by Raul Roget

Chapter 1 - Telling A Tale

My name is Ramee, Slave Ramee. At the moment I am a slave without a Master. I am a pain slut, a masochist, a submissive. I love pain. I live for pain. I enjoy pain. I have not lived a “normal” life since my 21st birthday, 12 years ago. Because it will be the ultimate humiliation, I am forcing myself to write this description of my past life. I pretend that I have a Master who is making me choose my words with care, who punishes me for the slightest mistake.

On my 21st birthday I left my home and tried to find a job. Instead of a job, I was introduced to slavery, which immediately turned into sex slavery.

Because of an unexpected family situation I was desperate for any job, and I tried every store around. All but one store turned me down. The last store, one that I had subconsciously been avoiding, was The Little Old Sex Shoppe. I probably should have gone with my gut reaction, but I was determined to find work.

I opened the door and walked in. Several men were wandering around the store, but they immediately converged on me. They didn’t touch me, but somehow I felt their greedy hands all over my body, arousing me. Someone way at the back of the store gave a wolf whistle. My face turned a dozen shades of red, but I ignored them and marched up to the counter. Looking back, I remember getting a thrill from the humiliation.

The scruffy man behind the counter leered at me as I walked up to him. I could see his eyes drop, measuring my chest while the customers admired my legs. I ignored the jibes and stopped in front of the man.

“May I help you, MISS?” He put deliberate stress on Miss, adding to my discomfort.

“Sir, I’m looking for work.” The men roared. “On your back?” one said.

The man said in a conversational tone, “Leave her alone. You’ll get your chance if I hire her.” The customers quieted down, intent on listening to me. I’m sure every one of them was dreaming of getting me in the back room.

“How old are you?”

‘Twenty-one, today.”

“Ever done any work? Real work?”

“No, Sir. Just housekeeping.”

“If you work here, you’ll have to put up with these perverts and a lot more.” The men laughed, taking the insult in stride.

“I’ll do my best, Sir.

“Okay, you’re hired. Let me get my wife out here to tend the counter while I take you in back and show you your duties.”

Again his suggestive words drew ribald comments from the men gathered behind me. By now I was red as the proverbial beet. A good looking woman appeared in the doorway behind him. Without even glancing at me she took a seat behind the counter and stared at the men, who wandered off to wherever they had intended to go before I came in.

The first hint of trouble came as he introduced himself.

“My name is Jake. You will spend your time out on the floor demonstrating the merchandise, but you will take orders from me and from Celeste. You will either obey, or you’re out of here.”

He looked me up and down with a sneer. “You’ll have to lose those clothes.” I opened my mouth to protest, ready to refuse to undress, but that wasn’t what he meant (that would come later). He opened a closet and brought out a bikini set that was little more than scraps of cloth. All three pieces were the same size - too small to cover the palm of my hand. He reluctantly pointed to the bathroom, but I could see in his eyes that he would really prefer that I strip off my jeans and blouse while he watched. He picked up a pair of stockings and shoes with four inch heels and handed them to me.

I was ready to quit on the spot, but my family problems forced me to accept his instructions. Somehow I realized that this was just the prelude, with much worse to come. I was afraid, but I was also feeling my submissive side coming to the fore. I could feel my pussy throbbing, slick with my juices, bouncing from one arousal peak to the next. I hung on his every word. Years of masturbating had never given me this much of a thrill, so I savored the new experience and ignored the warning signs.

Closing the bathroom door, I glanced around, not really knowing what I was looking for. It looked perfectly normal, but I missed finding the cameras that were recording my every move. On my first day on the job I didn’t want to make Jake impatient, so I hurriedly stripped, piling my damp panties on top of my other clothes. I was shaved, so pussy hair was not a problem, but I have big aureoles that were barely hidden. Eying myself in the mirror I grimaced as I saw that the bikini showed more than it hid. The bumps that were my nipples showed plainly. From across the room you could tell that I was aroused.

