by Jennifer Harrison

I think I should start this with a confession. My name is Lucy, and at the time the events portrayed here occurred, I was 20 years old, and I was an accountant. No, let me be even more brutally honest – I was a trainee accountant.

If you are not already put off and searching for something more interesting, let me alienate you further with a physical description. I know these stories often start that way, to try to hook you in to reading about a gorgeous babe and her bondage adventures. That’s not going to work here. However, I think what I look like informs my story to a great extent, so please indulge me a little longer.

The word to describe me is ‘mousey’. I have mousey brown hair, which is long but unstyled, and I usually just pull it into a ponytail. My face is not ugly, just unmemorable, and I hide a lot of it behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. I am five foot three, weigh virtually nothing – but I am definitely not a pocket Venus. My tits are tiny, just an A cup, but my nipples and areola are huge, which was a source of much taunting in school, making gym class and swimming lessons a nightmare. My hips are slender, so even at twenty, I still looked pre-pubescent.

You probably have a mental image of me already as a nerd or a doormat. I was both. I did English, French and Maths at A level – a combination with no known career outcome. I was too lacking in self-confidence to go to university, so did two years accountancy training at the local college, continuing to live at home.

I was still a virgin. There had been a boy, when I was sixteen, and the other girls at school were telling me I would never get a boyfriend, so when Mark asked me out, I was pathetically grateful. We went to a disco, and sat in an awkward silence, sipping our (non-alcoholic) drinks, trying to think of something to say to each other, occasionally going to the dance floor and shuffling around unconvincingly and unrhythmically to the blaring music. Eventually we left – but this was not America, where every sixteen-year-old seems to have a car, my means of transport home on this ‘night of dreams’ would be a bus. He gallantly walked me to the bus stop, and heroically volunteered to wait with me until it arrived, like my knight in shining armour.

We both knew that this was the moment, the climax of the evening, when I would repay his ‘kindness’ in taking me out, and his investment in buying me drinks, by letting him grope me. He pushed me a little awkwardly into a dark corner of the bus shelter, and the ‘fun’ began. He pressed his mouth against mine and tried to force his tongue in, which was gross, but I was expecting it, so could just about cope with the exchange of saliva. His hands groped my chest area, the place where most girls have breasts, but I don’t think he got much out of that – I certainly know I didn’t. Maybe it was that failure that encouraged him to go for broke, maybe a bit of over-confidence. Anyway, when I felt his hand sliding up my thigh and under my dress, I clamped my thighs together like a good girl, and pushed him away.

So it was that my one and only date in my teenage years ended with me in tears, him shouting obscenities and storming off, and my nickname as ‘frigid Bridgette’ (who cares that it wasn’t my name? No one in my school) well and truly established.

The only moment of rebellion in my young life was to take a job in the big city, away from home and my parents. So there I was, five months into a six month probation period, with no friends at work or outside work, going home each night to the tiny flat I couldn’t afford to heat, to eat beans on toast in front of the TV with my duvet wrapped around me, before going to bed to read dire romance novels. Yes, I was living the dream.

I should also dispel another myth – as a single girl on my own, I didn’t spend my nights masturbating. I was, basically, sexually dead. Or dormant, at least. We’ll get to the sex eventually.

So far, so depressing. This is where we get to the bit you’re (hopefully) interested in. My life took a sudden, and dramatic, lurch in a completely different direction at the office Christmas party. I should warn you that there will come a point in this narrative where you go ‘Hang on, nobody could be that naïve and gullible!’ Rest assured, I could and I was.

I was only at the party because it was virtually a sackable offense not to be, unless you had a doctor’s note. So there I was, with my plate of buffet crap and my glass of Lambrini, standing by the wall, not talking to anyone, wondering how soon I could leave. I was wearing my standard hide-in-plain-view clothes – long, dull skirt, big, chunky-knit sweater, flat shoes – and being ignored by everyone, except Miss MacTavish from HR, who kept giving me filthy looks, like it was my fault that no-one in her company made any effort to speak to me.

I have a kind of sixth sense – I think it’s overdeveloped peripheral vision, from looking out for people about to slap you on the back of the head – and it was telling me someone was heading straight for me. I turned, with some trepidation, and saw that it was Miss Hudson, a senior manager who ran the support organisation. Yes, I know her name was Rebecca, but I’d no sooner call her by her first name as I would address the managing director as ‘Tom’. She was looking directly at me and, even more unnervingly, she was smiling.

Miss Hudson is everything I am not – tall, curvy, good-looking, sexy, outgoing, popular. Well-dressed, articulate, successful, confident, respected. Well-paid. Happy. Need I go on?

Why on Earth was she coming to speak to me?

“Hi, there. Lucy, isn’t it?” she smiled, holding out her hand. I looked at it dumbly, then almost dropped my plate and glass as I juggled them so I could shake it. I had a mouthful of food, which I nearly choked on, then nearly coughed up in her face. This was going well!

“Look, could you help me out here, and just act like I’m saying something intelligent? That Piers from Sales keeps trying to chat me up, and he gives me the creeps. He’s pissed as a rat already!”

That made me smile, and I nodded as well, so it would seem we were deep in conversation. And then we were! She talked and talked, she was funny, and interesting, and she even managed to draw me into telling her about myself – no-one ever asked me about me! We refilled our glasses, and talked some more, and it seemed like she wasn’t trying to get away from anyone anymore, she was actually interested in being with me. I started to get a really weird feeling, and then I realised what it was – pleasure. I was enjoying myself!

It had long gone past the time when the first saddos sneaked off – and, for once, that wasn’t me. I kept looking around, with this idiot grin, going ‘look at me! I’m popular! Someone wants to be with me!’

“I going to have to dash off now,” she said, and genuinely looked sad, “but… I know this is going to sound terrible, but I want to ask another favour of you.”

“Anything,” I blurted, and right then, I would have done anything for her.

“Okay, I’m going to try and make this sound as though I’m not being as horribly condescending or exploitative as it feels. I wondered if you had plans for New Year’s Eve and if you wanted to earn some extra cash?”

“Um, no and yes,” I replied, checking I’d got that the right way around.

“Brilliant. I’m having a big New Year’s Eve party and I need someone to help with waitressing it. I hope you’re not offended, but I want someone young and pretty, and I thought you could probably do with the money – I know we don’t pay you much!”

Pretty? Me? I almost looked behind me to see who she was talking to.

“I’d love to,” I said doubtfully, “but I don’t have anything suitable to wear.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fancy dress, and I’ll get your costume.” She suddenly leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek.

“I’ll talk to you at work tomorrow with all the details, and if you have second thoughts, you can tell me then.” And with that, she was gone.

I know exactly what you’re thinking – ‘Surely you could tell what was going to happen?’ Like I said, I’m not as worldly wise as you, so it never occurred to me to think that there could be a hidden agenda…

It felt wonderful to spend Christmas at home with something planned for New Year’s Eve. I was going to a party! Okay, I was going to be serving drinks and nibbles, but I was going to be paid £300 for about seven hours work! And I was going to be with Miss Hudson, and the other beautiful people! And still my radar didn’t tell me this was too good to be true.

The time dragged at home and, for once, I was glad to return to my miserable little flat, because it meant I was about to go and see Miss Hudson. The party didn’t start till 8pm, but I got there about six, to help prepare, and to get into my costume.

It was a big house in the suburbs – an old Victorian house, with three floors, front and back gardens, worth about ten times my flat, at least. I rang the bell, feeling nervous.

“Oh, thank God it’s you, Lucy!” Miss Hudson gushed, dragging me inside, “We’ve got SO much to do!”

The next hour was frantic, getting everything cooked, or unpacked, and plated up, getting the drinks ready, all the usual party prep stuff I’d never done before. Now we finally had time to get ready.

“I laid out your costume in the spare room. I hope you like it!”

When she opened the bedroom door and let me in, I thought I might die of embarrassment. She had, indeed, laid it out like a person lying on the bed, and I could see the maid’s dress, the stockings, the gloves. Apart from white lace trimming at the neck, capped sleeves and hem of the dress, it was all black, shiny latex. There was a pair of panties I hadn’t spotted, also black latex, and even a pair of black, shiny shoes. I had never seen latex clothing before, not even on the Internet.

“Oh… my…” I murmured, feeling my face burning bright red.

“Okay, I should’ve told you it’s a fetish party,” Miss Hudson said guiltily, “but I really needed you to come, and I think you’ll enjoy it. What do you say?”

“I’ve… never worn anything so… glamorous…” I stammered, trying to work out what the hell to say, or think.

“Give it a go!” she enthused, “It feels wonderful! I’ll go and get into my outfit, then see how you’re getting on.”

She went out, leaving the door ajar, and I carried on staring at the bed. I had never felt so frightened! What was I frightened of? The clothes themselves scared me a little – they weren’t shapeless camouflage like my usual clothes, they would cling and show my body, and I didn’t think my body was fit to be displayed in that way. And there it was – if I wore this stuff, I would be on display – people would be looking at me in ways they had never done before, and that scared me.

But… I couldn’t deny that I was excited at the thought that people would be regarding me as a sex object – probably judging me, and failing me, but the idea of me as a sexual being was so novel, I was having difficulty imagining myself in that way. But I was imagining myself dressed in these clothes, how it might feel, how I might look, and I realised that I was not just excited, I was sexually excited – there was a dampness between my legs, which I couldn’t deny.

I’m not sure if I really thought of this as the momentous decision I now realise it was. At the time, it wasn’t a life-changing choice, it was just something I was going to wear at a party, a party where I wouldn’t know anyone. Now I was justifying to myself why I should – must – wear the clothes. I would be disappointing Miss Hudson if I refused, it would spoil her evening, and I would be missing the opportunity to get out of the rut I had put myself in…

The decision was finally made. The next hurdle to overcome was the fact that I’d have to remove all my clothes to wear these – I wouldn’t be able to wear a bra under that dress, and those pants… I closed the door and stripped naked. When I picked up the panties, I noticed my hands were shaking, but I stepped into them and pulled them up. As I did so, I realised they had a split crotch which, again, I found scary and exciting at the same time. I tried not to think of the implications of ‘split crotch’ – I was a little surprised I even knew the term. They started to become tight as I pulled them up my thighs, and when I finally got them fully on, wriggling my hips to get them all the way up, they seemed to melt into every crevice and fold of my bum and… ‘front bottom’, as I used to say when I was about six (that’s not going to work here, is it? I’ll use ‘cunt’ in future, even though it makes me feel queasy).

The pants hugged my hips, coming only half-way up my buttocks, I saw how ridiculous I looked with curly pubes sticking out of the top and both sides of the tiny garment – a consequence of never trimming my bush. I tried my best to shove the extraneous hairs under the thin latex, but it didn’t look great. As I was doing this, I found the touch of my fingers was getting me even more excited, and I could actually feel the dampness around my cunt (there, I’ve said it!)

I picked up the dress next, and pulled it over my head. As I wriggled it down my body, it got tighter and tighter. By the time I had it in place, I was breathing fast and shallow, and I felt a little bit light-headed. I kept pulling down on the hem, because it just felt too short, but it was already tight on my shoulders, so it wasn’t going any lower. It gripped me tight, from the top of my chest to my hips, and as I tried to smooth out the slight folds and kinks, my skin felt ultra-sensitive, transmitting the touch of my fingers as if they were someone else’s. It squeezed in my slightly soft tummy, and flattened my boobs almost out of existence, although I noticed that my nipples were standing proud, feeling firm to the touch.

I realised that time was getting on, and I needed to speed up. I sat down on the bed and started to pull on the stockings, one by one. This turned out to be very difficult, and I felt a bit damp on my forehead and under the arms by the time I had them on. They came to about mid-thigh, and when I stood up, I found there was a gap of several inches between the hem of the dress and the top of the stockings, a band of white flesh in the sea of shimmering black. The way they squeezed my legs felt really weird, and I soon began to feel hot in this rubber – I’m not sure that was all body heat, there was definitely some ‘hot and bothered’ element to it as well.

“Oh wow, you look stunning!” I heard Miss Hudson say behind me, and I turned to face her, smiling in excitement at how daring I was being. But when I saw her, my jaw just dropped.

She was dressed all in red, but that doesn’t tell you much. She wore a red latex G-string thong, which barely covered her at all – her cheeks were completely bare, and I guessed she either had no pubes or a Brazilian, because there wasn’t a stray hair to be seen. She had on a waist cincher, I think they’re called, and then her breasts were in the strangest bra I’ve ever seen – there seemed to be bands around the base of each breast, making them bulge, then a kind of lattice across the breast, which looked like a set of cross-hairs centred on the nipple, which was covered by the tiniest possible square of material. She was wearing red latex boots which came up as high as my stockings, but my eye was drawn to the massive platforms and impossibly long, spiked heels – I couldn’t believe it, but she seemed to be having no trouble walking in them.

Her outfit was complemented by red latex elbow gloves, a devil’s tail, horns in her blonde hair, and a masquerade-style glittery red mask over her eyes. My God, she was sexy! Suddenly I felt underdressed beside her – how could I complain about what I was wearing, when her costume was so much more revealing?

She helped me put on my shoes – although they had a ‘conservative’ one-inch platform and three or four inch heels, they were difficult for me, given I only ever wore flats – and my gloves, which rolled up above my elbows, leaving another small band of flesh between the gloves and the capped sleeves of the dress. I was ready.

“Just one more thing,” Miss Hudson said, “this is a masked party, everyone will be wearing them, but you don’t have to if you don’t want. But, there will be people here that know you, so you might prefer to be safely anonymous behind a mask?”

