’t.’

Me:     ‘Fucking right you can. Just put the knife to the side and start sawing. Start sawing it off.’

Kitty:  ‘You’re crazy. You’re insane. No woman can do that to herself. You can’t make any woman do it. No. No, I won’t.’

At that point in our exchange she tossed the scalpel at me trying to take out my eye. She only missed my head by a yard.

Me:     ‘Fuck. Fuck you cunt. That wasn’t very smart. Not very nice. You could have blinded me. That what you were trying to do? Huh? To take out my eye?’

Kitty:  ‘Go to Hell. You miserable, impossible bastard, go to Hell. I wish I had.’

Page 39.

Me:     (As I retrieved the tossed tool.) ‘Very well. Fucking last chance. Here take it. Take it again. This is your very last chance. Now do it. Or I’ll start on your mother. Now do it and when you’re finished hand me your severed nipple.’

Kitty:  ‘Oh God. Oh God. How am I supposed to do it? God help me. God help me, why?’

Me:     ‘Here, take it. I swear, you throw it again and I’ll cut your cunt and then go to work on your mom’s.’

Her hand reached out and she could barely see it for the veil of tears overwhelming her eyes. She placed the blade very specifically to her bud and pulled her nipple out really far, more than before.

Me:     ‘That’a girl. That’s a girl. Just saw away at it and it’ll come off in no time.’

Kitty:  ‘God. What? God. Look. There’s blood. There’s a trickle of blood. No. No, I can’t. No, God, I can’t do any more.’

Me:      ‘OK, enough of this shit. Fine. Fucking fine I’ll tell you. Give me the knife. I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do to your mom now. Fucking stupid cunt bitch of a daughter. She’ll wish she never had you.’

Kitty:   ‘No. No, I don’t want to hear. No.’

Me:      ‘So first right up, one of her nips comes off. Right the fuck off and then later the other one. But I’ll tell her. She’ll know for sure after one’s gone the other one goes too. Y’know anticipation being the best part of tit torture or any other kind of sexual torture and mutilation for that matter. Build the fear, the dread. Y’know.’

Kitty:  ‘No. No, you can’t. No. Not to my dear mother. No you can’t. She’s too special and precious to me. She’s too wonderful.’

Me:     ‘Oh no? Fucking no? That’s just the beginning for her. Next will be her cunt. Her fucking vagina. You have no idea how I’ll ruin her pussy wack.’

Kitty:  ‘No. No, God no. Give me the scalpel back. I’ll do it. I’ll do it. Let me try again.’

Me:     ‘Very well, but last chance.’

Kitty takes the scalpel and tries to attack her nipple but at the next sight and feel of blood she can’t go on. The nerve endings in her bud are simply too on fire and besides her vanity doesn’t want to see her tit messed up. Her breast was barely adequate enough to begin with.

Kitty:  ‘Oh God. Oh God. Give me the strength to do it, God. (She saws gingerly) God. God, why can’t I do it?’ (She drops the scalpel down and hangs her head down too lower. Her delicate shoulders shudder and shake.)

Page 40.

Me:     ‘Because you’re a fucking coward. That’s why. Nothing but a useless, fucking, chicken-shit coward.’

Kitty:  ‘No. No, that’s not true but I can’t. God forgive me. I just can’t. Mom forgive me.’

Me:     ‘Yeah, you got that right. But I don’t think she’ll ever forgive you because the first thing I’m gonna do to get at her cunt is tie her down. Tie her down so tight to the bed with her legs spread so wide she’ll think her hips are going to dislocate at the joints. Sounds like fun, huh? Bust her hips.’

Kitty:  ‘No. No. No. No. Not. No.’

Me:     ‘Oh yeah, and then her clit, her fucking clitoris. I’ll massage her and finger fuck her to get her good and full, y’know like engorged, like a fucking female hard on, and then the scalpel. I apply the scalpel to her g spot. Think that’ll give her an orgasm? Huh?’

Kitty:  ‘No. You’re sick. You’re so sick. No. No.’

Me:     ‘And burn her. Y’know what a soldering iron is? Sure you do. I’ll fucking heat one up and burn all the blood out of her lacerated clit.’

Kitty:  ‘No. God, no. How can you say such horrible, disgusting things? How? You can’t be human. How?’

Me:     ‘You think that’s bad? Huh? You know what a speculum is?’

Kitty:  ‘Yes, all women do.’

Me:     ‘So I have a bunch, a few of them. Right. So fuck, I pick the right one for the size of your mother’s cunt and I open her up and I fucking go at her cervix. I mean I pierce it and blunt it and bash at it until she screams for me to kill her but you know what I do? Huh? You know what I do next?’

Kitty:  ‘God. God. God. God. Where are you God?’

Me:     ‘Nowhere close to you, that’s for sure. So yea for the grand finale, fireworks.’

Kitty:  ‘Huh? What?’

Me:     ‘Fireworks. I stuff big cannon firecrackers, y’know the ones about five inches long and an inch in diameter, I stuff them into your dear mother’s cunt and blow her cervix into her uterus. Think she’d be able to have any more babies then? If she wasn’t already too old? Huh?’

Page 41.

Kitty:  ‘You’re sick. You’re the most degenerate person I’ve ever heard of. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.’

Me:     ‘Think what you want. Anyway, I feel like a fuck. I feel like fucking you in the ass. You wanna get butt fucked? Buggered?’

I approach Kitty and she fights and flails like a banshee. The video doesn’t lie.

So I kicks her. The video doesn’t lie. I kicks her in the nipples. A boot for each one.

‘Oh fuck. Fuck Nora, would you look at that. Fucking look at that. Fuck I buried my foot right into her nipple. You can almost hear the ribs crack. Can’t you?’

‘You cowardly bastard. How could you? You miserable, cowardly bastard.’

‘Yeah, I guess. Oh fuck look at that. Fuck another boot to the other nipple. Look how her fucking skeleton, her fucking whole body, shudders. Lucky she didn’t have a heart attack. Right?’

‘I will kill you. I will murder you. I will kick you to death.’

‘Revenge huh? Yeah, sweet revenge. So here it comes, Nora. Here comes the one that really matters. Fuck. Fuck, look how she’s twisted around. God dammed stupid bitch can’t she see she shouldn’t expose her crotch that way. Oh fuck. Ooops, to late. Awh fuck, look how my fist connects with her labia. Look how her hips convulse.’

‘Kitty. Kitty. Kitty.’ Nora cried out.

‘Ooops to late. There she goes. There she goes. Look at her. Watch. There she goes, passing out. Yup. There she is unconscious.’

I put the video on frozen frame.

‘So Kitty. You watching this too? Huh? Here’s where it really gets good.’

‘Mom. God, Mom. I can’t. I can’t watch myself like that. That’s me. God, that’s me.’

I marched over to Kitty.

I gripped her face by squeezing her cheeks.

I kissed her mouth very meanly.

I assaulted her eyes with my glare.

Page 42.

‘You bitch. You cunt. You watch. You fucking watch or I’ll burn your eyes out. Huh? You want that? You wanna be blind?’

‘Stop it. Stop hurting her. Stop threatening her.’ Nora whined.

I pressed my hand to her nipple-less tit and ground it around.

‘You want more of this?’

Kitty cried but Nora screamed out, ‘Stop it. Leave her alone. Stop it.’

‘So you’ll watch then? Right?’

‘I’ll watch. I’ll watch. I’ll watch. OK. Yes.’ Nora complied.

‘Good, so lets get her rollin’ again.’

I took the video of freeze frame.

Me:   ‘Fuck bitch. I guess that hurt. Fucking right that hurt you good. Fuck it even hurt my fist.’

I rolled the unconscious Kitty slowly onto her back. I straightened her head so it wasn’t at such a cock-eyed angle and knelt over her to kiss her mouth.

Me:   ‘Fuck that tastes good. Fuck do you ever smell good. Fucking good enough to eat. Maybe I should eat your cunt out.’

I straightened her arms out so that they were pulled up above her head. I kissed each of her tits lightly. I gripped her rib cage. She hadn’t known for sure but I punched her hard in the flatness of her tit again.

‘Oh. Oh, God. No. How can you hit her while she’s unconscious? How could you?’ Nora screamed out at me.

‘Watch. Just watch and you’ll see.’

Me:   ‘Shit does that ever feel good. Fucking bitch you’ve really got it coming.’

I moved my hands down to her hips and pressed on her pelvis.

Me:   ‘Sweet. Fucking, fucking, huh, fucking sweet.’

I panted as I got to molesting her crotch.

Me:   ‘What you got in here? Sweet baby. What you got waiting for daddy?’

‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. No you didn’t. No God, you didn’t sexually assault me while I was unconscious. No. How could you?’

‘You got that wrong. How the fuck couldn’t I. A sweet fucking piece of cunt meat like you. Just laying there unconscious just waiting and asking for it.’

Page 43.

‘No. No. I didn’t. I didn’t. I did nothing to ask for it. You’re sick. You’re a pervert and a demented maniac, a sexual lunatic. No, it’s not my fault. None of it’s my fault.’

‘You’re right sweetheart. Kitty honey, you’re absolutely right.’ Nora supported her beliefs.

‘Who fucking cares. Look what happens next.’

Slowly I pulled the hem of her dress up. I left it bunched up just below her crotch line.

Me:   ‘Fuck. Fuck I love your legs. Fuck look how long they are. Fuck I bet they’ll break nice.’

‘No.You can’t. You can’t even think of hurting my baby’s lovely legs.’ Nora was close to losing it.

Me:   ‘OK. OK. Bitch. Bitch. Let’s see what you feel like inside. Better still lets see what you look like.’

Kitty starts to stir.

Me:   ‘What the? What the fuck? You coming too already? Fuck, I thought I’d have to use the smelling salts. OK. So what the? OK. I’ll get to your cunt later. Right now I’ve got a nipple to cut off.’

Kitty slowly regained her awareness.

Me:      ‘Hey. Hey. You back in the land of the living?’

Kitty:   ‘What? What? What are you doing? What have you been doing to me?’

Me:      ‘No more shitting. Your nipple’s coming off now. Right now or I go back and I kill her. I make you watch while I kill her. Your mother’s fucking dead.’

Kitty:   ‘No. No. God, no. You can’t. Please don’t kill her. Please don’t.’

Me:      ‘OK, maybe I won’t but I am going to hurt her. I’m fucking gonna hurt her like I told you but if you want her to stay alive, you fucking hold still. You hold still while I slice it off. That’s the only deal you’ve got goin’ now.’

Kitty:   ‘Please, I don’t want you to. I want you to have mercy. But I don’t want you to kill my mother either. So if that’s what you have to do, what you must do, then get it over with.’

Nora cried out, ‘Baby. Baby. Oh my precious baby. God, no. No. God, God, God, no.’

‘Mom. It’s OK. It’s OK, Mom. I agreed to do what I had to do so he wouldn’t kill you. I had to do it. You’re my mother. I had to do it. I had to let him.’

Page 44.

‘I can’t. God, I can’t watch. God, I don’t want to see. Oh God help me. I can’t look and see.’

I re-froze the video.

I marched over to Nora.

I pinched her cheeks the same as I’d done to Kitty and kissed Nora even meaner.

I pressed my hand to her more ample chest.

‘Your nipples are gone. They’re fucking mine. You wanna be blind? You wanna be blind?’

‘Stop. Stop it. Stop hurting me. Stop terrorizing me. Terrorizing us.’

I drove the palm of my hand against her nipple.

And pushed up against her fullness.

‘Fucking cunt, I oughta cut your whole tit off. Not just your nipples, your fucking whole tits. Huh? A double mastectomy. That sound good to you?’

‘Stop. Stop. Stop hurting my breasts. Stop.’

‘Stop. God, stop it. Stop hurting my mother.’

I ground my hips to hers.

‘I’ll be getting to this. I’ll be getting to this soon enough but for now you fucking watch your daughter’s nipple being cut off. You fucking watch or else.’

I started the show again.

Kitty:   ‘Oh God, my God, if you’re going to let this happen, really happen to me, God give me strength. Help me through to survive it. Please, God, make me strong.’

Me:      ‘OK, enough. It’s time.  Stand up.’

Kitty:   ‘I’m scared. I’m weak. I might fall down, I’m so afraid.’

Me:      ‘You do and I’ll kick you silly. Stand the fuck up and come over here.’

Kitty struggled unsteadily to her feet and shuffled over to me with tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to keep her nipple. How could she keep her nipple?

Kitty:   ‘I’ll let you. I’ll let you fuck me, rape me if you want to. I don’t want you to disfigure my breast, my femininity. Please let me, — you can rape me.’

Page 45.

Me:     ‘I’ll be doing that anyway, so get the fuck over here. No more shit.’

Kitty:   ‘You’re gonna rape me anyway? Anyways? God, no please.’

Me:     ‘You bet, now last fucking chance for your mom.’

Kitty:  ‘OK. OK. OK, where do you want me?’

Me:     ‘I’m gonna sit on the floor against the wall with my legs spread and I want you to sit in front of me the same way. Like with your back to my chest.’

Kitty looks at me confused but slowly complies.

I get her hugged to me and pull her head back so I can twist her face around to kiss her mouth.

Me:    ‘It’s OK. It’ll be OK, baby. You’ll see. It won’t hurt like you think.’

Kitty: ‘Please. Please. Don’t.’

Me:   (Whispering softly in her ear.) ‘It’ll hurt more than you ever can imagine.  Goody for me. So lets get to it. Here it is. Here’s the knife.’

I held the scalpel in front of her contorted, tear flooded face.

Her legs kick slightly and jerked.

I brought my hand around up under her arm to cross over her chest to grip a tit, or at least what she had for a tit. I pinched her out at the areola.

Me:     ‘Feels good. You may not have much but what you do have feels fucking good. Feels like I could crush it. Maybe the other one. Huh?’

Kitty:  ‘Please. Please. Please, don’t please.’

Me:     ‘Now I wanna tell you something about nipples. Something you may not know or may not have thought about.  OK?’

Kitty:  ‘What? No. How? What? What is it?’

Me:     ‘Nipples are so fucking full of nerve endings and little erection muscles. I mean, how do you think yours get hard when you have erections if is wasn’t for all the little muscles inside of them? Right? Huh? And the fucking nerve endings, like there’s thousands of then all leading to the tip which is what gives you the nipple orgasms when you handle yourself while masturbating. Right? You play with your buds when you jerk off? I know you’d do that.’

Page 46.

Kitty:  ‘Go to Hell. Just get it over with and go to Hell.’

Me:     ‘Yeah, so yeah, there’s even the ducts like the little tubes that lead from the milk sacs, the lobules, in your tit that get the fluid out. Let me show you. I’ll bet I can express a squirt of fluid out of you even though you’re not pregnant. You’re not pregnant are you? I’d love to bust you preggars.’

Kitty:  ‘I’m not pregnant.’

Me:     ‘Too bad. It might, could have, kept you alive longer.’

I reached two hands to her breast and worked the flesh from the chest wall forward until it all bunched up at her areola. I gave her a last, hard sliding pinch and a squirt of milky white fluid shot out of her ducts. It squirted onto her knee.

Me:     ‘See. See. Just as I said. See. There’s always fluid in a woman’s tits’ ducts and capillary tubes. Fucking great.’

Kitty:  ‘You miserable degenerate bastard. Just get it over with.’

Me:     ‘So what I was telling you, the point. The secret you see it not to cut the whole nipple off. Just like three quarters of it that way to like leave a stub with a lot of the nerve ending and muscles still attached to you. That way the pain is fucking unbelievable, it’s inescapable. I can tell you that. I’ve done this before.’

Nora cried out, ‘My God. My God. What kind of monster are you? How many other women  have you done this to? How many others? Tell me. God dammed it, tell me.’

‘Mustn’t swear. A few mother. Even more than a few.’

Kitty:   ‘Oh, please. God no please. Don’t make it worse than it has to be.’

Me:      ‘Don’t you see? That’s just the point, my point. I wanna make it as bad as it can possibly be. You’ll never forget it, I can tell you that. Every time you put your stupid little training bra on, you’ll fucking remember.’

Kitty:   (Starts to pray.) ‘Our Father, who art in Heaven..’

I pulled her nipple out far and picked my spot a third of the way out from her areola.

Page 47.

Kitty:   ‘Oh God. Oh God, Our Father who art in Heaven.’

I applied the back edge of the blade to her stretched skin. It wasn’t for cutting but for practice.

Kitty:   ‘God. God, who art in Heaven, with me in the valley of the shadow of, of, God in the valley of. Don’t let me be hurt like this. Please God, save me. Save me.’

Me:

‘Here we go. Here she goes.’

I cut.

Kitty.

Screams

Me.

I cut lightly.

The blood flows freely.

Kitty’s feet jerk and her ass bumps the floor.

Me:      ‘Hold fucking still or I’ll use it on your cunt next.’

Kitty does her best to moderate her spasms.

‘Oh God. Oh God, Mom, look what he’s doing to me. Look what he did to me. Oh my God, he’s sawing through my nipple. I.. How did I survive it? I.. I don’t, I don’t want to remember it. God Mom, please make him stop. I don’t want to see it. To relive it.’

‘You stinking son of a bitch. Turn it off. Stop it. Don’t make us watch any more. No more of this. Turn it off.’

‘What and miss the detachment? Not fucking likely. It’s the best part, the sweet part of parting as they say.’

Me:     ‘Hold still bitch, I’m almost half way through.’

Kitty:  ‘Stop it. It hurts too much. It hurts so much. How can you hurt me so much? Why do you want to?’

Me:     ‘Believe me Kitty dearest, this is nothin’. Believe me. Wait until I get into your cunt. Then you’ll really know pain. Now here it goes, I’m almost through.’

I sawed firmly away.

I kissed her cheek and made the final slice.

Me:     (Proudly) ‘There. There. She’s done. Take a look. What the?’

Kitty had passed out in mid shriek.

Page 48.

I flipped her off to the side and climbed to my feet, carefully saving the just acquired piece of her nipple. She lay slumped over on her side, blood trickling out of her nipple stub.

I was thinking to rape her but I needed to check to be sure all was secure with Nora, so enough was enough. I had my first trophy and Kitty would be beside herself when she came to.

I shut the video camera recorder off.

I hoisted her upright and dragged her, half carried her, to the bathroom so I could clean her up and freshen myself up too. Besides I needed a piss and so did she. When she came to she could not believe the new appearance of her breast. We bathed it off together and eventually it stopped bleeding. I told her I’d leave her there for as long as she needed and her mom could call her to come out when she was ready, and thus was how this story started.

There was stone silence as I watched the women slowly adjusting to the recording being over. The sights and sounds they had taken in and how were they going to deal with the depth of the depravity I had exhibited. I was giddy and pumped inside from the display of power I’d shown them and couldn’t wait for their reactions.

But wait I had to, for a whole five minutes. Y’know what they say in a mental stand off, he (or she) who speaks first loses and I was not about to become a loser then. Never in my life. Not any time soon.

Nora did the honors.

‘I suppose you’re taking videos of this right now. What you’re doing to us now, I suppose you’re recording that too.’ She paused to stare me down. ‘Are you?’

‘Well no. Not actually. I mean I will do some more but that with Kitty that was a special occasion, like really quite spectacular. What we’re doing now is ordinary. There’s nothing to record that matters but when there’s going to be, sure you can bet I’ll record it again.’

‘I don’t believe you. Why should I believe you? You’re a criminal of the worst magnitude. Why should what you say mean anything?’

‘Awh gee, such disrespect.’

Page 49.

‘What’s to respect? How you hurt Kitty, what you did to my daughter, what in God’s name makes you think you deserve respect? You only deserve wrath and hatred and you said you were going to let us fight you. Why don’t you let us fight you? Scared?’

‘Yeah, I did mention that. Didn’t I? Scared of you? Are you fucking nuts? Why the Hell should I be scared of you?’

‘You know why. You know exactly why. You’ve injured my daughter horribly so you know I want revenge. You know I’d be truly motivated to gain revenge.’

‘Fuck, you’re smart. What, you take psychology or something in school? What a neat form of reverse, y’know reverse psychology. Fuck. Try to spark my anger so I’ll make a mistake. Get me on the defensive but not realizing that I am. Fuck, you’re no slouch at the games department either. Are you?’

‘It’s not a game. At least not for us.’ Kitty chimed in her half cent’s worth.’

‘Yeah, but you do want to trick me.  I know that much. You want to create at least a chance that you might over-power me when right now there is no such chance of that at all. Right? Right? That’s what you want. A fighting chance?’

‘You’re not a man but I, I, we, I want to see if you can at least try to act like one. See if you have a spine. I know you’re a coward. You only hurt women because you have control over them, so why not see how motivated you are to maintain that control. See how far your power extends beyond the end of your penis.’

‘Beyond the end of this?’ I flipped my pecker out of my briefs and strode over to Nora.

‘You like this? You respect this? Huh?’

‘Go to Hell. You’re pathetic and it’s pathetic too.’

‘How about I shove my pathetic up your ass?’

I held my rising boner out straight and jabbed it into Nora’s crotch.

‘Huh, bitch. You want it in the front or up the back?’

Kitty whined out. ‘No. No, leave her alone. No.’

Page 50.

I turned to accost her.

‘Oh, you’d rather it instead?’

I moved towards Kitty.

Nora whined out. ‘Stop. Stop. Leave her alone. Stop.’

‘So what the fuck? Which one’ll it be first. Who gets my boner first?’

They both went silent.

Out of the blue, all of a sudden, it was ‘fuck time’ and neither vagina wanted to participate.

‘Yeah, OK, we’ll fight but before we do, I’m gonna fuck one of you. So which one’ll it be?’

Kitty looked really scared.

Nora looked defiant.

I just knew by her face Nora was going to volunteer.

But I kept walking over to Kitty.

‘I was ready to fuck you in the bathroom, so why don’t I get it started now? You good with that?’

‘I don’t, I don’t want you to. Please, no.’

I waved my wand at her and peeled back the foreskin. I was one of the minority who was never circumcised.

Nora stepped up to the fuck plate.

‘Stop. Stop it. OK. OK, me. If it’s going to be anybody it’s going to be me. Leave her alone. You’ve already hurt her enough. Leave her be.’

Standing close in front of Kitty I swiveled my head to heed Nora.

‘Well mom, so mom, true to being a mother right to the end. Huh? You wanna be the hero?’

‘I’m not a hero. But you’re right, I am a mother and mine is to care for my children in all circumstances. I will not allow you to hurt her anymore, not if there is any choice, so me. It’s me who you’re going to rape.’

I looked back to Kitty.

‘You think that would be a good idea? You want me to rape your mom rather than you?’ (I wanted to add – first- but didn’t.)

‘Please. Please, oh please. I don’t want you to rape her but I don’t want you to rape me either.’

Page 51.

‘Well I can tell you my cock’s goin’ into a cunt and real soon so let’s get her done. Who’s it actually going to be?’

‘I told you. I told you. I demand that you listen. I told you. It’s me. You will not rape my daughter. It has to be me.’

I moved to stand midway between the two of them. They were fifteen feet apart.

I appeared to be pensive, feigning deep thought.

‘Hhmmm. OK. Hhmmm. Nora, I believe I can grant that? Sure. Sure, why not. I believe you’re serious. I believe you’re sincere but maybe, just maybe, you should prove it. Just prove it.’

‘Huh? What? What? Huh? What are you talking about?’

Kitty wailed. ‘What are you up to? What’s wrong with you? What do you want now?’

‘I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you a good idea I have.’

I had undivided attention even though there were two of them.

I fully intended to drag it out.

‘So Nora, what did you think when you saw, y’know like in the video, when I punched Kitty in the cunt? What did you think of that?’

‘You know what I thought. I know you’re despicable. You’re less than human, sub-human, to do such a horrible thing to my innocent daughter. For God’s sake what would you expect me to think?’

‘It did piss you off. Didn’t it? Didn’t like it at all. I know Kitty didn’t. She couldn’t fucking believe it. Right Kitty?’

‘You monster. You insane unspeakable monster. What’s wrong with you? Have you no conscience?’

‘Ahh, you’re a conscientious objector, are you?’

‘Go to Hell. Stop mocking me. Stop making light of all this. It’s serious and you know it.’

‘That it is, I suppose, so here’s my idea. Nora, Nora honey,  before I agree to rape you, I want you to take a punch to the vagina.’

‘What? What? What? Oh no. What?’ Nora was in disbelief.

‘What? What? What? Oh no. What?’ Kitty was incensed.

The women stared at each other and then at me.

Page 52.

Kitty spat it out first.

‘You’re insane. You’re completely insane. You’re demented. You cannot be serious. You cannot expect my mother to do that. To stand for that. You can’t.’

‘Well actually you got that right. Yes, she’ll have to be standing with her legs apart. I need a good clean shot. I really wanna connect.’

Nora began to tremble. She sensed there might be no way out.

‘Please. Please listen to me. Just rape me. Just rape me. Please, just rape me.’

‘Bet you never thought you’d be saying that. Right? Huh?’

I trotted the seven feet to her and held my hand up tenderly to her tear stained and twisted face.

‘Scared. Aren’t you?’

She nodded her head gently and gave me the biggest, saddest eyes.

I slid my hand around to hold onto her ear and brushed my lips to her other ear.

I kissed her lobe and nibbled at it.

She trembled and pulled.

‘You can do it. I know you’re strong enough to do it.’ I whispered in her ear.

‘But please, oh but please, I don’t want to. I don’t want you to.’

‘Then Kitty’s it. She’s gonna be the one then.’

‘No. No. No. You can’t. OK, do whatever you have to do. OK.’

‘Mom. Mom. God, Mom, no. No, you can’t. You can’t agree to such a thing. God, Mom you can’t. You have no idea how much it hurt. How much it hurt me. I could barely absorb it. I went into convulsions and when he punched me, I passed out. You saw it, you saw me pass out and then what he did to me. No. No, Mom, you can’t agree.’

‘I have to sweetheart. I must. Pray for me. Please pray for me.’

‘Good. Fucking great. Well that’s settled then. So let’s get’er all set up.’

Page 53.

‘What?’ Nora quizzed.

‘I sure as fuck wanna record it. I gotta get the  camera set up and you all set up too. You might as well get your panties off. That’s the first thing for you to do.’

‘Please. Please couldn’t I just leave my pink panties on. Please couldn’t you let me?’

‘What difference? Huh? You think somehow they’re gonna protect you. Like soften the blow? Huh?’

‘No. I know they won’t. But I need strength. A source of strength and privacy and I think they might help.’

‘Y’know what I think might help more? I’ll tell you. I think it’d be great if I was wearing them when I slug you. That’s what I think, so get them off to give to me while I set up the video camera. It’d HD, y’know, so it’ll show every little detail in high def. Fuck is this ever gonna be great. – I’m gonna busta cunt. I love busting cunts.’

I skipped away singing to myself to get a tripod and the vid cam and returned all pumped up expecting to be putting Nora’s undies on.

They weren’t fucking off her.

I pretended not to notice and set up the recording stuff.

It was actually better. That way I’d get to see her cunt come clean for the first time.

‘OK. Fine. So I’m all set. What’s keeping you? What’s holding you up?’

‘I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. Please understand how scared I am.’

‘Oh yeah, yeah I almost forgot to mention, that’s the other thing, the other part.’

‘What?  No. What’s this about? What now?’

‘You need to understand, just so you know exactly what you’re getting into. What you’re agreeing to.’

She raised her head with pride and courage even a hint of stubbornness.

‘I know.  I know why? I accept my responsibility as a mother. I know.’

‘I’m not sure you do. You see when I hit you I’m really gonna line drive you. I’m gonna plant my fist so hard and so fast into your vagina you’re gonna be ruptured. You understand? I’m gonna rupture your womanhood.’

Page 54.

Kitty pleaded out.

‘No. No. For God’s sake no. You can’t hurt her like that. You can’t. She’s my mother. She’s better and deserves better than that. For God’s sake, for the love of God, you can’t.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Kitty, or I’ll come over there and do it to you.’

Kitty stammered, ‘ I.. I.. Oh, please. I..’

Nora ordered her. ‘Kitty. Honey. It’ll be alright. Please just be quiet sweetheart and pray for me. Say your prayers to God.’

‘Yeah, Kitty pray your fucking heart out.’

Nora was almost fainting and grew steadily more unsteady.

‘So you got my drift. I’m not playing pansy with you. When I say I’m gonna rupture you I mean I’m gonna do my best to drive your cervix into your uterus. I wouldn’t mind if I broke your pubic bone. Smashed the fucker.’

‘Oh my God. Oh, oh, oh my God. God, why me? God, please spare me some mercy. An ounce of forgiveness.’

‘Yeah, at least I can see you understand. So here’s the caveat.’

‘What? Caveat? No. What caveat?’

‘When I hit you, when I punch you, you gotta stay standing and you gotta stay conscious.’

‘I.. I.. How can I know? What if I don’t.’ How can I know if I can? If I’m able. For God’s sake, what are you saying?’

‘I’m telling you, you can scream and writhe and dance around all you want but you got to stay standing and you don’t pass out.’

‘I know. I know, but I don’t know. Or what?’

‘Yeah, that’s the best part. I’ll take a hammer to Kitty’s cunt.’

Working one against the other was so incredibly delicious, and effective. The height of power filled control.

‘I’m.. I’m.. I think I’m going to pass out already. I can’t absorb this. My mind can’t take it in.’ Nora was more wobbly than ever.

Kitty wailed her frustration at me.

‘This is not possible.You are not possible. For the love of God, this is not happening. It cannot be happening. Come to your senses. Come to your senses please and relent. Change. Stop. For God’s sake become a human being for a moment.’

Page 55.

‘And what then?’ I chirped back at her.

‘Then. Then. Then? Then you see how wrong all this is. How wrong-headed and wrong-hearted it is.’

‘I never heard of that before. Wrong-hearted. You just make that up?’

‘Yes. I suppose. Maybe, but you know what I mean.’

‘You sound a bit discombobulated to me?’

‘What?  What kind of a stupid word it that? Is it even a real word?’

‘Sure. Sure it is. Like all confused, like all mixed up. You sound disjointed and confused to me.’

‘No. No, I’m not. I’m not. discom, discombub..’I'm not.’

‘Bob, not bub. It’s discombobulated and I’ll tell you another one even more rare, how’s about I combobulate you? How’s that sound?’

‘You’re making it up. You’re trying to show that you’re knowledgeable and smart when you’re not.’

‘Think what you want, but I’ll combobulate you. I’ll do that now. I’ll take you from a confused state to a coherent and cognizant one, once and for all. If your Mom fails, I’ll shatter your pubic bone with a hammer. I’ll splinter it into shards. And then cut the pieces out of you. And then, and then I’ll fuck you. That cognizant enough for you? Clarity the order of the day?’

Kitty’s face went ashen. She went woozy wobbly and slumped to the floor. She’d passed out just from the words. Shows, as they say, the power of the spoken word.

Nora shrieked out.

‘For God’s sake, what have you done to my daughter. Leave her alone. OK. Hit me. Rupture me if you have to but leave my Kitty alone.’

It seemed ironic to me that I was going to pound her pussy and she wanted me to leave her kitty alone.

‘Give me your panties then.’

She gave the best imitation of a look of strength she could, resolute, and slipped her undies off.

‘Hand them to me.’

She raised her head and chin and set her mouth to bitter as she offered my prize to me.

Page 56.

‘Thank you. So let’s see how they fit. How I look in them.’

I wiped the crotch area across my nose.

‘Fuck smells good. Like, smells like the scent of a whole woman, but a scared woman. Fuck I love that smell.’

I put them in my mouth, at least the crotch part of them.

‘Tastes like a woman too.’

I made a production of climbing into her panties and smoothed them across my ass but my boner jutted well out in the front. I squeezed and massaged my member.

‘Wha’d'ya think? I look good in them?’

‘You’re a disgusting, juvenile monster.’

‘Whatever. Let’s see what Kitty thinks of me in them.’

‘Stay away from her. Stay away from her while she’s unconscious.’

‘What are you afraid off? Huh? Think I might mess with her again? Like while she’s passed out?’

‘Stay away. Just stay away.’

‘Fuck you. Let’s see what she thinks.’

I moved directly to Kitty and straightened her out on the floor so she was facing flat up.  I placed her ankles close together, touching, and her arms straight up above her head. She was long and slender and oh so vulnerable. I stood over her with her mother’s panties hovering above her hips. I knelt down and sat on her legs just above the knees.

She didn’t stir.

I leaned forward, my extended cock lightly brushing her pubic bush through her dress and took hold of her head at the side. I smacked her pouty mouth.

She didn’t stir.

‘Come on. Come on bitch. You gotta see.’

I pulled her ear and then her nose.

That made her look silly.

She didn’t stir.

Page 57.

I sat up and peeled her dress top down (She’d covered herself up.) and looked at her nipple stub.

I traced my index finger around its areola.

‘Come on bitch. Come on. You gotta see.’

I’d make her stir.

I dug my thumb nail into her wound.

In a few seconds she came to screaming.

She slapped her ass to the floor trying to buck me off.

I ground my nail into her so hard she started to bleed again, all the while Nora shrieking at me to stop. They screamed like a duet. It was a harmony born in rapist’s heaven and it was almost impossible to separate who was screaming what.

Here goes a try.

Even though it was Kitty being hurt, Nora screamed the loudest. Her outrage became the most concentrated.

‘Get away from her. Get off her. You insatiable bastard. Leave her alone. Leave my daughter alone.’

Kitty echoed that. ‘Leave me alone. Get off me. You’re hurting me. Stop. Stop it. Leave me alone.’

‘You’re a monster.’ That was from Nora.

‘You’re monstrous.’ Was from Kitty at the same time.

It was like they were joined at the minds, y’know like how some married couples become when they’ve been together for what seemed like forever. Of course, then technically speaking, the two women had been completely together with Kitty dumping out of Nora’s cunt. Nora’s blood was in Kitty’s veins and Kitty’s nipple blood was on my thumb. I licked it off.

They screamed back and forth and in unison for me to stop but the smell of Kitty’s fear was too great a stimulant. For the first time, the very first time I pressed my palm to her crotch. I didn’t hit her. I was feeling her down.

I hiked her dress above her hips and began massaging and digging at her labia.

Page 58.

I needed to act surprised.

‘What the? What the fuck is this? What the?’

Through her panties, I was pinching at the hangy-out, spongy part of her minora.

It felt like a worm and I rolled it between my thumb and fingers like bait.

‘What the? Don’t tell me. Don’t fucking tell me.’

Kitty thrust up and then banged her ass to the floor and twisted her pelvis side to side trying to dislodge my fingers. I intensified my vice grip.

‘You fucking cunt. Your fucking cunt. I don’t believe it.’

‘Stop it. Stop it. Stop hurting me. You’re hurting me. God. Stop it. You’re hurting my vagina.’

‘Fuck. Fuck, shit and piss.’

Nora virtually shrieked herself near out of her skin and into hysterics. She did not want me messing with what hung out of her daughter’s vagina. Not when it was she who had discouraged her from having it tidied up. Not when it would become her who would be responsible for it being tortured because of her motherly reticence. She’d meant to protect her daughter so look how that was turning out. All and completely wrong. That was the only how. She wanted my hand out of Kitty’s cunt.

‘Stop it. Stop it. Hurt me. Hurt me instead. Hit me in the vagina. Punch me in the vagina but leave Kitty alone. For God’s sake stop hurting her.’

I turned to look at Nora.

Fuck, did she look appealing with her tits bouncing and her hips twisting. I almost wanted to take her up on her offer right then but more I wanted to inspect just how much of Kitty was protruding and of course get my mouth and teeth onto it.

I pressed my thumbs to Kitty’s groin and hooked them into the top of her panties. She knew they were coming down in a slide but first I lowered my face to kiss her crinkle through the silk fabric, like one last moment she would remain covered. Her secret would next be out and displayed.

Page 59.

‘Shit, does that feel nice. Aah fuck, is this ever gonna be sweet. You ready?’

‘You’re not going to stop. Are you? I know you’re not, so promise me you won’t hurt me. Promise me you won’t make fun of me.’

‘We’ll see. We’ll see. So let’s see.’

I gently eased her panties down to just above the top of her pubic triangle. I let them rest there.

I wanted to watch her crotch tremble and she didn’t disappoint me. She was (about to be) so embarrassed and self-conscious about her protruding minora lips. She’d had that nervousness several times when she first got naked with a new boyfriend. And they had split pretty well down the middle, pardon the pithy pun, like half loved it and half found it repulsive and revolting, like even dirty and unfeminine. She had no idea how I would view her. She was indeed seconds from finding out.

She remembered for a moment that flashed through her mind, Jake, her first time high school fuck and how horribly wrong it had all gone. True, Jake was a hound, like almost the star quarter-back and he had her in that position, flat on her back, and wasn’t much impressed with her tiny titty tits. He didn’t seem to mind her nipples though, but he was rougher than she would have liked or maybe it was just his big football hands that weren’t very finessed. Regardless, he’d gotten enough drink into her that for the very first time her panties were being ducked down. When he saw her vagina, when he saw her anomaly, he was the biggest jerk in the teenaged jock, jerk-off world of the time. She heard his words again ever so clearly in her head. ‘You. You fucking cunt. What’s this shit hanging out of your cunt. You dirty little slut, if you think I’m fucking you with this between your legs, your nuts.’ Then he did what she could never forgive him for. He pinched it, pulled it out way too far and let it snap back, got off her and left her laying there humiliated and crying. It was four years before she ever got naked with a male again. She even considered being a lesbian but it was never who she was at heart.

Page 60.

And so I was hovering over her about to discover her hidden, not so secret secret any longer, in the blink of her eye.

I moved her panties further down to the very last of keeping her extra thing a secret.

‘So. So Kitty this is it. How bad do you think I bruised you?’

She was so focused, so mortified she’d forgotten I’d punched and kicked her there. Of course she had to be bruised. It was a miracle she wasn’t ruptured bloody.

‘Please. Please, just get it over with and don’t hurt me anymore.’

‘I guess I can settle for that.’

And with that I took her panties to her knees.

Her ankles were still pushed together so what was there was hidden.

I ran my hands down her legs to her feet and carefully began to spread them. Gradually it all came into view.

It indeed was exactly like a twisted worm, or more accurately, two of them side by side. All ribbed and crinkly.

‘Awh fuck. Fuck Kitty. Fuck. You poor bitch.’

Nora calld out. ‘Be strong. Be brave sweetheart.’

‘Awh shit, you poor fucking cunt.’ I went on.

‘What? What’s wrong? What are you going on about?’ Kitty was justifiably concerned by my reaction.

‘You’re done for. It’s fucking done for. Do you really believe when I’ve already taken your nipple that I’m gonna let you keep that. That fucking shit hanging out of your cunt? Huh?’

‘No. No, what are you talking about, letting me keep it?’

‘You know exactly what I’m getting at. Off, fucking off. It’s all coming off at some point. But right now, I wanna taste it. I wanna have a taste of it.’

All Nora could do was keep telling me to leave her alone plus yelling at God with diminishing faith and increasing frustration.

All I could do was salivate at the feel of her sushi in my mouth. Her hips froze in terror as she felt my teeth slide along her elastic bits. When I’d close my teeth to close, she froze even stiffer and begged with the upmost sincerity.

Page 61.

‘Please.’ She whispered. ‘Please don’t be mean. You don’t have  to be mean. Please don’t bite me.’

I near spunked the floor between her legs when she said that.

I dragged my face away to inspect her from a distance. Pinching my fingers to the very end of one outie minora lip, I stretched it up to the middle of her pubic hair. I pulled it hard and pinned it to her.

I let it snap back.

She was humiliated and disgusted at my foreplay.

For her it brought back such vivid memories of Jake.

Next I pulled it down inside along her slit to almost reach half way to her anus.

I let it snap back.

I drove my thumb hard into her canal to bump her cervix.

Nora saw she was being finger, or more accurately thumb, fucked. She wasn’t up for her daughter being raped in front of her.

‘You horrible, horrible disgusting bastard. What’s the matter with you? Why won’t you hit my vagina like you said you were going to? What’s the matter with you. You don’t even have the integrity to do that?’

It seemed a strange choice of a word related to how I was assaulting her precious Kitty. Integrity. Like what the fuck did honor-of-purpose have to do with any of it? Of course, for Nora, that was the crux, that her only purpose was to save her baby and that she didn’t care how she twisted reason to get me to stop digging at her kid’s vagina. For some reason that one word caught at my attention. Caught into my progress.

‘Look. Look. See.’ Nora cried out.

I turned my head to see how she looked.

Of all things, she was hitting her own pussy.

Punching her fists at it.

And not lightly either.

She caused her own ass to jerk back with each hit.

My eyes bulged out in disbelief.

Of all the victims I’d overwhelmed, none had ever done that before.

Page 62.

‘Shit lady. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

‘Leave her alone. Just leave her alone.’

‘Or you’ll beat your vagina up? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Leave her alone and I’ll stop.’

‘Fuck, don’t stop on my account. Go to it. You go to it girl. Hammer the shit out of it.’

She abruptly stopped. It registered how over the edge I had sent her. She burst into motherly tears. She’d been driven to extreme desperation and I couldn’t have loved her more for her efforts and reactions.

I got up off Kitty, so it must have worked.

But not entirely.

I reached down and pulled Kitty upright by her hair.

She struggled and twisted and tried to pry my hand away.

‘Knock it off and stand still.’ I admonished her as she became fully erect, which by the way, my pecker was too.

She stood hunched over to the front but she was the sweetest sight of vulnerability and frailty. I mean she was a thin woman to begin with and her long legs trembling like she was, geeze, did it ever make her adorable and such a fuck feast to be. There was a moment approaching extraordinary pathos unfolding. She stood stoop shouldered all huddled into her invaded and damaged sexuality and Nora was still trembling and reeling from beating her own sexuality.

I took Kitty by the fleshy part of her upper arm and walked her over to her mom. She was desperate to join her so didn’t resist.  While only a few original words were said, it was still an emotion filled and heart-felt exchange, like only a mother and daughter could share who deeply loved one another.

‘Kitty. Kitty, darling, I know how you fear what he was doing to you. I had to help. I had to intercede and do something. Anything. I had to protect what I failed to protect of you before.’

Normally  I wouldn’t have permitted them to, but it would have been beyond my inhuman-ness not to have allowed them to embrace. Their sexuality, their combined womanhoods were about to be tortured out of them so what beast beyond the Devil’s realm would not have permitted them to do so.

Certainly not I.

For certain not me.

Page 63.

Besides it gave me such a sense of supreme power to watch, to behold with reverence, the depths of their affection and despair. It was a real boner pumper too.

‘May we? May I please? I need to hug, to comfort my daughter. I need to hold and embrace her.’

I pretended to deliberate while her eyes and body language pleaded.

‘Sure, why not? Why so? What can it hurt?’

‘Oh thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, at least for this bit of human kindness. Thank you please.’

I must say, it did pull at my heart strings just a twitch and made me experience a half pinch of guilt. I mean, consider who they were.  Considering who they were, I probably should  have felt it sooner but what the shit, so what? Yeah, I mean they were like real quality women, women of character and substance, integrity and well-being and I had reduced them to vaginal entities with some tits and nipples thrown in for good measure. And what would their characters be with their labia lips removed? And what had Kitty’s become already with her nipple end gone, gone, gone?’

The women hugged firmly and their tears flowed freely onto each other’s shoulders. Nora held Kitty’s numb head and gripped her fine, long blond hair. She kissed her cheek and touched her dripping mouth tenderly. I had to jockey around to the side to see their tits mashing together.

A fierce shot of hatred, perhaps tinged with jealousy, shot through my crotch watching how much they adored each other and how Kitty’s injured nipple left a blood smear across Nora’s squished breast. I never knew anything with more certainty then that they were going to die the most horrible, prolonged sexual deaths that was inhumanly possible.

I approached the two of them and got up real close.

I really crowded their spaces.

‘You got room for me? Room for me to hug you too? Mind if I join in?’

Both their heads swiveled to me and four eyes begged me not to.

Page 64.

I encircled my arms around each of their shoulders and hugged them closer to each other and pulled them close to me. My erect penis was stuck between their hips. I jerked it back and forth and they jerked their asses away.

‘Come on ladies, get in the mood. Come on. I want my cock in a cunt.’

‘No. No, please, let us have a moment.’ Nora pleaded.

‘You’ve had a moment. Now it’s my turn.’

I got aggressive and shot a hand onto one of each of their tits. I gripped them like handles and pulled them away to the side.

Both women danced and dodged trying to get themselves unhanded. I let go of Kitty and double handed Nora’s tit. I pulled her along by it and she ducked over almost losing her balance. Kitty came after me and I, we, were close to getting into a fight. The chance they thought they wanted.

To ignite the situation, no words changed mouths. Without expressed warning Kitty threw herself onto my back and locked her arm at the elbow around my throat. She squeezed harder than she ever thought possible and immediately began to scream while she tried to bite the top of my ear off. She hollered with all her volume into it too. Nora exploded into revenge on cue.

She pulled her lady-like fist back and socked me as hard as she could in the gut. She wanted to nail my balls but with Kitty on my back and me bent over, she couldn’t make a clear shot.  I reeled to the side to avoid her next blow and you wanna talk about two unlucky women. She missed me but punched her Kitty hard in the side of the head. She nailed her temple and Kitty was semi-stunned and had to release her bear-hug around my throat and chest. I gave a wrenching twist and shook her off to crash to the floor. I had not a moment to spare for Nora was winding up for a better hit even as she cried out, ‘Kitty. Kitty I’m sorry. Kitty get up and help me beat him. Help me beat the bastard. I can’t do it alone.’

I caught Nora’s wrist in mid swing and deftly twisted her arm behind her back. I gripped her shoulder from behind and forced her hard far enough up to touch the back of her head. She wailed out, ‘Stop it. Stop it. You’re breaking my arm. Stop it. You’re dislocating my shoulder.’

Page 65.

Kitty was scrambling to her feet as best a semi-stunned broad could and she wobbled towards me. I spun Nora around and propelled her directly into the advancing Kitty. They interlocked and got all tangled up and crumpled to the floor.

I was standing and they were not so the advantage had quickly shifted to me. I decided to punish Kitty the most since she had started the resistance.  She was mostly on top of her mom and her back was to the ceiling. I took a running start of five steps and leaped into the air to crash down with my knees into the small of Kitty’s exposed back. We almost hard her spine crack and she squealed out as her disc got ruptured.

Anyone who has experienced lower-back injury and pain knows how instantly debilitating that can be. Kitty went into convulsions as her nerves spasmed and she felt about to lose consciousness from the searing injury. She twisted around to look up at me just in time to see me lining my foot up to kick at her tit. My toes glanced off her chest and smacked her under the chin. She was damned lucky she didn’t bite her tongue off but her jaw crashing into her skull knocked her out cold. Nora was beside herself as she saw her Kitty being beaten upon. She kicked her feet up at me from her prone position on the floor and aimed entirely for my crotch. She caught my inner leg but not my sacks but did manage to send me off balance. That was her incentive to give it all that she had as a mother to protect her unconscious daughter. She would give it the greatest effort she was humanly capable of. Her adrenalin shot into her veins and the hatred spilled out of her pours and fists and she became a pretty lethal fighting machine. Not the least bit reserved nor lady like at all.

She screamed to intimidate me, like the martial arts participants do when engaging a worthy opponent.

‘I’m gonna kill you. You horrible bastard, I’m gonna kill you. You hurt my daughter. You keep on hurting her, now it’s your turn to be hurt.’

The cunt got lucky.

She batted my balls.

She winged my goolies and as I oooofed to the floor she kicked me in the head. Golly was she a goolie terror.

Page 66.

I wasn’t completely scared but I wasn’t fully in command either so I decided to play the wuss.

‘No. No, stop it. OK, you win. OK. I’ll let you go. Just stop it.’

