PART 2

 

 

And so it was that on Monday morning I had stepped into the office a new woman. People in the office noticed immediately. Everything that could possibly be different was.

 

 

The weekend had been packed full of activity. It had started, early, with a morning session at Vivienne's office. I'd pulled out my cheque book at the start and signed away a small fortune, but I didn't care. It was only money. I'd rather be happy.

 

We had then started the session proper.

 

It was amazing that two full hours had passed, by the clock, but she had made me so relaxed, so quickly, that the time had gone in a flash. I had awoken feeling refreshed and excited.

 

She had told me that to start with we were going to work on how I held myself and that was the task to work at while we were out and about. I had listened intently as she told me the first of her 'secrets' to confident behaviour. She only wanted me to do three things today, easy things she said but, 'Oh so important’; Firstly, and most importantly, to smile a lot; at people, entering a room, when I feel uncomfortable; in fact most of the time. She had asked me to smile for her and had adjusted it so it looked right. Then she made me practice it and said she would remind me by saying, 'smile' throughout the day.

 

The other two things were posture and how to walk well. She said that as I was going to be stunning and probably a constant wearer of high heels, our first job was to get me a pair to learn in right away. I had felt nervous but again excited by this. I'd only ever worn high heels once, at a birthday party when I was 17. I'd found them difficult and had not persevered with them; they had looked more trouble than they were worth. I did like the look of other women in them though, if they could walk in them. I usually wore very practical but desperately unglamorous flat shoes.

 

It wasn't long before I had stepped out in a pair of new, black leather, high, stiletto heeled boots. Without anything else I had immediately started to feel glamorous. Vivienne had taken my arm and talked me through the 'correct' way to walk in them. She had taken me up and down a quiet side street while she improved my posture and got me balancing properly on the high heels. She was such an amazing teacher and had such a fantastic way of putting things. I had walked the rest of the day with my head high, like I had spent years in high heels. I felt so good that she had rarely to remind me to smile.

 

We did the rounds that afternoon. I had to go back to the car halfway through because we'd bought so much; two stunningly cut fitted suits that I'd never have picked myself; trousers and tops for evening wear; two pairs of attention-grabbing gorgeous heels for work that I would never have dreamed of wearing; a pair of fluffy high heeled mules to practice in around the house ( I'd found that so funny, Vivienne was pleased I was enjoying myself ) ;earrings; underwear; two bags; a coat; the list went on! I didn’t care how much of my savings were being used up. I'd smiled at everyone that day and gone home a happy woman. I'd immediately thrown my old things in a pile to make room for my new clothes. Vivienne had left me in town, elegantly kissing me goodbye. She had arranged to pick me up the following morning and take me for 'a day of sumptuous pampering'. I'd sat in the bath that night with a glass of chilled white wine in my hand and a beaming grin on my face.

 

 

 

The following day I'd got up early and dressed in my new clothes at a leisurely pace; new trousers, pink-brown top, coat and boots.  I was chauffeured by Vivienne to a beautician's. Her name was Trisha and she was stunning. Tall; slim; black skin, the colour

of milky coffee; lush, full, glossy lips; lustrous, frizzy, blond streaked hair, knotted up in a way so elaborate only a professional would be able to do. I had felt over-awed by her beauty. She clearly knew Vivienne well as they both shared a hug and kiss before Vivienne introduced me. Trisha had smiled and looked at my face, then stepped back to regard me.

 

'You've got some natural beauty for me to work with all right; and really quite a magnificent figure', she had smiled mischievously and exchanged looks with Vivienne, ‘come inside and we'll get started.'

 

We were the only ones in the shop but it was small and looked incredibly exclusive. I had bet it must cost a fortune to get anything at all done there. There were no prices up anywhere.

 

'I'm glad I paid up front', I had joked to myself.

 

Then I wondered if I had.

 

'Come this way Anita', Trisha had said.

 

She was dressed in a smart beige beautician's uniform; practical for getting hair and oil spills on but well fitting and very fashionably designed. She wore simple but perfect make-up and a pair of smart but comfortable looking beige sandals. She carried herself with the same confident elegance that Vivienne had but had more swing to her slightly wider hips.  I had followed her down a light, wood-floored corridor to a small changing room with a half door at modesty height. She had brought me a white silk robe and slippers, which she passed in, and told me to change. She said to take everything off as she was going to make my whole body beautiful. She said that Vivienne was leaving us but had said to have a great day and to let her take good care of me.

 

'So, Anita, have you had beauty treatments before?’ she asked as I belted the silk robe around my naked body and dropped my panties onto the floor.

 

'No. Never', I replied.

 

There then followed an amazed set of questions along the lines of, ‘What, you've never had your nails done?!’ through to, 'Not even a facial?!’

 

All of it was said with a pleasant jocularity that made me warm to her straight away.

 

'Well. You're in for a hell of a day girl!'

 

 

 

 

Over the next four and a half hours I was transformed into a woman.

 

She had started with a full body massage to get me relaxed. She asked me questions the whole way through. She had a way, like Vivienne, that made her very approachable and trustworthy. I had felt able to be totally honest and confide in her. We had chatted for a while until the massage just got too good and I zoned out.

 

I came to lying on my back with Trisha, back towards me, handling some things on a table next to me.

 

'Now, I'm afraid, I'm going to have to torture you'

 

I looked up as she turned around.

 

'Wax time!’ she smiled.

 

I must have looked a picture!

 

She was a real expert though. Waxed me everywhere. Took away hair I didn't know I had. Face, legs, bikini line, everywhere was fair game. It really didn't hurt much either. She trimmed my pubic hair from a spidery bush to an elegant, feminine strip.

 

After that she treated my skin with scented oils and creams, which she worked in while I gently melted.

 

Then she pedicured me and manicured my hands.

 

'Ok, now the difficult subject of nail colour', she had said, 'I'm going to put some false nails on your hands so we will have to paint them'

 

I trusted her. I never wore nail varnish, partly because it seemed like too much trouble, but mainly because most examples I'd seen looked pretty tacky or tarty. I particularly hated women with really long nails, they reminded me of whores. Long pink or red nails, horrible! I remember we both had a good laugh about that.

 

She showed me a wooden display book with lots of sample colours painted onto little stones. I had looked at them for a while unable to make up my mind. Then I realised what I thought might work.

 

'Don't tell me', she had said looking into my eyes before I could open my mouth, 'I’ll bet you really would like a French manicure, yes?'

 

'Yes', I exclaimed, genuinely amazed, 'that's incredible, how did you knew that?'

 

She had smiled

 

'I know what works.’ she had purred, 'I know what works for you too, Anita'

 

Apparently she did.

 

She finished my nails, making sure they were just long enough so I could still type easily. Then she gave me the facial.

 

'I've got a hair colour for you too sweetie. Now see how you like this'

 

'It's beautiful', I had said, 'It's so perfectly beautiful. Do you think it would look OK on me?'

 

'Only one way to find out'

 

She dyed my bush of thick light brown hair a deep red, orange. It was gorgeous but it did scream for attention. I was slightly worried at first but then I fell in love with it. She had cut my thick bush into something that was just so 'me' but I would never have found it; lively, a little chaotic, beautifully shaped, longer at the back than the front but fashionably so. She talked me through how to do it myself, it was very little trouble. It framed my face perfectly, which she then taught me how to make-up. As I finished off with a thick velvety lipstick I couldn’t have believed I would ever look this good.

 

'Ok now go back to the dressing room and change'

 

When I emerged she kissed me and told me I looked absolutely beautiful. I had blushed and thanked her. She told me that she would have ordered me a cab but thought that maybe I should take a walk a bit further up the road, into town, to get a cab there. To show myself off a bit she had said with a wink. I had teetered out on cloud nine.

 

 

 

Monday morning, the minute I walked into the office, heads turned. I loved it. I loved the attention and found that all kinds of people were treating me differently. The doorman had almost 'double-taked', he eyed me down from immaculate hair and face, through my nipped-in fitted suit, all the way down my black nylon covered legs to my high black leather stiletto-pumps. I had smiled to myself and carried on my proper walk. I know he checked out my ass for a good time without having looked.

 

I stood in the lift with a guy who worked upstairs. He'd never noticed me before but I could see him checking me out in the door reflection. I smiled at him, then the door opened for my floor and I left.

 

I work in a multi-story office block. Our company, a legal firm, is on the tenth floor and takes up half of that. I'm the personal secretary for one of the partners and handle the work for one other junior lawyer usually. That's enough to keep me pretty busy and I am a good secretary. There's a central area with the lawyers’ doors coming off where I work with 3 other secretaries. All the offices had frosted-glass doors and windows opening onto our area. It was a very professional set up as all the clients were seen there. I had often felt that I was the thing that let it down the most and was glad my desk was to one side.

 

The girls I share a room with couldn't believe it! They showered me with complements and started asking where I got my things from and where I got my hair done. I was cagey about it as I didn't want to let on that I was seeing a therapist and after naming a few shops turned the conversation round to something else. When we went out to get lunch I felt like there was more of a buzz about the group of us and everyone had seemed more excited.

 

My boss had come in late and had immediately gone in to talk to one of the other partners. When he came out he came over to me to ask me into his office, this is what we did every day and I would go through his diary with him. He immediately paid me a complement as he saw me at the desk, sincerely saying I looked lovely today. Then he told me to come in. He held the door for me as always and I sidled past him and stood at my usual spot. He sat down and we started going through meetings and cases as normal. He was definitely different with me though. I saw him eyeing up my legs several times.

 

He was not attractive physically but was very confident, decisive and could be quite commanding. He was always very specific with what he wanted me to do and I liked that. He was also the most powerful man in the company, the other partners generally deferred to his judgement. I had once woken up very flustered after a dream where he had taken me into his office, bent me over his desk and fucked me until he came. Then he had sent me away unsatisfied and frustrated to finish my typing. I recalled that dream while I was standing there and blushed, Vivienne had me smiling at him though!

 

 

 

That night I had another session. I recounted every detail to Vivienne. The final detail was the one that had made the day for me. As I had stepped into the lift to go downstairs I had realised that the same guy from upstairs was in it. I'd smiled at him and stepped in. He had wasted no time telling me that I looked beautiful and would I like to meet up for a drink some time? I have never been asked out by a stranger before (!) but strangely handled it very well. He introduced himself as David, I gave him my name and number and said to call me. Then I walked out before him feeling a bit like a temptress as I walked, knowing I would have his full attention on me.

 

'That's fantastic, Anita', Vivienne said, 'I'm so happy for you. And you know this is just the beginning too. We’ll cover what you’ll need to handle a date soon as well!'

 

'Ok, let's start the session'

 

I remember envisaging some scenarios but the details were very blurry. I can remember one starting with approaching a man I found attractive but I couldn’t remember what happened next. I remember feeling very, very sexy though; and still felt sexy when I came to at the end.

 

'I have to say that things are going extremely well, Anita. You're almost a model subject and I can practically guarantee a good outcome with you'

 

I smiled happily

 

'Next session will be in three days, on Thursday. Homework is to find a fitness activity you can do as I think we should get a few pounds off you. You aren't fat honey, don't worry, this is about getting you to your absolute best; so absolutely no junk food or chocolate until we’re happy about this. Secondly I want you to masturbate every night now for a while. We need to develop and explore your sexuality now you're getting to be in a position to need it.'

 

I blushed from head to toe, ‘Yes, Vivienne.’

 

'I have a little present here that I think you will learn to like a lot. Use it when you get home and then every night'

 

I felt a little naughty as I took an expensive looking, little black bag from her. Something was wrapped up inside it.

 

'Now off you go'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART 4

 

 

 

Saturday came and I met up in town with Vivienne. I was aching from my second class the previous night and my feet were sore from rubbing in my dancing boots. I had whined a little to Vivienne and she had told me ruefully,

 

'A lady never complains about her feet, Anita. It is most unbecoming and very common. Your feet will toughen up soon, don't worry; so stick with it but don’t complain'

 

I had nodded like a scolded puppy. I was wearing my high-heeled boots and they were aggravating the same spots with every step. I had smiled said, 'Yes, Vivienne', and put on a brave face for the rest of the day imagining the size of my blisters and quietly dreaming about a foot bath. She had to sort out some business at an estate agent's and with her lawyers to start with so I had to follow her for that; thankfully it passed very quickly and without too much walking.

 

She came through with the goods in the end though, like I knew she would. She steered me towards a spectacular short, black, strapless cocktail dress in a small designer boutique tucked away down a side street. I almost cried when I put it on and saw myself; I looked like a film star. It was the kind of thing I had never worn before. At three hundred pounds I didn't think twice about not buying it, I owed it to myself to have it. She even said she'd lend me some proper jewellery to make it work. She was like the big sister I had never had, the perfect big sister who made everything all right. She helped me pick out a pair of sexy dress-sandals to go with it and then packed me off home to relax and get myself ready for my big date.

 

 

It was later that night that I reached what I now know to be my all time high. I will never feel like that again now and I've lost count of the nights I've gone to sleep crying at that thought. It pains me to have to recall how I felt then and how I can never feel like that again.

 

I had spent the afternoon readying myself. I took a lovely, sensual bath with fragrant oils, followed by full skin treatment with soft moisturizing lotions. I got my nails, hair and makeup looking absolutely perfect. Put on suspenders and black stockings. Zipped up my lovely new dress, almost shivering as the cool satin lining closed around my body to sit firmly about my increasingly slender waist. I slid my richly painted, stockinged toes into my strappy stilettos; my heels almost wobbling high over the tiny points; and fastened the skinny straps snugly round my ankles. A week ago and I would have quaked at the idea of having to walk in them, but by that time I was confident and thought that I would be taking very delicate, ladylike steps. Mercifully the straps avoided the key areas that had been rubbing all day, although had they not I would have worn them without complaint and suffered silently, as a lady.

 

I then sat down at my dresser and took the box that Vivienne had lent me. She had said that the contents were worth 'a lot' of money and that I was to take exceptional care of them. I carefully opened the box and looked inside. There was a pearl choker wrapped around a purple velvet ring. I unfastened it and lifted it up, feeling the weight. It was stunningly beautiful, it had three lines of well sized pearls all strung together fastening with a clip at the back. At the front of the choker was a dazzling piece of cut onyx, shiny and black, surrounded by an elaborate pattern of diamonds set in gold. It felt like it was all real, the highest quality, not an imitation, it must have been worth an absolute fortune. I was transfixed. Slowly I clicked open the fastening and drew it up to my neck, feeling excited as the cold inside fell against me, arousing me slightly. I moved my hands around behind me, encircling my throat with the pearls until I could slide the mating fastenings together and they clicked home. It stayed comfortably halfway up my neck, around almost the narrowest part. I took the matching earrings from the box and put them on too. Then I looked at myself.

 

I felt incredible. Elegant; sexy; beautiful; I felt fantastic, like I could take on the world. I put on some perfume and stood up and admired myself in the long mirror. I felt so glamorous. I posed, like I was in a society magazine. I poured a glass of wine and waited for my date to come. I felt beautiful and in control. I felt like I looked a million dollars. I paced around a little to get used to the shoes and then the doorbell rang. I put down my glass and answered it.

 

I couldn't remember him being so handsome and he looked fantastic in black tie. He was stunned with me and absolutely showered me with complements about how amazing I looked. I was glowing as we walked to the taxi together and rode to the yacht.

 

The night was, well, spectacular. I can't really describe it in any other way. I had the time of my life. I was paraded around on the arm of a lovely man; I got so much attention and met so many wonderful people. My boss of all people was there. He was very taken with me and told me I looked, 'absolutely enchanting'. I had smiled, thanked him and returned to my date. We danced and laughed. He walked me up onto the top deck and in the moonlight he kissed me for the first time. I was truly happy and felt very, very special. The whole night had passed in a wonderful blur until he took me home and kissed me goodnight. I was quite willing to invite him in as I didn't want the night to end but Vivienne had given me very clear instructions on this.

 

'There will be plenty of time for that sort of thing', she had smiled very mischievously during one of the sessions.

 

I had heeded this, said goodnight to him and gone inside. I knew not to have sex on a first date anyway. I was damn glad to have my homework to do that night as I melted into the bed reliving the evening and climaxing at the thought of him taking me, still in my dress, because he had to have me, I was too beautiful not to.

 

 

 

Before I knew it I was back at work on Monday again. I told Melanie about my weekend and she was so happy for me. She even said she knew the guy I was talking about and that she definitely 'wouldn't kick him out of bed!' I felt embarrassed but it was a complement from her; that I had done well for myself. He actually rang me at my desk to say that he'd really enjoyed the night. He asked me out on another date, something quieter, this Thursday. I didn't hesitate to say 'Yes' at once.

 

Melanie was struggling with her smoking that afternoon so I tried my best to keep her spirits up. My boss told me again how wonderful I had looked over the weekend and was clearly starting to look at me like he wanted me now. Not explicitly, but his gaze lingered that bit longer. I tried to avoid walking in front of him if I could, but it was difficult when I went into his office because his desk faced the door.

 

 

 

The following day I left work to go to my session with Vivienne. I arrived at her office at 7 and got buzzed in. I was surprised to see a blonde girl sat behind the reception desk. She was a little younger than me, about 21, very pretty and dressed in a smart black skirt and white blouse. She looked up at me with a tired expression on her face.

 

'Doctor Black says to wait here', she said and then continued to stare blankly at the wall.

 

I felt a little strange as her manner was a little unnatural. There was silence save for the very faint sounds of a conversation next door, it was a little creepy as the reception area had a bleak feel to it and there were no magazines to read. There was just a pile of cards offering the services of Dr. Vivienne Black followed by a long list of conditions that she was adept in treating. I was just reading past 'sexual problems' when the intercom sounded,

 

'Send her in'

 

The girl just looked up at me, I had heard myself. I didn't think she was a very good receptionist and would tell Vivienne what I though about her. I was now a confident assertive woman who deserved to be treated with dignity and respect.

 

Vivienne had just finished on the phone. I strode in, the metal from my heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. The room was dark with the curtains closed. I was happy to see my big sister and was now bursting to tell her about my big date. I'll never forget how she looked at me. There was no smile there. She looked straight into me with empty, black, shark-like yes and said,

 

'Stand there', she pointed to a spot about a metre in front of the centre of her desk. Her tone was emotionless. I didn't know what to do so I stood there.

 

'Stand up straight, head high, suck in your stomach', I did so,' and push out your breasts'

 

I obeyed. I didn't know what was happening.

 

Then she smiled and a hideous look started to take hold on her face,

 

'Freeze', she commanded.

 

Her smile broadened into a grin. It was not like her usual refined and restrained grin, this was a grin of sadistic abandonment. I was scared and went to tell her that I was frightened BUT I COULD NOT MOVE.

 

Not a muscle!

 

My god I couldn't move!

 

I immediately started to panic. As my heart raced she started to cackle. She stood up slowly and sauntered over to me.

 

'What was happening? Why couldn't I move?’ I raced. I wondered if I may have had a sudden stroke or if I was dreaming...but it was too real. Before I could think further she said,

 

'Shhhhhhhhhhh, little one'

 

She ran her hand down my face and stood in front of me. She looked evil in her dark makeup and deep red lipstick. Her wide smile was becoming Satanic. She started to run her nails down my face, slowly, just so they started to scratch a little. Like a cat toying with a baby rabbit. I was choked up with fear, staring at her.

 

'I expect you are wondering why you can't move now.’

 

‘Yes!’ I thought silently

 

‘I could keep you like this forever you know. I'm sure you'd like that wouldn't you'

 

I couldn't understand what she was saying, I was totally helpless, a fox in a snare.

 

'This', she said taking my bag off my shoulder and throwing it aside, 'is our chance to get to know each other a bit better. Since I already know all about you, all your deep, dark secrets, I’ll do the talking shall I?’

 

She took off my jacket and started unbuttoning my blouse.

 

I choked back a sob but couldn't lift a finger.

 

'Yes, I could keep you still like this for as long as I choose'

 

My blouse was removed from me and tossed aside.

 

'Maybe I could have a little glass display case made and stand you in it over there', she mused, ‘get a nurse to put in a dear little feeding tube, a catheter and a daily enema and you would become like part of the room, a permanent fixture. My favourite decoration maybe’

 

I was going insane with fear now. I felt I would pass out, my head was swimming. My body was not listening to me and try as I might I could do nothing about it.

 

She unbuttoned my skirt and pulled it down. Then she unfastened my bra and threw that behind too. In spite of my paralysis the tears ran down my face.

 

'Oh don't mind me dear I've seen it all before', she mocked as she yanked down my tights and pants airing my sex to the room.

 

'Left foot up',

 

It moved up and she took my shoe off. I was aghast. She did the same for the right so I was standing upright and quite naked in front of her. She picked up my shoes and set them upright in front of each of my feet.

 

‘Slut-heels on’, she snapped

 

I stepped into my shoes again and she smiled.

 

'You see now. I am your Goddess. I own you now and I can do with you as I please. Now I may let you speak, but if I don't like how you do it I can easily silence you again. Permanently.'

 

'Do you understand?'

 

'Yes……Vivienne', I said, to my surprise.

 

A look of venom crossed her before she slapped me with full force across the face and screamed

 

'No more "Vivienne"', mocking my voice on her name. She was riled.

 

'Last chance now so make it good……Now say it bitch!'

 

'Yes my Goddess, my powerful Goddess', I sobbed. I was terrified of her. She had become a monster, an all powerful demon.

 

'Good', she smiled slowly, 'now we are starting to understand each other. ‘Mistress’; will be adequate to address me from now on though. I think it show that you understand who is in charge’

 

‘Yes, Mistress’

 

She then turned and walked back around her desk. She clicked her fingers and said, 'Up on here on all fours, now'

 

I immediately moved; I didn't want to, I wanted to run away as fast as I could.

 

'What's happening to me?’ I wept hysterically

 

'Well dear, you’re unable to resist me now as you’re under my spell', she moved aside to allow me to climb up onto her desk

 

'You see you've been treated in a very special way.'

 

I was now on all fours on her desk. She ran her hand through my hair

 

'The first day you came in here I decided I could use you so I did it to you then. It’s amazing what you can do with a scanner, a gamma knife and a virgin brain. I make a few little tiny, special cuts to the right parts and, hey presto, I have a devoted, wonderfully controllable little minion.’

 

‘My….my….brain’, I spluttered my mouth wide open in abject disbelief.

 

‘They’re absolutely teensy-tiny, really very little to worry about now’; she said gently stroking my head with the mocking, trivialising sincerity of a sadistic nurse helping a small child through a horrific medical procedure.

 

She opened a drawer in her desk and took something out.

 

'The process nearly always works straight away but there is a small chance that with a lot of resistance new pathways can form in the period immediately following treatment. That's why you wanted it to work for you; and you have been praying for it to work haven't you'

 

She smiled at me. I had played right into her hands. New tears sprang to my eyes.

 

'Yes,' she said stroking my head, 'I’m afraid the damage is done now Anita, there's no going back now unless I let you go. Your mind is like a piece of clay for your Goddess to play with and I wonder what I will make you into.'

 

'Please…..Mistress…,' I sobbed, 'I don't like this! Please let me go!'

 

I was weeping uncontrollably, crying my heart out.

 

'There, there now’, she said, ’there, there.’

 

PART 5

 

 

‘I do so cherish these special moments’, she had said

 

I heard the sound of stretching, snapping rubber and the squirt of jelly forced from a nozzle.

 

 

‘There’s a certain intimacy that comes from the realisation that you are now, for the rest of your life, completely under the control of your new Goddess. Don’t you think? I am going to impress upon you that your mind and body are mine to do with as I please. You will want to be desperately, desperately eager to make sure that I am happy with you. I can make you behave as I wish, without any scope for you to resist. I could order you to take your life and, believe me; you would not hesitate to do it’

 

 

She came very close and whispered into my ear,

 

‘Also, I could kill you with a word. You would die, where you stood, over a time course of my choosing. Very, very painfully. Believe me……..Perhaps the phone will ring one day when I have no further use for you. Very, very clean. No loose ends. Natural causes would be irrefutable as the cause of death’

 

I could feel my heart slowing down, my vision went black; I couldn’t stay up. She slapped my face, hard. I snapped back round. As I remembered the horror of what she was saying she continued,

 

‘Things may well end that way one day but I am not ready to end you just yet, little one. I have other plans in mind. I do not want you passing out like that again though. Apart from anything else it’s a very inconsiderate way to reward your Goddess for her time and attention. Let’s try and keep you in the here and now a little more shall we’

 

 

She moved around to my side towards my bottom. I felt something cold at my sex then the brutal intrusion of something. It was her fingers.

 

 

‘No!’ I sobbed in protest.

 

 

‘This should keep you mindful of who’s in charge and who’s fucking who here’, she said working her fingers in over the third knuckles. The penetration was horrible. I had only ever had sex with one man and only then a handful of times. I did not enjoy it; it had been a painful, upsetting experience; not how I imagined it could be with the right man; maybe my perfect, handsome suitor from the yacht. I was jerked immediately from that thought.

 

 

The rubber fingers inside me brought a horrible memory from my adolescence flooding back; lying on my back in the dark, tears in my eyes, trying not to sob so he would know how upset I was. I had been trying not to cry out with the pain from his inexperienced, brutal thrusts. I then felt the hand slip in further the feeling was revolting, I wanted to reach down and pull it out but my hands were stuck supporting me and quite useless. I couldn’t stand it and longer.

 

‘Please, Please, Please Mistress!’ I sobbed miserably, ’I will do anything you want, just please stop’

 

 

I was broken. I had given up. She had won. I could take no more. I would do her bidding, whatever it was she wanted from me.

 

 

‘I can already make you do anything that I want, you stupid bitch, I have total control over your mind and body so to offer me that is to offer me nothing. Do not insult my intelligence again………..’

 

She gripped me deep inside to make this point. I felt a deep unsettling pain as she squeezed my womb.

 

 

‘You do still have something left that you can offer me though.’

 

 

‘What is it?’ I begged to know, surely it could be hers for the taking. If not I would freely give it to her if she would just release me from her grip and let me go home.