I nodded my head – better to be in disguise, I thought. She went to the wardrobe and pulled out something which I noted seemed rather bulky for a mask like hers. When she showed me what she was holding, though, my stomach did a back-flip.

It was a gas mask. Big, black, lots of straps, large eye glasses, big filter at the front. It actually scared me – I might suffocate! It was also properly kinky – the dressing up was just a bit of fun for the party. This… this was fetish gear, it was different.

But, just like with the clothes, I soon started talking myself into it. I would at least be well-hidden behind it, no-one would be able to tell it was me; and I was sure Miss Hudson wanted me to wear it – she’d be disappointed if I didn’t and, for some reason, I didn’t want to disappoint her. Was I letting myself be pushed into it? Or did I subconsciously want to wear it? I didn’t know then, and I’m not sure I know now. All I know for sure is, I nodded my head, just once.

“Brave girl!”

This comment should have been incredibly condescending, but it reassured me, somehow, as she brought the mask to my face and, having removed my glasses, pulled the straps over my head. The smell of the rubber struck me first, a sickly stench which almost turned my stomach before I got used to it. Then the sound of my breathing – a mechanical rasping sound, with a click at the start of a breath in or out as the filter plates moved slightly. Finally, I noticed how it restricted my view, severely reducing my peripheral vision, and limiting my binocular, three dimensional field of view – I could see things with one eye or the other, but not much with both at once. The effect was very disorienting, especially as, without my glasses, everything was a little blurry. Very alienating…

“Are you okay, Lucy?” Again, I nodded, just once. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“Great!” Miss Hudson enthused. “Let’s get out there, the guests will be arriving soon.”

Part 2

My first job at the party was to meet everyone at the door, take their coats, and get them a drink. I was so nervous, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the doorbell went the first time. I went to the door, and just froze, hand hovering over the doorknob. I couldn’t let people see me like this, surely! I suddenly realised just how far from comfortable I actually was. It was only when the bell rang a second time that I reacted, grabbing the knob and opening the door before I had time to stop myself.

There were two women standing there, and both smiled warmly when the saw me. I immediately noticed that only one of them was wearing a mask, which surprised me. I ushered them in, and waited with arms out as they took off the long woollen capes they were wearing. The slightly older woman, the one in the mask, was wearing a black, leather catsuit, with spike-heeled ankle boots. The outfit hugged her body, showing her full curves off very well, and complemented her blonde hair, pulled into a very tight French plait. She oozed confidence and control, making me feel a bit like a specimen under her unwavering gaze, an unnerving sensation.

The unmasked woman, once she had removed the ankle-length cape, was virtually naked. A thin cord was tied around her body, sitting comfortably on her wide hips, and a strip of blue cotton cloth had been threaded under the cord and between her legs, the ends hanging down front and back, covering her sex and the crack of her bottom, but nothing else. She also wore steel manacles and chains on her wrists, with a steel collar around her neck. Having initially met my gaze, she now looked down demurely. The phrases ‘Domme and sub’, ‘Mistress and slave’, came into my mind from some dark recess.

“You must be Rebecca’s new girl,” the Domme said in a warm, friendly tone, “pleased to meet you.” I didn’t know what to say, or whether anything I did say would be heard through the gas mask, so, for some unknown reason, instead made a small, brief, but unmistakable curtsey. Where the heck that came from, I don’t know – I wasn’t the sub here, I was just being paid to help out… wasn’t I?

I put their coats in the cloakroom, then went to the kitchen. Miss Hudson had said to start everyone with a glass of champagne, so I poured two glasses and put them on a tray, then went through to the lounge. The Domme was talking to Miss Hudson, but I didn’t see the other woman at first, then spotted her – she was kneeling on the floor in the corner, her head bowed – no, her head was up, but her eyes were downcast – her thighs were spread, and her arms lay along them, palms upward and open, the chain pooling between her legs. I thought she looked amazing, totally submissive, waiting to serve.

“She’s so cute!” I heard the Domme say next to me. “What’s her name?”

“This is Lucy,” Miss Hudson replied – did I detect a hint of pride in her voice? “Lucy, this is Miss Charlotte.”

Once again, I felt unable to speak, and did the ridiculous curtsey thing again. Miss Charlotte took both glasses from the tray, handing one to Miss Hudson.

“Sandra won’t be drinking tonight,” she said to me, and I glanced at the kneeling woman, noting that she hadn’t changed her position, the only movement was the gentle rise and fall of her breasts against her chest. I found the sight hypnotic, and I stared at her beautiful, full, pert, naked breasts, rising and falling, rising and falling…

My reverie was broken by the sound of the doorbell, and I hurried to answer it. There was a man and a woman this time, both in lurid latex outfits, neither seemed dominant or submissive. They fitted the image I had anticipated of tonight’s guests – a couple out for a fun time at a fun party.

The next two hours were manic, as I welcomed (silently) guests, delivered drinks, and circulated with trays of finger food. There was one heart-stopping moment, when I suddenly found myself staring into the face of Miss MacTavish from HR!

“Come on, girl, look lively!” she barked, and I realised that I had been just standing and staring at her for way too long. I ushered her and her companion in and took their coats. Miss MacTavish was wearing a black leather skirt and a sheer white blouse, with a red rubberised corset over the top – she was also carrying a genuine riding crop, making her look like some kind of Nazi interrogator. She had a slave girl with her, about my age, and I wondered for a moment if she was a trainee from our company. Her wrists were cuffed behind her back, and I noticed faint stripes across her breasts, leading me to the shocking conclusion that Miss MacTavish had beaten her! I was hugely relieved when the Domme pushed past me, showing no signs of having recognised me.

There were half a dozen slaves by the end of the arrivals, all lined up against the wall, all topless, sitting patiently in the same posture, just waiting. Every time I went past them, I found my eyes drawn to them, wondering how they had reached this situation, what they were thinking…

Meanwhile, the party was in full swing, with about fifty people there, spilling out into all the downstairs reception rooms, the mixture of classical and jazz music on the CD player almost drowned out by the buzz of conversation. I kept circulating with drinks and nibbles, washing glasses when I ran out.

It was about 11pm, when I got a moment to rest and reflect, as I sat down in the kitchen to give my sore feet a break. My first thought was ‘what had that woman meant when she’d called me “Rebecca’s new girl”?’ Is that what I was – hers? The thought immediately led me to the idea of possession, and from there quickly to ‘Mistress’ and ‘slave’…

I wasn’t her slave – I couldn’t be one of those women kneeling passively on the carpet; they were all too beautiful, for a start! I wondered if they had lives outside of their role as slaves, had jobs, houses, families, friends… Or did ‘slave’ mean complete and full-time, doing nothing but serve their owners, have nothing, not even friends and family…

I suddenly realised the glass in front of my eyes was steaming over. My breathing was shallow and ragged, I was sweating, my thighs were spread wide, and my latex-clad fingers had opened my split-crotch panties, and were rubbing along the lips of my sex.

I pulled my hand away, shocked at myself, then jumped up, straightened my clothes, grabbed a tray, and scuttled back into the party, trying to get those thoughts out of my head.

“How are you doing, Lucy, are you okay?” It was Miss Hudson, her hand on my shoulder, looking past the glass barrier and deep into my eyes. I nodded, and realised I had barely spoken a word since entering the house, certainly none since donning the mask. Somewhere in my brain, I registered this as another submissive act, along with the curtseys and my willingness to go along with this whole, surreal evening.

“I’m so glad,” she went on, “I hoped you would enjoy yourself. You see that man over there?” She indicated a good-looking guy across the room, who smiled at me and raised his glass. I nodded, remembering that he had brought a young Chinese slave girl with him.

“He just asked me if he could fuck you!”

I looked at her in alarm – he wanted to rape me, here at the party?! I shook my head frantically, still finding no capacity to speak, as I felt tears welling in my eyes. I looked pleadingly at Miss Hudson – please don’t let him have me, I silently begged.

“It’s okay, sweetie!” she said in a reassuring voice, pulling me to her in a hug. “No one’s making you do anything! He asked politely, and I had to see if you wanted it. You’re perfectly safe here, no one’s going to hurt you!”

I gradually started to calm down as she continued to hold me – my arms hung uselessly at my side, I couldn’t touch her – and whisper soothingly in my ear. Over her shoulder, I saw the guy watching us, then shrug, smile, and walk away. For a brief moment, I noticed her breasts squashed up against me, her soft hand stroking my hair, the warmth of her body… then it was gone, she let me go, going back to her guests.

My head was in a complete spin, and I tottered back to the kitchen for a breather. I opened the back door, and enjoyed the cold night air on my overheated body. I wanted to take a deep breath of fresh air, and I reached around to the straps holding the mask clamped to my face. But the combination of the tightness of the straps, the intricacy of the buckles, and the desensitising effect of the latex gloves defeated me, and I failed to even loosen the mask, let alone remove it. I changed my strategy to the removal of the gloves, but was again thwarted, this time by tight bands at the top of the gloves, around my upper arms.

I realised that I was trapped in these things until such time as someone decided to free me! Along with that revelation came the certainty that this was entirely intentional, that Miss Hudson had been leading me down this path and now, here I was, as helpless as those girls in chains on the floor!

Somehow, this thought did not fill me with fear – I did not believe Miss Hudson meant me any harm. Was this a test? Or an opportunity for me to experience things beyond my narrow view of life? I thought about the man who wanted to fuck me – I didn’t want to lose my virginity at a party to a complete stranger, while dressed all in rubber, but… why not? Was I holding out for ‘Mr Right’? Did I think I’d get a better offer? Who was I kidding? Smothered in rubber and hidden behind a mask was probably the only way I was ever going to get laid! More confused than ever, I headed back to the party.

As midnight approached, I dashed around with a bottle of champagne, refilling everyone’s glasses. With a minute to go, I went over by the slave girls, still patiently waiting, and leaned against the wall, watching the revelry.

“Ten… Nine… Eight…!”

I was surprised to see Miss Hudson making a bee-line for me, and I got off the wall, assuming she was going to ask me to do something. Instead she pushed me back against the wall, pressing her body against me, pinning me there.

“Everyone needs someone at midnight!” she growled.

“Three… Two… One!”

As the count reached zero, Miss Hudson loosened a couple of the clips of the gas mask (easy for her!) and pushed it up. I was blinded by the rubber which had been under my chin, but I didn’t care, because at that moment I felt her soft lips touch mine, suddenly transporting me to another plane! I turned my head and opened my mouth, welcoming in her tongue to tease and play with mine. I had never been kissed like that, so full of passion and warmth, and I began to feel a little faint. I could taste her saliva, and it seemed sweet, not gross at all, as it scraped from her tongue against my teeth. I found other sensations assaulting me as well – the smell of her perfume, the feel of her fingers tousling my hair, twisting and pulling it, but not in a painful way. I remained passive throughout, not moving my hands even though I so wanted to hold her body, another mark of my submission.

I felt her hands move from my hair, roaming my body, seeking pleasure points – but they were all pleasure points for me. Her fingers toyed with my protruding nipples, somehow managing to make them harder than they already were. Then I felt a hand on the bare skin between stocking and panties, moving up my thigh. There was no clamping together this time, I welcomed her touch with open legs, silently beseeching her to.. to finger-fuck my cunt and make me cum! The dirty words flashed through my brain, capturing my mood perfectly – I wanted her to ‘do’ me, in the worst way!

But it was not to be. The outside world intruded on my private Nirvana.

“Happy New Year!” Miss Hudson whispered in my ear, then pulled the mask back down over my face. I saw her through the eye holes, I saw the half-smile, and the bright glint in her eyes, and I hoped the pleasure was postponed, rather than denied.

“Party games time!” she squealed and, taking my hand, dragged me into the crowd of revellers. It started with the silly, novelty dance songs, with the ridiculous actions – ‘Agadoo’, ‘The Birdy Song’, ‘The Cheeky Girls (Touch My Bum)’, we Brits have a million of them.

I didn’t know any of the actions, never having been to a party where they were played, but it didn’t matter – I copied Miss Hudson, and everyone was pissed anyway. It was hilarious. Then, it was ‘Oops Upside Your Head (The Rowing Boat Song)’, where you all sit on the floor in lines, and it’s lean forward, shake your tits (if you’ve got ‘em) , lean back in the person behind’s lap and wriggle, lean to the right and slap the floor, lean to the left and slap the floor, repeat forever. Look it up on YouTube, it’s very silly.

I was sitting in front of some big breasted woman, and every time I went back, I was lying with my head between them, while as we all leaned forward, she grabbed my chest and had a good feel. But I didn’t care, I was having fun!

“Okay, everyone stand up, but stay in your lines!” Miss Hudson called out.

She, Miss MacTavish and Miss Charlotte went down the lines, and it wasn’t until Miss MacTavish reached the woman in front of me that I realised that they were tying everyone’s hands behind their backs. I was a bit nervous about this, but everyone else seemed fine with it, so I didn’t make a fuss. I felt Miss MacTavish was unnecessarily rough, as she pulled my arms behind me and bound my wrists uncomfortably tightly together. Then, she wrapped a rope around my elbows, something that hadn’t happened to anyone else, in my row or the others, and pulled it so that my arms were dragged together, until I cried out in pain. She tied the rope off, with my elbows only inches apart. Why was she picking on me?

“Okay, first team to get their vibrator to the end of the line and back without using their hands, wins! Ladies, you have to use your thighs, gents, your mouths! The winners get to be untied and hit the bar, losers go again! Ready? Go!”

