"font-family: verdana">        Morning was one of my favourite times. I always woke to an empty bed, my one moment of solace and reflection. The previous day’s deeds would be relived, in vivid detail, and I would be wet before I even saw the Master. I got a kind of cruel pleasure from tormenting myself, in struggling to hold back release.

        It would only get worse.

        I showered, shampooing my hair, washing my feet and armpits, carefully cleaning my arse and pussy, checking for any unwanted hair. The Master liked my bald pussy, the smoothness of my skin, the unobstructed view it gave him. I dried my hair and carefully tied it up, knowing it would become tangled and disheveled by nighttime. Then I inserted my butt plug, and even though there was no one there to see or hear, I practiced staying quiet as I pushed it in, feeling my sphincter muscles grip it.

        Then, my costume. The tight black corset pushed my breasts practically to my chin, but I was getting used to it. The stiff black skirt hid little, especially when I bent over, which was often in my household chores. Lastly, stockings, lacy garters and my shoes with their vicious heels.

        I made my way downstairs to the breakfast room. It was a big house, and old, with numerous rooms for eating and entertaining. The Master and Mistress were not yet up, of course, and I busied myself preparing their breakfast. My first meal would be my Master’s cum, and I hungered for it. The butt plug was slowly becoming a familiar presence, though it was hard to ignore the way it constantly played with my nerve endings. It felt like being constantly played with.

        The Toy, as I called him, watched me in this duty. His hot gaze probed every cell on my body, more intimate than any touch. I ignored him as best I could. We were not permitted to speak to each other, but would have nothing nice to say if we could.

        The Master and Mistress appeared and I poured them coffee. After they had eaten and were talking lightly over the morning papers, the Toy and I got down on our knees and did our most important morning duty. I parted the Master’s dressing gown and took out his soft cock. With the skill I had learnt over the years, and the extra touches the Master had taught me he liked, I licked and sucked him to his full, hard thickness, before engulfing him with my mouth. I felt his hand on my hand, absently stroking as one would an obedient dog, as I sucked and licked. When the Master’s cock stiffened and spurted hot salty cum into my mouth I swallowed it all and cleaned his cock before putting it back inside his dressing gown. He ignored me during all this, his conversation with his wife barely interrupted by his orgasm, or hers. I relished this feeling of being used and beneath his notice.

        I cleaned the house room by room, not in one day but over the course of the week, and prepared the meals. The Toy worked in the grounds, washed windows, chopped wood, ran baths, dressed his Mistress and did other mundane tasks. He usually wore only black leather pants and his slave collar, but when the Master and Mistress entertained he wore only a butt plug and a hard-on. He would walk amongst the guests, regulars all, and let them play with his stiff cock, his taut arse, teasing and taunting him, twisting the butt plug and flicking his balls. I loved watching this torment, it was the only time I had such satisfaction. He made sure I had none when he raped me for the Master and Mistress’ pleasure.

        But at such parties I too was part of the entertainment. I kept my costume on, and would have a string of beads in my vagina. The guests could play with me too, pinching my nipples, tugging on the string dangling from my pussy, lightly touching my clit, trying to make me orgasm because then they could watch my punishment. Before such parties, the Master would instruct me to let so-and-so make me cum, because he wanted to punish me for their enjoyment. I would let my tray fall for extra effect, the loud crash announcing victory for the guest who succeeded.

        The Master would storm through the crowd, the anger on his face making me tremble with fear and thrilling anticipation. Grabbing me by the hair, he would march me over to the fireplace and tie my hands to the mounted candlesticks at either end, and order me to spread my legs. He would pick up the whip off the mantlepiece and, with a snap, strike me again and again until my arse burned red with welts. Some of the blows would snake between my legs and sting my pussy. Through all this I shook and wept and pressed my mouth into my arm to keep my cries muffled.

        The best such evenings were ones when the Toy would orgasm before me. Once, his cum spurted high in the air and hit a woman in the face. She claimed the right to punish him. His hands were bound together and drawn up towards the ceiling, where a rope tied them in place to a hook placed there for that purpose. In this way the guests could surround him and watch his cock grow as his arse was whipped.

        There were several such parties in my first week, mostly because the Master wanted to show me off. At the end of that first week, though, he had a house guest.

        A man about the same age as the Master, with dark blond hair and a quick laugh. The Master called him Sam, but I was to call him Sir.