 

‘Lets not make any rash choices now Anita. I want you to fully understand the options on the table before you sign your life away. ‘

 

 

Her hand was fully worked into me now.  It was deeply painful. When it moved there were new waves of spasm and pain, she was twisting her hand one way then the other to keep it constant; squashing my cervix between thumb and forefinger as she reamed her long gloved arm around inside me. It was a shocking, reviling sensation. If I had had any control at all I would have leapt up and ran as fast as I could in any direction.

 

‘I can’t take it any more Mistress, please, I’m begging you, please take your hand out of me’, I wept, begging for the abuse to end.

 

 

‘The first choice’, she continued oblivious to my protests,’ and the one I really don’t recommend, is this. I have a very comfortable wheelchair just behind that door. I’m afraid you’re going to have an accident falling down the stairs at your flat. It’ll be clear that you must have broken your neck because you won’t be able to move any of your body at all. Ever again.’

 

I didn’t think it was possible to be more frightened than I already was at that time but this brought me to a new height of terror. This was my deepest, my most terrible fear, she had cut straight into me with the worst thing I could have imagined at that time. She must have found that out from me during one of the sessions. Oh how I had betrayed myself! My mouth had gone dry and I had struggled to speak.

 

 

‘It gets better,’ she silenced me,’ they’ll scan your neck but everything will look absolutely normal; there will be no evidence of any structural problem. Obviously I won’t let you tell anyone what really happened, so they’ll draw their own conclusions. You’ll spend the rest of your life being looked after by people who think you are at best mad or at worst a liar and a fraud. It won’t engender much sympathy I can tell you. In fact I’ve already picked out a care home for you. I’m afraid it has had some bad press recently with some of the inmates being sexually abused and an otherwise appalling record on neglect and the preservation of dignity; but it’s cheap and for this reason, surprisingly popular. I think I can swing a place there though. I want you to remember how this feels every time you are fucked there’

 

My head was swimming again. My eyes lost focus then the hand inside me tensed, formed into a fist and punched upwards with the force of a powerful boxer’s jab. I screamed in agony. It was the release I needed, I had screamed in terror, absolute terror at what she had said. I had screamed at my total abject helplessness; and I had screamed at how the woman I had so respected, so looked up to and revered, had become the most evil, dreadful tormentor conceivable. I hated her like I’d never hated before but more than that I was terrified of her. I screamed in my absolute terror and in that moment was briefly transported away from the reality for the tiniest respite. Her voice then brought me back to my possible future.

 

 

‘How does that strike you Anita? I hear they generally just leave the residents in their rooms all day as it’s very little bother to do that. There used to be televisions but they tended to get stolen so generally the inmates are left alone in their rooms with their thoughts in a peaceful silence; sounds lovely doesn’t it. Of course the newer residents tend to get the poorer rooms. Most of the rooms don’t have windows and they are under pressure to stay competitive and keep costs down so they tend to turn the lights off too. You’ll have plenty of time to think about whether you made the right choice here today. Plenty of time to mull it over, I can tell you.’

 

 

As I whimpered, she gently stroked the side of my face with her other hand.

 

 

She paused for a while letting the gravity of her words sink in further.

 

 

‘Of course there is another alternative………………….It will demand hard work from you though.’

 

‘Please, I will do it’, I begged, like I was begging for my life.

 

 

‘And if at any stage I feel that you are not playing by the rules, there will always be the care home waiting. Do you want to know what the alternative is or have you already decided to go with the first option. I know it’s pretty tempting?’

 

‘Please, what is it Mistress?’

 

‘The other option is for you to give me something that I really want. I am going to change you significantly over the next few weeks. You will, of course, obey me completely in it but I want that little something extra from you.’

 

‘Please Mistress; I will give it to you’

 

 

‘I want your devotion to it. I want you to apply yourself to it. In short, I want your very soul’

 

 

I gulped. The day had been so unbelievable that thoughts of vampires and the devil filled my mind as she had suggested this. She wanted the heart of my being and that thing that was most precious. For many people it would have been a difficult choice.

 

 

‘It is yours Mistress, I am yours fully. I will apply myself to whatever you give me’, I had answered without hesitation. The alternative was just too terrible to contemplate.

 

 

‘Excellent.’, she had warmed, ‘It will be unpleasant but don’t worry I will be able to help you along the way. I want you to remember today, remember the feeling of the penetration of your mind, body and soul. Every time you are fucked I want you to feel like you are now, as you are being fucked by me. It is enough for you to know that you are going to be changed according to my specifications over the next few weeks. I want you to remember how this moment feels as you apply yourself to my will.’

 

She rammed her fist in hard again and wrenched it round. I felt like my very core was being ripped. I yelled out again in pure physical pain.

 

Then she took her fist out.

 

 

‘We will talk about this some more later, that’s enough for now. Clothes back on’, she said

 

 

She sat down at her desk and took off the rubber glove.

 

I got down off the table and, sobbing still, hurriedly scrabbled together my clothes and put them on. My makeup must have been streaming down my face as I stood shabbily dressed in front of her.

 

 

She pressed the intercom button.

 

‘Jenny, could you send in Miss Sanders please’

 

‘Go into my bathroom and fix your face, my obedient little slave’

 

I scurried into the private bathroom discretely concealed behind a panel in the wall. I sniffed and sobbed as I washed my face and started to put my makeup back on.

 

‘I haven’t got all day though girl’

 

‘Yes, Mistress’, I said, I was doing it as quickly as I could.

 

When I had disguised the tears and the redness around my eyes and made my hair look acceptable I adjusted my clothes and walked back out. I was surprised to see Trisha stood there smiling with Vivienne.

 

 

‘Hello Anita’, she had said, ‘I’m going to look after you tonight to make sure that you are all right for tomorrow. You have a very big day ahead. Come along’

 

She turned as if to walk and clicked her fingers at her show. My body lunged forward as I moved to heel, standing just behind her to the side, matching her movements.

 

‘Say goodbye Anita’, Trisha said.

 

‘Goodbye Mistress’

 

Vivienne was now sat back at her desk touching up her make-up with a mirror. She didn’t look up.

 

‘I look forward to seeing the results. Now behave yourself and remember what we have talked about as you recover tomorrow.’

 

Trisha started to walk out and I followed like a good puppy.

 

She opened the door for me and I walked back out into the reception.

 

 

‘Hi Anita!’

 

I spun to the sofa and couldn’t believe it. There was Melanie from the office beaming at me.

 

‘I thought I’d take your advice and come and get some help with the smoking’, she blurted out, and ‘I’ve got my first appointment now!’

 

‘Oh,’ I had said. God! I wanted to warn her. I wanted to scream at her to flee while she still could.

 

’That’s fantastic’, I lied, smoothing the pathway into the trap.

 

‘Dr. Black’s ready for you now dear’, Trisha said extending her arm towards the luxurious office. Melanie excitedly got up and clicked her way into the office giving me a little wave.

 

‘Hear you’re on holiday Anita, talk to you soon’

 

She was looking around at Vivienne’s room like a child in a sweet shop.

 

Trisha closed and sealed the door and then smiled at me. My heart ached for poor Melanie as I felt a wave of hatred and bile rise within me. I was completely impotent. Trisha turned and I followed. We walked outside and found her car.

 

She took me back to her house. I was so exhausted from my ordeal that I remember very little about it. I had started to feel sleepy. I remember that she did not say much but had made me eat, drink and shower. She had then put me to bed in a guest bedroom. She had calmed me with a soothing touch. She stayed sitting at my bedside for some time, stroking my head while I let out the occasional whimper. Gradually the terrible images faded from my mind.

 

‘Sleep now’, she hushed,’ save your strength for tomorrow’

 

I went out like a snuffed candle.

 

PART 6

 

 

 

Trisha’s two-seater Mercedes slowly crunched up the gravel driveway. I was hungry, thirsty and nervous. She had commanded silence from me from the moment we had left her house some two hours ago. I had quickly lost track of where I was, no doubt at her instructions. She sang along to the radio for most of the way swapping between stations to avoid hearing the same breakfast news stories over and over. She had a large plastic cup of strong smelling coffee in the holder next to her seat. She had not offered me a cup. Similarly, she had made me sit at her breakfast table while she had eaten toast, without allowing me any. She had then made me do the washing up while she put on her makeup.

 

She had given me a soft pink tracksuit to put on after I had showered. Under this, at her instruction, I had put on a thickly padded, push-up bra. It had made my little breasts look much, much bigger while at the same time pushed them together enough to actually generate some cleavage. After I had put on the tracksuit top and zipped it up, she had adjusted the zip downwards so as much of my breasts as possible were on show. I didn’t feel at all comfortable like that and she’d made a point of calling me ‘Busty’ or ‘Tits’ after that as a kind of unilateral joke. She had been so kind to me the first day I had met her. Now I was a source of amusement for her. She had turned into a school bully, taking delight in mocking and belittling me.

 

‘Come on hot cakes, lets sort out your nails’, she had said signalling pointedly to a chair opposite her.

 

I sat myself down and surrendered my hands. I controlled the frown on my brow. She said nothing but proceeded to take all my nail varnish off and scrubbed my finger nails so that they were clean. It was obvious that there were artificial extensions glued on when they were in their naked state.

 

‘We’ll keep this one clean’, she said pointing to my left forefinger, ’but there’s no reason we can’t let you tart the others up a bit’

 

At that she took out some bright pink varnish. She positioned my hands on the table and then started to paint my nails with it. I didn’t understand why she was doing this.

 

‘It’s so much more convincing if you look the part a little today’, she had explained as she finished my left hand and moved over to the right.

 

My left finger nails were drying with a loud, plastic, bubble-gum pink; lacquered thickly on. Unlike my usual deep, velvety looking, tones it looked awful.

 

‘Nice colour isn’t it’, she said raising her eyebrows as she started on my penultimate finger.

 

I didn’t answer. I was trying to sulk although I was wary of making that too obvious. I was still frightened. Not anywhere near as much as I had been the night before but a long way from feeling comfortable. While Vivienne had seemed like evil incarnate, Trisha merely seemed like a malicious bully. She wasn’t freezing me and violating my very being, she was just making me look tasteless; by comparison it was very little. I still hated it though.

 

‘Put your feet on here’, she said. I obeyed. Then she started to quickly paint my toenails too.

 

‘There now’, she said as the last nail lay there starting to dry.

 

‘Lets quickly do your face’, she said grabbing a bright pink make-up bag, ‘Look forward’

 

It took her only a couple of minutes to cover my face in a multitude of products, such was her expertise. I felt thick foundation and caught the sight of a pink lipstick that matched my nails. I didn’t see anything else of what she was doing as I obediently faced straight ahead.

 

‘Put these on now’, she said.

 

From the bag, she took out a pair of large gold rings, about three inches in diameter with a thick twisted ribbon design on. I had never worn big earrings like that before because I hated them; but did as I was told; pushing the little bars through the piercings in my ears and hooking the backs of the rings over the bars so they hung on securely. They reminded me a little of the ones that Melanie would wear, only these were even more eye catching and more tarty.

 

Trisha was grinning at me. She roughed up my hair and adjusted it to a fashion that she approved of. Then she walked out into the bedroom I had been in and returned with a white faux-leather overnight bag stuffed full and zipped tightly shut. Her other hand was obscured.

 

‘Here are the things you’ll need for your stay’, she said, ‘Now it’s time to leave, so put your shoes on’

 

She handed me a pair of white patent leather sandals with high stiletto heels. They were really tasteless. I took them, the straps hanging from my fingers as I looked at them in disapproval. What on earth was I going to be looking like? I know I used to look drab but I had never looked cheap.

 

She gestured at my feet. I was not being commanded here but I knew I had no choice as I put the shoes on the floor and slipped my feet into them. In my heart I wanted to kick them across the room, screaming at Trisha, running out into the courtyard outside.

 

The heels must have been five inches high. As I buckled the straps on I wondered if I would be able to stand properly in them, let alone walk. I looked down nervously at my bright pink toes peeping out from the knotty white straps and hoped that this would not be the day that I snapped an ankle.

 

‘Stop staring at yourself, Hot Buns, we’ve got places to be’

 

She stood me up and drew a wide white plastic belt around my waist fastening it with the large gold horse-shoe shaped buckle it had. It constricted my waist in the tracksuit making me catch my breath. I wanted to loosen it a little and went to touch it. She froze me with a disapproving stare and I took my hands away again. She’d then grabbed her own bag and made for the door.

 

‘Come along now, Titsy’

 

I had teetered out after her clutching the white bag. I caught a look at myself in her mirror. I looked so common; too much bright pink and blue makeup and dressed like a bimbo. The shoes, belt and earrings looked crass, slutty and demeaning. I was about to protest but I heard a click of fingers and was immediately fixed at her heel once more.

 

‘Sway your hips more when you walk in heels, Anita’, she sounded like a friend now; ‘try to capture how you felt at the pole dancing class last week.’

 

I filled up with shame. I knew I had no choice so I started the feeblest saunter that I could manage. I felt like such a slut, I was praying that nobody would see me. Before we even got to the car, some few yards down the drive, my feet were rubbing painfully on the plastic straps and the balls of my feet were aching in the cheap sandals. I was glad to get out of sight. I said nothing about my painful feet but didn’t feel in any way refined about my silence.

 

She had then told me I was to remain silent and only answer direct questions until further notice. There was no way for me to protest to this.

 

 

 

 

 

Her car pulled up outside the main door of the building. I didn’t know where I was and was start to fret.

 

‘No tears till afterwards now’, she said in an almost sympathetic tone, realising my fear.

 

My eyes remained dry.

 

She handed me a blank brown paper envelope and shooed me out of the car. I shut the door and she lowered the electric window.

 

‘Now I’ll be back to pick you up afterwards and take you back. Off you go, you have about ten minutes so you’re fine. Enjoy!’

 

The window went back up and she waved at me before speeding the car round and driving away. I felt like I was in a dream, it was all so unreal; partly because my stomach was empty but mainly because the place was all so alien.  It was a very modern looking building – all polished stone and angular chrome metalwork. The architecture looked like it was devised by someone who prized appearance far above function. For all the decorative false roof-canopies and unnecessary glass panes, it looked like there was only a relatively small part that people could actually use.

 

I turned round and looked at the door. It had the word ‘Entrance’ written on it rather non-specifically. Walking unsteadily on the last of the gravel before the stairs up to the reception I wondered where on earth I was and what I was doing here. In spite of the difficult shoes and the outfit I was glad to finally be rid of my tormentors and on my own terms a little more. If only I could forget how I had been made to dress.

 

I walked in through the door. The receptionist looked at me and, thankfully, did not betray any response as to how I looked. She took only a brief interest in me. I immediately handed her the envelope as a ploy to distract her. She examined the paper inside, looked up, smiled and said,

 

‘Bottom of the corridor, please take a seat by the statue’

 

She gave me back the letter and I tottered off down the corridor. I passed a couple of very well dressed men in smart suits. I felt like a cheap whore showing off her breasts and avoided eye contact with either of them. I was forced to strut to make any headway on my white stilettos. I cursed Trisha over and over again as I was sure I was stripping the skin from the backs of my heels. I gradually carted the weighty bag down to the bottom of the corridor and saw the statue. It was of a luxuriantly robed Geisha, a tight black bow wrapping her waist like a fine gift, her pale face looking down in deference but betraying a wry smile. As I admired her I momentarily forgot that I looked like a prostitute. There was another girl sat there. She smiled at me and moved her bag from the only other chair.

 

‘Hi.’, she said.

 

I smiled back. I was not to talk unnecessarily.

 

‘You being done today too?’ she asked.

 

‘Yes’, I replied without really knowing what she meant. She made a friendly gesture of pretend nervousness.

 

At that moment the door opened and a tall man in a well cut black pin-stripe came out.

 

‘Miss Janine Rothwell?’ he looked at us both. The girl put her hand up. He smiled slightly.

 

‘Please come in’, he gestured inside.

 

‘And you must be Miss Anita Durrant?’ he asked.

 

I nodded.

 

‘I’m very sorry but we seem to be running just a little late this morning. I shouldn‘t be too long. Please try and bear with me’

 

At that he turned around and shut the door. He was tall, broad shouldered and extremely good looking. He had short dark hair and a sharp, well-cut beard. He was the kind of man that I’d have stared at in the street. Ordinarily, even with my recent confidence, I’d have been quaking and nervous talking to such an extraordinarily attractive man. Today, though, I felt like a tramp. I must have turned bright red as he had addressed me. I had turned quickly to look at him, my earrings knocking against my neck, reminding me of how dreadful I looked; a showy tart with her breasts rammed up and out for the men to see.

 

I sat there for the next ten minutes wriggling my feet and ankles trying to find a comfortable position, dreading that I would have to face him again. I wanted to go and clean myself up. I wanted to go in looking like I had when I had worn my black dress and Vivienne’s jewels.

 

Janine soon opened the door and walked out, off and up the corridor. The door opened a second time and the man was there again.

 

‘Anita’, he said gesturing inside.

 

I made a weak attempt to smile at him, the best I could do under the circumstances. I felt fully humiliated as I picked up my budget-store matching bag and, in as dignified a way as I could muster, walked past him into the room. I felt the warmth in my face as I heard the door close behind me while I clicked to my seat. He must have noticed how I looked as I strutted past him.

 

I sat down in a chair and he sat behind his desk. He looked at me. I wanted to shrink away. I remembered the letter and my ploy. I gave it to him thinking that at least while he read that he would not be looking at me. After scanning it briefly he laid it on the table and once more set his gaze on me.

 

‘Well, firstly, congratulations on your new job’, he said, ‘I know the business is getting more and more competitive by the day now’

 

‘Thank you’, I smiled like an idiot. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

 

‘I specialise in this kind of work and want you to know that I’ve had a lot of experience in dealing with exactly what you have asked for. Because of its success it’s now becoming very, very popular indeed. I do this full time and have been doing so for five years now’

 

I nodded; he was putting my mind at ease about his experience. I was still totally lost. I had wondered what the new job meant. I remember feeling a moment of panic wondering if Vivienne and Trisha had lined up me up for something.

 

‘I just need to go over a few things, Ok?’ he said.

 

I nodded again

 

‘You’ve already selected styles from the on-line image suit, so that’s not a problem. I have all your choices right here’, he held up a dossier.

 

‘And I have an excellent letter from your psychotherapist explaining that you are very much of sound mind, understand everything fully and stand to benefit from this’, he looked up and smiled,’ I don’t doubt this for a minute Miss Durrant but you’d be amazed at the amount of hoops we have to jump through these days. Dr. Black is, I have to say, a superb therapist and we have built up an excellent business relationship now with....oh.....at least two dozen very satisfied ladies. If she is sponsoring your application then I have no doubt that it will be a complete success ’

 

I smiled politely

 

‘Now. I can do all the work today with the exception of one item. A two stage procedure is going to be necessary, with the conclusion performed in several weeks; that’s accepting the fast-track plan that you have already selected’

 

I nodded so he would continue, still completely fazed. He looked up again from the dossier.

 

‘If you could take off your top and bra now for me please’

 

‘I’m sorry!!!’

 

I had wanted to say. Instead, I went bright red, fumbled for a minute and then unfastened the belt and unzipped my top.

 

He stood up and signalled that I did the same. I rose, bashfully dropping my top onto the chair. The thick padded bra was now very much on display. He waited. I could pause no longer. I put my hands behind me and unfastened the bra. I slipped it over my shoulders and, keeping them together with my arms narrowed and up at my sides, I put the bra down on the chair.

 

‘Please Anita, there’s no need to be embarrassed’, he was very kindly and was smiling sympathetically at me. He seemed a little surprised by my reaction but was obviously very experienced in having a girl strip in front of him. He projected complete control and infinite time and patience. He was a professional.  I relaxed a little. I was blushing from head to toe.

 

A man had seen my breasts for about five seconds once - that was it. It had been the man whom I had slept with. I had never liked to expose myself, we’d had sex with the light off because I was too embarrassed to be seen naked. It was bad enough showing myself to him but the padded bra made it look like I had major psychological issues about the size of my breasts - I didn’t, they were small but they were me. I didn’t feel comfortable showing myself to a man; even with my new found confidence. Had I taken my date into my flat after the party I would possibly have let him see me topless I think - but only him; certainly not a complete stranger. While I fantasised about being found beautiful or, at my most daring, a sexy, glamorous dancer on the stage it was always in the context of being dressed. Being stripped by Vivienne had been terrible but it was not so much the nakedness in front of another woman that had troubled me. Rather, it was what she had done to me when I was naked. Being seen naked by a man, on the other hand, was a big issue. The cleavage I had flaunted had been bad enough but to be fully exposed like this before in front of a man was unthinkable. What’s more, I found him incredibly and disturbingly attractive which made it all the more difficult.

 

‘Just relax and stand up straight with your arms by your side’

 

I complied, not looking at him.

 

‘What I will do Anita, is put some tissue expanders in through small scars here’, he made a line with his finger on the underside of my breasts to demonstrate where the scars would be. I felt waves of arousal and nausea at the same time. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my mouth went dry again. He was feeling my breasts…………..He was going to operate on them.

 

My mouth choked up. I wanted to shout, ’No!’

 

I tried to whisper it even but could do nothing.

 

He started to touch the bridge of my nose too, clearly examining that.

 

‘If you could just take your bottoms and panties off now please, Miss Durrant’

 

I wanted to curl up and cry but I knew I had been forbidden. I dropped my pants kicking them off my hot eighties porno shoes. I felt fully like a prostitute as I dropped my panties for him. I was a deep, deep shade of red. Were I not under the strict control of Vivienne there is absolutely no way I could have done that.

 

He turned me away from him and knelt down behind me. He started to feel my calves and tendons.

 

‘Just go up onto tiptoes for me please’

 

I did so. I was glad he was so clinical, it helped me get through. He examined my lower legs as I stood on tiptoes. Even there, the tips of my heels probably were not much off the ground.

 

‘And if you come down again, just separate you legs and bend forward for me’

 

I did so. I was glad to hide my face behind my body but was very acutely aware that I was showing my sex to him. I was so glad that Trisha had waxed me that weekend and that my legs were newly shaved. I was almost holding my breath with shame.

 

‘Please just take your bottom cheeks and pull them apart for me’

 

I turned a pale beetroot colour as I pull my bottom cheeks firmly aside for him.

 

‘Looks like there’s been a little recent trauma here’, he commented.  I almost died.

 

‘I’ll be able to take that into account though so don’t worry about it. Please put your things back on and sit down’

 

I dressed myself again quickly. When I got to the belt I made sure to try and leave it a little looser than Trisha had. I was unable to fasten it any other way. I conceded to have it tight so that I was not scrabbling in front of the man. I sat down and pulled my bag a little closer to the chair.

 

PART 7

 

 

 

‘Now then. I need you to read and sign this form for me. It states that you fully understand the procedures and potential complications and that you consent to have the procedures performed. Please feel free to ask any questions you like.’

 

He placed a piece of printed paper on the desk and put his fountain pen at the bottom. I picked up the form and held it in front of my face. The writing seemed to be normal but I was unable to read it. Curse you Vivienne, inside my mind. I wanted to cry again. I looked up at him and felt like while I was unable to cry - my lip, at least should be trembling. It wasn’t. I felt like an illiterate bimbo. I couldn’t even read it.

 

I signed the form. I had no choice.

 

'That's all fine Anita. You're fourth on my list so we will probably get to you in about three or four hours; in the meantime, obviously, nothing to eat or drink. If you'd like to go back towards reception and turn left just before, you can go and get checked in at the ward. I'll see you again after it's all done, Ok?'

 

He stood up and offered me his hand. I took it and shook it. I saw the crass, vile pink of my nails, my delicate fingers tiny in his strong hand. I looked away again. I picked up my bag and hurried out.

 

 

 

 

After as much time as I could realistically put it off, I had checked into the ward and changed into a theatre gown and dressing robe from my bag. Of all the stupid things, Trisha had packed my pink high-heeled slippers too. I saw one of the cleaners smiling at them on the floor as I sat with my feet dangling over the edge of the bed. I felt like a vacuous bimbo. Also, I cursed anxiously when I realised that Trisha must have been in my flat. What else had she interfered with? My mind was racing anyway.

 

Within no time I was a nervous wreck but I couldn't say anything to anyone. I'd never had an operation before and was so scared. The girl from the waiting area, Janine, was sat at the bed next to me. She noticed that I was starting to struggle.

 

'Are you ok, Sweetie?’ she asked.

 

I shook my head, looking up at her with puppy-dog eyes. She came around her bed and sat next to me. She put her arm round me and I began to shrink into her as my bottom lip began to tremble.

 

'Don't worry, everything'll be fine', she said in an Essex accent; although she seemed more than a little nervous herself. She kept trying to bite her nails and stopping; they were as plastic as my own.

 

'I know loads of girls who've had this done, they all say it's all right you know. It's a bit sore for a few days after, but then it all starts to settle down. My friend Leisha, right, she couldn't get any modelling work till she got her double D's but now she has to fight for a holiday! And she gets paid loads too. She can’t keep the blokes away neither. She came here and got the full modelling lot, lips, nose-job and tits. Reckons she'll be back for a facelift when she gets on a bit too. She does video too, don't do no hardcore though so she didn't get no bleaching or anything like that done'

 

She showed me her breasts and looked down at mine.

 

'I can't wait to get these done. Look at them, tiny aren't they. You must feel the same right? No more messing around with padded bras for us eh?'

, she laughed.

 

She was trying to cheer me up. I didn't reply, I just held on to her. I needed something for comfort. She couldn't have been much older than seventeen.

 

'My agent reckons I'll be able to get on page three after this', she said proudly. I tried to keep listening to her to take my mind off my predicament.  It was true she was very pretty and had lovely long blonde hair. I told her as much and agreed that with 'a nice pair' she'd make a great pin up. Although I pitied her for her worthless ambition and brainless lack of insight; and although I recognised that she was perhaps a different kind of slave, I had no doubt that I would have gladly swapped lives with her then, in an instant. She wasn’t owned as explicitly as I was. I had an evil Mistress who would have me cut upon for no obvious reason; and I was so scared because of it.

 

A porter arrived with a trolley. The nurse looking after us came over. She addressed my young comforter first.