I debated putting my clothes back on and storming out, but duty overcame my objections to being put on display. I needed the money, a point yet to be discussed. Screwing up my courage I clattered out of the bathroom, unsteady on the heels that were higher than any shoes I had previously worn. To my surprise he pointed to a clothes hamper, giving me another clue that I was in deeper than I thought.

“You won’t be needing those.”

Realizing that he was giving me an opportunity to call off the deal, I tried to gather my thoughts long enough to confirm that I needed the job, telling myself that they weren’t really warning signs. If I had known what was coming I’m sure I would have panicked and quit, but if I had I would have missed out on the experience of being a sex slave and a pain slut. Once I was dressed in the bikini, I burned my last bridge.

He led me back into the shop. Celeste ignored me again, studiously watching the customers. Almost all were regulars so they were used to her. I was “fresh meat.” I might just as well have been hanging on a hook like a side of beef.

We toured the entire store, which was actually much bigger than it appeared from outside. Jake told me that I would be working with the customers, offering to demonstrate the variety of restraints that lined the walls. There were other demonstrations, such as the whips, that he “forgot” to tell me about.

When I questioned being helpless in restraints in front of a customer, something I had never heard of, let alone experienced, he assured me that the store policy was “Look, don’t touch, without specific permission.”

That satisfied me for the moment, but later I wondered whether I would give the permission, or it was up to Jake?

Without warning, Jake ordered, “Hold out your hands.”

I obeyed, already acting almost automatically. There was the loud click of metal on metal and I was staring at the steel handcuffs that were locked on my wrists. As you might expect I jerked, trying to escape them, but they were firmly tight and for the first time in my life I was in bondage. I didn’t react, but that would come later.

Jake explained, making no move to unlock them, “I run a regular special on them, so you will be handcuffed whenever you are on the floor.”

The bizarre feeling of being locked in cuffs elicited my one word question, “Why?”

Jake already had me sized up as a novice, so he spent several minutes explaining the fascination of bondage, specifically in the bedroom. My jaw dropped as he described a whole new approach to sex, that I had never been exposed to.

“You mean that people - women - allow themselves to be tied up when...?” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I was dumbfounded at his answer:

“Not only allow it, they want it. They’ll do anything to get it, let themselves be tied up, chained, whipped. A lot of women like rough sex and the more they hurt the better they like it. Some men even like it.”

“I can’t believe that any woman would deliberately get herself hurt. It doesn’t make sense!”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. I don’t have many female customers, but the ones that do come in almost invariably are pain sluts.”

“Pain sluts?”

“Like I said, women who want pain with their fucking.”

I winced at the crude word, one that I’d never heard at home, but had seen only as graffiti on a fence. I could see that I had a lot to learn.

We looked at whips. Their sinister beauty had a new meaning for me. I closed my eyes for a second, visualizing the feel of the oiled leather across my ass. (I didn’t use that word then, but I do now.) My arousal kick started, giving me an overwhelming urge to finger my clit. I actually felt the first faint glimmer of what I would become. Looking back, it was a milestone.

Corsets hung side by side with straitjackets. To me, the corsets were lovely and the jackets were ugly. The corsets are still pretty, but I have a profound respect for the jackets after spending some time in one. For that matter, I’ve spent at least as much time in a corset, trying to draw more than a quarter of a normal breath.

Hoods and helmets came next, most in black leather. Jake took down one of the lighter hoods and pulled it over my head. I felt his hands at my neck and the click of a lock. My skin crawled as I tried desperately to remember where the nearby customer was, expecting his touch at any moment.

Jake patiently explained the various types and then unlocked and removed my hood. My first glance was toward the customer, who had remained where he was, no longer a threat. Jake repeated the descriptions, this time pointing to each one as he described it. Then he said, “Open up.”

The order sank in and I obediently opened my mouth. Jake pressed a ball gag between my teeth, after holding it in front of my eyes so I could get a good look at it.

“Say something.”

“Hi ss uh igg all.”

He released the buckle and pulled the ball out. “Handy for thin-walled apartment.”

I nodded in full agreement. I could see I had a lot to learn.