        I had to dust the study the day Sir arrived, and had put it off till the afternoon because the Master had waylaid me before lunch, catching sight of my rosy arse cheeks, striped with whip marks, and the tassel dangling from my butt plug, as I went up the stairs. He caught me by the hips, put a hand to my neck and pushed my face into the stair carpet, and unplugged my arse. A second later I heard him unzip and then he was forcing his cock into me. I felt like I was being split apart, despite the plug that I’d worn all week, but the excitement of being pushed to the ground and assaulted made me wet and relaxed after the first moment of excruciating pain. The Master thrust and grunted and came. He withdrew with a pop and shoved the plug back in like he would a cork into a wine bottle, and left me. I got up, shaking, my heart still racing, and resisted the temptation to finger my sopping pussy.

        Now, though, I had to clean the Master’s study, and it could not be put off just because he was in there with a friend.

        I knocked and opened the door. They ignored me, sitting across from each other in big armchairs, sipping whiskey, swapping tall tales. I went about my chore, dusting with a big feather duster.

        “Good God, what a tasty arse!” I heard Sir say. My face burned with the humiliation but I gave no indication that I’d heard.

        The Master chuckled. “One of the best,” he said, and I would have gladly done anything for him then and there upon hearing it.

        There was a rustle of movement behind me and then I felt fingers touching still-tender lash marks. I stilled, and carefully went back to dusting. The fingers moved down to the tassel hanging from my butt plug, and knocked it. I closed my eyes against the torment of pleasure it caused and struggled to keep my breathing even.

        As I dusted I moved away from Sir and glanced at the Master. He watched his friend play with me with a pleased smile, as if I were a gift. The hope that the Master would jealously keep me to himself was short-lived.

        Sir followed me, running his hands over my backside and slipping his fingers between my legs. He played with my pussy lips and let his finger slip into my juices. He laughed.

        “She’s so wet! No wonder you’ve been keeping her all to yourself.”

        “It’s not easy to share a new plaything when first you get it,” the Master replied. “But it’s been a week. I suppose I could be encouraged to share her just this once.”

        I wanted to fall on my knees and beg him not to say so. I had signed a contract binding me to the Master and Mistress, but nowhere did it say they could not let their friends have their fun with me too. There was nothing I could do. Like the Toy, Sir could have me any way he pleased.

        “But I insist on watching,” the Master added.

        Sir laughed again. “I know what you like, you old dog. You’re welcome to watch.”

        The Master got up. “After dinner, then.”

        Sir reluctantly let me go. “Agreed.”

        They walked out then, neither having spoken to me nor so much as looked at my face, where I’m sure the Master would have been displeased to see the tears glittering in the corner of my eyes, the flush on my cheeks.

        At five o’clock I cooked dinner for three and served them in the dining room. Sir groped me at every opportunity. The Toy, standing against the wall near his Mistress, watched with a gleam in his eye, always happy to see me tormented.

        When their plates were cleared and while they chatted on, the Toy and I ate in the kitchen, both of us with an ear cocked toward the door, in case we were summoned.

        The Master called for me. The Toy smirked. I slapped him; he reacted quickly, grabbing my wrist and plunging his thick, well-practiced forefinger up my pussy. I whimpered, staring into his cruel black eyes, his dark handsome face gloating at my predicament. He could make me cum, and then I would be punished. Hell, I’d probably be punished for my tardiness anyway, what would one orgasm matter? But the Master would be disappointed. It had only been a week. If he was displeased he could change his mind, terminate the contract, turn me out. I wanted to serve him and obey him, and in this he had been explicit: no orgasm without permission.

        I kneed the Toy in the balls and without staying to watch him double over in pain, I rushed out to attend to the Master. I would pay for that another day.

        The Master frowned at me as I went to my knees by his chair. “You are not very prompt this evening.”

        “Forgive me, Master.”

        “Doesn’t give excuses,” Sir commented. “I like that.”

        The Master smiled grimly; he had trained me not to. He grabbed my hair and made me look up at him, studying my face as if he could read the history, the time and place, of every orgasm I’d ever had. And, I thought, he probably could. But I had not cum, and he had to be satisfied with that. “Come.”

        I followed the Master and Sir up the stairs to the guest bedroom, somewhat glad not to be led into the basement, where the whips and chains were. I did not want that from this man who was not my Master.

        The Master sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, in the shadows where I could barely see him, and watched. With him taking note of everything, I could not displease Sir. I could not disappoint or embarrass the Master like that. If I could perform well with the Toy, I could do better with Sir.