 

'Miss Rothwell, I'm terribly sorry but there will have to be a delay in your procedure, we've had some equipment problems I'm afraid; nothing serious, just inconvenient. Don't worry though it will all be fine for later', she turned to me, 'Miss Durrant if you'd like to hop up onto this trolley, we can do you now instead'

 

I stared at her in disbelief. I was stunned. I didn't want to go, not at all. Janine helped me up and onto the trolley, I could barely move myself. I gaped wide eyed at her as the porter pulled up the side bars on the trolley, I felt encased. In the hope that she could somehow stop everything I desperately tried to keep looking at Janine as he started to wheel me down the corridor. I was pale, cold and sweaty as she soon disappeared around a corner. My heart was pounding as I rolled down the featureless, sterile corridor. I was hyperventilating.

 

Within no time I was in the anaesthetic room with a drip in my hand. I had heart electrodes on my chest and an oxygen sensor reading from my one clean finger. I tried to scream, I tried to move. I tried to mouth the word, 'Help'. I couldn't do anything.

 

I started to panic. I could hear the beeps of my heart rate speed up. The anaesthetist realised that I was climbing up the walls with fear and he wasted no time.

 

'Ok. Now think of something nice to dream about, keep it clean though!’ he joked, ‘and we'll see you when you wake up'

 

I felt a cold sensation in my arm and then nothing.

 

 

 

I don't know what time it was when I awoke later. I remember being sore and drowsy. I remember seeing Janine in the bed next to me with dressings over her chest. She was asleep. I looked down. I had bandaging over my nose. Looking down further, my chest was totally covered with a thick supportive dressing. Oh my God, they had done it!

 

I started to cry. I sobbed for a second and then started to wail loudly. It was 'after' now and I would have my tears; and the ones that I was owed. One of the nurses came over and cuddled me, soothing me. I wept in total and complete anguish. As I bawled my eyes out all I could think was ‘What had they done to me? What violation of my will had just occurred? What had been done to my body? What had they done to me?’

 

My lips and face were puffed and swollen. The tears rolled down over the taut skin and soaked into the bandages.

 

'There now, Anita', she said catching my name off my wristband, 'What's the matter, Hmmmm?'

 

'I don't know what they've done to me', I wept. I looked into her eyes, appealing to her for an answer now that I'd been given an opportunity to ask.

 

'Shhhhh, now', she said. She gave me a soft reassuring smile, 'It's just the after-effects of the anaesthetic. It can play with your emotions a little you know. Everything went fine you know, there's nothing at all to worry about'

 

She held me close but hadn't told me what they'd done. She slowly stroked the side of my head. I resigned that I would have to wait longer and held her tightly, I needed the contact. I couldn't say what I needed to say or ask what I needed to know. In spite of being held I felt completely alone. I closed my eyes and cuddled her.

 

 

 

I was awoken again later by the surgeon calling my name.

 

'Anita? Ah, yes, there you are. Back in the land of the living again', he joked. I didn’t want him to see me like this; but realised that he had done it all so it wasn’t new to him.

 

'Everything went perfectly you'll be delighted to know'

 

He paused and studied the chart at the end of the bed. Now was the time for me to ask him what had been done.

 

'Brilliant', he said putting the chart down, 'well, I shall see you in my clinic, all the very best and good luck with the new job. Hope I've given you a helping hand.'

 

Next to me, Janine suddenly started to throw up into a cardboard vomit-bowl. The surgeon left me to deal with her. I lay back and closed my eyes. I'd clearly had had some cosmetic surgery I thought but I was unsure of exactly what had been done - or indeed why. I guessed that he had probably enlarged my breasts and maybe given me a nose job as well. I couldn't think, though, why Vivienne and Trisha had arranged for me to have it done. I hadn't been unhappy with the way I had looked physically, I had accepted myself. I had sometimes felt that my breasts could maybe have been just a little fuller but I accepted that they suited my smaller frame. I thought large breasts looked crude on a woman of my slighter build and hoped desperately that the enlargement had been a subtle one. My nose had a little bony prominence to it but I had never been too vain to find fault with it. Why anyone would target that for correction was beyond me. As I wondered more on their motivations the residual anaesthetic took me into a peaceful slumber once more.

 

As I slept, I was moved from the recovery bay to a private room.

 

It was later that evening that I was just about well enough to get up, out of bed. The nurse insisted that I at least had a cup of tea and a piece of toast first. I said I needed the toilet and she said that she'd help me as long as I was very careful. I had a catheter in place, to be wary of, and a swollen bag of urine to empty before I could get up. I had asked for a bed pan initially but she had said that it was a good idea to try and mobilise, even if just for a short while. There were risks involved in spending too long in bed after surgery.

 

As I sat up, my belly strained and ached. There were no scars there so I didn't understand how or why it should be so painful. That didn't make it any less so.

 

As I went to stand up, my calves suddenly alit with fire. Was there none of my body that was safe to move? My feet felt fixed pointing downwards; I could hardly bend my feet up at the ankles for the pain in my calves. What had he done to my legs and what possible reason could anyone have for doing it?

 

'You'll need these now honey', the nurse said and put my slippers on the floor. I started to worry again about what had been done to me and how completely helpless I was. I slipped the toes down into the soft pink mules and tried to stand. My calves were killing me as I finally made contact with the instep, my feet resting precariously on the high heels.

 

'They won't stay that bad for long honey, don't worry. You just won't feel like doing much walking for a few days, that's all'

 

She wasn't kidding. I stood up, very glad of the heels. Any lower and I'm sure my Achilles’ tendons would have ruptured. I felt a little dizzy from the painkillers and my whole body ached. She handed me a walking frame that had been next to my bed all along.

 

'Don't be embarrassed to use this honey. Believe me, you don't want to come off those heels today'

 

'Thank you', I said. I took the frame and used it to steady myself. I slowly made my way to the toilet. I felt ridiculous with the combination of heavy bandages, stiletto heels and a Zimmer frame. The nurse walked at my side to keep a careful eye on me and keep me steady.

 

Janine had continued to be quite sick for several hours and I considered myself lucky to have not had such a nasty reaction to the anaesthetic. I was trying to think of something else as I sat on the toilet. When I tried to open my bowels I felt a terrible dull ache deep inside. I remember thinking that had I died under the anaesthetic, I would not have minded. After I made it back to bed it was with a sense of nihilism that I took my tablets and rested my head against the pillow.

 

It seemed like I had just closed my eyes when I felt a nudge, my nurse was next to me again and it was clearly much later.

 

'Telephone for you Anita', she said

 

I was immediately worried; only two people knew where I was.

 

'Hello?' I said as the nurse walked out.

 

'Ah! Anita, hello!'

 

It was Vivienne. My head was awash as the memories came flooding back. I remembered how powerful I knew she could be at the end of a telephone. I filled up with fear again, was there nowhere that I could be safe? I had my mobile too even if there wasn't a phone in my room. It dawned on me that I must be constantly accessible; constantly on an invisible leash and a telephone ring away from total control; or worse.

 

'I hear things went very well', came the voice. She sounded bright, almost friendly, as if last night hadn't happened,

 

'I also hear that you've been a good girl. I am pleased with you, Anita'

 

I felt an immense relief! I felt a pathetic happiness. I was glad that I had pleased her! It was more than the relief of my fear of her; or possible punishment; it was a cowardly celebration of my successful ingratiation to her. She had become my keeper, my Mistress, and held such incredible power over me. I had pleased her as a little pet or toy might and felt a small pride in that. I hated myself for it. Where was my dignity? I felt the pain again in my swollen breasts and remembered that I had lost control of my life; become her property.

 

'Thank you', I said, humbled and once more mindful of the delicacy of my situation.

 

'Now I want you to relax and be happy. You've been through the wars this last couple of days and I need you strong and recovered, understand. So here's what will happen'

 

I listened eagerly. I was, for the first time since last night, not anticipating something dreadful from her.

 

'As a reward, you may talk freely, within the normal boundaries. The only subject that's off-limits is your surgery; you may not discuss what has been done. You may talk about how you are though. You will notice that you have some difficulty walking to begin with, this will improve but you must keep trying to do it as this will relax and stretch the muscles again. Stick strictly to heels though, I don't want you walking anywhere without shoes. Now, you will be staying there for a couple more days to recuperate. I suggest you get plenty of rest, eat well and enjoy yourself with the other girls as much as you can. The food is excellent there, so enjoy it, and I have arranged for you to be massaged tomorrow. How does that sound?'

 

'It sounds wonderful Mistress, thank you', I whispered, almost touched by her apparent mercy. I had not expected that at all.

 

'You see girl, if you behave yourself, good things sometimes happen. I will look at you when you return. In the meantime I suggest you continue to please me'

 

She hung up. I slowly rested my head back, into the pillow. I let out a long slow breath and for the first time in a long time, smiled a little. My body ached mildly but it was with a mild euphoria and a soporific haze from the morphine that I went to sleep; gone was my anxiety.

 

PART 9

 

 

As we drove back, I tried to piece it together in my mind. There had to be a reason for everything, I had no doubt of that.

 

I had been awoken to another breakfast in bed. As I had eaten and looked forward to another morning in bed the nurse had told me that she would make sure everything was set for my discharge, that afternoon. I didn't want to leave my room, it felt protective. I had been cared for there, looked after; and well at that. Nothing bad had happened to me since I had been unwillingly operated on, so I associated the room with peace. It was my sanctuary. I was troubled at the thought of leaving.

 

That morning I had been given another massage and then another bed bath. During this, my dressings were taken down for the first time so that the nurse could examine the wounds. I couldn't see my nose at first but she looked happy enough with it and said that although the dressing could stay down, some clients preferred to keep one on for discretion, especially when they were leaving the clinic. I said I wanted to leave it open to the air, the dressing had been annoying and impeded my view. She warned me that it wasn't pretty and would take days for it all to settle but showed me my face in the mirror. There was heavy bruising and swelling all around my nose and lips, I looked like I'd been a punch-bag. I looked away. I hoped that I would look all right when it settled down. I was neither vain nor especially pretty but my face had been unblemished, before Vivienne had ordered me cut upon. I started to get teary again at the thought of my helplessness and had to shake myself out of it. What was done was done. I tried to think of Janine. I tried to remember that many girls saved long and hard to have this kind of thing done to them. I tried to convince myself that maybe I was actually lucky; that I may end up looking beautiful at the end of all this.

 

She slowly took the dressings off my chest. I watched anxiously as my breasts were revealed to me for the first time. They were also heavily bruised, blue and deep red shades swirled on the tender skin of my giant battered orbs. They were much bigger. They looked like they had been stuffed full. The skin, designed for my small, understated mounds, was taut and ripe to burst such were the size of the implants sealed inside my skin. My nipples now pointed upwards and outwards. I considered them and gulped to myself. They were now a pair of well above average sized breasts, at least a D cup I thought, probably more, I was no expert. I was scared of them. I remembered how I'd felt when Trisha had made me wear the push up bra, even with my small breasts. I had felt so naked, so displayed and so ashamed. I would not be able to hide these anywhere near as easily; even in a normal bra their shape would show, no matter what I wore over it.

 

I pulled myself together and again tried to remind myself that many women better than myself had opted for breast enlargements. Maybe it was all for the better. My attempt at self deception didn't last long. I soon had full teardrops running down my cheeks, I hated that my body had been mutilated against my will. I hated the hideous projections on my chest, they were not my breasts anymore; they were alien. I didn't know if they belonged to me or if they were really Vivienne's and I was just wearing them, permanently. I wanted to tear the scars open and rip the hideous things out. My mind moved to wondering about the true reason for it all. I desperately avoided spending any more time dwelling on the terrible purpose that had Lisa and me at this clinic; it would surely just upset me even more. I had told myself I must try and think of something else.

 

The nurse tried to soothe me and reassure me that it would all settle down; that really he had done an exceptionally good job on me. She said it was very normal to have so much bruising at this stage. I ignored her and tried to think about something totally different. I thought of the office, of Melanie and my boss. I thought of the girls at work. Oh god, would I have to go back to work like this! Oh no! I started to worry all over again. I desperately hoped that the changes would be subtle. I didn't think I could face the other girls if they knew I'd had time off for cosmetic surgery; or my boss for that matter; or anyone in the whole office. I fretted to myself as the nurse cleaned and re-dressed the wounds under my breasts. She told me everything was healing well. I didn’t care.

 

Then she examined me down below and pulled some bloody swabs from my vagina. I was shocked! I didn't know why I had bled from there. It was heavier than a period, a lot heavier, and I wasn't even due on mine. I so wanted to ask her what had been done to my sex. I was starting to get very upset at the thought of this new violation. I searched for sensations there, trying to gather evidence. I could feel all my vulva as she wiped me. I felt her swabbing my lips and my clitoris, so I didn't think it I had been cut there, I was relieved. I was sore in the depth of my belly but I couldn't think why that should be. I felt a sudden sharp, burning pain as she drew the catheter out of me and gave me a quick wipe. As the smarting subsided she put a thick, clean pad under me and pulled some fresh panties onto me. My bed bath was now complete. I was still trying to hold a straight face.

 

When she left, I turned, put my head sideways on the pillow and sobbed to myself. I would have buried my face into it if my nose hadn't been so sore. I curled myself up like a foetus and wished that none of this had happened. I reached a finger down between my legs and felt myself. I could feel the pad. I was scared to feel inside. I wished that I could jump back in time. I would take my old life back. I would be drab and dreary again. I would be boring and plain but I would be in control and safe and I would have my own body. The more I thought about it the more I wept.

 

The thought of harming myself crossed my mind. I surprised myself with this but I was desperate. What if I just ended it all? It wasn't going to get any better. What if I cut my losses and took my own life? I could swallow some pills and it would all fade away. It was worth carefully considering as I remembered that I had given my life away already. Maybe I should steal it from Vivienne as a final 'fuck you'. It would have given me great pleasure to annoyingly snatch a stalemate from her won position. I hated her so much now; she had taken everything from me. She had made me have obvious, big tits. She had interfered with me in other ways that I didn’t understand. I was so scared that I'd be made to show my breasts off, to look like the kind of woman I despised. I gently put my hands on them. They were me now, I couldn’t take them off.

 

 

 

Back in the car I sniffed back a sob.

 

‘Anita, be quiet’, came a voice from the front.

 

‘Yes, Mistress’, I said, steadying myself.

 

From my right, in the seat next to me, I felt fingers take hold of my hand. I looked at her. Lisa couldn’t speak to me but her eyes were soft and understanding, trying to comfort me. I gripped her hand and didn’t let go.

 

 

I had been surprised as I had sat in the car. The nurse had helped me dress in the same clothes that I had arrived in and had packed my bags for me. She had led me out to a waiting room where she had handed the bag to a waiting, smiling Trisha. She had then left and returned with a package. It looked like a small box measuring several inches along each side. It seemed heavy and was wrapped in light brown paper, knotted with string. Trisha took it and put it carefully in her own bag.

 

With the simplest of controlling gestures she led me outside and sat me in the back of her jeep, stowing the bags in the boot. She hadn’t spoken to me but left me there for at least half an hour. I had sat and sulked, dressed as a cheap slut again. At least my hair was tidy and my face was clean, albeit colourful in its own way.

 

I heard crunching on the path and turned to see her returning, this time with Lisa. She was carrying a bag for her too and in the other hand had another brown parcel, the same as the one she had collected before. She opened the door on the other side and put Lisa into the seat next to me. As she shut the door and went back inside we looked at each other in fear and when Trisha was out of sight we rushed into a tearful embrace. I quickly took her arms off me. I didn’t want us to get into trouble but I was so glad to see her. I gave her a careful kiss and gripped her hand.

 

Trisha got into the driver’s seat and turned to face us. She broke into a grin.

 

‘Well look at my sluts now. Very nice. Hot little bitches I think'

 

She eyed us both up and down making approving noises. She snorted, derisively at Lisa next to me with a look contempt. Her face relaxed as she returned her focus to me, finally resting her gaze on my breasts. She looked me in the eye and winked at me. Then she turned back to face the road and laughed to herself. She turned the radio on and then sped the jeep off, down the driveway.

 

 

We arrived at my flat in record time, Trisha liked to drive fast, frighteningly so in fact. She got out of the jeep and took the bags out of the boot.

 

'Out sluts', she snapped.

 

We both got out.

 

'Bring your bags and follow me'

 

I was puzzled as both Lisa and I picked up our bags and tottered after Trisha towards my flat. She let herself in, with a key that she had obviously had cut for herself, and left the door open for us. I stepped in after her with Lisa behind me, staring around inside. My flat seemed, thankfully, much as I had left it.

 

'Make me a cup of tea, Anita', came Trisha's voice from the living room.

 

I put my bag down in the hallway and put the kettle on. I walked into the living room to check if anything had been altered. It was all the same except for two large boxes set in front of the television.

 

'You now have a room-mate Anita', Trisha said, 'Lisa here is going to be living with you for a while'

 

We exchanged looks, this was not too bad at all.

 

'While you are here you may both speak totally freely, if I am pleased with you that is. If not, you already know that I can take your privileges away as easily as I can give them out.'

 

It was true. She had all the power.

 

'You still have some recovering to do from your operations but that doesn't mean that we can't put the time to good use otherwise. You, Bitch', she said looking at Lisa, 'strip. Now!'

 

She began taking her clothes off.

 

'Where's that tea, Anita?'

 

'One minute Mistress', I said, hurrying out to the kitchen. I wanted to be able to talk with Lisa. I wanted to keep Trisha happy. I returned with her mug to see Lisa completely naked, lying face up on my sofa. Trisha had opened one of the boxes and taken out a large but mysterious, white electrical appliance. It had a number of leads and tubes attached, I didn't recognise it. As I set down her tea on the table I watched as she connected the various wires and plugged it in. As she turned it on a number of lights flashed and some LED numbers glowed on a small faceplate.

 

'You strip now too Anita and then come here next to me'

 

I quickly followed her orders, I was not overly pleased to once again be naked, but was very glad to get the sore, cutting straps of my shoes off the stripped, angry skin at the back of my ankles. As I took my panties off, the thick pad stayed stuck underneath me. I peeled it off. There was a small patch of reddish, yellow staining there but nothing like what had been there earlier. Conscious once more of the florid bruising on my battered body, I was about to kneel next to Trisha, near the sofa.

 

'Hold it there, Anita. Stand up straight. Let me look at you'

 

I stood up straight, staying on tip-toes because I couldn't flatten my feet. It hurt to have to hold my whole weight on tiptoes; the first time I had stood without the support of high heels. My weak muscles started to shiver and shake. I tried to hold myself still. I didn't like her looking at me but I was much more scared of displeasing her. Moreover, I wanted her to let us speak to each other. I almost wished I could put the shoes back on as the discomfort grew.

 

'Wow! Nice tits, slut', she said with appreciation, 'why not stick them out just a little more for me'

 

I pushed them out as far as I could. She chuckled to herself.

 

'Yes, very nice. Turn around now Anita and bend over, let's see all the goodies'

 

I turned and bent to touch the floor.

 

I felt her forcefully spreading my buttocks. Then she gave a little contented chuckle and told me I could kneel next to her.

 

'Pull your legs up an spread them wide, Bitch', she said, slapping Lisa on the leg. She raised her feet high above her head and spread her legs wide, completely exposing her crotch.

 

'Look at how smooth and soft her sweet little ass is now', she pointed at Lisa's anus, ' yours is the same, Anita darling. You've both had some bleaching tattooed all round your sweet little ass-holes while you were asleep. It looks a lot less purple and...well.....bowel-like now don't you think? A lovely, baby-soft pink. So, innocent, so much more..............inviting.'

 

I swallowed.

 

'It makes you both look much more sophisticated, believe me', now she was mocking us.

 

'You will both be very special, very...', she looked into my eyes,'....desirable when I am done with you. That's what you always wanted isn't it, slut? You wanted men to lust over you.'

 

'No!! Not like this!', I silently protested. I wanted to be loved for who I was. I wanted to be beautiful, so beautiful that it inspired irresistible attraction; who didn't want that? Attraction, not lust; not crude sexual desire.  I averted my eyes, I didn't want her to see the dissonance in my thoughts.

 

There weren't many reasons I could think of for making a girl's ass look pretty. I watched her, numbed, as she took a tool that trailed off from the electrical appliance and held it up for us both to see. It took my mind off my backside. It looked a little like a soldering iron. It was essentially a handle with a thick umbilical connecting it to the box. There was a compact, little button on the handle and a short needle a it’s tip. The needle tip was much, much finer than a soldering iron's. It looked like it would bend if you blew on it.

 

Trisha unhurriedly took her cup and sipped her tea.

 

'Watch closely Anita. This is an electrolysis machine. It's for hair removal. The little needle tip here fries the roots of the hair follicles, where they grow from. It's like plucking the hairs except they don't come back afterwards. It just stings a little bit when it fires'

 

With that she carefully put the tip into the root of one of Lisa's leg hairs and pressed the button. The machine buzzed and I could see a tiny patch of whitened skin under the surface. As she pulled the needle back the hair fell off of it's own accord and Trisha smiled contentedly.

 

'There you are you see. Really not too bad', she said hanging the probe back on the machine, 'I can assure you that it's not rocket science. It's not difficult to find the right part of the hair, it's just very boring and very, very time consuming. Normally this machine would be used to remove a few stray hairs on the eyebrows or around the lips. It's a top of the range machine so you are both very lucky'

 

With this last remark she smiled at me and took a long drink from her mug.

 

'You try it Anita'

 

She put the probe in my hand and guided me to sit over a quivering Lisa.

 

'Relax, both of you', she said moving my hand so that the needle touched the tip of another hair.

 

'Now. Just work it down into the follicle a little.......There, that's it......Now zap it'

 

I pressed the button, the machine buzzed again and the hair floated off.

 

'Well done', she said cheerfully, ‘now carry on repeating that, Anita. I want you to be confident with the technique'

 

With that, she got up and took a seat at my dining table. I took the needle to another hair and once again zapped it. I did it again and again, each time the tiny hair detached and was swept away by the currents from my breath. I looked up to Lisa, I didn't want to be doing this but I had no choice, I was commanded. She shook her head at me trying to smile but I could see that she was upset. She didn't want me to feel bad though, God she was so sweet!

 

Trisha let me carry on for another ten minutes. She had bought a newspaper on the journey back and was casually flicking through the stories.

 

'Well done Anita, that's good. What a quick learner you are! I'm sure that will come in very handy', she flashed me a demonic grin, 'Now let's swap places. You lie down there and you, Bitch, get up here and take this'

 

I lay down on the sofa and Lisa took up the instrument. As before, Trisha took her through the technique, demonstrating the proper method first. As the machine buzzed I felt the mildest nick above my ankle. That was fine, I had thought. I was more nervous when Lisa took up the tool and I could feel her unsteadiness. She got it wrong the first few times and buzzed the wrong parts. It didn't hurt any more than before but I gathered that she wasn't doing it right.

 

'You are quite a stupid bitch aren't you?', Trisha asked her.

 

Lisa kept quiet and ignored her.

 

'I see. So you like to not speak....Eh bitch?'

 

'Please answer her', I was thinking, I could see where this was going.

 

'Yes, Mistress Trisha. I am quite a stupid bitch', came her reply. I wanted to be relieved but her tone had not been at all respectful.

 

'Oh, I know that already, slut. You clearly need to think about your manners I think'

 

'No Mistress, I am very sorry', she now realised that she had made a mistake.

 

'And to think, I was going to let you both chat away today as well'

 

'Please Mistress, she didn't mean it', I had blurted out. I was anticipating punishment and I so didn't want to have my speech confined again.

 

'Don't you dare tell me the way things are either, slut', she snapped at me, clearly displeased. This was not going well. I whimpered. I just wanted things to be a little easier if they could be.

 

'I can see you both need to learn lessons. You need to learn that those mouths are now our property, that they respond promptly when talked to and that they don't interfere in things that don't concern them. I will deal with this in a moment'

 

Turning back to me she caressed my leg.

 

'You won't ever have to shave these again Anita, think how much better that will be'

 

She moved her hand upwards.

 

'You will remove all the hair on each others legs. Then you will attend to this', she grasped a pinch of my pubic hair and tugged roughly on it, 'all of it, so there's not a hair left. Get round the back as well, I want you both beautifully bare all down here. Then do each others armpits and all down each others arms. Then do any stray hairs on your faces, round your lips or on your necks, backs or belly'

 

I was looking up at her in absolute horror. She smiled back at me

 

'That's right Anita, you'll be baby-smooth all over. Not a hair on your body'

 

She stood up. Her face hardened.

 

'Now. Up sluts! Stand there', she pointed

 

We both got up and stood side by side facing the window. She went to the other box behind us and I could hear her removing something.

 

'Now then. Open wide Anita'

 

I opened my mouth as I felt her hand behind my head.

 

'Wider'

 

I opened it all the way. I felt something around my head and then, suddenly, something large, thrust into my mouth. I tried to let out a muffled noise but she was pulling it further in. It felt like a thick rubber shaft, filling my mouth. I tried reflexively to spit it out but there were two straps, one on either side. She grabbed one in each hand and pulled hard so the thick rod was pulled much more deeply into me, jabbing at the back of my throat, making me wretch. I was frantic and wide eyed as she buckled the strap behind my head, yanking it and tightly securing it in place. I fought to keep my hands at my sides throughout, I knew that the last thing I should do was anything to aggravate her further. It was all I could do to not reach up and tear the vile intrusion from my throat. My eyes watered as I swallowed on it, the foul rubber slipping over the back of my tongue and throat as I gulped. While I was struggling to hold it together she fitted Lisa with the same device. I could see a thick strap around her head holding it in place. I could see that she was gagging, and hating it too. Trisha stepped back in front of us and smiled.

 

'You will wear these for two hours and then two hours a day afterwards. I hope you are pleased with yourselves about this. This will punish those displeasing throats for you. I strongly recommend that you take the time to think very carefully about how you want to speak to your Mistress, and whether she wants to hear it. Two hours can very quickly become four or six, so be careful'

 

I cursed Lisa to myself and then quickly ticked myself off for it. It was not her who was forcing us to wear these gags. I couldn't get comfortable in the damn thing, it was so horrible.