The race was a hoot. Every time one of the buzzing monsters hit the floor, there was a loud cheer, and that team had to start again. The woman in front of me turned awkwardly and waddled a couple of steps until our bodies were pressed together, her big boobs almost pushing me away, as I leaned back, trying to get my legs around the bit of the dildo poking out from between her ‘generous’ thighs. I fell over backwards and had to struggle back to my feet before trying again. I eventually got it, and felt the strong vibrations running up through my skin, having a surprisingly dramatic effect on my level of arousal. I turned to the man behind me, who was already on his knees. He took the end of it in his mouth, and I opened my legs to release it to him but, instead of just moving away and turning, he raised his head, running the thing up the inside of my thigh until it pressed against my already damp crotch. It only stayed there for a moment, but it felt sensational!

On the way back up the line, I felt the vibrator pressed once again into the black latex covering my hot little pussy (I’m getting into these euphemisms now!), and I knew it was no coincidence this time. I clamped my thighs around it, so it was kept right on the button, as it were, and pulled it out of his mouth. I staggered a bit as I turned to the woman, and I seriously thought I might cum before it moved on, but I just about managed to maintain a level of decorum until it had safely passed down the line.

We didn’t win that first race. Those that did were jeering and cheering as they relaxed with their drinks to watch the fun. We nearly won the second race, but the person at the front dropped the vibrator in the last changeover and we were dead.

The third race was the last, with just the two teams left. By the time I got the ‘baton’ on the way back, my thighs were slick with my juices, and it slipped out before I could pass it on. We’d lost. We all wondered what our ‘booby prize’ would be.

It turned out that, now, we would be racing against our former teammates to avoid being the ultimate loser. For this, we were forced to lie on our stomachs so we could be hogtied, wrists to ankles. Whoever came last in a race across the floor would then suffer a public spanking from the three Dommes running the game!

I was determined not to lose – no way did I want to be spanked! But my chances were ruined when Miss MacTavish tied my ankles to the rope around my elbows, making my hogtie way more strict than anyone else’s. When the race started, the others were able to make slow, difficult, but steady progress forward, while I could do little more than rock back and forth. I was doomed.

My saving grace was the woman who had been in front of me. She was a big woman, and her tits seemed to be getting in the way. Gradually, I developed a rhythm, allowing me to inch forward, and we were neck-and-neck. The crowd was cheering, bets were being laid, and then a huge cheer went up – the race was over, and I’d… won! Or, rather, I hadn’t lost! I have a sneaking suspicion that the other woman didn’t try that hard, and from the cries of ‘fix!’ from the disgruntled punters, I wasn’t the only one.

I was glad to be released from my bondage, and to be able to watch the ensuing spectacle from the audience, rather than the stage! The woman was bent across the back of a chair, with her wrists tied on one side and her ankles the other. Her skirt was lifted up, her pants pulled down, and her ample buttocks spanked until they were red as a beetroot. To my horror, the man who had wanted to fuck me then came up and fucked her! Right there in front of everyone! And they were laughing and cheering, like it was a joke. Admittedly, I could hear the bound woman also urging him on and begging for more, but still!

This seemed to be a signal for the party to degenerate into an orgy. I saw one man standing by the line of slave girls, with his cock in the mouth of the girl in front of him. A couple were going at it pretty hard on the couch, and people – men and women, women and women – were pairing off and disappearing into other rooms or upstairs. I looked around for Miss Hudson, but couldn’t find her, so I retreated to the sanctuary of the kitchen, venturing out occasionally to see if anyone wanted anything to eat or drink.

Gradually, the party died down. By about 3am, everyone had either left, retired to one of the bedrooms, or fallen asleep where they sat or lay. I felt utterly exhausted. Miss Hudson had offered me a bed for the night, as I had no way of getting home, but when I looked into the room where I had got dressed, the bed was already taken by a couple of very drunk, and very naked, women.

I also had the problem that I couldn’t get this mask off without help, and I went in search of Miss Hudson, stopping outside her room, where I thought I could hear sobbing. I eased the door open and peaked in, but quickly realised no-one was crying here, except maybe in ecstasy. Miss Hudson was on the bed, naked, her legs wide apart. The only reason I couldn’t see everything she had to offer was because there was a man’s head in the way. She had the fingers of one hand in his hair, while the other held a cane, which she was flicking across his upturned buttocks. I could see his hands were tied behind him, and he was desperately trying to deflect the blows away from his striped cheeks. He was making loud slurping noises, while Miss Hudson was expressing her joy at his attentions. It was clear I’d get no help here, and I discretely withdrew.

The only unoccupied room in the house was the kitchen, and I resigned myself to sleeping there. But the Aga was still blazing away, and I didn’t know how to switch it off, so it was like a sauna in there, I was sweating buckets. I knew I couldn’t take off the mask or gloves; the stockings also had the tight band on them preventing me from rolling them down. I managed to get the shoes off, which was a relief, but hardly cooled me down. I had no choice but to pull the dress off to let some air to my body – I even opened the back door for a few minutes to cool down.

Now, the hottest part of my body was my groin, which had had a lot of excitement for one night. I thought about it for a microsecond, then started to roll the panties down from the top, until they were just like a rubber band around my hips, then I managed to pull them down and off my legs.

Finally cooled to a manageable temperature, I sat down on one of the chairs, and slumped down on the table. I may have been asleep before my masked face hit the cool wood surface.

Part 3

I awoke the next morning to a glorious smell of frying bacon, and a sharp poke in the ribs. As I lifted my head, I had one of those frightening moments of complete disorientation – where am I, why am I nearly naked, what is this thing on my face – before the memories of the previous evening flooded back.

“Wake up, you lazy slut!” I recognised Miss MacTavish’s voice, and I looked around in alarm to find her standing over me brandishing her riding crop, which is what had dug into my side a moment ago. I jumped to my feet, throwing an arm across my chest to hide my breasts, and placing a hand over my groin to preserve my modesty. Miss MacTavish was dressed in well-tailored slacks, a tight lycra top and heels. The look on her face was murderous.

“Your job at the party isn’t finished until the mess has all been cleared up! Get into the lounge and get on with it, unless you want to feel the crop across your backside!”

This wasn’t right, I wasn’t getting paid for clearing up! But I couldn’t argue with her, she might recognise my voice, and anyway, she scared me – I was convinced her threat of violence was all too real, she’d enjoy giving me a jolly good thrashing! I reached for my dress, to cover my nakedness, but she held me back with the crop, and hustled me into the hall.

“Get the vacuum cleaner – it’s probably in that cupboard under the stairs – and get busy! I’ll be back to check on your progress in a few minutes.”

I thought about dashing upstairs and going to Miss Hudson for help, but I was worried that she might still have that man with her. I was also starting to think, well, while I’m here, I might as well do a little tidying, and it will make Miss Hudson happy…

So, I got the Hoover out and ran it around the three main reception rooms which had been used for the party. It felt so bizarre to be doing housework while dressed only in latex stocking, gloves and a gas mask, but it was also weirdly erotic. I realised I was actually enjoying it, but that quickly came to a juddering halt when Miss MacTavish came back in.

“Clear all those plates and glasses into the kitchen, idiot!” she barked. I stopped with the vacuum and started picking up plates.

“Quickly, girl!” I started to panic, and rush, and the inevitable happened – I dropped a plate. It hit the carpet and, luckily, didn’t break, but now there was food and crumbs everywhere.

“Oh, you stupid bitch!” Miss MacTavish screamed. “Bend over! You need to be punished!”

I cowered back – she really was going to hit me! When I didn’t assume the required position, she grabbed my hair, dragged me over to the couch, and threw me over the back, holding me down as I struggled to cover my buttocks with my hands. She was surprisingly strong, and she managed to grip both my wrists in one hand, pulling them clear so she could lay into me. I was crying by now, in anticipation of the pain to come.

“What’s going on? Elsa, no!”

It was Miss Hudson, riding to my rescue in the nick of time! Miss MacTavish released my arms, and I quickly got off the couch and as far away from her as I could. Miss Hudson must have been woken up by the commotion, because her hair was tousled, her make-up from the previous night a little smudged, and the silk dressing gown she had thrown on had come open. I couldn’t stop myself looking down, to see that, as I had guessed, she had only the thinnest strip of trimmed pubic hair across her Venus mound.

“This young lady is just helping me out, she’s not to be treated like one of your slaves, Elsa. You, come with me.”

She took my arm and led me out of the room, but not before I’d seen the venomous look of hatred on the face of Miss MacTavish. I knew I’d had a lucky escape there! Miss Hudson took me up to her bedroom, and I was happy to see not only that the man she had been with the previous night was not there, but my clothes were. She finally took the gas mask off me, and helped me out of the gloves and stockings.

“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” she apologised, “sorry you had to spend the night like this, and sorry for how Elsa treated you.”

“That’s okay, Miss Hudson,” I replied timidly, “I really enjoyed the party.”

“I’m so glad! I hoped you would. I was happy to see you joining in the games. Do you want a shower?”

“That sounds lovely! I can wash the smell of rubber away!” I joked.

“Come on, we can share one!” I saw that glint in her eye, the half-smile, and didn’t hesitate for a moment!

Her shower was enormous, plenty of room for both of us, but she made sure we were very close together as the warm water washed over us. She squeezed some shower gel onto her hand, and told me to turn around. I was a little nervous as I turned my back – I’d never had any kind of sexual experience with a woman, I’d never even had a particularly close girlfriend when I was younger, so I didn’t really know what to expect. But as soon as her long fingers began to work a lather up on my shoulders, kneading and massaging away the knots of tension, I was in heaven.

“Assume the position,” she breathed into my ear as she leaned in. Again, I felt unsure of myself and of her intentions, but I did as she ordered, putting my hands on the wall in front of me and parting my feet a little, as if I were about to be frisked for drugs or weapons.

Her hands snaked around my body and cupped my small breasts, gently squeezing them, before pinching my prominent nipples until they were hard. I was struggling for breath as my arousal was expertly stoked by the stroking of her fingers along my arms, on my neck, and down my sides. I felt like I should be reciprocating, giving her as much pleasure as she was me, but I didn’t dare move from the stretched position she had placed me in – she was entirely in charge of this situation, and I knew that if she wanted me to do anything other than submit to her touch, she would tell me. And I would do it, whatever it was – I was utterly in her thrall, hers to command.

Her hands moved down to my stomach, then slid around to the small of my back, soaping my wet skin all the time. As they worked their way to my bottom, I let out an involuntary sound, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and I stuck my bum out, inviting her to do whatever she wanted there. Her palms smoothed across my buttocks, following the rounded contours of my arse – I’ve never had a problem with that part of my anatomy, and to have it treated with such loving attention was amazing. I felt her fingers working between my cheeks, pressing along the length of the cleft, before centring on the tight bud of my anus.

I let out an open-mouthed gasp as she worked the tip of her index finger into me, toying with me in a way which was entirely foreign, and yet it was causing familiar sensations of pleasure and excitement to course through my body. I felt my hand slip on the wet tiles, and suddenly my face was pressed against my forearm, and I was fighting to contain the sounds emitting from me, sounds which betrayed how close I was to climax at that point. Her finger delved deeper, imbuing me with a curious mixture of pain and pleasure such as I had never felt before.

In a moment, and with no recollection of actually turning, I had my back pressed against the wall, and Miss Hudson was kissing me, on my face, my lips, my neck, then on my nipples, sucking them into her furnace of a mouth and tormenting them with her agile tongue. My arms once more hung uselessly by my side, as I just let her continue to take total control, her hands and her lips driving me out of my mind with lust, to the point where I was begging her to bring me release, however she might choose to achieve that.

As I felt her sliding down my body, onto her knees, her breath hot on my pubis, I arched my back and turned my face up to the water, feeling it run down my face and my body. A moment later, I let out a squeal of pleasure as her tongue probed me, exploring within my pubic hair, pushing my labia aside to reach the treasures within.

She was such an expert, her touch so excruciating and exquisite, that I was unable to move, unable to think, just barely able to keep myself upright and allow her to work her mind-blowing magic on me. Her tongue, ably supported by her lips and even the gentle nibbling of her teeth, drove me to levels of stimulation such as I had never experienced, as she roamed far and wide across the soft flesh and deep crevices of my virgin sex. I couldn’t keep my hands still and, rather than be so presumptuous as to grab her hair, I began to pinch my own nipples, gently at first, but then pulling on them cruelly hard, adding greatly to my arousal.

It seemed to me that I had been on the verge of this climax forever when it finally burst upon me like a supernova. I let out a high-pitched, wordless scream, and every muscle in my body locked up, my fingers splaying, my legs going into spasm, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me. When it was finally over, everything went limp, and I slumped against the tiles, utterly spent. Miss Hudson stood up, and actually had to help me out of the shower, my legs like jelly.

She wrapped me in a big, fluffy towel, and sat me down on the toilet seat to recover. She got back in the shower and finished washing herself, occasionally looking over at me with a smile, checking I was alright. When I’d recovered, I started to feel guilty that I’d done nothing to reciprocate the incredible experience Miss Hudson had given me, but by then she was getting dressed, and it was too late.

When I was dressed once more in my own, dowdy clothes, Miss Hudson led me to the front door, checking to make sure no-one would see me leave.

“Here you are, Lucy,” she said, handing me the £300 for the previous night, plus an extra £100, ‘for my efforts this morning’, as she said, but with such a wicked smile I wondered if she meant in the shower!

“And here’s a little New Year’s gift,” she smiled, presenting me, surprisingly, with the latex rubber panties which I had worn the previous evening. Confused, but not wanting to offend her, I stuffed them in my pocket, with the money. Then she leaned forward and gave me a long, lingering kiss on the lips, once more completely taking my breath away.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Thanks for everything, Lucy.”