        Sir was less friendly now that he had me in the bedchamber. He pulled my skirt down in a single swift movement, wrapped his hand around my neck and kissed me with such force my lips were bruised. His tongue pushed through my lips and scoured the inside of my mouth. His other hand gripped my arse in a crushing grip, and squeezed. I squeaked, and Sir laughed. He pulled my arse cheeks apart and massaged them, pulling me against him and grinding his erection into me. Then he pushed me to my knees and drew his cock from his pants. Its big purple head pushed at my lips and I dutifully opened my mouth, mindful of the Master’s eyes on me. I sucked on his hard shaft, running my tongue along the vein and fondling his balls. He started panting and I thought he would cum when he suddenly thrust me away. He hauled me up and, sitting in a chair, draped me over his lap. With a loud smack his hand landed on my arse, first one cheek, then the other. I squirmed, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want anyone to punish me but the Master, but that wasn’t in our contract either. Sir pulled out the plug, rimming me with his tongue and probing me with his finger. He smacked me when I struggled. The feel of his tongue sent a confusing mix of pleasure and revulsion through me, like what I felt when the Toy had me for the Master and Mistress’ entertainment. Finally he picked me up, threw me onto the bed and plunged his cock into my pussy. I tried to get away; he growled and brought my hands together, holding them above my head. His thrusts were swift, hard and powerful. My pussy had been aching for cock all week, but I had never thought it would be anyone but the Master who filled it. Worse, my body was betraying me. My hole was wet and slick, my clit buzzing, my whole body buzzing as I cried out with each hard thrust.

        Sir pulled out and pushed the head of his dick against my back hole. It eased in, well lubricated with my own juices, and pinned me to the bed. Sir put his lips to my nipples and licked and bit them. I gasped and cried out, called out “Please Sir! No Sir!” to his immense satisfaction. He lifted my hips and buried his cock to the hilt, as deep as it could go. His cock pummeled my arse mercilessly, his balls slapping against my arse cheeks. Sir’s finger found my clit and rubbed it; he said hoarsely, “Come for me, little slave.” I could no longer hold back. With a cry I came, the orgasm washing over me, making me momentarily blind but still conscious enough to feel Sir stiffen and come inside me.

        Sir helped me up, looking me in the eyes with a satisfied smile, and led me over to the Master. I knelt at his feet, waited with caught breath for his approval.

        The Master stood up, his erection straining the front of his pants, and bid me bend over the armchair. Holding me firmly by the hips, he took me up my well-lubed arse, fucking me for his own release and to claim me back. He pulled out, leaving me feeling empty, and ordered me to turn around offer my mouth. I hungrily took his big slick cock in my mouth and sucked him till he shot his load down my throat. He still had hold of my head, so I kept him in my mouth while he grew soft once more, and looked up at him. He smiled down at me, pleased with his sex slave, and withdrew. I hid my disappointment, my longing. I missed his cock in my mouth already, but as I watched him put it away, I knew I would have it in my mouth again come morning.

 

aster and Mistress of the house reclined on couches.

   The Mistress motioned me to a chair. The interview began. I answered their questions honestly; I was here in the hope of laying myself bare to them, giving them all I had, and I would start now. I studied them discreetly and liked what I saw. She was slim, willowy, with long chestnut hair and amused green eyes. He was tall, well-built, with short dark hair and a supremely handsome face. I felt myself grow moist just looking at him, at his strong, capable hands. When it came time for me to strip and let them examine me, I trembled at their touch, their probing fingers making me wetter than ever. I moved into various positions for them as they pinched and swatted me, testing my reactions. I gasped and whimpered softly, a hot flush on my skin as I let them study me. I prayed they would be pleased.

   They exchanged a glance, and I knew they wanted me. There was a contract to sign, and I felt a thrill of arousal as I signed over my body and my sexual freedom to them. I was given a week to sort out my affairs and an order to refrain from indulging in pleasuring myself, or anyone else. 

   The week passed by in a blur. My thoughts never really left their large house, and my body throbbed in anticipation of all that would come.

   When I returned, baring just one small suitcase, the same man brought me into the house. We did not speak to each other; the collar around his neck told me he was a slave too, and would wait to be told by his Mistress if he could speak. I, too, could wait.

   He led me to a bedroom that I guessed would be mine. On the bed was laid out my uniform. He stayed with me while I undressed and put it on. I could feel his eyes on me, hot and angry. I looked at his arrogantly handsome face, now marred with hatred. He resented my presence here, that was obvious. But I did not think it would become a problem.