I turned crimson as we walked up to a free standing display rack with alternate rows of dildoes and butt plugs. Their purpose was obvious, except that I assumed all were intended for a vagina. I’d read just enough to know what the dildoes were, although I had never gotten up the nerve to try one. I gasped when Jake identified the butt plugs and told me where they went. He kept a straight face as he described the effects, obviously knowing that I was in deep water, where I’d never been before.

Then came collars, manacles and shackles in all sizes and shapes. In seconds he had a collar locked on my neck, with chains running to my wrist manacles and a hobble between the shackles on my ankles. Feeling the cold steel had the desired effect. My arousal went up one, then two notches as he described the equipment. I started to sweat. You may think I have a perfect memory, but this tour made a permanent impression on me.

We walked past the magazine display. One glance took in the lurid covers and pictures of naked women tied with ropes or chains. Jake tapped a customer on the shoulder. “This isn’t a library. Go up front and pay for it.” The man murmured an apology and walked quickly to the counter.

I followed Jake back behind the counter. Celeste continued to ignore me. He motioned me to a seat.

“The pay for this job is $20 an hour, with a one percent commission on your sales. I’ll provide meals, and a room. You’ve seen what your duties involve.”

He pointedly didn’t ask me if I agreed, or had any questions. From what I know now, he was already treating me as his slave. It would get worse. At the moment I was thrilled with the pay, far beyond what an inexperienced sales person would get.

Chapter 2 - Deflowered and Degraded

I shifted my arms, making the handcuff chain rattle as I held them out. “Please?” I asked.

Jake shook his head. “I want you to get used to them. You’ll find that you can do almost everything - except scratch your back - with your cuffs in front.” An hour later I proved him right as I ate lunch for the first time in handcuffs. Celeste served us both, still without acknowledging my presence in any way. She had the same expression as someone feeding their dog. I might as well have been a wood dummy, but I was too busy counting the dollar signs that danced in my head to worry about her. Eating in locked cuffs was a lot easier than I expected.

I spent the afternoon walking the sales floor, waiting on customers, most of whom were more interested in my near-naked body than they were in the merchandise. One creep headed straight for me, arms outstretched. The PA system beeped and Jake ordered, “Do not touch!” The man stopped in mid stride, inches from me. He still had his arms up, but finally forced them down and turned away.

To be fair, Jake always kept a wary eye on anyone who tried to get too close to me and more than one customer was escorted to the door. Since this was the only sex shop in the city, being banned hurt.

By closing time I was near exhaustion. My feet burned and ached, reacting to the too-tall heels I had to wear. My bikini panties were sopping as I hovered on the edge of a thunderclap orgasm. Even my skin hurt, as if the lustful customers had stripped away layers, while they were undressing me with their eyes. But, was I disgusted or degraded by the circumstances? In a word, “No!” I was hotter than the proverbial pistol. It was then that I realized that I wanted the customers to touch me, even... Whip me! My pussy had a special ache all of its own, catching my breath.

I was not surprised when the path to my room led down the stairs into the basement. I followed Jake as he walked into the main room. He moved straight toward a separate room in the far corner. I was expecting a jail cell to continue the theme of his business, but the room probably wasn’t matched anywhere in the country. The room was big enough to hold a king-size bed with ample room on three sides. The room had solid walls on three sides and bars on the fourth, the only visible indication that its primary purpose was to restrain and house a sex slave.

The room alone was almost enough to tip me over the edge. It was the visible things in the room that popped my cork. The chains, the winch, the dresser drawers overflowing with bondage gear. At one glance I could see examples of every restraint that I had been shown upstairs. Later I would look out at the torture instruments in the main room - the horse, a rack, the chair, and on and on, each new machine making it harder for me to breathe as I imagined being held captive on each one. To my fevered mind they had only one name - pain machines.

Jake ordered, “Gimme your hands.”