 

It wasn't long before I was back on the sofa with Lisa zapping me again. In no time Trisha was getting ready to leave.

 

'Remember sluts. Two hours a day in the gags. You will not touch your own gag. You can gag each other and be sure to fasten them tight. You can choose when your two hour slot is. With the hair removal, take turns on each other. You have three days. There's food in the kitchen so you have no need to leave the house. You remember all that you stupid sluts?'

 

It was not easy to forget. We both nodded in our gags.

 

'If I find a single hair on either of you when I come back....well, I think your Mistress has offered you both alternatives should you not wish to devote yourselves fully to her. These will be realised for both of you if I find a hair between you. Three days is not very long for two whole bodies. You will have to work long and hard to do it, so get on with it'

 

With that she turned on her heels and left. I looked up at Lisa. Her brow was furrowed in deep humility, I could see she was so sorry about the gags. I held her arm and tried to show her that it was all right. She held up the electrolysis tool. She was not at all happy to make herself an instrument of my torment. I pointed to my leg and nodded at her; we had to do this, there were more terrible things than depilation. I was trying not to think about what would happen when she finished my legs.

 

 

PART 11

 

 

That night we brushed our teeth, turned the light out and got into the bed together. There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute and then she rolled to face me and held me.

 

'I've never been with a girl before', she said to me.

 

'Me neither', I said.

 

'If I was going to be, I would want it to be someone like you Anita. You're a beautiful person, really you are, you know that?’ she stroked my face.

 

'Aww!..........Thank you!’ I had said, genuinely touched.

 

'Now, they will know if we fake this, so we have to do it properly'

 

I nodded.

 

'Just try to relax and enjoy it, that's the best way for both of us'

 

With that she backed off under the covers.

 

I couldn't believe the situation I was in. Here I was, in my own bed, with another woman about to kiss me in my most intimate, sensitive area.

 

I felt her hair sweeping down my breasts and then my belly until I could feel it brush over my pelvis and thighs. It was soft but electrifying as it brushed, leaving a trail of charged, static pleasure, sensitising my skin. Oh God, I was enjoying it! I felt an overwhelming sense of embarrassment as I realised that another woman was exciting me. I swallowed. I wanted to tell her to stop but my rational self told me that it would be a futile exercise; that we would just have to begin again and repeat it anyway.

 

‘Yes, best to get it over with’ I thought, as Lisa had said. I felt her body fall between my legs. Oh God! With a resigned reluctance, I opened them, spreading myself timidly before her.

 

I felt her hands take my hips and hold me. I felt her moving closer, I could feel her breath between my thighs and her warmth on my lips below. God it felt good. I couldn't believe how good it felt or that I was letting myself feel this way about it. It was supposed to be a perfunctory exercise, a mechanical exchange that would let us tick our box and move on to another day. But I was enjoying the touch, the feel of another woman on me, it was all wrong. I started to cry. I bit my lip; she mustn't know I was crying. We must get it over with, with as little fuss as possible.

 

Was I a Lesbian for feeling aroused? Oh God no! I thought to myself, I was normal; a normal woman. I was attracted to men.

 

I felt something soft and warm, gently running up my lip on the right.

 

'Oh!’ I moaned.

 

The tongue moved down again leaving a trail of swelling warmth behind. Reflexively, I tried to lift my hips slightly, but they were controlled by her hands and held down. I wanted her back on me. I wanted more of the touch. I could feel my clit hardening, like she also wanted to lift herself up, in need, to her lover.

 

Then, I felt a deep warmth as her whole mouth cupped me. She closed her lips, sweeping together across my engorged folds and then, with a kiss, upwards to surround my throbbing clit. I shook involuntarily with the exquisite touch but was again, held fast. She nuzzled my hood upwards to further bare the tender flesh beneath, ready for her tongue.

 

'Oh, my God1', I moaned as the tears dried on my hot, flushing cheeks and I felt the firm snaking of the tip of her tongue around my tensely swollen bud. I was so totally, so disturbingly aroused, completely at her mercy as she ran slow, tiny pleasure circles around me. I was burning with guilt at my apparent homosexuality as the overwhelming sensations coursed through me. It felt so good and I knew it was a bad idea to stop. I took my mind wandering, to imagine that I had a gorgeous, strong man between my thighs. A man so overtaken with how beautiful he found me, so enamoured with me, that he longed to give me the most extreme pleasures imaginable. He would make me feel such a devastating feminine beauty in the depths of my being; he would make me understand how beautiful I was.

 

'Oh!' I moaned in tension as the lapping on my clitoris drove me into a rampant frenzy, 'Oh!.....Oh!'

 

I felt her reach deeply inside me. With the speed of her entry and the ease of its accommodation, I realised that I must have been sopping wet with lust. The image of the soft, mocha skinned beauty between my legs flashed into my mind as I closed my eyes in denial at what I had become. Then she was back on my clit with fast flicks, I couldn't stand it. I caught my breath as she gripped me and forced me to stay still, receptive to the unbearable pleasure she was giving me. I submitted to it. Then I wanted it. As I felt a tide of orgasm building I started to gasp uncontrollably and moan in complete abandon. Then, without a choice, I came. I almost screamed with the most intense, earth-shattering orgasm I have ever had. My whole body coursed with the rolling waves of climax until I was so sensitive I couldn't be touched and had to jerk myself away.

 

'Oh, my God!’ I breathed, catching my breath.

 

Lisa ducked out from the bottom of the bed and hurried to the bathroom. I heard her spitting and running the taps. My pleasure soon left me as I was brought back to the reality of the situation. This was not love. It was rape; I had raped her mouth as she had been forced to pleasure me like a sex slave. A colossal guilt swept up inside me as I bent out of the bed to try and see her, to make sure she was okay. I heard her washing her mouth out and then brushing her teeth.

 

It was about five minutes before she came back and crawled into bed beside me. She avoided my eyes. I was so upset that I burst into tears, saying I was sorry over and over. She held me but didn't say anything. I could tell that she was more than a little overwhelmed herself. I hated that I had caused her to feel that way. It was as if my pleasure had become her misery, as if I had stolen her good feelings.

 

I cried myself quietly to sleep that night as she faced away from me. Later that night though, when I turned over in my sleep, I thought I heard her sobbing

 

 

 

 

The following day we had risen early and had taken a quick breakfast. Lisa apologized to me for the night before, saying that it had been very difficult for her to come to terms with being with another woman, especially being forced to, against her will. She stressed that it had nothing to do with me and that I should not feel bad about it in any way. She said that she hated the total control that she was held under and that with every abuse that was forced upon her, she felt that a little of her soul was being forever wrenched away. I had kissed her and stroked her as she lay in my lap. After a few minutes, she had hugged me, composed herself, and then pulled me over to the sofa to start the electrolysis.

 

We had decided to get the gags out of the way and wore them straight away. They were just as unpleasant as the day before but we got on with our task together. On a couple of occasions I had to fight to keep my breakfast down. By the end of the morning the gags were off and we were making good progress; there was not a leg hair left on either of us.

 

We were contemplating the next stage, the humiliating removal of our pubic hair. I had said that I thought it would make me feel child-like, pre-pubertal but also more exposed; that I would have nothing to hide behind. Lisa pointed out that it was practically mandatory in the sex industry to have a shaved sex and that it was an incredibly slutty gesture. She said that she wouldn't like anyone to see her bare like that, that she would feel terribly ashamed. That didn't help me with the task at hand and I had wished that she had kept that to herself as it added another dimension to my humiliation.

 

It was then that the doorbell rang. We looked at each other quizzically and I grabbed up my robe, donned my slippers, and went to answer the door. As I pulled it open, I was confronted by the towering figure of Dr Vivienne Black. She was dressed in a long black coat and a black, wide-brimmed hat. The corners of her deep, dark crimson lips curled upwards into a snarling smile before she opened he mouth.

 

'Pick those up, girl, come back inside and get that robe off'

 

She brushed me aside, striding into the living room. There were two large bags waiting for me on the doorstep. I grabbed them; the right hand one being weighty, the other one light; and hurried back inside. By the time I was in my living room, Vivienne had removed her coat and hat and had sat down. She was wearing a light grey skirt-suit of fine wool. Her hair, as usual, was pulled into a high ponytail. I could see, now that her hat was removed that it was bound tightly with a piece of thin, knotted black leather; gone were the soft, feminine flowers she often wore there. Lisa was kneeling at her feet with her head pressed down to the floor. I hurriedly pulled my dressing gown off and threw myself on the floor, my head down against the carpet. 

 

'I have two boots. One for each slave girl', she kept her legs crossed; 'lick them clean. Now!'

 

We both swallowed, I took the foot dangling above the ground and immediately started licking at it. She was wearing a pair of knee length, lace-up, black leather boots with high stiletto heels and long toes. The boot before me was not dirty save for a few specks of dried dirt towards the lower edge. I licked at them with as much enthusiasm as I could muster; I wanted them to be spotless for her. The bitter taste of polish and the smell of the leather were not that bad. I would much rather have devoted myself to that task than risk one of her terrible punishments. Vivienne curved the pointed toe of her hanging boot outwards, so that I could lick the other side. To my right I could see Lisa applying herself with the same ardour, bending herself around to the back of the foot, licking at the beige leather underside of the arch of the boot.

 

Vivienne laughed.

 

'That's it. You little bitches are not good for anything else yet so you’d better make sure you give them a damn good clean now; lest I decide that you are completely worthless and decide to dispose of you both in some unpleasant way'

 

She lifted the foot that I was licking. I immediately started lapping at the mud on the spike heel. I swept my tongue up its entire length to catch the tiny splashes of dried puddle water that peppered the jet black, matt veneer on the horizontally grained, wooden heel. At the very top of the stiletto, after it curved upwards and backwards to smoothly join the leather; I attended to the back of her heel. I worked my tongue into the line of tiny stitching that formed a tight seem behind, hugging the back of her foot, working loose the little mud that had collected there.

 

'Good girls!’ she cooed, 'from now on, whenever I enter your room; that is how you will greet me. Understand?'

 

'Yes Mistress' we said in unison.

 

‘Your Mistress likes her boots to be shiny and clean. If I ever pick up any dirt on them, I expect you to beg to be allowed to clean it off. If you ever allow me to walk in dirty boots I will have the soles of your feet beaten, severely. Do you understand that sluts?’

 

‘Yes, Mistress’ we both repeated.

 

She bent over to eye her boots and inspect our work. We both pressed our faces into the carpet in submission.

 

'I see you have both learned a little more of your true place. Now, both of you, stand up. Let me see you. Attention!'

 

We both jumped to our feet, the toes of them anyway, and stood before her, eyes straight ahead. She stood, taller than either of us in spite of our tiptoed stance. She regarded me with a feline smile.

 

'You're nose and lips; the swelling has gone down now. That is how they will be. Have you seen them today?’ she asked me

 

'No Mistress. I have not looked at myself today'

 

She reached into her handbag on the table and took out a vanity mirror. She handed it to me.

 

'Look at yourself'

 

I looked into the mirror. My nose was still a yellowy-brown as the bruising was fading but the shape was no longer masked by the inflammation. The bony lump at the top of my nose was no longer there. Instead I had a smooth, cute, slightly upturned, petite and pretty nose. Its only downside was that it looked like every other generic 'perfect plastic surgical' nose. My lips were still full and bulbous, I gasped as to my mind they were still too swollen.

 

'Yes, Anita, you almost have a lovely face now’, she stroked my cheek softly, ‘yes, very pleasing, both to me, your Mistress, and, you will find, to men too. Pleasing because of its aesthetics, you look sexier now dear'

 

I jumped a little as she stroked my breasts,

 

'But also pleasing because your surgery was designed to be less subtle than is currently possible. I want your face to look like it has been operated on. I want people to see vanity when they look at you; the sad vanity of the wannabe slut; the willingness to please and the willingness to conform to a man's needs. A girl who will put herself under the knife shows her devotion and commitment to being a real slut'

 

She laughed

 

'And then there are your huge bulbous lips. They just scream 'slut', don't they?'

 

'Yes Mistress', I looked down briefly and then corrected myself. I could feel my eyes start to dampen.

 

'They'll look even better, enhanced with an eye catching gloss I think. Lovely tits as well, Anita, by the way. You look like a sycophantic little bimbo don't you, so eager to be a man’s wet dream?'

 

She looked me in the eye with a gleeful glint.

 

'Yes Mistress'

 

'Tell me, Anita, are you looking forward to showing those tits off?'

 

'Yes, Mistress', I said. I wanted to be fully cooperative with her the tears in my eyes doubtless betrayed my true feelings. She snorted.

 

'Your tits are still healing. However', she leaned very close to my ear and cupped my breast 'when they are ready we will inject the implants with more liquid. We'll do it gradually, slowly, so the skin has time to grow. Then, when you have lovely big whore’s tits, we'll have a nice, big, permanent implant fitted. That's right, your tits have still got quite a way to go, and already they are big enough to turn heads. How do you like that?'

 

I was starting to break down. I broke my position and turned to look at her.

 

I dropped to my knees and put my hands together in a praying gesture.

 

'Please Mistress! Please don't do that to me! My tits are big already, lovely and big, I already look like a whore. Please let them stay as they are'

 

I bent down and kissed her feet again, throwing myself into it in the hope that it might save me.

 

'Awwww! Poor slave', she stroked my head. I felt slightly comforted, maybe she would be merciful. Maybe my Mistress would take pity on me?

 

'Stand again'

 

I returned to attention. She held her finger over her lips in mock contemplation. She quickly nodded her head, having thought about it.

 

'But you'd look so right as a big-titted slut, Anita. I'm afraid I must insist, so we'll say no more on the matter’ she gave me a sickly sweet smile ‘Now, Mistress Trisha tells me that you have a lovely little anus as well now and I can see that you are both longing to wear high heels too. You will thank your Mistress later when you appreciate that you will have a lot more control in high heels now. The unfortunate side effect, as you have already discovered, is that you will be quite unable to stand with your feet flat, ever again! So its slutty stilettos from now on for both of you I’m afraid'

 

She cast her glance over Lisa, next to me and then told us both to kneel again.

 

'Now then my little novices, I have some presents for you both'

 

 

PART 12

 

 

Only a week ago, a gift from Vivienne would have had me brimming with eager anticipation. Now, it was with trepidation that I watched her reach into one of the bags that I had fetched in for her.

 

This thought made me realise that it had only been a week ago that I had been revelling in glorious attention at the yacht ball. Her gifts to me had been; choosing that perfect, demure dress; and the priceless pearl jewellery. I remembered how it had been that night; how I had been a lady. I muffled a sob at the thought of how steep my decline had been since then. I had gone from such a peak, to such an unfathomable trough in just seven days.

 

'These mark your gradation from clueless little bitches to proper, aspiring slaves. These will help in your training and, later on, they will allow much, much more'

 

She removed something from the lighter bag. As she moved closer, I could see that she held two leather straps, a single gold buckle on the end of each. I had been thankful that it hadn’t been some other hideous devices to torment us. She came to stand in front of us. I could see that one of the straps was a natural, light tan colour and the other was a studded patent white. She turned the leather straps so the darker, rougher and unpolished side of the leather faced us. On the inside of each there were two prominent gold studs spaced about two inches apart.

 

'These are collars for you both', she said.

 

She took one, the tan coloured strap and started to fix it around Lisa's neck while she remained obediently still. Then, I dared not move a muscle as I felt the cool leather strap of the white collar, first at the back of my neck, then winding round until I felt it’s pressure around my whole throat and it was buckled tightly behind. I didn't dream of reaching up and touching it so I stretched my neck out to let it sit more comfortably. I could vaguely feel the two studs on either side of my windpipe, although not uncomfortably so. I couldn’t fathom their purpose.

 

Vivienne stood back in front of us and regarded us with satisfaction. She sat down in her chair and crossed her legs again.

 

'You will wear these when you enter the house and all the time you are inside. Keep them by the front door hanging on the coat pegs when you leave and put them on as soon as you enter. They are several things to you now. Not least of which is that they are symbols of your ownership. In donning your collar you will acknowledge to yourselves that you are kept properties, animals, and as such you have obligations to please your owner, your Mistress. They make pretty decorations to you both as well. I'm sure you will find that Mistress Trisha has chosen the colours wisely and with a careful eye on the final looks that she wants you both to have. They both suit you quite nicely already'

 

She leant forward and stroked my collared throat.

 

'They have much, much more important functions though'

 

At that, she stood up, leaving us kneeling in the same place.

 

'You have both been, in your later therapy sessions, conditioned to respond to certain key words'

 

She strode gently behind us.

 

'You may remember feeling different after those sessions. That's because you were being taught to suffer. You have been conditioned to experience pain, truly horrible pain; and with it, the most unbearable fear. I have trained you to experience absolute terror'

 

She was right behind us, her head bent almost between us.

 

'It is the mother of all understatements when I say that I have programmed you both with very, very unpleasant punishment routines. I have tapped into the deepest, darkest and most painful parts of your brains and installed little switches there, pain amplifiers if you will'

 

I felt a hand on my head.

 

'It is possible, at a command, to put you into this punishment state for a time. My other girls try very, very hard to avoid their punishments, so fearful are they of them. I assure you, as it is with them, so it will be with you two. It will help to keep you………..focused’

 

She smiled. She turned her attention to Lisa.

 

‘The collars that you both wear act as safety devices; you must be feeling the studs pressing against your neck for the punishment to occur. It’s to stop the unlikely event of someone inadvertently using the word while you are out, triggering the sequence. Anyone who knows the word can punish you, you see? Eventually that may be quite a number of people. All of whom you will have to be totally obedient to’

 

I shuddered.

 

‘Don’t worry about being free from punishment though, you can be commanded to put the collar on first, and if I want you to be punished while you are out somewhere, you can be made to take it with you. Maybe you will wear it outside as part of your outfit, if Mistress Trisha wants you to look like that'

 

My heart raced with fear as I felt her hands come onto me from behind, caressing the leather fastened to my neck.

 

‘Why bother with all this if you are both my obedient slaves already?’

 

She looked at us as if we had asked the question.

 

‘Now I could have you mindlessly follow any orders I give you; but that is not what I want. It would be far too easy; and where would be the fun in that’

 

Again she smiled ruefully at us.

 

‘I don’t want my slaves to be cloned automatons, mindless trained sluts who repeat the same behaviours over and over. I want you both to develop yourselves into the natural slaves that you are both meant to be. I want your individuality forced through into your final states and held there for everyone to see. I don’t want your souls buried beneath a weight of commands and programming, I want them helplessly exposed and forced along; nailed to the front of the engines of your slavery’

 

She was lecturing now, gently pacing backwards and forwards.

 

‘To achieve this, it is necessary for you to be free to experiment within your lessons a little. Soon your training will begin. You will be set a number of tasks. Some of them will be very specific, but others, you will have to find your own way with. In all of them, anything less than complete devotion and successful completion will indicate punishment; and it will be unpleasant’

 

She stroked the side of my head

 

‘You will learn that the last thing you want to do is fall below standard, believe me. No matter how awful you think my tasks are, the punishment for not complying with them will be far, far worse’

 

She casually stepped back in front of us and sat herself down in the chair again. She crossed her legs. She was in total control.

 

‘Now that I have seen how my two sluts are coming along, I am almost ready to go. Just a couple of further things before I leave you to get on with stripping those sweet, little cunts down’

 

I was totally still and docile. I desperately did not want to try this new punishment.

 

‘We are going to install a few things about the house; all things to help with your training. You will soon be recovered enough to start working properly; fit enough to start your training in earnest. I hope you will both work hard for me, very hard. I hope you will both apply yourself to your studies. You will learn the arts of sexual pleasure and the different disciplines of pleasing.’

 

‘I will have you taught how to behave, how to walk, how to talk and how to move. You will study how to dance and how to show off those lovely slutty bodies. You will be forced to drive men wild with desire. You will learn how to be hot, irresistible and available; and you will learn how to satisfy the lust that you have stimulated. Most importantly of all though, you will eventually learn that you must be continually improving and developing yourselves. That’s what makes MY girls so special. You will contribute ideas towards your own training and then be submitted to them. We will have little interviews so we can direct your progress. You will finally become independent, self-directed little whores, devoted to my purpose.’

 

She sat back and smiled to us with satisfaction.

 

I could not believe what I was hearing. I was to be trained to be a sex slave,  a prostitute, a whore!...And worse than that, I was not only going to have to work hard to learn my new role but I would be punished, horribly, if I was not good enough!

 

I was so completely cornered; there were no options available to me. While every instinct that I had wanted to me to scream ‘No!’ at her, I knew it would do me no good and worse, it might earn me discipline. At the same time, it was inconceivable that I could accept the plan that she had just laid out for me. I was intelligent, educated and from a good background. I wasn’t to be a whore! I just couldn’t be! That was for other women; lower class women; women who didn’t have the dignity to get a proper job; women who were just natural sluts. Not for women like me, not for someone who was too sensitive and enlightened!

 

I wanted to tell her that she had the wrong girl, that somehow she had taken the wrong person. All I could do was look down in misery and try to hold back the tears. I had dared not even open my mouth; such was her domination of me.

 

‘Before I go, I thought it might amuse you both to see these’

 

She unpacked the other bag, the heavy bag, which she had brought with her. As she took them out, I immediately recognised the two packages that Trisha had carried from the clinic on behalf of Lisa and me. They were still in the same brown parcel wrap and string. After briefly examining them she handed one to Lisa, the other to me.

 

‘I have a little hobby connected to my work. I’m something of a collector you know’

 

She motioned that we should open the packages.

 

‘I wanted you to see my latest pieces, before they are set in their places in my collection. Do be careful with them now girls’

 

She was smiling sweetly now. It sent a sharp, metallic chill cutting through my soul. It was like she was some dark, festive bringer of gifts. I hesitated. She motioned to me again, less sweetly, and I reluctantly tore at the paper.

 

The paper was several layers thick; the packaging on the heavy box had been generously layered. As I scratched away the final sheet in one corner I felt a smooth, cold surface. Scratching away some more I could see that it was glass; glass with some kind of fluid inside.

 

I was so scared. I looked up at her sardonic grin; her cold, sadistic eyes enjoying watching me, like I was a spider having her limbs plucked for her amusement. She bade me to continue.

 

I flipped the string around the corner of the box on one side and slid the remainder of the packaging off en masse.

 

I stared at it. It was a glass box, perfectly filled with an umber liquid. Floating in the middle was a ragged, brown mass. It looked like some sort of triangular lump with a pair of trailing water-swollen appendages. It was hideous.

 

I looked up questioningly. Her expression turned to one of glee,

 

‘They were removed vaginally. It just wouldn’t do for either of you to become pregnant and in your line of work, periods are a nuisance’

 

I dropped to my knees. I could see my ovaries swaying in the wash as I hit the floor, the specimen box held up in front of me. I felt the box lifted away from me as she reclaimed her trophy.

 

I would never have babies.

 

I broke down and wept.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART 13

 

 

As I opened the door I caught my breath. There were two women standing there, neither of them were familiar, that didn't stop them practically walking through me. Unable to protest, I watched as they carried in a stack of boxes. Having piled these in the front room, they went back to their car and came back with even more. As an inert bystander in the activities in my home, I had returned to the sofa and stared at the floor for a minute. I had been scouting for any rogue hairs left on Lisa. Watching the girls out of the corner of my eye I tried to carry on; I could not see any, she was as smooth as a baby below the hairline on her head. She had just finished looking me over. I had stood naked in front of her with my legs spread while she had examined me. I could feel every stir and eddy of the air as a cool brushing on my sensitive bald skin. Nowhere was I more conscious of this than in the area that was accustomed to being sheltered with pubic hair.

 

I had grabbed my short robe to answer the door and could feel the crisp autumn air rushing in against me.

 

With a slam of my front door, the two women set down the rest of their boxes.

 

'You are to stay out of the way and keep quiet while we work', said one of the women. I knew that I was bound by that command; I could feel when a message was aimed at Vivienne's control system within me. It seemed that anyone could be given access to this since she had fitted it. It was like a parasite in my head, I almost wanted to smash it clean open and rip at my brain; such was my frustration. I gritted my teeth and once again accepted that I was a controllable 'slave-girl'.

 

I looked at the nearest girl. She was in her early thirties, I thought. She was immaculately figured, with short-cropped bleached, blonde hair. She was a tall Amazon, a classical Germanic beauty. Her accomplice was a smaller, but no less beautiful, red-head. She had the same low-maintenance hairstyle as other girl but was wider in the hips. Both were dressed in practical, forgettable, grey overalls.

 

I had turned back to Lisa as they had started to unpack. The cool air had lifted some microscopic hairs up on her forearm. I was thankful for the luck as I set to them with the electrolysis probe.

 

 

 

It was two days after Vivienne's visit. As I fried the tiny patches beneath the hair follicles I realised that I was sitting almost in the same place that I had been when Vivienne had crushed me. I had been revolted, in equal parts, at her depravity and how I was so helplessly subject to it. Her vile, psychopathic 'hobby' of storing the removed wombs of her victims revealed just how unhinged she really was. That anyone could gain pleasure from that was twisted and warped beyond my comprehension. The fact that it was she who was my Mistress was starting to fill me with nihilism. I would never be able to live a decent life, I was sure that she could not possibly be planning that for me. Maybe the only way that I could live would be to avoid her punishments. It struck me that to try and live between the gaps of her strict regime would be a progressively futile enterprise. Maybe I would just have to go with it. Maybe I should simply no longer care, as my caring just gave her ways to torment me; but then that was the kind of person that I was; I had morals, aspirations and ideals; I couldn't just erase them.

 

I had always thought, in fact I had known, that one day, I would get married and have children. She had now torn that from me, quite literally, to become a decoration in some macabre display. On that day, I had started to carefully count my blessings, as I had no idea when the next atrocity would be afflicted on me, nor what it would be. Maybe my hands would be cut off next, so I should just enjoy having them; or maybe she would blind me, for fun; so I should cherish every single vision, even the terrible ones. It seems to me that there is only so much fear that a woman can live in before she starts to change, irreversibly. In the most perverse, deconstructive way, she had almost rendered me enlightened!