   The uniform was a maid's costume, with a black corset and a stiff black skirt like a lampshade barely touching my skin. There was no underwear, but garters and stockings were included. The other slave came over to tighten the laces on my corset; I gripped the bedpost and gritted my teeth as he viciously pulled on them, tightening them until I could barely breathe. My breasts spilled up over the top, my nipples peeking up. I slipped my feet into the spiky stilettos and did a practice walk - it had been a while.

   I heard footsteps in the doorway and the other slave immediately sank to his knees. I did the same, pressing my forehead to the floor.

   "Let's take a look, shall we?" the Master said. "Up."

   We rose to our feet and the Master scrutinised me. I held myself still as he ran his hands up my legs, brushed his lips across my breasts, and lightly slapped my bottom, rubbing the tender flesh.

   "Very nice, very nice indeed," he said finally. He looked over at the other slave, standing quietly nearby. "Go and get them."

   The slave was gone but a moment and when he returned the Master told me to turn around and bend over the bed before I had a chance to see what he carried. With every inch of me tingling in anticipation and more than a little fear, I did as instructed.

   "Spread your legs for me," the Master ordered. I moved them apart as far as I could and he moved in behind me. My skirt was pointing up at the ceiling, my bum and shaved pussy completely exposed. The Master ran his finger between my lips and then dipped the tip into the pool of juice collecting there. Then it wasn't his finger but a round ball, and he was pushing it inside me. Not just one, but a string of balls, inserted deftly inside me. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut to keep from making a sound. Finally they were all in, and the Master tugged gently at the string dangling between my thighs. Pleasure spun through me and I gasped aloud, earning me a smack.

   "There will be no orgasms without permission. Do you understand?"

   I forced my voice to be steady while I tried to fight the rippling sensations he caused by tugging on the string of beads. "Yes Master, I understand," I said obediently.

   The tugging stopped but he didn't move away. His hands roamed my arse cheeks and smacked and rubbed them until they were warm and red. I felt him pry my cheeks apart and oil was dribbled down my crack and into my arse hole. Before I had a chance to take in this new sensation a butt plug was inserted in one shove. I jerked and made a sound, unable to help myself.

   The Master sighed, disappointed in me already. "Take her to the punishment room. I will not permit disobedience in my slave."

   Down to the basement I was taken and swiftly tied to a whipping post, my skirt removed so it would not get in the way. The male slave smirked at me, pleased to see me lose favour so quickly. The rivalry between us had begun before I'd even arrived.

   A silky voice remarked, "Oh dear, punishment so soon? I had such high hopes for her."

   "A small thing, my love," the Master replied to the Mistress. "But please, stay and watch."

   I could not see them, but I listened and trembled as the Master picked out an instrument and took up position behind me. The first thwack landed squarely across my cheeks, striking the base of the butt plug and pushing it up inside me even more. The mix of pain and pleasure was unbearable. The blows rained down on my bottom and I was soon squirming and crying, begging for pardon.

   "Not until you can take your punishment quietly," the Master said sternly, pausing in his strokes for me to stop my sniffling. Then the whipping continued, and I bit my lip until it bled, determined not to cry out and displease him again.

   Finally, the punishment stopped. The other slave untied me none too gently and led me over to the Master. I watched, curious, as the Mistress beckoned to the other slave and he eagerly went to her.

   "All that whipping has made me wet, my toy," she said to him, sitting down in a big armchair and spreading her legs. "Kneel and bring me pleasure." He immediately dropped to his knees before her and bent his head to his task. My own pussy juices dripped at the sight.

   "Ah, all in good time," the Master said in my ear, his breath fanning my desires even more. "This is your first day in our service, and it hasn't started very well, has it?"

   "No Master. Forgive me Master."

   His hand slid up my leg and tugged on the string dangling from my pussy. I nearly came right there, with my arse on fire and the balls jerking inside my pussy, my back hole plugged and oiled, but with an effort I controlled myself.

   "Very good. I see you're learning, but what I want is total and absolute obedience." He sat in an armchair across from his wife, who watched us with a lazy smile on her luscious lips as her 'toy' ate her out, and drew me onto his lap. "I won't often fuck your pussy, my slave," he proceeded to tell me - I swallowed my disappointment - "But I have a great liking for your arse and your pretty little mouth here. You will wear the plug at all possible times unless ordered to remove it, and we will gradually increase its size so that you will be able to take me without lubrication. You see, I like to fuck at any time I please and sometimes I don't want to give any pleasure, only to take it. So you will be ready and willing to offer yourself whenever I desire. Do you understand?"

   "Yes Master, I understand."

