- CONDITIONS -

OBVIOUSLY, there are some rules that I need to apply and so I'd ask that you please read them, below. Thanks!

1 - Any material submitted (by e-mail, to: JC-Green@Telus.net) is subject to review and it's my sole decision to put it on the site, or not. After all, it IS my ball and my bat and I'll play as I please :-).

2 - The material MUST BE YOUR OWN creation and not swiped from someone else. There is nothing that pisses me off more than to have someone steal something from another's labours and call it their own. If I discover that you've done that and I've put it up unknowingly, there'll be Hell to pay, and you'll be bloody sorry ... I promise.

3 - If it can be managed, I'd like any imagery sent to be somewhere between 300-800 kb in size for editing and optimisation purposes, please.

4 - Please tell me if you wish to have a contact/e-mail address included with your material. If you would like to remain anonymous, that's cool. However, if you want to receive compliments, or brick-bats, from the community that frequents these pages, then I shall be happy to either hot-link your images or writings, and/or place your e-mail addy. Thanks!

5 - If you are a commercial site and want to have your material show-cased on this site, then please send me an e-mail to have an Article or photo-spread created in the JG-L Articles Section. THIS area is for we amateurs.

6 - I will NOT accept any material dealing with the following topics: scat, snuff, animals, or ANY sort of child porn. Should you submit material in the last two categories I WILL call the local cops in your area and ENSURE, as best I can manage, that you are thrown into the choky as quickly as possible. Video gynaecology is not of interest. It won't appear.

7 - The topics of interest for this Section are generally discernable from the content on the other parts of the site, and I wish to maintain the same themes on this section.

8 - All copyright remains with the owner of the material. It is understood that any of it may be downloaded by people who visit this site and they may use it without your or my permission (if they're ass holes) in other areas of the Internet. Unfortunately, I have no control over this aspect.

9 - If the above bothers you ... tough. I want to encourage folks with imagination and talent to show off what they can do, in a safe, sane and sensible environment.

- 31st March, 2007 -

Mrs-KC of England still sends the occasional set of images from her archives, even though not publically active in the scene any more.

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Here's a newly-created short story about the possible future, scribbled by yours truly. It started out as a very brief outline, while writing to Absolutist in hopes of encouraging him to continue with his excellent story, An Unorthodox Life, then sort of went from there. Here it is.

KINKY NEW WORLD ORDER

 By 

JG-LEATHERS

(2,364 Words 21 March, 2007)

 

            I'd like to return to Earth in about 500 years (2607), with today's perspective still fresh, and see the changes that have occurred.

            Perhaps it would be to find that pollution had finally become so bad that the World Government decreed that all females must now be protected from it, to ensure the survival of the human species.  Far too many deformed babies had been born since the end of the 23^rd century, to say nothing of the costs of caring for the surviving children and too, the world population was in a very steep decline.  Something had needed to be done.  Despite the objections of many on both religious and personal freedom grounds, a new Policy of Protection (PoP) was drafted, then all the infrastructure created to ensure that the programme was carried out in full measure.

            Effective New Year’s Day, 2550 AD, the PoP went into effect and has been the world wide, societal norm from that day since.  In many cases, troops had to be called in to enforce the new programme, but eventually all eligible females at or above the age of seventeen were acquired and enrolled, whether they wished to be or not.

            Unfortunately, the process was neither an easy nor pleasant one for the females, but it was strictly enforced, regardless of race, creed, social position or location; and so the entire social dynamic was changed yet again.  Effectively, women were instantly returned to the position of being owned by a male and for some, both male and female, this was a blessed event; but for others a horrid fate.

            Biology had become destiny.

            Children, male or female, as always, remained cherished and protected from the world by their parents.  Now though, that protection was all encompassing, for they lived in sealed environments from the moment they were born; kept away from the pollutants: chemical, biological and radiation that now permeated the planet.  At the age of sixteen, the World Government stepped into the picture and this is where the story truly begins ....

 

***************

 

            All seventeen year olds were taken to the local PoP facility and upon arrival were segregated by sex, then sent to dorm rooms.  The first night, all of the females were fed a drug-laced meal and upon going to sleep, descended into a coma for the next twelve hours ... ample time for the next of the processes to be enacted.  After all had been ascertained to be fully unconscious, the Staff then moved in and began to rapidly process their charges.

            In the meantime, the males were taken from their rooms, then each was fitted with his removable equipment.  First came the genital protection devices, much like an athlete’s cup, then over this, their inner rubberised, steel mesh suits and finally, their protective masks and helmets.  Once they wore their equipment, they were released from the facility and returned to their homes or schools.

            For the females, the experience and processes were something entirely different.

            Each young woman was taken to an operating theatre and once there, she was fully examined and received a full set of vaccinations, then the process accelerated.  Each was fitted with a complete set of stainless steel cuffs (ankles, below the knees, thigh cuffs gartered to a removable waist cinch, wrist cuffs, above the elbow cuffs, and finally, a wide posture enforcing collar.  Once these had been closed, they could not be re-opened and so she would wear them for the rest of her life.  Next, came her chastity and sanitary appliance, complete with a substantial and talented dildo to ensure that unauthorized sex would not be possible, then she was fitted with her first stainless steel mesh corset; this incorporating rigid breast cups to protect the delicate tissue they contained.