I held out my arms. There was a click and one of the cuffs fell away, allowing me to separate my wrists for the first time in many hours. He grabbed the open cuff and dragged me onto the bed. With my arms over my head he pulled me upward until he could feed the open cuff through the headboard and back to my other wrist, closing it tight. I was on my back, helpless, certain of what was coming next. He was about to rape me - but it wasn’t rape. At that moment I wanted only one thing - his cock up my pussy as far as it would go. I willingly spread my legs as he unfastened the two parts of my bikini, pointedly noting with his expression that he knew that I was hot to trot.

I screamed in ecstasy as he split my maidenhead, to me the perfect way to become a woman. It seemed as if I had guarded that veil of flesh for a decade, specifically for this moment. Jake seemed unaware that he was “first,” but he mentioned it some time later.

Right then I was more interested in enjoying my first fuck. I was bouncing on the bed like a rubber ball, high on the pain and high on the way he was reaming my pussy. What little I knew about sex faded into the background as I actually experienced it. Did I climax? “Hell, YES!”

Just once? “Hell, NO! I lost count!”

Later, after a trip to the cell’s bathroom, my handcuffs were reattached to the headboard and shackles chained to the corners of the bed were locked on my ankles, spreading me out in what I learned was a classic position.

Jake cleaned himself and walked out, locking the door without a word. I wondered if he was mad at me for something I did - or didn’t - do. If I’d been capable of coherent thought I would have realized what was going on. My immediate problem was my inability to get my hands on my clit.

I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes a dark figure loomed over me. I thought for a moment it was Jake until the figure moved and I realized it was Celeste. I went from arousal to abject fear in seconds. I instantly knew that her sudden appearance meant only one thing - I was in imminent danger.

She tore the covers away from me. My ankle shackles were opened. She grasped my feet, and with obvious ease flipped me onto my stomach. Before I could - or dared to - react, my legs were again chained, this time much tighter, so I had no slack at all. My handcuffs were jammed against the headboard, digging into my wrists.

“Please...” I got the single word out before her hand slapped my cheek, very hard.

“Shut up, cunt!” She backhanded my cheek, twisting my neck with the force of the blow.

I heard a whirr. My bondage education raised another notch as the whirr ended with a splat on my ass cheeks. I learned just how painful a whip can be, especially in the hands of an accomplished bondage expert. It hurt. I screamed and got slapped for my annoying sounds. She gagged me, whipped my ass, caned my thighs and flogged between my legs.

“I’ll teach you not to steal my husband!”

I was helpless to argue the fine points of just who was at fault, but I doubt that the most eloquent lawyer could have dissuaded her from her conviction that I was just another mercenary husband seducer. Oddly enough, behind the gag, I was rooting her on. The pain gave me the most delicious orgasms, timed perfectly to the rhythm of her blows. The repeated slices between my legs kept me climaxing at a machine gun pace. I could tell she could see the effect of her blows, making them deliberately harsher and stronger.

“Ohhh! She exclaimed. I twisted my head in time to see Jake jerk the flogger out of her hand and begin a whirlwind of blows that had Celeste hopping from one foot to the other as the fine leather strands bit into her pussy lips. Every time she tried to close her legs the flogger went to her tits, savaging her nipples. I resented the “attention” she was getting and nearly opened my mouth to ask some help in achieving one more orgasm, but caution stayed my lips, unsure of how this was going to play out.

Celeste was dragged to the foot of the bed and bent over it, her mouth inches from my pussy. Cuffs and rope welded her to the end of the bed. Jake knelt, one knee against my leg and lifted her head, forcing her to lick his cock. With saliva dripping from it, he positioned himself behind her and rammed into her, driving her hard into her bonds. He pulled almost out, rammed again, repeating as she grunted out her apology.

“I’m... sorry... Master. I... won’t... do...it... again.”

I was getting the full benefit of her punishment. Her harsh breathing was aimed right up my slot. I felt like I was lying on a hydraulic jack - each breath jacking my pending orgasm higher and closer, a fraction of an inch at a time. I jerked against my cuffs, reveling in the pain as the harsh metal dug into my tender skin.