 

After she had left, I had locked myself in the toilet for two hours. I'd tried to take a razor blade to my wrist but I knew that I would be forbidden before I could pick it up. That was the final straw, the death blow, checkmate against Anita. I couldn’t even kill myself. 'Fuck it', I had thought. I resigned. I gave up my resistance that day. Having lost everything, my fear had started to give way to an abandonment of concerns. It was almost liberating. I knew I was fucked, fucked up beyond all hope, but maybe I could scavenge some grains of enjoyment from this somewhere. Maybe. I would try.

 

 

 

There was a thump to my left. I returned to my work, studiously ignoring our most recent intruders. The girls were obviously well drilled and experienced. Within an hour they had set up two computers in the front room. They had set up a secure internal network and had fitted cameras in each room of the flat. These were apparently 'wireless' and each looked down from one of the ceiling corners so that the whole room was within its range. The blonde girl had done the fitting while the red-head had spent her time at the keyboard, configuring the system, I supposed.

 

When she had set up all the cameras, the blonde girl started connecting leads to the other computer. There were a number of units, mounted in a rack that needed to be wired to the computer. After she had done this, she went back to the car and returned with a large, padded sausage-looking thing. It was about three feet long and about a foot in diameter. She took a number of sturdy, adjustable metal poles and fitted them to the sausage. As she turned it upside down and stood it on its four legs, it reminded me of a vaulting horse. She screwed an umbilical cable into the horse and connected the other end to the rack of boxes. Another trip to the car and she came back with a clinical, white case which she stowed under the horse. Finally, it was all set up. They arranged it so that one computer was facing into the room while the other had its screen disconnected and was secreted inside a cupboard. After this, they both cleared away all the boxes, collected their tools, and without a word, left.

 

 

I zapped the last hair that I could find. I wanted this job done well and Mistress Trisha would be here soon, she had to be satisfied. We had packed the electrolysis machine away and were just letting our curiosity pull us towards the new equipment when, true to her word, Trisha arrived. She let herself in.

 

She was dressed in a stunningly cut black trouser suit; her hair was pulled tightly up before billowing outwards as fluffy shocks of wavy curls. She was an incredibly attractive woman but it was her deportment that carried her towards near perfection. Lisa and I had discussed our plan for her arrival. As she stepped gracefully towards us, we both threw ourselves to the floor on our bellies and, naked still, we started to vigorously lap at her boots.

 

'Good sluts!’ she said, her pleasure was almost palpable.

 

She let us clean her boots for a minute before getting us to our feet. She had us standing with our legs widely spread and our arms up at ninety degrees. She took a magnifying glass from her bag and gave us a serious look. I was not religious, but I had prayed that we had done our job properly. She started with Lisa. Her magnifying glass had a light on the inside edge of its rim; there was no way that she would miss a single hair. I shut my eyes and prayed again.

 

The tense minutes dragged out further and further as Lisa's body was scrutinised to the minutest detail, we were all in absolute silence. I could hear Lisa breathing rapidly next to me, I wanted to reach out, hold her hand and tell her that we were in this together. I stayed motionless as Trisha straightened her back and, in silence, moved over to me. I was shaking as she looked me over. One minute she as under my armpits, the next she had me pulling my buttocks aside.

 

'Mmmmmm, look at that lovely soft pink rose, Anita'

 

I let out a surprised little scream as I felt her fingernail rub against the inside of my anus. Shocked with myself, I immediately pulled myself back to attention. Trisha giggled.

 

'Sit down on the sofa, girls', she finally said. Her voice was relaxed and playful, 'had we done it?’ I dared to think.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART 15

 

As I pulled the handbrake on and stopped the engine, I looked at the three ladies standing in front of the car.

 

Trisha, the stunning natural beauty that she was, looked effortlessly magnificent in a light, beige, long coat with a tan bag and high-heeled boots. Her hair was free and her wild curls erupted in a sprout; bouncing with life as she moved.

 

Vivienne, who was merely ‘very physically attractive’ at her side, made herself at least Trisha’s equal with her elegance, taste and class. Today, she looked disarmingly feminine. She wore a belted purple overcoat over what looked like short purple trousers. I recognized her deep purple boots from our first shopping trip, I had been dazzled by their £650 price tag as we had walked through the boutique; and Vivienne had the bag to match them. Her hair was combined back and knotted with a purple lily and her make-up was soft making her too unbearably pretty. She looked incredible. To look at her you would never imagine the kind of woman she really was.

 

The real shock for me though, was Lisa. What a change they had made!

 

Her hair was cut into an ultra-modern bob with a chaotic, shaped, side-fringe hanging down at one side; it shimmered with random high-lights. She wore a tight, sculpted, but immaculately cut, black suit with a micro-mini skirt. The lapels, a thick band of cream silk, matched a line which ran round her upper thighs, at her hem. Her toned legs emerged in white stockings and, already lengthened by the tiny skirt, ran all the way down to a pair of incredibly ‘designer’, black leather, t-bar shoes that lifted her a full four inches on needle-like stilettos of dark mahogany. Platinum hoop earrings and a tiny bag around her shoulder finished the outfit. I looked at her. Her shoes alone were worth twenty times what I was dressed in. I had expected her to be a ‘slut’ by now.

 

I got out and shut the door.

 

'Now Anita, you're going to be having a lovely afternoon with us. So give Lisa your car keys. I assume you brought some other shoes to drive in?’ Vivienne said

'Yes, Mistress, I did'

'What a good girl you are. Today I think 'Miss' or 'Miss Black' will be fine, okay sweetie', she smiled at me.

I didn't quite know how to react.

'Thank you, Miss Black', I said and smiled at her.

'You're welcome sweetie. Now show Lisa into your car and then come along'

Trisha snapped her fingers at Lisa, who hurriedly teetered over to my car. Lisa looked terrified, and as soon as her back was to the other two I could see tears forming in her eyes. Vivienne and Trisha became occupied with each other, chatting and looking the other way.

'What's the matter honey?' I asked, as soothingly as I could.

Lisa looked at me. She stepped past me and opened the door. She sat down in the drivers seat and as she set about unbuckling her shoes;

'They punished me'

She spat the words out in a tight sob, her brow furrowed and trembling as she looked up at me. I could see that it must have been bad, she looked like she was only just managing to hold it together; to not collapse against the steering wheel in tears. 'When I get home.......I......will be punished again.....' she looked up at me, half blankly, half in terror, 'Anita, it's so horrible! Please beg them not to, please say that you will, please, you have to help me', she was grasping my hand, pleading, as if I could help her, the tears now ready to drip from her eyes.

'Of course I will!’ I clasped her hand, 'Oh Lisa, I'll be back for you later okay'

She sniffed. I looked up, Trisha was looking at us.

'I have to go now', I wished I could have stayed and comforted her but I knew that it would not do to keep BOTH my Mistresses waiting. I walked back over to them, accentuating my hippy wiggle; I wanted them to see my obedience, that I was being a good 'slut'.

'You see. Now MY little slut is much better behaved, aren't you Anita', Vivienne seemed extremely happy.

She pulled out her mobile phone and showed it to Trisha. She smiled.

'See how well she did this morning'

Trisha looked over to the car as the engine started and scoffed at its wretched driver.

'Enthusiastic little cock sucker aren't you?’ Vivienne giggled, turning the phone my way. She beckoned me over to look at the screen. I saw myself naked, sweating and sucking off the dildo in my front room. I gasped to myself as I realised that she would always be able to have her eye on me. Whenever I was in my home she would be able to see me and what's more, I would never know when she was watching.

'The machine stats are very encouraging too', said Vivienne matter-of-factly. Clearly, she also had access to all the information from the computer. Trisha gave her a wry smile.

It was like they were discussing a horse in training, rather than me; like I was an animal; or a project. As well as that, for some reason, Vivienne seemed to be rubbing Trisha's nose in my 'good' performance. It was like there was some sort of friendly rivalry between them over Lisa and me and Vivienne was my advocate. All I could do was stand there nervously, trying to avoid unnecessary eye contact, shifting uncomfortably in my high-heels.

'Off we go then', said Vivienne. She beckoned me over to her and then took me by the arm. Trisha walked on the other side of me and took my other arm. It was deeply unsettling as we strolled together like three close girlfriends towards the building.

I must have been as tense as a board as we walked, our heels clattering together in random polyrhythms against the tarmac. Vivienne confided in me, close to my ear

'We've got the whole afternoon for shopping now. You will let your tensions go so you can be relaxed, open and honest'

She stopped and stroked my cheek gently.

'There now', she soothed. I relaxed a little and swallowed. I looked into her eyes. Her face was soft and comforting, like it had been when I first me her, but her eyes, I could only look at them for a moment before I was overwhelmed with her power. I felt her primal, basal, cruelty as I felt her gazing deeply into my soul. I felt faint. I tried to speak.

'Ssshhhh, Anita', she soothed.

I started to feel different; more relaxed yet more vulnerable at the same time. Vivienne smiled at Trisha and we started walking again. As they led me around to the front of the building, I felt clear headed and completely 'in the moment'.

We were on one side of a large outdoor market; it brimmed with activity. The large building was obviously some kind of ultra-low budget clothes outlet, one of a number of such stores around the market's perimeter. True to form, the windows were plastered with large signs with 'massive discounts' or '75% off' primitively daubed in thick marker. There was a steady but scanty trickle of customers milling around, apparently the bargains were not as enticing as the adverts would have had us believe.

I was led inside and immediately seated at a table. There was a small tea stall set up to one side. Trisha went over, returned with three steaming polystyrene cups, and soon was huddled next to me, with Vivienne sat across the table smiling at me.

'Now. We're going to work on some ideas for your new look, darling. I think that you want to be a cooperative,  good girl with this, don't you?'

'Yes I do Miss Black, very much'

'Good', she smiled,’ because your friend had other ideas and I think she's already regretted her decision. You see, she decided to try and keep things from us, she was trying to hold back and not be honest with us, we could just tell'

With that last remark, she exchanged a wicked smile with Trisha.

'Enough about her though, let's talk about you sweetie as it's you we're shopping for. Now we have to be focused here. Do you remember the Spice Girls?'

I looked at her, dumfounded, completely wrong-footed by her question. I nodded a cautious 'Yes'.

'Good. Now they had something for everyone right? Blonde, red-head, black girl, all that crap yeah?'

I nodded again having no idea where this was going.

'Well we want you to become one of our 'Spice Girls' as it were. We've done our market research pretty thoroughly and we've identified a hole to fill. We know what role we want you to take, think of it as like a vacancy, and it's a part that you are going to grow into. I choose my girls very carefully, the advert you replied to was designed to attract a certain type of girl'

With that she reached over and stroked me again, this time, it seemed, with some genuine affection

'We knew you could look the part, the first time you walked into my office. But it was only when I probed you a little that I realised what potential you really had. You're a very bright girl Anita.............and an incredible prude'

I blushed.

'I need girls that not only fit the programme looks-wise but who can learn well and have an eye for detail....And you my dear fill the bill perfectly. Now I've just 'disinhibited' you a little, you will have little choice but to be honest with us, all afternoon. We're going to make you tell us some of your deep, dark secrets!'

She clasped her hands together, half in mock excitement, but only half.

'Now I want you to think, and tell us how you think we should have you look. I want your ideas for a nice, trashy look. You're going to be the 'filthy red-head', our cheap-looking, hot, hussy'

She leaned over right into my face

'The real fucking dirty bitch of the pack. The guys won't be able to get enough of you'

Oh my God! This was going to be so bad. I swallowed and felt my head swim a little.

'So tell me how you're going to accomplish this look for me. I want something special or there will be......consequences'

With that she sat back, took a sip of her tea, smiled and stared at me expectantly. The last word, coming from Vivienne, was something that I very much wanted to avoid.

I knew that whatever Lisa had done, she had tried to lie, or at the very least, she had omitted something important. I knew I had to start talking and I knew I needed to come up with something convincing. I also knew that I would probably have no choice anyway and that Vivienne possibly already knew what I would say or very probably some part of it

'To hell with it', I thought, I would have to be honest with them, otherwise they would see straight through me. I blushed and then tried my best. I opened myself up to them.

'Well, I think Miss Sanders ideas for my hair and make-up are a great start', I began nervously,' when I saw myself in the mirror, I felt like a really trashy bimbo. My lips especially, they make me feel like a porn girl'

They were both silent.

'My white shoes make me feel really trashy too', I began again,’ I’ve....kind of always though of white stilettos a being really......well......very cheap and nasty. I’ve never worn them before and to me they’re very………..humiliating'

'Yes', said Trisha, 'that's why I chose those for you. We want some of YOUR ideas now Anita, not ours'

I looked down, embarrassed but I felt that as the thoughts entered my mind, I should be sharing them.

'Actually white stilettos are about as trashy as it comes for me. I mean they are, aren't they?’ I asked looking up, 'They just look so cheap, I mean even really slaggy girls stopped wearing them years ago. When I wore them to the clinic I felt so embarrassed. When I stood in front of that surgeon'

I knew not to hold back but blushed even more,

'That gorgeous surgeon, I felt like such a tasteless, cheap slut. I was just dying'

'Good girl!’ said Vivienne encouragingly, 'keep it up! Carry on.......shoes are very important for a slut'

'I guess any cheap shoes with high heels really'

They both looked at me. I turned red again.

'Well, I mean, a pair of thigh boots is pretty trashy isn't it, you know, like Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman. I mean, how about her whole outfit'

I blushed again that I had made such a suggestion. What if they made me wear that outfit?

Vivienne giggled

'Oh Anita, you're so funny! Trust you to like that film, I mean "Hey it's really fun to be a prostitute right?"' she said laughing, 'what a crock of shit that was! You're right though about the outfit, very whorish....but far too generic. Girls wear that to fancy dress parties. I want something that's YOU, some outfits or ideas that would particularly affect you, particularly.......humiliate you'

She ran her hand through my hair

'You are going to learn humility, and learn it well. Every girl has something that does it for them. I have a girl who had a thing about facial piercings; she also was terribly affected by something so simple as wearing a dog collar. See, it's the little things that matter here. Now she's my little punk slut by the way, and she works hard to keep improving on her image. I want to know all the little things, all the important details for YOU. The devil's in them. I want to know what makes you squirm sweetie. All my girls have something. The white stilettos were a good start, so carry on'

I paused for a second. Some images flashed into my mind. I closed my eyes in despair. It was just so perfectly cringe worthy that Vivienne was forcing me to be the lead conspirator in my own betrayal.

'A really short dress to let people see my legs in my white stilettos, I've only had to wear them with trousers so far. I'm very uncomfortable letting people see my legs bare, so a short, tight mini-skirt would really.....work well'

I was looking at the table now; I was making myself very small indeed. Vivienne took my hand and held it.

'Tell me more about the dress sweetie'

Although I was staring to get a little wet in the eyes, my voice was unquivering

'Well I was thinking of something pink or purple because that would really offset the white shoes. It should probably lycra; cheap looking and tight on me.........The ones that have a high neck but a hole to show some cleavage through, do you know what I mean?'

I couldn't believe what I was telling them. This was my absolute worst nightmare of an outfit.

'Yes dear', said Trisha,’ that would be a great choice while your breasts are still discoloured too. Clever girl! What else?'

I blushed deeply again,

'Well......a dress with an open side, with straps going across but so that you can see a lot of skin between. There was a black dress I saw once that had these gold fastenings on the side of it, I can't remember where I saw it but it was really, really tarty; I'd just die if I went out in that. And..........I'm SO embarrassed at the thought of anyone seeing my breasts.......so......any tops or dresses where I show cleavage. I'm so embarrassed about my new breasts. I.......I...hate them so much'

I paused again, this time because of the swelling in my throat.

'You're making me very pleased Anita', said Vivienne,' we had to send your little friend to sit in the toilet and be punished you know, because she didn't just let it all come out, but you're my good girl, such a good girl!'

She returned to staring at me, clutching my hand. I felt like the school bullies were being nice to me because they wanted something from me, or because they were setting me up for something much worse.

'A tight leather skirt, a really short one', I said, ' a white one would be the worst, but a red one would be bad too and I suppose pink or purple with white stilettos would work well too'

I was getting into the swing of betraying myself and the ideas unfortunately stated to come thick and fast.

'A matching leather jacket too, and under that maybe a see-through top. Come to think of it, red heels are a good idea too. In fact, the thigh boots should be white or red even, that would make them more 'me', more individual, rather than what Julia Roberts wore. And I'll tell you what else, a pair of ankle boots that are lace-ups but with a high stiletto heel. Oh and wearing dark tights with white shoes, or any tights with patterns on. Maybe we could find some on-line that had special patterns on? Like maybe crude images or something'

I looked up. Vivienne looked gob smacked, she was absolutely delighted. I was thankful that she was happy but she needed to know it all. I knew I had to tell her what I really hated.

'What I really think would work though, is lots of gold, or better, fake gold'

'Oh yes!' said Trisha, ' you really are doing well Anita'

I never, ever thought that I would say this, 'My friend Melanie wears these gold earrings; they're just what I mean'

Vivienne smiled at me 'I know the ones, I'm sure we can find some nice big ones like that'

Twisting the blade in my own side , I continued,’ I could even wear more than one pair in each ear and they should be the same style but get smaller as they move away from the front pair, or maybe just a load of different clashing one, both would be kind of different kinds of ‘slutty’, maybe I should have a selection.......maybe even………three………in each ear'

Trisha cleared her throat, a little pointedly

'Oh I think you can do better than that darling', Vivienne purred, there was a slight warning to her tone; I shouldn't have tried to play a game; we both knew that I needed more earrings than that on one ear. I could feel Trisha gently squeezing my earlobe and running her finger up my ear. I thought about the idea of having lots of earrings, I shook and tried to push the image from my mind.

'Of course Miss Black, I could have my ears pierced many times. Many, many times'

I looked down again in resignation. I may as well just carry on digging the hole I was making for myself.

'Those handbags that have long gold chains to go over your shoulder? They would "work" too.'

'Oh, this look's really starting to come together', Vivienne said excitedly.

'Yes, very....co-ordinated', Trisha sniggered.

I remembered something else, oh my God.

'I could get a gold necklace with my name on as well. "Anita", written cursively'

Vivienne looked a little puzzled.

'Well, as well as looking totally, totally awful and tasteless.......I would feel objectified..........labelled. I don't know why, but I even hate to wear a name badge at work........I hate to be labelled.......I despise those necklaces……………And if I was 'with a stranger' they would know who I was'

I turned a deep purple at my own afterthought.

'Oh I LOVE it!!’ Vivienne grinned and clapped her hands together,’ I love that you want to be that kind of girl; that fucks before giving her name, I love the name idea. I tell you what, that can be my special present to you today. I’ll buy you that necklace!'

'We were thinking of changing your name though', Trisha interjected

'Yes, to something a bit more whorish', said Vivienne,' you know, like Candy or Traci or something but with a bit more imagination. We haven't found the right one yet though. Have you any ideas?

I thought for a minute.

'Well, Miss, I could.......er.......keep my own name. There are plays on it that I could make, you see, like "Anita man to fuck me" or "An...i-ta of cocks"'

They both laughed together.

Vivienne reached over and kissed my face affectionately.

'You're a special one you know? ‘Anita’ it will stay, I suppose it does suit you anyway, especially with those lips, you're right; they are so made for cocks right now. Any more ideas honey?'

'Well, one last thing. I saw a girl with a ring pierced through her fingernail; I thought that looked pretty tarty too. Then I suppose there are body piercings'

Vivienne held her finger up to her lip.

'Not now darling. You've come up with plenty without piercings or tattoos or anything like that. We've got enough ideas to get you stopping traffic by the end of the day. And if you carry on being this good, then I think we may be able to arrange a little treat for you'

I heard her drain the dregs from her teacup, I had hardly touched mine. I tried my best to smile at her.

'Right, let’s shop!'

 

PART 16

 

'Let's have a look then, stand up straight.'

I pulled the hem-line down and stood up as straight as I could. I was wearing a tight, pink and white, tie-dye patterned dress. Its short skirt stretched round my ass but very little more. It ran up to a thick band around my throat which joined two larger bands, one on either side, running up from the sides of my waist, outside and around each of my breasts. It zipped at the back which pulled it tightly around me. The effect of the straps at the sides of my breasts was to pull them together and upwards, creating a huge cleavage. My mauled, battered orbs bulged out from it and the compression was nauseatingly painful, it was still less than a week since my implants had been installed.

'I preferred the size down you know, she really spilled out of that one'

That one had been ridiculously tight everywhere, I thought that it might tear when we fastened it and that was without me moving in it. My breasts had screamed with dull agony in it.

'Yes, but she can 'grow into' this one. And this one actually fits her round the ass'

They both giggled.

It was like they were little girls playing at dressing their dollies like whores; only I was the doll. I was hating every single second of this shopping trip as I was coldly and precisely worked down the shopping list that I had made for myself. In the process, they were going out of their way to demean and shame me as much as they possibly could. I had to keep counting to ten and telling myself to behave. They were making my whole whore idea come true; it felt like I was having a living nightmare.

'That's definitely a keeper, now try this one'

As I unzipped my cheap Lycra number, Trisha handed me another dress, this time a shocking pink-purple colour.

As I held it up, I despaired. Trisha grinned and gestured enthusiastically that I put it on.

This one just slipped over my head and pulled down. There was a wide halter-neck band, which was elasticated at the back, but there was no zip. The dress stretched around me, it had dozens of centimetre wide, fibrous, elastic bands spaced out along each side, up its entire length. The effect was of a dress that had a front half and a back half connected by numerous strips of pink elastic. I was essentially exposed for three inches up each side. As I pulled it down so that the miserly hem rested at the very tops of my legs and my breasts billowed out of the cups, they both giggled again. The loud pink material at the front and back was ruched. It formed a line running up my midline with the fabric folded to create a slight U shape; bowing gently downwards on either side. At the back I could see that this accentuated my ass cheeks, while at the front it served to exaggerate my breasts. The elastic on each side and around my neck ensured that the material was skin tight. With my face and hair the way they were, there was only one possible interpretation of the look.

'How do you like this one darling?’ Vivienne asked.

I looked at myself in the mirror and did a little twirl on my sandals. I wanted to cry.

'It makes me look like a prostitute Mistress', I said sullenly, my head hanging, 'I really hate this one.'

'Ooooo, a potential favourite there then', Vivienne cooed, immediately sensing my true feelings.

She threw it on the same pile as the previous dress and we continued.

 

We had started, earlier, by walking around the shop, specifically looking for things that met the descriptions that I had given during my debriefing. These had now become our 'objectives' but we were open-minded too. I had to tell them if there was anything that made me feel strongly; in fact it was me that had picked out every single dress that we were now trialling, including the pink monstrosity I had just removed. The frustration in being the architect of my own ignominy was enormous. 

I had to stop myself stamping my feet in a desperate temper tantrum as we continued with a crass, cheap looking, black velvet number that had gold fastenings on the side. This one had only one shoulder strap and also exposed my sides in the way I found so awful; but whereas the pink dress had had many elastic bands, this dress had no elastic, it zipped at the back and had only six gold bands fastening it on either side. The effect was to create much longer, wider ellipses of flesh running up each side. The tacky gold look of the fastenings; the give-away loose threads betraying its sweat-shop assembly; and the fact that it was so horrible that no woman in her right mind would wear such a thing, all justified its £3 clearance price tag.

'Now that's a real party number don't you think?'

The trailer-trash in the mirror meekly nodded her head; her lower lip hanging sullenly.

'Touch up your lipstick, slut', Trisha hissed.

 

As I went to the counter I had eight dresses, a selection of miniskirts and a number of tops, all of them dire. Trisha had picked out some jackets for me as well, two blue, one in tight stonewashed denim, the other in close fitting, dark blue leather. I also had short, tight, faux leather jackets; one in white, one in pink; with buttons that fastened around the collars. To enable me to break the fashion ‘no-no’ of combining matching leather, we had picked out the two corresponding tight leather miniskirts

The attendant looked up, made some pithy remark about me being their ‘shopper of the year’, and gave me the bill. I met this with a brooding glare. Given that I had bought half the store, it actually really was a bargain; although we must have taken all their least desirable stock off them. In spite of the ‘bargain’ it was obvious, as Trisha and Vivienne strolled out of the shop, that I would be paying for 'my new wardrobe'.

After storing the numerous bags in Vivienne's car, we moved on. As we walked through the array of pet stores, food shops and cheap household stalls in the market, I worried about where we would be going next.

'Now I'm sure it's somewhere.......Ah, yes', said Trisha and we all made a bee-line after her. On the edge of the market place, in one of the buildings, there was a 'jewellery' store. This was about as low-end as it was possible to get. It struck me immediately that in such an insecure shop most of the 'gold' wasn't even locked in cabinets. There were a few items on the back wall intermingled with large signs boasting '24 carat' or the bluff, 'real gold'. I had to close my eyes in despair; I knew it was a matter of time before I would be wearing something from here.

Vivienne was right about every girl having her own specific buttons and I cold feel the fingers hovering over mine. As I tottered past a mirror and caught another glimpse of my Barbie-doll face, freshly glossed lips and my glamour-girl hair, my humiliation peaked further.

'Oh, now this is just perfect for you isn't it Anita', Trisha said looking around, beaming. She lifted up a large pair of hideous triangular, gold-looking earrings.

'Please no', I whispered to her. I knew it was futile but some increasingly small part of me still tried to object.

She scowled and put her mouth close to my ear

'I don't like your attitude young lady. Not one bit. And your Mistress has been so good to you as well', she snarled. She stood up straight and composed herself. She thought for a second, then the corners of her mouth curled upwards and her eyes narrowed.

'Just for that, you will go over of your own accord, and get your ears pierced. I'm thinking of a number, and if I don't see at least that many studs in each ear, then you will really be in for it. I mean that, I'm not fucking around girl, what you've had up until now will seem like a fairy story. You can decide how many earrings you will wear from now on but you better get it right'

'NO!’ my mind screamed, 'don't make me do that!'

I shivered and looked up at her. I was small, miserable and too vainly sorry too late. My eyes pleaded with her to relent, but also to not tell my Mistress.