            From that point, each young woman was slipped into her thick, very tight, all-encompassing, restrictive rubber suit.  This garment came with fully-attached gloves, a tight helmet and an oppressive gas mask so that she would be fully protected from all of the hazards of the modern world.  From that point forward, she would breathe only cleaned and filtered air from community systems, but a thirty minute’s duration 'walk around bottle' could be hooked to her air system if she was permitted to roam freely.  That would become a freedom granted rarely.  Although  her steel restraints remained hidden under the impervious skins of their suits, their posts projected through tightly sealed holes and it was at this point that the restraint rings were welded in place, then a five metre long steel leashing chain was added to the back ring of every collar.

            That wasn’t the end though, for each slumbering female was fitted with a short hobbling chain as well as others between her wrist cuffs and yet more from her wrist cuffs to the side rings of her hidden steel cinch.  The rationale was, of course, to prevent her from removing her suit and mask, for it was known that the girls would soon become desperate to escape their confining suits and horrid masks and helmets and so some sort of preventative control was mandated.  Even so, many tried and when this was noted, their state of helplessness was automatically required to be increased, with their arms being moved behind them and placed in a back prayer position.  Even after a week kept like this, many were still rebellious and so, if their attempts to escape continued, the back prayer bondage became permanent.  Once fully isolated from the contaminants of the world, the suit, helmet and oppressive mask were locked in place and she was returned to her bed in the dorm, but this time leashed in place by a chain to the back ring of her collar and another from the central ring of her ankle hobble.  Her waste and air hoses were connected, as well as the power cables for the other devices that would henceforward monitor and control her life.  After a systems check was completed, the eye ports of her helmet and mask became opaque, sealing her into a silent black world, for at the same time, the noise cancelling ear covers removed all sound, other than a small back ground of white noise.

            The young women were left to awaken naturally and when they did, it was always a time of screaming and pleading to be freed of their oppressive suits, masks, and helmets, but of course they weren’t, and remained for the next week at the institution.  Their first two days were spent chained to their beds, being indoctrinated to and informed of their new roles and rules in life, and learning to live within their suits.  Their masks never came off and so they soon learned to eat and drink through the readily available feeding and watering tubes within them, but many descended into a state of terror and panic at what had happened to them.

            Certainly they’d all seen their mothers encased in their own suits, some of them never speaking, but all had thought that it would never be done to them, for they were different and special.  They weren’t.  All females wore the suits and their sometimes hidden chains.

            On the third day, they were introduced to their, until now just sensed, restraints when they were released from their beds.  Each was kept leashed to the large steel wall ring over her bed and for those days was allowed to test her now severely-limited freedoms; learning how secure her restraints truly were.  The four girls in each dorm room, really, a cell, were occasionally permitted to talk to each other and so soon realized that they were all now considered as young women.  It took some time for them to become accustomed to the fact that their freedoms had evaporated, but the inescapable sight of dorm mates, isolated, encased, chained and leashed as they were by their chains, air, and waste hoses soon drove the fact home.  Each received hours and hours of repeated lessons through their head phones from which there was no escape, and so, slowly, they began to accept their fates as breeding stock for the continuation of the human race.

            In that regard, the Government demanded that their ability to reproduce be protected, and so she would be until her owner was given the keys to her chastity belt.  As females, they were designed to have babies and that was to be their prime role in life.  Eventually, they would become the property of a man and when that came to pass, impregnation would soon follow.  They were informed of all the pertinent genetic facts and how it would feel, but their existence was not to be totally sterile, even though they would certainly not be able to achieve 'unauthorized' pleasure.  All sexual excitation they received would be imposed every night: a State administered programme, and that began on the fifth night in their dorm rooms.  Male warders came each evening and fastened them to their beds, then while they all waited in terror of what was to come, each young woman’s mask and helmet went black, isolating her so that she became blind and deaf; immobilized.  Connected to the household air supply manifold and forced to breathe they waited for what was to come, but were kept in suspense until hours later, the pleasure capabilities of their 'environment suits' and chastity equipment were activated.  Each young woman was forcibly made aware of her body and sex when the dildo began its evolutions and pleasuring within her loins.  Screaming from the unexpected and continuous assault, they all thrashed madly against her chains in futile attempts to escape, but it continued over the ensuing hours, until she fainted from sensory overload.

            The sensors in the suits and helmets provided data to the monitoring computers and when the young women were conscious again, the automatic process continued unabated, taking them to unknown, until now, heights of arousal.  For the next two days, each was forced to orgasm again and again, quickly becoming addicted to the overwhelming flood of sensory delight her body could provide.  Each wanted to take herself to that plateau, but fitted with her suit and chastity belt it was, of course, impossible for her to manage on her own.

            At the end of the week, the young women were released into the care of their fathers, but in some cases, were sent on to other State run institutions to be warehoused until they could be taken possession of.  Once away from the Processing Centres the young women resumed their lives, but now as leashed captives, rather than free individuals.  At home they slept chained to their beds every night; now fed and watered as the other adult females in the household, but during the day they were allowed to move freely, tethered only by their air hoses and the duration of their ‘walk around’ air bottles.  Of course, if warranted, their education was continued and they were escorted to the schools in sealed vehicles, with their air hoses connected to its air tank, and the same at the school.  The one thing missing now though was the sexual stimulation they’d been subjected to during their initial processing and as a consequence, they were unendingly horny and desperate to become some man's possession.  They wanted nothing more than to be owned by a husband and thus escape their lack of orgasms, but naturally, even after being married (still suited, helmeted and leashed), they'd not escape.