She hesitated for a quarter second before she pounced on me like a cat on a bug and tried to hammer me into unconsciousness by sitting on my side and pounding at my head. She gripped my hair and was all set to take a bite out of my ear.

The women were not fighters.

They never had been.

Kitty had come to and instead of helping her mother, she aborted her efforts to maim me, of course, all so accidental and inadvertently.

Kitty came to Nora’s aid but with too much velocity and crashed into her knocking her off my side. She over-shot the runway, so to say, and ended up rolled onto the floor with her ass to the ceiling.

I scurried around like a chipmunk avoiding an advancing car  and got myself righted again. Nora wiggled around trying to figure out where I was. Where had I run off to?

While I enjoyed the fight in them I wasn’t partial to them actually overpowering me. I had little doubt my testicles would become collateral damage before they killed me. I wasn’t up for being de-balled and dying so soon in my relatively young career.

I had several weapons stashed around the room from which to chose and I went for the nylon fishing rod I’d fashioned into a whip. It gave me six feet of distance between being able to injure them and actually touching them. It didn’t look the most intimidating but God could it ever sting when properly connected to bare female flesh.

Nora saw where I had headed and charged like a female bull, (huh?) a heifer, no, cow, cow, (She’d had a kid.) like an angry cow, after me. I side-stepped her rant and whipped her across the side. Her eyes exploded wide open and she gripped the new welt to her rib cage and staggered her advancing steps. I whipped her again across the shoulder. It stunned her but didn’t stop her as Kitty came charging at me from off to the side. I whirled around and got better lucky with her. The tip of the whip bit into the underside of her injured tit about an inch lower than her areola. Still it stung the wound into renewed fire and she faltered immediately.

Page 67.

It gave me a precious moment to whip at Nora again. I caught her across the bridge of her nose and she reacted as any beautiful woman would to her face being injured. She covered her eyes and cowered away from my hand. I rushed on her in a charge and used my hands placed to her shoulders to shove her backwards down onto the floor. As she twisted she tumbled over a small side table and crashed it to the floor too. I picked it up and hurtled it down on top of her. It bounced of her writhing body and of all things, tripped Kitty as she charged at me from the side. She fell right beside her mom so I had two of them side by side to whip at once. I must say I went into a frenzy. There would be no other way to describe it. I laid over twenty lashes on their naked, squirming bodies and when I ran out of energy, like my arm got tired, I put the boots to them. And I stomped on them too. They soon realized they were losing the battle and probably the war.

The one that really did it for Kitty was when I drove my heel down into Nora’s cunt. I pulverized the side of one of her labia lips.

Nora, for the very first time, went unconscious and Kitty was beside herself with daughterly grief.

‘Oh God, Mom, oh God. Mom. Mom. – You bastard. Look what you did to my Mom.’

‘Fucking right. Fucking cunt and I’ll do it again.’

I got my foot set.

‘No. No you won’t. She’s unconscious. She’s really hurt. She can’t defend herself. No you won’t.’

‘So just stop me. Just stop me then. Try.’

I drew my foot back. I’d moved to within a clear shot at her pussy again.

‘She can’t defend  herself you monster. She can’t. Kick me instead.’

I gave her a glorious, delighted look.

‘No shit. No shit? You want me to do that to you? Really?’

‘No. No of course I don’t,  but my mother, my precious and dear mother who never hurt anyone, she can’t help herself. She’s in no position to defend herself so I  have to do it for her and if that’s the only way, then, yes, go ahead and do it.’

Page 68.

They always talk about a mother’s unconditional love for her children. It isn’t mentioned so much about a daughter’s similar commitment to her mother and her well-being. Kitty was a princess and a saint but I was a cunt buster so none of it mattered as far as they were concerned.

‘OK. Fine. Fine. Fucking fine. You know what it’s like already. Lie flat on your back on the floor and spread your legs. I’m gonna get a pillow to put under your ass.’

‘No. No. No, you’re not.’ She looked shocked that I’d want to elevate her pubic bone to kick it. Then again I don’t know actually where she thought I was gonna boot her when she volunteered but it did become evident it wasn’t into her own pussy.

She balked like a determined mule.

‘Oh, no. No. No. Please, please. No, please, you can’t. Not there. God not there again. Anywhere else but there. Please.’

I  studied her.

I really wanted to fuck with her courage and faith, not that I would ever have done it, kicked her in the face, but she had no way of knowing it but I told her like I would.

‘OK. Fine, OK. But I’m gonna kick your teeth in then.’

She looked surprisingly shocked.

I might have mentioned before, and if not I’m doing so now, beautiful women do not want their faces messed up. Call it vanity or pride and arrogance but they all identify with their beauty as who they are and oft times feel it makes them superior or at least gives them an edge. I mean look how full Hollywood and the modelling scene are of extra good looking women with killer  bodies. Yes indeed. No for a fact, Kitty wanted to keep the look of those lips which only left her other ones to absorb the foot-blow.

‘You’d kick me in the face? You.. What? You’d actually do that to me? I thought you liked how I look. You said to me I’m beautiful. How could you kick me in the face then?’

‘Don’t you see, it’s really very simple. You chose which set of lips gets it.’

I  gave her a smug, smarmy look and added, ‘It’s all up to you.’

‘Somewhere else. For God’s sake. Somewhere else.’

Page 69.

‘Look, I’m gonna give you ten seconds, ten fucking seconds to decide or I’ll boot Nora over there so hard in the twat I’ll dislocate her cervix. I’ll drive it into her uterus. You want that?’

‘Oh God. Oh God. No. No. No, you can’t. No.’

‘So decide then. Fucking decide, ten, nine, eight.’

‘Oh Lord. Oh Lord help me. Oh Lord. God, oh my Lord God. No.’

‘Seven, seven, six, five..’

‘For God’s sake don’t. Stop it. Please. For the love of God, stop it.’

‘Four. Fucking four, three and a two..’

‘OK. OK. No. OK. My vagina. My vagina.’

‘What about it? Don’t kick my vagina.’

‘What?’ I was taken off guard.

‘No, please. I don’t think I could stand it again. My face. My face then. Do my face instead.’ She blurted it all out through a host of tears.

Had she called my bluff or was she sincere? Was it a calculated gamble by a wiley fox? I knew one thing, I wasn’t about to mess with her looks so where did that leave me?

I took hold of her head and stared hard into her face. She seemed to tremble. I pushed her lips to her front perfect white teeth.  I kissed her lightly and looked back at her to see reaction. She’d never closed her eyes so there was no romance in it for her.

‘Well, fuck, well.’ I sort of stammered as if to procrastinate.

‘What’s the matter?’ She challenged me pushing her chin up.

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything’s perfect instead. Everything’s just, just fucking fine.’

‘I don’t believe you. I think you’re, you’re ly.. I think you’re not telling the truth.’

I gave her a look like, – are you sure you wanna do this?

‘Are you sure you want to pursue this?’

‘Why not? I’m not the liar you are.’

She’d checked herself and then she didn’t.

Kitty’s mouth had gotten her into troubles before and she sensed she had gone too far with me.

Page 70.

My eyes narrowed and my jaw and fist clenched.

I sucked in a big breath of extra strength through my tight nostrils and let fly with a shattering punch. Her docked nipple tit was flat to begin with but I  flattened it so hard to her skeleton a  few milk lobules ruptured and two ribs cracked. It spit open the wound that was the end of her stub nipple and guts squished out of it too.

She reeled and gasped but somehow she wasn’t defeated.

‘That proves  it. That proves it to me. That you were lying. That you’re a pathetic liar. You can beat me all you want but I know your secret. What a scared little miscreant you are. That a woman will stand up to you and reveal who you are, I’m that woman. I know where your skeletons lie. Lay. Lie.’

I’d seen that reckless disregard for one’s own safety and well-being or the consequences of their actions before in women I’d pushed over the edge of their stamina. Their ability or willingness to absorb pain. It was like, so I know you’re going to  kill me anyway so what should I care about what you care about? Of course the fallacy of all that, that line of defense and reasoning was the how and the length of the how they died.  There was always a price to pay for misplaced and foolish bravery and bravado.

‘I thought you were smarter than that. Smarter than most of the others.’

‘What? What others? What do you mean? Others? How many others?’

‘Let’s just say, more than a few and do you think you’re the first cunt to throw caution to the wind and to be reckless and unthinking and not to seemingly care about the consequences of your actions? Do you really believe that? That I’m that much of an amateur and not wholly effective at torturing and breaking beautiful women? Huh?’

‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. No. No, No..’

‘What now? What’s.. What the fuck’s wrong with you now?’

‘No. No, not me. Not what’s wrong with me. You. Oh God, no you. You’re a serial? God. One after the other. Numerous before? You’re saying you’re a serial rapist, torturer and murderer?’

‘Fucking right on and damned proud of it and don’t forget sexual. Sexual. Sex, sex and sexual.’

Page 71.

‘Oh God. Oh God. Why me? Why us? Oh God, what have I done? What have you done to me, God?

‘It would seem He’s abandoned you. Huh? Doesn’t give a fuck about you. Certainly doesn’t give a fuck about this. What I do to it.’

I shot her a light, teasing blow to her labia. Nothing mean, just a precursor.

‘Go ahead, beat me. Beat me there. I don’t care.’

It was an even more definitive sign I had her near her incoherence point, a point approaching breaking where nothing mattered to her anymore. Of course, her mom would refocus her caring and concerns.

‘Beat you cunt. You don’t care if I beat your cunt. I’d say that’s a sign. So why don’t I drag your mom over here and beat the snot out of both of your cunts at once?’

Kitty kicked her feet around as I lined up a harder punch.

I felt her pubic bone shudder as I drove it upwards and inwards towards her spine.

Her legs began to thrash.

I popped up and headed over for Nora. She remained fully out of it. I grabbed her ankle and dragged her on her backside to lay out flat alongside her girl. Kitty was consumed with hugging herself in a fetal position to lessen the pain in her groin. I booted her bum and again. I loved how her skinny ass cheeks flubbered.

‘Lay flat. Fucking lay flat or I swear I’ll finish your mom off. I’ll fucking kill her right now.’

Kitty turned her face to engage her mother but Nora was still completely unawares. Kitty forced herself to turn and hugged at her mom’s seemingly lifeless body. She tugged at her side under her armpit making Nora’s tits jerk and jiggle.

What a fucking turn on for me watching her nipples bouncing around.

‘Mom. Mom. Wake up. Mom. Please wake up.’

‘Stop being so stupid. You know she’s not asleep. She’s unconscious. Don’t you know the difference?’

‘Mom. Mom, please stop being unconscious.’

Kitty shook her approaching violently.

‘You. You, saucy bitch. Lay still right along side her. Stop wiggling. Stop moving and struggling. Pretend like you’re unconscious just like her.’

Page 72.

‘Go to Hell. She’s my mom. I need to help my mom.’

‘And she’ll be your dead mom, your fucking dead mom if you don’t do what I say.’

Kitty could sense something worse, much worser, was building in the air. Something horrible and unspeakable but in spite of it, she did not want her mother to be killed. She was ever the dutiful daughter and my threat of murder registered with her conscience. Her bravery stepped up and she quietly complied and stretched out straight along side her kin.

I had not seen a more invigorating, sensual sight for at least three months when I had done a mother and her two budding daughters.

Kitty and Nora were in the grove, like on the final downward slide.

Kitty watched my every nuance and move with terrified, but hawk-like eyes. There was a menace about me. A new level of threat and she didn’t know how to avert it. Of course, as was commonly the case, prayer became the default approach.

‘God. God, please God. Make him stop. Make him go away. Please God, just help us. Just help us please. Help me.’

I’d moved off to the side and rummaged through a mechanic’s tool chest drawer and came back with…

Kitty’s eyes widened, near popping out of their sockets.

‘God. God, no why? Why? For the love of God, why do you have? No, why do you have them? God, why?’

I stood powerful and armed towering over them.

Each hand was occupied.

‘Why? No. No, you can’t. No.’

‘Pick.’

‘Oh no. No.’

‘Pick one. Pick one for her.’

‘Oh no. No. God. God. God. Mom. Mommy. No. Mommy wake up. – What are you going to do?’

‘What’s it look like?’

‘Oh no. Oh no. Put the hammer down please. Put it down please.’

Page 73.

‘And what? Not these?’

I made them snip, snip, snip like scissors.

‘No. Please, please yes. Put the pliers down too. Please.’

‘Now you listen and you listen good. I’m gonna use one of these on your mother’s tits. You got it? So you chose.’

‘Oh for God’s sake no. No. How can you? How can I? What’s wrong with you? Where is your humanity, your compassion? For the love of God, there has to be some human-ness in you – somewhere. Leave my mother alone. Don’t hurt her. Leave her alone.’

‘Would you rather I used them on you?’

She went into that stunned, indecisive silence and cringed as she mewled.

‘Oh no. No you can’t. You can’t play that game with me, with us again. You can’t. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s so unfair.’

‘Fuck fair. You chose for your mom or I start on you.’

‘You know. You know I’ll never sacrifice my mother to save myself. You know that, so do whatever you have to do to me then.’

‘No problem. Sure no problem. What, you want the pliers first?’

‘What are you going to do with them? What are you going to do to me with them?’

‘Hey look, I’ll be fair. I’ll give you a choice.’

‘What? How? What? What choice?’

‘So you’ve still got a good nipple left. Right? Left, right. Left, right, ha ha.’

‘No. No you wouldn’t. No. Not after what you did to my other breast. God, no you wouldn’t.’

‘Oh come on now, you don’t think a woman’s nipples and pliers aren’t made for each other? Especially an erect nipple, a hard one? Huh? Seems like a perfect fit to me.’

‘How did you ever become so horrid? How? You tell me. What did someone ever do to you? Your mother, what did she do?’

‘She had me, that’s what she did and aren’t you grateful for that? Or do you hate her? Is that it? You hate my mother.’

‘I hate what she let you become. Why wouldn’t I? What do you expect?’

Page 74.

‘I expect you to suck it up and let me wreck your other nipple. That’s what?’

‘Wreck? You mean how? No, how?’

‘What do you think pliers will do to a nipple, your nipple? What the fuck do you think?’

‘I can’t.. I don’t.. What? No. I can’t think. I won’t.’

‘So let’s find out then. Let’s get at her and find out.’

I moved close to her with the pliers firmly in my grip.

I firmly gripped her tit and worked at hardening her nipple.

She tried to keep it flaccid but I knew how to work the little muscles and force them to respond. In a minute she was as hard as a grape and just as crushable.

I applied the jaws of the pliers to her dilemma which she cried out.

‘No. No. Don’t know. You said I had a choice. There was a choice. For God’s sake, what’s the choice?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘Tell me. Stop. Stop it, and tell me please.’

How was it possible she never figured her clit? Like, how could she rule it out by not thinking about it? By omission, so to say? If she’d deduced it, she would have simply told me to start crushing her nipple.

I wasn’t in a hurry to let her know.

Beyond fantastic I wanted to savor the ecstasy.

It was the ultimate vaginal realization for a tortured woman to be.

I stroked my hand up her breast and pinched lightly at her hardness. I tugged it out with a twist.

‘Fucking sweet. Fuck are you sweet.’

‘If you think I’m so sweet, why would you want to hurt it, me? Why would you want to destroy it? To destroy me? Why? What are you about?’

‘Because.. Because, I love how they pop.’

‘What? You what? You bastard.’

‘Yeah, ain’t that something. I love how their guts spurt out.’

Page 75.

‘Oh no. Oh no. You’re impossible. You’re horrible. What is my other choice?’

I gave her a blank look filled with control and power. I tried to make it emotionless but inside I was about to have a heart orgasm. Time to roll out the bad news.

‘Your legs.’

‘What? What about them? What about my legs?’

I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips.

My boner was pounding.

‘Between them?’

‘What?’ She paused. Then recognition flashed behind her eyes. ‘No. What? No. No, God no. You are completely insane. You are monstrously insane and mad. You’re a mad monster, you impossible bastard. You think you’re going to use the pliers there?’

‘What better alternative?’

‘You crazy creep. Go to Hell, you degenerate.’

‘So I take it, your cunt’s out. You don’t want me to crush your clit?’

‘What? What? God what? You mean? What?’

‘What? What’d you think? Automatically I was gonna crush the shit hanging out of your twat? That what you thought?’

Her mind was numbing at the grossness of the conversation and the images being conjured up. Her feminine sensibilities were being roasted and severely compromised. She was to the point she couldn’t think straight any more. I suppose you might say she began to babble.

‘Ehh. I won’t. I can’t. Where am I? Oh, mom, mommy why won’t you? Wake up. Nanny, no mommy, help. What? Help me. I.. I.. Where are we? The show. Why didn’t you show for the show? Mom. No, call dad, call daddy. Tell dad what’s happened. Make him, tell him, mom convince him you still, we still love him. Make. What? No. No.’ And ever so softly she trailed off to a litany of ‘No. No. No. No…’

I slapped her face hard with the back of my hand.

I back-handed her tit.

Her eyes popped open wider and refocused.

Page 76.

‘So we’re decided then? Your nipple it is?’

‘You’ve decided and I don’t care what you say.’

‘Oh yeah? Oh really? Then maybe you’ll care about this.’

I picked up the hammer and hefted it from hand to hand.

Back and forth.

Forth and back.

Several times.

Her eyes were glued to every toss and she saw the exact moment of the change in my direction.

I swooned over, placed one hand to Nora’s helpless vagina to smooth it, and used my other hand to drive the hammer into her pubic bone.

Nora’s hips exploded in a spray of shattered bone and guts and blood splattering and Kitty exploded in shrieks of disbelief at her failure to keep her mom safe and the heightened degree of my inhumanity.

‘What did you do? Why? Oh why? What did you do to my mother?’

‘It’s gonna be a bitch when I fuck her, isn’t it? Imagine when she comes to, how she’s gonna shriek.’

‘Oh God. Oh God. God forgive me. Oh God.’

I gripped Kitty by the hair.

‘Come on, lets have a closer look together.’

She wrenched her head away.

I still had the bloody, vagina gooped hammer in my hand.

I raised it.

She stopped pulling and let me force her face to her mom’s twat.

‘OK. That’s better. Let’s see what we have here.’

I laid the hammer on her belly and applied my hands to Nora’s crotch.

Her labia seemed pretty much normal, at least the lower portions but her clit was obliterated against her bone structure. I pressed my fingers to the bone and it indeed was broken. It seemed like there were at least three splinters. I poked my greedy fingers into her canal and one splinter had punctured the lining. I’d driven it down and through. It scratched my thumb as I shoved it in far enough to dig at her cervix. Nothing of her vix had been damaged.

Page 77.

Kitty freaked at my invasion of her mom’s injuries.

‘I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care. I will kill you for what you’ve done to my mother. You deserve to die and I’ll be the one to do it. God will help me. I know He will. You don’t deserve to live.’

‘Yeah. You think so, yeah. So let’s see you try. Let’s see Him try.’

I picked the bloody hammer off Nora’s smeared belly and aimed it at Kitty. She raised her arm as I raised mine.

Her tit was so in the open I had to boot it.

She reeled back, twisting onto her side and I swiped up the pliers to go after her remaining good nipple.

She was cowed into a ball but I managed to drag her tit to the side so I could get the pliers’ jaws onto my target.

She was already partly stunned and became fully so when I crushed her tender but sexual bud.  It wasn’t as hard as I would have liked so half her areola got flattened too. I kept the pliers pinched hard on her and pulled away on her breast flesh. She was fighting meekly because of the shock to her system. She gave several arching bucks and turns and passed out like her mom.

I had the two of them the same, unconscious.

I was satisfied with my hammer and pliers work and got up for a look.

Gazing down on them, mainly Kitty, her stilled vagina was an invitation to fuck. I needed to dump a load of jizz since my balls hurt and once riding inside her, I left Kitty my juice in a dozen vicious thrusts. She’d know she’d been raped. That was for sure. Her pussy was bleeding a bit when I was done.

So mom and daughter were a match, sexually broken and something was getting into my madness that made me think I’d had enough. Ironically, that I’d had enough of them.

I seldom killed victims so early in the progress of my tortures but I was becoming inclined to murder off at least one of them to let the other live on in the misery and agony of having seen the other one die.

Who would it be?

Who didn’t deserve to live and who had incited the right to die?

Zara had no idea what she was getting into. She had agreed to go out with Bret
only because her agent had asked her.

Zara was your typical straving actress desperate to get ahead in Hollywood, and
desperately in need of that elusive first break. She had to literally wrestle
with Bret, just to get him to stop kissing her. Another casting couch affair,
Zara muttered to herself.

At least Bret was a different producer than most: he called her a cab and gave
her fare to get home.

But that was six hours ago. The cabbie never had any intention of driving Zara
home; he was another lackey on the payroll of the producer Bret. And he had been
instructed to drive into a dark alley and incapacitate poor Zara. Having worked
these jobs for Bret before, the “cabbie” was more than a match for the pretty
young thing.

When Zara regained consciousness, she immediately felt a tremendous throbbing in
her head where the cabbie had landed the handle of a gun. She meekly opened her
eyes to find that she was in the center of some meticulously adorned prison
cell. It was basically four gray walls with a wide range of assortment torture
devices. Zara recognized only a handful, and of the others she would have
prefered to have been ignorant.

“Well, I see, my proud little plaything has opened her eyes again,” Bret said as
he opened the steel door; the only way in and the only way out as far as Zara
could tell.

Bret was still wearing the suit and tie combo he had on earlier and he simply
stood there admiring the captured beauty.

Zara was still fully clothed and her hands were shackled to chains that led up
into the ceiling. Her legs were slightly spread as her ankles were chained to
eyebolts on the concrete floor. Bret smiled and licked his lips as he
concentrated on her exotic good looks.

At about 5′9″, Zara was above average height, and with her 5-inch heels right
now, she stood easily at 6 feet tall. Her legs needed little help, but they were
sculpted even more by the black high heels that came up to her ankles and then
through a series of tight black straps, wrapped around her lower leg up to her
knees. Bret wondered if Zara had a natural fetish for bondage. If she did, he
planned on surpassing any soft bondage dream she might have had.

Above her knees, her simple black dress hovered, although it suffered a few
scratches in the transition from the cab to the cell. There was a slit that
creeped almost to mid-thigh, and this trace of flesh drew another inaudible
sound of approval from Bret.

It was obvious to Bret, she was not wearing a bra, but even so her breasts were
large enough to make an impression on the fabric. And with the chains pulling on
her upper body, Zara’s breasts were given additional, seductive lift. Either she
was excited or scared because her nipples were evidently hard pressed into her
dress.

Her neck was thin and looked almost frail. The color of her face was sketched in
warm tones, giving Zara that exotic, permanently tanned appearance. Her eyes
usually intoxicated most men. Despite her crying now, Bret could still see that
her blue irises almost looked too big for her eyelids. Her long brown hair was
covering most of her precious face at the moment, and she refused to look
directly into Bret’s eyes.

“If you had only cooperated with me back in my office, it wouldn’t have come to
this, Zara. But I tell you what. I’ll give you a second chance. Sleep with
me—of your own free will—tonight and I will let you out of here, and, what’s
more, I’ll even help you get that 3-picture deal with Orionia Productions. Come
on, Zara. Small price to pay for fame.”

“I’ll never sleep with you, Bret. I want to make it on talent and hard work. I
don’t need to sleep with anybody to make it on my own,” Zara concluded her
defiant statement with the same kind of dramatic flourish she gave in her high
school drama class.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,Zara dear. Because if you don’t sleep with me
here and now, you won’t, how is it everyone puts it: You won’t ever work in this
town again. I’ll see to that…in the most painful of ways. Your choice.”

“No, never!”

“Well, Okay, but remember, when you’re begging to fuck me that you yourself
said,’No, never.’ I just want you to remember that when you’re pissing on
yourself in pain.”

And he began his demonstration by slapping her hard across the face. Bret wasted
no time, he took out a pocket knife and thrashed at her little black dress. In
minutes, Zara was hanging only in high heels and black silk panties.

“Ah, french-cut panties. I like your taste, Zara. And I like those shoes too. I
think we’ll let you wear them for a while. But the panties got to go.”

Bret slid the knife blade under the panties over her hips and snipped them off,
revealing a neatly trimmed mound of brown hair. Bret, frowning with some
dissatisfaction, approached her pubic hair and began the slow process of
removing the hairs one by one with his index finger and thumb. This painful
ordeal seemed to go on for hours, and by the time he had thinned out her mound,
she was sweating and cursing.

He came back from a work bench carved out of the wall with a razor and shaving
cream. He applied the white substance and carefully shaved the remaining hair
completely off.

Strangely, Zara felt her nudity increase with this latest invasion of her
privacy.

Bret stepped back from his work with a nod of approval.

“Now, you know what looks best on freshly shaven pussy?”

Zara was too humiliated to formulate an answer. She just kept her head bowed.

“Don’t know, huh? Why, a freshly pierced pussy! Now, scream if you like, because
baby, I’m no professional and I know when I do this, it usually hurts the girls
something awful.”

“No, no, please, don’t do that! No, please don’t hurt me there, Bret.

Bret!!”

Her pleading didn’t stop his advances. She heard the click of metal and looked
down to see him rub his fingers along his cunt lips.

“Doesn’t really matter where I put the first ones, because after I’m finished
with you, Zara, you’re going to be pierced at least a dozen times, so it will
all kind of blend in.”

He took the first needle and poked her tender skin. Zara screamed an inhuman
scream at the top of her lungs, but no one would hear her in the bowels of this
entrenched basement. She heard the first ring click together and she couldsense
the added weight resting on her pussy lip.

“No, no, please, God, this can’t be happening to me. Please I pro—–”

Her sentiments were cut off by another unearthly scream as Bret pierced into her
other pussy lip to supply her with a matching steel ring. He tugged on them both
simultaneously to test the new applications.

“Looks fine, but I really have a thing for threesomes. We need one more ring,
and guess where it’s going,Zara.”

And just like that, he pierced the sensitive flesh her clit, sending her head
back in terrible pain. He brought out a heavier ring and snapped it within and
without her throbbing clit.

Zara was just about to pass out when Bret slapped her across the face to bring
her back to life.

“Give up yet? Will you sleep with me of your own free will now?”

Barely able to force the air through her lips, Zara said in a shaking, quivering
voice,”No, Bret. Never. You can go to hell.”

“Well, I guess we just weren’t meant to be, Zara. Too bad. I wish I didn’t have
to do this.”

Bret returned from the work bench with a set of brands. Each one had temperature
controls, and he was in the process of warming them up for use.

“Zara, let me introduce you to my branding set. It’s an alphabet of brands,
really, 26 in all, with a few extras for punctuation and special marks. We’re
going to experiment with what I like to call permanent body art.”

“Nooooo, nooooo, please, stop this. You’re insane, Bret. Stop now and I wont
tell anybody!”

“You see, first, we’re going to establish a brand of ownership, and we’ll spell
that out on the small of your back.”

He took the letters for the first word and organized them on the floor.

B-R-E-T-’-S.

He slowly raised the brand of the letter “B” and pressed it firmly against her
skin. He held on to her body to keep it from separating away from the brand.

“The key really is holding the brand down long enough so when the skin scars,
you can still clearly make out the words.”

Twenty minutes later, he had applied the phrase, “BRET’S SLAVE” to her back,
despite Zara’s frequent trips into unconsciousness. After he had started the “S”
of slave, Zara was begging to suck his cock, swallow his cum, suck on his toes,
anything he wanted, if he would just stop the torture.

After finishing the second word, he agreed, and Zara greedily sucked on his
aching cock and greedily consumed all of his plentiful cum. And when she was
finished sucking him off, and licking the cum off the floor that missed her
face, Bret reshackled her ankles and wrists and stretched her out to the ceiling
again.

“Oh, Zara, that was good, but I know with the proper motivation you can do
better next time.”

Part Two

For two solid days and nights, Bret alternated between punishing Zara and
allowing her to suck him. Neither had had sleep in over 48 hours, and while Zara
was reaching a point of hysteria and complete psychological exhaustion, Bret was
more excited and seemingly indefatiguable.

She begged repeatedly to be freed, and when she realized that she would never be
allowed to leave, she softened her desperate demands by begging for rest.

“Why Zara, I bet you’ve lost 10 pounds of water weight since you got here. You
look splendid, even if you don’t approve of you new accessories. Speaking of
accessories, I’ve got some new territory to cover before I introduce you to some
friends of mine.”

Bret began eyeing her luscious tits, taking his fingers and squeezing her
hardening nipples. He left her for his work bench and returned with more
hardware. Zara’s eyes refocused, fighting off the urge to sleep in order to see
what agony he had in store for her.

“If you look carefully at these rings, Zara, you’ll see an inscription on the
outside of each band. Go ahead, read it. Read it aloud, honey.”

Zara mindlessly complied with his latest instruction.

“‘Property of Bret,’” she whispered with her hoarse voice.

“Exactly, and don’t you forget it.”

Without further ado, he produced another menacing needle and penetrated her
erect nipple. Zara threw her head back and screamed with all the volume her
worn-out vocal chords had. She heard the now-familiar “click” and he grabbed her
hair and forced her to bend down to observe this latest adornment. This ring
felt lighter than the ones in her pussy and clit, but the band itself was wider
and punched through most of her nipple flesh. She cried new tears at the sight.

Her wishful career as an actress was a distant memory and now, Bret was making
certain she could never get work in any legitimate entertainment field ever
again. All because she stuck to her principles and refused to sleep with him.

He affixed a matching nipple ring to her other tit and sucked on them hard to
elicit a few more fresh screams from Zara.

“While we’ve got the needles out, let’s put another ring through your clit. This
one, just a little further back.”

Zara started to plead for mercy, but she gave up as he plunged another sharp
needle into her increasingly sore clit. Bret slid another small ring just next
to the first one, side by side. There wasn’t much space left, Bret thought to
himself, but if he felt like it later, he could probably fit another couple of
rings on her throbbing clit. To his chagrin, Zara passed out again. He slapped
her face rudely to renew her senses.

“Hey, hey, wake up kiddo, I’m going to take these wrist shackles down.”

Bret had her stand on her tiptoes and then he released her to the floor. The
eyebolt-chains kept her attached to the concrete floor, so Zara knew she
couldn’t make a run for the steel door. “I have something special for you,Zara.
A gift from me to you.”

He withdrew a heavy black collar and snapped it around her neck. He took out two
small padlocks and clicked them to secure the collar around her fragile neck. It
fit tight around her neck, and within minutes the black leather was chafing her
tanned skin.

“Now, this gift is very special for two reasons. First, when I attach the chain
leash to this collar it signifies that I love you enough to want to walk you
around and show you off in front of friends and colleagues. Second, this collar
has a special feature that symbolizes in a very real way that I love you enough
to keep you near me at all times. Let me explain.”

Bret walked to his work bench and picked up what looked to Zara like some simple
television remote control. He pressed one simple button and the leather began to
constrict Zara’s neck, instantly blocking her ability to breathe. She wrapped
her hands around the collar vainly trying to squeeze her fingers between her
neck and the suffocating device. Bret pressed the button a second time and the
collar released its vice grip just as suddenly.

“Whenever you misbehave, I have only to cut off your oxygen supply and I think
you will get the message. Oh, and the other feature that I am really proud of?
It has a built in radius control device. If you stray from me in, oh, let’s say
in an escape attempt, the collar identifies that you have gone outside of your
allowed radius and it releases a non-lethal nerve gas that serves to
incapacitate you immediately. The gas causes a few small side effects like
severe abdominal cramps, miosis of the optic nerve, vomitting, and dizziness,
but they are relatively temporary.”

Zara only stared back in disbelief and disdain.

“Oh, and there is a fail-safe sensor in the collar, so that if for some reason
you were to remove the collar in my presence. You see, I am the center of your
world, therefore I am the center of your radius and the collar’s computer
recognizes me; it won’t release the gas within five feet of me I’m happy to say.
So, you see, you really are stuck with me, and wherever I choose to take you,
Zara.”

Having explained her dubious situation, Bret felt no harm was done by releasing
her ankles from their shackles. Once this was accomplished, he attached a
six-foot chain leash to her collar, and instructed Zara to prop herself up on
her hands and knees. He unlocked the steel door entry and led her along the dark
tunnel leading away from her cell. She “walked” in the humiliating fashion down
the narrow concrete path with Bret tugging on her neck if she slowed her pace.

“I’ve got a few dozen close friends coming over tonight, Zara,” he explained
while walking, “However, some of my friends are still nervous about the idea of
being seen with you. No, no, let me put it another way: Some of my more
prominent friends are nervous about being seen by you, and apparently, your
wearing a blindfold is just not assurance enough for them. Politicians and
actors can be so paranoid sometimes. Anyway, I promised to prepare you in a
special way just for them. After all, each person here tonight is paying big
bucks to fuck you, so how could I resist?”

Zara was utterly confused, and with the lack of sleep, she was finding it hard
to concentrate on his words, not to mention his meaning.

“Ah, here we are. Welcome to my humble clinic.”

Zara was led into a brightly lit room, much like a doctor’s office, decorated in
white on white. She was allowed to stand, and then commanded to lie back on the
table. She wanted to resist, her mind knew something wasn’t right here, but her
brain and body were so pliable now and easily commanded. Bret strapped her
wrists to the sides of the white table then strapped her ankles to either side.
He wrapped another tight band around her waist and cinched it. Bret followed
this by securing her collar and neck in place at the head of the table. She
could move only slightly at her joints, but otherwise she was vulnerable and
motionless.

“I know how you love these needles, but this operation is a little more
delicate, Zara. I need you to close your eyes and remain perfectly still. That’s
a good slave, close your eyes tightly for me.”

Zara was getting nervous again, and thought to herself, what body parts could he
mean. What could be more delicate than my pussy and nipples? Suddenly, she felt
the sensation of the needle. The new pain was coming from her left eyelid: Bret
was sewing her upper and lower eyelids together.

With her right eye she strained to see the source of this excruciating pain, but
she could only make out Bret’s hand moving up and down. Zara panicked and began
moving every muscle in her face and body. She was frantic and Bret couldn’t
subdue her with his own two hands. Finally, he stepped back several feet and
pressed the red button on his remote control. Within seconds, the nerve gas
knocked Zara out and all her muscles collapsed as if on cue. She would be
unconscious for this rare treatment.

It was the first time Bret had felt any ounze of compassion for his victim, and
as he completed his work routinely, the unusual thought of compassion scared
him.

She started to feel the sensation of something warm and and moist on her face.
Her dreams and nightmares were coming to a close and her return to consciousness
was imminent.

Zara felt like she was awake now, but as she tried desperately to open her eyes,
she could not. It suddenly came back to her, and the tightness along her eyelids
confirmed the fact: her lids had been sewn shut! She started to panic at this
realization, and wanted to fidget. But her restraints were not limited to the
thin flesh covering her eyes.

As the sleeping state wore off, Zara became physically aware of her situation.
Her head was tilted back further than she thought it would bend, almost to the
middle of her back, and her hair had been french-braided and tied to her ankle
restraints. Zara was resting uncomfortably on her knees, still wearing her
original high heels, with her neck straining to reach her ankles. And the warm
liquid sensation across her face? Oh, my God, she realized from the
smell….someone is pissing on me!

Actually, several people were taking their turns pissing on poor Zara. Her head
was leaned back and this allowed the male and female party guests to aim their
urine right down her cooperating throat. Some were missing the goal, but most
were striking the tongue and spraying Zara with the most bitter taste she had
ever known.

Once she gained consciousness again, she fought the party goers and spit the
incoming piss out; but Bret handled the insubordinance with appropriate measures
by squeezing the collar around her neck. Zara quickly remembered the
asphyxiating form of punishment and she suffered through additional pissing.

By the time this unseen ordeal was over, Zara had received the piss from 25
party-ers, and some of them had gone through the line twice. If she hadn’t been
so thirsty, and if Bret hadn’t starved her over the last 56 hours, then she
might have thrown up the contents in her stomach. But Zara was just that
thirsty, and just that hungry, that she didn’t seem to care anymore.

Eventually, Zara adjusted to the stitching in her eyelids, and the pain in her
joints as her body was stretched unnaturally. She overheard Bret’s voice and
keyed into his announcements. “Now that everyone has been relieved, feel free to
take your turn at fucking this lovely young slave. Cunt, mouth, ass—I expect
them all to be violated. Many times over in fact. Have at it, friends, and
whenever you feel like quitting, there will someone next to you who is willing
to take over.”

And so it happened just as Bret pronounced. Zara felt her pussy invaded by
strange cocks, some tentative, but most rough and violent. She felt her mouth
being covered by the lips of men and women alike. She could taste the alcohol
and appetizers on their breath. Zara felt the hands tug at her nipple rings, tug
until they almost ripped out of her body. And worse, she felt bodies rubbing
against her back where the fresh scars of her branding screamed in pain.

The fucking went on for hours. Men diving their cocks in her pussy, her ass, and
literally ripping her apart. She sceamed, but the screams of a slave only
excerbated their efforts. The anal thrusts came harder and even the women with
strap-on dildoes demonstrated no mercy. She had been penetrated multiple times
by 25 guests, and she had lost count of the total number of fucking violations.
75? Maybe 100 times? She couldn’t remember; it was all one big atrocious blur of
pain and penetration.

Strangely, she had expected to have men cum down her mouth. Her boyfriends
always preferred to splash cum on her face, so she was preparing herself
mentally for this insult. But none of the men released their cum on her
face.Zara felt a kind of relief, but she had no inkling of what Bret had planned
inadvance. The men were instructed to spew their loads into one of the champagne
glasses and when all of them were collected….

Bret brought the glass to his slave, who thought her fucking torment was
over.She was dead wrong. He got the attention of all invited then held the full
glass over Zara’s unsuspecting face. He quickly propped her jaw open wide and
tipped the glass to release the gooey white substance straight down her throat.
Zara was getting sick at her stomach, but she knew better than to resist. Maybe
there was still the slim chance that Bret would free her. She gulped the sperm
down and let nothing escape her mouth.

The guests were all mightily impressed, and several of them inquired about
“renting” her out from Bret. Zara kneeled at her master’s side and wondered if
and when she was to be sold off to someone else.

“Now, now, friends, before you ask, I have to tell you, my slave Zara doesn’t
come cheap. If you need to use her for a night or a weekend, we’re talking about
$10,000 easy. And if you plan on incorporating any serious means of punishment
or torture, well, we’re talking about maybe—-”

Suddenly, Bret’s voice was cut off without courtesy or warning. A heavily
accented Japanese man from the back silenced the room: “One million dollars! I
offer one million dollars to you sir, to buy your slave for my personal use—no
holds barred—for one week. One week, one million, no questions asked.”

The attention of the room focused on this man in shades, sitting on the long
leather sofa. All eyes then seemed to turn back to Zara and her master. Bret
stayed silent for a moment, then reminded himself of the money involved. He
looked down at the helpless Zara, watching her eyes—still sewn
together—manage to release a number of frightened tears. Zara cried because
her intuition told her that this foreign buyer would be worse than anything Bret
could dream up.

Part 3

Behind closed doors, Bret and the Japanese buyer, Mr. Yakuta, worked out the

details for the week-long exchange while Zara was returned to her original cell

to contemplate the painful events behind her and those ahead of her.

The party had long since concluded, and Zara had been violated several more

times by cocks and dildos. She had been forced to insert a 7-inch rubber dildo

in her cunt and walk around with it inside her for at least one whole hour. One

of the women, whose voice Zara thought she recognized from a recent blockbuster

movie, had ordered the insertion. It sounded like the woman was extremely drunk

or perhaps extremely high. Even in her forced blindness, Zara could feel the

beautiful curves of this woman’s body as the partyer rubbed up against Zara

while the dildo was in place. The others kept refering to this woman as “Cindy”,

but even with this aid, Zara couldn’t be sure if it was a known celebrity.

Cindy became very liberal with a whip once she got bored of the dildo insertion.

Zara was forced to stand and she felt the D-ring on her collar being attached to

a chain overhead. Once secured, the chain tightened and Zara’s body was lifted

slowly off the carpet by her thin neck.

The strain was incredible and it was obvious to everyone that Bret’s Slave was

having difficulty breathing. No one expressed any words of compassion over this,

of course. This was Zara’s first life experience with the whip and no amount of

mental preparation could have braced her body for the alarming sensation of

leather slashing across her skin.

Blow after blow, the whip rained on her back and front mercilessly. Cindy was

the main perpetrator, and she yelled in a state of excitement every time Zara

pleaded for relief. Cindy was quite beautiful herself, and in fact she was a

famous celebrity. The men around her were getting sexually aroused and decided

spontaneously that they had to have her. Cindy was too high to object, and she

was so caught up in her excitement that she was more than willing to take on a

gangbang of 15 or more cocks.

But even as Cindy was the new focus of sexual attention, Zara was not allowed to

rest. A trio of avowed lesbian models approached Zara’s sweating body, stretched

so seductively by the chains, and began to kiss and lick on the slave. At first,

this treatment was almost pleasant, but like everything else that was happening

to her, the treatment of Zara turned violent and painful.

The models brought out a matchbox and Zara could hear the stark sound of

individual strikes on the rough box. As a model would light a tall kitchen

match, she would bring it close to Zara and let the slave feel the approaching

heat. One of the models, named Jenny, liked to bring her matches right up to

Zara’s nipple rings and heat the ring up, conducting heat through the whole ring

which naturally transferred immense heat to the inside and outside of Zara’s

sensitive nipples.

Another model, whose name was something in German (and hard for Zara to recall),

preferred Zara’s asshole. The German model would bring her lit matches to Zara’s

asscheeks, watch Zara squirm at the sensation of heat, and then quickly snuff

the flame out by jamming the stick in Zara’s ass. The flame was small and

quickly extinguished each time, but each time, it burned Zara’s helpless flesh.

As Zara reviewed the events of the evening from her quiet and cold cell, she was

almost glad that her eyes remained sewn together. She did not want to view the

damage that had most certainly been done to her.

The steel cell door shook her from her thoughts and she heard the footsteps of

two men enter.

“Mr. Yakuta here has the honor of renting you first, Zara,” Bret said without my

emotion, “Now I had anticipated several one-night encounters for you first, my

dear, to gradually work you in. But as it happens, I am not about to turn down a

one million dollar contract for one week’s time.”

As if she would find it interesting to know the terms of their agreement, Zara

was read the documents that the two men had hastily drawn up. Among the clauses

that Bret emphasized, a torture section that did not include anything, but

rather frighteningly, only excluded three specific items: no dismemberment; no

disembowelment; and, under heavy financial penalty, no torture leading to death.

Zara realized instantly the gravity of her situation with Mr. Yakuta. Her new

master (for the contract week) said nothing as he approached his new slave. Bret

still carried on with the chatter; he felt he owed some explanation to the

pretty young thing that had refused his gestures on the casting couch.

“Zara, your week with Mr. Yakuta starts immediately, and he’s elected to keep

your stitches on your eyes indefinitely for the flight. He also prefers a

slightly different kind of leash, so I’m going to have to deactivate and remove

my collar for the time being.”

Mr. Yakuta unwound a chain from his inside suit pocket. Zara could hear the

links moving close to her pussy. She felt her two clit rings being adjusted and

then heard the click of metal snaps attaching to her rings. Mr. Yakuta then

placed a heavy padlock through her rings and the connected leash ring. When he

released the padlock from his grip, she instantly felt gravity at work on her

tender clit. The lock weighed perhaps 16 to 32 ounzes and the painful pulling of

her clit was registered all over her face.

Bret unlaced and removed Zara’s high heels at Mr. Yakuta’s request. Zara’s hair

was unbraided and allowed to fall loosely to the small of her back. Zara was

completely divested of anything on her body, save for the rings and chains. Mr.

Yakuta tugged on her clit leash, signalling that it was time to go. She began to

stand to walk, but suddenly she felt a tremendous fist slam into her stomach and

drop her to the floor.

“You will not stand or walk, unless commanded! Is that understood?”

Yakuta yelled.

“Yes, I under—”

Another blow, this time to her side.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir,” Zara managed to barely speak, “Yes, sir, I understand, sir.”

Zara assumed the doggie position and walked on her hands and knees out of the

cell. With her eyes sewn shut, it was difficult to keep up with her new master,

as he led her through the basement and the house where the party had transpired.

Zara was led outside and into the waiting limousine.

Once inside the plush backseat compartment, her clit chain was secured to an

eyebolt fashioned on the floor of the expensive car. Zara was instructed to

kneel with her hands behind her, her back arched, and her tits sticking out.

Just as Yakuta’s limo was pulling away, he leaned down to his new acquisition

and whispered into her ear.

“Say goodbye to your boyfriend Bret, slave. You are never coming back here.”

(the end??)

My name is Anita and always has been. Some of the other girls had their names changed, but they liked mine so I’ve kept it. Looking back 9 months ‘Anita’ was a very different person. I was living an existence. I lived in the same town I’d grown up in; I never knew my father and my mother had died when I was 19, leaving everything to me. We had not been wealthy but I did have a small flat to my name and could support myself by working as a secretary.  I had a few friends but an unexciting life. I never met anyone new and didn’t go out much. I’d had a couple of bad experiences with men in my late teenage years and since my mother had died I’d not dated anyone. I was actually uncomfortable around men, as if they were another species that I couldn’t relate to. I’m not beautiful so it was easy for me to escape attention and get on with my work. It was when I was 24, 9 months back that I got home one day and had a nervous breakdown.

I felt like my life was meaningless, here I was, apparently in the prime of my life coming home and going to bed at 9 O’clock with a mug of hot chocolate. I dressed in the same clothes I’d worn for years, a brown suit and flat shoes for work. No make-up. I felt like there was no way anyone would find me attractive. I would dream of meeting a man who would treat me like a sex goddess, who would be consumed by passion and fuck me wherever he could. I imagined that I was glamorous and irresistible and then I would open my eyes again and realise that I wasn’t.

That evening I had vowed that I couldn’t go on like that. That I had to change something; that I had to see someone and ask for help. I didn’t want to waste my life. I also felt though that I was a hopeless cause and that it would take a miracle to undo what I’d turned into. My friends seemed quite happy to be single and didn’t seem interested in men at all, so I didn’t think that they’d be much help. I was unsure about how to start anything and it was blind fate that had brought me to the personal ads in the evening paper.

‘You.  Yes, YOU can become a sex goddess. Treat yourself to a personality makeover and start living now!’ – Dr Vivienne Black, sex therapist, confidence coach and expert in seduction; welcomes ‘lost causes!’ First consultation half price!

It was like the paper was speaking to me, I was actually shaking as I copied the number into my diary. I had gone to bed feeling weepy but at last I had some hope.

‘How about after work then? ‘, the lady on the phone was lovely, very gentle and easy to talk to. My heart was pounding as I made my first appointment for that day with Dr Black herself. She had been warm and accommodating and had said that if I came to her clinic I could start my first session at 6.30.

I’d finished all my work on time, said goodbye to my boss and nervously plotted a route to where her clinic was. It was actually a bit out of the way and on the front of an industrial estate with nothing to draw attention to itself, but it looked clean and tidy. I’d had to check if it was the right address but then saw a small plaque on the front door which confirmed everything.

I parked up and knocked on the door. After only a few seconds I was greeted by the smiling face of Dr Black, or Vivienne as she had introduced herself. She had enthusiastically taken my hand and had a real presence about her. She looked stunning, not that she was extraordinarily beautiful but that she was beautifully dressed. She wore a well tailored black trouser suit with expensive looking high-heeled boots. A flowing mass of straight black hair was combed to perfection, lifted into a ponytail and held there with a large burgundy flower, swaying down to the small of her back. I had been quite captivated by her even then and remember thinking that if I could be anything like as attractive then I would be more than happy.

First off, she’d taken my coat and led me through to the consulting room. It looked much more like a very expensive executive office though, plush leather chairs, proper artwork marble flooring and stunning rugs. She stood in front of me, holding the back of one of the chairs.

‘Come here and sit down.’ She had smiled.