   "Good. Now, you will have plenty to keep you busy, cleaning and whatnot, but that is second to serving me. My lovely wife has her own slave, and I have long been on the lookout for one for myself. Sometimes we will swap. Sometimes we will want a show. Sometimes we will offer you to our guests. You cannot say no to anything we ask, and you cannot pleasure yourself nor orgasm without permission. Tell me you understand, for I do not want to repeat myself."

   "I understand, my Master."

   "Good. Now on your knees before me."

   I slipped to the ground, the cold floor of the basement a sharp contrast to the fire that still seared my backside. The Master told me to take out his cock. I held it in my hand, gazing at its beauty, its size. I followed the Master's instructions as he told me the way he liked to be licked and sucked. I buried my head in his lap and thrummed with pleasure to hear him moan. The Mistress was gasping now, and her cries were increasing as her slave licked her clit and thrust his tongue inside her, flicking it against her soft inner walls. The Master suddenly grabbed my hair and forced his cock deeper inside me. I fought to relax my gag reflex as he rammed my mouth. I loved the sensation of him fucking my mouth, using me like the sex slave toy I was, with no regard for my comfort or unsatisfied desires. With a groan he exploded inside my mouth and held me still until I had swallowed every drop. Behind me I heard the Mistress cry out in her own orgasm, and thrilled at the raw sexual energy in the room.

   "Now for a show," the Mistress declared. She stood and her slave moved her chair to beside her husband's, where she took her seat again. I turned around, saw that they were facing a thick floor mattress covered with a soft rug. I wondered what they wanted me to do, and whether I could ask, when the other slave grabbed me and threw me onto the mattress. I pushed myself up and he slapped me, hard. Tears started in my eyes and my cheek smarted. He smirked at me, cruel delight in his eyes as he reached over and, yanking down the front of my corset, twisted my nipples with long fingers. By now I knew better than to make a sound, but should I submit? I glanced at the Master; his dark eyes were gazing at the scene intently, his hand slowly stroking his cock while his other hand played with his wife's breasts.

   It was a show, and in this I could make noise. I decided not to submit to this arrogant sex slave. I tried to wriggle away but he caught my legs and pulled me to him, kneeling between my knees. He yanked on the string and the balls inside my vagina rippled along the walls. I cried out with pleasure and arched my back, wanting more but knowing to come was forbidden me. The slave flipped me over onto my stomach and positioned me so my bum was in the air. He pulled on the string again, slowly, and let the balls pop out one by one, knowing it was torment for me to try to stop my orgasm. They came out slippery with my juices and he thrust them into my mouth like a gag. Then something bigger was pushing at my hole and in a cruel thrust he entered me, only to pause and then withdraw until just the head of his cock was inside me. Then, again, he thrust in, his large cock filling me, rubbing against the butt plug in my arse as entered me. His tempo increased and soon he was thrusting hard and fast, his hands reaching around to twist and pull on my nipples. I looked up again at the Master, wanting his approval, and saw his glazed eyes, the slight smile on his lips. The Mistress watched with a knowing look: she had felt this giant cock in her too.

   The male slave pulled out of my pussy so suddenly I nearly came with the loss. He threw me onto my back and knelt with his knees either side of my neck. He aimed his cock at my mouth and forcefully wrapped my hands around the shaft. I understood. I gripped him and wanked his cock rapidly, aiming the head at my open mouth. He stiffened, let out a groan and arched his back as his seed squirted onto my tongue. I licked him clean, to show respect for my Master, but I hated the Toy for having me. I wanted to be the Master's and no one else's, but knew there would be many more occasions when I would have to let other men and women use me however they wanted.

By now the Master's cock was fully erect, pre-come glistening from the tip. He got up and walked over to me, picking up the string of beads and kneeling beside me as I still lay on the mattress. He maneuvered my legs and inserted the beads once more, pinching my clit at intervals. With him, I made myself stay quiet and still.

   "I want you to come now," he said, music to my ears. I could have wept with joy and gratitude.

   "Thank you Master, oh thank you."

   He manipulated the beads, tugging on them as he put his lips to my clit and sucked. I came quickly, my breath catching in my throat, determined to please even as he gave me release. When I was calm he gently rolled me over onto my stomach, raised me onto my knees as the Toy had done, and with a Pop pulled out the butt plug.

   "I was going to wait," he breathed hotly in my ear, "but I can't. I hope you will be a good slave and dutiful, and mind my earlier words."

   "Yes Master, I will obey."

   Without any warning he nudged the head of his cock into my anus, easing it in slowly but forcefully. I pressed my face into the mattress to silence my screams as the pain ripped through me. With every fibre of my being I stopped myself from fighting him, willed myself to welcome his big cock into my tight back passage.