            The only times they’d freed of their suits would be in a suitably sealed environment, and even then only for an hour or two, while impregnation or birth took place.  The matter of getting them back into their suits was relatively easy, for they’d already be wearing easily managed restraint equipment and of course be leashed.

            Once the happy event occurred, the concerned female would be permitted a slightly relaxed existence; but remain fully encased and restrained, to protect the unborn child.  As her pregnancy progressed, she would be freed of her corset and chastity arrangements, but her breasts remained locked away in what was soon to become her nursing bra.

            Once the birth had occurred, she would resume a fully restrained life in her suit, chastity belt, helmet and mask and be required to exercise in her tight corset until she’d regained her original peak of fitness, and thus be ready for her next impregnation.

            Naturally, no bottled formula was be permitted; only breast milk was to be used to nurture, and so the other capabilities of her suit then came into play when she had to submit to being automatically milked every four hours, day and night, until the infant was eighteen months old.  As life progressed and it became more and more of a strain for her to suffer the sometimes prolonged milking, she would desperately try to escape the constantly suckling horrors of the electrically active breast cups, and so her restraints needed to be increased in their severity.  During this stage of life, many women remained in special household rooms, suspended fully and always attached to the household systems, but visited occasionally by her family or a supervising physician.

            Without doubt, many women made unending complaints to escape their role and some refused to eat.  Quite naturally, The State could not permit this, and so she'd be taken to a suitable facility and fitted with a feeding gag, then perhaps, at the husband's discretion, it would be made a permanent fixture and from that point forward she could be taken care of automatically.

            Many women, after their first child was born and proved to be viable, were sent to breeder farms where they were artificially inseminated, and as a reward for their sentence to life long fertility and restraint, kept in the throes of mind-exploding orgasms as often as they could physically handle it.  They became nothing more than writhing sexual puppets, dancing to the command of an uncaring computer system.

 

            And there you have  a really bent dream of what might occur in the future

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- 22nd March, 2007 -

Here's a few pix from Latex Lady and Mick and Dee Luvbight that I'm sure you'll find of interest. As I mentioned in the blurb on the News Section, I feel that these folks are true pioneers in the kink scene and are definitely worthy of getting to know better :-).

- Latex Lady -

- Mick and Dee Luvbight -

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- 16th March, 2007 -

Here's a few pix from both the web and from another happy kinkster as well as some recent downloads that I found of interest.

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- 10th March, 2007 -

Here's a few pix from Captured-Taboos and a short clip from their WORK OUT VIDEO.

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Geetwo has permitted me to post one of his stories and I'm sure you'll enjoy it. He's a great writer, and you will definitely want to pay a visit to his site (the story below appears there also). I've taken the liberty of adding in a few images to add a little spice :-).

THE TITANIUM TRAP

 By

 Geetwo

 

(9,759 words/03Mar2007)

 

(geetwo@rya-online.net)

 

CHAPTER 1

            “The special equipment you ordered is ready, Miss Carteret.  If you would like to drive over, I can have it installed in about an hour.”

            “Great.  I’ll get a taxi and be there in about thirty minutes.  I can hardly wait.  But are you quite sure it’s finished this time?  I was so disappointed last month when it wasn’t.”

            “Yes, quite sure, Miss.  I’ve checked and re-checked everything several times.  It matches your specifications to the last millimetre.”

            “Terrific!  I’m on my way.”

            “Just one last thing, Miss.  Are you quite certain you want to do this?”

            “Of course I am.  Why do you ask when you must know it’s what I want?  And in any case, you’ve already got my written confirmation that I’m doing this because I want to.”

            “Just checking, Miss Carteret.  After all, once the equipment is installed, it will be virtually impossible to remove.”

            “Yes, I know that.  That’s the whole point of it.  I wouldn’t have paid you as much as I have for something that could just be slipped off, would I?”

            “No, I really don’t believe you would have.  Very well, I will get everything ready for your final fitting, Miss.”

            “Good, then I’ll be with you soon.”

            As she replaced the phone, Imogen Carteret shivered in excitement and anticipation.

            Finally, at the age of twenty-seven and after three years of hard saving, her dream was about to become the reality she had wanted for so long.

 

 

            It had cost her every penny she possessed and deprived her of the social life and romance that her curvaceous body, slim legs and pretty blue-eyed, blonde-haired face would normally have brought her, but she just knew it was going to be worth it.

            If she’d told anybody what she was going to do with the money she had squirrelled away, she imagined they would think she was utterly mad, but it was her dream, her fantasy, and as far as she was concerned, what she chose to do to herself was no-one’s business but her own.

            No matter how kinky or weird they might think it was.

 

******************

 

            Thirty-five minutes later, she stepped out of the taxi in front of the small, security-fenced engineering workshop, taking care to ensure that the long, calf-length cloak she wore didn’t swing open to reveal the fact that she was completely nude beneath its folds.  As the taxi drove away, she took a deep breath and pressed the intercom button set into one of the gates.

            They swung open soundlessly and after she’d passed through, closed behind her with a solid mechanical crash.

            It wasn’t the first time she’d visited the workshop and so knew exactly where to go.

            “Good evening, Miss Carteret.”

            “Hi, Mr Quentin!”