No sooner had I sat than she was handing me a metal cup with a warm drink inside.

‘This tea will help you to relax a little as we talk’, she had said.

‘Let me tell you a little about what I do and then you can tell me what you want to get out of this. My background is in psychology and neurosciences and my technique will involve helping to change the way you think about certain aspects of yourself, things that need to change so that you can move forward. Today I need you to tell me about yourself and what you want to achieve. Now while you’re doing this I need to monitor some of your body’s responses, just your heart and skin with some sticky pads, just like when you go to hospital, it’s all perfectly routine’

She had then sat in her own chair and listened as I told her about my life. She’d soothed me when I started crying and told her how unattractive I felt and how I wanted to be a confident woman who men would find attractive.

She’d all the while been asking me questions, what clothes would make me feel confident, beautiful, and sexy and what would make me feel dowdy; to which I had given a weak laugh and said my whole wardrobe. Then she asked me a lot of other questions that she said were to help ‘map out my personality’ a little. She asked me to imagine that I was someone else and to tell her how it felt. She had started off with a film star but had gone on to ask much more embarrassing things; she wanted me to imagine that I was the office flirt, then the office slut, then I was a lap dancer with men ogling me while I writhed in front of them for their pleasure! I was surprised to hear myself say that I would be excited to have that attention, very excited. Dr. Black had such a kindly way about her that I felt I could be completely honest with her. I had blushed heavily but felt aroused nonetheless at the thought.

‘That’s excellent, Anita”, she had said after a while, ‘I want you to relax for a moment while I go next door’

I had relaxed back in the chair feeling free of worries. Dr Black had closed the door in to the next room but I could hear her talking, obviously just taking a quick phone call. After a few moments she had returned.

‘Everything’s going really well. Now what I need you to do is come next door. Before you do I want you to stay beautifully relaxed, just listening to my voice still and then just gently stand yourself up. Excellent. Now slowly come through here’

I was in a lovely trance, I had felt warm and secure as I walked next door.

‘Lie down on the bed over there and relax’

I did so.

‘Now Anita, this next stage is so I can find out a little more about you. I’m going to use a scanner to look at what happens to your brain as we talk, OK?’

I had nodded.

‘Close your eyes and relax into to moulded pillow’

I let my head drop into the soft casing. There were holes for the ears so I could still hear perfectly.

‘Well done, now I’m going to put a little strap around your head so it stays still in the scanner, OK?’

‘Fine’, I replied.

I felt a firm rubber strap over my forehead holding my head comfortably but firmly in place.

‘Now close your eyes. We’re going backwards now, nothing to be alarmed about’, she said as the bed gently slid backwards a little.

‘That’s good, now just relax and get comfy Anita’

She had started to ask me to imagine the same things again. This time she was sat at the bedside, close to me. I could hear her adjusting a few controls and using a computer mouse from time to time.

She asked me about work, people I trusted, my boss, what would happen if he asked me to bring him coffee, to stay behind and work late, to come into his office and strip. I answered honestly and was surprisingly not shocked by her questions, such was her manner. I felt utterly comfortable confiding in her my most personal secrets. Obviously the barriers had gone up at the last request, I would not strip for my boss but I told her this matter-of-factly without any rebuke for her asking me such intimate things.

I can’t remember how long I had stayed on that bed being probed to the depths of my core by Dr. Black. She had asked me in detail about my sexual fantasies; which were along the lines of being found irresistible by some tall dark stranger at a grand summer ball to the point where he could resist me no more and had to take me, which he did over the desk in the study. She had plumbed my feelings on oral and anal sex at this time too. I felt quite excited about taking him in my mouth, but was scared of anal penetration.

She then had asked a number of bizarre things about how I would react if a series of increasingly unpleasant or unreasonable things were asked of me. That’s all I could remember afterwards anyway.

The next thing I remember was hearing,

‘Open your eyes, Anita’

I looked up to see the reassuring smile of Dr. Vivienne Black. She was offering me her had so I could get up from the bed. We had walked together back into the office next door and she had poured me some juice.

‘I can really help you with your problems, Anita. What I think will work best for you will be a regular set of sessions where we set goals and try some new behaviour for you. I have to say that this will be no less than ten sessions and requires up-front commitment and payment. Listen to what I have to say before you say anything though.’

I was unnerved but excited as I listened.

‘The first thing we need to do is to get you feeling great about yourself and build up some confidence. I propose we do this by firstly getting you a complete makeover. New hair, make-up, clothes, shoes, the works! Again this will require some outlay on your part’

‘That is no problem,’ I had said, I was now for the first time feeling that things might start to turn around with the help of this lady, ‘I have enough money set aside for all of this. I can’t think of anything more worthwhile to spend it on.’

‘That’s fantastic, Anita. We need to do this soon and at the same time I will work on your behaviours so you not only look but feel like a confident, beautiful, sexy woman. Are you free this weekend?’

PART 2

And so it was that on Monday morning I had stepped into the office a new woman. People in the office noticed immediately. Everything that could possibly be different was.

The weekend had been packed full of activity. It had started, early, with a morning session at Vivienne’s office. I’d pulled out my cheque book at the start and signed away a small fortune, but I didn’t care. It was only money. I’d rather be happy.

We had then started the session proper.

It was amazing that two full hours had passed, by the clock, but she had made me so relaxed, so quickly, that the time had gone in a flash. I had awoken feeling refreshed and excited.

She had told me that to start with we were going to work on how I held myself and that was the task to work at while we were out and about. I had listened intently as she told me the first of her ’secrets’ to confident behaviour. She only wanted me to do three things today, easy things she said but, ‘Oh so important’; Firstly, and most importantly, to smile a lot; at people, entering a room, when I feel uncomfortable; in fact most of the time. She had asked me to smile for her and had adjusted it so it looked right. Then she made me practice it and said she would remind me by saying, ’smile’ throughout the day.

The other two things were posture and how to walk well. She said that as I was going to be stunning and probably a constant wearer of high heels, our first job was to get me a pair to learn in right away. I had felt nervous but again excited by this. I’d only ever worn high heels once, at a birthday party when I was 17. I’d found them difficult and had not persevered with them; they had looked more trouble than they were worth. I did like the look of other women in them though, if they could walk in them. I usually wore very practical but desperately unglamorous flat shoes.

It wasn’t long before I had stepped out in a pair of new, black leather, high, stiletto heeled boots. Without anything else I had immediately started to feel glamorous. Vivienne had taken my arm and talked me through the ‘correct’ way to walk in them. She had taken me up and down a quiet side street while she improved my posture and got me balancing properly on the high heels. She was such an amazing teacher and had such a fantastic way of putting things. I had walked the rest of the day with my head high, like I had spent years in high heels. I felt so good that she had rarely to remind me to smile.

We did the rounds that afternoon. I had to go back to the car halfway through because we’d bought so much; two stunningly cut fitted suits that I’d never have picked myself; trousers and tops for evening wear; two pairs of attention-grabbing gorgeous heels for work that I would never have dreamed of wearing; a pair of fluffy high heeled mules to practice in around the house ( I’d found that so funny, Vivienne was pleased I was enjoying myself ) ;earrings; underwear; two bags; a coat; the list went on! I didn’t care how much of my savings were being used up. I’d smiled at everyone that day and gone home a happy woman. I’d immediately thrown my old things in a pile to make room for my new clothes. Vivienne had left me in town, elegantly kissing me goodbye. She had arranged to pick me up the following morning and take me for ‘a day of sumptuous pampering’. I’d sat in the bath that night with a glass of chilled white wine in my hand and a beaming grin on my face.

The following day I’d got up early and dressed in my new clothes at a leisurely pace; new trousers, pink-brown top, coat and boots.  I was chauffeured by Vivienne to a beautician’s. Her name was Trisha and she was stunning. Tall; slim; black skin, the colour

of milky coffee; lush, full, glossy lips; lustrous, frizzy, blond streaked hair, knotted up in a way so elaborate only a professional would be able to do. I had felt over-awed by her beauty. She clearly knew Vivienne well as they both shared a hug and kiss before Vivienne introduced me. Trisha had smiled and looked at my face, then stepped back to regard me.

‘You’ve got some natural beauty for me to work with all right; and really quite a magnificent figure’, she had smiled mischievously and exchanged looks with Vivienne, ‘come inside and we’ll get started.’

We were the only ones in the shop but it was small and looked incredibly exclusive. I had bet it must cost a fortune to get anything at all done there. There were no prices up anywhere.

‘I’m glad I paid up front’, I had joked to myself.

Then I wondered if I had.

‘Come this way Anita’, Trisha had said.

She was dressed in a smart beige beautician’s uniform; practical for getting hair and oil spills on but well fitting and very fashionably designed. She wore simple but perfect make-up and a pair of smart but comfortable looking beige sandals. She carried herself with the same confident elegance that Vivienne had but had more swing to her slightly wider hips.  I had followed her down a light, wood-floored corridor to a small changing room with a half door at modesty height. She had brought me a white silk robe and slippers, which she passed in, and told me to change. She said to take everything off as she was going to make my whole body beautiful. She said that Vivienne was leaving us but had said to have a great day and to let her take good care of me.

‘So, Anita, have you had beauty treatments before?’ she asked as I belted the silk robe around my naked body and dropped my panties onto the floor.

‘No. Never’, I replied.

There then followed an amazed set of questions along the lines of, ‘What, you’ve never had your nails done?!’ through to, ‘Not even a facial?!’

All of it was said with a pleasant jocularity that made me warm to her straight away.

‘Well. You’re in for a hell of a day girl!’

Over the next four and a half hours I was transformed into a woman.

She had started with a full body massage to get me relaxed. She asked me questions the whole way through. She had a way, like Vivienne, that made her very approachable and trustworthy. I had felt able to be totally honest and confide in her. We had chatted for a while until the massage just got too good and I zoned out.

I came to lying on my back with Trisha, back towards me, handling some things on a table next to me.

‘Now, I’m afraid, I’m going to have to torture you’

I looked up as she turned around.

‘Wax time!’ she smiled.

I must have looked a picture!

She was a real expert though. Waxed me everywhere. Took away hair I didn’t know I had. Face, legs, bikini line, everywhere was fair game. It really didn’t hurt much either. She trimmed my pubic hair from a spidery bush to an elegant, feminine strip.

After that she treated my skin with scented oils and creams, which she worked in while I gently melted.

Then she pedicured me and manicured my hands.

‘Ok, now the difficult subject of nail colour’, she had said, ‘I’m going to put some false nails on your hands so we will have to paint them’

I trusted her. I never wore nail varnish, partly because it seemed like too much trouble, but mainly because most examples I’d seen looked pretty tacky or tarty. I particularly hated women with really long nails, they reminded me of whores. Long pink or red nails, horrible! I remember we both had a good laugh about that.

She showed me a wooden display book with lots of sample colours painted onto little stones. I had looked at them for a while unable to make up my mind. Then I realised what I thought might work.

‘Don’t tell me’, she had said looking into my eyes before I could open my mouth, ‘I’ll bet you really would like a French manicure, yes?’

‘Yes’, I exclaimed, genuinely amazed, ‘that’s incredible, how did you knew that?’

She had smiled

‘I know what works.’ she had purred, ‘I know what works for you too, Anita’

Apparently she did.

She finished my nails, making sure they were just long enough so I could still type easily. Then she gave me the facial.

‘I’ve got a hair colour for you too sweetie. Now see how you like this’

‘It’s beautiful’, I had said, ‘It’s so perfectly beautiful. Do you think it would look OK on me?’

‘Only one way to find out’

She dyed my bush of thick light brown hair a deep red, orange. It was gorgeous but it did scream for attention. I was slightly worried at first but then I fell in love with it. She had cut my thick bush into something that was just so ‘me’ but I would never have found it; lively, a little chaotic, beautifully shaped, longer at the back than the front but fashionably so. She talked me through how to do it myself, it was very little trouble. It framed my face perfectly, which she then taught me how to make-up. As I finished off with a thick velvety lipstick I couldn’t have believed I would ever look this good.

‘Ok now go back to the dressing room and change’

When I emerged she kissed me and told me I looked absolutely beautiful. I had blushed and thanked her. She told me that she would have ordered me a cab but thought that maybe I should take a walk a bit further up the road, into town, to get a cab there. To show myself off a bit she had said with a wink. I had teetered out on cloud nine.

Monday morning, the minute I walked into the office, heads turned. I loved it. I loved the attention and found that all kinds of people were treating me differently. The doorman had almost ‘double-taked’, he eyed me down from immaculate hair and face, through my nipped-in fitted suit, all the way down my black nylon covered legs to my high black leather stiletto-pumps. I had smiled to myself and carried on my proper walk. I know he checked out my ass for a good time without having looked.

I stood in the lift with a guy who worked upstairs. He’d never noticed me before but I could see him checking me out in the door reflection. I smiled at him, then the door opened for my floor and I left.

I work in a multi-story office block. Our company, a legal firm, is on the tenth floor and takes up half of that. I’m the personal secretary for one of the partners and handle the work for one other junior lawyer usually. That’s enough to keep me pretty busy and I am a good secretary. There’s a central area with the lawyers’ doors coming off where I work with 3 other secretaries. All the offices had frosted-glass doors and windows opening onto our area. It was a very professional set up as all the clients were seen there. I had often felt that I was the thing that let it down the most and was glad my desk was to one side.

The girls I share a room with couldn’t believe it! They showered me with complements and started asking where I got my things from and where I got my hair done. I was cagey about it as I didn’t want to let on that I was seeing a therapist and after naming a few shops turned the conversation round to something else. When we went out to get lunch I felt like there was more of a buzz about the group of us and everyone had seemed more excited.

My boss had come in late and had immediately gone in to talk to one of the other partners. When he came out he came over to me to ask me into his office, this is what we did every day and I would go through his diary with him. He immediately paid me a complement as he saw me at the desk, sincerely saying I looked lovely today. Then he told me to come in. He held the door for me as always and I sidled past him and stood at my usual spot. He sat down and we started going through meetings and cases as normal. He was definitely different with me though. I saw him eyeing up my legs several times.

He was not attractive physically but was very confident, decisive and could be quite commanding. He was always very specific with what he wanted me to do and I liked that. He was also the most powerful man in the company, the other partners generally deferred to his judgement. I had once woken up very flustered after a dream where he had taken me into his office, bent me over his desk and fucked me until he came. Then he had sent me away unsatisfied and frustrated to finish my typing. I recalled that dream while I was standing there and blushed, Vivienne had me smiling at him though!

That night I had another session. I recounted every detail to Vivienne. The final detail was the one that had made the day for me. As I had stepped into the lift to go downstairs I had realised that the same guy from upstairs was in it. I’d smiled at him and stepped in. He had wasted no time telling me that I looked beautiful and would I like to meet up for a drink some time? I have never been asked out by a stranger before (!) but strangely handled it very well. He introduced himself as David, I gave him my name and number and said to call me. Then I walked out before him feeling a bit like a temptress as I walked, knowing I would have his full attention on me.

‘That’s fantastic, Anita’, Vivienne said, ‘I’m so happy for you. And you know this is just the beginning too. We’ll cover what you’ll need to handle a date soon as well!’

‘Ok, let’s start the session’

I remember envisaging some scenarios but the details were very blurry. I can remember one starting with approaching a man I found attractive but I couldn’t remember what happened next. I remember feeling very, very sexy though; and still felt sexy when I came to at the end.

‘I have to say that things are going extremely well, Anita. You’re almost a model subject and I can practically guarantee a good outcome with you’

I smiled happily

‘Next session will be in three days, on Thursday. Homework is to find a fitness activity you can do as I think we should get a few pounds off you. You aren’t fat honey, don’t worry, this is about getting you to your absolute best; so absolutely no junk food or chocolate until we’re happy about this. Secondly I want you to masturbate every night now for a while. We need to develop and explore your sexuality now you’re getting to be in a position to need it.’

I blushed from head to toe, ‘Yes, Vivienne.’

‘I have a little present here that I think you will learn to like a lot. Use it when you get home and then every night’

I felt a little naughty as I took an expensive looking, little black bag from her. Something was wrapped up inside it.

‘Now off you go’

PART 3

The next day a strange thing happened.

I had got up early for work, had an unhurried breakfast, went through my beauty routine and got dressed. I had washed and stowed away my shiny new vibrator all the time thinking, ‘what have I been doing all these years!’

Then I’d got the bus to work.

I’d got into work again and just put my bag down when I saw a letter in my in-tray. I had opened it and it said that my application for annual leave had been approved. I was puzzled; I had not made an application. I looked at the dates and it was for three and a half weeks leave from next Wednesday. There must obviously have been some mistake I had thought. Never mind, I would sort it out.

The rest of the day passed without incident. I say that because the way I was treated and looked at now, was the norm. I felt like a proper woman now, a lady, people were more polite and deferential to me and I felt attractive and desirable. It made me feel great but was no longer a notable event or rarity; rather it was me, full time!

I had dropped by the gym opposite on the way back from my lunch break with Melanie, one of the girls I worked with. Very aware of my instructions from Vivienne I had a small, healthy salad for my lunch with plenty of water, a careful eye remaining on my figure.

Melanie was brassy and generally told it how it was. She was not especially bright but she had ‘lived’ and brimmed with the confidence of someone who had been through it all. She made me laugh in the office, usually with jokes about sex, usually crude ones at that. She was in her late thirties, a single mum who supported her three teenagers. She didn’t have that much money and she tended to dress sexily but cheaply for the office; short black skirt; cheap plastic heels and three pairs of worn oval matching gold earrings that increased in size towards the front pair. She also wore too much makeup. The other girls could sometimes be a little snobby about her behind her back, saying she looked so common (I did tend to agree about the earrings), but I liked her. I knew where I stood with her and she had been so encouraging to me since I had started to undergo my ‘change’. She was, as it happened, trying to give up smoking and was going to try to exercise her way through the craving. So she was keen to stop by the gym with me.

We looked at their programme. I immediately was drawn to one item, every Wednesday and Friday,

‘Pole Dancing, beginner to intermediate level’

My hand went over my mouth as Melanie immediately blurted out that that’s what we should do and started to storm inside. I wondered if I should take the plunge. It must have been about thirty seconds before I slowly followed her inside, nervous but buzzing; and we enrolled. My mind flashed back to pleasuring myself the night before, daringly imagining myself an object of desire, a fabulous feathered showgirl, dancing on the stage in a fabulous West End show. To do something like this for real, though, was totally different.

I’m sure I was blushing when I signed my name on the register. We could start right away, the following day that was, as there were a couple of vacant poles in the class.

Melanie asked the receptionist about it. She said that the class was actually taught by a professional but was attended by regular gym users. Melanie had joked that she was glad it wasn’t an apprenticeship with a job to follow!

‘That’s what everyone says’, the receptionist had laughed politely.

It was usually very popular, we were lucky there was a single vacancy. She went herself in fact, and it was a lot more difficult than it looked. She said that she’d only been going for a month but was already much, much stronger and fitter. It was all strictly behind closed doors and for women only; there was no chance of any men or outsiders watching. That had made me feel relieved. She said that the instructor was ludicrously good at it. She, herself, was very proud of the fact that she could just about hold herself upside down and steady on the pole now and still maintain some posture. It sounded very challenging and just what we needed to get fit. She said all we needed to bring was something comfortable but not too baggy to wear because the pole could rub on bare skin; and a pair of high heels. I slightly balked at the idea when she mentioned that as it brought a slutty look to my mind, an image I certainly wanted to avoid. She was very matter-of-fact and said that it was intrinsic to the whole art and a necessary part of ‘the dancer’s form’. She advised us that she actually wore boots so she didn’t have to worry about losing a shoe when she was hanging from the pole. It sounded like good advice. I was glad we had talked to her. We thanked her and said we’d see her there tomorrow.

As we walked back to the office Melanie had said, ‘I can’t believe you are making me do this. I didn’t know you were such a little tart!’

I had laughed a little defensively at her joke. I was not accustomed to being called anything like that and it had, after all, been her suggestion.

After work I nipped out and bought a cheap pair of boots that I wouldn’t mind getting sweaty in. I chose some with laces for a good fit and because they looked similar to the type a dancer would wear, albeit with higher heels. I felt pretty sexy in them right away and did a couple of twirls in the shop to make sure I would be able to move well in them. I picked up some gym clothes as well, some short leggings, a tight top and a sports bra. I’d then gone home for an early night, tired but excited. I was a good girl and did my homework.

The following day Melanie and I had been like giggling schoolgirls. We didn’t tell the other two what we were planning. They were a little more conservative. I actually felt ashamed at the thought of them knowing, so it stayed our little secret. We were thick as thieves that day. My boss even picked up on it and made a point of returning two letters to me with spelling mistakes on. It was as if to reprimand me and tell me to concentrate on my work; that he thought I should be above such girlish immaturity. I had apologised and, riding the wave of girlishness, flattered my eyelashes at him. He had snorted out a smile and left.

That night we slipped off after work to the gym. It was like stealing off for a cigarette at the end of the school playground.

Truly I’d been embarrassed as I walked out of the changing room with Melanie, dressed for the first time as a keep-fit pole dancer. We stood around uncomfortably for a few minutes until our instructor, Lisa, arrived. She briefly welcomed us to the class, in something of a hurry, and got us to introduce ourselves to the other eight women there. She then wasted no time getting us to our poles and starting us with testing yoga-like stretching exercises. That lasted for about half an hour, she stressed flexibility and strength above everything else and made sure we were all sweating, stretched and warm. Then we started with some moves, gently walking round the pole to start with.

After a while I was sucked along with it and quite suddenly realised that I was strutting and swinging myself round the pole like I was a proper erotic dancer; moving for the pleasure of an audience. I blushed fully at this realisation but saw that I was not alone in my actions. All the other girls were doing exactly the same and were thankfully oblivious to me. Several, in fact, were really going for it; exaggerating the wiggle from their hips as they sauntered sexily round their long brass poles. I couldn’t believe it and blushed again as I thought it looked a bit trashy but maybe quite fun to do. I made an attempt to copy them. I liked to do things well, it was all behind closed doors and I did, after all, want to do the whole thing properly.

‘Good movement, Anita’, I heard from my Instructress. I hadn’t spotted her looking at me and almost died with embarrassment as the others all looked up at me.

Later, as we moved on, Lisa told us not to do the more advanced moves and instead gave us some simpler exercises to practice while the rest of the class continued difficult lessons that they had already been working on.

She made us do press-ups, sit-ups and jumping-jacks (in heels!). By the time she told us to go and get a shower I was exhausted and every bone in my body ached. My arms could hardly move from what they’d been put through. If anything was going to lose me a few pounds; that was it for sure. At home I went straight to bed, initially struggling with the idea of my homework, but soon settling into it. I had a massive orgasm and then turned over to rest. It was half past nine!

I was just dozing off to sleep when the phone rang. I considered not answering it but it so rarely rang that I picked it up. It was the man from the lift! He sounded lively and really pleased that I was in. He said he knew it was a little strange and not what he’d initially intended but asked if I would like to accompany him to a party on a yacht that Saturday night. He’d been invited last minute and thought it would be fantastic if he could take me (yes ME!) as his date. It took my breath away. I thought I’d be speechless but felt like I must have had the confidence of Vivienne when the composed sounding,

‘Yes, I’d be delighted to’, sprang from my lips

He arranged to pick me up at 7 sharp and said that it was black tie and cocktail dress-code. He asked if that was ‘ok’ and I replied that it was ‘absolutely fine’; in spite of having no dress and no idea what it would be like. I thought about phoning Vivienne straight away to scream for help but thought better of it as it was late and I had a session with her the next day anyway. I would just have to wait and sweat on it. I took a few deep breaths and regained some composure. I was so excited, I hadn’t been asked out on a date like that, well, ever!

The next night I had giddily come straight out with it almost before saying hello to Vivienne. She had grinned and said,

‘My! Someone’s excited aren’t they?!’

I must have been wagging my tail like a puppy asking her what I should do. I coyly paused and asked her if there was any chance she could help me find something to wear. She had such good taste and I knew if she was with me I would pick something that I would look and feel incredible in.

‘We’ll see’, she had said teasingly and then pressed me to start the session.

Like the first time, I remember her relaxing me and then getting me to walk next door and lie down in the comfortable scanner. The memory was much less distinct than the first time and after that I remembered nothing. I awoke back in her office. I felt very different from previous sessions. I did not feel fantastic and refreshed. I felt like I had just done the exercise class from the night before, but many times, one after another. My body ached and the only pleasant feeling I had was like an endorphin hit, the kind that followed heavy exercise. I had told myself at the time that it must have been my muscles; only then starting to seize and complain from the class the night before. It didn’t trouble me that the pains were in places that I had not been exercising, like my breasts and my sex, as well as the rest of my body. However, before I could dwell on it Vivienne had said,

‘Because it’s such a special occasion I think I can come into town with you on Saturday morning to help you pick something out’

I was so relieved, ‘Oh, thank you!’ I had said.

‘I have a couple of things to do there myself in fact so it won’t really be too much trouble. Maybe I should let you buy me lunch and it’s a deal’, she smiled.

‘Oh I’d love to’, I had swooned, feeling at the time that it would be my privilege to do that.

‘Wonderful then, see you there, Sweetie.’

PART 4

Saturday came and I met up in town with Vivienne. I was aching from my second class the previous night and my feet were sore from rubbing in my dancing boots. I had whined a little to Vivienne and she had told me ruefully,

‘A lady never complains about her feet, Anita. It is most unbecoming and very common. Your feet will toughen up soon, don’t worry; so stick with it but don’t complain’

I had nodded like a scolded puppy. I was wearing my high-heeled boots and they were aggravating the same spots with every step. I had smiled said, ‘Yes, Vivienne’, and put on a brave face for the rest of the day imagining the size of my blisters and quietly dreaming about a foot bath. She had to sort out some business at an estate agent’s and with her lawyers to start with so I had to follow her for that; thankfully it passed very quickly and without too much walking.

She came through with the goods in the end though, like I knew she would. She steered me towards a spectacular short, black, strapless cocktail dress in a small designer boutique tucked away down a side street. I almost cried when I put it on and saw myself; I looked like a film star. It was the kind of thing I had never worn before. At three hundred pounds I didn’t think twice about not buying it, I owed it to myself to have it. She even said she’d lend me some proper jewellery to make it work. She was like the big sister I had never had, the perfect big sister who made everything all right. She helped me pick out a pair of sexy dress-sandals to go with it and then packed me off home to relax and get myself ready for my big date.

It was later that night that I reached what I now know to be my all time high. I will never feel like that again now and I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve gone to sleep crying at that thought. It pains me to have to recall how I felt then and how I can never feel like that again.

I had spent the afternoon readying myself. I took a lovely, sensual bath with fragrant oils, followed by full skin treatment with soft moisturizing lotions. I got my nails, hair and makeup looking absolutely perfect. Put on suspenders and black stockings. Zipped up my lovely new dress, almost shivering as the cool satin lining closed around my body to sit firmly about my increasingly slender waist. I slid my richly painted, stockinged toes into my strappy stilettos; my heels almost wobbling high over the tiny points; and fastened the skinny straps snugly round my ankles. A week ago and I would have quaked at the idea of having to walk in them, but by that time I was confident and thought that I would be taking very delicate, ladylike steps. Mercifully the straps avoided the key areas that had been rubbing all day, although had they not I would have worn them without complaint and suffered silently, as a lady.

I then sat down at my dresser and took the box that Vivienne had lent me. She had said that the contents were worth ‘a lot’ of money and that I was to take exceptional care of them. I carefully opened the box and looked inside. There was a pearl choker wrapped around a purple velvet ring. I unfastened it and lifted it up, feeling the weight. It was stunningly beautiful, it had three lines of well sized pearls all strung together fastening with a clip at the back. At the front of the choker was a dazzling piece of cut onyx, shiny and black, surrounded by an elaborate pattern of diamonds set in gold. It felt like it was all real, the highest quality, not an imitation, it must have been worth an absolute fortune. I was transfixed. Slowly I clicked open the fastening and drew it up to my neck, feeling excited as the cold inside fell against me, arousing me slightly. I moved my hands around behind me, encircling my throat with the pearls until I could slide the mating fastenings together and they clicked home. It stayed comfortably halfway up my neck, around almost the narrowest part. I took the matching earrings from the box and put them on too. Then I looked at myself.

I felt incredible. Elegant; sexy; beautiful; I felt fantastic, like I could take on the world. I put on some perfume and stood up and admired myself in the long mirror. I felt so glamorous. I posed, like I was in a society magazine. I poured a glass of wine and waited for my date to come. I felt beautiful and in control. I felt like I looked a million dollars. I paced around a little to get used to the shoes and then the doorbell rang. I put down my glass and answered it.

I couldn’t remember him being so handsome and he looked fantastic in black tie. He was stunned with me and absolutely showered me with complements about how amazing I looked. I was glowing as we walked to the taxi together and rode to the yacht.

The night was, well, spectacular. I can’t really describe it in any other way. I had the time of my life. I was paraded around on the arm of a lovely man; I got so much attention and met so many wonderful people. My boss of all people was there. He was very taken with me and told me I looked, ‘absolutely enchanting’. I had smiled, thanked him and returned to my date. We danced and laughed. He walked me up onto the top deck and in the moonlight he kissed me for the first time. I was truly happy and felt very, very special. The whole night had passed in a wonderful blur until he took me home and kissed me goodnight. I was quite willing to invite him in as I didn’t want the night to end but Vivienne had given me very clear instructions on this.

‘There will be plenty of time for that sort of thing’, she had smiled very mischievously during one of the sessions.

I had heeded this, said goodnight to him and gone inside. I knew not to have sex on a first date anyway. I was damn glad to have my homework to do that night as I melted into the bed reliving the evening and climaxing at the thought of him taking me, still in my dress, because he had to have me, I was too beautiful not to.

Before I knew it I was back at work on Monday again. I told Melanie about my weekend and she was so happy for me. She even said she knew the guy I was talking about and that she definitely ‘wouldn’t kick him out of bed!’ I felt embarrassed but it was a complement from her; that I had done well for myself. He actually rang me at my desk to say that he’d really enjoyed the night. He asked me out on another date, something quieter, this Thursday. I didn’t hesitate to say ‘Yes’ at once.

Melanie was struggling with her smoking that afternoon so I tried my best to keep her spirits up. My boss told me again how wonderful I had looked over the weekend and was clearly starting to look at me like he wanted me now. Not explicitly, but his gaze lingered that bit longer. I tried to avoid walking in front of him if I could, but it was difficult when I went into his office because his desk faced the door.

The following day I left work to go to my session with Vivienne. I arrived at her office at 7 and got buzzed in. I was surprised to see a blonde girl sat behind the reception desk. She was a little younger than me, about 21, very pretty and dressed in a smart black skirt and white blouse. She looked up at me with a tired expression on her face.

‘Doctor Black says to wait here’, she said and then continued to stare blankly at the wall.

I felt a little strange as her manner was a little unnatural. There was silence save for the very faint sounds of a conversation next door, it was a little creepy as the reception area had a bleak feel to it and there were no magazines to read. There was just a pile of cards offering the services of Dr. Vivienne Black followed by a long list of conditions that she was adept in treating. I was just reading past ’sexual problems’ when the intercom sounded,

‘Send her in’

The girl just looked up at me, I had heard myself. I didn’t think she was a very good receptionist and would tell Vivienne what I though about her. I was now a confident assertive woman who deserved to be treated with dignity and respect.

Vivienne had just finished on the phone. I strode in, the metal from my heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. The room was dark with the curtains closed. I was happy to see my big sister and was now bursting to tell her about my big date. I’ll never forget how she looked at me. There was no smile there. She looked straight into me with empty, black, shark-like yes and said,

‘Stand there’, she pointed to a spot about a metre in front of the centre of her desk. Her tone was emotionless. I didn’t know what to do so I stood there.

‘Stand up straight, head high, suck in your stomach’, I did so,’ and push out your breasts’

I obeyed. I didn’t know what was happening.

Then she smiled and a hideous look started to take hold on her face,

‘Freeze’, she commanded.

Her smile broadened into a grin. It was not like her usual refined and restrained grin, this was a grin of sadistic abandonment. I was scared and went to tell her that I was frightened BUT I COULD NOT MOVE.

Not a muscle!

My god I couldn’t move!

I immediately started to panic. As my heart raced she started to cackle. She stood up slowly and sauntered over to me.

‘What was happening? Why couldn’t I move?’ I raced. I wondered if I may have had a sudden stroke or if I was dreaming…but it was too real. Before I could think further she said,

‘Shhhhhhhhhhh, little one’

She ran her hand down my face and stood in front of me. She looked evil in her dark makeup and deep red lipstick. Her wide smile was becoming Satanic. She started to run her nails down my face, slowly, just so they started to scratch a little. Like a cat toying with a baby rabbit. I was choked up with fear, staring at her.

‘I expect you are wondering why you can’t move now.’

‘Yes!’ I thought silently

‘I could keep you like this forever you know. I’m sure you’d like that wouldn’t you’

I couldn’t understand what she was saying, I was totally helpless, a fox in a snare.

‘This’, she said taking my bag off my shoulder and throwing it aside, ‘is our chance to get to know each other a bit better. Since I already know all about you, all your deep, dark secrets, I’ll do the talking shall I?’

She took off my jacket and started unbuttoning my blouse.

I choked back a sob but couldn’t lift a finger.

‘Yes, I could keep you still like this for as long as I choose’

My blouse was removed from me and tossed aside.

‘Maybe I could have a little glass display case made and stand you in it over there’, she mused, ‘get a nurse to put in a dear little feeding tube, a catheter and a daily enema and you would become like part of the room, a permanent fixture. My favourite decoration maybe’

I was going insane with fear now. I felt I would pass out, my head was swimming. My body was not listening to me and try as I might I could do nothing about it.

She unbuttoned my skirt and pulled it down. Then she unfastened my bra and threw that behind too. In spite of my paralysis the tears ran down my face.

‘Oh don’t mind me dear I’ve seen it all before’, she mocked as she yanked down my tights and pants airing my sex to the room.

‘Left foot up’,

It moved up and she took my shoe off. I was aghast. She did the same for the right so I was standing upright and quite naked in front of her. She picked up my shoes and set them upright in front of each of my feet.

‘Slut-heels on’, she snapped

I stepped into my shoes again and she smiled.

‘You see now. I am your Goddess. I own you now and I can do with you as I please. Now I may let you speak, but if I don’t like how you do it I can easily silence you again. Permanently.’

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes……Vivienne’, I said, to my surprise.

A look of venom crossed her before she slapped me with full force across the face and screamed

‘No more “Vivienne”‘, mocking my voice on her name. She was riled.

‘Last chance now so make it good……Now say it bitch!’

‘Yes my Goddess, my powerful Goddess’, I sobbed. I was terrified of her. She had become a monster, an all powerful demon.

‘Good’, she smiled slowly, ‘now we are starting to understand each other. ‘Mistress’; will be adequate to address me from now on though. I think it show that you understand who is in charge’

‘Yes, Mistress’

She then turned and walked back around her desk. She clicked her fingers and said, ‘Up on here on all fours, now’

I immediately moved; I didn’t want to, I wanted to run away as fast as I could.

‘What’s happening to me?’ I wept hysterically

‘Well dear, you’re unable to resist me now as you’re under my spell’, she moved aside to allow me to climb up onto her desk

‘You see you’ve been treated in a very special way.’

I was now on all fours on her desk. She ran her hand through my hair

‘The first day you came in here I decided I could use you so I did it to you then. It’s amazing what you can do with a scanner, a gamma knife and a virgin brain. I make a few little tiny, special cuts to the right parts and, hey presto, I have a devoted, wonderfully controllable little minion.’

‘My….my….brain’, I spluttered my mouth wide open in abject disbelief.

‘They’re absolutely teensy-tiny, really very little to worry about now’; she said gently stroking my head with the mocking, trivialising sincerity of a sadistic nurse helping a small child through a horrific medical procedure.

She opened a drawer in her desk and took something out.

‘The process nearly always works straight away but there is a small chance that with a lot of resistance new pathways can form in the period immediately following treatment. That’s why you wanted it to work for you; and you have been praying for it to work haven’t you’

She smiled at me. I had played right into her hands. New tears sprang to my eyes.

‘Yes,’ she said stroking my head, ‘I’m afraid the damage is done now Anita, there’s no going back now unless I let you go. Your mind is like a piece of clay for your Goddess to play with and I wonder what I will make you into.’

‘Please…..Mistress…,’ I sobbed, ‘I don’t like this! Please let me go!’

I was weeping uncontrollably, crying my heart out.

‘There, there now’, she said, ’there, there.’

PART 5

‘I do so cherish these special moments’, she had said

I heard the sound of stretching, snapping rubber and the squirt of jelly forced from a nozzle.

‘There’s a certain intimacy that comes from the realisation that you are now, for the rest of your life, completely under the control of your new Goddess. Don’t you think? I am going to impress upon you that your mind and body are mine to do with as I please. You will want to be desperately, desperately eager to make sure that I am happy with you. I can make you behave as I wish, without any scope for you to resist. I could order you to take your life and, believe me; you would not hesitate to do it’

She came very close and whispered into my ear,

‘Also, I could kill you with a word. You would die, where you stood, over a time course of my choosing. Very, very painfully. Believe me……..Perhaps the phone will ring one day when I have no further use for you. Very, very clean. No loose ends. Natural causes would be irrefutable as the cause of death’

I could feel my heart slowing down, my vision went black; I couldn’t stay up. She slapped my face, hard. I snapped back round. As I remembered the horror of what she was saying she continued,

‘Things may well end that way one day but I am not ready to end you just yet, little one. I have other plans in mind. I do not want you passing out like that again though. Apart from anything else it’s a very inconsiderate way to reward your Goddess for her time and attention. Let’s try and keep you in the here and now a little more shall we’

She moved around to my side towards my bottom. I felt something cold at my sex then the brutal intrusion of something. It was her fingers.

‘No!’ I sobbed in protest.

‘This should keep you mindful of who’s in charge and who’s fucking who here’, she said working her fingers in over the third knuckles. The penetration was horrible. I had only ever had sex with one man and only then a handful of times. I did not enjoy it; it had been a painful, upsetting experience; not how I imagined it could be with the right man; maybe my perfect, handsome suitor from the yacht. I was jerked immediately from that thought.

The rubber fingers inside me brought a horrible memory from my adolescence flooding back; lying on my back in the dark, tears in my eyes, trying not to sob so he would know how upset I was. I had been trying not to cry out with the pain from his inexperienced, brutal thrusts. I then felt the hand slip in further the feeling was revolting, I wanted to reach down and pull it out but my hands were stuck supporting me and quite useless. I couldn’t stand it and longer.

‘Please, Please, Please Mistress!’ I sobbed miserably, ’I will do anything you want, just please stop’

I was broken. I had given up. She had won. I could take no more. I would do her bidding, whatever it was she wanted from me.

‘I can already make you do anything that I want, you stupid bitch, I have total control over your mind and body so to offer me that is to offer me nothing. Do not insult my intelligence again………..’

She gripped me deep inside to make this point. I felt a deep unsettling pain as she squeezed my womb.

‘You do still have something left that you can offer me though.’

‘What is it?’ I begged to know, surely it could be hers for the taking. If not I would freely give it to her if she would just release me from her grip and let me go home.

‘Lets not make any rash choices now Anita. I want you to fully understand the options on the table before you sign your life away. ‘

Her hand was fully worked into me now.  It was deeply painful. When it moved there were new waves of spasm and pain, she was twisting her hand one way then the other to keep it constant; squashing my cervix between thumb and forefinger as she reamed her long gloved arm around inside me. It was a shocking, reviling sensation. If I had had any control at all I would have leapt up and ran as fast as I could in any direction.

‘I can’t take it any more Mistress, please, I’m begging you, please take your hand out of me’, I wept, begging for the abuse to end.

‘The first choice’, she continued oblivious to my protests,’ and the one I really don’t recommend, is this. I have a very comfortable wheelchair just behind that door. I’m afraid you’re going to have an accident falling down the stairs at your flat. It’ll be clear that you must have broken your neck because you won’t be able to move any of your body at all. Ever again.’

I didn’t think it was possible to be more frightened than I already was at that time but this brought me to a new height of terror. This was my deepest, my most terrible fear, she had cut straight into me with the worst thing I could have imagined at that time. She must have found that out from me during one of the sessions. Oh how I had betrayed myself! My mouth had gone dry and I had struggled to speak.

‘It gets better,’ she silenced me,’ they’ll scan your neck but everything will look absolutely normal; there will be no evidence of any structural problem. Obviously I won’t let you tell anyone what really happened, so they’ll draw their own conclusions. You’ll spend the rest of your life being looked after by people who think you are at best mad or at worst a liar and a fraud. It won’t engender much sympathy I can tell you. In fact I’ve already picked out a care home for you. I’m afraid it has had some bad press recently with some of the inmates being sexually abused and an otherwise appalling record on neglect and the preservation of dignity; but it’s cheap and for this reason, surprisingly popular. I think I can swing a place there though. I want you to remember how this feels every time you are fucked there’

My head was swimming again. My eyes lost focus then the hand inside me tensed, formed into a fist and punched upwards with the force of a powerful boxer’s jab. I screamed in agony. It was the release I needed, I had screamed in terror, absolute terror at what she had said. I had screamed at my total abject helplessness; and I had screamed at how the woman I had so respected, so looked up to and revered, had become the most evil, dreadful tormentor conceivable. I hated her like I’d never hated before but more than that I was terrified of her. I screamed in my absolute terror and in that moment was briefly transported away from the reality for the tiniest respite. Her voice then brought me back to my possible future.

‘How does that strike you Anita? I hear they generally just leave the residents in their rooms all day as it’s very little bother to do that. There used to be televisions but they tended to get stolen so generally the inmates are left alone in their rooms with their thoughts in a peaceful silence; sounds lovely doesn’t it. Of course the newer residents tend to get the poorer rooms. Most of the rooms don’t have windows and they are under pressure to stay competitive and keep costs down so they tend to turn the lights off too. You’ll have plenty of time to think about whether you made the right choice here today. Plenty of time to mull it over, I can tell you.’

As I whimpered, she gently stroked the side of my face with her other hand.

She paused for a while letting the gravity of her words sink in further.

‘Of course there is another alternative………………….It will demand hard work from you though.’

‘Please, I will do it’, I begged, like I was begging for my life.

‘And if at any stage I feel that you are not playing by the rules, there will always be the care home waiting. Do you want to know what the alternative is or have you already decided to go with the first option. I know it’s pretty tempting?’

‘Please, what is it Mistress?’

‘The other option is for you to give me something that I really want. I am going to change you significantly over the next few weeks. You will, of course, obey me completely in it but I want that little something extra from you.’

‘Please Mistress; I will give it to you’

‘I want your devotion to it. I want you to apply yourself to it. In short, I want your very soul’

I gulped. The day had been so unbelievable that thoughts of vampires and the devil filled my mind as she had suggested this. She wanted the heart of my being and that thing that was most precious. For many people it would have been a difficult choice.

‘It is yours Mistress, I am yours fully. I will apply myself to whatever you give me’, I had answered without hesitation. The alternative was just too terrible to contemplate.

‘Excellent.’, she had warmed, ‘It will be unpleasant but don’t worry I will be able to help you along the way. I want you to remember today, remember the feeling of the penetration of your mind, body and soul. Every time you are fucked I want you to feel like you are now, as you are being fucked by me. It is enough for you to know that you are going to be changed according to my specifications over the next few weeks. I want you to remember how this moment feels as you apply yourself to my will.’

She rammed her fist in hard again and wrenched it round. I felt like my very core was being ripped. I yelled out again in pure physical pain.

Then she took her fist out.

‘We will talk about this some more later, that’s enough for now. Clothes back on’, she said

She sat down at her desk and took off the rubber glove.

I got down off the table and, sobbing still, hurriedly scrabbled together my clothes and put them on. My makeup must have been streaming down my face as I stood shabbily dressed in front of her.

She pressed the intercom button.

‘Jenny, could you send in Miss Sanders please’

‘Go into my bathroom and fix your face, my obedient little slave’

I scurried into the private bathroom discretely concealed behind a panel in the wall. I sniffed and sobbed as I washed my face and started to put my makeup back on.

‘I haven’t got all day though girl’

‘Yes, Mistress’, I said, I was doing it as quickly as I could.

When I had disguised the tears and the redness around my eyes and made my hair look acceptable I adjusted my clothes and walked back out. I was surprised to see Trisha stood there smiling with Vivienne.

‘Hello Anita’, she had said, ‘I’m going to look after you tonight to make sure that you are all right for tomorrow. You have a very big day ahead. Come along’

She turned as if to walk and clicked her fingers at her show. My body lunged forward as I moved to heel, standing just behind her to the side, matching her movements.

‘Say goodbye Anita’, Trisha said.

‘Goodbye Mistress’

Vivienne was now sat back at her desk touching up her make-up with a mirror. She didn’t look up.

‘I look forward to seeing the results. Now behave yourself and remember what we have talked about as you recover tomorrow.’

Trisha started to walk out and I followed like a good puppy.

She opened the door for me and I walked back out into the reception.

‘Hi Anita!’

I spun to the sofa and couldn’t believe it. There was Melanie from the office beaming at me.

‘I thought I’d take your advice and come and get some help with the smoking’, she blurted out, and ‘I’ve got my first appointment now!’

‘Oh,’ I had said. God! I wanted to warn her. I wanted to scream at her to flee while she still could.

’That’s fantastic’, I lied, smoothing the pathway into the trap.

‘Dr. Black’s ready for you now dear’, Trisha said extending her arm towards the luxurious office. Melanie excitedly got up and clicked her way into the office giving me a little wave.

‘Hear you’re on holiday Anita, talk to you soon’

She was looking around at Vivienne’s room like a child in a sweet shop.

Trisha closed and sealed the door and then smiled at me. My heart ached for poor Melanie as I felt a wave of hatred and bile rise within me. I was completely impotent. Trisha turned and I followed. We walked outside and found her car.

She took me back to her house. I was so exhausted from my ordeal that I remember very little about it. I had started to feel sleepy. I remember that she did not say much but had made me eat, drink and shower. She had then put me to bed in a guest bedroom. She had calmed me with a soothing touch. She stayed sitting at my bedside for some time, stroking my head while I let out the occasional whimper. Gradually the terrible images faded from my mind.

‘Sleep now’, she hushed,’ save your strength for tomorrow’

I went out like a snuffed candle.

PART 6

Trisha’s two-seater Mercedes slowly crunched up the gravel driveway. I was hungry, thirsty and nervous. She had commanded silence from me from the moment we had left her house some two hours ago. I had quickly lost track of where I was, no doubt at her instructions. She sang along to the radio for most of the way swapping between stations to avoid hearing the same breakfast news stories over and over. She had a large plastic cup of strong smelling coffee in the holder next to her seat. She had not offered me a cup. Similarly, she had made me sit at her breakfast table while she had eaten toast, without allowing me any. She had then made me do the washing up while she put on her makeup.

She had given me a soft pink tracksuit to put on after I had showered. Under this, at her instruction, I had put on a thickly padded, push-up bra. It had made my little breasts look much, much bigger while at the same time pushed them together enough to actually generate some cleavage. After I had put on the tracksuit top and zipped it up, she had adjusted the zip downwards so as much of my breasts as possible were on show. I didn’t feel at all comfortable like that and she’d made a point of calling me ‘Busty’ or ‘Tits’ after that as a kind of unilateral joke. She had been so kind to me the first day I had met her. Now I was a source of amusement for her. She had turned into a school bully, taking delight in mocking and belittling me.

‘Come on hot cakes, lets sort out your nails’, she had said signalling pointedly to a chair opposite her.

I sat myself down and surrendered my hands. I controlled the frown on my brow. She said nothing but proceeded to take all my nail varnish off and scrubbed my finger nails so that they were clean. It was obvious that there were artificial extensions glued on when they were in their naked state.