To my utter amazement she began to chant, pleading to Jake to hit her harder, use the cane on her pussy, promising him a hard ride in exchange for a sore pussy. He took her at her word, slicing between her legs until she squealed in pain when the tip of the cane caught her clit. It was incentive enough to get her moving, gyrating in her bonds, shaking the whole bed. Jake hung on, riding out the storm until he climaxed. She followed quickly and then fainted.

Jake collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. After several minutes he staggered to his feet and went into the bathroom to clean up. I was lying there, completely forgotten, her hot breath burning my crotch. Jake came back into the bedroom. He unlocked my handcuffs and ankle cuffs. His next words startled me, to say the least.

“Fix her up for the night.”

He turned and walked up the stairs. I thought for a moment he was talking to Celeste, but releasing me brought the truth home.

I crawled off the bed, still high. Celeste slowly came out of her faint, stirring, and then weakly pulling at her bonds. At the moment I felt very little sympathy for her, but that would quickly change.

I had my orders, but I didn’t have the foggiest idea how to carry them out. She let herself down, sitting on the floor, watching me, her face bland. I only had one way to find out and that was to ask her.

Fully expecting a tirade, I asked, “What did he mean? How do I do it?”

For the first time I saw emotion in her glance. She cleared her throat, “I’m a pain freak. Jake humors me by making me spend every night in restrictive and painful bondage. I have to select it from the list and install as much of it as possible. He inspects, and if I haven’t set the pain level high enough, he adds to it, ensuring that I get no sleep. With you here, he will let you set the pain level, but he will punish both of us if my bonds don’t meet his standards.”

I was beginning to think both of them were nuts, but I was already being influenced by the bondage devices that surrounded me.

“Will you help me, please?”

“Of course. I’m not trying to curry favor, but I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I crossed the line, and I will be punished for it for months to come. One other thing, I’m a slave, so I don’t rate a ‘please’ or a ‘thank you.’ Jake will correct you if you slip up.”

“Correct? That means...”

“Punishment. I can tell you’re into pain, but he has other ways than pure pain that you won’t easily forget. For instance, around the corner there’s a hole in the wall. You crawl in and lie on your back with the weight of the house pressing on your nose. Five minutes of that and you are convinced that the hole is getting smaller. One session will make you a claustrophobe who will do literally anything to avoid going back into it.

“He said I was to take orders from you.”

“That’s out the window. I screwed up, so he’s the only one giving orders. Except you. I’m low man on the totem pole again.”

I let it pass without comment. There was a lot to learn and I needed her help, not her hindrance. It was obvious she had gone through this situation more than once. I couldn’t resist asking, “How often have you been in the hole?”

I could see real fear in her eyes as she answered, “Jake and I have been married ten years. He’s put me in the hole on an average of once a month.”

“What would you do for me to avoid the hole?”

“Would having the cleanest pussy in town appeal to you?”

I just looked at her, but she knew my answer. I couldn’t avoid a tiny shiver of delight. I wasn’t a lesbian at that point but her tongue for some reason appealed to me in no uncertain terms.

I released the ropes holding her over the foot of the bed. She straightened up, her joints creaking as she gained her footing. Then she knelt in front of me, surprising me.

“Thank you, Mistress. How may I serve you?”

My mouth opened, but I had no idea what to say. I had never given an order in my life, let alone to a naked woman kneeling at my feet.

I stared at her, my suspicions shifting into overdrive. I was certain she was setting me up, but I had no idea of what she intended. Her ready offer to give me head set my alarm bells ringing in an anvil chorus. Words suddenly rushed from my lips, “You’re faking this! You’re a fraud!” I was so upset I started bawling.

She remained kneeling at my feet, silent as I sniffled. When I finally looked at her, she said, calmly, “You’ll change your mind after you’ve fixed me for the night.”

This set off another round of tears. I hurried into the bathroom, tore two tissues out of the box and blew my nose, loudly. My face grim, my courage restored, I went back to face her.


“Mistress, in the closet is a box marked ‘Rubber'.

"Then go get it.”

She started to get up and I actually yelled at her, “On your knees!”

My jaw dropped again when she obeyed, crawling to the closet. She returned quickly, holding a large box out in front of her

End of part 1