            He was a tall black-haired man in his early forties, quite muscular, with calm brown eyes and an air of having seen everything that life could offer.

            Nothing ever seemed to surprise or shock him and he had just smiled and nodded when Imogen had explained shyly what it was that she wanted him to build for her.

            “I can do that.” he’d said ... and had.

            Quentin showed her into the small, rather untidy room behind the workshop ... a room she thought of as ‘the fitting-room’.  She hurried across to the table holding the equipment he’d created for her while he stood quietly to the side, smiling his enigmatic smile when she picked up each of the superbly-crafted and machined devices in turn, her eyes gleaming with barely-suppressed excitement as she examined the smooth perfection of polished black titanium.

            “It’s all so beautiful.” she breathed at last and his smile grew broader.

            “I’m glad you like it, Miss Carteret.”

            “I want you to put it on me straight away.  All of it.  Right this minute.”

            “As you wish.  You will have to undress, of course.  As you’ve specified, it’s all designed to your exact measurements.”

            “That’s how I wanted it.”

            Imogen kicked off her shoes and with trembling fingers undid the three buttons of her cloak then dropped it to the floor and stood completely naked before him.

            His eyes widened fractionally, but did not look away, and as he inspected her firm, medium-sized breasts, narrow waist, slim hips, and long, slender legs, Imogen felt her nipples harden and her sex grow damp, as they always did whenever she presented her body to him to take measurements or check the fit of a particular piece of her equipment.

            “Well, we’d best get started.” he said evenly.  “I’ll begin with the corset.  As you specified, it’s a four inch reduction from twenty-four to twenty inches.  Lift your arms, please.”

            The titanium corset covered Imogen from above her hips to the lower third of her breasts, lifting and separating her taut flesh so that the mounded hemispheres thrust proudly forward and upwards from the skillfully constructed support; nipples jutting arrogantly above the quarter-cups.

            “Inhale as deeply as you can, please.” he instructed and when she obeyed, he squeezed the rear of the corset together until a series of clicks confirmed that the ratchet-locks had engaged.  Imogen panted for breath, her midriff now constricted in a vice-like grip.

            “Wow!  It’s even tighter than I’d imagined!” she gasped, then gulped when Quentin chuckled.

            “You wanted it tight, so you’d better get used to it, because you’re going to be wearing it for quite a while.”

            Imogen knew that was true, for she was the one who had specified the desired size of her waist and the locking closure mechanism.  Unless she could find someone with the specialized tools necessary to cut the thing off, that was the size her waist would have to remain.

 

 

            “Oh well,” she smiled wanly, “at least I won’t have to diet anymore.”

            Quentin grinned and reached for the second item of equipment, then knelt before her, noting with approval the pale, denuded triangle where her pubic curls had been, before she’d had the electrolysis treatment to ensure she would remain hairless.  It was another indication of just how seriously she was taking her transformation and he found it admirable that she would go to such lengths.

            “Spread your legs and lift your feet one at a time, please.” he requested.

            When she obeyed, he slid the shaped, titanium, harnessing strap up between her spread thighs, ensuring that it nestled firmly into place; cupping her sex and anus, before he clasped the metal waistband around her body, over the already locked-on corset.  The belt settled easily into the hollow of her hour glass waist, its eight pre-drilled holes accepting the short positioning pins on the corset.  Even so he had to exert considerable force to engage the ratchet-lock and as it did, Imogen winced, feeling the harness compress her lower belly even more.

            “Do you want me to insert the ‘toys’ now?” he asked calmly.

            Imogen shivered as she glanced involuntarily at the table where two massive titanium rods waited.  These would be locked into her lower body harness via the holes positioned directly over her sex and anus.

            “N-no.  Not just yet.” she whispered softly.  “Maybe ... maybe a little later, if you don’t mind.”

            “That’s up to you.” he smiled easily.  “Let me know when you’re ready.  In the meantime, what do you want next?”

            “I think it’s time for my sh-shoes.” she replied, trying hard to keep her voice as level as his.  “I’ve been practicing for quite a while and I’m pretty confident I’ll be OK.”

            However, when he slid the incredible titanium footwear onto her feet, she found herself a lot less certain, for the immense, seven-inch spike heels forced her to arch them into an almost vertical line and kept her teetering on the tips of her toes.  Imogen’s calves immediately began to protest at the unnatural tension and when she told him how uncomfortable it was, he agreed to leave the locking straps undone so that she could remove the shoes whenever she could no longer endure the remorseless ache of her leg muscles.

            Relieved of that worry, she watched intently while he fitted her ankle and knee bands, then brought over the adjustable spreader bars and clipped their swivel mounts into the sockets built into each one, effectively keeping her legs widely spread and unable to either close or open any further than the lengths of the bars.

            Her arms were next and at his request, she placed her hands behind her back.  He quickly fastened a wide and thick titanium band around each of her slim wrists, then clamped additional, matching bands tightly into the flesh, just above each elbow joint.  Her wrist cuffs were connected first and he paused for a moment to allow her to get accustomed to the sensation of captivity, then his hands slipped up her arms.

            “Oooohh!  Uhh!!  That’s really a strain!” she protested when he squeezed her elbows together, but by then, it was already too late, for the cuffs were locked together and there was nothing she could do about it.  The tension of her bound arms was enormous, far more stressful than she’d ever imagined it would be, for with the cuffs welding her elbows together, her shoulders were pulled painfully back, tautening her breasts until she felt as though they were going to burst.