‘We’ll keep this one clean’, she said pointing to my left forefinger, ’but there’s no reason we can’t let you tart the others up a bit’

At that she took out some bright pink varnish. She positioned my hands on the table and then started to paint my nails with it. I didn’t understand why she was doing this.

‘It’s so much more convincing if you look the part a little today’, she had explained as she finished my left hand and moved over to the right.

My left finger nails were drying with a loud, plastic, bubble-gum pink; lacquered thickly on. Unlike my usual deep, velvety looking, tones it looked awful.

‘Nice colour isn’t it’, she said raising her eyebrows as she started on my penultimate finger.

I didn’t answer. I was trying to sulk although I was wary of making that too obvious. I was still frightened. Not anywhere near as much as I had been the night before but a long way from feeling comfortable. While Vivienne had seemed like evil incarnate, Trisha merely seemed like a malicious bully. She wasn’t freezing me and violating my very being, she was just making me look tasteless; by comparison it was very little. I still hated it though.

‘Put your feet on here’, she said. I obeyed. Then she started to quickly paint my toenails too.

‘There now’, she said as the last nail lay there starting to dry.

‘Lets quickly do your face’, she said grabbing a bright pink make-up bag, ‘Look forward’

It took her only a couple of minutes to cover my face in a multitude of products, such was her expertise. I felt thick foundation and caught the sight of a pink lipstick that matched my nails. I didn’t see anything else of what she was doing as I obediently faced straight ahead.

‘Put these on now’, she said.

From the bag, she took out a pair of large gold rings, about three inches in diameter with a thick twisted ribbon design on. I had never worn big earrings like that before because I hated them; but did as I was told; pushing the little bars through the piercings in my ears and hooking the backs of the rings over the bars so they hung on securely. They reminded me a little of the ones that Melanie would wear, only these were even more eye catching and more tarty.

Trisha was grinning at me. She roughed up my hair and adjusted it to a fashion that she approved of. Then she walked out into the bedroom I had been in and returned with a white faux-leather overnight bag stuffed full and zipped tightly shut. Her other hand was obscured.

‘Here are the things you’ll need for your stay’, she said, ‘Now it’s time to leave, so put your shoes on’

She handed me a pair of white patent leather sandals with high stiletto heels. They were really tasteless. I took them, the straps hanging from my fingers as I looked at them in disapproval. What on earth was I going to be looking like? I know I used to look drab but I had never looked cheap.

She gestured at my feet. I was not being commanded here but I knew I had no choice as I put the shoes on the floor and slipped my feet into them. In my heart I wanted to kick them across the room, screaming at Trisha, running out into the courtyard outside.

The heels must have been five inches high. As I buckled the straps on I wondered if I would be able to stand properly in them, let alone walk. I looked down nervously at my bright pink toes peeping out from the knotty white straps and hoped that this would not be the day that I snapped an ankle.

‘Stop staring at yourself, Hot Buns, we’ve got places to be’

She stood me up and drew a wide white plastic belt around my waist fastening it with the large gold horse-shoe shaped buckle it had. It constricted my waist in the tracksuit making me catch my breath. I wanted to loosen it a little and went to touch it. She froze me with a disapproving stare and I took my hands away again. She’d then grabbed her own bag and made for the door.

‘Come along now, Titsy’

I had teetered out after her clutching the white bag. I caught a look at myself in her mirror. I looked so common; too much bright pink and blue makeup and dressed like a bimbo. The shoes, belt and earrings looked crass, slutty and demeaning. I was about to protest but I heard a click of fingers and was immediately fixed at her heel once more.

‘Sway your hips more when you walk in heels, Anita’, she sounded like a friend now; ‘try to capture how you felt at the pole dancing class last week.’

I filled up with shame. I knew I had no choice so I started the feeblest saunter that I could manage. I felt like such a slut, I was praying that nobody would see me. Before we even got to the car, some few yards down the drive, my feet were rubbing painfully on the plastic straps and the balls of my feet were aching in the cheap sandals. I was glad to get out of sight. I said nothing about my painful feet but didn’t feel in any way refined about my silence.

She had then told me I was to remain silent and only answer direct questions until further notice. There was no way for me to protest to this.

Her car pulled up outside the main door of the building. I didn’t know where I was and was start to fret.

‘No tears till afterwards now’, she said in an almost sympathetic tone, realising my fear.

My eyes remained dry.

She handed me a blank brown paper envelope and shooed me out of the car. I shut the door and she lowered the electric window.

‘Now I’ll be back to pick you up afterwards and take you back. Off you go, you have about ten minutes so you’re fine. Enjoy!’

The window went back up and she waved at me before speeding the car round and driving away. I felt like I was in a dream, it was all so unreal; partly because my stomach was empty but mainly because the place was all so alien.  It was a very modern looking building – all polished stone and angular chrome metalwork. The architecture looked like it was devised by someone who prized appearance far above function. For all the decorative false roof-canopies and unnecessary glass panes, it looked like there was only a relatively small part that people could actually use.

I turned round and looked at the door. It had the word ‘Entrance’ written on it rather non-specifically. Walking unsteadily on the last of the gravel before the stairs up to the reception I wondered where on earth I was and what I was doing here. In spite of the difficult shoes and the outfit I was glad to finally be rid of my tormentors and on my own terms a little more. If only I could forget how I had been made to dress.

I walked in through the door. The receptionist looked at me and, thankfully, did not betray any response as to how I looked. She took only a brief interest in me. I immediately handed her the envelope as a ploy to distract her. She examined the paper inside, looked up, smiled and said,

‘Bottom of the corridor, please take a seat by the statue’

She gave me back the letter and I tottered off down the corridor. I passed a couple of very well dressed men in smart suits. I felt like a cheap whore showing off her breasts and avoided eye contact with either of them. I was forced to strut to make any headway on my white stilettos. I cursed Trisha over and over again as I was sure I was stripping the skin from the backs of my heels. I gradually carted the weighty bag down to the bottom of the corridor and saw the statue. It was of a luxuriantly robed Geisha, a tight black bow wrapping her waist like a fine gift, her pale face looking down in deference but betraying a wry smile. As I admired her I momentarily forgot that I looked like a prostitute. There was another girl sat there. She smiled at me and moved her bag from the only other chair.

‘Hi.’, she said.

I smiled back. I was not to talk unnecessarily.

‘You being done today too?’ she asked.

‘Yes’, I replied without really knowing what she meant. She made a friendly gesture of pretend nervousness.

At that moment the door opened and a tall man in a well cut black pin-stripe came out.

‘Miss Janine Rothwell?’ he looked at us both. The girl put her hand up. He smiled slightly.

‘Please come in’, he gestured inside.

‘And you must be Miss Anita Durrant?’ he asked.

I nodded.

‘I’m very sorry but we seem to be running just a little late this morning. I shouldn‘t be too long. Please try and bear with me’

At that he turned around and shut the door. He was tall, broad shouldered and extremely good looking. He had short dark hair and a sharp, well-cut beard. He was the kind of man that I’d have stared at in the street. Ordinarily, even with my recent confidence, I’d have been quaking and nervous talking to such an extraordinarily attractive man. Today, though, I felt like a tramp. I must have turned bright red as he had addressed me. I had turned quickly to look at him, my earrings knocking against my neck, reminding me of how dreadful I looked; a showy tart with her breasts rammed up and out for the men to see.

I sat there for the next ten minutes wriggling my feet and ankles trying to find a comfortable position, dreading that I would have to face him again. I wanted to go and clean myself up. I wanted to go in looking like I had when I had worn my black dress and Vivienne’s jewels.

Janine soon opened the door and walked out, off and up the corridor. The door opened a second time and the man was there again.

‘Anita’, he said gesturing inside.

I made a weak attempt to smile at him, the best I could do under the circumstances. I felt fully humiliated as I picked up my budget-store matching bag and, in as dignified a way as I could muster, walked past him into the room. I felt the warmth in my face as I heard the door close behind me while I clicked to my seat. He must have noticed how I looked as I strutted past him.

I sat down in a chair and he sat behind his desk. He looked at me. I wanted to shrink away. I remembered the letter and my ploy. I gave it to him thinking that at least while he read that he would not be looking at me. After scanning it briefly he laid it on the table and once more set his gaze on me.

‘Well, firstly, congratulations on your new job’, he said, ‘I know the business is getting more and more competitive by the day now’

‘Thank you’, I smiled like an idiot. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

‘I specialise in this kind of work and want you to know that I’ve had a lot of experience in dealing with exactly what you have asked for. Because of its success it’s now becoming very, very popular indeed. I do this full time and have been doing so for five years now’

I nodded; he was putting my mind at ease about his experience. I was still totally lost. I had wondered what the new job meant. I remember feeling a moment of panic wondering if Vivienne and Trisha had lined up me up for something.

‘I just need to go over a few things, Ok?’ he said.

I nodded again

‘You’ve already selected styles from the on-line image suit, so that’s not a problem. I have all your choices right here’, he held up a dossier.

‘And I have an excellent letter from your psychotherapist explaining that you are very much of sound mind, understand everything fully and stand to benefit from this’, he looked up and smiled,’ I don’t doubt this for a minute Miss Durrant but you’d be amazed at the amount of hoops we have to jump through these days. Dr. Black is, I have to say, a superb therapist and we have built up an excellent business relationship now with….oh…..at least two dozen very satisfied ladies. If she is sponsoring your application then I have no doubt that it will be a complete success ’

I smiled politely

‘Now. I can do all the work today with the exception of one item. A two stage procedure is going to be necessary, with the conclusion performed in several weeks; that’s accepting the fast-track plan that you have already selected’

I nodded so he would continue, still completely fazed. He looked up again from the dossier.

‘If you could take off your top and bra now for me please’

‘I’m sorry!!!’

I had wanted to say. Instead, I went bright red, fumbled for a minute and then unfastened the belt and unzipped my top.

He stood up and signalled that I did the same. I rose, bashfully dropping my top onto the chair. The thick padded bra was now very much on display. He waited. I could pause no longer. I put my hands behind me and unfastened the bra. I slipped it over my shoulders and, keeping them together with my arms narrowed and up at my sides, I put the bra down on the chair.

‘Please Anita, there’s no need to be embarrassed’, he was very kindly and was smiling sympathetically at me. He seemed a little surprised by my reaction but was obviously very experienced in having a girl strip in front of him. He projected complete control and infinite time and patience. He was a professional.  I relaxed a little. I was blushing from head to toe.

A man had seen my breasts for about five seconds once – that was it. It had been the man whom I had slept with. I had never liked to expose myself, we’d had sex with the light off because I was too embarrassed to be seen naked. It was bad enough showing myself to him but the padded bra made it look like I had major psychological issues about the size of my breasts – I didn’t, they were small but they were me. I didn’t feel comfortable showing myself to a man; even with my new found confidence. Had I taken my date into my flat after the party I would possibly have let him see me topless I think – but only him; certainly not a complete stranger. While I fantasised about being found beautiful or, at my most daring, a sexy, glamorous dancer on the stage it was always in the context of being dressed. Being stripped by Vivienne had been terrible but it was not so much the nakedness in front of another woman that had troubled me. Rather, it was what she had done to me when I was naked. Being seen naked by a man, on the other hand, was a big issue. The cleavage I had flaunted had been bad enough but to be fully exposed like this before in front of a man was unthinkable. What’s more, I found him incredibly and disturbingly attractive which made it all the more difficult.

‘Just relax and stand up straight with your arms by your side’

I complied, not looking at him.

‘What I will do Anita, is put some tissue expanders in through small scars here’, he made a line with his finger on the underside of my breasts to demonstrate where the scars would be. I felt waves of arousal and nausea at the same time. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my mouth went dry again. He was feeling my breasts…………..He was going to operate on them.

My mouth choked up. I wanted to shout, ’No!’

I tried to whisper it even but could do nothing.

He started to touch the bridge of my nose too, clearly examining that.

‘If you could just take your bottoms and panties off now please, Miss Durrant’

I wanted to curl up and cry but I knew I had been forbidden. I dropped my pants kicking them off my hot eighties porno shoes. I felt fully like a prostitute as I dropped my panties for him. I was a deep, deep shade of red. Were I not under the strict control of Vivienne there is absolutely no way I could have done that.

He turned me away from him and knelt down behind me. He started to feel my calves and tendons.

‘Just go up onto tiptoes for me please’

I did so. I was glad he was so clinical, it helped me get through. He examined my lower legs as I stood on tiptoes. Even there, the tips of my heels probably were not much off the ground.

‘And if you come down again, just separate you legs and bend forward for me’

I did so. I was glad to hide my face behind my body but was very acutely aware that I was showing my sex to him. I was so glad that Trisha had waxed me that weekend and that my legs were newly shaved. I was almost holding my breath with shame.

‘Please just take your bottom cheeks and pull them apart for me’

I turned a pale beetroot colour as I pull my bottom cheeks firmly aside for him.

‘Looks like there’s been a little recent trauma here’, he commented.  I almost died.

‘I’ll be able to take that into account though so don’t worry about it. Please put your things back on and sit down’

I dressed myself again quickly. When I got to the belt I made sure to try and leave it a little looser than Trisha had. I was unable to fasten it any other way. I conceded to have it tight so that I was not scrabbling in front of the man. I sat down and pulled my bag a little closer to the chair.

PART 7

‘Now then. I need you to read and sign this form for me. It states that you fully understand the procedures and potential complications and that you consent to have the procedures performed. Please feel free to ask any questions you like.’

He placed a piece of printed paper on the desk and put his fountain pen at the bottom. I picked up the form and held it in front of my face. The writing seemed to be normal but I was unable to read it. Curse you Vivienne, inside my mind. I wanted to cry again. I looked up at him and felt like while I was unable to cry – my lip, at least should be trembling. It wasn’t. I felt like an illiterate bimbo. I couldn’t even read it.

I signed the form. I had no choice.

‘That’s all fine Anita. You’re fourth on my list so we will probably get to you in about three or four hours; in the meantime, obviously, nothing to eat or drink. If you’d like to go back towards reception and turn left just before, you can go and get checked in at the ward. I’ll see you again after it’s all done, Ok?’

He stood up and offered me his hand. I took it and shook it. I saw the crass, vile pink of my nails, my delicate fingers tiny in his strong hand. I looked away again. I picked up my bag and hurried out.

After as much time as I could realistically put it off, I had checked into the ward and changed into a theatre gown and dressing robe from my bag. Of all the stupid things, Trisha had packed my pink high-heeled slippers too. I saw one of the cleaners smiling at them on the floor as I sat with my feet dangling over the edge of the bed. I felt like a vacuous bimbo. Also, I cursed anxiously when I realised that Trisha must have been in my flat. What else had she interfered with? My mind was racing anyway.

Within no time I was a nervous wreck but I couldn’t say anything to anyone. I’d never had an operation before and was so scared. The girl from the waiting area, Janine, was sat at the bed next to me. She noticed that I was starting to struggle.

‘Are you ok, Sweetie?’ she asked.

I shook my head, looking up at her with puppy-dog eyes. She came around her bed and sat next to me. She put her arm round me and I began to shrink into her as my bottom lip began to tremble.

‘Don’t worry, everything’ll be fine’, she said in an Essex accent; although she seemed more than a little nervous herself. She kept trying to bite her nails and stopping; they were as plastic as my own.

‘I know loads of girls who’ve had this done, they all say it’s all right you know. It’s a bit sore for a few days after, but then it all starts to settle down. My friend Leisha, right, she couldn’t get any modelling work till she got her double D’s but now she has to fight for a holiday! And she gets paid loads too. She can’t keep the blokes away neither. She came here and got the full modelling lot, lips, nose-job and tits. Reckons she’ll be back for a facelift when she gets on a bit too. She does video too, don’t do no hardcore though so she didn’t get no bleaching or anything like that done’

She showed me her breasts and looked down at mine.

‘I can’t wait to get these done. Look at them, tiny aren’t they. You must feel the same right? No more messing around with padded bras for us eh?’

, she laughed.

She was trying to cheer me up. I didn’t reply, I just held on to her. I needed something for comfort. She couldn’t have been much older than seventeen.

‘My agent reckons I’ll be able to get on page three after this’, she said proudly. I tried to keep listening to her to take my mind off my predicament.  It was true she was very pretty and had lovely long blonde hair. I told her as much and agreed that with ‘a nice pair’ she’d make a great pin up. Although I pitied her for her worthless ambition and brainless lack of insight; and although I recognised that she was perhaps a different kind of slave, I had no doubt that I would have gladly swapped lives with her then, in an instant. She wasn’t owned as explicitly as I was. I had an evil Mistress who would have me cut upon for no obvious reason; and I was so scared because of it.

A porter arrived with a trolley. The nurse looking after us came over. She addressed my young comforter first.

‘Miss Rothwell, I’m terribly sorry but there will have to be a delay in your procedure, we’ve had some equipment problems I’m afraid; nothing serious, just inconvenient. Don’t worry though it will all be fine for later’, she turned to me, ‘Miss Durrant if you’d like to hop up onto this trolley, we can do you now instead’

I stared at her in disbelief. I was stunned. I didn’t want to go, not at all. Janine helped me up and onto the trolley, I could barely move myself. I gaped wide eyed at her as the porter pulled up the side bars on the trolley, I felt encased. In the hope that she could somehow stop everything I desperately tried to keep looking at Janine as he started to wheel me down the corridor. I was pale, cold and sweaty as she soon disappeared around a corner. My heart was pounding as I rolled down the featureless, sterile corridor. I was hyperventilating.

Within no time I was in the anaesthetic room with a drip in my hand. I had heart electrodes on my chest and an oxygen sensor reading from my one clean finger. I tried to scream, I tried to move. I tried to mouth the word, ‘Help’. I couldn’t do anything.

I started to panic. I could hear the beeps of my heart rate speed up. The anaesthetist realised that I was climbing up the walls with fear and he wasted no time.

‘Ok. Now think of something nice to dream about, keep it clean though!’ he joked, ‘and we’ll see you when you wake up’

I felt a cold sensation in my arm and then nothing.

I don’t know what time it was when I awoke later. I remember being sore and drowsy. I remember seeing Janine in the bed next to me with dressings over her chest. She was asleep. I looked down. I had bandaging over my nose. Looking down further, my chest was totally covered with a thick supportive dressing. Oh my God, they had done it!

I started to cry. I sobbed for a second and then started to wail loudly. It was ‘after’ now and I would have my tears; and the ones that I was owed. One of the nurses came over and cuddled me, soothing me. I wept in total and complete anguish. As I bawled my eyes out all I could think was ‘What had they done to me? What violation of my will had just occurred? What had been done to my body? What had they done to me?’

My lips and face were puffed and swollen. The tears rolled down over the taut skin and soaked into the bandages.

‘There now, Anita’, she said catching my name off my wristband, ‘What’s the matter, Hmmmm?’

‘I don’t know what they’ve done to me’, I wept. I looked into her eyes, appealing to her for an answer now that I’d been given an opportunity to ask.

‘Shhhhh, now’, she said. She gave me a soft reassuring smile, ‘It’s just the after-effects of the anaesthetic. It can play with your emotions a little you know. Everything went fine you know, there’s nothing at all to worry about’

She held me close but hadn’t told me what they’d done. She slowly stroked the side of my head. I resigned that I would have to wait longer and held her tightly, I needed the contact. I couldn’t say what I needed to say or ask what I needed to know. In spite of being held I felt completely alone. I closed my eyes and cuddled her.

I was awoken again later by the surgeon calling my name.

‘Anita? Ah, yes, there you are. Back in the land of the living again’, he joked. I didn’t want him to see me like this; but realised that he had done it all so it wasn’t new to him.

‘Everything went perfectly you’ll be delighted to know’

He paused and studied the chart at the end of the bed. Now was the time for me to ask him what had been done.

‘Brilliant’, he said putting the chart down, ‘well, I shall see you in my clinic, all the very best and good luck with the new job. Hope I’ve given you a helping hand.’

Next to me, Janine suddenly started to throw up into a cardboard vomit-bowl. The surgeon left me to deal with her. I lay back and closed my eyes. I’d clearly had had some cosmetic surgery I thought but I was unsure of exactly what had been done – or indeed why. I guessed that he had probably enlarged my breasts and maybe given me a nose job as well. I couldn’t think, though, why Vivienne and Trisha had arranged for me to have it done. I hadn’t been unhappy with the way I had looked physically, I had accepted myself. I had sometimes felt that my breasts could maybe have been just a little fuller but I accepted that they suited my smaller frame. I thought large breasts looked crude on a woman of my slighter build and hoped desperately that the enlargement had been a subtle one. My nose had a little bony prominence to it but I had never been too vain to find fault with it. Why anyone would target that for correction was beyond me. As I wondered more on their motivations the residual anaesthetic took me into a peaceful slumber once more.

As I slept, I was moved from the recovery bay to a private room.

It was later that evening that I was just about well enough to get up, out of bed. The nurse insisted that I at least had a cup of tea and a piece of toast first. I said I needed the toilet and she said that she’d help me as long as I was very careful. I had a catheter in place, to be wary of, and a swollen bag of urine to empty before I could get up. I had asked for a bed pan initially but she had said that it was a good idea to try and mobilise, even if just for a short while. There were risks involved in spending too long in bed after surgery.

As I sat up, my belly strained and ached. There were no scars there so I didn’t understand how or why it should be so painful. That didn’t make it any less so.

As I went to stand up, my calves suddenly alit with fire. Was there none of my body that was safe to move? My feet felt fixed pointing downwards; I could hardly bend my feet up at the ankles for the pain in my calves. What had he done to my legs and what possible reason could anyone have for doing it?

‘You’ll need these now honey’, the nurse said and put my slippers on the floor. I started to worry again about what had been done to me and how completely helpless I was. I slipped the toes down into the soft pink mules and tried to stand. My calves were killing me as I finally made contact with the instep, my feet resting precariously on the high heels.

‘They won’t stay that bad for long honey, don’t worry. You just won’t feel like doing much walking for a few days, that’s all’

She wasn’t kidding. I stood up, very glad of the heels. Any lower and I’m sure my Achilles’ tendons would have ruptured. I felt a little dizzy from the painkillers and my whole body ached. She handed me a walking frame that had been next to my bed all along.

‘Don’t be embarrassed to use this honey. Believe me, you don’t want to come off those heels today’

‘Thank you’, I said. I took the frame and used it to steady myself. I slowly made my way to the toilet. I felt ridiculous with the combination of heavy bandages, stiletto heels and a Zimmer frame. The nurse walked at my side to keep a careful eye on me and keep me steady.

Janine had continued to be quite sick for several hours and I considered myself lucky to have not had such a nasty reaction to the anaesthetic. I was trying to think of something else as I sat on the toilet. When I tried to open my bowels I felt a terrible dull ache deep inside. I remember thinking that had I died under the anaesthetic, I would not have minded. After I made it back to bed it was with a sense of nihilism that I took my tablets and rested my head against the pillow.

It seemed like I had just closed my eyes when I felt a nudge, my nurse was next to me again and it was clearly much later.

‘Telephone for you Anita’, she said

I was immediately worried; only two people knew where I was.

‘Hello?’ I said as the nurse walked out.

‘Ah! Anita, hello!’

It was Vivienne. My head was awash as the memories came flooding back. I remembered how powerful I knew she could be at the end of a telephone. I filled up with fear again, was there nowhere that I could be safe? I had my mobile too even if there wasn’t a phone in my room. It dawned on me that I must be constantly accessible; constantly on an invisible leash and a telephone ring away from total control; or worse.

‘I hear things went very well’, came the voice. She sounded bright, almost friendly, as if last night hadn’t happened,

‘I also hear that you’ve been a good girl. I am pleased with you, Anita’

I felt an immense relief! I felt a pathetic happiness. I was glad that I had pleased her! It was more than the relief of my fear of her; or possible punishment; it was a cowardly celebration of my successful ingratiation to her. She had become my keeper, my Mistress, and held such incredible power over me. I had pleased her as a little pet or toy might and felt a small pride in that. I hated myself for it. Where was my dignity? I felt the pain again in my swollen breasts and remembered that I had lost control of my life; become her property.

‘Thank you’, I said, humbled and once more mindful of the delicacy of my situation.

‘Now I want you to relax and be happy. You’ve been through the wars this last couple of days and I need you strong and recovered, understand. So here’s what will happen’

I listened eagerly. I was, for the first time since last night, not anticipating something dreadful from her.

‘As a reward, you may talk freely, within the normal boundaries. The only subject that’s off-limits is your surgery; you may not discuss what has been done. You may talk about how you are though. You will notice that you have some difficulty walking to begin with, this will improve but you must keep trying to do it as this will relax and stretch the muscles again. Stick strictly to heels though, I don’t want you walking anywhere without shoes. Now, you will be staying there for a couple more days to recuperate. I suggest you get plenty of rest, eat well and enjoy yourself with the other girls as much as you can. The food is excellent there, so enjoy it, and I have arranged for you to be massaged tomorrow. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds wonderful Mistress, thank you’, I whispered, almost touched by her apparent mercy. I had not expected that at all.

‘You see girl, if you behave yourself, good things sometimes happen. I will look at you when you return. In the meantime I suggest you continue to please me’

She hung up. I slowly rested my head back, into the pillow. I let out a long slow breath and for the first time in a long time, smiled a little. My body ached mildly but it was with a mild euphoria and a soporific haze from the morphine that I went to sleep; gone was my anxiety.

PART 8

The following day I awoke feeling like I’d been run over. Everywhere was tender. My nurse saw the discomfort I was in and gave me more painkillers.

‘I’m afraid the second day is always the worst’, she said opening the curtains allowing me to see the crisp, clear morning, ‘why don’t you have a look at this menu and tell me if there’s anything here that will help take your mind off it’

In spite of the soreness I remember being ravenously hungry and asked for a full English breakfast with sausages, scrambled egg, toast and fresh coffee.

When it came it was fantastic. Like a five star hotel it was all beautifully presented and prepared from the finest ingredients. My lips were thick and swollen but as I put the first fork of soft, creamy, scrambled egg into my mouth, I realised I hadn’t felt so good in days. I closed my eyes to savour it. The nurse brought me a newspaper and gave me the television remote. She told me that the room had all the film channels you could possibly want and told me to spend the morning relaxing; she would get me up for the afternoon. In the meantime if I needed anything, anything at all, I only had to buzz her.

Within half an hour I was carefree. The painkillers had kicked in and I felt a lovely satiety from the breakfast. Ignoring the effects of the delicious, Guatemalan coffee, I nodded off to the morning news on the television.

Before lunch I was given a warm, soothing bed bath and changed into some soft pyjamas that had been in my bag. Like my outfit from the previous day they were pink, this time more of a bleached cerise. They had the Playboy rabbit on; they were awful. The nurse made no comment on my taste but I felt very embarrassed as she said that she thought I should have lunch with ‘my friends’ in the day room at the end of the corridor. I didn’t really want to see anyone, or have anyone see me, but I agreed reluctantly. She exchanged a smaller bag onto my catheter line and strapped it to my leg. Then she wrapped me up in a thick pink dressing gown and told me that no-one would see it and not to worry. She lined up my slippers and Zimmer frame again and before I could admit that actually I’d rather stay in bed, I was struggling up the corridor.

The day room was actually a conservatory looking out across stunning pastures with mature woodland hills up on the far horizon. A huge weeping willow dripped over a wide, wind-swept lake to the right. It was the perfect autumn view to sooth the eyes and encourage recovery.

The room itself was high-ceilinged and furnished with deep burgundy sofas and tall-backed leather chairs around a stout oak dining table. A television hummed quietly to itself in the corner; the usual morning chat show; this time some shouty young teenager defending her choice to have an abortion. I hated morning television.

There were three other girls sat there already. Thankfully they were beyond caring about my situation. Of the three, one of them had a walking frame too. They were all bandaged around the breasts and, with the exception of Janine, their faces too. I noticed that the girl in the nearest chair had a complicated set of metal bars forming a harsh looking brace around her mouth. I counted that as a small mercy as I tip-toed past her to take a seat.

‘Hi Anita’, said my little friend from the day before. She came over and sat down next to me giving me kiss on the cheek.

‘See, I told you it would all be okay. Look at these’

She tried to thrust her chest out at me but recoiled in pain after pushing herself a little too far.

‘I can’t wait to be able to go shopping for some new tops, something to really show these off in, maybe a push up corset or a boob-tube or something’

She made a few gentle poses, imagining herself in front of the lens.

I considered myself a serious and intelligent woman; I usually couldn’t stand glamour models or bimbos. It outraged my feminist sense of worth as a woman to see other girls turn themselves wantonly into compliant sex objects for men to lust over. Ordinarily I would have not given her the time of day and would have scorned her; but the circumstances had made me warm to Janine. I had so needed a friend and she had been there when I needed her. She had the same grass-roots honesty and transparency as Melanie, and that endeared her to me even more.

‘You’ll look gorgeous sweetie’, I said, trying to play the role of the encouraging big sister, ‘you’ll be beating them off soon, I’m sure’

That was one of Melanie’s expressions; that you’d have to beat the men off with stick because you looked so good.

The other two girls weren’t saying much. The one with the braces looked like she wouldn’t be capable of proper speech for a while. I noticed that she had a fine yellow tube coming out of one nostril. It must have been so she could be fed while her jaw was so extensively wired. I felt so sorry for her; but she didn’t have a Zimmer frame and she didn’t seem to be in as much discomfort as I was. The forth girl had the same array of dressings that I did. She was the one with the walking frame. She was a slim light-brown skinned girl. Even under the bandages I could see that she was extremely pretty. She had lovely long eyelashes. She made no eye contact and studiously ignored the two of us, looking down at her feet. I thought maybe she was ashamed to be here, like me.

‘Jeez, you must have had the whole works done babe’, Janine said looking me up and down.

I blushed and turned away. The attention was now back on my own modifications.

‘I’ve never seen anyone have that calf thing done, that’s pretty hardcore that is. You in videos or a dancer or what?’

I was a little shocked. The black girl had heard what she had said too and stirred a little. I had wished that Janine was a little more subtle.

‘Er, Dancer’, I said. It was the closer of the two I supposed.

‘Thought so’, she said, ‘you have a dancer’s body’

‘Thank you’

I tried to take it as a compliment and was secretly a little bit pleased that she thought I had a dancer’s physique. It was impossible to make it out under the thick dressing gown and surgical dressings then though.

‘I’d love to be able to do what you girls can do’, she mused, ‘I can only just walk a bit in really high heels, but that’s it, I’m unsteady and it’s proper hard too. I know I’ll have to wear ‘em for porn shoots and that. Can’t do no real dancing mind, pole dancing and lap dancing stuff, that’s proper skilful that is.’

It was easier not to bother pointing out that I was not an erotic dancer.

‘Bet that hurts though at the moment. Walking, I mean. My tits are pretty sore but you’re all bruised up everywhere; and with that walking frame too!’

There were some things I wished she’d just shut up about.

‘Yes. It hurts, thank you, Janine’, I had said. I looked out over the meadow and welcomed a moment’s silence.

Before long a waitress came and took orders for lunch. Presumably out of sympathy, the wired girl was escorted away while the table was laid for three. It was a difficult meal. Janine didn’t stop talking, while the other girl couldn’t even look at us. I didn’t say much myself, instead I allowed myself to get lost enjoying a beautifully cooked sirloin with potatoes and sauce Béarnaise. Janine had a plate of chips with mayonnaise which she ate with her fingers. I was relieved when, finally, my nurse came and walked me back to my room.

Later that afternoon I found myself back in the day room. I had been given a wonderful massage in my room. It had lasted over half an hour. The masseuse was a plump Asian girl with long pony-tailed black hair swinging down to her bottom. She had a firm, powerful grip and clearly was very well practised at her art. She had concentrated on my feet, arms, neck and head; so as to avoid my tender areas. She had also worked extensively on my calves to loosen them. It had tortured me as she glided her thumbs along the lengths of my burning tendons, again and again. She had rubbed them over and over to get some heat into them and then gradually applied a stretch to them. I had screwed my face up tight trying not tense them as I knew that that would make them hurt even more. I was so relieved when she finally moved down to my feet and the agony became a relaxing, soft bliss.

I had taken a brief afternoon nap before being walked back to the day room. It was empty save for the black girl from earlier.

I felt a difficult tension in the air and sat on a sofa away from her. I watched her from across the room. She was curled up in her chair looking down. Below her, a pair of black leather, stiletto-heeled mules was discarded and to the side was her walking frame, similar to my own. She had dressings over her nose and breasts and was wrapped in a thick gown as I was. I wondered if I could make out the bulge of a urine bag against her leg. She ignored me. As I watched her some more I realised that she did not look at all happy. Then a possibility jumped into my mind. I sat up, alert, wondering. I had to talk to her; she wasn’t like the others. I had to do this..

I grabbed my frame and slid my shoes back on. I carefully stood up and made my way over to her. I was determined to find out about her. She looked up as I inched across the room towards her. She seemed frightened and at first tried to shy away, that only made me more determined.

‘Hello’, I said in as friendly a voice as I could muster.

She tried to give me a smile, instead looking like she was about to cry.

‘Hello’, I said again, ‘my name’s Anita, what’s yours?’

‘Lisa’, she said quietly, looking down again.

I turned round and sat myself down next to her, exaggerating the show of relief I felt as my calves eased. I wanted her to see that I was in the same state as her; I was a friend. I didn’t know how to broach the next subject. I knew that certain topics were taboo for me and that there were some that I would be completely unable to bring up. I was also very mindful of my need to not do anything that could be interpreted as misbehaviour by my Mistresses. Vivienne had told me to have fun with the other girls, though, so I was clearly allowed to talk to them

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked innocently

She looked into my eyes and I cold see tears forming.

‘I’m……….’ the tears welled up in her eyes and she started to sob.

‘Are you able to answer?’ I asked her, forcing her to look at me. She sniffed and then I saw a spark of recognition in her eyes. She realised what I was getting at.

‘Yes’ she nodded.

‘Are you able to talk?’ I asked her.

‘No’, she said staring at me in disbelief and acknowledgement. She was now fully alert.

‘Just answer questions then?’

‘Yes, Anita, that’s right’

She sniffed and tried to stop her crying; she was trying to smile for me.

‘It’s okay’, I said putting my arm gently round her, ‘it’s okay, Lisa, I’m your friend now okay?’

I felt calm and composed. For the first time it was me who was able to be the strong one. She wiped her eyes and then looked at me. I wanted to ask her all sorts of questions; if she was as controlled as I was; when she had been taken; what had been done to her; but I didn’t dare try. Instead I asked her about herself. Even using ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers it was possible to learn a lot from someone. Lisa could at least reply a little more fully than that. I found out that she lived two hundred miles away, almost on the south coast. She was 25 and had been born in Somalia but came to live in England when she was a baby. Her father, originally French had been a diplomat in Somalia initially but had taken permanent residence in England after an early retirement. Not long after this he had passed away. Her mother was still alive but they had fallen out, I didn’t want to ask why, I was after all, trying to raise her spirits a little. She had two brothers and a sister back in Somalia. She was married but separated and she had no children. She had started working as a lawyer for a large firm in London. She kept a small flat there since leaving her husband.

I kept talking to her for at least another hour about anything that came into my head. I remembered how horrible it had been when my own speech had been restricted. I wanted her to be able to express something of herself to someone. Even if we couldn’t talk about the issues burning in our minds, we shared so much in what was not spoken. We had found each other; someone else who was being put through the same. I wouldn’t have wished it on anyone but I was selfishly glad to not be alone any more.

Our meeting was eventually terminated by my nurse who came to put me back to bed for more rest.

I didn’t leave my room after that, I was too tired. I ate another fantastic meal and fell asleep for the night in front of the television. It was seven o’clock.

PART 9

As we drove back, I tried to piece it together in my mind. There had to be a reason for everything, I had no doubt of that.

I had been awoken to another breakfast in bed. As I had eaten and looked forward to another morning in bed the nurse had told me that she would make sure everything was set for my discharge, that afternoon. I didn’t want to leave my room, it felt protective. I had been cared for there, looked after; and well at that. Nothing bad had happened to me since I had been unwillingly operated on, so I associated the room with peace. It was my sanctuary. I was troubled at the thought of leaving.

That morning I had been given another massage and then another bed bath. During this, my dressings were taken down for the first time so that the nurse could examine the wounds. I couldn’t see my nose at first but she looked happy enough with it and said that although the dressing could stay down, some clients preferred to keep one on for discretion, especially when they were leaving the clinic. I said I wanted to leave it open to the air, the dressing had been annoying and impeded my view. She warned me that it wasn’t pretty and would take days for it all to settle but showed me my face in the mirror. There was heavy bruising and swelling all around my nose and lips, I looked like I’d been a punch-bag. I looked away. I hoped that I would look all right when it settled down. I was neither vain nor especially pretty but my face had been unblemished, before Vivienne had ordered me cut upon. I started to get teary again at the thought of my helplessness and had to shake myself out of it. What was done was done. I tried to think of Janine. I tried to remember that many girls saved long and hard to have this kind of thing done to them. I tried to convince myself that maybe I was actually lucky; that I may end up looking beautiful at the end of all this.

She slowly took the dressings off my chest. I watched anxiously as my breasts were revealed to me for the first time. They were also heavily bruised, blue and deep red shades swirled on the tender skin of my giant battered orbs. They were much bigger. They looked like they had been stuffed full. The skin, designed for my small, understated mounds, was taut and ripe to burst such were the size of the implants sealed inside my skin. My nipples now pointed upwards and outwards. I considered them and gulped to myself. They were now a pair of well above average sized breasts, at least a D cup I thought, probably more, I was no expert. I was scared of them. I remembered how I’d felt when Trisha had made me wear the push up bra, even with my small breasts. I had felt so naked, so displayed and so ashamed. I would not be able to hide these anywhere near as easily; even in a normal bra their shape would show, no matter what I wore over it.

I pulled myself together and again tried to remind myself that many women better than myself had opted for breast enlargements. Maybe it was all for the better. My attempt at self deception didn’t last long. I soon had full teardrops running down my cheeks, I hated that my body had been mutilated against my will. I hated the hideous projections on my chest, they were not my breasts anymore; they were alien. I didn’t know if they belonged to me or if they were really Vivienne’s and I was just wearing them, permanently. I wanted to tear the scars open and rip the hideous things out. My mind moved to wondering about the true reason for it all. I desperately avoided spending any more time dwelling on the terrible purpose that had Lisa and me at this clinic; it would surely just upset me even more. I had told myself I must try and think of something else.

The nurse tried to soothe me and reassure me that it would all settle down; that really he had done an exceptionally good job on me. She said it was very normal to have so much bruising at this stage. I ignored her and tried to think about something totally different. I thought of the office, of Melanie and my boss. I thought of the girls at work. Oh god, would I have to go back to work like this! Oh no! I started to worry all over again. I desperately hoped that the changes would be subtle. I didn’t think I could face the other girls if they knew I’d had time off for cosmetic surgery; or my boss for that matter; or anyone in the whole office. I fretted to myself as the nurse cleaned and re-dressed the wounds under my breasts. She told me everything was healing well. I didn’t care.

Then she examined me down below and pulled some bloody swabs from my vagina. I was shocked! I didn’t know why I had bled from there. It was heavier than a period, a lot heavier, and I wasn’t even due on mine. I so wanted to ask her what had been done to my sex. I was starting to get very upset at the thought of this new violation. I searched for sensations there, trying to gather evidence. I could feel all my vulva as she wiped me. I felt her swabbing my lips and my clitoris, so I didn’t think it I had been cut there, I was relieved. I was sore in the depth of my belly but I couldn’t think why that should be. I felt a sudden sharp, burning pain as she drew the catheter out of me and gave me a quick wipe. As the smarting subsided she put a thick, clean pad under me and pulled some fresh panties onto me. My bed bath was now complete. I was still trying to hold a straight face.

When she left, I turned, put my head sideways on the pillow and sobbed to myself. I would have buried my face into it if my nose hadn’t been so sore. I curled myself up like a foetus and wished that none of this had happened. I reached a finger down between my legs and felt myself. I could feel the pad. I was scared to feel inside. I wished that I could jump back in time. I would take my old life back. I would be drab and dreary again. I would be boring and plain but I would be in control and safe and I would have my own body. The more I thought about it the more I wept.

The thought of harming myself crossed my mind. I surprised myself with this but I was desperate. What if I just ended it all? It wasn’t going to get any better. What if I cut my losses and took my own life? I could swallow some pills and it would all fade away. It was worth carefully considering as I remembered that I had given my life away already. Maybe I should steal it from Vivienne as a final ‘fuck you’. It would have given me great pleasure to annoyingly snatch a stalemate from her won position. I hated her so much now; she had taken everything from me. She had made me have obvious, big tits. She had interfered with me in other ways that I didn’t understand. I was so scared that I’d be made to show my breasts off, to look like the kind of woman I despised. I gently put my hands on them. They were me now, I couldn’t take them off.

Back in the car I sniffed back a sob.

‘Anita, be quiet’, came a voice from the front.

‘Yes, Mistress’, I said, steadying myself.

From my right, in the seat next to me, I felt fingers take hold of my hand. I looked at her. Lisa couldn’t speak to me but her eyes were soft and understanding, trying to comfort me. I gripped her hand and didn’t let go.

I had been surprised as I had sat in the car. The nurse had helped me dress in the same clothes that I had arrived in and had packed my bags for me. She had led me out to a waiting room where she had handed the bag to a waiting, smiling Trisha. She had then left and returned with a package. It looked like a small box measuring several inches along each side. It seemed heavy and was wrapped in light brown paper, knotted with string. Trisha took it and put it carefully in her own bag.

With the simplest of controlling gestures she led me outside and sat me in the back of her jeep, stowing the bags in the boot. She hadn’t spoken to me but left me there for at least half an hour. I had sat and sulked, dressed as a cheap slut again. At least my hair was tidy and my face was clean, albeit colourful in its own way.

I heard crunching on the path and turned to see her returning, this time with Lisa. She was carrying a bag for her too and in the other hand had another brown parcel, the same as the one she had collected before. She opened the door on the other side and put Lisa into the seat next to me. As she shut the door and went back inside we looked at each other in fear and when Trisha was out of sight we rushed into a tearful embrace. I quickly took her arms off me. I didn’t want us to get into trouble but I was so glad to see her. I gave her a careful kiss and gripped her hand.

Trisha got into the driver’s seat and turned to face us. She broke into a grin.

‘Well look at my sluts now. Very nice. Hot little bitches I think’

She eyed us both up and down making approving noises. She snorted, derisively at Lisa next to me with a look contempt. Her face relaxed as she returned her focus to me, finally resting her gaze on my breasts. She looked me in the eye and winked at me. Then she turned back to face the road and laughed to herself. She turned the radio on and then sped the jeep off, down the driveway.

We arrived at my flat in record time, Trisha liked to drive fast, frighteningly so in fact. She got out of the jeep and took the bags out of the boot.

‘Out sluts’, she snapped.

We both got out.

‘Bring your bags and follow me’

I was puzzled as both Lisa and I picked up our bags and tottered after Trisha towards my flat. She let herself in, with a key that she had obviously had cut for herself, and left the door open for us. I stepped in after her with Lisa behind me, staring around inside. My flat seemed, thankfully, much as I had left it.

‘Make me a cup of tea, Anita’, came Trisha’s voice from the living room.

I put my bag down in the hallway and put the kettle on. I walked into the living room to check if anything had been altered. It was all the same except for two large boxes set in front of the television.

‘You now have a room-mate Anita’, Trisha said, ‘Lisa here is going to be living with you for a while’

We exchanged looks, this was not too bad at all.

‘While you are here you may both speak totally freely, if I am pleased with you that is. If not, you already know that I can take your privileges away as easily as I can give them out.’

It was true. She had all the power.

‘You still have some recovering to do from your operations but that doesn’t mean that we can’t put the time to good use otherwise. You, Bitch’, she said looking at Lisa, ’strip. Now!’

She began taking her clothes off.

‘Where’s that tea, Anita?’

‘One minute Mistress’, I said, hurrying out to the kitchen. I wanted to be able to talk with Lisa. I wanted to keep Trisha happy. I returned with her mug to see Lisa completely naked, lying face up on my sofa. Trisha had opened one of the boxes and taken out a large but mysterious, white electrical appliance. It had a number of leads and tubes attached, I didn’t recognise it. As I set down her tea on the table I watched as she connected the various wires and plugged it in. As she turned it on a number of lights flashed and some LED numbers glowed on a small faceplate.

‘You strip now too Anita and then come here next to me’

I quickly followed her orders, I was not overly pleased to once again be naked, but was very glad to get the sore, cutting straps of my shoes off the stripped, angry skin at the back of my ankles. As I took my panties off, the thick pad stayed stuck underneath me. I peeled it off. There was a small patch of reddish, yellow staining there but nothing like what had been there earlier. Conscious once more of the florid bruising on my battered body, I was about to kneel next to Trisha, near the sofa.

‘Hold it there, Anita. Stand up straight. Let me look at you’

I stood up straight, staying on tip-toes because I couldn’t flatten my feet. It hurt to have to hold my whole weight on tiptoes; the first time I had stood without the support of high heels. My weak muscles started to shiver and shake. I tried to hold myself still. I didn’t like her looking at me but I was much more scared of displeasing her. Moreover, I wanted her to let us speak to each other. I almost wished I could put the shoes back on as the discomfort grew.

‘Wow! Nice tits, slut’, she said with appreciation, ‘why not stick them out just a little more for me’

I pushed them out as far as I could. She chuckled to herself.

‘Yes, very nice. Turn around now Anita and bend over, let’s see all the goodies’

I turned and bent to touch the floor.

I felt her forcefully spreading my buttocks. Then she gave a little contented chuckle and told me I could kneel next to her.

‘Pull your legs up an spread them wide, Bitch’, she said, slapping Lisa on the leg. She raised her feet high above her head and spread her legs wide, completely exposing her crotch.

‘Look at how smooth and soft her sweet little ass is now’, she pointed at Lisa’s anus, ‘ yours is the same, Anita darling. You’ve both had some bleaching tattooed all round your sweet little ass-holes while you were asleep. It looks a lot less purple and…well…..bowel-like now don’t you think? A lovely, baby-soft pink. So, innocent, so much more…………..inviting.’

I swallowed.

‘It makes you both look much more sophisticated, believe me’, now she was mocking us.

‘You will both be very special, very…’, she looked into my eyes,’….desirable when I am done with you. That’s what you always wanted isn’t it, slut? You wanted men to lust over you.’

‘No!! Not like this!’, I silently protested. I wanted to be loved for who I was. I wanted to be beautiful, so beautiful that it inspired irresistible attraction; who didn’t want that? Attraction, not lust; not crude sexual desire.  I averted my eyes, I didn’t want her to see the dissonance in my thoughts.

There weren’t many reasons I could think of for making a girl’s ass look pretty. I watched her, numbed, as she took a tool that trailed off from the electrical appliance and held it up for us both to see. It took my mind off my backside. It looked a little like a soldering iron. It was essentially a handle with a thick umbilical connecting it to the box. There was a compact, little button on the handle and a short needle a it’s tip. The needle tip was much, much finer than a soldering iron’s. It looked like it would bend if you blew on it.

Trisha unhurriedly took her cup and sipped her tea.

‘Watch closely Anita. This is an electrolysis machine. It’s for hair removal. The little needle tip here fries the roots of the hair follicles, where they grow from. It’s like plucking the hairs except they don’t come back afterwards. It just stings a little bit when it fires’

With that she carefully put the tip into the root of one of Lisa’s leg hairs and pressed the button. The machine buzzed and I could see a tiny patch of whitened skin under the surface. As she pulled the needle back the hair fell off of it’s own accord and Trisha smiled contentedly.