My head was in a spin as I made my way home, still trying to come to terms with all the sights, sounds and sensations it had been subjected to in the past 18 hours. When I got home, I went back to bed to catch up on my sleep, and lay there, daydreaming about being dressed in rubber, being tied up, and being deflowered in the bathroom. At some point I dozed off, and while I don’t remember the specifics of the dreams I had, I woke up even more aroused than when I’d fallen asleep.

Eventually, I gave up on sleep and threw back the covers. My hands roamed my naked body, touching myself down there, fantasising that it was her tongue, bringing me to the summit of ecstasy again, pushing me over the edge and into that post-coital abyss. It was not as amazing an effect as she had produced – how could it be – but it left me gasping for breath, and tingling all over my body. It was certainly the best onanistic experience of my life to that point.

Even then, I couldn’t settle, I couldn’t clear my mind of those erotic images. On an impulse, I jumped up and went to my coat, digging in my pocket until I found the scrap of latex that I was looking for, the panties she had forced upon me. I stepped into them, pulling them up and smoothing them against my skin. I stood in front of the mirror, admiring myself, the sheen of the material against my skin, the feel of them gripping my buttocks. But I could see there was something wrong, the bulge at the front looked uneven, messy, and stray hairs poked out from behind the rubber shield. I knew I had to do something about it.

I took the panties off again and, with my heart pounding at what I was about to do, I went into the bathroom. I sat on the loo with my Ladyshave, shaving foam, and a mug of hot water, trying to control my nerves and gather my courage. It felt so weird, having the blades against my most sensitive area, and I was particularly careful – a nick there didn’t bear thinking about! Gradually, the pubic hair, which I’d been so proud of when it first appeared, proving I was a woman rather than a girl, came away, and I was left feeling more naked than I had ever been before. When I was done, I used the facecloth to clean myself up, it’s rough texture adding to my already excitable state. I dried myself, then dashed back to the bedroom.

I pulled the rubber pants up high, and looked at myself in the mirror again. Much better, I breathed, as I ran my finger over the smooth surface. The finger wormed its way through the slit in the garment, finding the surfaces beneath ultra-sensitive and wet, while my other hand cupped my breast, pinching and pulling the nipple. I just couldn’t stop myself, and I stared at my reflection, this time imagining the feel of those tight ropes cutting into the skin of my arms, bending my body into that painfully strict hogtie, as I brought myself to another, incredible orgasm.

After recovering from that complete lapse of self-control, I padded around the flat, fixing myself something to eat and drink, wearing only the latex panties. I settled down in front of my laptop, and surfed for pictures of women in latex, bound women, bound women in latex and, I’m ashamed to say, fingered myself to another climax. It was like I had opened some kind of door to my sexuality, and now I couldn’t stop playing with myself.

Eventually, I crawled into my bed and went to sleep, thinking about the possibility of seeing Miss Hudson again tomorrow, and being excited by the prospect.

Part 4

I managed to resist the temptation to indulge myself once more in the shower in the morning, and got to work on time and in high spirits. I didn’t see Miss Hudson in the morning, but was excited to see an email from her, entitled ‘Happy New Year!’ The content reiterated her thanks to me for working at her party, and included a link which ‘you’ll enjoy watching’.

Unthinkingly, I clicked on the link, a new window popped up, and I instantly regretted having done so. Across the entire screen was a video of me, in the rubber maid’s outfit, in the gas mask, trussed up and struggling on the floor. All around were the other partygoers, smiling, laughing, and urging me on.

But the real problem was the sound – the office was suddenly filled by the sounds of raucous laughter, lewd comments being shouted, and loud party music banging out of the speakers.

I tried frantically to shut the window down, but when I finally got the mouse over the X and clicked, a message popped up saying ‘Click Okay to confirm you wish to close this window’. By this time, people were gathering around me, pointing at the screen, asking me what the video was. As I tried to steer the mouse over to the Okay button, I saw that this was a YouTube link – I was out there, for all the world to see!

I finally managed to close the window, then quickly deleted the email, but as I looked up, I saw that Mr Jenkins, my boss, was standing over me, with a very serious expression. I went an even deeper shade of red, and I could feel the sweat prickling on my brow. The rest of the morning was spent with my head down, working furiously, avoiding eye contact even more than usual.

I escaped out to the park at lunchtime to eat my sandwich and to wonder about the YouTube video – had Miss Hudson posted it? Had she set me up to run it at work? Surely she wouldn’t do that to me, would she? I realised that she didn’t have any other email address for me, so if she was going to share it, she would have to send it to me at work. And, really, it was my own fault – never click a link to YouTube if you don’t know what is going to pop up. No, Miss Hudson was innocent, I only had myself to blame.

When I returned to the office, I found an email waiting for me from Miss MacTavish in HR asking – no, ordering – me to come to her office immediately. Maybe I had a premonition of what was to happen, but before I went, I recovered Miss Hudson’s email from the trash folder and forwarded it to my private email address.

“Thank you for coming, Lucy, take a seat please.” There was a slight smile on her lips, but no warmth or humour in her eyes. I realised that she would probably be considered good-looking, except that her face seemed to always be twisted into a harsh, cruel expression. How do you get to be in HR, I thought, when you seem to hate all things human?

“You do realise it is a sackable offense to view pornography on company computers?” No small-talk, no preliminaries, just straight to it.

“I’m sorry, Miss MacTavish, I just clicked on a link in an email without thinking. I had no idea…” My voice trailed off miserably.

“Who was this email from?” she asked sharply. Oh shit, I thought, I mustn’t drop Miss Hudson in it!

“I don’t know,” I blustered, “I think it was spam.”

She gave me a look which conveyed her scepticism, and made a note on the paper in front of her.

“Be that as it may… The reason I’ve called you here is because we’ve decided to bring your six month probationary review forward.” I’m sure her cruel smile widened slightly when she saw the look of alarm and panic on my face.

“I’m afraid it just isn’t working out,” she went on, calmly, coldly, throwing my life into turmoil.

“What?! But I’m very good at the work, and I work very hard!” I protested, the tears springing to my eyes.

“There’s more to this job than just crunching the numbers, Lucy,” she explained, with a poor impression of sympathy, tending more towards condescension, “each department is a team, and you’re just not a team player.”

I hated her at that moment, not because of what she was doing to me, but because I knew she was right. The tears now rolled down my cheeks, tears of shame and despair at how useless I was. The door opened, and Miss MacTavish’s assistant came in.

“Janet, accompany Ms Harmon off the premises. She can collect her personal effects from her desk, but then she’s to leave immediately.”

I stood up and wiped my nose on my sleeve, not bothering to brush away the tears. As I went to the door, I looked back, but Miss MacTavish had already moved on, her head down as she read some document. I went by my desk and picked up my things – a mug, a pen, a picture, a gonk – what a sad collection to represent six months of my life. No one spoke to me, to say goodbye, to wish me well. They didn’t even have the common decency to look at me as I left – another place which I had passed through without leaving the slightest impression.

An hour later, I was lying on my bed, bawling my eyes out. I was wondering what on Earth was to become of me – with this failed probation on my record, and probably a shitty reference from the company, getting another job was going to be even harder than the first time, and that had been no picnic. With no job, I couldn’t afford this flat, and my lavish lifestyle of beans on toast, and I would be forced to return home to my parents with my tail between my legs, my attempt to break out of my provincial upbringing ending in ignominious defeat. I had plenty to cry about.

I was surprised by the ringing of the doorbell – no one came to visit me, and surely my landlord couldn’t have heard of my sacking already. I dragged myself off the bed, noticing how puffy my eyes were as I passed the mirror on the way to the door.

“Oh my God, Lucy! I just heard! I’m so sorry!” I suddenly found myself in the warm, fragrant embrace of Miss Hudson!

She kept her arm around my shoulders as she led me into my sitting area and sat me down on the sofa, pressing my face against her once again as she tried to console me with ‘There, there’ and ‘You poor thing!’

“It’s horrible getting the sack,” she said softly, “I know, it’s happened to me in the past. But you have to look on it as an opportunity.”

“What opportunity?” I wailed. “I’m unemployed and unemployable, I’ll be thrown out of this dump in a week or two, and I’ll have to go and live with mum and dad in Gloucestershire, where nothing ever happens! My life is over!”

She leaned away from me, looking at me in the eyes and holding my hands.

“Okay, we need to change that attitude for a start! Lucy, you’re a beautiful young woman with your whole life ahead of you! This is just a temporary setback. Remember – what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Now, dry those tears, and show me your wardrobe.”

I led her into my bedroom and showed her the entire range of my clothes, which was limited to say the least. She picked out a white blouse and black skirt that I had worn at my cousin’s wedding a year or so back.

“Okay, show me your underwear.”

She was not impressed with my collection of lingerie, which consisted of big knickers, functional bras, and beige tights. The shoes weren’t much better when we moved on to them, all functional and flat. She chose a white bra and a pair of slightly sparkly shoes, but no pants.

“Have you still got those latex panties?” she asked. I nodded.

“Okay, you’ll have to wear those. Now, strip off and put these things on, then I’ll fix your make-up - we’re going out!”

She used her own make-up, applying mascara, a little foundation, a little eye shadow, lipstick and lip liner – most of which I never used. When she was finished, she stood me in front of the mirror, and the transformation was remarkable. The little girl with the sullen, tear-stained face was gone, replaced by a sophisticated and – yes – quite good-looking young woman.

“Wow!” was all I could say. Miss Hudson, by way of reply, turned me around and planted a hot, passionate kiss on my lips, her tongue urgently engaging with mine. After a couple of minutes, she disengaged, leaving me gasping for air and struggling for composure.

“Hang on,” she said, catching her own breath, “I’d better redo your lipstick.”

She took me to a very fancy restaurant, and I ate the best meal I’d ever had. She asked me all sorts of questions, and by the time we were having coffee and liqueurs, I’d told her my whole, miserable life story – and, surprisingly, she was still awake!

“Okay,” she started in a considered tone, “this is what I think. You’re good at accountancy, but not so good at getting on with people. So, what you should do is freelance bookkeeping for small businesses – they can never afford to do it themselves, it has to be done, and it takes a few days a month. If you get a few of those clients lined up, you’ll earn enough to keep you afloat. I know lots of clients that would kill for that kind of service, you just need to create a website for your new business. Can you do that?”

“I guess so,” I replied – I’d done some website design at school.

“Good,” Miss Hudson smiled, “that’s problem one sorted. Problem two, you can’t afford your rent. Okay, I suggest you come and live with me. I have more than enough room, you can have your own office as well as bedroom. Instead of paying me rent, you can do stuff for me – cooking, cleaning, that kind of thing. What do you say?”

This was amazing – I get to live in that gorgeous house? With this gorgeous woman? Wow!

“I’d love to, but are you sure?” I asked doubtfully. “You’d soon get bored with me hanging around all the time.”

“I’m sure we could think of something to do to stave off the boredom,” she responded, with that half-smile, that glint in her eye, and I smiled broadly at the prospect.

“Okay then, that’s settled,” she said, calling for the bill, “now we can go and have some fun!”

She took me to a nightclub, and we danced like mad things until we were both drenched in sweat, but neither of us cared, we were enjoying ourselves too much. At the end of the night, I was planning to make my way home to my flat, but Miss Hudson wouldn’t hear of it, she insisted I go back to her place. The implication was clear – I would be staying the night! I was filled only with excitement, wondering just where this would go.

I didn’t have long to wait. We were barely through the door when she pushed me up against the wall, her mouth pressed hard against mine, her hands all over me, groping me. I gave as good as I got in the kissing department, but as before, remained passive from the neck down, letting her take the lead. I was a bit surprised, but didn’t flinch, when she grabbed my blouse and ripped it open, sending buttons flying in all directions. She yanked the thing off my shoulders and threw it across the hall, then started pulling at my bra. That wouldn’t rip, but she managed to get it around my waist before she got the clip undone, and it joined my blouse in some far-flung corner of the house.

She impatiently unclipped, unzipped, and pulled down my skirt, making me step out of it, then I kicked off my shoes, and was naked except for the latex panties. Miss Hudson took my hand, and led me up the stairs.

“You may have noticed already, Lucy, but I have the hots for you,” she explained as we went into her bedroom, “before we go any further, I need to warn you that I fully intend to fuck your brains out, and have you do the same to me. Are you okay with that?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Hudson!” I breathed, so excited I was hardly able to speak.

“I should also warn you that I’m a kinky bitch,” she said gravely, but for the twinkle and the half-smile, “if I do anything you’re not comfortable with, just let me know and I’ll stop.” My excitement level just went up, but with a little frisson of uncertainty – what exactly was she going to do to me?!

I assumed she meant the whole latex thing, but when she brought out four leather cuffs and strapped them on my wrists and ankles, before locking them in place, I guessed she was into the bondage thing, too.

The next challenge was the leather hood. It looked so cold and creepy as she held it there, its empty eyes staring, its zippered mouth gaping open – why did she want to depersonalise me? Was I so disgusting to look at that she wanted to hide me, first with the gas mask and now with this? I wasn’t sure, I felt horribly nervous, but I wasn’t going to risk losing her by rejecting her kinks – let’s see where this ends up, I thought.

She put my hair in a ponytail high on my head and threaded it through a hole in the top of the hood, then started to pull it down over my face. It felt tight to my skin, but once it was in place and she started to lace it up, it clung to my head like a leech, forming what felt like a second skin. My breathing was already becoming ragged, with a combination of fear and excitement flooding my mind.