 

 

            “Take the elbow cuffs off!” she pleaded urgently.  “Please, Mr Quentin!  I had no idea they would hurt so much and I can’t stand it!  Really I can’t!”

            “You told me that you wanted strict bondage, Miss Carteret.” he replied coolly.  “In fact, you insisted on it. And anyway, you look wonderful with your shoulders pulled back like that and your breasts offered so vulnerably.”

            Imogen gazed down at her presented breasts with their out thrust nipples and gasped in fearful excitement for she saw how true his words were.  It was how she had always imagined she would look in her fantasies and as she felt her belly churn with intense arousal, her nipples stiffened to the knowledge that she was as tightly bound and hopelessly defenceless, as she had always dreamed of being.

            “Just try and relax my dear.” he advised her gently.  “You’ll soon get used to it.  After all, it is what you want isn’t it?”

            Imogen wondered whether it really was, trying to decide whether the unexpected discomfort of her bondage was too high a price to pay in order to realize her long-held fantasies of slavery and submission.

            “Well, isn’t it?”  Quentin asked again.  “You did ask me to turn you into a titanium captive.  As a matter of fact you positively insisted that I design your bondage to be as strict as possible and completely escape-proof.  I have only done exactly what you requested, but if it is too much for you, just say the word and I’ll start cutting it all off.”

            He left the unspoken question hanging and while Imogen gazed down at the gleaming black metal that held her and felt the tight constriction of her waist and torso and limbs, her arousal intensified and she understood that this was what she truly wanted.

            “N-no,” she replied softly, “don’t do that, please.  You’re right.  I’m sure I will get used to it eventually and I couldn’t bear to see all your lovely work go to waste just because of a little discomfort.  I’m sorry I was such a baby about it.  Carry on, please, and don’t take any more notice of me.  I love all these things you’ve made for me and I’m really grateful for all your hard work.”

            “Thank you.” he acknowledged.   “I appreciate that and believe me, it was a pleasure to create the equipment and even more so to see you wearing it.”

            Relaxing as much as her bonds would permit, Imogen saw him pick up the lower part of helmet made to her specification, then bring it towards her.

            “Open your mouth, please.” he requested and she stretched her jaws as widely apart as she could, knowing that the built-in ‘O’ ring on the inside of the shaped, titanium mouth-plate would locate itself behind her front teeth to hold her mouth wide open, rendering her unable to do more than make unintelligible noises, while leaving her oral cavity available to be filled with anything he chose to insert.

            The snugly fitting metal mask covered her face from just under her nose to beneath her chin and back to her ears.  When he’d locked it at the back of her neck, she felt the first twinges of unease, recognizing just how helpless she now was.

 

 

            For years, she had harboured private fantasies of extreme bondage and slavery, visualizing herself as a totally bound and subjugated slave to a dominant Master, but now it suddenly dawned on her that she had never continued the fantasies beyond the point at which her helpless nudity was ravaged by him and she’d inevitably had to surrender herself and be rewarded with her customary mind-blowing orgasm.  Now, though, she really was inescapably bound and totally unable to resist!

            Her unease grew to outright alarm when Quentin picked up the expandable pear-gag and while he walked towards her, she attempted to tell him that she had decided enough was enough, but only a hapless gabble emerged from her pried-open mouth.  Imogen did not want him to silence her even more effectively than she already was, but he took no notice!  When she tried to back away she quickly discovered that the combination of her towering high heels and the spreader-bars between her ankles and knees restricted her movements to such a degree that she almost fell.  She had no hope of evading Quentin when he reached for her.

            She squealed shrilly as with one of his hands holding the back of her neck and steadying her, he pushed the folded-closed device through the ring on the front of her mouth-plate, carefully locating its threads into the matching fitting in the titanium strap.  With casual twists of his fingers, the gag was quickly screwed into its socket, then to her horror he spun the knurled knob on the base of the device!  Inside her mouth, the metal pear expanded inexorably, pinning her tongue and bulging her cheeks; quickly bringing an end to any hope of intelligible protest on her part.

            Stunned by the ruthless efficiency of the thing filling her mouth, Imogen could now only whimper in pitifully small noises through her nose, staring downwards in horror when he knelt to fasten the locking straps of her shoes to her ankle cuffs, thus condemning her to wear the towering heels until they were cut from her feet.

            When he rose to smile into her shocked eyes, Imogen felt a cold chill of apprehension ripple up her spine.

            Against her wishes, he had gagged her, then locked on her shoes and when she saw the cruel smile curving his lips and the hot glitter of anticipation in his eyes while he surveyed her proffered breasts and gaping thighs, she trembled in anguished helplessness, realising, far too late that she did not really know Mr Quentin at all.

            Quite clearly, he was a superb engineer and machinist, and her bondage proved that, but of the man himself, his nature, desires and character, she knew nothing at all except that his business was to design and manufacture custom-built bondage and control equipment.  That, of course, was why she had come to him in the first place, for after years of fascination with the idea of bondage and slavery, she’d eventually managed to save enough money to realize her dream of having herself fitted with top-quality, state-of-the-art restraint devices: all capable of being worn for extended periods.