‘There you are you see. Really not too bad’, she said hanging the probe back on the machine, ‘I can assure you that it’s not rocket science. It’s not difficult to find the right part of the hair, it’s just very boring and very, very time consuming. Normally this machine would be used to remove a few stray hairs on the eyebrows or around the lips. It’s a top of the range machine so you are both very lucky’

With this last remark she smiled at me and took a long drink from her mug.

‘You try it Anita’

She put the probe in my hand and guided me to sit over a quivering Lisa.

‘Relax, both of you’, she said moving my hand so that the needle touched the tip of another hair.

‘Now. Just work it down into the follicle a little…….There, that’s it……Now zap it’

I pressed the button, the machine buzzed again and the hair floated off.

‘Well done’, she said cheerfully, ‘now carry on repeating that, Anita. I want you to be confident with the technique’

With that, she got up and took a seat at my dining table. I took the needle to another hair and once again zapped it. I did it again and again, each time the tiny hair detached and was swept away by the currents from my breath. I looked up to Lisa, I didn’t want to be doing this but I had no choice, I was commanded. She shook her head at me trying to smile but I could see that she was upset. She didn’t want me to feel bad though, God she was so sweet!

Trisha let me carry on for another ten minutes. She had bought a newspaper on the journey back and was casually flicking through the stories.

‘Well done Anita, that’s good. What a quick learner you are! I’m sure that will come in very handy’, she flashed me a demonic grin, ‘Now let’s swap places. You lie down there and you, Bitch, get up here and take this’

I lay down on the sofa and Lisa took up the instrument. As before, Trisha took her through the technique, demonstrating the proper method first. As the machine buzzed I felt the mildest nick above my ankle. That was fine, I had thought. I was more nervous when Lisa took up the tool and I could feel her unsteadiness. She got it wrong the first few times and buzzed the wrong parts. It didn’t hurt any more than before but I gathered that she wasn’t doing it right.

‘You are quite a stupid bitch aren’t you?’, Trisha asked her.

Lisa kept quiet and ignored her.

‘I see. So you like to not speak….Eh bitch?’

‘Please answer her’, I was thinking, I could see where this was going.

‘Yes, Mistress Trisha. I am quite a stupid bitch’, came her reply. I wanted to be relieved but her tone had not been at all respectful.

‘Oh, I know that already, slut. You clearly need to think about your manners I think’

‘No Mistress, I am very sorry’, she now realised that she had made a mistake.

‘And to think, I was going to let you both chat away today as well’

‘Please Mistress, she didn’t mean it’, I had blurted out. I was anticipating punishment and I so didn’t want to have my speech confined again.

‘Don’t you dare tell me the way things are either, slut’, she snapped at me, clearly displeased. This was not going well. I whimpered. I just wanted things to be a little easier if they could be.

‘I can see you both need to learn lessons. You need to learn that those mouths are now our property, that they respond promptly when talked to and that they don’t interfere in things that don’t concern them. I will deal with this in a moment’

Turning back to me she caressed my leg.

‘You won’t ever have to shave these again Anita, think how much better that will be’

She moved her hand upwards.

‘You will remove all the hair on each others legs. Then you will attend to this’, she grasped a pinch of my pubic hair and tugged roughly on it, ‘all of it, so there’s not a hair left. Get round the back as well, I want you both beautifully bare all down here. Then do each others armpits and all down each others arms. Then do any stray hairs on your faces, round your lips or on your necks, backs or belly’

I was looking up at her in absolute horror. She smiled back at me

‘That’s right Anita, you’ll be baby-smooth all over. Not a hair on your body’

She stood up. Her face hardened.

‘Now. Up sluts! Stand there’, she pointed

We both got up and stood side by side facing the window. She went to the other box behind us and I could hear her removing something.

‘Now then. Open wide Anita’

I opened my mouth as I felt her hand behind my head.

‘Wider’

I opened it all the way. I felt something around my head and then, suddenly, something large, thrust into my mouth. I tried to let out a muffled noise but she was pulling it further in. It felt like a thick rubber shaft, filling my mouth. I tried reflexively to spit it out but there were two straps, one on either side. She grabbed one in each hand and pulled hard so the thick rod was pulled much more deeply into me, jabbing at the back of my throat, making me wretch. I was frantic and wide eyed as she buckled the strap behind my head, yanking it and tightly securing it in place. I fought to keep my hands at my sides throughout, I knew that the last thing I should do was anything to aggravate her further. It was all I could do to not reach up and tear the vile intrusion from my throat. My eyes watered as I swallowed on it, the foul rubber slipping over the back of my tongue and throat as I gulped. While I was struggling to hold it together she fitted Lisa with the same device. I could see a thick strap around her head holding it in place. I could see that she was gagging, and hating it too. Trisha stepped back in front of us and smiled.

‘You will wear these for two hours and then two hours a day afterwards. I hope you are pleased with yourselves about this. This will punish those displeasing throats for you. I strongly recommend that you take the time to think very carefully about how you want to speak to your Mistress, and whether she wants to hear it. Two hours can very quickly become four or six, so be careful’

I cursed Lisa to myself and then quickly ticked myself off for it. It was not her who was forcing us to wear these gags. I couldn’t get comfortable in the damn thing, it was so horrible.

It wasn’t long before I was back on the sofa with Lisa zapping me again. In no time Trisha was getting ready to leave.

‘Remember sluts. Two hours a day in the gags. You will not touch your own gag. You can gag each other and be sure to fasten them tight. You can choose when your two hour slot is. With the hair removal, take turns on each other. You have three days. There’s food in the kitchen so you have no need to leave the house. You remember all that you stupid sluts?’

It was not easy to forget. We both nodded in our gags.

‘If I find a single hair on either of you when I come back….well, I think your Mistress has offered you both alternatives should you not wish to devote yourselves fully to her. These will be realised for both of you if I find a hair between you. Three days is not very long for two whole bodies. You will have to work long and hard to do it, so get on with it’

With that she turned on her heels and left. I looked up at Lisa. Her brow was furrowed in deep humility, I could see she was so sorry about the gags. I held her arm and tried to show her that it was all right. She held up the electrolysis tool. She was not at all happy to make herself an instrument of my torment. I pointed to my leg and nodded at her; we had to do this, there were more terrible things than depilation. I was trying not to think about what would happen when she finished my legs.

PART 10

By the end of the morning we took each others gags out. It was wonderful to finally be free from the gagging and to have the constant pressure relieved from my throat. My jaw had started to ache intensely from being held open. Though it felt much better to be able to finally relax it, every time I moved it to speak, I was reminded of how sore it was.

After Trisha had left, we had cuddled for about five minutes and then decided to carry on working. Lisa had picked up speed at the electrolysis and had got about halfway up my calf. I looked at my legs. Since I had last shaved there were short, dark stubs starting to grow back. It was easy to see the targets and where they had been obliterated. I touched myself on the patch that was bare. It was perfectly soft and smooth, permanently.

‘I’m so sorry about the gags, Anita’, Lisa had said,’ please don’t hate me for resisting her. I just can’t take it, not from her’

With that she had dissolved into a stream of tears.

‘There, there, it’s okay’, I said holding her, rocking her gently, ‘let’s take a break and I’ll make us some tea’

She buried her head into my breast.

‘They are turning us into whores aren’t they?’ she said, looking up into my eyes.

I looked away.

‘I don’t know, Lisa, I really don’t know’

‘Come on Anita! We’ve got big tits. We can’t walk without the help of fuck-me heels! They’ve had our assholes bleached for fuck’s sake! What else could it be for?!’

I started to cry too. I didn’t want to be made into a slut. I stood up and scampered out, on tiptoes, to the kitchen. I wanted to forget the whole idea and started hurriedly to make drinks.

‘Please don’t be upset with me, Anita’, she had followed me and was standing in the doorway. She came up behind me and held me.

‘I’m so scared too’, she pressed her head into my back,’ At least we have each other now’

She turned me round and lifted my teary face to look at her. She tried to smile. I tried to smile back. We held each other again, both in tears.

‘I’m so glad you are staying here you know’, I sobbed to her.

‘So am I, you’re all I have now’, she sobbed back.

By the end of the day we were both bare on one leg each and I had taken all the hair off up to above Lisa’s mid-thigh. It had been a monotonous, repetitive exercise but we were both getting much faster and more efficient as the day wore on. We had been able to talk, unrestricted, for the first time. There had hardly been a moment of silence between us since we had taken the gags off. It was as if, by talking, we could take refuge within each other, away from the terrible reality; away from the tyranny of our Mistresses’ plans for us.

It had been truly cathartic for me to tell her my story. I had not been able to speak to a soul about the details of my subversion and subsequent torment. I told her everything, all the terrible details and she listened patiently, as she worked on my leg. By the end, she was in tears for me. She didn’t seem much surprised by any of it. I was sure a lot of it was very familiar to her. She told me how brave I was. She kissed me and told me that other girls wouldn’t have made it this far, that I was made of tough stuff. I didn’t feel like it. She then told me what had happened to her.

She had been married, as it happened, to a wealthy man. He had made his money selling beer; owning several large commercial breweries and a handful of internationally recognised brand names. She had met him several years ago by which time he was already a dashing, young multi-millionaire. They had quickly fallen in love and were married after only six months. She had been so happy with him to start with. Things had, unfortunately, turned very sour when, fairly recently, she had discovered that he had been sleeping with his secretary. After hiring a private detective, she found out that she was only one of many other women in his life and that he was not only a serial adulterer but a regular at a number of different strip clubs and brothels throughout London. She had been devastated. She had confronted him and told him of her plan to divorce him. As a lawyer herself she planned to take him for all he was worth.

It had been around this time that his sister had contacted her. They had never really known each other too well but she had been very keen to help support her, during this difficult time. Her sister had told her how her brother didn’t deserve to have such a wife after the way that he had behaved. She was so apologetic for his behaviour and took it upon herself to make amends in the name of her family. Lisa had, after some initial suspicion, warmed to her and accepted her peace-offer of a course of relaxation sessions. The idea was that it would help to relieve the considerable stress that she was facing. She had been introduced to Dr Vivienne Black who was a good friend of her sister-in-law and things had gone from there. Now, her brain had been treated and she was completely at her sister-in-law’s mercy. Trisha had told her, in no uncertain terms; that she would be terribly punished for presuming that she could attempt to ruin her brother. She had told her that she had always despised her and had felt that her brother had married far too far below himself. She had told Lisa that she was no better than a common street-whore and that she would see to it that Lisa understood that and was reminded of it every day of her life. As well as that, Lisa had simplified her divorce settlement so that she would take none of their joint assets. She had instructed her firm that she just wanted an immediate annulment of her marriage without a difficult courtroom struggle. She had, of course, signed all the relevant paperwork, rendering herself destitute. She had then resigned from her job and transferred her flat and other assets to Trisha. She had moved out to come to the clinic and now my home was where she would live and the small bag from the clinic, the sum of her possessions.

We had stopped stripping each others hairs to hold each other.

‘I know you have been forced to come here Lisa. But I want you to know that you are so welcome here in my house. Please try to see it as your own, as ours, somewhere shared’

I decided that then was a good time to show her round.

‘Come, let me show you round’, I said trying to sound as enthusiastic as I could. It was a pretty pointless exercise as she had already seen all the rooms except the bedroom. I just wanted to try and raise our spirits a little. I wanted her to feel welcome, especially as I now knew she was otherwise homeless.

I showed her where everything was kept in the kitchen; where all the food was stored and the freezer. I showed her to the bedroom. As I opened the door I was a little startled. There was a suitcase there.

‘My things!’ Lisa exclaimed, obviously recognising her luggage. As she picked up the case and laid it on the bed, popping the catches, I noticed a letter resting on the pillows. As I picked it up, I noticed the word ‘Sluts’, written in thick black ink; it was addressed to us.

With a feeling of dread, I took it and opened it.

It said that from now on we would be both sharing the only bed in the house; my single. It then said that as a part of our ‘training’ it had become necessary for us to start to master the sexual arts. Every night, until told otherwise, we would sleep together, during which time Lisa would be required to bring me, with her mouth only, to orgasm. I stared at it, taken aback as Lisa took it from my hand and read it herself.

‘No!’ she said, ‘I can’t do that, Anita’

She looked up at me, and I at her.

‘We must’, I said, ‘We have no choice’

‘God damn it, Anita! There’s always a choice! This has gone too far. I say enough!’

‘Don’t be stupid, Lisa. What can we possibly do? Eh? What can we do?’

I knew that a refusal on her part would count as one for me too.

‘We’re helpless’, I was starting to shout at her, ‘we’re fucked! Can’t you see that? They have complete control over us. Any “choice” we think we have is what they are allowing us to have. What choice do we have? It’s either do what they say or be punished. And then maybe they’ll make us do what they say anyway by commanding us to. No, Lisa, the only choice we have is, we do it now or we get punished and then do it later’

‘I know that, Anita. I’m just saying that there may be another way out of this. It’s not good but it’s the only one with any dignity, I can tell you that much’

With this, she turned away and looked out of the small bedroom window.

I was silent. I had had those thoughts myself.

‘We’ll be gradually forced to do more and more demeaning things until life will truly be worse than death’

She turned around again, solemn and deadly serious.

‘We could choose to take control.’ Her hands were formed into fists ‘We could end this for each other, painlessly. What else do we have to live for now, hmmm? I don’t think you want to be a slut and I sure as hell don’t’

We looked at each other, silent for a minute. I could see the logic behind what she was suggesting but I couldn’t bear to think about the actual execution. I had never thought that I would be seriously considering anything like this. I had always thought that however bad life got, there would be a way to cope with it. Things had clearly changed.

‘Look, if we are going to disobey then that means we have to do it now, or very soon’, I said.

Lisa nodded in agreement.

‘And…….I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet, Lisa’, I looked at her through a blurred teary vision, ‘can we not think about it just a little longer. It’s such a big step and once we do it, there couldn’t be any going back’

‘So you want me to have sex with you then?’ she asked.

‘No! No! I don’t want that at all, Lisa!…..Please try and understand that I find the idea as revolting as you do’, I implored her,’ I think we need to buy ourselves more time to think, that’s all’

She turned away and paced up and down. After a few minutes she said,

‘All right. I’ll do it. I agree that we shouldn’t be rash about this but we should set a time. If things aren’t improving by then, then we must go through with it. I suppose it will give us a chance to prepare anyway. If anything else happens though, we should just do it. I don’t know how, find a railway line or jump in front of a bus or something, anything. I’m not having that bitch do much more of this to me. You understand? There’s only so much I can take and I can’t take much more, Anita’

‘I understand, Lisa, believe me. Come on, let’s get back to the electrolysis or we’ll definitely be made to suffer’

PART 11

That night we brushed our teeth, turned the light out and got into the bed together. There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute and then she rolled to face me and held me.

‘I’ve never been with a girl before’, she said to me.

‘Me neither’, I said.

‘If I was going to be, I would want it to be someone like you Anita. You’re a beautiful person, really you are, you know that?’ she stroked my face.

‘Aww!……….Thank you!’ I had said, genuinely touched.

‘Now, they will know if we fake this, so we have to do it properly’

I nodded.

‘Just try to relax and enjoy it, that’s the best way for both of us’

With that she backed off under the covers.

I couldn’t believe the situation I was in. Here I was, in my own bed, with another woman about to kiss me in my most intimate, sensitive area.

I felt her hair sweeping down my breasts and then my belly until I could feel it brush over my pelvis and thighs. It was soft but electrifying as it brushed, leaving a trail of charged, static pleasure, sensitising my skin. Oh God, I was enjoying it! I felt an overwhelming sense of embarrassment as I realised that another woman was exciting me. I swallowed. I wanted to tell her to stop but my rational self told me that it would be a futile exercise; that we would just have to begin again and repeat it anyway.

‘Yes, best to get it over with’ I thought, as Lisa had said. I felt her body fall between my legs. Oh God! With a resigned reluctance, I opened them, spreading myself timidly before her.

I felt her hands take my hips and hold me. I felt her moving closer, I could feel her breath between my thighs and her warmth on my lips below. God it felt good. I couldn’t believe how good it felt or that I was letting myself feel this way about it. It was supposed to be a perfunctory exercise, a mechanical exchange that would let us tick our box and move on to another day. But I was enjoying the touch, the feel of another woman on me, it was all wrong. I started to cry. I bit my lip; she mustn’t know I was crying. We must get it over with, with as little fuss as possible.

Was I a Lesbian for feeling aroused? Oh God no! I thought to myself, I was normal; a normal woman. I was attracted to men.

I felt something soft and warm, gently running up my lip on the right.

‘Oh!’ I moaned.

The tongue moved down again leaving a trail of swelling warmth behind. Reflexively, I tried to lift my hips slightly, but they were controlled by her hands and held down. I wanted her back on me. I wanted more of the touch. I could feel my clit hardening, like she also wanted to lift herself up, in need, to her lover.

Then, I felt a deep warmth as her whole mouth cupped me. She closed her lips, sweeping together across my engorged folds and then, with a kiss, upwards to surround my throbbing clit. I shook involuntarily with the exquisite touch but was again, held fast. She nuzzled my hood upwards to further bare the tender flesh beneath, ready for her tongue.

‘Oh, my God1′, I moaned as the tears dried on my hot, flushing cheeks and I felt the firm snaking of the tip of her tongue around my tensely swollen bud. I was so totally, so disturbingly aroused, completely at her mercy as she ran slow, tiny pleasure circles around me. I was burning with guilt at my apparent homosexuality as the overwhelming sensations coursed through me. It felt so good and I knew it was a bad idea to stop. I took my mind wandering, to imagine that I had a gorgeous, strong man between my thighs. A man so overtaken with how beautiful he found me, so enamoured with me, that he longed to give me the most extreme pleasures imaginable. He would make me feel such a devastating feminine beauty in the depths of my being; he would make me understand how beautiful I was.

‘Oh!’ I moaned in tension as the lapping on my clitoris drove me into a rampant frenzy, ‘Oh!…..Oh!’

I felt her reach deeply inside me. With the speed of her entry and the ease of its accommodation, I realised that I must have been sopping wet with lust. The image of the soft, mocha skinned beauty between my legs flashed into my mind as I closed my eyes in denial at what I had become. Then she was back on my clit with fast flicks, I couldn’t stand it. I caught my breath as she gripped me and forced me to stay still, receptive to the unbearable pleasure she was giving me. I submitted to it. Then I wanted it. As I felt a tide of orgasm building I started to gasp uncontrollably and moan in complete abandon. Then, without a choice, I came. I almost screamed with the most intense, earth-shattering orgasm I have ever had. My whole body coursed with the rolling waves of climax until I was so sensitive I couldn’t be touched and had to jerk myself away.

‘Oh, my God!’ I breathed, catching my breath.

Lisa ducked out from the bottom of the bed and hurried to the bathroom. I heard her spitting and running the taps. My pleasure soon left me as I was brought back to the reality of the situation. This was not love. It was rape; I had raped her mouth as she had been forced to pleasure me like a sex slave. A colossal guilt swept up inside me as I bent out of the bed to try and see her, to make sure she was okay. I heard her washing her mouth out and then brushing her teeth.

It was about five minutes before she came back and crawled into bed beside me. She avoided my eyes. I was so upset that I burst into tears, saying I was sorry over and over. She held me but didn’t say anything. I could tell that she was more than a little overwhelmed herself. I hated that I had caused her to feel that way. It was as if my pleasure had become her misery, as if I had stolen her good feelings.

I cried myself quietly to sleep that night as she faced away from me. Later that night though, when I turned over in my sleep, I thought I heard her sobbing

The following day we had risen early and had taken a quick breakfast. Lisa apologized to me for the night before, saying that it had been very difficult for her to come to terms with being with another woman, especially being forced to, against her will. She stressed that it had nothing to do with me and that I should not feel bad about it in any way. She said that she hated the total control that she was held under and that with every abuse that was forced upon her, she felt that a little of her soul was being forever wrenched away. I had kissed her and stroked her as she lay in my lap. After a few minutes, she had hugged me, composed herself, and then pulled me over to the sofa to start the electrolysis.

We had decided to get the gags out of the way and wore them straight away. They were just as unpleasant as the day before but we got on with our task together. On a couple of occasions I had to fight to keep my breakfast down. By the end of the morning the gags were off and we were making good progress; there was not a leg hair left on either of us.

We were contemplating the next stage, the humiliating removal of our pubic hair. I had said that I thought it would make me feel child-like, pre-pubertal but also more exposed; that I would have nothing to hide behind. Lisa pointed out that it was practically mandatory in the sex industry to have a shaved sex and that it was an incredibly slutty gesture. She said that she wouldn’t like anyone to see her bare like that, that she would feel terribly ashamed. That didn’t help me with the task at hand and I had wished that she had kept that to herself as it added another dimension to my humiliation.

It was then that the doorbell rang. We looked at each other quizzically and I grabbed up my robe, donned my slippers, and went to answer the door. As I pulled it open, I was confronted by the towering figure of Dr Vivienne Black. She was dressed in a long black coat and a black, wide-brimmed hat. The corners of her deep, dark crimson lips curled upwards into a snarling smile before she opened he mouth.

‘Pick those up, girl, come back inside and get that robe off’

She brushed me aside, striding into the living room. There were two large bags waiting for me on the doorstep. I grabbed them; the right hand one being weighty, the other one light; and hurried back inside. By the time I was in my living room, Vivienne had removed her coat and hat and had sat down. She was wearing a light grey skirt-suit of fine wool. Her hair, as usual, was pulled into a high ponytail. I could see, now that her hat was removed that it was bound tightly with a piece of thin, knotted black leather; gone were the soft, feminine flowers she often wore there. Lisa was kneeling at her feet with her head pressed down to the floor. I hurriedly pulled my dressing gown off and threw myself on the floor, my head down against the carpet.

‘I have two boots. One for each slave girl’, she kept her legs crossed; ‘lick them clean. Now!’

We both swallowed, I took the foot dangling above the ground and immediately started licking at it. She was wearing a pair of knee length, lace-up, black leather boots with high stiletto heels and long toes. The boot before me was not dirty save for a few specks of dried dirt towards the lower edge. I licked at them with as much enthusiasm as I could muster; I wanted them to be spotless for her. The bitter taste of polish and the smell of the leather were not that bad. I would much rather have devoted myself to that task than risk one of her terrible punishments. Vivienne curved the pointed toe of her hanging boot outwards, so that I could lick the other side. To my right I could see Lisa applying herself with the same ardour, bending herself around to the back of the foot, licking at the beige leather underside of the arch of the boot.

Vivienne laughed.

‘That’s it. You little bitches are not good for anything else yet so you’d better make sure you give them a damn good clean now; lest I decide that you are completely worthless and decide to dispose of you both in some unpleasant way’

She lifted the foot that I was licking. I immediately started lapping at the mud on the spike heel. I swept my tongue up its entire length to catch the tiny splashes of dried puddle water that peppered the jet black, matt veneer on the horizontally grained, wooden heel. At the very top of the stiletto, after it curved upwards and backwards to smoothly join the leather; I attended to the back of her heel. I worked my tongue into the line of tiny stitching that formed a tight seem behind, hugging the back of her foot, working loose the little mud that had collected there.

‘Good girls!’ she cooed, ‘from now on, whenever I enter your room; that is how you will greet me. Understand?’

‘Yes Mistress’ we said in unison.

‘Your Mistress likes her boots to be shiny and clean. If I ever pick up any dirt on them, I expect you to beg to be allowed to clean it off. If you ever allow me to walk in dirty boots I will have the soles of your feet beaten, severely. Do you understand that sluts?’

‘Yes, Mistress’ we both repeated.

She bent over to eye her boots and inspect our work. We both pressed our faces into the carpet in submission.

‘I see you have both learned a little more of your true place. Now, both of you, stand up. Let me see you. Attention!’

We both jumped to our feet, the toes of them anyway, and stood before her, eyes straight ahead. She stood, taller than either of us in spite of our tiptoed stance. She regarded me with a feline smile.

‘You’re nose and lips; the swelling has gone down now. That is how they will be. Have you seen them today?’ she asked me

‘No Mistress. I have not looked at myself today’

She reached into her handbag on the table and took out a vanity mirror. She handed it to me.

‘Look at yourself’

I looked into the mirror. My nose was still a yellowy-brown as the bruising was fading but the shape was no longer masked by the inflammation. The bony lump at the top of my nose was no longer there. Instead I had a smooth, cute, slightly upturned, petite and pretty nose. Its only downside was that it looked like every other generic ‘perfect plastic surgical’ nose. My lips were still full and bulbous, I gasped as to my mind they were still too swollen.

‘Yes, Anita, you almost have a lovely face now’, she stroked my cheek softly, ‘yes, very pleasing, both to me, your Mistress, and, you will find, to men too. Pleasing because of its aesthetics, you look sexier now dear’

I jumped a little as she stroked my breasts,

‘But also pleasing because your surgery was designed to be less subtle than is currently possible. I want your face to look like it has been operated on. I want people to see vanity when they look at you; the sad vanity of the wannabe slut; the willingness to please and the willingness to conform to a man’s needs. A girl who will put herself under the knife shows her devotion and commitment to being a real slut’

She laughed

‘And then there are your huge bulbous lips. They just scream ’slut’, don’t they?’

‘Yes Mistress’, I looked down briefly and then corrected myself. I could feel my eyes start to dampen.

‘They’ll look even better, enhanced with an eye catching gloss I think. Lovely tits as well, Anita, by the way. You look like a sycophantic little bimbo don’t you, so eager to be a man’s wet dream?’

She looked me in the eye with a gleeful glint.

‘Yes Mistress’

‘Tell me, Anita, are you looking forward to showing those tits off?’

‘Yes, Mistress’, I said. I wanted to be fully cooperative with her the tears in my eyes doubtless betrayed my true feelings. She snorted.

‘Your tits are still healing. However’, she leaned very close to my ear and cupped my breast ‘when they are ready we will inject the implants with more liquid. We’ll do it gradually, slowly, so the skin has time to grow. Then, when you have lovely big whore’s tits, we’ll have a nice, big, permanent implant fitted. That’s right, your tits have still got quite a way to go, and already they are big enough to turn heads. How do you like that?’

I was starting to break down. I broke my position and turned to look at her.

I dropped to my knees and put my hands together in a praying gesture.

‘Please Mistress! Please don’t do that to me! My tits are big already, lovely and big, I already look like a whore. Please let them stay as they are’

I bent down and kissed her feet again, throwing myself into it in the hope that it might save me.

‘Awwww! Poor slave’, she stroked my head. I felt slightly comforted, maybe she would be merciful. Maybe my Mistress would take pity on me?

‘Stand again’

I returned to attention. She held her finger over her lips in mock contemplation. She quickly nodded her head, having thought about it.

‘But you’d look so right as a big-titted slut, Anita. I’m afraid I must insist, so we’ll say no more on the matter’ she gave me a sickly sweet smile ‘Now, Mistress Trisha tells me that you have a lovely little anus as well now and I can see that you are both longing to wear high heels too. You will thank your Mistress later when you appreciate that you will have a lot more control in high heels now. The unfortunate side effect, as you have already discovered, is that you will be quite unable to stand with your feet flat, ever again! So its slutty stilettos from now on for both of you I’m afraid’

She cast her glance over Lisa, next to me and then told us both to kneel again.

‘Now then my little novices, I have some presents for you both’

PART 12

Only a week ago, a gift from Vivienne would have had me brimming with eager anticipation. Now, it was with trepidation that I watched her reach into one of the bags that I had fetched in for her.

This thought made me realise that it had only been a week ago that I had been revelling in glorious attention at the yacht ball. Her gifts to me had been; choosing that perfect, demure dress; and the priceless pearl jewellery. I remembered how it had been that night; how I had been a lady. I muffled a sob at the thought of how steep my decline had been since then. I had gone from such a peak, to such an unfathomable trough in just seven days.

‘These mark your gradation from clueless little bitches to proper, aspiring slaves. These will help in your training and, later on, they will allow much, much more’

She removed something from the lighter bag. As she moved closer, I could see that she held two leather straps, a single gold buckle on the end of each. I had been thankful that it hadn’t been some other hideous devices to torment us. She came to stand in front of us. I could see that one of the straps was a natural, light tan colour and the other was a studded patent white. She turned the leather straps so the darker, rougher and unpolished side of the leather faced us. On the inside of each there were two prominent gold studs spaced about two inches apart.

‘These are collars for you both’, she said.

She took one, the tan coloured strap and started to fix it around Lisa’s neck while she remained obediently still. Then, I dared not move a muscle as I felt the cool leather strap of the white collar, first at the back of my neck, then winding round until I felt it’s pressure around my whole throat and it was buckled tightly behind. I didn’t dream of reaching up and touching it so I stretched my neck out to let it sit more comfortably. I could vaguely feel the two studs on either side of my windpipe, although not uncomfortably so. I couldn’t fathom their purpose.

Vivienne stood back in front of us and regarded us with satisfaction. She sat down in her chair and crossed her legs again.

‘You will wear these when you enter the house and all the time you are inside. Keep them by the front door hanging on the coat pegs when you leave and put them on as soon as you enter. They are several things to you now. Not least of which is that they are symbols of your ownership. In donning your collar you will acknowledge to yourselves that you are kept properties, animals, and as such you have obligations to please your owner, your Mistress. They make pretty decorations to you both as well. I’m sure you will find that Mistress Trisha has chosen the colours wisely and with a careful eye on the final looks that she wants you both to have. They both suit you quite nicely already’

She leant forward and stroked my collared throat.

‘They have much, much more important functions though’

At that, she stood up, leaving us kneeling in the same place.

‘You have both been, in your later therapy sessions, conditioned to respond to certain key words’

She strode gently behind us.

‘You may remember feeling different after those sessions. That’s because you were being taught to suffer. You have been conditioned to experience pain, truly horrible pain; and with it, the most unbearable fear. I have trained you to experience absolute terror’

She was right behind us, her head bent almost between us.

‘It is the mother of all understatements when I say that I have programmed you both with very, very unpleasant punishment routines. I have tapped into the deepest, darkest and most painful parts of your brains and installed little switches there, pain amplifiers if you will’

I felt a hand on my head.

‘It is possible, at a command, to put you into this punishment state for a time. My other girls try very, very hard to avoid their punishments, so fearful are they of them. I assure you, as it is with them, so it will be with you two. It will help to keep you………..focused’

She smiled. She turned her attention to Lisa.

‘The collars that you both wear act as safety devices; you must be feeling the studs pressing against your neck for the punishment to occur. It’s to stop the unlikely event of someone inadvertently using the word while you are out, triggering the sequence. Anyone who knows the word can punish you, you see? Eventually that may be quite a number of people. All of whom you will have to be totally obedient to’

I shuddered.

‘Don’t worry about being free from punishment though, you can be commanded to put the collar on first, and if I want you to be punished while you are out somewhere, you can be made to take it with you. Maybe you will wear it outside as part of your outfit, if Mistress Trisha wants you to look like that’

My heart raced with fear as I felt her hands come onto me from behind, caressing the leather fastened to my neck.

‘Why bother with all this if you are both my obedient slaves already?’

She looked at us as if we had asked the question.

‘Now I could have you mindlessly follow any orders I give you; but that is not what I want. It would be far too easy; and where would be the fun in that’

Again she smiled ruefully at us.

‘I don’t want my slaves to be cloned automatons, mindless trained sluts who repeat the same behaviours over and over. I want you both to develop yourselves into the natural slaves that you are both meant to be. I want your individuality forced through into your final states and held there for everyone to see. I don’t want your souls buried beneath a weight of commands and programming, I want them helplessly exposed and forced along; nailed to the front of the engines of your slavery’

She was lecturing now, gently pacing backwards and forwards.

‘To achieve this, it is necessary for you to be free to experiment within your lessons a little. Soon your training will begin. You will be set a number of tasks. Some of them will be very specific, but others, you will have to find your own way with. In all of them, anything less than complete devotion and successful completion will indicate punishment; and it will be unpleasant’

She stroked the side of my head

‘You will learn that the last thing you want to do is fall below standard, believe me. No matter how awful you think my tasks are, the punishment for not complying with them will be far, far worse’

She casually stepped back in front of us and sat herself down in the chair again. She crossed her legs. She was in total control.

‘Now that I have seen how my two sluts are coming along, I am almost ready to go. Just a couple of further things before I leave you to get on with stripping those sweet, little cunts down’

I was totally still and docile. I desperately did not want to try this new punishment.

‘We are going to install a few things about the house; all things to help with your training. You will soon be recovered enough to start working properly; fit enough to start your training in earnest. I hope you will both work hard for me, very hard. I hope you will both apply yourself to your studies. You will learn the arts of sexual pleasure and the different disciplines of pleasing.’

‘I will have you taught how to behave, how to walk, how to talk and how to move. You will study how to dance and how to show off those lovely slutty bodies. You will be forced to drive men wild with desire. You will learn how to be hot, irresistible and available; and you will learn how to satisfy the lust that you have stimulated. Most importantly of all though, you will eventually learn that you must be continually improving and developing yourselves. That’s what makes MY girls so special. You will contribute ideas towards your own training and then be submitted to them. We will have little interviews so we can direct your progress. You will finally become independent, self-directed little whores, devoted to my purpose.’

She sat back and smiled to us with satisfaction.

I could not believe what I was hearing. I was to be trained to be a sex slave,  a prostitute, a whore!…And worse than that, I was not only going to have to work hard to learn my new role but I would be punished, horribly, if I was not good enough!

I was so completely cornered; there were no options available to me. While every instinct that I had wanted to me to scream ‘No!’ at her, I knew it would do me no good and worse, it might earn me discipline. At the same time, it was inconceivable that I could accept the plan that she had just laid out for me. I was intelligent, educated and from a good background. I wasn’t to be a whore! I just couldn’t be! That was for other women; lower class women; women who didn’t have the dignity to get a proper job; women who were just natural sluts. Not for women like me, not for someone who was too sensitive and enlightened!

I wanted to tell her that she had the wrong girl, that somehow she had taken the wrong person. All I could do was look down in misery and try to hold back the tears. I had dared not even open my mouth; such was her domination of me.

‘Before I go, I thought it might amuse you both to see these’

She unpacked the other bag, the heavy bag, which she had brought with her. As she took them out, I immediately recognised the two packages that Trisha had carried from the clinic on behalf of Lisa and me. They were still in the same brown parcel wrap and string. After briefly examining them she handed one to Lisa, the other to me.

‘I have a little hobby connected to my work. I’m something of a collector you know’

She motioned that we should open the packages.

‘I wanted you to see my latest pieces, before they are set in their places in my collection. Do be careful with them now girls’

She was smiling sweetly now. It sent a sharp, metallic chill cutting through my soul. It was like she was some dark, festive bringer of gifts. I hesitated. She motioned to me again, less sweetly, and I reluctantly tore at the paper.

The paper was several layers thick; the packaging on the heavy box had been generously layered. As I scratched away the final sheet in one corner I felt a smooth, cold surface. Scratching away some more I could see that it was glass; glass with some kind of fluid inside.

I was so scared. I looked up at her sardonic grin; her cold, sadistic eyes enjoying watching me, like I was a spider having her limbs plucked for her amusement. She bade me to continue.

I flipped the string around the corner of the box on one side and slid the remainder of the packaging off en masse.

I stared at it. It was a glass box, perfectly filled with an umber liquid. Floating in the middle was a ragged, brown mass. It looked like some sort of triangular lump with a pair of trailing water-swollen appendages. It was hideous.

I looked up questioningly. Her expression turned to one of glee,

‘They were removed vaginally. It just wouldn’t do for either of you to become pregnant and in your line of work, periods are a nuisance’

I dropped to my knees. I could see my ovaries swaying in the wash as I hit the floor, the specimen box held up in front of me. I felt the box lifted away from me as she reclaimed her trophy.

I would never have babies.

I broke down and wept.

PART 13

As I opened the door I caught my breath. There were two women standing there, neither of them were familiar, that didn’t stop them practically walking through me. Unable to protest, I watched as they carried in a stack of boxes. Having piled these in the front room, they went back to their car and came back with even more. As an inert bystander in the activities in my home, I had returned to the sofa and stared at the floor for a minute. I had been scouting for any rogue hairs left on Lisa. Watching the girls out of the corner of my eye I tried to carry on; I could not see any, she was as smooth as a baby below the hairline on her head. She had just finished looking me over. I had stood naked in front of her with my legs spread while she had examined me. I could feel every stir and eddy of the air as a cool brushing on my sensitive bald skin. Nowhere was I more conscious of this than in the area that was accustomed to being sheltered with pubic hair.

I had grabbed my short robe to answer the door and could feel the crisp autumn air rushing in against me.

With a slam of my front door, the two women set down the rest of their boxes.

‘You are to stay out of the way and keep quiet while we work’, said one of the women. I knew that I was bound by that command; I could feel when a message was aimed at Vivienne’s control system within me. It seemed that anyone could be given access to this since she had fitted it. It was like a parasite in my head, I almost wanted to smash it clean open and rip at my brain; such was my frustration. I gritted my teeth and once again accepted that I was a controllable ’slave-girl’.

I looked at the nearest girl. She was in her early thirties, I thought. She was immaculately figured, with short-cropped bleached, blonde hair. She was a tall Amazon, a classical Germanic beauty. Her accomplice was a smaller, but no less beautiful, red-head. She had the same low-maintenance hairstyle as other girl but was wider in the hips. Both were dressed in practical, forgettable, grey overalls.

I had turned back to Lisa as they had started to unpack. The cool air had lifted some microscopic hairs up on her forearm. I was thankful for the luck as I set to them with the electrolysis probe.

It was two days after Vivienne’s visit. As I fried the tiny patches beneath the hair follicles I realised that I was sitting almost in the same place that I had been when Vivienne had crushed me. I had been revolted, in equal parts, at her depravity and how I was so helplessly subject to it. Her vile, psychopathic ‘hobby’ of storing the removed wombs of her victims revealed just how unhinged she really was. That anyone could gain pleasure from that was twisted and warped beyond my comprehension. The fact that it was she who was my Mistress was starting to fill me with nihilism. I would never be able to live a decent life, I was sure that she could not possibly be planning that for me. Maybe the only way that I could live would be to avoid her punishments. It struck me that to try and live between the gaps of her strict regime would be a progressively futile enterprise. Maybe I would just have to go with it. Maybe I should simply no longer care, as my caring just gave her ways to torment me; but then that was the kind of person that I was; I had morals, aspirations and ideals; I couldn’t just erase them.

I had always thought, in fact I had known, that one day, I would get married and have children. She had now torn that from me, quite literally, to become a decoration in some macabre display. On that day, I had started to carefully count my blessings, as I had no idea when the next atrocity would be afflicted on me, nor what it would be. Maybe my hands would be cut off next, so I should just enjoy having them; or maybe she would blind me, for fun; so I should cherish every single vision, even the terrible ones. It seems to me that there is only so much fear that a woman can live in before she starts to change, irreversibly. In the most perverse, deconstructive way, she had almost rendered me enlightened!

After she had left, I had locked myself in the toilet for two hours. I’d tried to take a razor blade to my wrist but I knew that I would be forbidden before I could pick it up. That was the final straw, the death blow, checkmate against Anita. I couldn’t even kill myself. ‘Fuck it’, I had thought. I resigned. I gave up my resistance that day. Having lost everything, my fear had started to give way to an abandonment of concerns. It was almost liberating. I knew I was fucked, fucked up beyond all hope, but maybe I could scavenge some grains of enjoyment from this somewhere. Maybe. I would try.

There was a thump to my left. I returned to my work, studiously ignoring our most recent intruders. The girls were obviously well drilled and experienced. Within an hour they had set up two computers in the front room. They had set up a secure internal network and had fitted cameras in each room of the flat. These were apparently ‘wireless’ and each looked down from one of the ceiling corners so that the whole room was within its range. The blonde girl had done the fitting while the red-head had spent her time at the keyboard, configuring the system, I supposed.

When she had set up all the cameras, the blonde girl started connecting leads to the other computer. There were a number of units, mounted in a rack that needed to be wired to the computer. After she had done this, she went back to the car and returned with a large, padded sausage-looking thing. It was about three feet long and about a foot in diameter. She took a number of sturdy, adjustable metal poles and fitted them to the sausage. As she turned it upside down and stood it on its four legs, it reminded me of a vaulting horse. She screwed an umbilical cable into the horse and connected the other end to the rack of boxes. Another trip to the car and she came back with a clinical, white case which she stowed under the horse. Finally, it was all set up. They arranged it so that one computer was facing into the room while the other had its screen disconnected and was secreted inside a cupboard. After this, they both cleared away all the boxes, collected their tools, and without a word, left.

I zapped the last hair that I could find. I wanted this job done well and Mistress Trisha would be here soon, she had to be satisfied. We had packed the electrolysis machine away and were just letting our curiosity pull us towards the new equipment when, true to her word, Trisha arrived. She let herself in.

She was dressed in a stunningly cut black trouser suit; her hair was pulled tightly up before billowing outwards as fluffy shocks of wavy curls. She was an incredibly attractive woman but it was her deportment that carried her towards near perfection. Lisa and I had discussed our plan for her arrival. As she stepped gracefully towards us, we both threw ourselves to the floor on our bellies and, naked still, we started to vigorously lap at her boots.

‘Good sluts!’ she said, her pleasure was almost palpable.

She let us clean her boots for a minute before getting us to our feet. She had us standing with our legs widely spread and our arms up at ninety degrees. She took a magnifying glass from her bag and gave us a serious look. I was not religious, but I had prayed that we had done our job properly. She started with Lisa. Her magnifying glass had a light on the inside edge of its rim; there was no way that she would miss a single hair. I shut my eyes and prayed again.

The tense minutes dragged out further and further as Lisa’s body was scrutinised to the minutest detail, we were all in absolute silence. I could hear Lisa breathing rapidly next to me, I wanted to reach out, hold her hand and tell her that we were in this together. I stayed motionless as Trisha straightened her back and, in silence, moved over to me. I was shaking as she looked me over. One minute she as under my armpits, the next she had me pulling my buttocks aside.

‘Mmmmmm, look at that lovely soft pink rose, Anita’

I let out a surprised little scream as I felt her fingernail rub against the inside of my anus. Shocked with myself, I immediately pulled myself back to attention. Trisha giggled.

‘Sit down on the sofa, girls’, she finally said. Her voice was relaxed and playful, ‘had we done it?’ I dared to think.

PART 14

The tiny muscles that ran from my inner thighs to my deep pelvis burned and the skin above them screamed as it chaffed and bumped angrily into the padding. Beads of sweat ran in highways down either side of my face, so intense was my concentration. My mind was focused on the thick shaft that I was milking, desperately following every command from my uncompromising silicon task-master. First I was tensing the muscles low down near my opening and withdraw until I could just grip the head of the training prick. The screen would let me know if I was gripping firmly enough; and if I wasn’t, I would have to repeat the manoeuvre again and again until I could do it. A meter on the right hand side of the screen bobbed up and down. At the moment it was hovering at the middle of the scale, in the ‘yellow’ zone, and that was the cause of my intense efforts. I could see a little further down the bar, in the lower ‘red’ zone; there was a black line with the words ‘immediate punishment’ unequivocally awaiting any slip in my performance. The machine had taught me a number of different patterns or ’strokes’ and was now alternating, apparently randomly, between them. I had been standing over the horse, wearing my white heels, fucking the accursed thing for half an hour now and was quite exhausted. The machine was completely disinterested in how I felt though and so I was summoning every ounce of strength to keep the needle up and to keep from failing.

The only respite I was getting was on the ‘head ride’ command, where I lifted off the shaft and caressed its end with my lips. Then I rapidly dipped onto the tip, lapping around the side of its ‘glans’ with my inner lips on the way back up. It gave my pelvic muscles a break. The other strokes demanded a co-ordinated squeeze from various parts of my vagina. It had started very slowly and clearly with me but had rapidly adapted to my learning of the manoeuvres. Had I known that this would happen, I would have tried to be a little more ’stupid’; ‘wasn’t retrospect a great thing’ I reflected as the instruction changed to ‘deep head fuck’ and I once more rammed my inner thighs down onto the horse and tensed my power-depleted deep muscles on the head and shaft, hoping that the pressure transducers there were merciful to me. On this occasion they weren’t.

‘Fucking hell’, I screamed as the number ‘20′ appeared signifying how many repeats I had to perform to address this flaw in my abilities. As I gripped it for all I was worth, knowing that I had enough strength for maybe one more try. The number dropped to nineteen. The bar on the right started to slowly drop.

It was with tears rolling down my face, my teeth gritted and a constant shouting of ‘Fuck you!!, Fuck you!!’, that I managed to work my way through. The needle hovering over the instant death zone proved to be a horribly efficient motivator and to my astonishment I worked off my ‘deep head fuck’ debt. I hoped that I hadn’t ruptured my recently cut vagina, the burning was so powerful.

Finally the machine let me go. I had fucked it for almost an hour and was totally spent, saddle-sore and beaten – by a fucking machine. I never looked at it the same way again and whenever I was scheduled to return to that saddle, I counted down to it with absolute dread.

Trisha had set me going on the trainer before she had left with Lisa. She had said that we would both be ‘rewarded’ for having satisfactorily stripped each other. She was going to oversee Lisa’s right then and I was to await further instructions after I finished my training. I lay on my back, the taste of salt in my mouth, sodden with my own sweat. I was exhausted and my sex ached in ways that I never imagined it could. I wondered how long it would take for me to become strong enough to keep it up for a whole session. I had no idea then that a ’session’ was a fluid rather than a fixed entity.

The screen beeped loudly and as I turned to look at it I was met by an ominous looking set of instructions and diagrams.

‘Shit!’ I thought.

‘Fuck!!’ I thought as I noticed that there was a timer counting down where the performance bar had been.

I quickly summoned my faculties and started to follow the precise instructions.

The phallus disconnected from the top of the horse. I could see the numerous connections on it’s mating below as I un-clicked it. It was heavier than I anticipated, obviously a very complicated and sensitive piece of engineering. The screen showed me where to re-attach it – on the side of the horse. I clicked it on. Without further ado, the screen changed colour and started to lay out the learning objectives and rules for the oral-training mode.

‘NO!’ I wept, my fingers clenched,’ please, I can’t do any more’

I kept my blurry, tear-filled vision on the screen in case I missed something, but I wanted to stare at the camera in the corner and plead. I didn’t even know if anyone would be watching.

After taking in the basic rules, most worryingly of which was the instant punishment ‘teeth contact rule’, I had my lips around the shaft, my teeth well away from the plastic. I could smell my own pussy on it and could taste the drying mix of artificial lubricant and my own juices. I felt like the lowest, most depraved little bitch as I clung onto the shaft; there was a penalty for letting go as well. I sobbed to myself as I followed the programme through to the letter. After a few minutes I was actually glad for the time spent wearing the penis gag as I would not have been able to have deep-throated the huge prick without it. As well as that, I would not have had the stamina in my jaw to have completed the programme with brushing a tooth against the penis. It kept teaching me how to suck cock for half an hour.

When the screen finally relented and let me go I lay in a ball on the floor. I wept with relief and massaged my jaw muscles. My tongue ached from licking, my lips from sucking and my throat felt sore and swollen from the uncompromisingly deep prodding I had been forced to withstand when I had had to swallow its entire seven inch length.

Feeling deeply humiliated and ritually violated I pulled my knees up close to my chest and waited for the screen to beep and make me take the thing in my ass. I was, if nothing else, becoming more of a realist.

I was surprised when it told me to take two paracetamol, two ibuprofen, drink a pint of water from the fridge, thoroughly bathe, wash my hair and then go to my bedroom table. The screen then blacked out. I noticed that the power lights stayed on for the rest of the system though.