   When he was halfway in he began to move, slow thrusts without withdrawing. My arse relaxed and was able to take him all the way in, the pain turning to deep pleasure. My clit tingled, and as his cock rubbed up against the beads in my vagina I fought another orgasm. The beads gave extra pleasure to him too, and he soon lost himself in thrusting into me. He grabbed my hips and drew me onto him, his thrusts becoming harder and faster.

   "I want to hear you," he gasped, and I obeyed instantly, screaming my pleasure, my blissful frustration. I was a receptacle, a hole to be filled with whatever he gave me. He shuddered and climaxed, shooting his seed deep inside me.

   Afterwards, I felt calmer and happier than I ever have before. I loved the Master, I loved his mastery of me, his control of me, the way he gave me pain and pleasure, and could barely contain my eagerness to please him in any way possible.

To be continued, if you like it...

>      I have never felt so fulfilled, so satisfied, as I have in their house.

  

I have been the Master’s sex slave for three weeks now, and, my trial period having finished (and the Master, to my relief, having decided to keep me), it is time to be measured and fitted.

        The Tailor arrived early in the morning with his assistant, and went with the Master and Mistress into the small fitting room. While they chatted the assistant took me to the ground floor bathroom and, without speaking or making eye contact, washed me thoroughly. He cuffed my wrists to the bar suspended from the ceiling and proceeded to soap and scrub every inch, every crevice, every orifice. When done, he untied me and dried me off before leading me, naked, to the fitting room.

        I stood there, my nipples hardening despite the warmth of the room, ignored while they finished their conversation and their coffee. The Mistress left and the men finally turned their attention to me.

        The Tailor stood and walked around me, inspecting. At random moments he would trail a hand down my back, over the curve of my buttocks, up my thighs, over my flat belly. His study was different to the inspection the Master and Mistress had given me before taking me on. Theirs was curious, testing, probing. His was more assessing, more critical, and under his cold blue eyes and frown, I felt insufficient, a poor design. At the same time, I felt deeply aroused, flushed, hot and wet with suppressed excitement. The Master watched me, watched the Tailor examine me, watched my breasts heave and my skin flush.

        “So, you want the full works for this one?” the Tailor asked the Master, crossing his arms, his mind already working out the details.

        The Master stood up. “Yes. She’ll be no trouble.” He squeezed my breast as he went past, knowing I was well trained and he did not have to remind me of anything.

        The Tailor wasted no time. He told his assistant to get me up on the table and into position. The table was low, an unusual height for a table ― but this one was specially designed. Padded cuffs were chained to the four corners, and these were clasped around my ankles and wrists and tightened so I couldn’t move. My legs were spread wide on the padded surface; cold air touched my pussy and made me shudder. No sooner was I in position than I felt something press against my vagina. A long, slim dildo was inserted with a grunt from the Tailor. It slipped in, not uncomfortably, but then the Tailor turned something on the end and it began to expand inside me, growing bigger and bigger until it pushed against the walls of my vagina. I moaned, I couldn’t help it, and panted a little. I had never felt so full. The Tailor ignored me. To his assistant he said, “She’s a comfortable size 3, but make a note that she could go wider. Easily an 11 in length.”

        He didn’t take it out. Next, he began to push another at my anus. This one didn’t go in as smoothly, his angle was off and I gripped the table edge, trying to stay still while I bit my lip at the pain. The Tailor slapped my arse a few times and the sting of it made me more relaxed. The dildo went in and was forced all the way up. Again he expanded it; I could feel it pressing up against the one in my vagina ― the walls felt so thin, I could feel so much friction. It made me want to shit but the Tailor, knowing perhaps from experience what it was like for the slaves he fitted, quickly pinched my clit. I gasped, but it worked. My two holes were stuffed and stretched, pulsing around the intrusions. The Tailor told his assistant, “Size 2, needs to work on that. How she takes the Master up there I don’t know.”

        Next he reached between my thighs and put clamps on my pussy lips and my clit. It didn’t hurt much at all. The Tailor was watching my reactions, and when I did nothing he took them off and put sharper ones on. I gasped, but not enough. The third set brought tears to my eyes and made me wriggle on the table, trying to shake them off. He slapped my bum sharply until I stilled.

My nipples came next. He went straight to the crueller clamps, sharp metal pincers pinching them mercilessly. Not satisfied with this, he began attaching little metal balls on hooks to the loop in the clamp, weighing my breasts down, making the nipples lengthen, the clamps bite deeper. I cried out, I couldn’t help it, the pain an exquisite torment.