            Once she’d accomplished that goal, her intention had then been to find a compatible Master through one of the bondage web sites she’d frequented under the pseudonym of 'Titania the Slave’, and offer herself as a permanent, live-in slave-girl.

            She’d planned the whole scenario over many months, thinking it through during the long, lonely nights when staying in to save money.  Imogen had weighed the pro and cons of semi-permanent bondage and the loss of her freedom and ability to choose.  She’d considered the dangers of such actions and the arrangements she would need to make to ensure her safety and she’d even made herself confront the fact that she might be punished by a Master for any infractions of the rules he chose to set while she was taught to submit to his will and his absolute power.

 

 

            Only when she was as certain that she had explored every aspect of her desires and their likely consequences, and that the path to total physical, mental, and sexual subjugation was the one she wanted to follow and experience, did she take the next step.  It was then that she’d contacted Mr Quentin, through his Web site with her ideas.

            She had covered every angle, or so she’d thought; except that of finding herself bound, gagged and helpless, at the mercy of the man who had constructed the bondage equipment she now wore.

            In her fantasies, she had always assumed it would be her strong, handsome, wealthy and thrillingly dominant Master; but one that she had chosen to serve as a slave ... one who would fulfill her deepest desires by binding her and depriving her of speech and freedom when he claimed her for his own, then made her his willing, helpless captive.

            Instead, she was chained and utterly helpless; her naked body totally available for Quentin to do as he wished.  Horror filled her blue eyes when all of the terrifying implications of her plight crashed into her brain.  She remembered the careful plans she’d made to ensure her safety, having deposited letters detailing her plans with her bank and lawyer.  In the event of her disappearance, those letters would explain her plans, name Mr Quentin and her new Master, and give a starting-point for an investigation to begin and she’d thought that these precautions were a virtual guarantee that nothing too awful could happen.  At least, they would have done so ... if they were not still sitting in the memory of her computer at home, waiting for her to get around to printing and actually posting them. Thrilled and excited that everything was ready for the final fitting, she hadn’t given a thought to the letters and now it was far too late.  In her determination to keep her plans totally secret, she’d made certain not to let anyone know where she was, or what she intended to do.

 

 

            Imogen watched helplessly when Quentin strode to the table and began to apply lubricant to the two huge shafts she had specified for her sex and anus, and shuddered wildly, then began tottering slowly and clumsily towards the closed door of the fitting-room.  She knew it was hopeless, and of course it was, thanks to her enormously high heels, and with her legs cruelly hampered by the spreader-bars between ankles and knees, but she had to escape!  Long before she reached the door he was at her side, then with a muscular arm clamped around her pinioned arms and waist, he picked her up and carried her to a high trestle and draped her over it.  Seconds later, a tightly buckled wide strap held her bent forward, then Quentin knelt and connected floor-mounted chains to the waiting rings of her ankle cuffs!  It began!  Imogen felt the long, thick shaft slide through its fitting on her crotch harness then it slid easily up into her unprotected already soaking sex.

            Impervious to her gag-muffled screams, he locked the rod into place, then slowly inserted the second one deeply into her anus, forcing it past the frantically resisting muscle until it, too, was fully embedded within her and screwed into its socket.

            Weeping in silenced shame and terror at the ruthless penetration of her most secret and intimate recesses, Imogen fought madly against her bonds: her limbs and buttocks flexing and jerking madly while she struggled to free herself and eject the twin invaders, but her frantic struggles were in vain, for all of her titanium restraints were securely locked.  There was no hope of them breaking, for titanium is both lighter and stronger than steel: the very qualities for which she had chosen it as the material for her bonds.  It was a choice she now bitterly regretted, knowing as she did that there was not the slightest chance of her breaking or escaping its implacable grip on her flesh.

            Imogen lifted her tear-streaked face to gaze imploringly at Quentin while he fetched the final piece of her equipment, then froze when he held up the wide, formed cuff so that she could see it clearly.  She recognized it instantly of course for she was the one who had spent hours poring over its design, determined to get every detail exactly right.

            Her slave-collar.

            Three inches wide and a quarter-inch thick with four equally-spaced, sturdy rings dangling from it, the collar was far stronger and heavier than it needed to be for security alone, but Imogen had insisted, set on wearing something that would be an unmistakable, inescapable symbol of her willing slavery and complete submission to the Master she had chosen.

 

 

            What she had not designed was the gleaming inscription cut into the shiny metal through the polished black outer coating.  She read the words, “Titania The Slave” engraved in letters an inch high!  Her whole body trembled, eyes bulging with shock.  It was her ‘slave-name’ ...  the secret one she’d used for her forays into the web chat rooms she’d used in order to meet others who shared her passion for bondage and slavery fantasies.

            For endless seconds, she stared numbly at the restraint that would unmistakably identify her as a slave girl, unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes.  She had never, ever, revealed her true identity to anyone on the web and yet here, only inches from her, was incontrovertible proof that someone knew that she and Titania were one and the same.

            A muffled shriek of despair surged up her throat when Quentin slipped the heavy collar around her slender neck, then closed it to very tight snugness she’d specified.  There was no way for to escape its constant clasp of her throat!  The sharp, double clicks of its internal locks snapping shut signalled the final act of her transformation from free woman to inescapably titanium-bound slave girl, and a shudder of terrified despair set her trembling in her bonds.  Imogen knew she would wear it for the rest of her days, despite her fervent wishes to be free of it, for as she’d specified, all of the locks for her restraints required a high security key, and their mechanisms were buried in the metal ... totally inaccessible.