As I lay in the hot, scented bath-water sipping the icy drink, I felt better. I rubbed at my thighs and gently stroked my sore pussy lips, trying to work the residual pain away. The cold water felt good in my throat. I was glad when the taste of the probe finally started to subside. I looked at the clock, still before midday. I held my nose and bent my knees so that I was submerged in the soothing water. My eyes tightly shut; I tried to convince myself that I was still in the womb, far away from my reality as a novice prostitute. In the moments before my air ran out I imagined that I was just getting ready for another boring day at the office. I tried to feel the mundane safety that, until so recently, had been my life. As I gasped in the air and opened my eyes, the first thing that I saw was the brown-yellow of the bruising around the nipples of my swollen tits; there was no getting away from it.

In the bedroom, following the instructions that Trisha had slipped onto my dresser, I blow-dried my hair. Using hairspray, I was to shape it as instructed. She had left a series of diagrams and even some photographs of other girls. It was the opposite of how I had done it before, instead of calming my curls I was actively blasting the hair outwards and holding it there with the spray.  It was all blown up and away from my face. The mane at the back was similarly blown upwards and infused with spray to make it look ‘big’. The shaping that she had cut into it the week before now appeared to have another purpose. Curls that had flown down around my face now arched upwards defining the outer border of a sheer volume of loud red that to me, and probably most other people, screamed ‘attention-seeking bimbo’. As I saw how the style was supposed to look, I found myself primping here and correcting there before locking the whole ‘slut-do’ in place with the best part of a can of hairspray.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, the image of this girl flashed into my mind. I saw her with her eyes closed, her lips massaging the base of a huge cock, the tip twitching in her throat as she swallowed again and again sending waves of pleasure coursing over its head and causing it to pump its load deep into her. As I parted my puffy, collagen lips slightly, I could see that I now looked every inch the part; and that was just the hairdo.

Working my way down Trisha’s list, I removed the varnish from my nails and re-applied the new colour that she had provided. I looked at the bottle, the shade was apparently called ‘Playmate Pink’; a glossy silvery pink lacquer could be seen behind the logo of a smiling, buxom cartoon glamour-girl. True to its name it looked like the colour a porn star would wear. The obedient girl that I am, I applied it perfectly to every nail on each hand and foot before replacing the cap and waving my hands to dry them.

Then I made myself up. Exactly as I was told, I applied a generous cake of foundation to cover the remaining bruising on my face. Then I carefully put on a light metallic blue eye shadow, blending it laterally with a silvery white shade. I followed this up with plenty of blush and a lip gloss that partnered the nail varnish. My new bubbly lips looked huge and moist with the light metallic pink gloss. I then took a purple-red lip liner and worked a careful line around the gloss on my lips. It emphasised them even further and created a look that could only be described as ‘dirty’, no self respecting woman would wear make-up like that. It made my lips look like just another inviting pleasure organ.

‘My God!’ I thought as I looked at the whole picture. I was scared at how good a slut I made, at how the looked seemed to work so well with my features. I realised that I looked like a gorgeous, glamour girl. I looked good enough to be a pin-up, a man’s wank-fantasy. I gulped at what I was becoming; there was no way I could be seen like this.

I opened the bundle on the bed and pulled on a pair of soft grey pants and a grey pullover. It was a relief to not be completing the porn star look. Finally, I slipped my newly painted feet back into my white sandals, wound the straps up and around my ankles and buckled them on. Following the final instructions, I grabbed a pair of my old flat shoes to drive with, picked up the street map that Trisha had left and made to leave the flat. I unbuckled my collar and hung it next to Lisa’s on the coat peg on the way out.

PART 15

As I pulled the handbrake on and stopped the engine, I looked at the three ladies standing in front of the car.

Trisha, the stunning natural beauty that she was, looked effortlessly magnificent in a light, beige, long coat with a tan bag and high-heeled boots. Her hair was free and her wild curls erupted in a sprout; bouncing with life as she moved.

Vivienne, who was merely ‘very physically attractive’ at her side, made herself at least Trisha’s equal with her elegance, taste and class. Today, she looked disarmingly feminine. She wore a belted purple overcoat over what looked like short purple trousers. I recognized her deep purple boots from our first shopping trip, I had been dazzled by their £650 price tag as we had walked through the boutique; and Vivienne had the bag to match them. Her hair was combined back and knotted with a purple lily and her make-up was soft making her too unbearably pretty. She looked incredible. To look at her you would never imagine the kind of woman she really was.

The real shock for me though, was Lisa. What a change they had made!

Her hair was cut into an ultra-modern bob with a chaotic, shaped, side-fringe hanging down at one side; it shimmered with random high-lights. She wore a tight, sculpted, but immaculately cut, black suit with a micro-mini skirt. The lapels, a thick band of cream silk, matched a line which ran round her upper thighs, at her hem. Her toned legs emerged in white stockings and, already lengthened by the tiny skirt, ran all the way down to a pair of incredibly ‘designer’, black leather, t-bar shoes that lifted her a full four inches on needle-like stilettos of dark mahogany. Platinum hoop earrings and a tiny bag around her shoulder finished the outfit. I looked at her. Her shoes alone were worth twenty times what I was dressed in. I had expected her to be a ‘slut’ by now.

I got out and shut the door.

‘Now Anita, you’re going to be having a lovely afternoon with us. So give Lisa your car keys. I assume you brought some other shoes to drive in?’ Vivienne said

‘Yes, Mistress, I did’

‘What a good girl you are. Today I think ‘Miss’ or ‘Miss Black’ will be fine, okay sweetie’, she smiled at me.

I didn’t quite know how to react.

‘Thank you, Miss Black’, I said and smiled at her.

‘You’re welcome sweetie. Now show Lisa into your car and then come along’

Trisha snapped her fingers at Lisa, who hurriedly teetered over to my car. Lisa looked terrified, and as soon as her back was to the other two I could see tears forming in her eyes. Vivienne and Trisha became occupied with each other, chatting and looking the other way.

‘What’s the matter honey?’ I asked, as soothingly as I could.

Lisa looked at me. She stepped past me and opened the door. She sat down in the drivers seat and as she set about unbuckling her shoes;

‘They punished me’

She spat the words out in a tight sob, her brow furrowed and trembling as she looked up at me. I could see that it must have been bad, she looked like she was only just managing to hold it together; to not collapse against the steering wheel in tears. ‘When I get home…….I……will be punished again…..’ she looked up at me, half blankly, half in terror, ‘Anita, it’s so horrible! Please beg them not to, please say that you will, please, you have to help me’, she was grasping my hand, pleading, as if I could help her, the tears now ready to drip from her eyes.

‘Of course I will!’ I clasped her hand, ‘Oh Lisa, I’ll be back for you later okay’

She sniffed. I looked up, Trisha was looking at us.

‘I have to go now’, I wished I could have stayed and comforted her but I knew that it would not do to keep BOTH my Mistresses waiting. I walked back over to them, accentuating my hippy wiggle; I wanted them to see my obedience, that I was being a good ’slut’.

‘You see. Now MY little slut is much better behaved, aren’t you Anita’, Vivienne seemed extremely happy.

She pulled out her mobile phone and showed it to Trisha. She smiled.

‘See how well she did this morning’

Trisha looked over to the car as the engine started and scoffed at its wretched driver.

‘Enthusiastic little cock sucker aren’t you?’ Vivienne giggled, turning the phone my way. She beckoned me over to look at the screen. I saw myself naked, sweating and sucking off the dildo in my front room. I gasped to myself as I realised that she would always be able to have her eye on me. Whenever I was in my home she would be able to see me and what’s more, I would never know when she was watching.

‘The machine stats are very encouraging too’, said Vivienne matter-of-factly. Clearly, she also had access to all the information from the computer. Trisha gave her a wry smile.

It was like they were discussing a horse in training, rather than me; like I was an animal; or a project. As well as that, for some reason, Vivienne seemed to be rubbing Trisha’s nose in my ‘good’ performance. It was like there was some sort of friendly rivalry between them over Lisa and me and Vivienne was my advocate. All I could do was stand there nervously, trying to avoid unnecessary eye contact, shifting uncomfortably in my high-heels.

‘Off we go then’, said Vivienne. She beckoned me over to her and then took me by the arm. Trisha walked on the other side of me and took my other arm. It was deeply unsettling as we strolled together like three close girlfriends towards the building.

I must have been as tense as a board as we walked, our heels clattering together in random polyrhythms against the tarmac. Vivienne confided in me, close to my ear

‘We’ve got the whole afternoon for shopping now. You will let your tensions go so you can be relaxed, open and honest’

She stopped and stroked my cheek gently.

‘There now’, she soothed. I relaxed a little and swallowed. I looked into her eyes. Her face was soft and comforting, like it had been when I first me her, but her eyes, I could only look at them for a moment before I was overwhelmed with her power. I felt her primal, basal, cruelty as I felt her gazing deeply into my soul. I felt faint. I tried to speak.

‘Ssshhhh, Anita’, she soothed.

I started to feel different; more relaxed yet more vulnerable at the same time. Vivienne smiled at Trisha and we started walking again. As they led me around to the front of the building, I felt clear headed and completely ‘in the moment’.

We were on one side of a large outdoor market; it brimmed with activity. The large building was obviously some kind of ultra-low budget clothes outlet, one of a number of such stores around the market’s perimeter. True to form, the windows were plastered with large signs with ‘massive discounts’ or ‘75% off’ primitively daubed in thick marker. There was a steady but scanty trickle of customers milling around, apparently the bargains were not as enticing as the adverts would have had us believe.

I was led inside and immediately seated at a table. There was a small tea stall set up to one side. Trisha went over, returned with three steaming polystyrene cups, and soon was huddled next to me, with Vivienne sat across the table smiling at me.

‘Now. We’re going to work on some ideas for your new look, darling. I think that you want to be a cooperative,  good girl with this, don’t you?’

‘Yes I do Miss Black, very much’

‘Good’, she smiled,’ because your friend had other ideas and I think she’s already regretted her decision. You see, she decided to try and keep things from us, she was trying to hold back and not be honest with us, we could just tell’

With that last remark, she exchanged a wicked smile with Trisha.

‘Enough about her though, let’s talk about you sweetie as it’s you we’re shopping for. Now we have to be focused here. Do you remember the Spice Girls?’

I looked at her, dumfounded, completely wrong-footed by her question. I nodded a cautious ‘Yes’.

‘Good. Now they had something for everyone right? Blonde, red-head, black girl, all that crap yeah?’

I nodded again having no idea where this was going.

‘Well we want you to become one of our ‘Spice Girls’ as it were. We’ve done our market research pretty thoroughly and we’ve identified a hole to fill. We know what role we want you to take, think of it as like a vacancy, and it’s a part that you are going to grow into. I choose my girls very carefully, the advert you replied to was designed to attract a certain type of girl’

With that she reached over and stroked me again, this time, it seemed, with some genuine affection

‘We knew you could look the part, the first time you walked into my office. But it was only when I probed you a little that I realised what potential you really had. You’re a very bright girl Anita………….and an incredible prude’

I blushed.

‘I need girls that not only fit the programme looks-wise but who can learn well and have an eye for detail….And you my dear fill the bill perfectly. Now I’ve just ‘disinhibited’ you a little, you will have little choice but to be honest with us, all afternoon. We’re going to make you tell us some of your deep, dark secrets!’

She clasped her hands together, half in mock excitement, but only half.

‘Now I want you to think, and tell us how you think we should have you look. I want your ideas for a nice, trashy look. You’re going to be the ‘filthy red-head’, our cheap-looking, hot, hussy’

She leaned over right into my face

‘The real fucking dirty bitch of the pack. The guys won’t be able to get enough of you’

Oh my God! This was going to be so bad. I swallowed and felt my head swim a little.

‘So tell me how you’re going to accomplish this look for me. I want something special or there will be……consequences’

With that she sat back, took a sip of her tea, smiled and stared at me expectantly. The last word, coming from Vivienne, was something that I very much wanted to avoid.

I knew that whatever Lisa had done, she had tried to lie, or at the very least, she had omitted something important. I knew I had to start talking and I knew I needed to come up with something convincing. I also knew that I would probably have no choice anyway and that Vivienne possibly already knew what I would say or very probably some part of it

‘To hell with it’, I thought, I would have to be honest with them, otherwise they would see straight through me. I blushed and then tried my best. I opened myself up to them.

‘Well, I think Miss Sanders ideas for my hair and make-up are a great start’, I began nervously,’ when I saw myself in the mirror, I felt like a really trashy bimbo. My lips especially, they make me feel like a porn girl’

They were both silent.

‘My white shoes make me feel really trashy too’, I began again,’ I’ve….kind of always though of white stilettos a being really……well……very cheap and nasty. I’ve never worn them before and to me they’re very………..humiliating’

‘Yes’, said Trisha, ‘that’s why I chose those for you. We want some of YOUR ideas now Anita, not ours’

I looked down, embarrassed but I felt that as the thoughts entered my mind, I should be sharing them.

‘Actually white stilettos are about as trashy as it comes for me. I mean they are, aren’t they?’ I asked looking up, ‘They just look so cheap, I mean even really slaggy girls stopped wearing them years ago. When I wore them to the clinic I felt so embarrassed. When I stood in front of that surgeon’

I knew not to hold back but blushed even more,

‘That gorgeous surgeon, I felt like such a tasteless, cheap slut. I was just dying’

‘Good girl!’ said Vivienne encouragingly, ‘keep it up! Carry on…….shoes are very important for a slut’

‘I guess any cheap shoes with high heels really’

They both looked at me. I turned red again.

‘Well, I mean, a pair of thigh boots is pretty trashy isn’t it, you know, like Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman. I mean, how about her whole outfit’

I blushed again that I had made such a suggestion. What if they made me wear that outfit?

Vivienne giggled

‘Oh Anita, you’re so funny! Trust you to like that film, I mean “Hey it’s really fun to be a prostitute right?”‘ she said laughing, ‘what a crock of shit that was! You’re right though about the outfit, very whorish….but far too generic. Girls wear that to fancy dress parties. I want something that’s YOU, some outfits or ideas that would particularly affect you, particularly…….humiliate you’

She ran her hand through my hair

‘You are going to learn humility, and learn it well. Every girl has something that does it for them. I have a girl who had a thing about facial piercings; she also was terribly affected by something so simple as wearing a dog collar. See, it’s the little things that matter here. Now she’s my little punk slut by the way, and she works hard to keep improving on her image. I want to know all the little things, all the important details for YOU. The devil’s in them. I want to know what makes you squirm sweetie. All my girls have something. The white stilettos were a good start, so carry on’

I paused for a second. Some images flashed into my mind. I closed my eyes in despair. It was just so perfectly cringe worthy that Vivienne was forcing me to be the lead conspirator in my own betrayal.

‘A really short dress to let people see my legs in my white stilettos, I’ve only had to wear them with trousers so far. I’m very uncomfortable letting people see my legs bare, so a short, tight mini-skirt would really…..work well’

I was looking at the table now; I was making myself very small indeed. Vivienne took my hand and held it.

‘Tell me more about the dress sweetie’

Although I was staring to get a little wet in the eyes, my voice was unquivering

‘Well I was thinking of something pink or purple because that would really offset the white shoes. It should probably lycra; cheap looking and tight on me………The ones that have a high neck but a hole to show some cleavage through, do you know what I mean?’

I couldn’t believe what I was telling them. This was my absolute worst nightmare of an outfit.

‘Yes dear’, said Trisha,’ that would be a great choice while your breasts are still discoloured too. Clever girl! What else?’

I blushed deeply again,

‘Well……a dress with an open side, with straps going across but so that you can see a lot of skin between. There was a black dress I saw once that had these gold fastenings on the side of it, I can’t remember where I saw it but it was really, really tarty; I’d just die if I went out in that. And……….I’m SO embarrassed at the thought of anyone seeing my breasts…….so……any tops or dresses where I show cleavage. I’m so embarrassed about my new breasts. I…….I…hate them so much’

I paused again, this time because of the swelling in my throat.

‘You’re making me very pleased Anita’, said Vivienne,’ we had to send your little friend to sit in the toilet and be punished you know, because she didn’t just let it all come out, but you’re my good girl, such a good girl!’

She returned to staring at me, clutching my hand. I felt like the school bullies were being nice to me because they wanted something from me, or because they were setting me up for something much worse.

‘A tight leather skirt, a really short one’, I said, ‘ a white one would be the worst, but a red one would be bad too and I suppose pink or purple with white stilettos would work well too’

I was getting into the swing of betraying myself and the ideas unfortunately stated to come thick and fast.

‘A matching leather jacket too, and under that maybe a see-through top. Come to think of it, red heels are a good idea too. In fact, the thigh boots should be white or red even, that would make them more ‘me’, more individual, rather than what Julia Roberts wore. And I’ll tell you what else, a pair of ankle boots that are lace-ups but with a high stiletto heel. Oh and wearing dark tights with white shoes, or any tights with patterns on. Maybe we could find some on-line that had special patterns on? Like maybe crude images or something’

I looked up. Vivienne looked gob smacked, she was absolutely delighted. I was thankful that she was happy but she needed to know it all. I knew I had to tell her what I really hated.

‘What I really think would work though, is lots of gold, or better, fake gold’

‘Oh yes!’ said Trisha, ‘ you really are doing well Anita’

I never, ever thought that I would say this, ‘My friend Melanie wears these gold earrings; they’re just what I mean’

Vivienne smiled at me ‘I know the ones, I’m sure we can find some nice big ones like that’

Twisting the blade in my own side , I continued,’ I could even wear more than one pair in each ear and they should be the same style but get smaller as they move away from the front pair, or maybe just a load of different clashing one, both would be kind of different kinds of ‘slutty’, maybe I should have a selection…….maybe even………three………in each ear’

Trisha cleared her throat, a little pointedly

‘Oh I think you can do better than that darling’, Vivienne purred, there was a slight warning to her tone; I shouldn’t have tried to play a game; we both knew that I needed more earrings than that on one ear. I could feel Trisha gently squeezing my earlobe and running her finger up my ear. I thought about the idea of having lots of earrings, I shook and tried to push the image from my mind.

‘Of course Miss Black, I could have my ears pierced many times. Many, many times’

I looked down again in resignation. I may as well just carry on digging the hole I was making for myself.

‘Those handbags that have long gold chains to go over your shoulder? They would “work” too.’

‘Oh, this look’s really starting to come together’, Vivienne said excitedly.

‘Yes, very….co-ordinated’, Trisha sniggered.

I remembered something else, oh my God.

‘I could get a gold necklace with my name on as well. “Anita”, written cursively’

Vivienne looked a little puzzled.

‘Well, as well as looking totally, totally awful and tasteless…….I would feel objectified……….labelled. I don’t know why, but I even hate to wear a name badge at work……..I hate to be labelled…….I despise those necklaces……………And if I was ‘with a stranger’ they would know who I was’

I turned a deep purple at my own afterthought.

‘Oh I LOVE it!!’ Vivienne grinned and clapped her hands together,’ I love that you want to be that kind of girl; that fucks before giving her name, I love the name idea. I tell you what, that can be my special present to you today. I’ll buy you that necklace!’

‘We were thinking of changing your name though’, Trisha interjected

‘Yes, to something a bit more whorish’, said Vivienne,’ you know, like Candy or Traci or something but with a bit more imagination. We haven’t found the right one yet though. Have you any ideas?

I thought for a minute.

‘Well, Miss, I could…….er…….keep my own name. There are plays on it that I could make, you see, like “Anita man to fuck me” or “An…i-ta of cocks”‘

They both laughed together.

Vivienne reached over and kissed my face affectionately.

‘You’re a special one you know? ‘Anita’ it will stay, I suppose it does suit you anyway, especially with those lips, you’re right; they are so made for cocks right now. Any more ideas honey?’

‘Well, one last thing. I saw a girl with a ring pierced through her fingernail; I thought that looked pretty tarty too. Then I suppose there are body piercings’

Vivienne held her finger up to her lip.

‘Not now darling. You’ve come up with plenty without piercings or tattoos or anything like that. We’ve got enough ideas to get you stopping traffic by the end of the day. And if you carry on being this good, then I think we may be able to arrange a little treat for you’

I heard her drain the dregs from her teacup, I had hardly touched mine. I tried my best to smile at her.

‘Right, let’s shop!’

PART 16

‘Let’s have a look then, stand up straight.’

I pulled the hem-line down and stood up as straight as I could. I was wearing a tight, pink and white, tie-dye patterned dress. Its short skirt stretched round my ass but very little more. It ran up to a thick band around my throat which joined two larger bands, one on either side, running up from the sides of my waist, outside and around each of my breasts. It zipped at the back which pulled it tightly around me. The effect of the straps at the sides of my breasts was to pull them together and upwards, creating a huge cleavage. My mauled, battered orbs bulged out from it and the compression was nauseatingly painful, it was still less than a week since my implants had been installed.

‘I preferred the size down you know, she really spilled out of that one’

That one had been ridiculously tight everywhere, I thought that it might tear when we fastened it and that was without me moving in it. My breasts had screamed with dull agony in it.

‘Yes, but she can ‘grow into’ this one. And this one actually fits her round the ass’

They both giggled.

It was like they were little girls playing at dressing their dollies like whores; only I was the doll. I was hating every single second of this shopping trip as I was coldly and precisely worked down the shopping list that I had made for myself. In the process, they were going out of their way to demean and shame me as much as they possibly could. I had to keep counting to ten and telling myself to behave. They were making my whole whore idea come true; it felt like I was having a living nightmare.

‘That’s definitely a keeper, now try this one’

As I unzipped my cheap Lycra number, Trisha handed me another dress, this time a shocking pink-purple colour.

As I held it up, I despaired. Trisha grinned and gestured enthusiastically that I put it on.

This one just slipped over my head and pulled down. There was a wide halter-neck band, which was elasticated at the back, but there was no zip. The dress stretched around me, it had dozens of centimetre wide, fibrous, elastic bands spaced out along each side, up its entire length. The effect was of a dress that had a front half and a back half connected by numerous strips of pink elastic. I was essentially exposed for three inches up each side. As I pulled it down so that the miserly hem rested at the very tops of my legs and my breasts billowed out of the cups, they both giggled again. The loud pink material at the front and back was ruched. It formed a line running up my midline with the fabric folded to create a slight U shape; bowing gently downwards on either side. At the back I could see that this accentuated my ass cheeks, while at the front it served to exaggerate my breasts. The elastic on each side and around my neck ensured that the material was skin tight. With my face and hair the way they were, there was only one possible interpretation of the look.

‘How do you like this one darling?’ Vivienne asked.

I looked at myself in the mirror and did a little twirl on my sandals. I wanted to cry.

‘It makes me look like a prostitute Mistress’, I said sullenly, my head hanging, ‘I really hate this one.’

‘Ooooo, a potential favourite there then’, Vivienne cooed, immediately sensing my true feelings.

She threw it on the same pile as the previous dress and we continued.

We had started, earlier, by walking around the shop, specifically looking for things that met the descriptions that I had given during my debriefing. These had now become our ‘objectives’ but we were open-minded too. I had to tell them if there was anything that made me feel strongly; in fact it was me that had picked out every single dress that we were now trialling, including the pink monstrosity I had just removed. The frustration in being the architect of my own ignominy was enormous.

I had to stop myself stamping my feet in a desperate temper tantrum as we continued with a crass, cheap looking, black velvet number that had gold fastenings on the side. This one had only one shoulder strap and also exposed my sides in the way I found so awful; but whereas the pink dress had had many elastic bands, this dress had no elastic, it zipped at the back and had only six gold bands fastening it on either side. The effect was to create much longer, wider ellipses of flesh running up each side. The tacky gold look of the fastenings; the give-away loose threads betraying its sweat-shop assembly; and the fact that it was so horrible that no woman in her right mind would wear such a thing, all justified its £3 clearance price tag.

‘Now that’s a real party number don’t you think?’

The trailer-trash in the mirror meekly nodded her head; her lower lip hanging sullenly.

‘Touch up your lipstick, slut’, Trisha hissed.

As I went to the counter I had eight dresses, a selection of miniskirts and a number of tops, all of them dire. Trisha had picked out some jackets for me as well, two blue, one in tight stonewashed denim, the other in close fitting, dark blue leather. I also had short, tight, faux leather jackets; one in white, one in pink; with buttons that fastened around the collars. To enable me to break the fashion ‘no-no’ of combining matching leather, we had picked out the two corresponding tight leather miniskirts

The attendant looked up, made some pithy remark about me being their ‘shopper of the year’, and gave me the bill. I met this with a brooding glare. Given that I had bought half the store, it actually really was a bargain; although we must have taken all their least desirable stock off them. In spite of the ‘bargain’ it was obvious, as Trisha and Vivienne strolled out of the shop, that I would be paying for ‘my new wardrobe’.

After storing the numerous bags in Vivienne’s car, we moved on. As we walked through the array of pet stores, food shops and cheap household stalls in the market, I worried about where we would be going next.

‘Now I’m sure it’s somewhere…….Ah, yes’, said Trisha and we all made a bee-line after her. On the edge of the market place, in one of the buildings, there was a ‘jewellery’ store. This was about as low-end as it was possible to get. It struck me immediately that in such an insecure shop most of the ‘gold’ wasn’t even locked in cabinets. There were a few items on the back wall intermingled with large signs boasting ‘24 carat’ or the bluff, ‘real gold’. I had to close my eyes in despair; I knew it was a matter of time before I would be wearing something from here.

Vivienne was right about every girl having her own specific buttons and I cold feel the fingers hovering over mine. As I tottered past a mirror and caught another glimpse of my Barbie-doll face, freshly glossed lips and my glamour-girl hair, my humiliation peaked further.

‘Oh, now this is just perfect for you isn’t it Anita’, Trisha said looking around, beaming. She lifted up a large pair of hideous triangular, gold-looking earrings.

‘Please no’, I whispered to her. I knew it was futile but some increasingly small part of me still tried to object.

She scowled and put her mouth close to my ear

‘I don’t like your attitude young lady. Not one bit. And your Mistress has been so good to you as well’, she snarled. She stood up straight and composed herself. She thought for a second, then the corners of her mouth curled upwards and her eyes narrowed.

‘Just for that, you will go over of your own accord, and get your ears pierced. I’m thinking of a number, and if I don’t see at least that many studs in each ear, then you will really be in for it. I mean that, I’m not fucking around girl, what you’ve had up until now will seem like a fairy story. You can decide how many earrings you will wear from now on but you better get it right’

‘NO!’ my mind screamed, ‘don’t make me do that!’

I shivered and looked up at her. I was small, miserable and too vainly sorry too late. My eyes pleaded with her to relent, but also to not tell my Mistress.

Vivienne had wandered to another part of the store, missing our exchange. She held up a different pair of vile earrings, large and horseshoe shaped.

‘Oh, now aren’t these just darling!’ she said, sickly sweet.

Trisha looked at me.

‘Do it now and then pick all the right earrings. If I’m happy with you, this can stay our little secret. If not, then you’ll be joining that other little cunt in a punishment slot tonight and I’ll double it for both of you. Now do it, or I’ll tell Mistress’

‘Thank you Mistress!’ I had gushed; I can remember an irrational relief, almost an elation from the slight mercy of her not telling Vivienne. I really didn’t want to displease Vivienne while she was so happy, I sensed that it would be especially bad.

I approached the sales woman with a torrent of clashing emotions. She was in her mid-fifties, her sun-wrinkled, smoke-haggard skin was made up with the subtlety of a drag queen or a pantomime dame. I noticed that she had three rings in each of her ears, the front hoop had another thick, heart shaped loop dangling from it; they were perhaps the worst earrings I had ever seen. My new fate hit me and I balked. Could things get any worse today?

I hesitated in front of her, trying to not burst into tears. What to say? Not getting enough piercings was just not an option; but the real torture came from knowing that I could actually ask for too many. Given my particular revulsion to this, I could be making an evil rod for my own back; I didn’t want any more rings in my ears than were absolutely necessary.

After a second’s further thought, the petrified look on Lisa’s face at the front of my mind, I said

‘I’d to get my ears pierced please’

PART 17

‘So these are the only ranges that they make that come in that many different sizes. We stock these two here, see’

A long pink nail from her wrinkly finger pointed at two of the designs on the page. The woman behind the counter, or ‘Brenda’ as she had introduced herself, was very helpful. I looked in the catalogue, there were at least eight ranges to choose from, all of them unspeakably bad. Vivienne stood quietly next to me, nodding at the right times to encourage Brenda but otherwise trying to stay in the background. She was loving every second of my ordeal. I supposed that all of her ‘girls’ probably had their ‘humiliations’ plumbed and probed as deeply and as excruciatingly as mine were being. Whatever a girl’s quirky embarrassments, I had no doubt that Vivienne would hunt them out. Trisha, on the other hand, was less interested and had walked out some time ago, so that we weren’t crowded in the shop.

I had had a master-class in ‘bargain’ gold jewellery, from Brenda. It turned out that the earrings that I so despised that were oval in shape and fastened with a hinged bar, were called ‘Creole’ earrings; and she could rightly boast that she had them in spades.

The shop had been pretty busy, but her daughter had materialised from the back room and was more than capable of handling the background trade. The teenage girl really was a ‘chip off the old block’. As well as sharing her mother’s excellent customer service skills, she shared her endorsement of the company products. I recognised the style that Brenda had just been showing me. Obviously this was the result of two women, alone and bored in an ear piercing shop, her ears swung with obscene gold

Brenda had taken into the back room and pierced me. She had sat me down in a worn but comfortable leather armchair with a head rest and had encouraged me to relax my head back. From the corner of my eye I saw her pick the piercing gun from the wall and set it down somewhere behind me. I had started to sweat. As I felt her finger softly examining my ear, the curtain parted.

‘Erm…….excuse me……..Brenda, Anita…..erm. I’m thinking of getting my ears pierced some more, but I’m a little scared, do you mind if I watch? I promise not to faint and I really think it would help me get over it?

Brenda welcomed in the meek Vivienne and caringly sat her down to one side. She sat down and immediately reverted to her elegant, powerful self as she reclined and crossed her legs, ready for the show. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it

Brenda was an expert at this kind of multiple piercing. She knew to mark my ears before using the gun and she spent a lot of time looking at me from the front, making sure everything was symmetrical and evenly spaced. Then she dotted me with her pen. When she was finished she sat down on her stool to my left. Vivienne was beaming at me. Tears started to form in my eyes. I tried to remember when I had had my ears pierced originally, and if it had hurt; I couldn’t think.

‘Ok honey, now you stay lovely and still now. No sudden movements and we’ll get you done. You’re going to be gorgeous!’

With her fingers holding my ear, I felt something cold clasp around it; then I heard the piston spit out its loud, sudden hiss. I was crying softly with humiliation as the sharp pain hit my brain. As the second wave of sensation hit me, I felt an unpleasant, dull aching from just behind where I normally wore my earring. I felt the gun again, a little further up and then another hiss. I sobbed out loud, my eyes screwed together. Vivienne took control immediately. She held my hand,

‘There, there’, she said, ‘it’ll soon be over darling. I know it’s not very nice, but just think about how you’ll look when it’s finished, hey?’

I continued to cry like a baby.

She nodded at Brenda that she should just keep going; and while I wept and sobbed, she worked her way up my ear. The studs higher up were the worst, they really smarted and made me suck my breath in, in between sobs. I could stand the pain though, it was not that that was upsetting me; it was how I would look from now on.

‘You’re doing really well honey’, Brenda said as she moved her stool over to the other side. My left ear was throbbing intensely. I sat there sniffing.

She then repeated my humiliation so that both sides matched. By the time she put the gun aside and her sympathetic face appeared in front of me with a box of tissues, both my ears were burning.

‘It’s all done now Honey’, she smiled,’ come on, let’s have a look, that’ll cheer you up’

She grabbed my arm to get me to stand so I could look in the mirror. Before I could see myself, Vivienne stood in front of me and smiled.

‘Well done, sweetie’, she said but I could see that she didn’t completely mean that. Was she displeased that I had cried?

She reached up to my ear, I half managed to check my automatic reflex to withdraw and then I felt a series of sharp pains as she ran her finger along my row of new studs. She had a childlike look of fascination about her. She led me to the mirror, next to Brenda, who was waiting expectantly. I looked at myself, turning my head from one side to the next, I had six new studs equally spaced up each ear above my original holes. I looked like a tramp and I started to cry.

‘Oh it’s all a bit much isn’t it’, said Brenda kindly, she left us behind and went out to the front of the shop.

‘Oh it’s wonderfully humiliating isn’t it, slave?’ asked my Mistress

‘Yes Mistress’ I looked down at my toes, peeping out of the front of their white straps.

‘Keep a hold of that feeling, but I want you to stop crying now, we’ve still got things to do’

I nodded and wiped my eyes. The tissue was smudged with a smear of different colours from my eye make-up. I looked in the mirror and saw that my mascara was running. Vivienne quickly wiped away the worst of it and cleaned me up.

After a minute, with her guiding hand at my reins, I went back through and bought several ’sets’ of earrings. I bought a simple set of six pairs of inch diameter gold hoops that all matched; I could wear a single pair of different rings at the front of these.

With that in mind, I had to ask Brenda where the earrings she was wearing were. She showed me them delightedly, but I decided on an even worse pair from the same range that were thick creoles about three inches long. A lop-sided heart shaped disc swung from the bottom of each. They were thick, showy and crass. They were, I thought, the most tasteless things that I had ever seen and now they were mine.

After picking out a range of seven matching creoles of increasing size ( in the style that I found the most ‘interesting’ ), I ‘decided’ that it would be fun to wear the new ‘heart’ earrings in front of my new studs, so I fixed them into my original piercings and turned to face my Mistress. She motioned for me to turn my head. As I did so I could feel them swinging in my ears, I looked back.

‘Perfect’ she smiled, pleased.

Brenda let me take her catalogue with me so that I could ponder on the right selection for my mismatched chaotic array of clashing styles. They must have been able to close the shop early; I parted with almost two hundred pounds for all that I had bought. As we walked out of the shop I burned with renewed humiliation as people were immediately looking at me and at my ears.

Vivienne was still full of energy and it was off to the sex shop next, for shoes.

PART 18

It was later that same day that I sat, secreted away, in the corner of a pub. I looked down at my fingernails and wanted to curl up into a tiny ball, so small that nobody could see.

Trisha had done the nails herself, her head cocked to the side in the mock pose of an artiste.

She had removed my existing extensions and replaced them with much longer, inch-and-a-half square-ends.  She had then re-painted them in the glittery bubblegum pink that I was wearing. She then delighted in adding little designs to them. She painted over them with thick silvery white lines that, afterwards, she drew a thin, central black line down. She then finished them with a clear protective lacquer that would preserve her work for the weeks to come. I sat there, obedient and sulking, offering my hands to her the whole time.

The lines she had drawn on my nails made out squared, heavily stylised but recognisable letters. It took while to identify the symbols but the message could then be made out, if you concentrated for more than a few seconds. I had ‘SLUT’ written in capitals, facing away from me, a letter on each of my four fingers.

She held them still as they dried, protecting her work until it was solidified and safe from any accidental injury. I looked at her. I hated her for the casual way with which she had done this nasty afterthought to me.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, she took a little punch and clipped out a tiny hole from the ring and little fingernails on my left hand. Then she fitted a tiny gold ring into each. She put my hands down onto the table and admired them.

‘They’re just so……………YOU, you know’ she snorted, amused by her own joke.

‘Are these the sort of nails that you had in mind Anita?’ she asked mockingly, her head tilted to the side in parody of a beautician.

She was completely disinterested in my reply; I would be keeping them.

‘Yes, Mistress’ I said

‘Good girl, now be sure to show them off later’ she had warned me.

I sipped my drink, it struck me that this had been the first alcohol that I had tasted for well over a week. The gin and tonic was slipping down very easily; I needed something to help settle my nerves.

‘Ooh, it’s nice to be able to enjoy a drink for a change’ said the girl at my table, finishing hers and returning to the bar to order a second round. She obviously didn’t get out much.

She strutted effortlessly back to the bar. I watched her perfect fishnet-clad legs and her effortless style as she swung one foot in front of the other, stepping like a catwalk pro in her black knee-high spike-heeled boots. The half-dozen aging, alcoholic regulars at the bar were hypnotized by her movement; but I knew that she would have had that effect on a much, much younger and more discerning audience. I took up my own drink and drained it worrying again about my future.

After telling me to set my make-up right, Vivienne had waited. I had felt very uncomfortable as she had stood behind me, making sure that I did everything properly; it was twice as hard to get it right with someone following my every move. When I had myself looking like I was a hot glamour-girl ready for a porn-film shoot, she took something from her bag. As she lowered it around my throat, I saw that she had been true to her word and had bought me my ‘Anita’ necklace. I looked at her reflected eyes, in misery, as she reached around me and fastened it on; the name resting just above my collarbones. I wanted to reach up, tear it off and hurl it across the room screaming and spitting on it as I did so.

‘Well slut, what do you say?’ warned Trisha, I must have looked like I had felt.

‘Thank you very much Mistress, its……perfect’

She smiled broadly acknowledging my submission and recognising the completion of my outfit. She then left me, telling me that she expected great things from me and that she didn’t want or expect to be disappointed.

Trisha had then sat me down and fed me a simple microwave supper and a glass of water. She told me that I would need some food inside me for the night ahead. I had shuddered at this idea, I was terrified at the notion that I would actually have to be seen looking like I was.

While I was eating this, the door had opened and I had looked up. I had recognised the same blonde who had been sat in Vivienne’s reception, the night that she had sprung her trap and reeled me in. Her expensive-looking, beautifully cut, long, unnatural-blonde style was out of kilter with the worn, short black coat and scuffed, black boots that she wore. She shut the door and clicked her way over to my table.

Trisha smiled at her and then at me.

‘Anita, this is Cara; Cara, this is Anita’

We both looked at each other. I remembered her curt treatment of me when I had been at Vivienne’s office but decided that I couldn’t judge her on that alone. I smiled nervously at her. She looked me over and then smiled briefly back before sitting down quietly and looking up, expectantly, at Trisha.

‘Cara is going to teach you a few things, Anita. Go with her and listen to what she tells you’

We had taken a taxi together into town, Cara and I. I was fretting the whole way there.

Before going into the sex shop that afternoon, they had made me change, so that I could try boots on without my trousers getting in the way. In the shop, I had ‘chosen’ three new pairs to insult my feet. Vivienne had said that it was a good start but because I was so affected by slutty shoes, I would be buying myself a lot more over the coming weeks.

It was then that I discovered, to my chagrin, that the strappy white sandals that had become my staple ‘slut shoe’, in fact, had only three and a half inch heels. I’d have bet that they were at least five when Trisha had first made me wear them. It was only when the attendant brought my first choice out that I had stared in disbelief at real five inch heels. The attendant had wasted no time making sure I wore a pair of their heavily used hold-up stockings so that I didn’t soil their boots. I wondered if she treated all her customers that way or if it was because I looked so perfectly filthy in the pink dress with the elastic sides, the dark blue leather jacket, my newly fitted ear studs and the ‘fuck-me’ creoles with hearts that swung against my neck. All the same, I didn’t dare object and I quickly pulled the stockings on, feeling the dried sweat of the countless previous ‘ladies’ who had chosen to shop for their boots there. I took out my shoes, a pair of white lace-up boots that came to just above my ankles. They were shiny, white and stood on thin, towering stilettoes.

I had loosened the laces in the plastic boots and had slipped my foot into the first one. It was tight and narrow as my toes neared the bottom; they were squashed from the start. I had to push hard to slip my foot completely into the boot. When I felt my toes at the end and I could feel the unbelievably high heel under me, I must have blushed with humiliation; these were about as slutty as it could possibly get. I saw them as the most blatant advertisement, the epitome of walking, wanton, female need and a crass pledge and acknowledgement of my availability.

As Vivienne knelt and lovingly tightened the laces, I shuddered to think how I would look walking in them, without a prayer of anything to cover them up or hide them behind. As she wound the laces tightly around their fastenings and up to the top, I realised that they would not be easy to take off either. When I had put the other one on and had stood up, I immediately noticed the extra height and how much more exaggerated the heel was. With the smaller platform on which to stand, I had to concentrate just to balance in them. I could feel that the immediate discomfort that I felt from the crushing in my toes would rapidly get worse and worse. As I stepped and saw the delight on my owner’s face, I felt a crushing wave of submission sweep over me. The steps I was forced to take were short, dainty, feminine and devastatingly sexy. With the ankle boots now completing my outfit, I felt a lump rising in my throat as I teetered with a walk that was unforgivably dirty. I found myself having to place one foot a little in front of the other, with a slight swing, just to keep steady and to keep myself from careering off balance.

‘Now those legs go on for miles’ Vivienne whispered to me ‘you’ll stop traffic in those boots, let me tell you!’

I wanted to scream at her but I ignored her. I turned and saw a man at a magazine stand unashamedly staring at me, lustfully appreciating the show. A burning blush coursed up my face, this was just unbearable, I wanted to sit down, tear the boots off, run home and get all this stuff off me; and then get on a plane to somewhere far, far away. Instead, I was congratulated by my tormentors and then made to sit, while the boots were re-packed and set aside for me.

As I sat in the taxi with Cara, my permanently plucked, baby-smooth legs rose out of the same, squeaky-white ankle boots.

Forcing me to keep my legs clamped together was a tight latex skirt that I had ‘found’ at the sex shop. It was shamelessly short but the material was thick and shiny; the patent black vinyl looked as if it had been poured around my hips and set there. I had ‘chosen’ it because there was a zip at the back running upwards from the centre at the bottom, all the way up to just below the waist-band. It would tempt and goad a man and dare him to bend a girl over something and unzip her. It was totally outrageous and probably the most blatant thing that I had bought all day.

Above that I wore the tight pink leather jacket with a white long sleeved top underneath. The top had large defects over the shoulders and a large oval so my breasts could squeeze their way out and compete for attention.

It was the first time that I had worn a bra on since my breast surgery and although the wiring rubbed uncomfortably against my suture lines, the cups lifted and crushed me together. When I had put the top on and seen the hole and how much cleavage I was advertising, I had tried to pull the jacket seems together, to cover myself. Trisha had slapped my hands away with the back of hers, I had wobbled on my shoes, losing my balance, and then had stood defeated and dejected, dressed as a whore. Trisha had smiled evilly at me.

It had been a relief when Cara had had the taxi drop us right outside the pub. There had been nobody but the driver to see me as I got out and hurried to the private table tucked away in the corner.

Cara was not anything like the cold bitch that I had first thought. She was a victim, the same as I was, albeit a more experienced one. After a few carefully ambiguous questions I had established that she was both willing and able to be very frank and open with me. In an attempt to take my mind off my impending nightmare, I had asked her about herself.

She had been taken by Vivienne three years ago now. She was twenty but her perfect, soft face made her look younger. Vivienne had made her quit medical school and had trained her to work for her. I warmed to her when she joked that she didn’t normally go out looking like that. She had made the joke in a kindly, self-deprecating way that made me feel that she would never judge me, and that she understood , from experience, what was happening to me. She told me what was expected of her and, by inference, what I would have to start to learn.

For her ‘role’, she was the posh, immaculately groomed, ‘clothes-horse’ of Vivienne’s stable. She wore only the very finest designer gear; all the bleeding-edge fashions. She had the most modern, stylish hair and was treated to all the options available at Trisha’s shop, which was by far the most exclusive in the area. She was probably one of the best dressed women in town.

She started to explain that her role was to be the unavailable, out-of-their-league, ‘it’ girl who could, on this occasion, possibly, actually be theirs. It was almost the complete opposite to the ‘slut’ role, which I would be learning, but only superficially so. At the end of the day, she had said, she serviced probably more men than any of the other girls.

She closed her eyes in bliss as she tasted the first mouthful of her fresh gin and tonic. It struck me then that I would probably not be allowed to drink much more from now on. I took a deep glug from my own, I had never needed Dutch Courage this much before.

Cara had been a prodigiously bright young student. She had also been socially aware, a punk; she had always shunned the traditional idea of how a woman should behave and look. She had hated the kind of girl who was a slave to society and especially to fashion. She had never worn traditionally feminine clothes or make-up, rarely skirts and certainly, never, ever, high-heels. She thought that women that did, were the worst victims of society.

She had had a shaven head and had worn a ‘Dead Kennedys’ T-shirt and had been fresh from an animal’s rights march when she had enrolled in a deep relaxation therapy programme to help with her learning.

Vivienne had immediately tormented the young, anarchic, tomboy. Cara’s version of hell was realised when she was made-over, initially with a short blonde wig, to look like a sexy, millionaire’s trophy wife. It was years behind her now and I could see that those years had been long ones but in spite of the time, the affront to her soul was still obvious. She sipped her drink again to try and move on from such painful thoughts. She sat forward and announced that we had come out for a reason and that we should get down to business now. I hoped that I had not upset her by raking up her past.

I then listened to her with horror and fascination as she laid out the fundamental rules that I would have to play by.

We were going to go across to another bar. This one would be packed full and would be the venue for my ‘debut’. I was going to start meeting and greeting men. My legs trembled as she spelt it all out. She would help me with a few chat up lines but said that it would be very simple; I would be direct and I would be with a man outside, in the back alley, before the night was through.

I started to shiver and I could feel myself starting to cry.

‘No, Anita, no’ she took me by the chin ‘no more crying from you, you must do this and you will do this. You have to pull yourself together. I know it’s not nice, I was there too, don’t forget, I know exactly how easy it is, but you HAVE to do this, you hear me?’

‘I……..I don’t think I can, I mean I don’t think I could actually do that’

‘Well you’re going to, and you’ll see. It’s actually easy. You really don’t know how easy it is. That’s the whole point of tonight’s exercise; it’s an introduction for you. Its a chance for you to go out as the new you and see the effect you have’

I sobbed inwardly as she equated the person I looked like with the person I knew I was and the person that I would have to be.

She told me that I would have to meet men’s advances with encouragement. A grab on the ass should be met with a ‘don’t do that unless you mean it’ type remark. I would confide, very early, that I was not wearing underwear and was in terrible need of a really good fuck. Either that or I would tell them of my unswerving desire to give them a blowjob; the choice was mine, tonight.

I reverted to shaking my head and trying to explain that I couldn’t do that. In truth, I knew that I had no choice though. In desperation I suggested that I rang up Vivienne, maybe she could take away my anxiety and make me relax again, like she had done earlier. Cara had said that if I did, and that was my choice to make, she would certainly help to motivate me but that I was in no position to state my terms to my own Mistress. She told me that Mistress had paralysed the last girl on her first night out because she had fucked it up. She had spent the night, frozen, completely unable to move, packed into a tight coffin. Every hour a buzzer had sounded for five minutes and she had been punished. Cara said that she was never the same again and on her second chance she had performed perfectly.

I was stunned. This option had seemed brutal, although when I considered Vivienne, my terrible Mistress, it had seemed less surprising. I swallowed anxiously. Could I go ahead with this, was I actually capable of approaching a man and saying those things?

I decided, then and there, that I would have to be, or I would be doing it in a few nights time, after a punishment that would surely reduce me to madness.

Cara went on. She said that the man’s needs should always be paramount; that they came first, always. For example, if I were to come during sex, then I was not to lose the slightest stroke of my work on his cock. Neither should I use either of my hands to arouse myself unless it was as a show to arouse him. They should otherwise, always be on him, for his pleasure.

She told me that, as well, we should always act like we were having the best sex of our lives, with the best possible lover. We should be very appreciative, always thanking them afterwards, but also we should be admiring, almost awestruck, and let them know how incredibly, irresistibly good they were. Every man should feel like he has just had the fuck of the century. Cara said that this was what made a man come back for more and was critically important for business. She said that because we, as a group, were so well trained and well kept, and because we had such a good business approach, we were well beyond competition from crack-whores and traditional, money-sluts. She laughed and said that she should probably stop lecturing me in whore-philosophy now.

As we neared the bottom of our glasses and my heart was beating faster and faster, she told me that the best thing I could do from now on was to try and enjoy myself in any way that I could. I should find some artistry in what I was doing; enjoy a hard, passionate fuck; get off on the feminine power I could wield or whatever else I could find in my new life.