“Are you okay?” she asked, staring into my eyes with concern. I nodded, not wanting to risk speaking, and giving away how I felt – I could see the edges of the leather surrounding my eyes, restricting my vision, I could smell the rich aroma of the material and it scared me, bringing home to me just how far under her spell I was. She leaned forward, her hands holding my head, and kissed me, her tongue darting between the metallic teeth of the zip to enter my mouth. If you want me like this, I thought, then I will be your faceless lover, the anonymous mannequin you seem to desire.

She lay me back on the bed, and I watched in silence as she tied ropes from the cuffs on my wrists to the corners of the bed, stretching my arms out above me. Then ropes from my ankles were taken up to pulleys suspended from the ceiling, then down to join at a ratcheted cog attached to the foot of the bed. As Miss Hudson turned the handle, the ratchet clacked noisily, and my legs slowly rose from the bed to form a V above. But it didn’t stop there, I felt my bum lift up too, and then my back, until only my shoulders were lying on the sheets.

“Now the fun starts,” Miss Hudson said, coming back to the bed with an armful of toys.

Before she began, and after checking with me once more that I was okay, she ordered me to open wide. I felt something pushed into my mouth, a soft sponge ball which expanded behind my teeth to fill my mouth and cut off all but the most basic noises, which would only emerge as muffled, wordless sounds. The zip was pulled across my face, forcing my jaws together, reducing my vocalisations to virtually nothing, and allowing me to breathe only through my nose.

I tried to lift my head to see what she was doing, but when I saw the large-headed wand in her hand and felt its vibrations running through my body, I gave up the struggle, content to simply experience the feelings her ministrations were inducing. Waves of pleasure swept through my body as she pressed the head against my sex, forcing my labia to open like the petals of a flower, revealing the even more sensitive flesh inside. I writhed and struggled within my bondage, my body twisting and turning in mid-air, overcome by the power of the stimulation the device was providing.

I screamed as the orgasm ripped through me, though only the most pathetic of whimpers escaped from my gagged mouth. Now, I wanted more than anything in the world to be free, to be released from this delicious torment, but I was to be shown no mercy. The wand did not even leave my body for a moment, but instead pressed even more insistently against me, seeking out my swollen clitoris, and driving me to utter distraction once more. I had heard the term ‘forced orgasm’ before but never really understood it until that moment. Another orgasm was the last thing I wanted right then, but the unthinking device forced me to it. An unthinking device, I noted in my rather addled brain, being applied with very definite purpose, by the woman to whom I had given up all control. Was that purpose benign or malign? I didn’t know and, to a certain extent, it was irrelevant – I was helpless to influence what happened to me, so there was no point in resisting, either physically or mentally. I submitted, heart and soul, prepared to enjoy or endure whichever she might dispense.

Still, I was relieved when the wand vibrator moved away and, for a few moments at least, I was able to relax, hanging limply from the ropes. I could feel a slick layer of sweat covering my face, trapped there by the impermeable mask, making my skin itch. I was also starting to get the tingle of pins and needles in my fingers and toes, caused by the weight of my stretched body being channelled to the cuffs, restricting blood flow to my extremities. The nature of my bondage was making my body ache in the shoulders and hip joints, as tension was applied to the sockets which held my limbs to my body.

But these discomforts were forgotten as I felt a hand caressing between my buttocks, a latex-gloved finger pressing against my sphincter, forcing its way inside. I had never experienced any kind of anal play, and the feelings this invasion evoked were unsettling, the discomfort offset by an odd sense of arousal. The finger explored deep inside me, pressing against the walls of my rear passage, making me squirm in my bonds once more.

After a thorough, almost clinical, examination, the finger was withdrawn, to my relief. But, only seconds later, I felt something cold pressing against me, something much larger, opening my sphincter muscle much wider, to the point where I was wailing in pain, tears springing to my eyes. The stretching continued, until I was sure the skin would tear, then suddenly it was over. The device, whatever it was, was fully inside me, and my ring had closed gratefully behind it, trapping it inside. I felt stuffed, completely filled in a way I’d only ever experienced before through the most severe constipation. And then the thing inside me began to vibrate.

The curious, uncomfortable feeling, became something even more alien, as the strong vibrations transmitted through my body from my back passage to my vagina, gently stimulating me along its length. It was so strange, as if a vibrator had been pushed up there, but which I couldn’t feel, only the ghost of its effects.

Just as the ache of my joints had been superseded by the anal invasion, so that was driven from my fevered mind by the electric sensation of her tongue wriggling between the folds of my sex and delving into my vaginal canal. Once more, I was on the road to another mind-numbing climax, but this time my journey followed a far more circuitous path, as I was teased towards that goal, only to be side-tracked, the tormentor-in-chief letting her mouth slide away to my inner thighs, or stomach, or up as far as my breasts, sucking on my nipples.

As she did so, I was crying out into the gag, imploring her to resume her incredible work on that key area that most needed her attentions, if I was ever going to achieve the release of pent-up desire I so desperately needed. As she repeatedly brought me to the brink, only to let me teeter and fall back on the side of frustration, I began to understand the reason for the gag. Without it, I would have been screaming at her to stop torturing me so and to make me cum, calling her God knows what in my desperation, issuing threats I didn’t mean and begging for understanding and compassion.

With the gag in place, it was abundantly clear who was in charge. With a blinding flash of insight, I realised that, however kind and considerate she appeared to be, Miss Hudson was excited as much by dominating and controlling me as she was by the simple act of having sex with me. The thought filled me with joy – the guilt I had been feeling at the one-sided nature of our relationship lessened as I recognised that my submission was what she really wanted, and I could give her that, I could satisfy that need in her. I knew that I wanted, more than anything else in the world, to make her happy, and now I knew how.

At last she relented, allowing me to cum in a body-shuddering climax which had me dancing on the ropes for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t pass out afterwards, but it felt like there wasn’t an iota of energy left in my body. I lay, unmoving, as I felt my body lowered back onto the bed, the sodden ball taken from my mouth, and the leather hood unlaced and removed from my head. I must have looked a fright, sweat making my reddened face shiny, hair all over the place, but Miss Hudson kissed me anyway, on the forehead, on the eyelids, on the nose, and finally on the lips, tenderly bringing me back to some semblance of coherent thought.

“As previously advertised, now it’s your turn,” she said, and I smiled my acquiescence.

She placed her knees on either side of my head, and I felt her shins pressing gently on my shoulders. I saw her face, smiling down at me, and then all was dark as she lowered her hips, covering my face, pressing her sex against my mouth. I could smell her arousal, and taste the juices which were already oozing from her. I needed no encouragement to drive her in the way she had driven me that first time, to a fast and furious climax. I set about the task with no experience and not much skill, but with boundless enthusiasm and tireless energy. My tongue darted hither and yon, exploring every nook and cranny it could find, even at one point venturing to try and force its way into the tight bud of her anus, but being defeated in that quest. I tried to use my lips as I had felt her do to me, sucking her engorged clitoris into my mouth, to be bathed in my saliva, and teased by the swirling motion of my tongue.

I was rewarded with a series of yelps, gasps, and loud, heartfelt moans of pleasure. But, even at this point, she was determined to assert her dominance. As I worked to force her to orgasm, she was sufficiently in control of herself to pull away, reducing me to delivering only the lightest of flicks, with my tongue at maximum extension and straining my neck to lift my head from the bed. Once she had come down from the high of impending climax, she lowered herself once more, allowing me to resume my strenuous efforts to deliver her the ultimate pleasure.

This went on time after time, until the base of my tongue was aching, and my jaw starting to seize up. When she finally relented, probably having detected my struggles through the waning energy of my efforts, the flood of juices into my mouth and over my face took me by surprise – I had never realised that women came like that, even though I’d done it myself!

Once more exhausted, I waited to see what would happen next. Miss Hudson, a little out of breath I was glad to see, picked up what I eventually worked out was a double-ended strap-on dildo. So, she was going to fuck me good with that! The prospect did not fill me with untempered joy – I had never had the real thing, let alone something as large and thick as the monster she was holding out, and I was worried it would be more painful than pleasurable.

But I was wrong in my assumption. As I felt the straps being placed around my waist, and around my thighs, I realised that what had been slid into my pussy was the smaller, thinner end of the device, and as I lifted my head, I could see the enormous phallus standing erect from my own groin.

Miss Hudson straddled my supine body, easing herself slowly onto the rubber cock, a look of unalloyed bliss suffusing her face. As she began to gently rock backwards and forwards, I felt the other end sliding inside me, pressing up against that sensitive knot of nerves and blood vessels which forms the G-spot. It felt incredible, and as I stared up at my lover, her breasts bouncing on her chest, her eyes shut tight and her mouth gaping as she cried out, I knew we were going to climax together.

It seemed the most beautiful moment imaginable, but it was eclipsed by what followed, as she sank down on top of me, her breasts squashing against my own, virtually flat chest, our lips meeting in a soft, sensual kiss which seemed to last forever. It was a moment of tenderness, of love, one that required no words to convey the depth of feeling, and I have treasured it ever since.

Part 5

I woke the next morning with a wonderful glow suffusing my whole being. There was a warm body lying next to me, an arm draped across my stomach, but this was more than just body heat – I felt that someone cared about me, cared for me. I turned to look at Miss Hudson, her sleeping face looked serene, no worry lines, and I noticed that, when at rest, her natural expression was a slight smile. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful, that I felt a surge of… I have to say ‘love’. You may dismiss that as the infatuation of a young and naïve girl, and you may be right, but at that moment, my heart felt full to bursting.

I felt like I could lie there forever, and I knew she had the day off work, but I wanted to do something to try to repay her kindness in some small way, and the only thing I could think of was breakfast in bed. Very carefully, I extricated myself from her gentle embrace and slid out of the bed. All the bondage had been removed from me, other than the cuffs, which were still locked to my wrists and ankles, and I was naked apart from that. I knew Miss Hudson loved latex, and on an impulse, I looked in her wardrobe and saw the maid’s dress I had worn at the New Year’s party. It seemed appropriate at this point, and I slipped it on, before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

I made coffee, found fresh fruit juice, and croissants, put them on a tray and returned to the bedroom. She had rolled onto her back, and I could hear the quiet whistle of air being inhaled and exhaled through her nose, I could see the gentle rise and fall of her magnificent breasts, exposed as they were with the duvet pushed down to her waist. I felt a rush of pure, unadulterated lust. I didn’t really want to wake her, but then I didn’t want her breakfast to go cold…

I placed the tray on the bedside table, and carefully, nervously, lowered my head to her chest, and ever so gently kissed her right nipple. It was the first time I had taken the lead, as it were, and I wasn’t entirely sure if I should – which, I guess, proves just how submissive I am. Anyway, I continued to very carefully caress her nipples with my lips and tongue, until they were standing erect, and there were stirring noises coming from the recipient of my attentions.

I eased back the duvet, and moved down her body, gently kissing and licking my way down to her very neatly trimmed pubic hair. The noises of stirring to wakefulness continued to get louder and more insistent, shading into rather more urgent purrs of pleasure and moans of arousal.

Her legs parted, and I took this as a sign to move up a gear. I dispensed with the duvet and clambered onto the bed, positioning myself between her now widely-spread thighs so that I could start to deliver long strokes of my tongue along and between her pussy lips. I felt a hand stroking my hair to encourage me, and heard a gasp of appreciation for my efforts.

When I sneaked a glance up towards the top of the bed, I discovered that Miss Hudson was still managing to drink her coffee and eat her croissant despite my best efforts to distract her! This just spurred me on to strive harder, and eventually I heard the cup clatter back onto the tray so that both hands could be directed at urging me on.

“Oh, Lucy, that is so good!” she moaned.

I’ll cut a fairly long story short and tell you that, eventually, I made her cum, noisily and with much thrashing of limbs.

“Wow!” she gasped, pulling me up on top of her and hugging me close, “What a great way to wake up! Breakfast AND an orgasm, both from a luscious lass in latex, who could ask for anything more? Oh, I know – a joint shower!”

There was only one significant difference between this shower and the one we’d shared on New Year’s Day – I was still wearing the cuffs, and they were attached to thin chains hanging from eyebolts in the sides of the cubicle, something I either hadn’t noticed before, or were a recent addition. What it meant was that I was held, stretched out in a star shape, legs akimbo, and Miss Hudson did all the work – washing my hair, soaping my body, bringing me to a screaming climax with her fingers… Oh, and she also washed herself.

“Right!” she exclaimed with a clap of her hands, once we were both dried and dressed, “When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping! Let’s go!”

‘Shopping’ started with a visit to Bliss Hair and Beauty Salon where, much to my surprise, I was the subject of all the attention. It started with a wash, cut, dye, and blow dry, which went on for hours. I wasn’t consulted about the hairstyle or the colour, Miss Hudson and the stylist, Kelly, took care of that out of earshot, so I had no idea of what was coming. What I saw, as the haircut progressed, was a steadily increasing pile of hair on the floor and, eventually, the reappearance of my ears to the outside world, for about the first time since I was six! What was left was covered in foils to deliver the dye, and I was left staring at this space alien in the mirror.

At the same time, I was being given a pedicure and a manicure by a girl who looked about fourteen. My eyebrows were also trimmed, and my ears and nostrils buzzed to get rid of any stray hairs. Foundation, blusher, mascara, eye shadow, lip gloss – I got it all.

At last, the foils came off, the stylist styled, and the final result was –absolutely stunning! My mousy colour had been enlivened by highlights and lowlights, and I was sporting an ultra-fashionable pixie cut, which had been stylishly tousled. Wow, even I could fancy me with my new film star hairdo, glamorous make-up, and beautiful nails.