Vivienne had wandered to another part of the store, missing our exchange. She held up a different pair of vile earrings, large and horseshoe shaped.

'Oh, now aren't these just darling!’ she said, sickly sweet.

Trisha looked at me.

'Do it now and then pick all the right earrings. If I'm happy with you, this can stay our little secret. If not, then you'll be joining that other little cunt in a punishment slot tonight and I’ll double it for both of you. Now do it, or I’ll tell Mistress'

'Thank you Mistress!’ I had gushed; I can remember an irrational relief, almost an elation from the slight mercy of her not telling Vivienne. I really didn’t want to displease Vivienne while she was so happy, I sensed that it would be especially bad.

I approached the sales woman with a torrent of clashing emotions. She was in her mid-fifties, her sun-wrinkled, smoke-haggard skin was made up with the subtlety of a drag queen or a pantomime dame. I noticed that she had three rings in each of her ears, the front hoop had another thick, heart shaped loop dangling from it; they were perhaps the worst earrings I had ever seen. My new fate hit me and I balked. Could things get any worse today?

I hesitated in front of her, trying to not burst into tears. What to say? Not getting enough piercings was just not an option; but the real torture came from knowing that I could actually ask for too many. Given my particular revulsion to this, I could be making an evil rod for my own back; I didn't want any more rings in my ears than were absolutely necessary.

After a second’s further thought, the petrified look on Lisa's face at the front of my mind, I said

'I'd to get my ears pierced please' 

 

PART 17

 

'So these are the only ranges that they make that come in that many different sizes. We stock these two here, see'

A long pink nail from her wrinkly finger pointed at two of the designs on the page. The woman behind the counter, or 'Brenda' as she had introduced herself, was very helpful. I looked in the catalogue, there were at least eight ranges to choose from, all of them unspeakably bad. Vivienne stood quietly next to me, nodding at the right times to encourage Brenda but otherwise trying to stay in the background. She was loving every second of my ordeal. I supposed that all of her 'girls' probably had their ‘humiliations’ plumbed and probed as deeply and as excruciatingly as mine were being. Whatever a girl's quirky embarrassments, I had no doubt that Vivienne would hunt them out. Trisha, on the other hand, was less interested and had walked out some time ago, so that we weren't crowded in the shop.

I had had a master-class in 'bargain' gold jewellery, from Brenda. It turned out that the earrings that I so despised that were oval in shape and fastened with a hinged bar, were called 'Creole' earrings; and she could rightly boast that she had them in spades.

The shop had been pretty busy, but her daughter had materialised from the back room and was more than capable of handling the background trade. The teenage girl really was a 'chip off the old block'. As well as sharing her mother's excellent customer service skills, she shared her endorsement of the company products. I recognised the style that Brenda had just been showing me. Obviously this was the result of two women, alone and bored in an ear piercing shop, her ears swung with obscene gold

 

Brenda had taken into the back room and pierced me. She had sat me down in a worn but comfortable leather armchair with a head rest and had encouraged me to relax my head back. From the corner of my eye I saw her pick the piercing gun from the wall and set it down somewhere behind me. I had started to sweat. As I felt her finger softly examining my ear, the curtain parted.

'Erm…….excuse me……..Brenda, Anita…..erm. I'm thinking of getting my ears pierced some more, but I'm a little scared, do you mind if I watch? I promise not to faint and I really think it would help me get over it?

Brenda welcomed in the meek Vivienne and caringly sat her down to one side. She sat down and immediately reverted to her elegant, powerful self as she reclined and crossed her legs, ready for the show. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it

Brenda was an expert at this kind of multiple piercing. She knew to mark my ears before using the gun and she spent a lot of time looking at me from the front, making sure everything was symmetrical and evenly spaced. Then she dotted me with her pen. When she was finished she sat down on her stool to my left. Vivienne was beaming at me. Tears started to form in my eyes. I tried to remember when I had had my ears pierced originally, and if it had hurt; I couldn't think.

'Ok honey, now you stay lovely and still now. No sudden movements and we'll get you done. You’re going to be gorgeous!'

With her fingers holding my ear, I felt something cold clasp around it; then I heard the piston spit out its loud, sudden hiss. I was crying softly with humiliation as the sharp pain hit my brain. As the second wave of sensation hit me, I felt an unpleasant, dull aching from just behind where I normally wore my earring. I felt the gun again, a little further up and then another hiss. I sobbed out loud, my eyes screwed together. Vivienne took control immediately. She held my hand,

'There, there', she said, 'it'll soon be over darling. I know it's not very nice, but just think about how you'll look when it's finished, hey?'

I continued to cry like a baby.

She nodded at Brenda that she should just keep going; and while I wept and sobbed, she worked her way up my ear. The studs higher up were the worst, they really smarted and made me suck my breath in, in between sobs. I could stand the pain though, it was not that that was upsetting me; it was how I would look from now on.

'You're doing really well honey', Brenda said as she moved her stool over to the other side. My left ear was throbbing intensely. I sat there sniffing.

She then repeated my humiliation so that both sides matched. By the time she put the gun aside and her sympathetic face appeared in front of me with a box of tissues, both my ears were burning.

'It's all done now Honey', she smiled,' come on, let's have a look, that'll cheer you up'

She grabbed my arm to get me to stand so I could look in the mirror. Before I could see myself, Vivienne stood in front of me and smiled.

'Well done, sweetie', she said but I could see that she didn’t completely mean that. Was she displeased that I had cried?

She reached up to my ear, I half managed to check my automatic reflex to withdraw and then I felt a series of sharp pains as she ran her finger along my row of new studs. She had a childlike look of fascination about her. She led me to the mirror, next to Brenda, who was waiting expectantly. I looked at myself, turning my head from one side to the next, I had six new studs equally spaced up each ear above my original holes. I looked like a tramp and I started to cry.

'Oh it's all a bit much isn't it', said Brenda kindly, she left us behind and went out to the front of the shop.

‘Oh it’s wonderfully humiliating isn’t it, slave?’ asked my Mistress

‘Yes Mistress’ I looked down at my toes, peeping out of the front of their white straps.

‘Keep a hold of that feeling, but I want you to stop crying now, we’ve still got things to do’

I nodded and wiped my eyes. The tissue was smudged with a smear of different colours from my eye make-up. I looked in the mirror and saw that my mascara was running. Vivienne quickly wiped away the worst of it and cleaned me up.

After a minute, with her guiding hand at my reins, I went back through and bought several 'sets' of earrings. I bought a simple set of six pairs of inch diameter gold hoops that all matched; I could wear a single pair of different rings at the front of these.

With that in mind, I had to ask Brenda where the earrings she was wearing were. She showed me them delightedly, but I decided on an even worse pair from the same range that were thick creoles about three inches long. A lop-sided heart shaped disc swung from the bottom of each. They were thick, showy and crass. They were, I thought, the most tasteless things that I had ever seen and now they were mine.

After picking out a range of seven matching creoles of increasing size ( in the style that I found the most ‘interesting’ ), I 'decided' that it would be fun to wear the new 'heart' earrings in front of my new studs, so I fixed them into my original piercings and turned to face my Mistress. She motioned for me to turn my head. As I did so I could feel them swinging in my ears, I looked back.

‘Perfect’ she smiled, pleased.

Brenda let me take her catalogue with me so that I could ponder on the right selection for my mismatched chaotic array of clashing styles. They must have been able to close the shop early; I parted with almost two hundred pounds for all that I had bought. As we walked out of the shop I burned with renewed humiliation as people were immediately looking at me and at my ears.

Vivienne was still full of energy and it was off to the sex shop next, for shoes.

 

 

PART 18

 

It was later that same day that I sat, secreted away, in the corner of a pub. I looked down at my fingernails and wanted to curl up into a tiny ball, so small that nobody could see.

Trisha had done the nails herself, her head cocked to the side in the mock pose of an artiste.

She had removed my existing extensions and replaced them with much longer, inch-and-a-half square-ends.  She had then re-painted them in the glittery bubblegum pink that I was wearing. She then delighted in adding little designs to them. She painted over them with thick silvery white lines that, afterwards, she drew a thin, central black line down. She then finished them with a clear protective lacquer that would preserve her work for the weeks to come. I sat there, obedient and sulking, offering my hands to her the whole time.

The lines she had drawn on my nails made out squared, heavily stylised but recognisable letters. It took while to identify the symbols but the message could then be made out, if you concentrated for more than a few seconds. I had ‘SLUT’ written in capitals, facing away from me, a letter on each of my four fingers.

She held them still as they dried, protecting her work until it was solidified and safe from any accidental injury. I looked at her. I hated her for the casual way with which she had done this nasty afterthought to me.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, she took a little punch and clipped out a tiny hole from the ring and little fingernails on my left hand. Then she fitted a tiny gold ring into each. She put my hands down onto the table and admired them.

‘They’re just so……………YOU, you know’ she snorted, amused by her own joke.

 ‘Are these the sort of nails that you had in mind Anita?’ she asked mockingly, her head tilted to the side in parody of a beautician.

She was completely disinterested in my reply; I would be keeping them.

‘Yes, Mistress’ I said

‘Good girl, now be sure to show them off later’ she had warned me.

 

I sipped my drink, it struck me that this had been the first alcohol that I had tasted for well over a week. The gin and tonic was slipping down very easily; I needed something to help settle my nerves.

‘Ooh, it’s nice to be able to enjoy a drink for a change’ said the girl at my table, finishing hers and returning to the bar to order a second round. She obviously didn’t get out much.

She strutted effortlessly back to the bar. I watched her perfect fishnet-clad legs and her effortless style as she swung one foot in front of the other, stepping like a catwalk pro in her black knee-high spike-heeled boots. The half-dozen aging, alcoholic regulars at the bar were hypnotized by her movement; but I knew that she would have had that effect on a much, much younger and more discerning audience. I took up my own drink and drained it worrying again about my future.

 

 

After telling me to set my make-up right, Vivienne had waited. I had felt very uncomfortable as she had stood behind me, making sure that I did everything properly; it was twice as hard to get it right with someone following my every move. When I had myself looking like I was a hot glamour-girl ready for a porn-film shoot, she took something from her bag. As she lowered it around my throat, I saw that she had been true to her word and had bought me my ‘Anita’ necklace. I looked at her reflected eyes, in misery, as she reached around me and fastened it on; the name resting just above my collarbones. I wanted to reach up, tear it off and hurl it across the room screaming and spitting on it as I did so.

‘Well slut, what do you say?’ warned Trisha, I must have looked like I had felt.

‘Thank you very much Mistress, its……perfect’

She smiled broadly acknowledging my submission and recognising the completion of my outfit. She then left me, telling me that she expected great things from me and that she didn’t want or expect to be disappointed.

Trisha had then sat me down and fed me a simple microwave supper and a glass of water. She told me that I would need some food inside me for the night ahead. I had shuddered at this idea, I was terrified at the notion that I would actually have to be seen looking like I was.

While I was eating this, the door had opened and I had looked up. I had recognised the same blonde who had been sat in Vivienne’s reception, the night that she had sprung her trap and reeled me in. Her expensive-looking, beautifully cut, long, unnatural-blonde style was out of kilter with the worn, short black coat and scuffed, black boots that she wore. She shut the door and clicked her way over to my table.

Trisha smiled at her and then at me.

‘Anita, this is Cara; Cara, this is Anita’

We both looked at each other. I remembered her curt treatment of me when I had been at Vivienne’s office but decided that I couldn’t judge her on that alone. I smiled nervously at her. She looked me over and then smiled briefly back before sitting down quietly and looking up, expectantly, at Trisha. 

‘Cara is going to teach you a few things, Anita. Go with her and listen to what she tells you’

 

We had taken a taxi together into town, Cara and I. I was fretting the whole way there.

Before going into the sex shop that afternoon, they had made me change, so that I could try boots on without my trousers getting in the way. In the shop, I had ‘chosen’ three new pairs to insult my feet. Vivienne had said that it was a good start but because I was so affected by slutty shoes, I would be buying myself a lot more over the coming weeks.

It was then that I discovered, to my chagrin, that the strappy white sandals that had become my staple ‘slut shoe’, in fact, had only three and a half inch heels. I’d have bet that they were at least five when Trisha had first made me wear them. It was only when the attendant brought my first choice out that I had stared in disbelief at real five inch heels. The attendant had wasted no time making sure I wore a pair of their heavily used hold-up stockings so that I didn’t soil their boots. I wondered if she treated all her customers that way or if it was because I looked so perfectly filthy in the pink dress with the elastic sides, the dark blue leather jacket, my newly fitted ear studs and the ‘fuck-me’ creoles with hearts that swung against my neck. All the same, I didn’t dare object and I quickly pulled the stockings on, feeling the dried sweat of the countless previous ‘ladies’ who had chosen to shop for their boots there. I took out my shoes, a pair of white lace-up boots that came to just above my ankles. They were shiny, white and stood on thin, towering stilettoes.

I had loosened the laces in the plastic boots and had slipped my foot into the first one. It was tight and narrow as my toes neared the bottom; they were squashed from the start. I had to push hard to slip my foot completely into the boot. When I felt my toes at the end and I could feel the unbelievably high heel under me, I must have blushed with humiliation; these were about as slutty as it could possibly get. I saw them as the most blatant advertisement, the epitome of walking, wanton, female need and a crass pledge and acknowledgement of my availability.

As Vivienne knelt and lovingly tightened the laces, I shuddered to think how I would look walking in them, without a prayer of anything to cover them up or hide them behind. As she wound the laces tightly around their fastenings and up to the top, I realised that they would not be easy to take off either. When I had put the other one on and had stood up, I immediately noticed the extra height and how much more exaggerated the heel was. With the smaller platform on which to stand, I had to concentrate just to balance in them. I could feel that the immediate discomfort that I felt from the crushing in my toes would rapidly get worse and worse. As I stepped and saw the delight on my owner’s face, I felt a crushing wave of submission sweep over me. The steps I was forced to take were short, dainty, feminine and devastatingly sexy. With the ankle boots now completing my outfit, I felt a lump rising in my throat as I teetered with a walk that was unforgivably dirty. I found myself having to place one foot a little in front of the other, with a slight swing, just to keep steady and to keep myself from careering off balance.

‘Now those legs go on for miles’ Vivienne whispered to me ‘you’ll stop traffic in those boots, let me tell you!’

I wanted to scream at her but I ignored her. I turned and saw a man at a magazine stand unashamedly staring at me, lustfully appreciating the show. A burning blush coursed up my face, this was just unbearable, I wanted to sit down, tear the boots off, run home and get all this stuff off me; and then get on a plane to somewhere far, far away. Instead, I was congratulated by my tormentors and then made to sit, while the boots were re-packed and set aside for me.

 

As I sat in the taxi with Cara, my permanently plucked, baby-smooth legs rose out of the same, squeaky-white ankle boots.

Forcing me to keep my legs clamped together was a tight latex skirt that I had ‘found’ at the sex shop. It was shamelessly short but the material was thick and shiny; the patent black vinyl looked as if it had been poured around my hips and set there. I had ‘chosen’ it because there was a zip at the back running upwards from the centre at the bottom, all the way up to just below the waist-band. It would tempt and goad a man and dare him to bend a girl over something and unzip her. It was totally outrageous and probably the most blatant thing that I had bought all day.

Above that I wore the tight pink leather jacket with a white long sleeved top underneath. The top had large defects over the shoulders and a large oval so my breasts could squeeze their way out and compete for attention.

It was the first time that I had worn a bra on since my breast surgery and although the wiring rubbed uncomfortably against my suture lines, the cups lifted and crushed me together. When I had put the top on and seen the hole and how much cleavage I was advertising, I had tried to pull the jacket seems together, to cover myself. Trisha had slapped my hands away with the back of hers, I had wobbled on my shoes, losing my balance, and then had stood defeated and dejected, dressed as a whore. Trisha had smiled evilly at me.

 

It had been a relief when Cara had had the taxi drop us right outside the pub. There had been nobody but the driver to see me as I got out and hurried to the private table tucked away in the corner.

Cara was not anything like the cold bitch that I had first thought. She was a victim, the same as I was, albeit a more experienced one. After a few carefully ambiguous questions I had established that she was both willing and able to be very frank and open with me. In an attempt to take my mind off my impending nightmare, I had asked her about herself.

She had been taken by Vivienne three years ago now. She was twenty but her perfect, soft face made her look younger. Vivienne had made her quit medical school and had trained her to work for her. I warmed to her when she joked that she didn’t normally go out looking like that. She had made the joke in a kindly, self-deprecating way that made me feel that she would never judge me, and that she understood , from experience, what was happening to me. She told me what was expected of her and, by inference, what I would have to start to learn.

For her ‘role’, she was the posh, immaculately groomed, ‘clothes-horse’ of Vivienne’s stable. She wore only the very finest designer gear; all the bleeding-edge fashions. She had the most modern, stylish hair and was treated to all the options available at Trisha’s shop, which was by far the most exclusive in the area. She was probably one of the best dressed women in town.

She started to explain that her role was to be the unavailable, out-of-their-league, ‘it’ girl who could, on this occasion, possibly, actually be theirs. It was almost the complete opposite to the ‘slut’ role, which I would be learning, but only superficially so. At the end of the day, she had said, she serviced probably more men than any of the other girls.

She closed her eyes in bliss as she tasted the first mouthful of her fresh gin and tonic. It struck me then that I would probably not be allowed to drink much more from now on. I took a deep glug from my own, I had never needed Dutch Courage this much before.

Cara had been a prodigiously bright young student. She had also been socially aware, a punk; she had always shunned the traditional idea of how a woman should behave and look. She had hated the kind of girl who was a slave to society and especially to fashion. She had never worn traditionally feminine clothes or make-up, rarely skirts and certainly, never, ever, high-heels. She thought that women that did, were the worst victims of society.

She had had a shaven head and had worn a ‘Dead Kennedys’ T-shirt and had been fresh from an animal’s rights march when she had enrolled in a deep relaxation therapy programme to help with her learning.

Vivienne had immediately tormented the young, anarchic, tomboy. Cara’s version of hell was realised when she was made-over, initially with a short blonde wig, to look like a sexy, millionaire’s trophy wife. It was years behind her now and I could see that those years had been long ones but in spite of the time, the affront to her soul was still obvious. She sipped her drink again to try and move on from such painful thoughts. She sat forward and announced that we had come out for a reason and that we should get down to business now. I hoped that I had not upset her by raking up her past.

I then listened to her with horror and fascination as she laid out the fundamental rules that I would have to play by.

We were going to go across to another bar. This one would be packed full and would be the venue for my ‘debut’. I was going to start meeting and greeting men. My legs trembled as she spelt it all out. She would help me with a few chat up lines but said that it would be very simple; I would be direct and I would be with a man outside, in the back alley, before the night was through.

I started to shiver and I could feel myself starting to cry.

‘No, Anita, no’ she took me by the chin ‘no more crying from you, you must do this and you will do this. You have to pull yourself together. I know it’s not nice, I was there too, don’t forget, I know exactly how easy it is, but you HAVE to do this, you hear me?’

‘I……..I don’t think I can, I mean I don’t think I could actually do that’

‘Well you’re going to, and you’ll see. It’s actually easy. You really don’t know how easy it is. That’s the whole point of tonight’s exercise; it’s an introduction for you. Its a chance for you to go out as the new you and see the effect you have’

I sobbed inwardly as she equated the person I looked like with the person I knew I was and the person that I would have to be.

She told me that I would have to meet men’s advances with encouragement. A grab on the ass should be met with a ‘don’t do that unless you mean it’ type remark. I would confide, very early, that I was not wearing underwear and was in terrible need of a really good fuck. Either that or I would tell them of my unswerving desire to give them a blowjob; the choice was mine, tonight.

I reverted to shaking my head and trying to explain that I couldn’t do that. In truth, I knew that I had no choice though. In desperation I suggested that I rang up Vivienne, maybe she could take away my anxiety and make me relax again, like she had done earlier. Cara had said that if I did, and that was my choice to make, she would certainly help to motivate me but that I was in no position to state my terms to my own Mistress. She told me that Mistress had paralysed the last girl on her first night out because she had fucked it up. She had spent the night, frozen, completely unable to move, packed into a tight coffin. Every hour a buzzer had sounded for five minutes and she had been punished. Cara said that she was never the same again and on her second chance she had performed perfectly.

I was stunned. This option had seemed brutal, although when I considered Vivienne, my terrible Mistress, it had seemed less surprising. I swallowed anxiously. Could I go ahead with this, was I actually capable of approaching a man and saying those things?

I decided, then and there, that I would have to be, or I would be doing it in a few nights time, after a punishment that would surely reduce me to madness.

Cara went on. She said that the man’s needs should always be paramount; that they came first, always. For example, if I were to come during sex, then I was not to lose the slightest stroke of my work on his cock. Neither should I use either of my hands to arouse myself unless it was as a show to arouse him. They should otherwise, always be on him, for his pleasure.

She told me that, as well, we should always act like we were having the best sex of our lives, with the best possible lover. We should be very appreciative, always thanking them afterwards, but also we should be admiring, almost awestruck, and let them know how incredibly, irresistibly good they were. Every man should feel like he has just had the fuck of the century. Cara said that this was what made a man come back for more and was critically important for business. She said that because we, as a group, were so well trained and well kept, and because we had such a good business approach, we were well beyond competition from crack-whores and traditional, money-sluts. She laughed and said that she should probably stop lecturing me in whore-philosophy now.

As we neared the bottom of our glasses and my heart was beating faster and faster, she told me that the best thing I could do from now on was to try and enjoy myself in any way that I could. I should find some artistry in what I was doing; enjoy a hard, passionate fuck; get off on the feminine power I could wield or whatever else I could find in my new life.

Like a little girl on her first day before school, I had sat, hanging on her words. She was honest and was trying to help me in the only possible way that she could. My stressed mind returned to the idea of ringing Vivienne for a possible escape. No. She would just hurt me, terribly, over the phone. She would remind me of the consequences of not going through with it. No, she would not give me the help that I so badly needed and I knew better than to bother my ‘Mistress’ with my dilemma, terrible though it was.

‘Now, to make this work, you need to ooze confidence, especially dressed like that, or you’ll send out confusing signals. Mistress trained you to smile already, so we’ll do that tonight and apart from that, you just need to stand up straight and I don’t want to see you lowering your eyes, okay?’

I was silent

‘Anita, I have trainer privileges on you and I have my own orders and my own consequences………I will punish you if you don’t do this properly’

My eyes widened woefully, begging, but at the same time, I knew that it was not in her power to grant me mercy.

I nodded obediently. I would do everything that she had told me. She held my hand.

‘One man; however you want him. That’s it for tonight, Anita. Ok. It’s really not as bad as it could be…………………………………………So, tell me………………what kind of guy turns you on?’

I was momentarily speechless, the whole night was surreal.

‘Er…..well…..tall, handsome, kind, gentle’ I was just making it up now.

‘Come on Anita, now’s the time to be honest about the type of guy that does it for you, I mean you’ll eventually have to do them all, but tonight you are the one with the choice and you won’t often have that luxury, believe me. Have you never fantasised about anything more…….well, horny?’

I blushed deeply.

‘Well, look, I’m not your Mistress and I’m not going to make you do anything beyond what you already have to do; but from one girl to another, go with a guy that makes you feel horny, it’ll go better for you if you do. Now go to the Ladies and lube your pussy up with this, it’ll make it a lot easier for you’

I tucked the tube into my handbag. I looked at her and then at the table. Bless her. She was really trying to help me in the only way available to her. It was just too much for me. I gripped my hands to stop the tears forming.

‘Cara, thank you’ I said as she stood up and pulled me to my feet.

PART 19

 

A wave of heat hit me as I stepped into the bar. In my head, my teeth were grinding together; in reality I smiled as sweetly and prettily as Vivienne had taught me to. Feeling Cara behind me, I stood tall and held my head high. I faced forward and, on my impossible heels, stepped into the bar.

It was packed to standing room, almost exclusively with men.

My God, they were all turning to check me out!

I could feel my cheeks burning with shame. I was actually glad of the thick foundation on my face; perhaps it would help to hide my obvious degradation as my deep blush radiated my humiliation to the whole room.

I could feel the latex, tightly snagging around the tops of my legs; cold and chilled from our brief walk in the frozen street. Trying to pretend that I was somewhere else, I strutted towards the bar.

The music was loud but I could make out mumblings, directed towards us. Then there was an explicit, incredulous;

‘Fuck me, look at her!!’

The only way I could stop myself from screaming was to concentrate on something simple. I was intent on just one thing, getting to the bar. Cara was with me, I thanked God as I reached backwards and I felt her take my hand. I stood at the bar, facing it and leaning on it. I ignored the guy on the stool next to me. His eyes had almost popped out of his head as he looked down at my legs and boots. Cara leant over the bar next to me.

‘Good choice Anita, show them that ass, those legs and that naughty skirt’

I spun my head in anger at her.

‘I’m not fucking with you, honest. Keep calm…….okay, calm……good. Lust is power ok, the more a guy wants you, the more control you have; plain and simple. Now you just keep smiling Anita, you’re doing so well, so well honey, I’m so proud of you’

She looked so sincere. I could see that she understood exactly what I was going through. I forgave her and struggled to get the smile back onto my face. This was just awful.

‘Now if you want to take control here, you need to check out the room, and quickly, otherwise someone will hit on you…………and we’re not allowed to turn a guy down, Anita’

Oh my God! NOW she had decided to tell me that rule! I was now even less in control than I had thought I was. Could it get any worse?

I turned a little and started to try and catch the room. There must have been twenty pairs of eyes on my ass alone. I wanted to curl up and die.

I had never been the focus of so much male attention before. To find myself that way, dressed the way I was, was just unreal. I remembered my hair and make-up. I remembered what I was wearing, the top, the skirt, the boots and the earrings, even the little name-necklace and my nails. I closed my eyes in the most abject and complete humiliation; this is how the spotlight had caught me. I had to hand it to Vivienne; she had done me over so perfectly.

I kept the pretty, confident smile on my face as I composed myself and quickly scanned my way around the room. I couldn’t believe I was seriously considering who I would try and fuck.