 

 

            “I see you’re wondering how we discovered your little secret.”  Quentin chuckled smugly.  “It wasn’t as hard as you obviously thought it would be.  You’re not the only one who uses the web to talk about your sexual fantasies, Miss Carteret, and unfortunately for you, some of the people who were on-line when you were had much the same desires as you, but as owners of slave girls.  They became quite interested when you talked about how you wanted to have a titanium corset, a set of manacles and slave-collar made for you to wear permanently ... and they got even more interested in your plan to find yourself a Master and ask him to accept you as his slave.”

            Imogen screamed madly into her gag, trying to shake her head from side-to-side against the restriction of the high collar and lower face mask/gag, in futile denial when she heard how the on-line chats she’d enjoyed so much had betrayed her.  She stared in wide-eyed disbelief when Quentin chuckled again and added to his commentary.

            “So, they decided to save you the trouble and enslave you themselves.”

            Shaken to the core, she twitched her head again, refusing to believe he was serious.

            “Oh, it’s quite true!” he smiled broadly.  “You really are going to be a slave, so you might as well start getting used to the idea.  There’s no way for you to get out of the restraints you’re wearing, for, as you specified, there is only a single key, and so only rather specialized cutting equipment will free you.  You ought to know, Miss Carteret, after all, you helped to design all of the restraints.”

 

 

            The implacable reality of her captivity flooded into Imogen’s brain and she whimpered softly when she was forced to accept the awful truth of his words.  She’d demanded tight, inescapable bondage and that was exactly what had been delivered.  At her insistence, Quentin had made the ratchet-locks so that they only operated in one direction, enabling her corset and the harness between her legs to be tightened, but not eased.  He had taken great pains to ensure that it was impossible for her to get her fingers at the locks in the cuffs clamping her wrists: not that it would matter if she did, for those locks, like all of the ones at her elbows, knees, ankles, collar and helmet, needed the high-security key to open.  A key which he had not yet given to her, and which she now knew never would.

            He was speaking again and she forced her mind away from the impossibility of escape without the key.

            “Of course, you made it easier by specifying titanium.” he said casually.  “There aren’t many workshops that can handle it and as far as I know, I’m the only one that uses it for bondage equipment.  So, there was really only one place you could come to and all they had to do was wait for you to turn up ... and here you are.  A sweet deal all round.  I get paid twice, they get a pre-packaged and equipped slave and you ... well, you get what you wanted, only maybe not quite in the way you expected.”

            He shrugged his broad shoulders and walked behind her, then released her ankle chains and the waist strap.  Gripping her biceps he forced her down until she was kneeling on the cool, tiled floor at his feet, eyes wide with apprehension above the broad strap of her gag.  Chain rattled behind her and she twisted her neck hard to see him pull a short length from his pocket.   Quentin squatted and clipped it to the central link joining her wrist cuffs, then while she squealed shrilly, he pulled her wrists down and fastened them to the ring at the centre of the spreader bar between her ankles, forcing her spine into a backward bow.

            With her body arched into a smooth, graceful curve, Imogen could only gaze helplessly up at the ceiling, horribly aware of the swells of her out thrust breasts.  She realized that she was bound into the pose she had dreamt of so often, kneeling as a helpless and vulnerable slave before a Master.  Her nipples quivered and stiffened to hard, straining rigidity and her internal muscles clenched involuntarily around the thick, rigid shafts embedded in her sex and anus.

            A scarlet flush coloured her cheeks when her body responded to the situation, and try as she might, she was unable to stop the shameful display of her unwanted arousal or hide the evidence of her growing sexual need.

            For three long, lonely years, she had worked and saved and deprived herself of a normal social life in order to achieve her dream of becoming a full and perfect slave to a Master she would choose.  The stunning shock of discovering that far from having the luxury of choice, her fate was already sealed and lay in the hands of unknown strangers, Imogen could not control the savage heat that scorched through her belly at the prospect of involuntary servitude and sexual subjugation.

            As a healthy and attractive young woman, the years of denial had been hard to bear, for although she’d had two earlier lovers, neither had fully understood nor satisfied her desire to be bound and dominated.  Their half-hearted and amateurish efforts soon led her to end the relationships and she’d decided to wait until she found a true Master; one capable of imposing the firm discipline she craved and demanding from her the obedience and submission she longed to give.

            Alone in her bed, after surfing the web and chatting to other bondage enthusiasts, she’d often stimulated herself to orgasm with erotic mental images of herself as a slave.  Those fantasies and climaxes, pleasurable though they had been, did not compare to the reality she now faced.

 

 

            Paid for with her own money, designed with her willing co-operation, locked around her limbs, body and throat at her own request, she now wore the irremovable bonds of a genuinely captive slave and as Imogen felt her belly kick and a spurt of hot juices bathe the thick shaft filling her sex, she gasped and trembled to the power of her blazing need.  Behind her, Quentin took a mobile phone from his pocket and punched in the number he had been told to call.

            “It’s Quentin.  Yes, she’s right here in my workshop.  Everything fits perfectly and she’s wearing it all.  That’s right, on her knees and gagged with the rods in.  No, I haven’t tested them yet.  OK, if that’s what you want, I’ll try them out.  Right.  I’ll see you in an hour then.”  He switched the phone off and walked around to look down into her frightened blue eyes.