        Nothing was removed, I was given no relief. The Tailor came round to my head and, none too gently, gripped my chin and ordered me to open my mouth. He slipped a hard rubber ring into place that stretched my lips wide, and then proceeded to shove a long rubber cock into my mouth, over my tongue and down my throat. His hand felt the bulge in my throat; with his crotch in my face I could see how turned on he was, yet still so professional. He measured how far it could go before I couldn’t breathe, and seemed satisfied with the result. He withdrew the cock from my throat but left it in my mouth. The assistant wrote the measurements down.

        With every orifice stuffed and every sensitive protrusion aching, the Tailor removed the clamp from my clit. He gave me no warning ― hadn’t spoken to me yet; I was just a slave after all ― before piercing my clit for a ring. I screamed around the cock in my mouth, my whole body jumping and writhing as I tried to break free. Tears streamed from my eyes at the pain. The Tailor took up a short flogger and whipped me, whipped my arse, whipped my poor stinging pussy, whipped my weighted-down breasts, until I hurt all over and could no longer feel the throbbing in my clit above the stinging everywhere.

        I breathed in big heaves through my nose which was all snotty, and hung my head. The Master had promised I would be no trouble and I had already failed him.

        The Tailor wasn’t displeased, though. His assistant held a tissue to my nose and told me to blow. He wiped the tears from my face and patted my head as a reward. I wondered if they were going to do my nipples next, as the clamps were removed.

        They didn’t, to my relief, but they hadn’t finished. The assistant took the cock from my mouth but left the ring in. He cranked the table lower until it was the right height for him to take out his erect penis and push it into my mouth. With the ring holding my mouth open I could do nothing to stop him from fucking my mouth. He thrust in, deep into my throat, and grabbing my head in both hands he closed his eyes and started pounding. I was like some kind of toy to him, used to get relief. And why not? That was what I wanted, after all. My pussy was squeezing the cock still imbedded in it, though I was not allowed to orgasm without permission.

        The Tailor’s assistant finally thrust in one last time, held and shuddered as hot salty spunk shot down my throat. He withdrew and tucked himself away, patted me on the head again, Good Girl he seemed to say.

        The Tailor had watched all this, and I wondered what he would do for his own relief.

        He ‘deflated’ the dildo in my pussy and pulled it out. There was a sloppy sucking sound as it came out, quickly replaced by the Tailor’s short but very thick penis. He rammed it in, took hold of my hips and hammered at my pussy. It felt quite bruised by the time he shot his load inside me.

        They removed the other dildo and the mouth ring but left me chained to the table. Next I was fitted for a new set of clothing, measured around the hips, waist, breasts, thighs ― everywhere. They wrapped collars around my neck and took note of the size I could comfortably wear. They wrapped belts around my waist and straps between my legs to get the right fit. They fitted me for new butt plugs of varying sizes, wanting to increase it gradually. And they measured me for new high heels. Everything I wore or was inflicted with would be custom made. It made me happy, made me feel like I had been accepted.

***

Two nights later it was all delivered, a vast array of costumes, collars, chains, belts, straps and clamps. The Master took me to his dressing room and played with me for hours, testing out all the new toys. He had already had a lot of fun with the ring in my clit. After he had fucked me for the third time and had tested all the toys, he inserted dildos into my vagina and anus, fitted me into something very like a chastity belt, and ordered me to remain on my knees with my hands clasped behind my back until he told me otherwise.

        I stayed there like that all night, tormented by the pleasure and the discomfort, limbs tired and heavy, trying to stay awake, trying not to take any pleasure from the ordeal.

At six the next morning he walked in, crossed his arms and surveyed me with a smile.

        “You did very well, slave. Now take it all off and go and bathe.”

        I rushed to do as he said before preparing breakfast.

        On the weekend the Master and Mistress hosted a big party, a gala event where I learned what their business was and how they made all their money.

        They are designers of sex toys, all kinds, and costumes. They are known to be the best in the business, and twice a year when their new catalogue comes out they invite their rich, select clientele to the house to test out the new products.

        The Toy and I were to be the guinea pigs, if you will. We followed the Master and Mistress into the big party room, where they strapped us into cuffs and leather harnesses suspended by strong steel wires from metal frames bolted to the ceiling beams. It was an ingenious contraption. The guests would be able to manipulate us like puppets, moving our limbs, raising us into the air for easy access, having us vertical or horizontal, however they wished.

        It was not comfortable, and my limbs were aching well before the first guests arrived.