“Now that looks rather a lot better, don’t you think, Lucy?” Miss Hudson asked, as she looked at my reflection in the mirror, her hands on my shoulders. I was literally speechless, all I could do was smile up at her gratefully.

“Okay,” she said after she’d paid and we’d gone outside, “we’re going to resist the temptation to go straight home and fuck like bunnies, and go get you some clothes to suit that new glam look of yours.”

And shop we did – dresses, blouses, skirts, shoes, underwear. And not at the cheap outlets which I frequented, this was good quality stuff with designer labels. Miss Hudson insisted I wear some of the new clothes rather than the rather sad things I had dressed in earlier, so by the time we took a break, I was very elegantly dressed in a classic little black dress, sexy underwear including stockings and suspenders, and open-toed high heels.

She took me to an upmarket department store for afternoon tea, but I was starting to feel very guilty at the money she had spent on me, which I estimated was already several hundred pounds.

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to pay you back,” I said unhappily – I didn’t like being in debt, and the fact that I currently had no source of income just made it worse.

“Lucy,” she smiled, placing her hand on mine, “forget about the money! Tell me how you feel about yourself.”

“I feel… sexy,” I replied, struggling to find the words. “I’ve never felt like this before. I feel like people will look at me and think ‘there goes an attractive young woman’, rather than ignoring me, or thinking I’m a dog. I feel good! But –”

“No ‘buts’!” Miss Hudson admonished, raising a finger. “Lucy, you always were an incredibly beautiful person, it’s just that now, everyone can see it, not just me. The clothes and the hair and the make-up don’t make you beautiful, they just bring your beauty out into the open! Okay?”

I felt my eyes moisten – that was the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to me! I realised she expected a response to what I’d thought was a rhetorical ‘okay’.

“Yes, Miss Hudson,” I beamed, “thank you so much!” She smiled back at me.

“And as for paying me back, don’t even think about it, I think we’ve already explored a whole bunch of ways you give back to me!” I giggled in happy embarrassment at her oblique reference to the steamy sex we’d been enjoying.

“Here’s another question for you,” she said, becoming more serious, “what do you think of your body?”

The question threw me. Like many girls, and many women, I didn’t have a great body image. I looked at all the fashion photos, glamour shoots, and even pornography, and felt totally inadequate. Depending on which image I measured myself against, I wasn’t thin enough, or tall enough, or pretty enough, or curvy enough, or busty enough. I had also been ‘teased’ – a great euphemism for verbal bullying – since puberty, about the non-appearance of my breasts, and I was incredibly self-conscious whenever anyone drew attention to that area, including Miss Hudson. Why was she making me think about this stuff now, just when I was feeling really happy about the makeover?

She must have seen the look of dismay on my face, because she squeezed my hand and gave me a sympathetic look.

“It’s okay, Lucy,” she reassured me, “no-one’s judging you here. I just need to know how much further we need to go to build the self-esteem you’re going to need to survive in this world.”

I calmed down a little – I knew she had my best interests at heart. I took a deep breath, fighting against my natural reluctance to discuss this whole area, and suddenly found the words spilling out of me.

“I hate my body,” I admitted, and went on to list all my faults, just as I have done here. She listened patiently as I whined like a sulky little girl about all my woes over the years. Eventually, I shut up.

“You know I love your body just the way it is, don’t you, Lucy?” she told me, her tone sincere. “I think you’re one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met, and believe me, I’ve ‘met’ a few!” I smiled at the clear air quotes in her voice.

“But we need to get you past this, it goes way beyond the natural dissatisfaction most girls feel. Leave it with me, we’ll sort it. Now, back to the shopping!”

I didn’t believe there was any more we could buy, but Miss Hudson just wanted a couple of specialist items, ‘for me as much as for you’, as she put it.

We went into a shoe shop, but one which carried very different stock to what we had seen earlier. I was surrounded by vertiginously high heels, leather boots with winklepicker toes and steel stilettos, and PVC boots which were more like waders, coming way above mid-thigh. It was an Aladdin's cave for foot fetishists, but I couldn’t imagine being able to walk in any of them.

Miss Hudson picked out a pair of what looked like stripper’s shoes – they had a liquid black surface, the platform soles were at least four inches high, and the spike heels were around eight inches – and asked for them in my size. When I put them on, I felt like I’d grown like Alice in Wonderland, but I must have looked like Bambi on ice – not a very elegant sight! But, clinging on desperately to Miss Hudson and under the tutelage of the sales assistant, I gradually got the hang of them. Clearly delighted with her selection, Miss Hudson had the woman set them aside and moved on.

The next set of footwear she brought out was a pair of ballet boots – I had never heard of them, let alone seen them before, and I was frightened of them, they looked like they would either break my toes or my ankles, or both. But I could see I didn’t have a choice – well, I’m sure I did, but it wasn’t a choice I wanted to make – and I let the two women work them on to my feet.

If I thought the platforms were weird, these were unbelievable. They had laced them really tightly – they went up to just below the knee – and my feet were immediately trapped in this wholly unnatural, pointed position. They helped me to my feet – well, my toes, actually – and I instantly felt a mile in the air, dangerously unsteady, and in severe discomfort. I could only stand for a couple of minutes before I had to take the weight off and sit down.

“Don’t worry,” Miss Hudson whispered as they pulled off the boots, “you’ll be on your back most of the time you’re wearing those!” We giggled like naughty schoolgirls as she paid for both pair of shoes.

Next on our little shopping journey was a clothes shop just dripping in rubber, latex, PVC and leather. Miss Hudson browsed for a while, before picking out a couple of items, inevitably black latex, her favourite. She handed me the items and the stripper shoes, telling me to put them on and show her the result.

It soon became obvious I couldn’t wear anything else other than these things – they were too small to cover my underwear. One item, which was meant to be a skirt, looked more like a belt on me, as it gripped me like clingfilm, barely covering my essentials. The other was even smaller – supposedly a ‘boob tube’, it was just four inches wide, and it just wouldn’t have worked at all if I’d had any more in the chest department. Once ‘dressed’, I struggled into the shoes and buckled the ankle straps. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt like I was almost naked, but I struck a couple of poses, and felt very sexy.

When I walked out of the changing room, I found that the easiest way to walk elegantly in the ridiculous heels was to swing my hips in quite an exaggerated way, which I’m sure is the whole point of their design. I felt very self-conscious as Miss Hudson and the shop assistants watched me sashay towards them.

“Wow, what a fine piece of tail!” Miss Hudson said in a dreadful fake American drawl. “Wrap her up, I’ll take her as she is.”

I assumed she was joking, but she genuinely expected me to go out in public like this!

“Don’t worry, honey,” she smiled when I expressed my concerns, “it’s dark. We’re in the red light district. And we’re just getting in a cab.”

Not particularly reassured, I watched nervously as she gathered up my ‘normal’ clothes, and we headed outside. It was freezing – well, it would be when you’re only wearing a couple of strips of thin rubber – but we were soon in a taxi, being leered at by the driver.

We went to a seedy sex club – actually, it was bright, clean and with rather tasteful décor, but it was called ‘Girlz Allowed’. I quickly realised it was for lesbians only, and I was surprised that my inclusion in that cohort shocked me so much – what did I think I was?

We took a table, and enjoyed a very acceptable meal, with a nice bottle of wine. As we sat and enjoyed the last of it, the floorshow began. There was a small stage with a pole and, not unexpectedly, the entertainment consisted of a pole dancer. As she came on, dressed in her spangly thong, and gyrated suggestively, shaking her large, bare, fake-looking breasts at us, I found myself smiling.

“What’s so funny?” Miss Hudson asked. I blushed a little in embarrassment.

“I just noticed,” I replied, “her heels aren’t even as high as mine!” We laughed at this absurdity.

“Okay, let’s see what you can do in those monsters!”

When the dancer had left the stage, she dragged me onto the small dance floor, and we ‘boogied on down’ pretty hard. I quickly overcame my self-consciousness at being ‘on display’, and gave it my all. When the slow numbers came on, Miss Hudson had no hesitation in grabbing my bottom and engaging me in a passionate embrace, which I fully reciprocated. It felt so good to squash my body up against hers!

“Get a room!” someone next to us called over good-naturedly, and we eagerly followed her advice. As we made our way home, I became increasingly excited, wondering if Miss Hudson had anything novel lined up for the night. I wasn’t disappointed!

When we got into the house, she tied a silk scarf across my eyes, and led me by the hand along the hall, through a door, and down some stairs. I’d never been in the cellar before, and the thought that I was being led into a dungeon raised my excitement levels even higher, with a little frisson of fear thrown in. The air was cool as we descended, and I shivered because of it, but also in anticipation – of what, I had no idea. Would I be tortured? Beaten? Whipped? I would soon find out!

Miss Hudson guided me backwards until I felt a square wooden post against my back. She lifted my arm up into the air and placed it against the side of the post above my head, then secured it to the post with some kind of cuff. She did the same to my other arm, rendering me helpless.

“Now my Pretty Pretty, I have you in my power! Bwah hahaha!” The melodramatic laugh was so obviously fake that I would have laughed out loud if I hadn’t been so turned on by the whole scenario.

“I can have my wicked way with you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” As she said this, she was rolling down the latex strip over my breasts, freeing my nipples, which were are hard as bullets. Stop her? Nothing could be further from my thoughts!

I felt her take my nipples between her fingers, rubbing, twisting and pulling them, making me moan in response, not in pain but pure lust. When she started sucking them, I let out a series of little squeals of pent-up delight, and I wondered if I might actually climax just from that, but I didn’t – I hovered on the edge, glorying in the building frustration of not quite getting there. I was sure it wouldn’t be long.

She took a break to strip the boob tube and skirt off me, then, to my surprise, lifted my leg off the ground and put it up against the side of the post by my hip, before affixing it there with another of the immovable cuffs. When she did the same to my other leg, I was hanging by my wrists – this felt like serious bondage.

“Now, tell me everything you know, or I’ll torture you to extract your secrets!” This was breathed into my ear from a range of about one inch, which required Miss Hudson to press her body against mine – making me aware that she had stripped as well!

“I’ll tell you whatever you want me to!” I responded in a voice made very unsteady partly by my confusion at what she might want from me, but mainly by my sky-high arousal.

“Oh, that’s no fun!” she said in mock disappointment. “Let me torture you, just a little bit!” I realised I needed to change tack to play along with this little game.

“Do your worst, foul fiend, you’ll get nothing from me!” This brought a laugh from my ‘inquisitor’.

“That’s more like it!” she exclaimed in obvious delight. “Prepare to suffer, naïve but incredibly sexy wench!”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but what she did next surprised me anyway. Without a hint of warning, I felt the head of a wand pressed firmly against my sex, and the vibrations were rocking my world before I’d even worked out what was happening. Her previous attention to my nipples had primed me perfectly, and I screamed as the orgasm ripped through me like an express train.

The wand was joined by a vibrating dildo, shoved up inside my dripping hole, then I felt her lips close on one nipple while the other was being tweaked and twisted mercilessly. My second climax seemed to take only moments to overwhelm me and, as she carried on relentlessly overstimulating me, orgasm number three wasn’t far behind.

Eventually she stopped, and I was left exhausted and sweating. She lifted my lolling head off my chest, and kissed me gently on the lips.

“Do you submit?” she asked.

“Always and forever!” I replied.

“Good answer!” I felt her slide down my body until, I knew, she was on her knees before me. Moments later, I felt her tongue exploring my drenched pussy, seeking out my clitoris for special attention.

“Please! Let me do that for you!” I begged, wanting so much to give back to her. But she ignored my pleas, forcing me to yet another climax before releasing me from the tight bondage.

My freedom was short-lived, but I wasn’t complaining, as this time she fastened me to the post in a kneeling position, and I knew what that meant. I was relieved to find out that her sex was very wet and aroused, so she had clearly derived significant pleasure from ‘torturing’ me, and I found it quick work to start her down the road towards the multi-orgasmic nirvana I had reached.

She kept her pussy pressed against my face, drenching it in her juices whenever she came, but I didn’t care – no, that’s not true, I cared very much, I wanted to drink long and deep from the well of her pleasure, but I didn’t care if my tongue went numb or even fell off!

At last she freed me, and we dragged our weary bodies up to bed, both too shattered to shower. But we woke at some point before dawn, and enjoyed each other’s body some more.

The next couple of weeks were very busy, as Miss Hudson caught up with her work, and I designed and built my website, then visited the firms with whom she had set me up. By the time I had spoken to her first tranche of contacts, I already had a healthy workload and pipeline of business. Things were looking up!

On the personal front, I fell into a daily routine of doing my work, then doing a couple of hours of cleaning, then I would prepare and cook the evening meal in time for Miss Hudson’s return. I would usually change into something sexy for that, too, usually latex-based, as I knew she enjoyed it so much. This often led to after-dinner sex (and occasionally pre-dinner or even instead-of-dinner sex) – it never seemed to get boring!

We were lying in bed in a post-coital bliss, when Miss Hudson surprised me, as she so often does.

“You’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll take a couple of hours off to go with you if you want.” This was the first I’d heard of this, and I suddenly felt very nervous.

“Oh?” I responded in a worried tone. “What’s that for?”

“I want you to talk to the doctor about breast enlargement – you’ll be meeting a top cosmetic surgeon.”

Breast surgery?! I was gobsmacked. Was she dissatisfied with me, physically? I didn’t know what to think. She must have read the confusion and hurt in my face.

“Lucy, you know I love you just the way you are!” she told me earnestly. “I want you to love your body as much as I do. I feel you flinch every time I touch you there! I spoke to a psychiatrist friend about it, and she said that, with your type of body dysmorphic disorder, surgery might be the best and easiest remedy.”