Like a little girl on her first day before school, I had sat, hanging on her words. She was honest and was trying to help me in the only possible way that she could. My stressed mind returned to the idea of ringing Vivienne for a possible escape. No. She would just hurt me, terribly, over the phone. She would remind me of the consequences of not going through with it. No, she would not give me the help that I so badly needed and I knew better than to bother my ‘Mistress’ with my dilemma, terrible though it was.

‘Now, to make this work, you need to ooze confidence, especially dressed like that, or you’ll send out confusing signals. Mistress trained you to smile already, so we’ll do that tonight and apart from that, you just need to stand up straight and I don’t want to see you lowering your eyes, okay?’

I was silent

‘Anita, I have trainer privileges on you and I have my own orders and my own consequences………I will punish you if you don’t do this properly’

My eyes widened woefully, begging, but at the same time, I knew that it was not in her power to grant me mercy.

I nodded obediently. I would do everything that she had told me. She held my hand.

‘One man; however you want him. That’s it for tonight, Anita. Ok. It’s really not as bad as it could be…………………………………………So, tell me………………what kind of guy turns you on?’

I was momentarily speechless, the whole night was surreal.

‘Er…..well…..tall, handsome, kind, gentle’ I was just making it up now.

‘Come on Anita, now’s the time to be honest about the type of guy that does it for you, I mean you’ll eventually have to do them all, but tonight you are the one with the choice and you won’t often have that luxury, believe me. Have you never fantasised about anything more…….well, horny?’

I blushed deeply.

‘Well, look, I’m not your Mistress and I’m not going to make you do anything beyond what you already have to do; but from one girl to another, go with a guy that makes you feel horny, it’ll go better for you if you do. Now go to the Ladies and lube your pussy up with this, it’ll make it a lot easier for you’

I tucked the tube into my handbag. I looked at her and then at the table. Bless her. She was really trying to help me in the only way available to her. It was just too much for me. I gripped my hands to stop the tears forming.

‘Cara, thank you’ I said as she stood up and pulled me to my feet.

PART 19

A wave of heat hit me as I stepped into the bar. In my head, my teeth were grinding together; in reality I smiled as sweetly and prettily as Vivienne had taught me to. Feeling Cara behind me, I stood tall and held my head high. I faced forward and, on my impossible heels, stepped into the bar.

It was packed to standing room, almost exclusively with men.

My God, they were all turning to check me out!

I could feel my cheeks burning with shame. I was actually glad of the thick foundation on my face; perhaps it would help to hide my obvious degradation as my deep blush radiated my humiliation to the whole room.

I could feel the latex, tightly snagging around the tops of my legs; cold and chilled from our brief walk in the frozen street. Trying to pretend that I was somewhere else, I strutted towards the bar.

The music was loud but I could make out mumblings, directed towards us. Then there was an explicit, incredulous;

‘Fuck me, look at her!!’

The only way I could stop myself from screaming was to concentrate on something simple. I was intent on just one thing, getting to the bar. Cara was with me, I thanked God as I reached backwards and I felt her take my hand. I stood at the bar, facing it and leaning on it. I ignored the guy on the stool next to me. His eyes had almost popped out of his head as he looked down at my legs and boots. Cara leant over the bar next to me.

‘Good choice Anita, show them that ass, those legs and that naughty skirt’

I spun my head in anger at her.

‘I’m not fucking with you, honest. Keep calm…….okay, calm……good. Lust is power ok, the more a guy wants you, the more control you have; plain and simple. Now you just keep smiling Anita, you’re doing so well, so well honey, I’m so proud of you’

She looked so sincere. I could see that she understood exactly what I was going through. I forgave her and struggled to get the smile back onto my face. This was just awful.

‘Now if you want to take control here, you need to check out the room, and quickly, otherwise someone will hit on you…………and we’re not allowed to turn a guy down, Anita’

Oh my God! NOW she had decided to tell me that rule! I was now even less in control than I had thought I was. Could it get any worse?

I turned a little and started to try and catch the room. There must have been twenty pairs of eyes on my ass alone. I wanted to curl up and die.

I had never been the focus of so much male attention before. To find myself that way, dressed the way I was, was just unreal. I remembered my hair and make-up. I remembered what I was wearing, the top, the skirt, the boots and the earrings, even the little name-necklace and my nails. I closed my eyes in the most abject and complete humiliation; this is how the spotlight had caught me. I had to hand it to Vivienne; she had done me over so perfectly.

I kept the pretty, confident smile on my face as I composed myself and quickly scanned my way around the room. I couldn’t believe I was seriously considering who I would try and fuck.

‘Pretend you’re Julia Roberts’ I told myself ‘pretend you’re her and you’ve got all that confidence; so that you can deal with all of this. Pretend you’re a Pro, pretend you’re her in ‘Pretty Woman’, and pretend you’re experienced, savvy and can handle men’

It was like a mantra. I repeated it to myself and as my gaze swept round, my eye lingered for a split second. I couldn’t believe it, it was the guy from the road-works outside my flat. He caught me and I saw him nodding slowly, appreciatively at me. I looked away in shame but then to my astonishment, I looked back at him and smiled.

Had there been a command from Vivienne or Cara, or had I done that myself? I had no idea but I quickly turned back to the bar and tapped Cara. I told her that I’d seen this guy and that he’d whistled at me earlier. She cut straight to it and asked me if I though he was ‘hot’. I looked away in frustration. I felt the hearts rocking in my ears, my breasts pushing up through the huge oval defect in my top and my crushed, bent toes from my high-heels as I confessed to her that, yes, God damn it! I was attracted to him and in the worst possible way.

‘Well that’s perfect for you Anita’ she had said enthusiastically. She grinned, and for the first time, she looked like the teenager she really was. She composed herself again and then whispered,

‘Now, really sexy banter okay? Tell him you’ve got no panties on; how hot you are; how sexy he is and how much you need him. Ask him if he wants to try your zipper or tell him that you want to drink him dry. Say something blunt and direct like that, nothing complex, keep it simple’

She handed me another drink. I don’t know what it was. I took a suck up the straw. Whatever it was, it was strong. I took another deep slurp.

‘Put this in your bag, it’s on’

She opened my bag and put in a mobile phone; then she shut it inside the bag.

‘Your Mistress likes to hear her girls sometimes, to make sure they are behaving properly. Make sure you make plenty of noise and make sure that he does too, otherwise she will teach you to do it properly and you will suffer.

Believe me Anita, its best this way; there really is only one way here. Now, think sexy thoughts and remember that you can have any man in here; you just have to be ballsy. You look gorgeous. Smile. Now!’

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and looked up and……..there he was.

My heart was pounding. It was a miracle but I managed to get back to my smile.

‘Can….I buy you a drink?’ he stuttered.

It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might actually be nervous approaching me. It calmed me down a little. I saw his eyes steal a glance down at my chest and then back at my face, I could see how affected he was by me; that I had made him feel his powerful, basal urges. He had obviously bought into my slut gimmick; fully. Such a cheap trick had made me almost powerful; I was turning him on and almost had him under a spell. As I remembered the humiliating details of my appearance, I was amazed that he wasn’t ridiculing me. It was inconceivable that he was actually enraptured by me. His attention was different to the type that I had received on the night out on the yacht; this was raw, unsophisticated lust and it was intoxicatingly potent.

I couldn’t believe anyone could actually like the way that I looked but this man was clearly dumbstruck; head over heels. I felt Cara nudging me in the ribs.

He was good looking; blonde, stocky and muscular with an angular, unshaven, darkly stubbled jaw, blue eyes and beautiful long eyelashes. He was the kind of rough looking man that I had never dared fantasise about, he was too dirty for a nice girl to be able to want. To look at him, the way I was doing, made me feel disturbingly uneasy.

He was waiting for his answer. And so, in my bag, was Vivienne. I was trapped and the moment of truth was upon me. All my natural impulses were telling me to run away. The Anita that I had always been wanted to blush and shrink away; ideally, to disappear completely.

I remembered the look on Lisa’s face that afternoon. I remembered Cara and her talk of Vivienne’s coffin. I would have to be brave, heroically brave. I took a little step forward to his ear, balancing on my high shoes. I brushed, so lightly, against his face with my nose before I whispered

‘They don’t sell what I want to drink from you’

It was like I was detached from the whole scene, watching it. I couldn’t believe that I had even thought of that, let alone had just said it. I stepped back and looked him deeply in the eyes. I picked up my drink and slowly, seductively, closed my glossy lips about the straw. I could do this. I could nail this.

I decided, there and then, that there was no merit in trying to finesse the situation. Cara knew what she was talking about and had said to keep it simple. I slowly licked at my straw like I had seen a girl in a film do; I pretended that it was his cock. Burying my shame, I leant forward and confessed that I was not only totally naked under my skirt but that I was all hot and bothered. I looked at him, bashfully, like a naughty schoolgirl and admitted that I thought my zip might be stuck. I asked him, sheepishly and brazenly at the same time, if he could maybe have a look at it for me, perhaps outside at the back of the pub.

He was gob-smacked. He stared at me for a moment in complete denial; he only needed to do a cartoon double-take to complete the cliché on his face. Then, what I had said registered fully, and he started to breathe deeply. He licked his lips and smiled. His face lit up as his lips drew back into a cheeky, devilish grin; I could see the idea taking hold.

‘Come with me little lady, lets see if we can’t fix that problem of yours’

He took my hand and I walked after him, struggling to step fast enough to match his speed. I heard some jeering, probably from his mates; and a wolf whistle; but we were soon out of the bar and into the back yard, in the cold night air.

I looked into his eyes. Here I was; a slut, his slut, to do with as he pleased. I was giving myself to him; I was doing my Mistress’s bidding. Not wasting a second and thankfully taking the lead from me, he backed me against the red brick wall and gripped my ass with both hands. I shuddered, my cheeks held firmly as he pulled me in, towards him. I had very little balance on my boots and I was forced to push my breasts up, into him. His hand was soon up, groping at me. I felt so dirty. I tried to keep on smiling while, in reality, I was petrified.

With a little flick behind me, I felt the tension vanish from my bra. His hands reached under my top and I could soon feel his coarse palms working up my belly until they cupped me, pushing my bra upwards and aside. He pulled my top up to my neck, displaying my taut, buoyant breasts so that he could see my thick nipples standing proudly to attention for him. As he gently pinched them and started to feel my aching, implant ridden glands, I panted with pain as it smarted. He obviously took this as confirmation of my arousal as he pulled me over to one side. He moved me up against a bin.

‘Well, let’s have a look at that naughty little zip then’

I teetered as he spun me round and then pushed my shoulders forward so that he bent me over the bin, facing away from him. The gold chain of my handbag trailed down the side of the corrugated metal and, as I saw the white leather of my bag swinging, bouncing against it. I remembered the phone and that this would all be in vain if I didn’t please Vivienne.

‘Oh, yes’ I moaned. I started to get wet in the eyes; this just couldn’t be happening. I felt a pulling at my skirt and then, unceremoniously, the zip was wide open and it was loose; hanging down from my waist. I sobbed quietly to myself as I felt a hand sliding its way down my inner ass cheeks, until it nestled near the bottom. I could feel him reaching further and then I felt his fingertip at my folds.

‘You horny bitch, you’re sopping wet down here!’

I drew my breath in with surprise as he touched me; my lips were incredibly sensitive. I tried to move away. He had his hand firmly on my ass though, so his fingers stayed exactly where they were. He ventured up higher and I gasped as he found my clitoris and gently pushed into it.

‘Ahhhh!’ I squealed as the sensation hit me.

He wasted no time and started to massage little circles around me with his finger. My God, he had done this before! My breathing became short as I panicked. I hadn’t expected it to feel nice and definitely not this nice. His touch was too good; it was starting to excite me. I felt like I could be driven wild by such a touch and that idea terrified me. No, that couldn’t be! I was not a whore; not a slut in a back alley!

I moaned again for Vivienne, but it was also a relief to let the noise out and not to have to bottle it up.

‘Oh my God’ I moaned as I felt his thumb at my opening, sliding around the entrance to my tunnel, caressing and orbiting the very outside of my hole. I could feel myself gaping, inviting him to enter; I blushed with abject shame.

‘My God! You are so fucking horny’ he breathed.

After another minute, as he continued to stimulate me, I felt his hand leave me. I heard him tearing at himself. I moaned again, this time for Vivienne, and in humiliation. I realised, as he hastily prepared himself; that I was little more than his bitch; I was Vivienne’s bitch waiting to be fucked. I spread my legs and lifted my ass to him in obedience to my Mistress. My surrender to her and my resentment of how she was treating me was now almost complete.

‘Fuck me now’ I pleaded. I told myself I wanted it over with. I was ashamed with myself for having enjoyed his touch. Maybe I really was a common slut after all and that I really did need him to fuck me.

I felt his rock hard prick work its way down my ass crack, lightly dusting and bouncing against my smooth, sensitive inner cheeks and rippling tiny electric surges upwards and through me. My God, I hoped that it was too dark for him to notice the cosmetic tattooing around my hole! I have felt like the vainest slut imaginable for having had such a thing done to me. I felt his head nestle between my lips and I felt my own juices as he slid across me. I whimpered softly, wishing that none of this was happening.

My lips felt puffed and swollen, pulsing with the blood of my arousal. I leant further forward onto my elbows and pushed my pussy upwards; proffering it to him, even if it meant that he may see my designer ass-hole. My stilettos put me just above his cock; at the perfect entry height. In spite of my rampant humiliation, I could feel the heat in my own cunt and I told myself that, therefore, I really must have been a slut.

‘Ahhhhhh’ I gasped, genuinely, as I felt him slide into me. My bottom lip quivered with his intrusion as the reality hit me – I was having sex with a man, like a free-gift whore.

He moved deeply into me, but softly. I was weeping. On top of it all, the pleasure of him filling me was too much; I shouldn’t be able to enjoy this on any level.

This was me, big-titted, conveniently sterilised, in white stilettos, with my ears studded and my face made up like a total slut. My nails spelt out what I was and, as I remembered them, my heart skipped a beat hoping that he had not seen them; although as he pushed into me I was sure that he would be past caring. As I felt him rubbing inside me and exquisitely stretching me, I couldn’t stand the raging, conflicting emotions I was being made to feel; I started to come apart.

‘God you are so. Fucking. Horny!’ he breathed against me.

As he stroked against the front of my tunnel, beautiful waves of warm pleasure radiated up through me. It was unbearable. The tears streamed down my face as he sped up and began thrusting into me, grunting. I started to moan back, into his rhythm.

‘Oh, please, keep doing that to me’ I burst out, trying to keep acting the whore but now drawing upon real emotions to pad out the part. I didn’t know if this was an attempt to convince Vivienne, him, or a moment of true sincerity. Worse than that, I didn’t care.

‘Oh my God’

I felt him stiffen and then slow right down, moaning and gasping as he moved gently but suddenly into me. I actually felt him coming as his cock pulsed and he emptied his load into me. I suddenly felt overcome as I realised that my blind ending vagina was now purely a fuck tunnel; somewhere for a man to spill his seed for pleasure. I pinched myself so that I didn’t burst into tears at that thought. I remembered where I was and what my brief was.

‘Oh Yes, Oh Yes’ I moaned, almost as an afterthought. It had to be good for him. I was so glad that the terrible, reluctant sensations stopped there and I could start to think again; no longer disturbed by such extreme, basal, pleasure.

He pulled out of me and helped me up.

I turned to look at him. He was red faced but looked very pleased. I wiped my eyes and smiled nervously at him, I didn’t want him to see that I had been crying. He didn’t seem to notice or care. As he pulled his cock back and tucked his erection inside his trousers I saw his eyes at my necklace.

He looked into my eyes

‘You’re a pretty incredible fuck, Anita. You’re one hell of a babe, you know that’ he said.

I turned a deep purple and told him that he was pretty fucking incredible himself. As I reached down behind myself and tried to close my skirt, I told him he was the best fuck I’d had all year. I was sure that this would massage his ego and help him to think that I was the fuck of the century, even though I had been far from that. I only hoped Vivienne was listening and that my efforts were being noted. I could feel some of his cum seeping out of me; a globular flow gradually working its way onto the inside of my thigh and starting to run down my leg.

He realised my predicament with the elastic skirt and laughed. He went round behind me and pulled the ends of the hem together so that I could stretch the zip closed through the thick rubber latex. I thanked him for his help and then, remembering Cara, I thanked him, in awe, for his incredible, mind-blowing fuck. His smile widened and he said

‘Any time Anita baby, anytime.’

We made our way back inside.

It was like returning to earth from some strange other-world but the noise, heat and smells of the pub brought me right back down, crash-landing with a bang. An eye of one of the few women in the bar caught me. Her expression was one or absolute derision and total disgust. She shook her head at me in contempt, like I was the lowest piece of dirt on the planet. I broke into hysterics and had to run, immediately, to the toilet, lock myself in the cubicle, close my eyes and start to sob furiously.

In no time, Cara had knocked on the door, made me open it and was cuddling me firmly. I wept uncontrollably, in utter confusion.

She stroked my head and whispered soothing, calming nothings at me. I was so disappointed in myself. I was a slut. I hadn’t resisted at all. She told me it didn’t matter. She kissed me and held me tightly.

She told me that she had seen everything, that I had done fine and that Mistress was pleased with me. I just sobbed into her shoulder but I was relieved that I would not need to be further tormented or punished.

After a few minutes I started to calm down a little. I could feel more of his juice starting to seep its way out and I went to wipe myself. Cara stopped me.

‘Mistress wants that to stay on you tonight’ she said. Her face changed a little and she became my instructress once more.

‘Fix your make-up, then go and give him your number. Write it in lipstick and then tell him to call you so you can get his number. After that you can spend the night with him if you want, or go home’

I looked at her aghast. All I could think about was running back to my room, my bed and screaming for Lisa. How dare she even offer that to me! I was not a slut! I stormed my way to the mirror, wiped my eyes and started to put my make-up back on. I saw her reflection walk up behind me. I ignored her, trying not to start crying again. She reached into my bag and took out the phone. I heard a beep as she ended the call.

I looked up again and into her eyes. I hadn’t meant to be angry at her. She smiled softly, came up behind me and squeezed my shoulder.

She told me not to be hard on myself. She said that my life was going to be hard enough without making a rod for my own back. She said that she would be seeing me again soon and with that, she turned around and left me there; a whore fawning to tidy herself up.

PART 20

I lay in bed. Finally I was totally exhausted and utterly depleted, emotionally. Sleepiness was starting to take me and it was the most merciful thing that had happened all day. I heard a key in the door and then heard it creak open.

I heard it slam and I heard sobbing. I heard rapid, marching footsteps going into the living room and then I heard frantic movements, the crying became louder and the sobs more piteous as she broke down. I figured that Lisa was probably feeling how I had been about two hours ago. I couldn’t leave her. I got up. It was cold so I wrapped a blanket around myself before going to the lounge. The light was on and the floor was littered with stockings, underwear and unfastened shoes. In the corner, naked, curled up in a ball, sobbing and broken, was Lisa.

My heart went out to her immediately and I rushed over to hold her. Her eyes were wide with fear as she held her hands up, holding me off; she didn’t want to be touched. Her eyes were red raw, her face was streamed with black streaks from her eye make-up.

‘Lisa, it’s me, Anita, darling’ I had said ‘it’s only me baby. Ssssshhhhhhh. Its okay, Lisa. It’s okay now darling’

She had carried on sobbing. I was lost already and hardly in any position of strength myself. I wrapped the blanket round her and sat down, naked, next to her. I saw her discarded dress in a tiny pile. There couldn’t have been much to it but it looked to be made of a fine purple silk. Her black stilettos lay nearby, the word ‘Manolo’ stared across at me from the leather sole. A diamond choker lay coiled at her feet. I remembered the clothes that I had taken off and hung up when I got home, they were so different.

The loud sobbing next to me started to bore into my fatigued, spent mind. It wasn’t long before a tear started to trickle down my own face and I sat, silently, next to her, my eyes screwed up, curling into my own little ball.

After a minute, she reached across to me and wrapped the blanket round me. We looked at each other and then grasped each other tightly. With the blanket pulled tightly around us, to protect us, we wept together. We wept at what was our lot. I had worked through it all so many times that night as I lay there, unable to sleep, but I had found no resolution; I doubted if I ever would. Vivienne, my Mistress, had smashed me down even further today. She had maniacally bulldozered her way through more of my most intimate boundaries. She had made me become a slut and no matter which way I looked at it, it tore into my very soul.

Eventually, at about three o’clock I had cried myself dry again and was weary and blurred with fatigue. Lisa, however, was still inconsolable. It was all I could do to get her onto the sofa and get her to drink some hot chocolate with the blanket wrapped around her. She stared blankly ahead with the glazed eyes of a woman who belonged in a mental-care home. I was seriously worrying about her sanity. I lifted the cup to her lips and made her drink some. Finally, she took a little sip and, for the first time in probably an hour, made eye contact with me.

I cuddled her some more and eventually managed to get her into bed, holding her and gently stroking the hair on the side of her head. Eventually she breached her silence.

‘I think……I think I’m going to go mad’

As I clutched her, I had worried about my own sanity. I couldn’t think of anything to say to her; I had the same fears and no answers. I had also been stretched to such an extent that I would never spring back; I would never be the same. After a time she opened up a little. She kept breaking down as she remembered all the horrible things from her day. I just listened. I didn’t want her to rake up things that she didn’t want to so I didn’t ask her a thing. I had no useful wisdom to impart to help her with her dire situation and I was, on top of it all, so very tired; but I stayed awake for her, to listen.

She had been taken out early that morning by Trisha. She was going to get a new high fashion, ‘fuck me’ trophy-secretary look. Lisa had instantly balked at the idea and had made no secret of it. Trisha had been delighted and had forced her to follow, at heel, as she led her through the shops, threatening her with a few things. She wanted her dressed very expensively, so that she would be an absolute prize; but she wanted her sexy; very, very sexy.

To make it worse, Trisha had started to touch her. In fact, she couldn’t keep her hands off her. She kept following her into the changing rooms and when the curtain was shut, she would start to caress and work her hands over her. Lisa found this deeply unsettling and when Trisha, looking her lustfully in the eyes, slid her hand down into her panties and made a slow but penetrating stroke up the front of her slit, Lisa had torn herself away, yanking out her Mistresses hand in defiant repulsion. When she told me this, I had gasped. That was why she had earned herself a punishment earlier.

This had been further compounded when, halfway through their shopping trip, they had been joined by Vivienne and had all sat down in the café at Harvey Nicholls. They had given her an interrogation, similar to the one that I had received, except they had obviously been less forceful with her ‘disinhibition’. She had, in spite of her hanging punishment, tried to fob them off with a few whimsical ideas for her ‘look’; but they had caught her out.

When they had eventually flicked the switch in her mind that opened her up fully, and she was forced to tell the truth, the real answers had unmasked and exposed her as the liar that she really was. She had sat there shaking with fear, a trapped animal, as Trisha told her that she had earned herself, in the space of an hour, a second punishment. She wept as she recalled how easily she had been played and how stupid she had been for trying to lie. I gulped and thanked my lucky stars that they had not set that trap up for me.

They had then gone back to the shops and hunted out some of the key items that would really get to her. She hated to show off her legs, so they bought a selection of fashionable, mini-skirt-suits. She hated ‘fuck me’ office heels and patterned or fishnet stockings, so they had bought a very thorough selection. She had fretted as item after item was bagged up for her. She couldn’t believe what was being done to her; it was one of her nightmares coming true. Trisha had purred constantly with lustful approval as she had tried everything on.

Lisa was used to dressing very professionally and conservatively, she had, after all, been a lawyer. She deliberately avoided looking sexy or overly feminine and she admitted, under duress, that she had actually looked down on the secretarial staff that did dress like that. Her firm had been huge and they had had many sexy young girls out to make their mark with daringly provocative but incredibly fashionable outfits. With Trisha’s compelling guidance, she had reluctantly recalled the details of these. She had listed all the essential and defining things that she would need for her new look. Her Mistresses had grinned as she had slowly spilled her guts to them. Then she had been made to find everything and buy it.

She curled up as she remembered how she had been made to look and how satisfied Trisha had been with the end result. I thought that I would have been glad to have been dressed like that, especially given what they had condemned me to wear, I didn’t feel the same way about it as Lisa. I accepted that everyone was different and that we all had our own, different and painful buttons. Vivienne had pressed mine as Trisha had pressed Lisa’s.

As she finished her hot chocolate, she started to relax just a little as she carried on talking. At the end of the morning, she had been taken to Trisha’s beauticians shop and had been left there for her makeover. They had cut and styled her hair, done her nails, shaped her eyebrows and made her up. She had then been sprayed with Trisha’s choice of perfume and set to sit and wait for her Mistress to return. It was then, just before I had met her in the car-park, that she had first been punished.

She broke down again as she recalled it and I deliberately didn’t ask her about it; I just held her. I could see in her eyes that it must have been much worse than I could imagine. A new wave of fear swept over me as I sensed the power, the terrible magnitude of this thing that Vivienne had put in our heads that we might be disciplined. I shuddered as Lisa started to speak again.

For the afternoon she had been sent home and had spent two whole hours on the training machine. I contrast to my own time; all of hers was spent working on the artificial pussy, with her mouth. It had allowed her a few breaks between programs but had otherwise pushed her to her absolute limit. Her tongue had burned as the poor muscle had been worked to exhaustion; like never before.

At a time that must have coincided with Trisha’s disappearance from my shopping trip that afternoon, she had visited Lisa at the house, and had punished her again; this time for her behaviour in the changing room. There must have been something else, some awful detail that was too painful to share because she stopped talking there and reverted back to her blank stare. I shook her, until she looked at me once more.

Again I asked nothing, but she wept hoarsely as she told me what the worst part of it all was. As if things weren’t bad enough, apparently there was going to be a change of plan for her. Trisha had delighted in revealing it to her as she had lain sobbing, begging, and clinging to her Mistress’s shoe; that she was going to have Lisa fixed. She was going to become her very own, perfect, personal assistant. She was to become her fully trained sex-toy; exactingly schooled in the arts of pleasing a lady and she would be made to suffer, exquisitely, for her Mistresses pleasure. Dumbstruck at the horror of her unfolding future, she had then been made to lie down flat on her back while Trisha froze her for the next hour, to think about what she had done and how she would learn to apply herself from now on. After spilling all this out she collapsed into a flood of tears again. She was to become Trisha’s personal slave. She was to be utterly at the mercy of the woman that she was most afraid of; and she would be her lesbian pleasure slave.

Lisa fixed me with an ice cold stare. I could now see that this was what had been wrenching at her sanity.

To prepare her for her new role, her evening had been not dissimilar from my own, in terms of smashing through her most intimate boundaries.

She was dressed in her own new style but instead of being taken to a pub, she was taken to a lesbian pick-up bar. She didn’t tell me any more of the details and I could understand why; I was not going to tell her about my incident in the back alley. It occurred to me that she had been out a lot longer than I had though, so there was plenty more potential for her abuse. I could only feel her pain with her; I could do nothing to ease it.

After that, she spent a few minutes just staring down at the floor. Eventually, she came to her senses and asked if she should pleasure me, as we had to do at bedtime. I looked at her, dishevelled and mentally unravelling. She looked like it would be the final straw. I looked at her tearful face and remembered the cum still inside me. I shuddered knowing that that filth was still there, setting; hardening within me; an evil surprise for anyone who went down on me. I simply couldn’t bring myself to make poor Lisa lick that. There was no way that I would be able to become aroused given the horrors that we had both endured that day. Consumed with pity, I told her that she had been through enough and was sure that she had done more than enough pleasuring for one day. She had looked into my eyes and had dropped he head to my bosom, burying into me. She had kissed me and I cradled her, I would try and protect her. In no time, thoroughly burnt out, we both went to sleep, in each others arms.

PART 21

It was ten in the morning when we awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. It didn’t stop, even after a minute, as I emerged from my sleepy twilight. In the end, Lisa beat me to it and stood there, listening.

‘Yes Mistress’ I heard her say and then she put the phone down.

I noticed that the computer screen was flashing. I started to worry that we had overslept as I clicked the mouse. Up popped a sheet with ‘Training Plans’ written at the top. There followed the day’s date. There were then two columns, one was Lisa’s and one mine. I was immediately glad that the first item was scheduled for eleven o’clock; someone had appreciated that we had had a difficult day.

I was less happy as I saw that I was first up with ninety minutes on the training machine. Subconsciously, my lip hung down and my shoulders slouched as I remembered how unpleasant it had been the day before. I was taken with a feeling of resignation and helplessness. If the screen had said four hours, then that is what I would have had to have done; none of my life was to be under my own control it seemed. As I scanned my way down the list; erotic dance; behaviour development; dress inspection; assignment, I started to fret; would I never be set free?

The residual comfort from the night’s sleep now fully dissipated, I called Lisa over and she looked, equally dismayed, at her own list. It seemed that the erotic dance session would be for both of us, whereas for her first session she simply had to get dressed and do the shopping for the house. I would much rather have done that than face the machine again.

I took the spare hour as a chance to get a shower and finally clean yesterday’s deposits from inside me. Then we had some breakfast. I couldn’t get the impending tasks out of my mind, so I couldn’t relax as we drank our juice and coffee. With the cups drained and sitting in the empty sink, we got ready to start our programmes. At two minutes to eleven, Lisa had just fetched her shoes to go out, and I was ready to take my robe off and submit to the accursed machine but there was a knock at the door. Lisa looked at me in surprise and answered it.

‘Inside, NOW, slut!’

It was Vivienne and she marched her way in; she had a scowl on her face. Immediately frightened, I threw myself onto the floor and started to frantically lick at her boot; but she kicked me away. Lisa’s attempt was also met with a firm rebuke, Vivienne’s heel digging into her forehead and shoeing her painfully away.

‘Kneel there, both of you, heads to the floor’

We both scrabbled to comply. I was shaking. Mistress was not happy.

Vivienne cut straight to the point

‘You have deliberately disobeyed your instructions. I am told that you decided it was not necessary for your late night oral training session?’

My heart sank, Oh no, please not that! We both whimpered

‘You, slut’ she kicked at Lisa ‘must actually get off on punishments; you remember that I said that any more trouble from you and you would go into the slave box, yes?’

At that, Lisa just snapped.

‘NO!’ she wept loudly.

‘No! Please No!’ she screamed, desperately trying to get her mouth near to Vivienne’s boot. Once more she was pushed aside, this time with her toe.

‘No please Mistress’ she collapsed ‘it wasn’t me! Anita said we shouldn’t do it, I thought that we had been let off! Please Mistress, it wasn’t me! I had nothing to do with it! Anita said not to do it!’

My fear rose higher and then redoubled as I looked in terror, in utter disbelief, at Lisa, stretching herself out towards Vivienne, sobbing in sheer, broken desperation.

‘So it was Anita was it?’ asked Vivienne, calming slightly and regaining some of her feline poise.

‘Yes! Yes Mistress!’ she welcomed.

‘Sit up girl’

Lisa struggled to sit up, kneeling back on her heels. She got into her best slave posture. Vivienne walked over to her and started to toy with her hair, running a finger through it and then grabbing a handful.

‘So, slave, should I give your punishment to Anita?’

I watched in horror, like this just wasn’t happening as she rapidly nodded her head, desperately; affirmatively.

‘No’ the word slipped out of my mouth, quietly, pathetically, an expression of my disbelief.

Vivienne stepped over towards me. Her voice was calm and cold.

‘Is this true, slut, was this your idea?’

Oh God, I couldn’t believe I was in this situation. I started to cry out of pure fear. Oh God, I was in trouble.

‘Yes Mistress’ I sobbed, half insane with fear ‘…….but I thought that….’

‘Silence!’ she shouted.

‘I don’t want to hear it’

‘I’m so sorry Mistress. I didn’t want to….’

‘Shut up now you dumb fucking slut, or I’ll double your punishment!’

I clamped my mouth with my hand and sobbed as quietly as I could. I huddled myself into a little ball in panic and misery; there was definitely going to be punishment.

‘You may go’ she said dismissively at Lisa

‘Thank you Mistress’ I heard as she scurried off to the front door and then out.

‘Stay silent slut’ she said. I watched as her expression became severe again and she started to fume.

‘You will NEVER assume to make alterations to your orders; never, ever. You will do EXACTLY as you are told to. You have disappointed me slave, really you have. I was pleased with you, you know, but now you have annoyed me. You will learn that that is not a good thing to do ’

I lay there, frozen with terror as she regained her control. Her eyes narrowed and she calmly told me to lie flat on my back.

I did it, almost in a trance, whimpering with fear. I couldn’t even beg pathetically, she had taken even that option from me.

‘Freeze’ she said and at once, like in her office, I was immobile; rigid like a board and stuck, unable to move, on my back.

When I realised that she had done this, I struggled, frenziedly, to move; to shake myself about; to scream my lungs out – but nothing happened, not a damn thing. Inwardly I was crying my heart out; I knew no peace at all and felt like my mind was about to snap.

Then I heard that she had said something, but I couldn’t hear the words.

It was sudden and it was so brutal. It hurts me now, so terribly, to even think about it and I don’t think that it is possible to adequately convey exactly how severe my pain was.

In a split second, my entire body was rapt with agony.

I felt such intense, such unbearable, lancing pains, that I could never have imagined such a degree of suffering was humanly possible. As it tore through me I understood, in my torture, that my Mistress had inflicted this upon me, as my lesson and I would never forget it.

Every part of me; my arms, legs, stomach, breasts, my genitals and my face; coarsed with searing, white-hot agony; like I had been thrown into a steaming cauldron of boiling fat. My skin was obviously refusing to cook, so the pain didn’t subside as my nerves were eventually eaten away by the fire. It was so perfectly torturous, so excruciatingly violent and exquisitely unendurable. I could never have possibly conceived of such complete suffering. I was sure that I was dying as my soul was ripped out and my body was being gradually but thoroughly destroyed.

Unimaginably, almost worse than the sheer physical pain, was the raw terror that accompanied it. It was as if a switch had been thrown in the darkest recess of my mind and my deepest, most pre-eminent emotions had been activated, fully. I felt the fear fevering up inside me. It rose and multiplied, over and over, until I was petrified; consumed with the dread of my own certain impending doom. I felt like the sheer unabated terror would fracture my mind, splitting it forever into a thousand pieces. I lay there perfectly still, screaming dementedly to myself, wanting only to cease existing, so that my suffering could end. I lost track of time completely but I now know that it was twenty seconds before I was shocked out of it and was perfectly awake. A mere twenty seconds was all it took and it had felt like five minutes. The torture had stopped but I was far from normal, it had stamped me; burning itself indelibly into me and branding my mind. I was now scarred, it formed a reminder of the consequences of my disobedience and of my Mistress’s displeasure. In twenty seconds, she had broken me, utterly.

In hysterics and on the far verge of sanity, I weakly but desperately crawled over to my Mistress and clutched hold of her boot. The only thing that mattered was to not be punished any further. I rejoiced as she didn’t kick me away. I wept and licked at her and I swore that I was sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I pledged my unswerving obedience to her in a desperate attempt to convince her not to return me to the pain.

I looked up fearfully and she smiled down at me. Her happiness filled me with hope and I renewed my pathetic efforts to curry her favour; pressing my face into her black leather boot.

When she finally told me to kneel and said that my punishment was over, I wept tears of joy and devotedly thanked her over and over. She must have taken some pity on me as she walked to me and touched my head. As I heard her mutter something, I felt my mind start to calm and for the first time, I started to regain control of myself. Sniffing repeatedly, I knelt still as she stroked my head.

I felt a beautiful relief sweeping through me with every touch of her fingers. I knelt at her feet and she ran them softly through my hair. The happiness I felt as my Mistress petted me was just overwhelming. When she stopped and sat on the sofa in front of me I could only stare at her in a confused awe, wanting her touch; needing it even but not understanding why. She had such extreme power over me, she could elevate me or plunge me to hell with a word.

She smiled at me again and clicked her fingers. Within a second I was nestling and pressing my face and body against her legs, a forgiven pet, weeping at the beauty of her mercy. I needed her touch so badly. The punishment had been so awful; I needed to feel her forgiveness. That she didn’t kick me away was enough and I revelled in the knowledge, as I lovingly kissed her boots, that she was, once again, satisfied with me.

‘You really are a natural slave you know’ she mused ‘I’ve really never seen such an intense reaction before’

She lifted my face so that I looked up at her. The stern, sadistic expression was gone and her face was almost warm with a gentle smile. I was so confused with how I felt about.

‘Now you be a good girl and work hard at your studies’

I nodded at her, ‘Yes Mistress’

As she stood up, picked up her bag and walked away, I almost wanted to reach after her. Watching her towering black spike heels work their way towards the door I felt the memory of my punishment resurface. As I struggled to keep from crying, I vowed that I would never, ever, disobey her again; even if it meant taking a knife to myself.

Tearfully, I went over to the computer to start my training. I would have to work hard.

PART 22

As I stepped out of the house, I held my fear in check and made a mental review of all the things I had to remember to do; there was no way I could afford to fuck anything up. The day had been terribly busy and actually just plain terrible. Now I was hurrying because I knew I didn’t have much time to do what needed to be done.

After another session licking, sucking and fucking myself to exhaustion on the latex sensor-cock and being thoroughly worked through increasingly complex routines by the computer, I had more sessions; but this time, in other ‘disciplines’. I had not been able to approach them relaxed and with a clear mind as once again, my jaw ached from all the blowjob techniques I had been made to practice. As well as that, the muscles in my vagina throbbed from over-exertion and I was breathless from spending the last twenty minutes being forced to rapidly ‘bunny-fuck’ the cock as I straddled the training horse.

Of the new classes, the first of which, had been taken by Cara.

I was not interested in learning ‘Erotic Dance’ but I had been overjoyed to see her as she had stepped through the door wearing her calm, worldly smile and a tight black track-suit. I had hugged her tightly. After what Lisa had done earlier, she was now the closest thing to a friend that I had and that was so depressing. I felt a little lump swell in my throat as I thought that, but then forced a smile onto my face; I didn’t want to lose her as well.

As we had walked into the living room I saw a logo on the back of her track-suit jacket. Written in pink, in cursive neon lettering was the word ‘Zippers’. I had never heard of that brand before but before I could ask her about it, I heard the door open a second time and, turning, I could see Lisa come in. I looked away immediately but could hear that she was carrying lots of bags. I wasn’t going to go and help her, not after what she had done. She must have dumped the bags straight on the floor because in no time she was in front of me, tearful, and on her knees.

I looked down at her and just couldn’t hold myself from crying as I saw her, weeping at my feet,

‘I’m so sorry Anita, please, you have to believe me, I’m so, so sorry, so very sorry……I just couldn’t take what they were going to do to me….I didn’t mean to hurt you, I love you!…I just couldn’t…not being put in that box…..not that….’

She was hysterically upset, barely able to speak with her frantic sobbing. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I had been so hurt that she had betrayed me but, now that I had felt that unspeakably evil thing myself, I could understand why she had done it. Maybe I would have done the same had I been threatened with more of it; I couldn’t say. Either way, we both had far too much to deal with, without any difficulties between us. I wasn’t going to punish her any more, even though she had so readily sold me down the river. I could see that she had suffered with her guilt already and was clearly and terribly sorry.

I knelt down next to her and held her. I told her that it was okay. She grabbed me tightly and tried to break a smile through her tears. I kissed her and she struggled to look at me again. I could see that it would take a lot before she could forgive herself for what she had done to me. She knew exactly what she had condemned me to and she knew the magnitude of her act.

‘Ahem’, Cara cleared her throat loudly ‘come on now you two. You have work to do now. You will behave and you will apply yourselves to this; as if I’m not happy, you will both be punished again. I have control and punishment privileges over both of you and I will use them if I don’t think you are working your hardest. You will remember that and you will treat me as a Mistress’

I was a lot happier with Cara than my other two Mistresses. We both knelt in front of her and she had us strip there. She had us both wearing only our shoes; I fetched and tied on my white ankle-boots. She had then stood each of us up and had inspected and then adjusted our posture. She spent a good time teaching us a number of poses and then cycled us through them calling out each one by name – ’Hands on hips’, ’Look at my tits’, ’From behind’….etc…

She then spent an hour showing us some basic dance moves.

She put a disc into my player and made us sway and gyrate our hips to the pulse of the beat. She told us to practice that whenever we had a few spare moments, she wanted the basic rhythm to become like second nature to us. As the lesson moved on, she had each of us trying to lap dance in front of her as she sat on one of my dining chairs, giving us pointers.

She had brought a crop with her which she had taken from her bag after the first few minutes. She still had her kindly way about her but there was no mistaking that she was here to train us and was very much in charge. I felt a lot less nervous in front of her, while she was holding a whip, than I did in front of Vivienne, even if she had nothing. I knew that Cara would have no option but to treat us like this. She would have the threat of her own punishment hanging over her, to be instigated if she didn’t achieve results with us.

She was, however, a superb teacher. She expressed what she wanted us to do very clearly and encouraged us when we did it properly. Halfway through the session, I lowered myself, bending my knees, keeping my back straight, swaying in front of her, with my hands above my head as she had shown me, so I was lifting my breasts. My mouth was parted as she had shown us and my tongue was just visible inside my lips, like I was ready to kiss or lick. She wanted me to have my legs further apart for that move. I didn’t resent her for training me, I knew she had to, but it didn’t lessen the pain from her riding crop as she switched me cruelly on my inner thighs telling me to look like I was lowering myself, needfully, onto a lovely, erect penis.

A tear of pain in my eye, I repeated the move for her, pretending that I was slipping myself over a stiff cock until she smiled, nodded and beckoned Lisa over to try the same. She told Lisa that her Mistress would want to see her feminine needs too, so she would make the same display that I had. She threw herself into it and escaped the lashing that I had received. Soon after however, she was whipped for not smiling and not looking enthusiastic or hot enough as she danced. As this was a more serious transgression, Cara beat her with ten fearsome strokes across her breasts. Lisa stood still with her hands behind her back, holding her breasts forward, yelping miserably with each blow. At the end, the tears ran down her face.

I had tried my hardest to do that well, the whole way through, as it was the first and most important lesson that Cara had stressed to us – in all things we did, we must look like we were joyful, horny, appreciative and desperate for sex. Following her advice, I tried to imagine that I was deliriously hungry for sex as I danced. I pumped and ground my body like a whore and it helped me to avoid her whip. I felt like such a slut though.

After the dancing I was even more fatigued and was glad that my next session was a less physical one. In fact, the ‘Behaviour’ session consisted of just me, alone, doing some research. I sat in front of the computer screen while Lisa sat behind me, noisily lapping at the artificial pussy while the computer gave her instructions.

I followed the programme that was laid out for me. I was to browse through the extremely comprehensive library on the hard drive and the internet and ‘get ideas’ for my role as a ‘slut’. The focus was not to be on sexual technique but rather how a girl behaved and if there were any mannerisms, touches or finesses that I could pick up or develop. After sufficient time, I would be interviewed with a view to planning my behaviours. My mind looked back to the time Vivienne and Trisha had sat me down in the Café; I knew how effective their interviews could be. As I read the instructions, I could feel that I was being subconsciously forced into a state where I would, once again, not be able to hold anything back. As I looked down the list of titles and I felt my hand move the mouse pointer, I despaired and felt a sense of woe in my very soul.

PART 23

Later that day, after being given quarter of an hour to dress, I stood in front of my Mistress once more. Lisa had left the flat, I had no idea why, and I was all alone with Vivienne. I was quaking and was so glad that she was smiling.

When she had arrived we had sat down together at my table and ‘talked’ about my afternoon of research. Out of everything that she had done to me, I could see that she got the most pleasure from systematically teasing my distastes, fears and weaknesses from me so that she could toy with me, before making me do the same, awful things. I would even have rather spent the whole afternoon wracking my body, pleasing the machine, than being made to slowly but deliberately hammer nails into my own future.

To start with, after she had instantly rendered me fully obedient, I had shown her a video of a girl walking. I had found it after having been horrifyingly, and consequently irresistibly, drawn to the title. I hated the way that the loop had been set up inside me. I would scan my way down a list or look at some pictures or films. The ones that I were most afraid of, most scared about being made to do and the most appropriate for a ‘slut’ would be obvious. I would then be compelled to examine them. The walk had been one such instance. The girl from ‘Desperate Cum Sluts’ had me whimpering with shame. Her walk, the things she did and the things she said; and how she said them. I had never seen a woman behave in such a disgraceful way before; so explicitly wantonly, she had not a shred of dignity about her. That accursed film would lead to a wealth of misery and despondent humiliation for me.

The girl on the screen was dressed scarily similar to how I had been; she wore white heels and a pink dress and even large gold earrings. She approached the camera with a walk that would have been described as ‘sultry’ if it was about a tenth as extreme. The way it was, it could only have been described as utterly depraved. It was not the sexy, business-summoning walk of a whore; it was the wanton, debauched walk of a nymphomaniac, overcome and peeking with raw lust. The look on her face was one of obsession and deep, basal need; you could see that she longed for a cock in her, anywhere. I looked away in shame but Vivienne grabbed my face and shoved it back towards the screen. I watched her again; sullen and resigned.

As I watched her slowly writhe forward, offering herself to the viewer, I looked at Vivienne, watching the screen herself with a wide, satisfied grin on her face.

She had me emulating the walk in my own living room. She made me get the face right in my mirror and then practice the walk, watching myself. It wasn’t hard to do, physically at least, although the thought of anyone seeing me putting on such a display was just too much and I had to keep pushing the anxiety from my mind.

That wasn’t the worst of it by far though.

I had clammed up when Vivienne had asked me what else I had found. She had smiled knowingly at me and I had tried to shrink away; like a puppy, knowing she was going to the kennels. She had then looked very pleased and snapped her fingers, pointing to the floor next to her chair. I had quickly got up and knelt right next to her, on the floor. She put her hand in my head, scratching at me with her long nails and took a grasp of my hair, bending my head upwards to face her.

‘I’ll let you show your Mistress from down here’ she grinned down at me.

I was starting to cry as I reached up and moved the film on to a bookmark that I had set earlier.

As the film played I could only see my Mistress’s face. I watched as a wicked smile formed and her lips separated into an evil grin.

‘Oh yes slut, I definitely approve’

I sank my head onto her leg and wept,

‘Yes Mistress’ I said.

The film had shown the same girl, the ‘heroine’, the ‘desperate cum slut’ herself, finally getting her satisfaction. She had sucked her co-star’s huge cock with a gusto that suggested it was essential to her survival, like it contained some sort of antidote. Then, just before his climax, he had pulled out of her mouth and while she had left it wide open for him, he had unloaded spoonfuls of thick white semen onto her face and into her mouth. I found the whole thing quite repulsive but it was the part that followed that I was showing my Mistress.

The girl looked like her most incredible dream had just come true as she relished the cum in her mouth. It was the look on her face, there was no mistaking what she was. Then, slowly and carefully she wiped up some more of the cum on her face and slowly, savouringly, put her finger in her mouth sucking on the precious juice. She closed her eyes in ecstasy as she, one by one, licked he fingers clean, savouring every drop of the delicious cum. The show that she was making was the most humiliating sex act I could have thought of at that time. It had me quivering in my Mistress’s lap. I had tasted a tiny amount of cum before and I had hated it.

‘Go and get a yoghurt from the fridge, slut. We are going to have you practice doing that in front of the mirror, you have three minutes and then you will give me a show’

I rushed out tearfully, another nightmare coming true. I was soon pretending that I was the same sperm-crazed whore. I lustfully and slowly licked my fingers clean, scooping the yoghurt from my face and licking at it like it was the most joyous delicacy. I kept my eyes focused on myself in the mirror and tried as hard as I could not to start crying.