        The Master and Mistress told us that, for tonight, we were permitted to come as often as we liked, and to make as much honest noise as we could, since that would give the guests a good idea of how well the new toys worked.

        There was a buffet table along one wall, laden with food prepared by caterers (who were not invited) and wine, so the guests could help themselves as the evening progressed. The Master and Mistress brought out the items, gave a brief introduction to each and then passed them around. The room filled with chatter and laughter, everyone was in high spirits and eager to move on to the testing stage. Most of them had already found it hard to keep their hands off me and the Toy, stroking and groping and patting and pinching. There was nothing I could do about it, and in truth it was nothing compared to what was to come.

        They clustered around us and experimented. All sorts of dildos were pushed into me, ones with knobbly bits, ones with piston-like heads that thrusted into my cervix. After so much pent-up excitement and stimulation, I came very quickly. I could hear the Toy releasing at around the same time, his shout rising above the noise, and was met with claps and cheers.

        The dildo with the piston-like head was only the beginning. I couldn’t see much of what was going on, but I felt everything. Some things that were pushed inside me were quite painful ― one, that mimicked a dog’s with a knot that pushed upwards, and one that felt like it was spiked, made me scream and buck in my harness ― while others were gentle and soothing. One device had a kind of flapping tab that, when switched on, flicked my clit with the kind of stamina no man or woman possesses in their hands. It made me come with a shriek and a cry for relief. The feelings, the pain and the pleasure, were so intense, after the first half hour I wasn’t sure I could last any longer.

        But I did.

        They tested out different mouth-opening devices, metal ones that pulled my lips back in four corners, ones like a tight rubber tube that fitted into my mouth right up to my throat, allowing for more stimulus ― these kinds the men tested with their own erect penises, or the women strapped on rubber phalluses and fucked me more cruelly than the men. These strap-ons were the Master and Mistress’s design too, and the action of thrusting caused friction on the woman’s clit ― the harder the pounding the harder her orgasm.

        Nothing was out-of-bounds that night; my arsehole was well plumbed. I lost count of the number of times I came, the number of times I screamed in pain and cried for mercy. Yet I loved it. I always wanted to be a piece of meat for the pleasure of others, and this was the epitome of such a desire.

        The Master and Mistress walked amongst them, watching, answering questions, giving advice on how better to use a device. Once or twice, the Master paused by me and gently stroked my heaving flank, giving me the energy to continue.

        Next came the whips and floggers. I cried without shame as guest after guest tried out different styles, lengths, thicknesses on my bottom, my pussy, my breasts, my back. My face they did not touch, I think at the Master’s request, for some of them looked at me with a greedy gleam in their eye and I knew they wanted to mark me everywhere they could. Some of the guests did not have the skill or the restraint of the Master, and did not know how to mix pain with pleasure. The Master showed them how, and made them wield the tools with more patience and precision.

        The night wore on. I don’t know how long the Toy and I were trussed up, being raped and whipped and tormented, but it felt like days, not hours. Eventually though the guests had used up all their energy, had all had at least one turn at fucking us, and began to take their leave. When they had all gone, the Master and Mistress took us down. I did not see what the Mistress did with the Toy, I only know that the Master picked me up in his own arms and carried me to the bathroom, filling the tub and easing me into it. He gently soaped me, washed away all the cum and oil and blood, and left me for a while to soak. He came back as I was falling asleep, helped me out and dried me down with a soft towel. He carried me into my bedroom and massaged warm oil into my exhausted limbs. I felt myself sinking, deeper and deeper, and also filled with love for the Master, love and adoration. I didn’t see him take off his clothes, only felt his naked, smooth, muscular body slide into bed and press against mine. He parted my thighs with his knee and sank his hard penis into my sore pussy for the first time. I let out a low moan as he eased into me. My arms, tired as they were, snaked around his back and held on tightly. He began to fuck me slowly, gently, more passionately than ever before. I had never before seen him completely naked, nor so tender. My devotion to him was sealed that night. He had possession of me in every way, and I submitted my entire being to him that night.

He sharply thrusted into my bruised and aching pussy, causing a spike of pain to lace through the pleasure, the most perfect agony. He lowered his head and bit my neck, whispered into my ear, “Cum, little slave.” His piercing thrusts, not tender now, dug into me and I rose on a crest of pleasure and pain, orgasming with a cry that cut short as I momentarily stopped breathing. As my pussy contracted around him he came into me with a groan. He lay on top of me, his weight reassuring and dominating, my own body pliant and submissive beneath him.

I whispered, “Thank you, Master.”