She hugged me tightly against her body.

“It won’t be like those pole dancers – you’ll get the best materials and the best treatment, and they guarantee the most natural look. But nothing will happen unless you want to go ahead – I’m not going to pressure you or railroad you. It’ll be your decision.”

I didn’t sleep much that night, but by the morning I was much clearer in my thinking. Once I’d got over the initial shock, I knew it was the right thing for me. I’d always wanted bigger boobs, so why not accept a little outside help? Despite her denials, I was sure Miss Hudson would enjoy playing with them, and therefore I’d enjoy them too. I made up my mind to go ahead, and told her she didn’t need to take time off work, I’d be fine.

“So, Ms Green,” Doctor Summers said in his deep bass voice, “the procedure will take about two hours, during which you will be under general anaesthetic. We keep you here for observation for a few hours, just to make sure you’re okay when the anaesthetic and pain medication wears off, then you’re free to go home. The healing process takes about a week, during which we advise you not to undertake any strenuous activity, including sex. Is that okay?”

“Yes, doctor, thank you,” I replied, feeling reassured by his explanations, as well as his calm, kindly manner.

“Do you wish to go ahead with the breast augmentation?”

“Yes,” I replied confidently.

“And the other procedures which have been requested?”

Other procedures?? Nobody had said anything about other procedures! Miss Hudson must have specified… what the Hell had she specified? I realised Doctor Green was looking at me expectantly. I swallowed hard – could I sign up to surgery without even knowing what it was? Miss Hudson must have specified…

“Of course, doctor, I’ll have it all.”

I signed the release forms in a daze, and stumbled out of the office. In less than 24 hours, I would be under the surgeon’s knife, and I had no idea what would be done to me!

Part 6

I can’t tell you how frightened I felt as I waited for my appointment time to arrive. I could not bring myself to quiz Miss Hudson on what she had ordered for me – I knew I had to just trust her, on the basis that she generally seemed to have my best interests at heart, and if she’d wanted me to know what was going to happen, she would have told me. It didn’t make it any easier.

As I went under, she was holding my hand and looking into my eyes. When I woke up, she was still holding my hand and looking into my eyes, although I’m sure she’d taken a break in between to let the doctors at me!

I ached all over, and my mouth felt like I’d had a dozen fillings.

“Wha’ ha’ened to ‘y ‘outh?” I asked woozily. Miss Hudson smiled broadly at the sound of my voice.

“Don’t worry about that, darling, I’ll tell you all about it when we get home.” In other words, shut up!

I gradually regained a little strength, and my head cleared, but the painkillers started to wear off, and I noticed the aching was coming from my chest, naturally, but also from my mouth and between my legs. The nurse gave me a couple of Ibuprofen, and told me to lie back on the bed and rest. I had been trying to look at my new boobs, but they were covered by the shapeless hospital gown – there was a bulge there, but it could have been a couple of balloons stuffed up the gown for all I could see.

When it was time to leave, Miss Hudson provided me with a baggy jumper and a long skirt – just the kind of clothes I used to wear – but she said they’d be nice and loose, so should be more comfortable.

“I want you to see your new additions for the first time at home,” she said sternly, “so close your eyes and get changed.”

I did as I was told, with no peaking, and she drove me back to the house. Inside, she took me to our bedroom, where there was a large, full length mirror.

“Close your eyes and strip off!” she ordered. I felt nervous as anything, but I could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Behold, Lucy 2.0 – new and improved!”

I opened my eyes and tried to take in what I saw. My breasts looked – pardon me – fucking enormous! But, shocking though they were, I was stunned by the sight of the nipple rings! When I looked more closely, I saw that they weren’t actually rings, but bars with a little silver chain hanging underneath the nipple, and hanging from that, three little hearts!

I checked out my breasts from all angles, and I was absolutely thrilled by their size and natural shape.

“The doctor says they’re near perfect,” Miss Hudson said, standing behind me, “and they’ll feel just like the real thing. We’re going to have to get you some new bras – you’ve gone from an A cup to double-D! The bars were a little present from me, I hope you’ll like them.”

“They’re beautiful,” I replied, and realised there was something in my mouth. I poked out my tongue, and saw the stud through it.

“That’s a little present from me to me – you’ll drive me wild with that thing!” I saw the sparkle in her eyes, and smiled.

“And, before you ask, down there, you’ve got a clit ring. I’ll be able to drive YOU crazy with that!”

“Anything elth?” I lisped.

“Not just yet,” she replied, “they tried to offer me a good deal on all-over body piercings and tattoos, but…” I swung round and playfully slapped at her for teasing me.

“Now comes the hardest week of my life,” she said seriously, “as I try to resist tying you to the bed and fucking your brains out!” I blew her a kiss. “Oh, cover yourself up, you harlot! Stop tempting me!”

That week was pretty hard. I spent the time learning to wear, and walk in, the ballet boots. I started off just keeping them on for a couple of hours, moved up to staggering around like a drunken stilt-walker, and finally graduated to ‘headless zombie on roller blades’. Well, at least I could do more than just lie on my back.

When Day 7 finally arrived, I cooked a very special meal for us, then dressed in the latex stockings, latex gloves, stripper shoes, and the latex maid’s uniform – it would be like our first ‘date’ all over again! I was so excited, I ran to the door when the bell rang. It was only as I opened it that I wondered why Miss Hudson would ring the bell rather than use her key…

“Hello, Lucy.”

“Ohmygod! Miss MacTavish!” What the Hell was she doing here?! She strode into the house like she owned it, and I shut the door – feeling like I was bolting the door after the bull was already in the china shop, to mangle my metaphors – and meekly followed her into the drawing room.

“I’m afraid Rebecca has had to go away on urgent business,” she said as she inspected the room, checking the surfaces for dust. “She asked me to let you know, so here I am. What are you cooking?”

“Er, Spaghetti Carbonara,” I replied, rather thrown by this non-sequitur.

“Well, as the Mistress of the house isn’t here, let’s not have it go to waste – I’ll dine here tonight.”

I was in a total flap by now, completely intimidated by Miss MacTavish’s domineering attitude, and I couldn’t think of anything to do but obey. I finished the cooking, served it onto two plates, and took it through to the dining room.

“Who’s that for?” she asked contemptuously, eyeing the second plate on the opposite side of the table from her.

“I do hope you’re not expecting to eat with me! Take that back to the kitchen and bring back the Parmesan and some white wine.”

I did as she ordered, scuttling back and forth to satisfy her demands.

“Now go and stand by the wall and wait until I’ve finished.” I waited there, somehow frozen by the commanding tone of her voice, as she slowly ate my food.

“You’ve changed a lot since New Year, your Mistress has done a good job. Take off that dress and show me your new breasts.”

Numbly, barely able to think, I took off the latex garment and, when she motioned towards me, moved forward to stand before her. She pointed at the floor and, not quite believing I was doing it, I knelt on the carpet. She reached out and fondled my large breasts, making me suck in a ragged breath – they were just as sensitive as before, the nipples possibly more so. I had longed for Miss Hudson to do this to me, and now I was being ‘violated’ by this… woman (somehow I couldn’t bring myself to call her ‘bitch’, even in my head). But the effect of her touch was electric, and I couldn’t suppress the burgeoning arousal I was feeling.

“Very nice, very natural… now get under the table and sort me out.”

The command was said in a matter-of-fact tone, and she turned back to her meal, just naturally assuming her order would be obeyed. I found myself crawling between her legs and looking between her thighs, without seemingly having had a conscious thought about whether I should be doing what she wanted – it just seemed the most natural thing in the world.

I could see the hem of her short business skirt, her stocking tops, and the white flesh leading to her pussy, which was unencumbered by panties. As I moved closer, I could smell her excitement, and I suddenly felt a stab of guilt – I was being unfaithful to Miss Hudson! But I couldn’t stop myself, I could only hope she would forgive my weakness when I confessed to her, as I knew I would have to.

I did as good a job as I ever had, and the presence of the tongue stud really seemed to add to the impact of my efforts. Miss MacTavish seemed completely unmanned, if that’s the right phase, by the stroking of my new, improved tongue, and she came really hard pretty quickly. As she pushed me away, I felt a perverse pride and pleasure at being able to elicit such a strong reaction from someone who clearly prided herself on being in control at all times.

I got up and put my dress back on, while Miss MacTavish finished her meal as if nothing had happened. Eventually, she stood up and ordered me to clear the table and do the washing up.

“Rebecca will be away for a couple of days,” she informed me once I was finished, “and I think it would be best if you come home with me, so I can keep an eye on you.”

“B-but… I have to… I need to work…” I stammered, stunned by the thought that she would presume to take control of me like this.

“A slave shouldn’t be left to her own devices, it’s not healthy,” she said dismissively, moving towards the front door.

“I’m not a…” I trailed off as I realised that, as far as she was concerned, that’s exactly what I was!

“Come on, don’t keep me waiting!” Seemingly unable to impose my own will on the situation, I scuttled out of the door after her, and heard her slam it shut behind me. She had the keys, and now I was completely in her power – not that I wasn’t already! She led me to her car, and I noticed how cold and dark the night was.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded as I stood by the passenger door. “What do you think I am, your chauffeur? Slaves travel in the back!”

I realised she didn’t mean the back seat either, as she opened the boot of the car, waiting impatiently for me to crawl into the confined space, before slamming the lid. As she drove through the streets, I began to wonder what I had let myself in for. But I also realised that the feelings of shock and humiliation at her degrading treatment of me were accompanied by an overwhelming sense of excitement – I was hugely turned on by this kind of abuse! Again, I felt a terrible guilt that my reactions, as well as my actions, were a betrayal of Miss Hudson. But I knew I was not in control of myself or the situation – maybe she should have thought about that before putting me in the clutches of this Dominatrix! Of course, then I felt hugely guilty at blaming Miss Hudson for where my own submissiveness had landed me. It’s not easy being a total doormat!

When I was let out, we were at her house, a rather less imposing façade than Miss Hudson’s house, but not too shabby. We went inside, and we were met by the slave girl I remembered Miss MacTavish had brought to that party – a beautiful young woman, probably in her early twenties, with long, blonde hair and a lovely curvy body, she was completely naked, except for steel cuffs and a collar locked in place.

“Fetch the spare cuffs, Tilly,” Miss MacTavish ordered, then turned to me. “You! Strip!”

As Tilly walked away, I saw the whip marks on her back and buttocks, which filled me with fear and ensured I was naked in double-quick time. When the slave – the other slave, maybe I should say – returned, she put the cuffs and collar on me, locking them in place with very sturdy-looking padlocks. I was surprised by their weight, and realised I was always going to be aware of their presence, reminding me of my place while in this house.

“I’m tired, so I won’t need you again tonight,” Miss MacTavish said, “you can get yourself some bread and water. She can sleep with you tonight, Tilly. I expect you to look after her.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” Tilly said, her head bowed, while Miss MacTavish walked up the stairs without a backward glance.

Tilly led me into the kitchen, where she cut a couple of hunks off what looked, and smelled, like a freshly baked loaf, then got a bottle of water out of the fridge. She then went to a tiny room, hardly much bigger than a walk-in wardrobe, with me trailing after her. The room was bare – white painted walls, bare floorboards – with one tiny window which, I noted, was covered by bars. But the room was almost filled by the thing which really attracted my attention, and fear – the cage.

Made from heavy steel bars, it wasn’t tall enough to stand up in, wasn’t long enough to lay out straight in, and was about wide enough for one person – this was going to be a tight squeeze!

We sat on the floor with our backs against the bars, not speaking, as we munched on our dry bread and passed the water bottle between us. I had so many questions for Tilly, but got the distinct impression that talking was a no-no – slaves don’t chat, apparently.

When we had finished, Tilly indicated for me to get into the cage while she went around the house, making sure it was locked up and the lights were off. I had to crawl in through the door at one end, and I lay on one side with my back and buttocks pressed against the bars, to leave enough space for Tilly. There was a thin mattress on the floor of the cage, which was comfortable enough, but with no duvet, blanket or sheet, I could imagine it would be quite cold for Tilly on her own.

She came back into the room, shut the door and switched off the light, so the only illumination was from the streetlights outside the window. She crawled into the cage backwards and pulled the door shut behind her, which closed with a soft click – were we locked in for the night? She shuffled down the mattress a little and turned towards me. We were now head to tail or, more relevantly, face to pussy. I only say that because Tilly immediately took hold of my thighs, put her head between them, and started licking me!

“Oh God!” I gasped, “You don’t have to do that!”

“Yes I do,” she mumbled indistinctly, “my Mistress said to look after you, and this is what she meant.”

“But she’s not here,” I moaned, “she’d never know…”

“I’m a slave, I do what I’m told, it’s kind of built into the job description – you must know that?” I was impressed at the way she could hold a conversation while simultaneously driving me to distraction with her tongue.

“But I’m not a slave,” I said, flying in the face of the evidence – locked naked in a cage, collared and cuffed – “I have a real job…” she stopped what she was doing, and I sensed her looking at me.

“I work 60 hours a week as a junior doctor,” she responded in a world-weary tone, “in my spare time, I come here and serve my Mistress in any way She requires. You’re no different from me.”

The conversation was over – I was stumped for anything else to say, and she had gone back to the task of making me cum, a job she accomplished with a great deal of skill and satisfaction on my part. Then she rolled over and went to sleep. I lay awake, wondering what was to become of me – my easy life seemed to have been completely derailed, and I had no idea when, or if, I could get it back on track.

Part 7

I woke the next morning when the door opened, and I saw Miss MacTavish standing there. She reached down and unlocked the cage – we had indeed been locked in all night.