A snap of the fingers from Vivienne followed and she knelt me down below her again. She took the spoon and gleefully flicked a blob onto my cheek. I then gave her the same show, fixing her eyes with my own and trying to look as depraved as possible. I hated what I was being made to do from the absolute depth of my soul, but the alternative was just not an option. I visualised myself as the girl from the film as I slowly lowered another fingertip of white yoghurt onto my wanting tongue. My heart felt like it was breaking as she smiled down at me and after a while, flicked another glob onto me saying,

‘Good slut! I think this will be your little party trick. You will do it after every cum, what do you think?’

‘Yes Mistress’ I submitted and then, sobbing, I tried to squeeze the words out, there was a little more, something from my own twisted mind.

‘Mistress…….I think…….that I should say that………I just love cum so much’

As a further idea formed my sobbing intensified

‘Good girl, that’s it, let it all out’ she stroked my head

‘Maybe I should scoop some cum out of me, if that’s where it is, and do the same sometimes…..Oh please Mistress…don’t make me do that!’

I collapsed into a fit of sobbing. She slapped me hard round the face but was smiling at me

‘You know better than to say that, but since you feel that way, we can have you do that as well’

She smiled down at me and stroked my head as I wept into her lap. She was so cruel to me that there was nothing else that I could do. I no longer had any hope of mercy from her; it just felt better to cry on someone, even if that person was the complete cause of all my misery. She let me cry in her lap for a good long time, I’m sure she must have enjoyed it. It was after that that she sent me off to shower. She told me to wash myself thoroughly and return to her only in what I needed to walk with.

When I returned, after our ‘little sit down’, Vivienne had further enjoyed herself at my expense. I had tensed and squirmed a she had opened a large medical bag onto the table and she had told me to sit down next to her and to thrust my breasts out at her.

I started to tremble as I saw her take out some medical gloves and a bottle of antiseptic. I squeezed my hands tight trying to stay still even though I was almost paralysed with fear. I wondered how much it was possible for one person to take as I saw her take out two huge syringes, each filled with a clear liquid. I looked at her in terror as her face took on its demonic smile once more.

‘Please’ my eyes begged her ‘I can’t take much more’

She reached over and took hold of my left breast. I almost screamed with fear as she touched me lightly. My obvious discomfort made her laugh loudly. She told me to keep still or she would fist me again. She lifted my breast and examined the suture line. Then she did the same to the other one. I just wished that I was dead. I seriously considered her offer of spending the rest of my life paralysed, being institutionally abused.

‘These are healing beautifully Anita. The stitches will already be starting to dissolve and your scars look very neat; tiny in fact, but good and strong; certainly ready to be…..tested, just a little’

As she ran her finger along the scar lines, I shivered at the unsettling touch. It was a mix of hypersensitive, healing, inflamed breast-skin and numb, nerveless scar-tissue. I shook at the occasional shooting bursts of electric, burning pain as she rubbed firmly against the severed nerves along each incision, causing them to fire-off, randomly. She was in no hurry to stop playing with me, I was like a pet to her, a toy and she was starting to really upset me.

‘He is such an excellent surgeon’ she mused, turning to her medical instruments ‘he always gets such good results. And oh my God!…Very fuckable too, didn’t you think’

She put on the sterile latex gloves and started to soak some gauze. I could smell the clinical scent of the antiseptic as she lifted the dripping gauze with some forceps and turned towards me. I was frozen. She grabbed my left breast firmly and started to swab the cold, flowing liquid around my nipple. I broke a cold sweat. Thin lines of pink fluid ran down, over my breasts and down my belly, as she rubbed and worked my nipple and the area around it. I could feel the copious, spilling antiseptic, cold, and seeping down to my thighs. I watched her, trembling, as she took a second gauze and did the same to my other breast.

A memory from the day at the café came back to me. Under Vivienne’s wicked spell of such brutal self-betraying honesty, she had had to stop me when I had gotten onto the subject of having my body pierced. Getting carried away with my own hideous self-‘slut’ concept, I had envisaged, amongst other things, a pair of thick nipple rings. I had been relieved when she had prevented me from telling her about them, but now my fears had not only returned but were boiling over as my nipples stood, erect and chilled as the cleaning solution evaporated off them. I was terrified that another of my nightmares would now be realised.

I snatched a look at her tray as she took further things from her bag. She was screwing long points onto the two syringes that she had. There was a plastic sheath on each, but inside those, I could see two thick needles. I spluttered out a sob at their sight. Why was I being made to suffer so? What had I ever done to deserve this?

Vivienne looked up from her tray. She let out a chilling, callous cackle. She so loved to see me scared, trembling in anticipation, not knowing what was going to happen to me.

‘I love it when we get to spend some quality time together you know?’ she said, lifting one of the syringes so that it stood vertically, tip upwards. She gave the plunger the slightest test and I could see a tiny droplet form within the plastic needle sheath.

‘Now slut. I know that you do so love your new tits but I wonder if they are still just way too small for you’

My lip trembled out a sob as she asked,

‘What do you think slut?’

She looked at me, hard; she would only accept one answer.

‘Yes Mistress’ my voice broke in quivering tones as I tried hard not to cry.

She fixed me with an ice cold stare and said simply,

‘Beg’

I started to cry properly now. Vivienne’s image blurred as I wept,

‘Please Mistress; I’d love to have big tits…….’

I sobbed to myself; it was one of the things that she had done to me that I loathed the most. I hated the large breasts that I was now made to wear and I was mortified when I had been made to wear clothes that revealed and even emphasised them.

I felt her latex clad hand on my face, wiping at my tears.

‘I’m not convinced that you want them slut. One more chance or maybe we’ll think about some punishment for you’

‘Please Mistress’ I begged, I looked her in the eyes and tried to look sincere ‘I want to have big sluttish tits’

She looked at me

‘…..I want to have huge tits and I want to show them off, I want men to come on my huge bimbo tits’

I was desperate to please her. As I saw her mouth break a smile I breathed more easily.

She laughed and then picked up one of the syringes.

‘Please!’ I whispered.

She grabbed my breast and I watched in absolute horror as she pulled the cap off the needle and turned to point it towards me.

‘No!’ I whispered, frozen with fear as she pushed the tip to the skin just below my nipple and then plunged the needle into my held bosom. I wept hysterically but kept still and obedient as she pushed the needle in to its hilt. I watched as she started to press the plunger.

‘Now. Let’s watch you become even more of a whore as they…….grow’

As she slowly depressed the plunger and the huge vial of liquid began to disappear I watched as my breast slowly started to swell. My sobbing took on a frantic high pitch as Vivienne laughed loudly. I thought that I would pass out as she pulled the needle out and gave my tit a squeeze. It was visibly and palpably taut again, like it had been the week before, when the implants had been fresh. I sobbed myself hoarse as she took the second needle and did the same.

As she depressed the second plunger, at her instruction I repeated,

‘Please make my tits bigger Mistress, I so want my whore tits big’

As I wept the phrase out, she pushed the fluid into me and I watched in revulsion as my other breast bulged and grew. When she took the second needle out I broke down crying. She stood up and dragged me by my hair to the bedroom. She thrust me in front of my dressing mirror and held my head so I had to look at myself; at my chest. I saw her smile of satisfaction as my sobbing was renewed afresh at the sight of my newly stretched breasts.

‘We’ll be doing that little and often Anita, till you look……remarkable’

With me still weeping uncontrollably, she sent me away to dress, telling me that I would be subject to her inspection. She told me to make myself look like the kind of big titted slut who would walk the way I had shown her and dream of gobbling down as much cum as she could. As soon as I was in my bedroom I fell to the floor and pounded it with sheer frustration. My life was so horrible! I did this, but just for a few seconds as I dared not displease my Mistress and risk being late or poorly dressed.

I stood in the pink dress with the open sides and the elastic strips. My smooth crotch was bare to the world below the tiny skirt that was snapped about the tops of my upper thighs. I had fretted about my hair and make-up and had made sure that they were exactly as I had been instructed; I looked like the proper porn-shoot bimbo that I was supposed to. My freshly sore tits bulged dramatically against the stretched fabric and pushed up and out of the cups in the dress. They presented an immense cleavage between the zip-edges of my dark blue leather-look jacket.

There was no way that the jacket could close around me. I so wanted to hide myself away in shame, to cover myself in a huge smock. I couldn’t look at my chest or I would immediately start crying. I looked straight ahead.

My look was completed by the white bag on the gold chain and another pair of my new shoes.

Again I had to concentrate as I teetered on high, five-inch stiletto heels; but this time I wore shoes rather than the ankle boots. These were also patent white. Vivienne had told me at the time that the white stilettos that so perfectly humiliated me would become a constant feature of my outfits, like a trademark. My heart had sunk as I had tottered around the sex shop in them, so perfectly degraded. She had made the further point that they suited my virginal inexperience for the time being but, in my case, they would soon form a delicious incongruity with the depraved slut that I was to become. I had stared at her sullenly, like a bitch about to be punished, like a little girl being forced to wear her mother’s choice of new shoes; that she hated. Vivienne had stood there and smiled cooing over my new shoes.

They were slightly pointed white pumps with a thin strap that closed with a delicate gold buckle around my ankle. At the side of my heels there were several little triangles and other shapes cut out, so the pink flesh of my foot was visible and contrasted against the shiny white of the plastic. They unequivocally shouted ‘trailer-trash’ and I had sulked to myself as I had deliberately selected them, today, for my Mistress and reluctantly fastened them on. I so longed to go back to being ‘boring Anita’ again; to dress in dull, flat, brown shoes. I wished that I could go back in time, burn that advert in the paper and spend the rest of my days dressed like a woman twice my age; as a frump.

‘Walk for me slut’ she purred.

PART 24

I immediately swallowed my pride, fixed my gaze on my Mistress and tried to think like the girl in the video had perhaps done. I tried to imagine that I was desperately horny. I knew that I had to ooze confidence and throw myself into it; it really was an ‘all or nothing’ walk. I took a deep breath and then twisting on one foot, I slowly stepped my other leg forward. My bare skin was on full display from the very top of my thigh to the white plastic of my high heels. I was such a whore. I stepped down so that I would put one foot almost in front of the other; the height from my heels exaggerating the swing and forcing a sinuous, filthily debauched, writhing from my hips as I moved.

I tried to keep it smoulderingly sexy and focussed on my Mistress. I kept my mouth slightly gaping and the shame of my busting cleavage pushed out crassly towards her. While I did this, my hands started to move on my body. I felt like the girl in the film now, a depraved ‘cum-slut’, and I knew I had to play the part as well as possible.

She was smiling at me as I glided across the room to her.

‘Good’ she nodded keenly ‘very good slut! Keep that going, and work those hands up to those tits! Show me how much you love them!’

I swallowed quickly, burying the urge to dissolve into tears one more time. I worked my hands up until I held handfuls of my own inflated breasts. By this time I was standing right in front of her. She giggled at my earnest display, I blushed intensely; I could never win with her.

‘Good slut’ she said as she stood up.

She stood just slightly taller than me, in spite of the height of my heels.

‘One more thing before you hit the road’

She walked out, leaving me standing there. I had so feared having to go out again.

I heard her in the bedroom and then she walked into the kitchen. I heard the banging of pans and the tap running and then some quiet movement. I stood, alone, dressed like a prostitute, in my own living room. I tentatively tried to pull the jacket edges closer together, to try and cover myself a little more. It was totally futile; the jacket was too small for that. So I just stood there, nervously working my balance from shoe to shoe.

After several minutes Vivienne came back in. I could hear water boiling on the stove in the kitchen.

‘You are going to be so hot tonight slut’ she purred mischievously.

I dared not even turn round as I heard her walk up behind me. I felt the chain from my bag and then she spun me round to face her. She was looking straight into me, I had to look down. She took the chain again, this time from the front, and led me forwards.

‘Go to the bedroom and sit at your table’

In no time, Vivienne had me watching in the mirror as she carefully, one by one, started to remove the studs from my ears. Each one was sore and I could see, as she placed each one on my dressing table, the specks of dried blood on the pins. I counted all six out of each ear as I sat there motionless, nervously watching her careful movements.

She went back to the kitchen and soon returned with one of my pans and a small bottle; clearly something that she had brought herself. She placed the pan down on the table and then reached into it. I could see her grinning as she pulled out the first, and largest, of my new matching earrings. My heart groaned, silently.

She just hummed a little to herself as she wiped the pin of the earring with some of her antiseptic and then moved towards my ear. I felt a sting from the alcohol and an aching as she pushed the metal through the young piercing; then she clipped the bar onto its fastening. I watched in misery as she returned her hand to the pan and the hideous ornament continued to hang from me.

Within a few seconds, she was hanging the ‘next size down’ earring in the piercing above on the same ear. It was all I could do to sit still and tolerate the humiliation without reacting. I resisted protesting and I tried my hardest to not give in and give her the pleasure of seeing how I really felt. I watched helplessly as she gradually set all the earrings in place. To my horror, I saw the brazen tart, my perfect ‘slut alter-ego’ starting to emerge in the mirror. The nightmare concept-woman that I had always despised but had only fully conceived of and crystallised that day at the café, was now coming into fruition.

When she had finished, to ‘rub my face in it’, she made me make some of my ‘slut faces’ into the mirror. She made me turn my head to the sides as I did them, to show off my new earrings. She had me licking the air in front of me, ‘wishing for some cock’ as she put it, deliberately rocking my head a little to make the obscene amount of gold dangle and sway in my ears. She told me to push my breasts out more. I felt a crushing wave of panic envelope me as she returned from the kitchen with another yoghurt. She made me practice my ‘party trick’ with my earrings and newly inflated breasts. With her eyes fixed on me, every second of it was torture.

I tried my best to put on a good show for her. As she laughed and taunted me, calling me her ‘ultimate whore’ and a ‘desperate cum slut’, all I wanted to do was to crawl under my bed-sheets, hide and grasp one of my teddies. I wanted to wish myself away; to another place or another time.

My fear only continued to rise when she handed me a bottle of lubricant and told me to make sure I was fit to deliver ‘pussy services’. In abject humiliation, as she watched me, I hitched up my skirt and rubbed a generous amount of the warm, oily liquid onto my folds and deep into myself. I tried my best not to be churlish as I did it. God knows I had never been sunk to such depths before!

‘Your assignment will test your sluttish abilities today Anita’ Vivienne finally spoke.

Her tone was neutral and instructive and on this occasion, that worried me. If she was going to merely expose me, as I was, I’m sure she would have been a lot less pleasant with me; she would have taunted me.

‘You are going to do your first ‘double’ today’

I looked at her in the mirror.

‘You are going to get a man off, twice; once with your mouth and once with your cunt’

I saw her smile at the pleading expression that took to my face.

‘It’s an excellent way of testing your technique. A man will come practically immediately when confronted by such a sexy slut as you. Make no mistake slave, you look like you have come straight out of a man’s wank-fantasy’

I blushed.

‘But the second come is more difficult as he has just been spent. It will be a measure of your technique and skills. It will test your ability to please him, to excite him’

I wanted to cry

‘If you fail to get him off twice in, oooooh….say……twenty-five minutes, then there will be a punishment session waiting for you when you get back, a….lengthy one….Its just as simple as that slut’

I felt like I was going to pass out.

‘Now don’t fret’ she laughed, reaching out to me and holding my cheek ‘you can do that, Anita, believe me when I tell you this; but you’ll have to use your sluttish wiles. You’ll have to use all the things you’ve learnt today, your face, your walk, your party trick, your dance moves as you slide up and down him, anything you like’

She was smiling and stroking me, almost fondly, like she wanted me to succeed.

‘I don’t care. Just make sure he gets off twice’

Her smile faded.

‘I’m making it easy as well; he’s already a client of yours’

PART 25

It was a crisp, icy day but very bright. Having been stuck indoors all day, I had to squint as the sun glared into my face. I shuddered as I stood outside, in the open; anyone could see me now. I had to keep my mind on the task, on the job, otherwise it would implode. I corrected my posture, took a deep breath and then started walking. Not the ‘exhibition’ from the video, but my ‘normal’ slut’s gait. I strutted and moved like I was cruising for business. I had to take small steps but I took them quickly as I knew Vivienne would soon be behind me, ready to be my voyeur; as if the phone transmitting from my bag wasn’t bad enough.

I saw a figure starting to round the corner ahead of me. My heart started to pound, I couldn’t believe I was going to be seen, in cold daylight, looking like I was. I reaffirmed my resolution to avoid the pain; I would have to be able to deal with this.

As we neared each other, I could see that he was behaving strangely. He was trying to snatch glances at me without making it obvious. His obvious discomfort actually made me feel a little better, like I was not so severely disadvantaged. He ignored me as we passed each other and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could do this, hopefully.

The second figure around the corner was a woman; then a second woman appeared, walking with her. My hope disappeared. They were about my age and fashionably dressed, in dark coats. They both wore stylish leather boots with heels and had ‘designer’ looking handbags. One was blonde, with a long ponytail, the other had an angular, fashionable ‘bob’ haircut. As one of them noticed me, I saw her hand go to her mouth. She was talking behind it. The other girl then looked for me. When she caught me, she visibly sniggered. I wanted to scream! I wanted to scream at the top of my voice; to scream my lungs out. I was fully exposed, helpless in front of them.

The intertwined ticking of our heels gradually merged as we neared each other. I could see that they were stifling their amusement; trying to hold straight faces. I did the only thing I could, I smiled. The girls stared, with eyes like the heads of nails. Their looks, although evasive, were of contempt; contempt for being a slut. I saw the disbelief in their faces as they noticed, when they were close enough; how extreme my earrings were; the little ring through my fingernail; my swollen, surgical lips and my ‘tits’; begging for attention. It was all I could do to just keep moving and not turn around to run back inside. When they were behind me, I did not turn round, I didn’t want to see them looking back and laughing at me. I filled up with a deep, shameful crimson. My throat felt tight. I reached up and touched it, trying to loosen a tight blouse that wasn’t there. I felt my ‘Anita’ necklace nestling above and between the heads of my collarbones. My God, what did I look like!?

To stop the mentally downward spiral towards collapse, I ran through my checklist again; as a distraction. I brought myself back to the job at hand. I had to remember everything; the walk, the face, the moves Cara had taught me and worst of all, the thing that Vivienne kept calling my ‘party trick’. Glancing behind me, I saw Vivienne emerging from my block of flats; I knew I had to get on with it. I took a deep breath and as I heard the clicking from my Mistress’s spike-heels, gradually getting louder, I set off, around the corner.

The noise from pneumatic drilling immediately hit me. I had been so absorbed in my shame that I had not really noticed it. There were half a dozen men working on the road, all wearing hard-hats and fluorescent yellow over-vests. I couldn’t believe the situation I was in, it was just unreal. I tried to imagine that I was in a trance as I found my target amongst the workforce. With one further thought about the punishment, to drive me, I started to strut. I went through my confidence routine, like the previous night. I tried to feel like I was Julia Roberts again. Fuck it, I tried to imagine that I was the whore from ‘Desperate Cum Sluts’. I tried to tap her well of shamelessness. Amongst the noise, I somehow made out the sound of high heels behind me. I wished it was Cara. I would have felt a little better if it was her who was with me. It would have been harder doing it alone, but it was worst doing it for the amusement of Vivienne.

I flicked my head high. I felt a cold splash from the dangling golden hearts at the sides of my neck; I felt like such a slut. For the first time, I tried to consciously draw power from that. I harnessed the slut’s confident abandon, that uncaring, almost oblivious regard for her shame. I channelled that feeling into my walk. I was completely conscious of my legs and breasts, perfectly displayed, as my man set down his bucket and chanced to look up. I saw him freeze, dead, like he’d seen a ghost. I swallowed and he watched, mesmerized as I started my performance. It was slightly easier to do at that distance but as soon as I saw his jaw drop I knew that I had two choices. I could either submit to the raging shame swelling inside me, or I could ride my way through this, become the slut of his dreams and seduce him.

There was no way I could take the horror of Vivienne’s punishment again. I blew him a kiss as I became ‘her’. I told myself I was playing a role; that it wasn’t really me. As that thought started to ease my pain, the ‘naughty slut’ smile on my face started to feel more relaxed, and as a double-edged sword, more natural. I ignored the little voice at the back of my mind; my dignity.

I started to think ‘I need a fuck, God I need a fuck so badly, and I want it from you!’

It was like a mantra, to brainwash myself. Even the swelling self hatred that was building inside me was not powerful enough to match Vivienne’s punishment. I though it over and over again as my walk became more and more depraved. My pelvis was swinging and grinding as I writhed as lustfully as I could towards him. My focus was on my mark, solely. I didn’t care about the other men, as they stopped their work. At least that’s what I told myself. The blush across my face and neck told a different story though. The drilling and clanking gradually subsided to a total halt. Against the background sound of the traffic, they could now hear the clicking of my stiletto heels on the concrete. I pressed my chest out. I would use my hated tits now; they would become an asset and would help me to get this awful job done.

My man was obviously flushed but had regained some control and was now walking towards me. I heard the first whistle from his mate, and then they all started. It was to a melee of wolf-whistles, calling and howling that I stopped my strutting and took a pose; my right hand on my hip, my foot turned out to the side, my bag hanging down on the left and my head turned and cocked slightly. I kept my lips parted, trying to imagine I was in the middle of my programme on the training machine, anticipating taking the cock into it. I hoped the cake of foundation I had on my face was enough to hide my utter shame.

‘My God, I mean…..Wow!….I mean……Wow!….Anita!……You look…….Amazing!’ he spluttered. His eyes were all over me, he didn’t know where to look. Feeling that it was the only way I could carry on, I drank in his lust and started to feel some power from it. Damn it, I started to feel in control a little, like this guy was ruled by his dick and that at the moment, I was ruling that. This had to work in my favour.

I slowed my walk down. I made a conscious decision to become his temptress, albeit an easily obtainable one. I wanted to drive him wild, he would need to be able to come twice, in twenty five minutes. He was paralysed as I stepped right up to him and reached up to his face.

I moved, tantalizingly, towards him and slowly, painfully slowly, moved to kiss him. At the last moment, as he closed his eyes, I moved to the side, to his cheek and lightly bushed my lip against it, breathing onto him. I felt him moan. I had to cash in now, I had to go in for the kill. I looked him I the eyes.

‘I need you inside me’ I breathed seriously ‘I need you now’

It was a cheesy, porn-film line but it worked. I saw him swallow. One of his mates was shouting, ‘Go on son! Give ‘er one from me!’

This was met with cheering and more whistling. I looked at him and smiled,

‘Go on, give me one’ I thought as I made my slut face for him. I tried to project that thought at him.

‘Come with me’ he said, looking around shiftily.

I took hold of his arm, becoming his girl. A sudden wave of panic hit me, was I really doing this? How was I going through with seducing this guy? Why was I not shrinking away in embarrassment? Where was my dignity?

As I felt his thick, tight muscles, the realisation that I was a woman, giving myself to him consumed me. I felt so female, so female that it almost melted me. Then I remembered that I was, of all females, a pleasure girl for his amusement; a trainee whore; a slut, learning her trade. Instead of screaming, ‘No!’ as loud as I could, I squeezed his arm and looked into his eyes. As he looked longingly back, I licked my lips and said

‘Come on lover, I want to taste you’

I thought I saw his pupils dilate there and then. He quickened the pace and I had to concentrate to walk that fast in my white stilettos. As we made for a side street, we passed Vivienne. She completely blanked me but it was enough to remind me of my true purpose, my true condition. Instantly upset and struggling once more to hold it all together, I gripped hold of the man’s arm and took some comfort from the fact that not everyone wanted to see me suffering. After the treatment that I was getting used to from Vivienne, I started to warm to the idea of some company that would treat me nicely; even if it meant giving my body to them for some easy love.

I wanted to ask him things. As my emotions started to carry me away, I started to get upset again. I didn’t even know his name; the second man that I had ever had sexual relations with and was now about to ‘double’. I felt the pain of Vivienne’s cruelty again. She had stroked my head before I had left the flat. She had given me a couple of further rules. Next to what she had already done to me, they seemed so trifling, but now I was feeling their sting.

She had told me ‘No conversation outside of sex-talk’.

At the time, it had been the last thing on my mind. Now, as we walked, hurriedly and silently to the makeshift venue for our encounter, I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to at least know his name. I wanted to tell him that he was only my second man ever. I wanted to let him know that, so that maybe he would treat me with special care and attention. But that was my former self talking. It was ‘Slut Anita’, and her only, who was allowed or able to talk to him. The closest I could come to expressing myself was,

‘My! Someone’s in a hurry?!’, a desperate attempt to invite a compliment, to hear that he cared for me. As the pause lengthened, I released the tension; it wouldn’t do to have my ‘client’ feeling uncomfortable,

‘And it’s me baby, I want to fuck you dry’

As the ache weighed in my heart, I recognised the truth of how lonely I was. I would be intimate with this man yet we would remain strangers.

As I thought of what I had just said, I wondered how I was thinking of these things, I really was not that kind of woman normally. I almost sobbed aloud when I remembered that the girl in the video had said exactly that!

I had subconsciously absorbed and assimilated it. Her behaviour was becoming mine. What was I turning into?

Whatever it was, regardless of my own despair at it, he was responding to it.

‘Oh you will! Don’t you worry, I’ve got more for you, more of what you got last night. God you were so hot, I’ve……well, I’ve never been with anyone like you before Anita, you’re just so damn……well…….Fucking hot!’

At that he stopped. He turned me towards him. I could see, in his eyes, he was overcome with raw desire, for me. He pulled me close, one hand between my shoulder blades, the other down, on my left cheek. I felt enveloped by him and while his embrace was driven by his rising lust, it was warm and loving too. His touch was firm but sensitive. I responded, like I knew I should, by rubbing my knee up his leg and running my shoe up his calf. When my thigh was horizontal, he hooked his forearm under it, supporting it. My God, I felt his fingers fishing under my skirt. We were still on the street, in broad daylight!

He pulled me in, so I was so close that I could rub myself against his leg. I heard him gasp and moan as his fingers brushed across the perfectly smooth, bare skin atop my labia. I didn’t realise that my bare skin would be so exciting for him. I made a huge moan of pleasure when he started, with a finger inside me, to gently rub around the outer part of my tunnel. It felt good. I’m ashamed to say that after all the punishment and sadistic torture that I had been forced to endure, I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling; to lose myself in the lovely sensation. While we were not able to be intimate mentally, we could be one physically. His touch, for that moment, freed me. It was the most welcome contrast to my Mistress, who wanted to cut parts out of me or burn holes in my mind. I would allow myself to be his and it was all right anyway, because that was what my Mistress wanted.

PART 26

When we had got to his van, I had taken control. I knew the clock was starting and, in the parked Mercedes across the street, sat Vivienne Black. There was no way I was going to risk being punished. I sat him down and was straight onto my knees. Trying to project hungry, lustful thoughts, I fixed his eyes with my lips parted, licking them. At the same time, my hands were at his trousers, unfastening them. He had reached down and stripped his own belt off in seconds, by which time I had his buttons undone and was starting to tug his trousers down to his ankles. The grit and dust on the floor bit into my knees and marred the perfect white of my shoes, but I ignored it. Instead, I gently lifted his pants over his bulging erection and pulled them down. Keeping eye contact, but without lingering, I set to work on him there and then. It wasn’t long before I was locked into the training sequence that had started to burn itself into my mind. To me it was an almost robotic sequence, a choreographed set of moves, all performed with smiling fervour. Vivienne was right; in no time at all he came.

It took all the discipline that I had to not open my mouth and scream in disgust. I felt the pulses of warm salty semen unload into my mouth. I wanted to be sick. Instead I had to grin at him and pull off him.

My soul was shouting ‘No!’ as I was then forced to do that most dehumanising and hideous act. Vivienne’s evil, controlling grin was loud in my mind as I made sure the last droplets of his seed spilt onto my face. That was vital for what had to come next.

I was burning with such deep, deep resentment of her but I kept my composure. He was spent but was still hypnotically fixed on me, fascinated. I licked my lips and I saw his mouth open in disbelief. Girls like me didn’t exist, not for real, not outside of porn films. I saw his eyes widen as I formed my face into the depraved, wanton smile that she had made me practice and take a finger to my face. Delicately and carefully, but hungrily, I scraped up the last drop from his cheek and then, exaggerating the movement; the savouring, I sung the finger into my mouth and closed my eyes. As I tasted the stringy, watery globs I tried to think of it as ‘precious’, in reality it made me want to throw up.

‘Mmmmmmmmmmm!!’ I moaned and then, opening my eyes, I delivered my line; the cheeky confession of my most secret vice.

‘I’m sorry; I just love come so much!’ completed with the most vacuous giggle that I could muster, exactly as Vivienne had wanted it.

I had spent the next few hours curled up against my bedroom skirting-board, sobbing quietly to myself, still dressed as I had been. Vivienne wanted me to ‘stay just as I was so that I could reflect on my performance’. Every time I opened my eyes and saw the blurry view of my long naked legs disappearing into my shoes, it took me straight back to the van. The virgin patent white around the toes of my shoes was now marred and dirtied from kneeling on the dusty floor. I took a cloth and wiped away the black marks. It didn’t make me feel any better. I just sat there and wept, until I could weep no more. Then, finally, I got up, took my clothes off and took a shower.

Hours later, as Lisa joined me in bed; I wanted to talk to her. I had snapped myself out of my earlier self-pity the minute she had strode in through the door and fastened her collar about her throat. So much had happened, to us both, that we needed to treasure our time together and use it to help each other. While I was not hungry to hear about whatever inhumanities she had been forced to endure, I needed to share what I was going through. I knew it was good to talk, even about these things. Nobody ever benefited from bottling things up.

She smiled at me and made a face that I had never seen before. She put her finger up to her lips and gave me such a convincing, raunchy but naughty smile. I didn’t want this. My God, she was training up well though; better than me. I felt a rush of shame as I realised that I had thought such a competitive thought, and then another ache in my heart as I realised that our real time together would be eaten into be the necessity of her new, enforced, lesbian façade. I couldn’t do anything that would make things difficult for her, or for me for that matter. I knew that the kindest thing that I could do would be to lie back, try to enjoy her mouth on me and come quickly, so that we could hold each other and then talk properly. I suspected that if I didn’t come, she would probably be punished. It was made all the worse by the fact that, after I had done so well in the van with my man earlier, Vivienne had told me that I would get a reward from Lisa later. Again, the man’s cum remained inside me, but this time, I knew much better than to try and intervene. It didn’t stop me feeling guilty as I felt her breathe on my hairless, sensitive crotch. I knew that she would have to lick out all of his juice, without complaint.

It was already a much, much different sensation to the first time that she had pleasured me. I was instantly aware of her training and skill as, in spite of my reluctance, she almost instantly had me alight and burning with the most carnal pleasure. How on earth was she doing this? The first time she had done it, she had had to rely on raw, sincere passion and her own natural aptitude; now she had some technique to augment that. She was getting far too good that I was behaving against my own will.

I felt her roam her hand upwards, over my belly and onto my breasts. In spite of the recent surgery and the fresh injections, she actually, for the first time, made them feel nice. Oh I held on to that sensation! Her soft caresses sent ripples of pleasure pulsing up my body. I felt my nipples hardening like rocks, nosing themselves outwards eagerly as her palms swept over, hoping to snag deliciously in the spaces between her passing fingers. I allowed myself the freedom to take pleasure from my breasts then, in spite of how their new form humiliated me. I had wondered if the surgery had damaged the nerves in them or dulled them to sensation somehow but those fears were absolutely set to rest. I even started to push them out, so that they were huge and full, towards her hand, hungry for more and more of the sensation on them. This was not like the frenzied gropings of earlier, I was being pleasured by a woman this time, and oh what a difference that made! I glowed with pleasure as I felt my nipples throbbing, fully engorged and standing absolutely en pointe. As she started to give them more and more attention her touch became electric.

It wasn’t long before I was fully lost in the pleasure, my hands stretched behind me, grabbing the bed-head, and my legs splayed wide, giving her full access to my all. After minutes of moaning intensely, feeling guilty but just too aroused to step back, she made me come, incredibly powerfully, as she flicked her tongue across my clit, stroking inside me at the same time with her fingers.

I tried to tell myself that I had done it for her, to ease her suffering. But I found that difficult to reconcile with the unnecessarily crushing intensity of the orgasm that I had just felt. I breathed deeply, trying to catch up with the demands she had made on my body.

‘It’s not over yet baby’ she breathed and then was back on me. My God, I was back on the brink in an instant.

I had never had multiple orgasms before but this girl, this trainee woman-pleaser had me spilling over the cusp of orgasm within seconds. She rubbed at just the right spot inside me, forcing me to moan in sheer, unabated need. I had already come once, I had fulfilled my brief, but now we were continuing. As she stretched me so beautifully I felt the warmth of her mouth once more, warm and soft, coursing up my swollen folds ready to deliver the final blows to my straining clitoris. It was too much to take. With the smallest, slightest flick of my clit I was, once more, thrashing in the throws of another irresistible climax. It lasted seemingly forever; wave after wave of pleasure rose and passed through and over me as I fell down a multi-coloured well of joyous abandon. Finally she was off me and I could start to return to reality.

I forced myself to get my breath back. I remembered how guilty this sex act made me feel; only now it was twice as bad. I filled up with shame; I had behaved so wantonly, where was my dignity?

‘Lisa, I…’ I stuttered, realising the true depth of what I had just done.

‘Don’t say anything Anita’, she said softly. She had her finger gently, but decisively, over my lips, hushing me. She had a determined look in her eyes. Had this been something she had been told to do or was this because of the punishment she had given me?

I looked into her eyes and I knew that we should just leave it there, it was all far too complicated and ultimately insoluble. I let it all go, opened my arms and she fell into them. I squeezed her with all my strength and in that moment was sure that I would never let her go.

We held each other for the next two hours and started to talk. We no longer felt any shame from sharing our feminine nakedness, not with each other; we had moved beyond that. It was probably that those boundaries had been so completely violated for us that it was futile to try and re-erect them when they were actually unwanted. It felt wonderful, after being so lonely, to finally be able to be intimate, truly intimate with someone; with my friend; my best and only friend.

PART 27

‘I’m Anita, I was told to……’

‘Wait there’ fizzed the speaker abruptly.

I scanned away from the little camera next to the pokey back-door; there was nothing but cars, concrete and weather. A freezing gust caught me, forcing me to grasp my hands around myself and bend my bare legs tightly together. There was never a ‘right’ time to be out dressed like I was but this was certainly not it. I shook, bare-legged in a white leather miniskirt.

‘Come in’, it snapped me back to the door

I recognised her as I hurried inside; she had been the one who had installed the cameras in my flat. She was disinterested as I passed her. She slammed the thick metal door against its mate and then pointed down the stairs, now the only route. I grasped the handrail, worrying about going over on one of my towering stilettos and breaking an ankle. Down was always so much harder than up.

‘You’d better get used to those shoes I think’, there was no affection in her German accent. The stairs were wide and well worn in the rheumy yellow light. She passed me before I was halfway down, not slowing as she reached the bottom and disappeared around the corner. I went as fast as I could, barely finding my balance with each teetering descent. By the time I was standing at the bottom, the corridor was empty. Through the dull hum, I could hear music and the faint sounds of girl’s voices. Carefully, I hurried after her.

‘Hello slut. No that’s ok’

I stopped my hurried journey across the room towards Vivienne’s feet as she held her palm up.

‘Thank you Mistress’

Her smile was wintery.

‘Strip and put these on’ she said, businesslike.

Suspiciously, I lifted some lacy white material from the little bag and stretched it out, I shivered.

‘It’s not summer any more is it slut, I’m sure you want something to help keep you a little warmer’

I dropped my bag. The white leather jacket, matching tight skirt and purple boob-tube lay on the chair as I drew the garter belt around my waist and clipped it shut behind. Little white bows rested above as the loose straps bounced lightly against the tops of my legs. I sat down and unbuckled the ankle straps of my pumps; I had to grip each heel as the shoe popped off. I reached inside the bag again. I could see the designs jumping out of the white nylon, loud stringy flowers and gaudy heart shapes; I could feel my skin crawl.

Inexcusable as it was to keep my Mistress waiting, I tore open the packaging, ruffled the stocking up my thumbs and passed it over my toes. As I drew it up my leg I watched the patterns emerging, growing until my whole leg was tightly bound in the white nylon. A giant heart and piercing arrow dominated the side of my thigh. I screwed up my face internally, feeling the embarrassment that would surely come each time I was seen. I was now firmly into porn star territory I thought; women with taste simply didn’t wear things like that, not even in the bedroom.

I clipped the suspenders onto the stocking and put the other one on. A snap of Vivienne’s fingers and I was seated again, the toes of one foot nestling back into the white point of their shoe. Again, grabbing the long white stiletto for leverage, I forced my heel in. As I rested against the floor to wind the little strap around my ankle, I could feel the thick lines against my foot pad.

She beckoned me up and looped her finger. I stood, held my arms against my body, fanning my hands outwards and made a little twirl for her.

‘Little Slut’ came her caustic laugh.

I hated how I looked, naked except for the cheap slutty lingerie and high heels. Yes, I was a slut, you only had to get a glimpse of me to see that, but it was not out of choice! It was not something that I had planned for myself or decided that I wanted to be!

Of course, nobody looking at me would know that; that’s what made the whole thing so utterly frustrating and so damnably humiliating.

They sat me, naked save for my new stockings and shoes, on the bench. I started crying as the German girl pushed me back against the padded rest and scooped one of my legs up under her forearm. She swept it up and over a vertical support, resting my spike-heeled foot into a stirrup.

‘Please’ I sobbed, the fear starting to grow within me.

She completely ignored me.

I looked desperately at my Mistress, pleading for mercy with my eyes, knowing that it was futile. I dropped my head and wept as my other foot was hung, wide, to the other side. My newly patterned legs were held, splayed open. The thick lacy top of my stockings curtained either side of my smooth, naked sex which gaped open towards the two women.

Vivienne was standing below me, fiddling with a camcorder. The sterile white of the floor and walls emphasized the black of her tight clothes and boots and the dark lines of her make-up. Her full lips wore a deep burgundy velvet. Her hair was pulled tightly up to a spout at the very top of her head, it fountained over and downwards in thick arcs of straight dark silk. The other girl was also in black, a tight sleeveless top and leather trousers, the short crop of her blonde hair gelled into chaotic spikes. I cried out again.

‘Stop being such a fucking baby’

The tall blonde girl stared at me, her inch of patience had just snapped. She slapped me hard around the face. As the snap echoed, I felt the sting-wave hit, jolting me out of my self pity and back to the horror of the moment.

‘I’ll give you something to cry about’ she muttered

My head swam a little as she pulled a trolley over and came around to my side. I thought that I might be sick.

‘Now we make you like the other girls’

Vivienne stepped up, between my legs, squaring the lens at my face. Self conscious, I sniffed and tried to stem the tears. As I looked down and saw the top of the trolley. I couldn’t stop myself. I screamed.

‘Oh No! Mistress, please! Please not that! Please….. No Mistress!!!’

My breathing became irregular. I stopped caring about the camera and appearances and struggled for air. I scrabbled desperately to sit up. I saw the blonde girl’s wiry muscles tense as she grabbed my wrists and had them yanked behind me and controlled. She wrenched me back into the seat. Vivienne was totally absorbed by the view from the camera; it was like I was alone with the blonde girl, as if her voyeurism somehow detached her from the reality.

‘No’ I had whispered to myself, shaking my head.

I felt cold metal digging at my wrist. Then clicking as I felt the circle of the cuff close on me; I was terrified. I had never been restrained before. I had never before felt the helplessness of handcuffs.

‘No don’t, you don’t have to do that…..! Oh Please!’

After a second clicking I felt both of my wrists stretched securely behind me, holding me back against the padding. I screamed again and jerked against the cuffs. The metal bit painfully into my wrists, refusing to yield even a millimetre. I sobbed unrestrainedly, not daring to think about what they would do to me, trying to cloud my brain with my own tears.

My makeup must have been streaming down my face as I blubbered incoherently, the camera in my face, recording my nightmare, capturing my misery for Vivienne’s sick museum.

My face was surely bright red and strained as she snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up a soaking purple gauze. My tears flowed freely as she raised the dripping antiseptic slowly towards me, I just couldn’t believe what they were now doing to me. Even after all the surgery Vivienne had put me through, this had somehow seemed more degrading. It was a toxic mixture of fear from the pain of having my sensitive body needled and the torment of the knowledge that the whole process was for the permanent addition of some new and awful humiliations.

I started to panic as she settled the swab against my nipple and started to work the cold liquid around it.

‘No, not there, surely this can’t happen’ I told myself

My throat was parched, bone dry. She wasted no time. In a second, she had my nipple crushed in a pair of stout forceps. She ripped it up and outwards with a deliberate brutality, she had every intention of hurting me. It was quite the most violent thing anyone had ever done. It took a split second, but when it hit, the pain was impossible. I screamed my lungs out showering her and the camera.

My vision started to blank as she grinned and raised the piercing needle, sure to make sure I appreciated the whole thing. I was sure I’d have passed out when I saw the thick cutting shank of the bevel. But I remember everything, so vividly.

Somehow, strangely, when Vivienne had injected my breasts, it hadn’t hurt so much; it had been more the idea of it that had been so unthinkable. Maybe it was because the needle had only slipped through a thin layer of skin before entering the numb implants inside me, and that had protected me. My vulnerable, throbbing nipple was entirely different. It was a button, rich and bursting with nerve endings, bubbling with tenderness, a vulnerable nexus of feminine sensation. I tore at the cuffs as I felt the sharp prick. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. I sobbed and choked insanely, tensing my head and neck as she pushed. I screamed and tore my head away. She drove the icy point clean through, lancing right through. My most tender bud exploded.

Part of me was still clinging to the belief that this wasn’t happening. The sight of the thick steel wobbling in my flesh as she unclipped the forceps and my skewered nipple snapped back was totally undeniable though. I hung my head as I saw her go to the other side. I was shrieking dementedly as she did the same to my other nipple. The tears sailed down my cheeks, dripping onto my chest and running down around my punished mounds. She opened a sterile paper packet. I watched, detached, pathologically transfixed as she revealed my new jewellery, my rings.

The thick gold gleamed as she held the inch-and-a-half wide loop between her pale latex covered thumb and forefinger. Instead of a little ball where the ends of the ring screwed together, it was shaped like a tiny heart. I wept in despair when I saw them, Vivienne and Trisha had recreated every possible detail to best humiliate me. I knew I would have to wear them and I didn’t know how I would be able to face another human being if they knew. I filled up with shame.

My skin had crawled as she had slid precise metal grommets, tubes barely wider than the needles themselves, along each of my nipple-needles so that they rested just inside the skin, holding the piercings open. She deftly removed the needles and then took up a strange syringe-shaped tool and slid the thin end of it into the new grommet. As she depressed the plunger, I winced; it griped sharply. She pulled the tool out but it left me stinging inside.

‘No, that really hurts’ I pleaded. Maybe she hadn’t realised. She chuckled.

I so wanted to free my hands so that I could massage myself and try to dull the pain. I implored her silently as she pushed the tool into the other nipple and then, smiling directly at me, squeezed the trigger again. I yelped, hanging my head in resignation, gritting my teeth to take the pain again. I sobbed quietly, trying to ignore it, trying to think of something else as she unscrewed and opened the rings. One by one she fitted me with them, sliding them into the new grommets before squeezing the ends together. She screwed them both closed and tightened them with another little tool. She hung them, heart-closure down and stepped back, pleased with herself.

‘Now then’ Vivienne triumphed ‘don’t you look special now’

She reached forward and stroked my cheek and then kissed the side of my head.

‘So special. I just love them. Imagine how you will feel showing them to your boyfriends’

I wept at the thought. She reached forward and, with the tip of her finger, lightly flicked the ring so it bounced up easily and swung back. I tried to shrink back away from the awful things; I wanted absolutely no part of them.

‘Slut’ she mouthed slowly at me, whispering the word into my face.

Reaching forward again she held the ring. Slowly, she twisted it, just a little, just enough to suggest the sensation. As it tightened against me, I glimpsed how these new, unwelcome intruders could be made to punish me. I looked at her through my tears, aghast, my nipples were not supposed to instruments of pain! I sat fearfully still, not wanting to hurt myself.

Her eyes were almost loving, warm and tender as she threaded her finger through the ring and rubbed gently against the end of my nipple. It felt sore and sharp; all I could feel was the constant ache of the uncompromising steel that now filled me and the fear of Vivienne even slightly twisting.

‘Beautiful’ she said kissing me again, keeping me on a knife edge with her finger,  ‘I love you confused, frightened and utterly controlled’

I was surprised when she withdrew her finger from my nipple ring.

‘You’ll need to behave now; we can’t have any more thrashing about’

She whispered something in my ear. I felt myself stiffen.

PART 28

It was probably the worst night I had ever had. The blonde girl, ‘Suka’ Vivienne had called her, had taken me home and left me in my bedroom with a can of spray, some ointment and an instruction sheet on how to care for my piercings. The only thing that she said to me, the whole way back, was that if they got infected and she had to take them out, she would whip my cunt, hard.

I’d spent the evening curled up and crying, waiting for Lisa to come back, needing her to make me feel like a person again. I hadn’t dared undress in case I saw what they had put in my flesh; what they had put into my body. I was not comfortable, curled up, clasping my hands in front of my stockingged shins and lying on my side. The tight leather mini nipped the top of my legs and the tiny jacket held my breathing. I didn’t even take my shoes off.

Every movement of my head caused my earrings to jingle against each other. Every time I looked at my fingers, I saw Trisha’s wicked ‘SLUT’ looking back at me. And every time I looked down I saw my huge, plump breasts bubbling upwards, reminding me of the huge implants they reluctantly housed.

I wanted to wish it all away. If it had been an option, I would have died right there. I would have taken a suicide pill, cut my wrists or thrown myself from the window. I knew that I had been programmed against all of those things and that I had absolutely no option but to go trough with whatever Vivienne and Trisha had planned. I wanted my friend, she was the only thing in the world that could help. Until Lisa came home though, I was alone. I ran my tongue along the roof of my mouth.

All the way back, I had swallowed and played with my lips and teeth, as if that would help. Every time I felt the metal ball against the roof of my mouth I felt the terrible memory. I was sitting, frozen, stiff in the chair sticking my tongue out as far as it would go waiting for the pain. Needles and scalpels had flashed past my staring eyes.

The stud that ran through my tongue was my greatest humiliation. It conjured up depraved images of tongues, mouths and men’s cocks, images of woman pleasing. That was what it was for. It was a device, installed in my tongue, to feel good on someone else’s genitals. It was a sign of my apparent devotion to oral sex, a commitment to its practice and a badge that made sure everyone knew it.

Worse than that, after the stud was secured, she had injected me under my tongue and then nicked me painlessly with her scalpel. I wasn’t sure what she had done but I worried about it bleeding. My mouth was even more personal than my nipples, it was an even more intimate violation. It was a thick, dull ache in my tongue and a bloody nuisance. I had to think about everything my mouth did and every word I spoke so that I didn’t hurt myself. I hated what they had done so much.

I let the tears flow, hoping that crying would cleanse my mind of the pain and the crushing emotional blackness they had inflicted upon me. My nipples throbbed, rubbed and aggravated by the course lycra of my purple boob tube. I wasn’t going to remove it though.

Gingerly I had slid my finger down, stopping at the thin wall of leather between my legs. I felt the numb stinging inside there too. I snatched the quickest of smiles at the mercy that I didn’t have some vulgar adornment in my clitoris or my vaginal lips. It could have been even worse I told myself.

After they had sited the tongue stud and moved down between my legs I had feared for the worst. After the pain of the nipple piercings I don’t think I could have coped with a piercing down there and I was completely distraught, fearing that my mind would cave in. They had pierced me, but not how I had expected it. At the time I just felt the sting, mild compared to the nipples and tongue. They made me look at what they had done as Suka held a mirror up. There were two little balls, the first one poking out in the centre, directly above my clitoral hood; and the second one a little above the first. There must have been a thin shank of steel inside the skin connecting them both so that they both held each other in place.