‘Pretend you’re Julia Roberts’ I told myself ‘pretend you’re her and you’ve got all that confidence; so that you can deal with all of this. Pretend you’re a Pro, pretend you’re her in ‘Pretty Woman’, and pretend you’re experienced, savvy and can handle men’

It was like a mantra. I repeated it to myself and as my gaze swept round, my eye lingered for a split second. I couldn’t believe it, it was the guy from the road-works outside my flat. He caught me and I saw him nodding slowly, appreciatively at me. I looked away in shame but then to my astonishment, I looked back at him and smiled.

Had there been a command from Vivienne or Cara, or had I done that myself? I had no idea but I quickly turned back to the bar and tapped Cara. I told her that I’d seen this guy and that he’d whistled at me earlier. She cut straight to it and asked me if I though he was ‘hot’. I looked away in frustration. I felt the hearts rocking in my ears, my breasts pushing up through the huge oval defect in my top and my crushed, bent toes from my high-heels as I confessed to her that, yes, God damn it! I was attracted to him and in the worst possible way.

‘Well that’s perfect for you Anita’ she had said enthusiastically. She grinned, and for the first time, she looked like the teenager she really was. She composed herself again and then whispered,

‘Now, really sexy banter okay? Tell him you’ve got no panties on; how hot you are; how sexy he is and how much you need him. Ask him if he wants to try your zipper or tell him that you want to drink him dry. Say something blunt and direct like that, nothing complex, keep it simple’

She handed me another drink. I don’t know what it was. I took a suck up the straw. Whatever it was, it was strong. I took another deep slurp.

‘Put this in your bag, it’s on’

She opened my bag and put in a mobile phone; then she shut it inside the bag.

‘Your Mistress likes to hear her girls sometimes, to make sure they are behaving properly. Make sure you make plenty of noise and make sure that he does too, otherwise she will teach you to do it properly and you will suffer.

Believe me Anita, its best this way; there really is only one way here. Now, think sexy thoughts and remember that you can have any man in here; you just have to be ballsy. You look gorgeous. Smile. Now!’

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and looked up and……..there he was.

My heart was pounding. It was a miracle but I managed to get back to my smile.

‘Can….I buy you a drink?’ he stuttered.

It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might actually be nervous approaching me. It calmed me down a little. I saw his eyes steal a glance down at my chest and then back at my face, I could see how affected he was by me; that I had made him feel his powerful, basal urges. He had obviously bought into my slut gimmick; fully. Such a cheap trick had made me almost powerful; I was turning him on and almost had him under a spell. As I remembered the humiliating details of my appearance, I was amazed that he wasn’t ridiculing me. It was inconceivable that he was actually enraptured by me. His attention was different to the type that I had received on the night out on the yacht; this was raw, unsophisticated lust and it was intoxicatingly potent.

I couldn’t believe anyone could actually like the way that I looked but this man was clearly dumbstruck; head over heels. I felt Cara nudging me in the ribs.

He was good looking; blonde, stocky and muscular with an angular, unshaven, darkly stubbled jaw, blue eyes and beautiful long eyelashes. He was the kind of rough looking man that I had never dared fantasise about, he was too dirty for a nice girl to be able to want. To look at him, the way I was doing, made me feel disturbingly uneasy.

He was waiting for his answer. And so, in my bag, was Vivienne. I was trapped and the moment of truth was upon me. All my natural impulses were telling me to run away. The Anita that I had always been wanted to blush and shrink away; ideally, to disappear completely.

I remembered the look on Lisa’s face that afternoon. I remembered Cara and her talk of Vivienne’s coffin. I would have to be brave, heroically brave. I took a little step forward to his ear, balancing on my high shoes. I brushed, so lightly, against his face with my nose before I whispered

‘They don’t sell what I want to drink from you’

It was like I was detached from the whole scene, watching it. I couldn’t believe that I had even thought of that, let alone had just said it. I stepped back and looked him deeply in the eyes. I picked up my drink and slowly, seductively, closed my glossy lips about the straw. I could do this. I could nail this.

I decided, there and then, that there was no merit in trying to finesse the situation. Cara knew what she was talking about and had said to keep it simple. I slowly licked at my straw like I had seen a girl in a film do; I pretended that it was his cock. Burying my shame, I leant forward and confessed that I was not only totally naked under my skirt but that I was all hot and bothered. I looked at him, bashfully, like a naughty schoolgirl and admitted that I thought my zip might be stuck. I asked him, sheepishly and brazenly at the same time, if he could maybe have a look at it for me, perhaps outside at the back of the pub.

He was gob-smacked. He stared at me for a moment in complete denial; he only needed to do a cartoon double-take to complete the cliché on his face. Then, what I had said registered fully, and he started to breathe deeply. He licked his lips and smiled. His face lit up as his lips drew back into a cheeky, devilish grin; I could see the idea taking hold.

‘Come with me little lady, lets see if we can’t fix that problem of yours’

He took my hand and I walked after him, struggling to step fast enough to match his speed. I heard some jeering, probably from his mates; and a wolf whistle; but we were soon out of the bar and into the back yard, in the cold night air.

I looked into his eyes. Here I was; a slut, his slut, to do with as he pleased. I was giving myself to him; I was doing my Mistress’s bidding. Not wasting a second and thankfully taking the lead from me, he backed me against the red brick wall and gripped my ass with both hands. I shuddered, my cheeks held firmly as he pulled me in, towards him. I had very little balance on my boots and I was forced to push my breasts up, into him. His hand was soon up, groping at me. I felt so dirty. I tried to keep on smiling while, in reality, I was petrified.

With a little flick behind me, I felt the tension vanish from my bra. His hands reached under my top and I could soon feel his coarse palms working up my belly until they cupped me, pushing my bra upwards and aside. He pulled my top up to my neck, displaying my taut, buoyant breasts so that he could see my thick nipples standing proudly to attention for him. As he gently pinched them and started to feel my aching, implant ridden glands, I panted with pain as it smarted. He obviously took this as confirmation of my arousal as he pulled me over to one side. He moved me up against a bin.

‘Well, let’s have a look at that naughty little zip then’

I teetered as he spun me round and then pushed my shoulders forward so that he bent me over the bin, facing away from him. The gold chain of my handbag trailed down the side of the corrugated metal and, as I saw the white leather of my bag swinging, bouncing against it. I remembered the phone and that this would all be in vain if I didn’t please Vivienne.

‘Oh, yes’ I moaned. I started to get wet in the eyes; this just couldn’t be happening. I felt a pulling at my skirt and then, unceremoniously, the zip was wide open and it was loose; hanging down from my waist. I sobbed quietly to myself as I felt a hand sliding its way down my inner ass cheeks, until it nestled near the bottom. I could feel him reaching further and then I felt his fingertip at my folds.

‘You horny bitch, you’re sopping wet down here!’

I drew my breath in with surprise as he touched me; my lips were incredibly sensitive. I tried to move away. He had his hand firmly on my ass though, so his fingers stayed exactly where they were. He ventured up higher and I gasped as he found my clitoris and gently pushed into it.

‘Ahhhh!’ I squealed as the sensation hit me.

He wasted no time and started to massage little circles around me with his finger. My God, he had done this before! My breathing became short as I panicked. I hadn’t expected it to feel nice and definitely not this nice. His touch was too good; it was starting to excite me. I felt like I could be driven wild by such a touch and that idea terrified me. No, that couldn’t be! I was not a whore; not a slut in a back alley!

I moaned again for Vivienne, but it was also a relief to let the noise out and not to have to bottle it up.

‘Oh my God’ I moaned as I felt his thumb at my opening, sliding around the entrance to my tunnel, caressing and orbiting the very outside of my hole. I could feel myself gaping, inviting him to enter; I blushed with abject shame.

‘My God! You are so fucking horny’ he breathed.

After another minute, as he continued to stimulate me, I felt his hand leave me. I heard him tearing at himself. I moaned again, this time for Vivienne, and in humiliation. I realised, as he hastily prepared himself; that I was little more than his bitch; I was Vivienne’s bitch waiting to be fucked. I spread my legs and lifted my ass to him in obedience to my Mistress. My surrender to her and my resentment of how she was treating me was now almost complete.

‘Fuck me now’ I pleaded. I told myself I wanted it over with. I was ashamed with myself for having enjoyed his touch. Maybe I really was a common slut after all and that I really did need him to fuck me.

I felt his rock hard prick work its way down my ass crack, lightly dusting and bouncing against my smooth, sensitive inner cheeks and rippling tiny electric surges upwards and through me. My God, I hoped that it was too dark for him to notice the cosmetic tattooing around my hole! I have felt like the vainest slut imaginable for having had such a thing done to me. I felt his head nestle between my lips and I felt my own juices as he slid across me. I whimpered softly, wishing that none of this was happening.

My lips felt puffed and swollen, pulsing with the blood of my arousal. I leant further forward onto my elbows and pushed my pussy upwards; proffering it to him, even if it meant that he may see my designer ass-hole. My stilettos put me just above his cock; at the perfect entry height. In spite of my rampant humiliation, I could feel the heat in my own cunt and I told myself that, therefore, I really must have been a slut.

‘Ahhhhhh’ I gasped, genuinely, as I felt him slide into me. My bottom lip quivered with his intrusion as the reality hit me - I was having sex with a man, like a free-gift whore.

He moved deeply into me, but softly. I was weeping. On top of it all, the pleasure of him filling me was too much; I shouldn’t be able to enjoy this on any level.

This was me, big-titted, conveniently sterilised, in white stilettos, with my ears studded and my face made up like a total slut. My nails spelt out what I was and, as I remembered them, my heart skipped a beat hoping that he had not seen them; although as he pushed into me I was sure that he would be past caring. As I felt him rubbing inside me and exquisitely stretching me, I couldn’t stand the raging, conflicting emotions I was being made to feel; I started to come apart.

‘God you are so. Fucking. Horny!’ he breathed against me.

As he stroked against the front of my tunnel, beautiful waves of warm pleasure radiated up through me. It was unbearable. The tears streamed down my face as he sped up and began thrusting into me, grunting. I started to moan back, into his rhythm.

‘Oh, please, keep doing that to me’ I burst out, trying to keep acting the whore but now drawing upon real emotions to pad out the part. I didn’t know if this was an attempt to convince Vivienne, him, or a moment of true sincerity. Worse than that, I didn’t care.

‘Oh my God’

I felt him stiffen and then slow right down, moaning and gasping as he moved gently but suddenly into me. I actually felt him coming as his cock pulsed and he emptied his load into me. I suddenly felt overcome as I realised that my blind ending vagina was now purely a fuck tunnel; somewhere for a man to spill his seed for pleasure. I pinched myself so that I didn’t burst into tears at that thought. I remembered where I was and what my brief was.

‘Oh Yes, Oh Yes’ I moaned, almost as an afterthought. It had to be good for him. I was so glad that the terrible, reluctant sensations stopped there and I could start to think again; no longer disturbed by such extreme, basal, pleasure.

He pulled out of me and helped me up.

I turned to look at him. He was red faced but looked very pleased. I wiped my eyes and smiled nervously at him, I didn’t want him to see that I had been crying. He didn’t seem to notice or care. As he pulled his cock back and tucked his erection inside his trousers I saw his eyes at my necklace.

He looked into my eyes

‘You’re a pretty incredible fuck, Anita. You’re one hell of a babe, you know that’ he said.

I turned a deep purple and told him that he was pretty fucking incredible himself. As I reached down behind myself and tried to close my skirt, I told him he was the best fuck I’d had all year. I was sure that this would massage his ego and help him to think that I was the fuck of the century, even though I had been far from that. I only hoped Vivienne was listening and that my efforts were being noted. I could feel some of his cum seeping out of me; a globular flow gradually working its way onto the inside of my thigh and starting to run down my leg.

He realised my predicament with the elastic skirt and laughed. He went round behind me and pulled the ends of the hem together so that I could stretch the zip closed through the thick rubber latex. I thanked him for his help and then, remembering Cara, I thanked him, in awe, for his incredible, mind-blowing fuck. His smile widened and he said

‘Any time Anita baby, anytime.’

We made our way back inside.

It was like returning to earth from some strange other-world but the noise, heat and smells of the pub brought me right back down, crash-landing with a bang. An eye of one of the few women in the bar caught me. Her expression was one or absolute derision and total disgust. She shook her head at me in contempt, like I was the lowest piece of dirt on the planet. I broke into hysterics and had to run, immediately, to the toilet, lock myself in the cubicle, close my eyes and start to sob furiously.

In no time, Cara had knocked on the door, made me open it and was cuddling me firmly. I wept uncontrollably, in utter confusion.

She stroked my head and whispered soothing, calming nothings at me. I was so disappointed in myself. I was a slut. I hadn’t resisted at all. She told me it didn’t matter. She kissed me and held me tightly.

She told me that she had seen everything, that I had done fine and that Mistress was pleased with me. I just sobbed into her shoulder but I was relieved that I would not need to be further tormented or punished.

After a few minutes I started to calm down a little. I could feel more of his juice starting to seep its way out and I went to wipe myself. Cara stopped me.

‘Mistress wants that to stay on you tonight’ she said. Her face changed a little and she became my instructress once more.

‘Fix your make-up, then go and give him your number. Write it in lipstick and then tell him to call you so you can get his number. After that you can spend the night with him if you want, or go home’

I looked at her aghast. All I could think about was running back to my room, my bed and screaming for Lisa. How dare she even offer that to me! I was not a slut! I stormed my way to the mirror, wiped my eyes and started to put my make-up back on. I saw her reflection walk up behind me. I ignored her, trying not to start crying again. She reached into my bag and took out the phone. I heard a beep as she ended the call.

I looked up again and into her eyes. I hadn’t meant to be angry at her. She smiled softly, came up behind me and squeezed my shoulder.

She told me not to be hard on myself. She said that my life was going to be hard enough without making a rod for my own back. She said that she would be seeing me again soon and with that, she turned around and left me there; a whore fawning to tidy herself up.

 

PART 22

 

 

As I stepped out of the house, I held my fear in check and made a mental review of all the things I had to remember to do; there was no way I could afford to fuck anything up. The day had been terribly busy and actually just plain terrible. Now I was hurrying because I knew I didn’t have much time to do what needed to be done.

 

After another session licking, sucking and fucking myself to exhaustion on the latex sensor-cock and being thoroughly worked through increasingly complex routines by the computer, I had more sessions; but this time, in other ‘disciplines’. I had not been able to approach them relaxed and with a clear mind as once again, my jaw ached from all the blowjob techniques I had been made to practice. As well as that, the muscles in my vagina throbbed from over-exertion and I was breathless from spending the last twenty minutes being forced to rapidly ‘bunny-fuck’ the cock as I straddled the training horse.

 

Of the new classes, the first of which, had been taken by Cara.

 

I was not interested in learning ‘Erotic Dance’ but I had been overjoyed to see her as she had stepped through the door wearing her calm, worldly smile and a tight black track-suit. I had hugged her tightly. After what Lisa had done earlier, she was now the closest thing to a friend that I had and that was so depressing. I felt a little lump swell in my throat as I thought that, but then forced a smile onto my face; I didn’t want to lose her as well.

 

As we had walked into the living room I saw a logo on the back of her track-suit jacket. Written in pink, in cursive neon lettering was the word ‘Zippers’. I had never heard of that brand before but before I could ask her about it, I heard the door open a second time and, turning, I could see Lisa come in. I looked away immediately but could hear that she was carrying lots of bags. I wasn’t going to go and help her, not after what she had done. She must have dumped the bags straight on the floor because in no time she was in front of me, tearful, and on her knees.

 

I looked down at her and just couldn’t hold myself from crying as I saw her, weeping at my feet,

 

‘I’m so sorry Anita, please, you have to believe me, I’m so, so sorry, so very sorry……I just couldn’t take what they were going to do to me….I didn’t mean to hurt you, I love you!...I just couldn’t…not being put in that box…..not that….’

 

She was hysterically upset, barely able to speak with her frantic sobbing. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I had been so hurt that she had betrayed me but, now that I had felt that unspeakably evil thing myself, I could understand why she had done it. Maybe I would have done the same had I been threatened with more of it; I couldn’t say. Either way, we both had far too much to deal with, without any difficulties between us. I wasn’t going to punish her any more, even though she had so readily sold me down the river. I could see that she had suffered with her guilt already and was clearly and terribly sorry.

 

I knelt down next to her and held her. I told her that it was okay. She grabbed me tightly and tried to break a smile through her tears. I kissed her and she struggled to look at me again. I could see that it would take a lot before she could forgive herself for what she had done to me. She knew exactly what she had condemned me to and she knew the magnitude of her act.

 

 

 

‘Ahem’, Cara cleared her throat loudly ‘come on now you two. You have work to do now. You will behave and you will apply yourselves to this; as if I’m not happy, you will both be punished again. I have control and punishment privileges over both of you and I will use them if I don’t think you are working your hardest. You will remember that and you will treat me as a Mistress’

 

I was a lot happier with Cara than my other two Mistresses. We both knelt in front of her and she had us strip there. She had us both wearing only our shoes; I fetched and tied on my white ankle-boots. She had then stood each of us up and had inspected and then adjusted our posture. She spent a good time teaching us a number of poses and then cycled us through them calling out each one by name - ’Hands on hips’, ’Look at my tits’, ’From behind’….etc…

 

She then spent an hour showing us some basic dance moves.

 

She put a disc into my player and made us sway and gyrate our hips to the pulse of the beat. She told us to practice that whenever we had a few spare moments, she wanted the basic rhythm to become like second nature to us. As the lesson moved on, she had each of us trying to lap dance in front of her as she sat on one of my dining chairs, giving us pointers.

 

She had brought a crop with her which she had taken from her bag after the first few minutes. She still had her kindly way about her but there was no mistaking that she was here to train us and was very much in charge. I felt a lot less nervous in front of her, while she was holding a whip, than I did in front of Vivienne, even if she had nothing. I knew that Cara would have no option but to treat us like this. She would have the threat of her own punishment hanging over her, to be instigated if she didn’t achieve results with us.

 

She was, however, a superb teacher. She expressed what she wanted us to do very clearly and encouraged us when we did it properly. Halfway through the session, I lowered myself, bending my knees, keeping my back straight, swaying in front of her, with my hands above my head as she had shown me, so I was lifting my breasts. My mouth was parted as she had shown us and my tongue was just visible inside my lips, like I was ready to kiss or lick. She wanted me to have my legs further apart for that move. I didn’t resent her for training me, I knew she had to, but it didn’t lessen the pain from her riding crop as she switched me cruelly on my inner thighs telling me to look like I was lowering myself, needfully, onto a lovely, erect penis.

 

A tear of pain in my eye, I repeated the move for her, pretending that I was slipping myself over a stiff cock until she smiled, nodded and beckoned Lisa over to try the same. She told Lisa that her Mistress would want to see her feminine needs too, so she would make the same display that I had. She threw herself into it and escaped the lashing that I had received. Soon after however, she was whipped for not smiling and not looking enthusiastic or hot enough as she danced. As this was a more serious transgression, Cara beat her with ten fearsome strokes across her breasts. Lisa stood still with her hands behind her back, holding her breasts forward, yelping miserably with each blow. At the end, the tears ran down her face.

 

I had tried my hardest to do that well, the whole way through, as it was the first and most important lesson that Cara had stressed to us – in all things we did, we must look like we were joyful, horny, appreciative and desperate for sex. Following her advice, I tried to imagine that I was deliriously hungry for sex as I danced. I pumped and ground my body like a whore and it helped me to avoid her whip. I felt like such a slut though.

 

After the dancing I was even more fatigued and was glad that my next session was a less physical one. In fact, the ‘Behaviour’ session consisted of just me, alone, doing some research. I sat in front of the computer screen while Lisa sat behind me, noisily lapping at the artificial pussy while the computer gave her instructions.

 

I followed the programme that was laid out for me. I was to browse through the extremely comprehensive library on the hard drive and the internet and ‘get ideas’ for my role as a ‘slut’. The focus was not to be on sexual technique but rather how a girl behaved and if there were any mannerisms, touches or finesses that I could pick up or develop. After sufficient time, I would be interviewed with a view to planning my behaviours. My mind looked back to the time Vivienne and Trisha had sat me down in the Café; I knew how effective their interviews could be. As I read the instructions, I could feel that I was being subconsciously forced into a state where I would, once again, not be able to hold anything back. As I looked down the list of titles and I felt my hand move the mouse pointer, I despaired and felt a sense of woe in my very soul.

 

 

PART 23

 

Later that day, after being given quarter of an hour to dress, I stood in front of my Mistress once more. Lisa had left the flat, I had no idea why, and I was all alone with Vivienne. I was quaking and was so glad that she was smiling.

 

 

When she had arrived we had sat down together at my table and ‘talked’ about my afternoon of research. Out of everything that she had done to me, I could see that she got the most pleasure from systematically teasing my distastes, fears and weaknesses from me so that she could toy with me, before making me do the same, awful things. I would even have rather spent the whole afternoon wracking my body, pleasing the machine, than being made to slowly but deliberately hammer nails into my own future.

 

To start with, after she had instantly rendered me fully obedient, I had shown her a video of a girl walking. I had found it after having been horrifyingly, and consequently irresistibly, drawn to the title. I hated the way that the loop had been set up inside me. I would scan my way down a list or look at some pictures or films. The ones that I were most afraid of, most scared about being made to do and the most appropriate for a ‘slut’ would be obvious. I would then be compelled to examine them. The walk had been one such instance. The girl from ‘Desperate Cum Sluts’ had me whimpering with shame. Her walk, the things she did and the things she said; and how she said them. I had never seen a woman behave in such a disgraceful way before; so explicitly wantonly, she had not a shred of dignity about her. That accursed film would lead to a wealth of misery and despondent humiliation for me.

 

The girl on the screen was dressed scarily similar to how I had been; she wore white heels and a pink dress and even large gold earrings. She approached the camera with a walk that would have been described as ‘sultry’ if it was about a tenth as extreme. The way it was, it could only have been described as utterly depraved. It was not the sexy, business-summoning walk of a whore; it was the wanton, debauched walk of a nymphomaniac, overcome and peeking with raw lust. The look on her face was one of obsession and deep, basal need; you could see that she longed for a cock in her, anywhere. I looked away in shame but Vivienne grabbed my face and shoved it back towards the screen. I watched her again; sullen and resigned.

 

As I watched her slowly writhe forward, offering herself to the viewer, I looked at Vivienne, watching the screen herself with a wide, satisfied grin on her face.

 

 

She had me emulating the walk in my own living room. She made me get the face right in my mirror and then practice the walk, watching myself. It wasn’t hard to do, physically at least, although the thought of anyone seeing me putting on such a display was just too much and I had to keep pushing the anxiety from my mind.

 

That wasn’t the worst of it by far though.

 

I had clammed up when Vivienne had asked me what else I had found. She had smiled knowingly at me and I had tried to shrink away; like a puppy, knowing she was going to the kennels. She had then looked very pleased and snapped her fingers, pointing to the floor next to her chair. I had quickly got up and knelt right next to her, on the floor. She put her hand in my head, scratching at me with her long nails and took a grasp of my hair, bending my head upwards to face her.

 

‘I’ll let you show your Mistress from down here’ she grinned down at me.

 

I was starting to cry as I reached up and moved the film on to a bookmark that I had set earlier.

 

As the film played I could only see my Mistress’s face. I watched as a wicked smile formed and her lips separated into an evil grin.

 

‘Oh yes slut, I definitely approve’

 

I sank my head onto her leg and wept,

 

‘Yes Mistress’ I said.

 

The film had shown the same girl, the ‘heroine’, the ‘desperate cum slut’ herself, finally getting her satisfaction. She had sucked her co-star’s huge cock with a gusto that suggested it was essential to her survival, like it contained some sort of antidote. Then, just before his climax, he had pulled out of her mouth and while she had left it wide open for him, he had unloaded spoonfuls of thick white semen onto her face and into her mouth. I found the whole thing quite repulsive but it was the part that followed that I was showing my Mistress.

 

The girl looked like her most incredible dream had just come true as she relished the cum in her mouth. It was the look on her face, there was no mistaking what she was. Then, slowly and carefully she wiped up some more of the cum on her face and slowly, savouringly, put her finger in her mouth sucking on the precious juice. She closed her eyes in ecstasy as she, one by one, licked he fingers clean, savouring every drop of the delicious cum. The show that she was making was the most humiliating sex act I could have thought of at that time. It had me quivering in my Mistress’s lap. I had tasted a tiny amount of cum before and I had hated it.

 

‘Go and get a yoghurt from the fridge, slut. We are going to have you practice doing that in front of the mirror, you have three minutes and then you will give me a show’

 

I rushed out tearfully, another nightmare coming true. I was soon pretending that I was the same sperm-crazed whore. I lustfully and slowly licked my fingers clean, scooping the yoghurt from my face and licking at it like it was the most joyous delicacy. I kept my eyes focused on myself in the mirror and tried as hard as I could not to start crying.

 

A snap of the fingers from Vivienne followed and she knelt me down below her again. She took the spoon and gleefully flicked a blob onto my cheek. I then gave her the same show, fixing her eyes with my own and trying to look as depraved as possible. I hated what I was being made to do from the absolute depth of my soul, but the alternative was just not an option. I visualised myself as the girl from the film as I slowly lowered another fingertip of white yoghurt onto my wanting tongue. My heart felt like it was breaking as she smiled down at me and after a while, flicked another glob onto me saying,

 

‘Good slut! I think this will be your little party trick. You will do it after every cum, what do you think?’

 

‘Yes Mistress’ I submitted and then, sobbing, I tried to squeeze the words out, there was a little more, something from my own twisted mind.

 

 ‘Mistress…….I think…….that I should say that………I just love cum so much’

 

As a further idea formed my sobbing intensified

 

‘Good girl, that’s it, let it all out’ she stroked my head

 

‘Maybe I should scoop some cum out of me, if that’s where it is, and do the same sometimes…..Oh please Mistress…don’t make me do that!’