“I want this house cleaned from top to bottom today, and an excellent meal ready for 8 o’clock tonight – I’m bringing a few friends around for dinner, and I expect you two to be on your best behaviour.”

With that, she was gone. Tilly opened the cage door and we crawled out.

“You dust everything you can find, then do the hoovering,” she said, “I’ll clean the floors, bathroom, and start preparing the food.” How ironic, I thought – yesterday I was a free woman, now I’m taking orders from a slave!

We worked hard most of the day, only taking a break for a lunch of bread and water. By the time I’d finished my jobs, there was a great smell emanating from the kitchen, and I felt my rather unsatisfied stomach grumble. When I went in and observed Tilly, I saw that she was an excellent cook, but I was even more impressed that she could cook naked, and not burn herself. I didn’t bother to look too closely at the food itself, as I didn’t want to torment myself, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be eating any of it.

At about six, Tilly said we needed to dress for the evening, which relieved but kind of surprised me – I’d expected we’d be naked the whole night. She led me upstairs to one of the bedrooms which, I immediately saw, had been converted into a bondage playroom – there were racks of whips and canes on the wall, a hoist hanging from the ceiling, eyebolts in the floor and walls, and a St. Andrews cross in one corner.

Tilly opened a chest and took out some clothes, which she proceeded to put on – a frilly lace apron, which just about covered her nipples and pussy, but left her bottom and back exposed; stockings and suspenders, a garter, a little maid’s doily thing for her hair, and very high heels.

“Mistress has selected something very special for you to wear,” she said, a statement which did not fill me with confidence.

She first removed my collar and cuffs, which was a relief, as they were starting to chafe. She went to a wardrobe and brought out what looked like a cross between a catsuit and a scuba diving suit – but I recognised the sight and smell of shiny, black latex – it seemed Miss MacTavish had as much of a fetish for latex as Miss Hudson!

As she helped me into it, it seemed impossibly tight, and it took ages to get it up my legs and then my body. I realised, as we pulled it on, that there were clear latex panels – a long, cigar shaped one between my legs, exposing my bottom and my sex, and two round globes, into which my breasts were squeezed and squashed. The next surprise was the integral hood, which Tilly pulled over my head as I bent it down. When it was in place, the only part of my head which was still visible were my eyes and my mouth, with a couple of tiny holes for my nostrils, too. I felt Tilly pull the zip up my back to my neck, making everything squeeze me even tighter, and a similar zip ensured the hood was on tight as well. I saw her pick up a small padlock, and I heard it click into place, sealing me into my latex prison until such time as Miss MacTavish might decide to release me.

I felt incredible in the suit, like the sexiest superheroine who ever lived! Tilly brought out a pair of boots, and I recognised the ballet boots I had been struggling with all week. Once she had laced me into them, I stood up and looked at myself in the large mirror on one of the walls.

Even though I say it myself, I looked amazing! Apart from my eyes and mouth, only my hands were uncovered, and every surface, every curve of my body, glistened like crude oil. The suit not only felt tight all over, but it had actually sculpted my body, giving me a waist, making my hips appear more flared and, for the first time in my life, there was a visible gap between my thighs! My breasts looked magnificent, of course, actually as bright and shiny as new things should be, encased in their clear capsules, standing proud from my chest. I knew I was flushed and hot, and was glad the latex was hiding that fact.

It took a while to get downstairs, with me hanging on to Tilly like grim death, and squealing every time I thought I was going to fall.

“Okay, you’re on door duty,” she said when we finally got to the hall, “stay here, open the door, take coats – that way you won’t have to walk too far.”

Ten minutes later, I was wishing I was in the kitchen, able to sit down, because my feet were already aching, and it was only going to get worse. But then the door opened and Miss MacTavish walked in, and I stopped worrying about my poor feet.

“Lucy, you look wonderful!” she exclaimed, running her fingers across the gleaming surface that was my stomach, sending shivers through me – a simple touch seemed to be magnified and intensified by the tight, thin rubber. She checked in on Tilly, then went upstairs to get ready.

I nearly jumped when the bell rang, and I fumbled the latch nervously, before opening the door. What I was confronted with struck me dumb. There were four men and four women, and I recognised each of them as senior managers at the company where I used to work – one of them was even Mr Jenkins, my old boss!

“Ah, come in, come in!” Miss MacTavish called, as she walked down the stairs in a very fetching evening gown. “Please excuse the help, she’s new and extremely stupid.”

“But very attractive,” one of the women said, as she walked past me, pausing to run her hands over the clear latex covering my sex. I gasped at the shiver it sent through me, almost like a micro-orgasm.

“Yes, she’ll provide us some entertainment later,” Miss MacTavish replied, as she air-kissed her way around the group, “but utterly useless at domestic duties.”

I tottered to the rack and hung up their coats, then made my way through to the dining room, where I served drinks. They were discussing work, and it was all quite boring, except for the fact that I was showing off my rubber-clad body to a group of former bosses! Eventually, they sat down at the table, and Tilly brought the food in. I stood there like an art exhibit, while they ate their way through three courses of sumptuous food, making me feel even more hungry.

“I understand you have to go to work now, Tilly,” Miss MacTavish said to her slave as the guests relaxed. “Thank you for a delightful meal, and I’ll see you after your shift.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Tilly replied, before bobbing a curtsey and leaving the room. I suddenly felt alone and very exposed.

“We’ll have to rely on my new slut to amuse us,” Miss MacTavish said, looking at me contemptuously.

“Come on, little slut, look after my guests.” The phrase stuck in my mind – that is what she’d told Tilly to do to me! She wanted – no, expected – me to… provide oral relief! To all eight of them?!

“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,” she continued in an icy tone, “get down on your hands and knees, get under the table and start using that whore’s mouth of yours to good effect, or leave my house right now and never come back!”

I should have done just that. I reasoned that I had nowhere to go – no keys, no money, no decent clothes – but I wasn’t fooling even myself. It wasn’t even her order that made me do it. Somewhere in my sick, twisted mind, I wanted this, and that primitive, perverted part of my brain was in complete control. Slowly, I sank down onto the floor, and shuffled forward until I was positioned between the thighs of the woman nearest me.

I worked on her quickly and efficiently, buried under her voluminous skirt. She was a noisy one, and everyone in the room knew it when she climaxed. As I extracted myself and moved down the line, I heard her say ‘Christ! She’s good, Elsa! Who cares if she can’t cook?’

I now found myself facing the fully erect member of my erstwhile boss, as it poked out of his gaping fly. I’d never sucked a man’s cock before, and I didn’t really know what to do, but I guess if you’ve got a bloke’s dick in your hot little mouth, he isn’t going to complain that much! I knew enough not to actually suck – I’d heard of some freaks using a vacuum cleaner, but some instinct told me that wasn’t the right thing to do – and the stud in my tongue, swirling around the end of his prick, seemed to be doing the trick.

I felt his hand on the back of my rubber-clad head, and suddenly I was choking, as he dragged me onto him. I tried to pull back, but he was quite insistent, and I thought I was going to be sick. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I felt his shaft jerk in my mouth, and suddenly I was tasting a mouthful of his cum. I was so surprised by this, that I didn’t swallow, and it splurged out of my mouth and down my chin. He seemed less than impressed, as I coughed and splattered it over his trousers.

“God, you mucky bitch!” I heard from above, “Learn to swallow!”

I progressed right around the table, boy-girl, boy-girl, until I had finally sucked and licked them all. I had, by that time, learned to swallow, but I found out that men also like to squirt their cum in your face – it’s a power thing, probably. When I at last emerged from under the table, I was liberally smeared in cum, both male and female.

“Well done, little cum-slut,” Miss MacTavish crowed, as I wiped my latex costume clean, “now I have another little challenge for you. While you were busy, I brought a few toys down from my playroom.” I followed her gaze to the dining table, where I saw that she had laid out an array of the whips and canes I’d seen earlier. I felt my stomach turn over, as if I was going to vomit.

“Now, I want you to choose a toy for each of my guests to use on your sexy little behind in a few minutes.”

I swallowed, and looked around at the faces of the men and women, as they stared at me, wondering what I would do. Some were smiling quite warmly, seeming to be encouraging me, as you would a child about to perform a party piece; others seemed to be sneering, wondering just how far I was willing to be degraded and humiliated; and there was one man who looked like he was impatient for me to get on with it, so he could start beating the crap out of me.

I swallowed, and looked down at the instruments of my own torture, realising that these were not toys, they would all deliver pain and suffering in very significant quantities. I could only hear the blood pounding in my ears, as I thought about the marks on Tilly’s back – but she came back for more! How could she do that to herself? What could it have felt like? How would it feel…

I was lost. I picked up the weapons seemingly at random – a crop, two canes, two floggers, a rubber strap, a whip, another cane – and handed them out blindly.

“Well done,” Miss MacTavish said quietly, almost kindly, “now I would like you to make your way upstairs to the playroom, and wait for us, like a good, obedient slave.”

I staggered out of the room, dazed and confused at what I was allowing to happen to me. I crawled up the stairs on my hands and knees and made my way into the room. Once inside, I lay on the floor, wondering why I wasn’t unlacing those boots and running as far and as fast as I could. They’re going to kill me, I thought, why am I still here? How did an innocent conversation at a Christmas party lead me here?

I heard them talking and laughing, and I couldn’t move. I heard them coming up the stairs, and I still couldn’t move. When the door started to open I finally did move, but only to get to my knees, to present myself like a lamb to the slaughter.

They hauled me to my feet, and I watched as they got two spreader bars ready.

“This dumb little cunt is a pain virgin,” Miss MacTavish said, looking at me, “so I’m going to give you one last chance to back out, like the scared little mouse I think you are. Well, mouse? Are you going to run?”

I looked at the contempt on her face, and I knew she was right. I WAS a dumb little cunt – I’d let down my Mistress because I couldn’t control myself, and I was going to do it again. I deserved to be punished. I grabbed the spreader bar and started to wrap the cuff around my wrist.

They quickly took over. My wrists were locked to the bar and it was attached to the hoist. My legs were spread, and my ankles locked in place. Moments later, I was stretched out tight, unable to move very much other than my head. Miss MacTavish stepped forward to do something to my suit, and suddenly my breasts and crotch were exposed, the clear latex panels having been unzipped and removed.

Suddenly, all hell was unleashed on me. I felt the cane on my buttocks, the whip on my back, the flogger on my breasts. I screamed. I cried. I came.

Later, when I was exhausted and in agony from their beating, one of the women grabbed my tits and started sucking and biting my nipples, while she fingered me. I came.

One of the men lifted my legs off the floor and thrust his cock into my virgin cunt. I came.

One of the men grabbed me from behind, and forced his erection into my lubricated anus. I screamed, and then I came.

Eventually, when they had had enough of my body, they let me down and released me. Miss MacTavish bent down and spoke softly into my ear.

“Well done, dumb little cunt, you’ve pleasured me and my friends. When you feel up to it, go downstairs and put yourself to bed in Tilly’s cage. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I don’t remember getting there, but I woke up the next morning in the cage as Miss MacTavish released the lock.

“Come on, cunt, up you get. Rebecca’s coming back today, I’ll drop you off on my way to work.”

Twenty minutes later, I was standing on the pavement, the house keys at my feet where Miss MacTavish had tossed them, watching her drive away. I was still wearing the catsuit and ballet boots, so I rushed as best I could to get into the house, away from prying eyes. I crawled upstairs and got into bed.

Now I could cry, as the remorse overwhelmed me. I had betrayed the only person I had ever really loved and who loved me back. I was a stupid, selfish, sex-crazed imbecile. How could I ever look her in the face again?

“Hello there.”

I must have fallen asleep, because she was standing there, looking down at me. I saw the open expression, the half-smile, the beauty, and I burst into tears again.

“Oh God, Miss Hudson!” I wailed, “I’ve let you down horribly!”

She sat down on the bed and held me, hugging me close while I cried myself out and, between sobs, told her what had happened.

“There, there, Lucy. It’s alright,” she soothed, “I already know all about it.”

“What?” I asked dumbly, completely confused.

“Elsa told me all about it,” she went on, “but now I have a little confession. I organised the whole thing. It was a test.”

I stared at her, trying to get that to sink in. When it did, it hit me like a thunderbolt.

“And I failed!” I said, dissolving into tears once more. And then I heard a sound I never expected to hear again – the sound of Miss Hudson laughing.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she smiled, “this wasn’t a test you can fail. We always do what I want – I’m very good at getting my own way. But I needed to find out what you want- what you need – out of a relationship. And now I know.”

“But Miss MacTavish… she forced me…”

“Did she? Do you remember her actually forcing you, never giving you a choice?”

I thought back, and realised it was true – I’d had to make a conscious decision at each crucial stage. Another thought sent a dagger of fear through my heart.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” she laughed. “I love you, Lucy, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But there will be a couple of minor changes to our relationship.”

I was frightened by that idea of change, but she was smiling at me.

“One is, you can start calling me Rebecca, rather than Miss Hudson! We’re equals in this relationship, even though I may, from time to time, tie you down and force you to lick me out.”

“Ooh, any time… Rebecca.”

“Two is, I can cover the B&D, but I can’t give you what you need, in terms of S&M – I’m just not built that way. So, one weekend a month, you will go to Miss MacTavish, you will serve as her slave, and you will suffer whatever pain, humiliation, or degradation she decides for you. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… perfect, Rebecca.”

“Excellent! Now, I think I mentioned something about tying you down and forcing you to lick me out. Then, I’m going to find out if that clit ring works as well as they say. And also, there’s a new pair of breasts I need to explore…”

The End

Copyright© 2013 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.