 

I collapsed into a fit of sobbing. She slapped me hard round the face but was smiling at me

 

‘You know better than to say that, but since you feel that way, we can have you do that as well’

 

She smiled down at me and stroked my head as I wept into her lap. She was so cruel to me that there was nothing else that I could do. I no longer had any hope of mercy from her; it just felt better to cry on someone, even if that person was the complete cause of all my misery. She let me cry in her lap for a good long time, I’m sure she must have enjoyed it. It was after that that she sent me off to shower. She told me to wash myself thoroughly and return to her only in what I needed to walk with.

 

 

When I returned, after our ‘little sit down’, Vivienne had further enjoyed herself at my expense. I had tensed and squirmed a she had opened a large medical bag onto the table and she had told me to sit down next to her and to thrust my breasts out at her.

 

I started to tremble as I saw her take out some medical gloves and a bottle of antiseptic. I squeezed my hands tight trying to stay still even though I was almost paralysed with fear. I wondered how much it was possible for one person to take as I saw her take out two huge syringes, each filled with a clear liquid. I looked at her in terror as her face took on its demonic smile once more.

 

‘Please’ my eyes begged her ‘I can’t take much more’

 

She reached over and took hold of my left breast. I almost screamed with fear as she touched me lightly. My obvious discomfort made her laugh loudly. She told me to keep still or she would fist me again. She lifted my breast and examined the suture line. Then she did the same to the other one. I just wished that I was dead. I seriously considered her offer of spending the rest of my life paralysed, being institutionally abused.

 

‘These are healing beautifully Anita. The stitches will already be starting to dissolve and your scars look very neat; tiny in fact, but good and strong; certainly ready to be…..tested, just a little’

 

As she ran her finger along the scar lines, I shivered at the unsettling touch. It was a mix of hypersensitive, healing, inflamed breast-skin and numb, nerveless scar-tissue. I shook at the occasional shooting bursts of electric, burning pain as she rubbed firmly against the severed nerves along each incision, causing them to fire-off, randomly. She was in no hurry to stop playing with me, I was like a pet to her, a toy and she was starting to really upset me.

 

‘He is such an excellent surgeon’ she mused, turning to her medical instruments ‘he always gets such good results. And oh my God!...Very fuckable too, didn’t you think’

 

She put on the sterile latex gloves and started to soak some gauze. I could smell the clinical scent of the antiseptic as she lifted the dripping gauze with some forceps and turned towards me. I was frozen. She grabbed my left breast firmly and started to swab the cold, flowing liquid around my nipple. I broke a cold sweat. Thin lines of pink fluid ran down, over my breasts and down my belly, as she rubbed and worked my nipple and the area around it. I could feel the copious, spilling antiseptic, cold, and seeping down to my thighs. I watched her, trembling, as she took a second gauze and did the same to my other breast.

 

A memory from the day at the café came back to me. Under Vivienne’s wicked spell of such brutal self-betraying honesty, she had had to stop me when I had gotten onto the subject of having my body pierced. Getting carried away with my own hideous self-‘slut’ concept, I had envisaged, amongst other things, a pair of thick nipple rings. I had been relieved when she had prevented me from telling her about them, but now my fears had not only returned but were boiling over as my nipples stood, erect and chilled as the cleaning solution evaporated off them. I was terrified that another of my nightmares would now be realised.

 

I snatched a look at her tray as she took further things from her bag. She was screwing long points onto the two syringes that she had. There was a plastic sheath on each, but inside those, I could see two thick needles. I spluttered out a sob at their sight. Why was I being made to suffer so? What had I ever done to deserve this?

 

Vivienne looked up from her tray. She let out a chilling, callous cackle. She so loved to see me scared, trembling in anticipation, not knowing what was going to happen to me.

 

‘I love it when we get to spend some quality time together you know?’ she said, lifting one of the syringes so that it stood vertically, tip upwards. She gave the plunger the slightest test and I could see a tiny droplet form within the plastic needle sheath.

 

‘Now slut. I know that you do so love your new tits but I wonder if they are still just way too small for you’

 

My lip trembled out a sob as she asked,

 

‘What do you think slut?’

 

She looked at me, hard; she would only accept one answer.

 

‘Yes Mistress’ my voice broke in quivering tones as I tried hard not to cry.

 

She fixed me with an ice cold stare and said simply,

 

‘Beg’

 

 I started to cry properly now. Vivienne’s image blurred as I wept,

 

‘Please Mistress; I’d love to have big tits…….’

 

I sobbed to myself; it was one of the things that she had done to me that I loathed the most. I hated the large breasts that I was now made to wear and I was mortified when I had been made to wear clothes that revealed and even emphasised them.

 

I felt her latex clad hand on my face, wiping at my tears.

 

‘I’m not convinced that you want them slut. One more chance or maybe we’ll think about some punishment for you’

 

‘Please Mistress’ I begged, I looked her in the eyes and tried to look sincere ‘I want to have big sluttish tits’

 

She looked at me

 

‘…..I want to have huge tits and I want to show them off, I want men to come on my huge bimbo tits’

 

I was desperate to please her. As I saw her mouth break a smile I breathed more easily.

 

She laughed and then picked up one of the syringes.

 

‘Please!’ I whispered.

 

She grabbed my breast and I watched in absolute horror as she pulled the cap off the needle and turned to point it towards me.

 

‘No!’ I whispered, frozen with fear as she pushed the tip to the skin just below my nipple and then plunged the needle into my held bosom. I wept hysterically but kept still and obedient as she pushed the needle in to its hilt. I watched as she started to press the plunger.

 

‘Now. Let’s watch you become even more of a whore as they…….grow’

 

As she slowly depressed the plunger and the huge vial of liquid began to disappear I watched as my breast slowly started to swell. My sobbing took on a frantic high pitch as Vivienne laughed loudly. I thought that I would pass out as she pulled the needle out and gave my tit a squeeze. It was visibly and palpably taut again, like it had been the week before, when the implants had been fresh. I sobbed myself hoarse as she took the second needle and did the same.

 

As she depressed the second plunger, at her instruction I repeated,

 

‘Please make my tits bigger Mistress, I so want my whore tits big’

 

As I wept the phrase out, she pushed the fluid into me and I watched in revulsion as my other breast bulged and grew. When she took the second needle out I broke down crying. She stood up and dragged me by my hair to the bedroom. She thrust me in front of my dressing mirror and held my head so I had to look at myself; at my chest. I saw her smile of satisfaction as my sobbing was renewed afresh at the sight of my newly stretched breasts.

 

‘We’ll be doing that little and often Anita, till you look……remarkable’

 

With me still weeping uncontrollably, she sent me away to dress, telling me that I would be subject to her inspection. She told me to make myself look like the kind of big titted slut who would walk the way I had shown her and dream of gobbling down as much cum as she could. As soon as I was in my bedroom I fell to the floor and pounded it with sheer frustration. My life was so horrible! I did this, but just for a few seconds as I dared not displease my Mistress and risk being late or poorly dressed.

 

 

 

 

I stood in the pink dress with the open sides and the elastic strips. My smooth crotch was bare to the world below the tiny skirt that was snapped about the tops of my upper thighs. I had fretted about my hair and make-up and had made sure that they were exactly as I had been instructed; I looked like the proper porn-shoot bimbo that I was supposed to. My freshly sore tits bulged dramatically against the stretched fabric and pushed up and out of the cups in the dress. They presented an immense cleavage between the zip-edges of my dark blue leather-look jacket.

 

There was no way that the jacket could close around me. I so wanted to hide myself away in shame, to cover myself in a huge smock. I couldn’t look at my chest or I would immediately start crying. I looked straight ahead.

 

My look was completed by the white bag on the gold chain and another pair of my new shoes.

 

Again I had to concentrate as I teetered on high, five-inch stiletto heels; but this time I wore shoes rather than the ankle boots. These were also patent white. Vivienne had told me at the time that the white stilettos that so perfectly humiliated me would become a constant feature of my outfits, like a trademark. My heart had sunk as I had tottered around the sex shop in them, so perfectly degraded. She had made the further point that they suited my virginal inexperience for the time being but, in my case, they would soon form a delicious incongruity with the depraved slut that I was to become. I had stared at her sullenly, like a bitch about to be punished, like a little girl being forced to wear her mother’s choice of new shoes; that she hated. Vivienne had stood there and smiled cooing over my new shoes.

 

They were slightly pointed white pumps with a thin strap that closed with a delicate gold buckle around my ankle. At the side of my heels there were several little triangles and other shapes cut out, so the pink flesh of my foot was visible and contrasted against the shiny white of the plastic. They unequivocally shouted ‘trailer-trash’ and I had sulked to myself as I had deliberately selected them, today, for my Mistress and reluctantly fastened them on. I so longed to go back to being ‘boring Anita’ again; to dress in dull, flat, brown shoes. I wished that I could go back in time, burn that advert in the paper and spend the rest of my days dressed like a woman twice my age; as a frump.

 

‘Walk for me slut’ she purred.

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART 24

 

 

I immediately swallowed my pride, fixed my gaze on my Mistress and tried to think like the girl in the video had perhaps done. I tried to imagine that I was desperately horny. I knew that I had to ooze confidence and throw myself into it; it really was an ‘all or nothing’ walk. I took a deep breath and then twisting on one foot, I slowly stepped my other leg forward. My bare skin was on full display from the very top of my thigh to the white plastic of my high heels. I was such a whore. I stepped down so that I would put one foot almost in front of the other; the height from my heels exaggerating the swing and forcing a sinuous, filthily debauched, writhing from my hips as I moved.  

 

I tried to keep it smoulderingly sexy and focussed on my Mistress. I kept my mouth slightly gaping and the shame of my busting cleavage pushed out crassly towards her. While I did this, my hands started to move on my body. I felt like the girl in the film now, a depraved ‘cum-slut’, and I knew I had to play the part as well as possible.

 

She was smiling at me as I glided across the room to her.

 

‘Good’ she nodded keenly ‘very good slut! Keep that going, and work those hands up to those tits! Show me how much you love them!’

 

I swallowed quickly, burying the urge to dissolve into tears one more time. I worked my hands up until I held handfuls of my own inflated breasts. By this time I was standing right in front of her. She giggled at my earnest display, I blushed intensely; I could never win with her.

 

‘Good slut’ she said as she stood up.

 

She stood just slightly taller than me, in spite of the height of my heels.

 

‘One more thing before you hit the road’

 

She walked out, leaving me standing there. I had so feared having to go out again.

 

I heard her in the bedroom and then she walked into the kitchen. I heard the banging of pans and the tap running and then some quiet movement. I stood, alone, dressed like a prostitute, in my own living room. I tentatively tried to pull the jacket edges closer together, to try and cover myself a little more. It was totally futile; the jacket was too small for that. So I just stood there, nervously working my balance from shoe to shoe.

 

After several minutes Vivienne came back in. I could hear water boiling on the stove in the kitchen.

 

‘You are going to be so hot tonight slut’ she purred mischievously.

 

I dared not even turn round as I heard her walk up behind me. I felt the chain from my bag and then she spun me round to face her. She was looking straight into me, I had to look down. She took the chain again, this time from the front, and led me forwards.

 

‘Go to the bedroom and sit at your table’

 

 

 

In no time, Vivienne had me watching in the mirror as she carefully, one by one, started to remove the studs from my ears. Each one was sore and I could see, as she placed each one on my dressing table, the specks of dried blood on the pins. I counted all six out of each ear as I sat there motionless, nervously watching her careful movements.

 

She went back to the kitchen and soon returned with one of my pans and a small bottle; clearly something that she had brought herself. She placed the pan down on the table and then reached into it. I could see her grinning as she pulled out the first, and largest, of my new matching earrings. My heart groaned, silently.

 

She just hummed a little to herself as she wiped the pin of the earring with some of her antiseptic and then moved towards my ear. I felt a sting from the alcohol and an aching as she pushed the metal through the young piercing; then she clipped the bar onto its fastening. I watched in misery as she returned her hand to the pan and the hideous ornament continued to hang from me.

 

Within a few seconds, she was hanging the ‘next size down’ earring in the piercing above on the same ear. It was all I could do to sit still and tolerate the humiliation without reacting. I resisted protesting and I tried my hardest to not give in and give her the pleasure of seeing how I really felt. I watched helplessly as she gradually set all the earrings in place. To my horror, I saw the brazen tart, my perfect ‘slut alter-ego’ starting to emerge in the mirror. The nightmare concept-woman that I had always despised but had only fully conceived of and crystallised that day at the café, was now coming into fruition.

 

When she had finished, to ‘rub my face in it’, she made me make some of my ‘slut faces’ into the mirror. She made me turn my head to the sides as I did them, to show off my new earrings. She had me licking the air in front of me, ‘wishing for some cock’ as she put it, deliberately rocking my head a little to make the obscene amount of gold dangle and sway in my ears. She told me to push my breasts out more. I felt a crushing wave of panic envelope me as she returned from the kitchen with another yoghurt. She made me practice my ‘party trick’ with my earrings and newly inflated breasts. With her eyes fixed on me, every second of it was torture.

 

I tried my best to put on a good show for her. As she laughed and taunted me, calling me her ‘ultimate whore’ and a ‘desperate cum slut’, all I wanted to do was to crawl under my bed-sheets, hide and grasp one of my teddies. I wanted to wish myself away; to another place or another time.

 

My fear only continued to rise when she handed me a bottle of lubricant and told me to make sure I was fit to deliver ‘pussy services’. In abject humiliation, as she watched me, I hitched up my skirt and rubbed a generous amount of the warm, oily liquid onto my folds and deep into myself. I tried my best not to be churlish as I did it. God knows I had never been sunk to such depths before!

 

‘Your assignment will test your sluttish abilities today Anita’ Vivienne finally spoke.

 

Her tone was neutral and instructive and on this occasion, that worried me. If she was going to merely expose me, as I was, I’m sure she would have been a lot less pleasant with me; she would have taunted me.

 

‘You are going to do your first ‘double’ today’

 

I looked at her in the mirror.

 

‘You are going to get a man off, twice; once with your mouth and once with your cunt’

 

I saw her smile at the pleading expression that took to my face.

 

‘It’s an excellent way of testing your technique. A man will come practically immediately when confronted by such a sexy slut as you. Make no mistake slave, you look like you have come straight out of a man’s wank-fantasy’

 

I blushed.

 

‘But the second come is more difficult as he has just been spent. It will be a measure of your technique and skills. It will test your ability to please him, to excite him’

 

I wanted to cry

 

‘If you fail to get him off twice in, oooooh….say……twenty-five minutes, then there will be a punishment session waiting for you when you get back, a….lengthy one….Its just as simple as that slut’

 

I felt like I was going to pass out.

 

‘Now don’t fret’ she laughed, reaching out to me and holding my cheek ‘you can do that, Anita, believe me when I tell you this; but you’ll have to use your sluttish wiles. You’ll have to use all the things you’ve learnt today, your face, your walk, your party trick, your dance moves as you slide up and down him, anything you like’

 

She was smiling and stroking me, almost fondly, like she wanted me to succeed.

 

‘I don’t care. Just make sure he gets off twice’

 

Her smile faded.

 

‘I’m making it easy as well; he’s already a client of yours’

 

 

 

 

PART 25

 

 

It was a crisp, icy day but very bright. Having been stuck indoors all day, I had to squint as the sun glared into my face. I shuddered as I stood outside, in the open; anyone could see me now. I had to keep my mind on the task, on the job, otherwise it would implode. I corrected my posture, took a deep breath and then started walking. Not the ‘exhibition’ from the video, but my ‘normal’ slut’s gait. I strutted and moved like I was cruising for business. I had to take small steps but I took them quickly as I knew Vivienne would soon be behind me, ready to be my voyeur; as if the phone transmitting from my bag wasn’t bad enough.

 

I saw a figure starting to round the corner ahead of me. My heart started to pound, I couldn’t believe I was going to be seen, in cold daylight, looking like I was. I reaffirmed my resolution to avoid the pain; I would have to be able to deal with this.

 

As we neared each other, I could see that he was behaving strangely. He was trying to snatch glances at me without making it obvious. His obvious discomfort actually made me feel a little better, like I was not so severely disadvantaged. He ignored me as we passed each other and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could do this, hopefully.

 

The second figure around the corner was a woman; then a second woman appeared, walking with her. My hope disappeared. They were about my age and fashionably dressed, in dark coats. They both wore stylish leather boots with heels and had ‘designer’ looking handbags. One was blonde, with a long ponytail, the other had an angular, fashionable ‘bob’ haircut. As one of them noticed me, I saw her hand go to her mouth. She was talking behind it. The other girl then looked for me. When she caught me, she visibly sniggered. I wanted to scream! I wanted to scream at the top of my voice; to scream my lungs out. I was fully exposed, helpless in front of them.

 

The intertwined ticking of our heels gradually merged as we neared each other. I could see that they were stifling their amusement; trying to hold straight faces. I did the only thing I could, I smiled. The girls stared, with eyes like the heads of nails. Their looks, although evasive, were of contempt; contempt for being a slut. I saw the disbelief in their faces as they noticed, when they were close enough; how extreme my earrings were; the little ring through my fingernail; my swollen, surgical lips and my ‘tits’; begging for attention. It was all I could do to just keep moving and not turn around to run back inside. When they were behind me, I did not turn round, I didn’t want to see them looking back and laughing at me. I filled up with a deep, shameful crimson. My throat felt tight. I reached up and touched it, trying to loosen a tight blouse that wasn’t there. I felt my ‘Anita’ necklace nestling above and between the heads of my collarbones. My God, what did I look like!?

 

To stop the mentally downward spiral towards collapse, I ran through my checklist again; as a distraction. I brought myself back to the job at hand. I had to remember everything; the walk, the face, the moves Cara had taught me and worst of all, the thing that Vivienne kept calling my ‘party trick’. Glancing behind me, I saw Vivienne emerging from my block of flats; I knew I had to get on with it. I took a deep breath and as I heard the clicking from my Mistress’s spike-heels, gradually getting louder, I set off, around the corner.

 

The noise from pneumatic drilling immediately hit me. I had been so absorbed in my shame that I had not really noticed it. There were half a dozen men working on the road, all wearing hard-hats and fluorescent yellow over-vests. I couldn’t believe the situation I was in, it was just unreal. I tried to imagine that I was in a trance as I found my target amongst the workforce. With one further thought about the punishment, to drive me, I started to strut. I went through my confidence routine, like the previous night. I tried to feel like I was Julia Roberts again. Fuck it, I tried to imagine that I was the whore from ‘Desperate Cum Sluts’. I tried to tap her well of shamelessness. Amongst the noise, I somehow made out the sound of high heels behind me. I wished it was Cara. I would have felt a little better if it was her who was with me. It would have been harder doing it alone, but it was worst doing it for the amusement of Vivienne.

 

I flicked my head high. I felt a cold splash from the dangling golden hearts at the sides of my neck; I felt like such a slut. For the first time, I tried to consciously draw power from that. I harnessed the slut’s confident abandon, that uncaring, almost oblivious regard for her shame. I channelled that feeling into my walk. I was completely conscious of my legs and breasts, perfectly displayed, as my man set down his bucket and chanced to look up. I saw him freeze, dead, like he’d seen a ghost. I swallowed and he watched, mesmerized as I started my performance. It was slightly easier to do at that distance but as soon as I saw his jaw drop I knew that I had two choices. I could either submit to the raging shame swelling inside me, or I could ride my way through this, become the slut of his dreams and seduce him.

 

There was no way I could take the horror of Vivienne’s punishment again. I blew him a kiss as I became ‘her’. I told myself I was playing a role; that it wasn’t really me. As that thought started to ease my pain, the ‘naughty slut’ smile on my face started to feel more relaxed, and as a double-edged sword, more natural. I ignored the little voice at the back of my mind; my dignity.

 

I started to think ‘I need a fuck, God I need a fuck so badly, and I want it from you!’

 

It was like a mantra, to brainwash myself. Even the swelling self hatred that was building inside me was not powerful enough to match Vivienne’s punishment. I though it over and over again as my walk became more and more depraved. My pelvis was swinging and grinding as I writhed as lustfully as I could towards him. My focus was on my mark, solely. I didn’t care about the other men, as they stopped their work. At least that’s what I told myself. The blush across my face and neck told a different story though. The drilling and clanking gradually subsided to a total halt. Against the background sound of the traffic, they could now hear the clicking of my stiletto heels on the concrete. I pressed my chest out. I would use my hated tits now; they would become an asset and would help me to get this awful job done.

 

My man was obviously flushed but had regained some control and was now walking towards me. I heard the first whistle from his mate, and then they all started. It was to a melee of wolf-whistles, calling and howling that I stopped my strutting and took a pose; my right hand on my hip, my foot turned out to the side, my bag hanging down on the left and my head turned and cocked slightly. I kept my lips parted, trying to imagine I was in the middle of my programme on the training machine, anticipating taking the cock into it. I hoped the cake of foundation I had on my face was enough to hide my utter shame.

 

‘My God, I mean…..Wow!....I mean……Wow!....Anita!......You look…….Amazing!’ he spluttered. His eyes were all over me, he didn’t know where to look. Feeling that it was the only way I could carry on, I drank in his lust and started to feel some power from it. Damn it, I started to feel in control a little, like this guy was ruled by his dick and that at the moment, I was ruling that. This had to work in my favour.

 

I slowed my walk down. I made a conscious decision to become his temptress, albeit an easily obtainable one. I wanted to drive him wild, he would need to be able to come twice, in twenty five minutes. He was paralysed as I stepped right up to him and reached up to his face.

 

I moved, tantalizingly, towards him and slowly, painfully slowly, moved to kiss him. At the last moment, as he closed his eyes, I moved to the side, to his cheek and lightly bushed my lip against it, breathing onto him. I felt him moan. I had to cash in now, I had to go in for the kill. I looked him I the eyes.

 

‘I need you inside me’ I breathed seriously ‘I need you now’

 

It was a cheesy, porn-film line but it worked. I saw him swallow. One of his mates was shouting, ‘Go on son! Give ‘er one from me!’

 

This was met with cheering and more whistling. I looked at him and smiled,

 

‘Go on, give me one’ I thought as I made my slut face for him. I tried to project that thought at him.

 

‘Come with me’ he said, looking around shiftily.

 

I took hold of his arm, becoming his girl. A sudden wave of panic hit me, was I really doing this? How was I going through with seducing this guy? Why was I not shrinking away in embarrassment? Where was my dignity?

 

As I felt his thick, tight muscles, the realisation that I was a woman, giving myself to him consumed me. I felt so female, so female that it almost melted me. Then I remembered that I was, of all females, a pleasure girl for his amusement; a trainee whore; a slut, learning her trade. Instead of screaming, ‘No!’ as loud as I could, I squeezed his arm and looked into his eyes. As he looked longingly back, I licked my lips and said

 

‘Come on lover, I want to taste you’

 

I thought I saw his pupils dilate there and then. He quickened the pace and I had to concentrate to walk that fast in my white stilettos. As we made for a side street, we passed Vivienne. She completely blanked me but it was enough to remind me of my true purpose, my true condition. Instantly upset and struggling once more to hold it all together, I gripped hold of the man’s arm and took some comfort from the fact that not everyone wanted to see me suffering. After the treatment that I was getting used to from Vivienne, I started to warm to the idea of some company that would treat me nicely; even if it meant giving my body to them for some easy love.

 

I wanted to ask him things. As my emotions started to carry me away, I started to get upset again. I didn’t even know his name; the second man that I had ever had sexual relations with and was now about to ‘double’. I felt the pain of Vivienne’s cruelty again. She had stroked my head before I had left the flat. She had given me a couple of further rules. Next to what she had already done to me, they seemed so trifling, but now I was feeling their sting.

 

She had told me ‘No conversation outside of sex-talk’.

 

At the time, it had been the last thing on my mind. Now, as we walked, hurriedly and silently to the makeshift venue for our encounter, I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to at least know his name. I wanted to tell him that he was only my second man ever. I wanted to let him know that, so that maybe he would treat me with special care and attention. But that was my former self talking. It was ‘Slut Anita’, and her only, who was allowed or able to talk to him. The closest I could come to expressing myself was,

 

‘My! Someone’s in a hurry?!’, a desperate attempt to invite a compliment, to hear that he cared for me. As the pause lengthened, I released the tension; it wouldn’t do to have my ‘client’ feeling uncomfortable,

 

‘And it’s me baby, I want to fuck you dry’

 

As the ache weighed in my heart, I recognised the truth of how lonely I was. I would be intimate with this man yet we would remain strangers.  

 

As I thought of what I had just said, I wondered how I was thinking of these things, I really was not that kind of woman normally. I almost sobbed aloud when I remembered that the girl in the video had said exactly that!

 

I had subconsciously absorbed and assimilated it. Her behaviour was becoming mine. What was I turning into?

 

Whatever it was, regardless of my own despair at it, he was responding to it.

 

‘Oh you will! Don’t you worry, I’ve got more for you, more of what you got last night. God you were so hot, I’ve……well, I’ve never been with anyone like you before Anita, you’re just so damn……well…….Fucking hot!’

 

At that he stopped. He turned me towards him. I could see, in his eyes, he was overcome with raw desire, for me. He pulled me close, one hand between my shoulder blades, the other down, on my left cheek. I felt enveloped by him and while his embrace was driven by his rising lust, it was warm and loving too. His touch was firm but sensitive. I responded, like I knew I should, by rubbing my knee up his leg and running my shoe up his calf. When my thigh was horizontal, he hooked his forearm under it, supporting it. My God, I felt his fingers fishing under my skirt. We were still on the street, in broad daylight!

 

He pulled me in, so I was so close that I could rub myself against his leg. I heard him gasp and moan as his fingers brushed across the perfectly smooth, bare skin atop my labia. I didn’t realise that my bare skin would be so exciting for him. I made a huge moan of pleasure when he started, with a finger inside me, to gently rub around the outer part of my tunnel. It felt good. I’m ashamed to say that after all the punishment and sadistic torture that I had been forced to endure, I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling; to lose myself in the lovely sensation. While we were not able to be intimate mentally, we could be one physically. His touch, for that moment, freed me. It was the most welcome contrast to my Mistress, who wanted to cut parts out of me or burn holes in my mind. I would allow myself to be his and it was all right anyway, because that was what my Mistress wanted.