            “Your new owners are en route to collect you, slave.” he said flatly.  “It’ll take them about an hour to get here, so in the meantime, they’ve asked me to test the modifications I had made to those little toys between your legs.”

            It was the first Imogen had heard of any modifications and when his lips spread into a wolfish grin, she whined into her gag, suspecting that whatever they were, it wasn’t going to make her situation any better.

            “Of course, electronics aren’t really my thing.” he confessed cheerfully, taking what looked to her like a small television remote control from his pocket.  “But, luckily, an old friend is an expert and assures me that you should find this next bit rather ... interesting.”

            His finger jabbed one of the buttons and her head snapped backwards; a despairing, hissing wail emerging from behind her gag while her eyes bulged when the shaft buried in her sex began to vibrate fiercely, followed a moment later, when he pressed a second button, by the one in her bottom!

            Their effect on Imogen was instantaneous and overwhelming.  Her arousal doubled and re-doubled when the high-speed oscillations of the two devices sent shattering pulses of intense stimulation spearing into the very core of her belly through the unbearably sensitive tissues of her sex and anus.

            Imogen squealed in genuine anguish; her fingers clawing at thin air while the chain between her wrists to her ankle spreader bar was jerked at dementedly.  Her body writhed erotically in the titanium restraints while the vibrators drove her headlong towards an enormous orgasm she could feel building inexorably and could do nothing to resist!

            Knowing she was only seconds from being forced to climax, her eyes sought Quentin’s, pleading mutely for him to take pity on her and save her, but she only saw him grin and shake his head and understood that he had no intention of doing any such thing!

            The callous gesture only confirmed the full horror of what was to come and as an abyss of bondage and sexual slavery opened up before her, Imogen screamed in wild despair and plunged over the brink.  From deep in the churning pit of her belly, the towering wave of an orgasm welled upwards, brushing aside her pitiful defences and drowning her futile attempts at self-control in a boiling, seething whirlpool of scalding juices while her body convulsed violently in the throes of enforced submission.

            Spasm after spasm racked her shuddering frame, each jetting fresh rivers of heated juices into her pulsating belly and over the still-buzzing vibrator.  Her buttocks clenched frantically around the second one while her swollen breasts and engorged, stone-hard nipples throbbed and jiggled madly when she screamed her helpless surrender to the engulfing sexual storm.

 

 

            Pushed far beyond the boundaries of her previous experience, Imogen found herself incapable of resisting far less controlling the awesome power exerted over her by the combination of the bondage and vibrators, and as she submitted utterly to their demands, her screams changed to whimpers and gasps of ever-increasing sexual pleasure.  She gave up the futile battle and allowed herself to give in to the ecstasy of a total subjugation.  At the mercy of her two battery-powered mechanical tormentors, she panted for breath while yet another cycle of relentless stimulation built her arousal towards a second peak even before her first climax had begun to wane!  She realized that she was utterly powerless to prevent the devices from forcing her to submit again and again until their batteries ran down and her eyes filled with shocked understanding and shameful need.  Bound and with a collar locked on her throat, she had become a slave and it was no longer for her to decide her fate or to control her destiny.

            In less than an hour, her new Masters would arrive to collect her and it would be they, not she, who would determine her future.  Like her collar and the vibrators locked into her body, she would be owned ... their possession, to be used as they saw fit.

            In her fantasies, Imogen had always envisioned a little romance, some soft music, a bottle of excellent wine, candlelight, perhaps ... all leading to the moment when she would slowly remove her clothes to reveal her body in its new restraint devices, then hand the keys to her chosen Master and sink to her knees to ask him to enslave her forever.

            That was not what was going to happen.

            Unless Quentin switched the vibrators off and relaxed her stringent bondage, her new Masters would walk into the small, bare, harshly-lit room and find her still naked, gagged and tightly chained; covered in sweat and quite probably in the throes of yet another devastating climax!

 

 

            A white-hot lance of pure, submissive lust speared through her body and brain to trigger the second huge orgasm and Imogen wailed and trembled to the volcanic contractions that sent still more juices pouring down over the vibrator and into her sex.  Even while she surrendered to the delirious rapture of her enforced passion, she realized to her horrified shame that the incredible depth and extent of her submission was due not only to the presence of the twin vibrators and the thrilling tightness of her bondage.  They were both part of it of course and she couldn’t deny it, but what really frightened and confused her was her own reaction to the thought of being so helplessly displayed to a group of strangers.  Her body responded instinctively to a possibility far beyond anything she’d ever dreamt of in her wildest, darkest fantasies, and as she pulsed and shuddered in the iron grip of a need she could neither prevent nor control, Imogen was brought face-to-face with an aspect of her own character that was completely new to her.

            New and shocking and deeply terrifying, for instead of being appalled by the idea of being discovered in such a vulnerable and humiliating situation, she found herself becoming more and more aroused, more and more sexually excited as she visualized what might happen when the unknown Masters arrived to claim her.  To them, she would be simply a slave whose body was theirs to enjoy as they desired.  Her obedience and submission to their will, demanded and, if necessary, enforced by any means at their disposal.

            Once in their clutches and subject to the sort of ruthless discipline which featured so prominently in the numerous web sites she’d visited and enjoyed so much, there would be no escape from her slavery and when that indisputable conclusion sank into her spinning brain, Imogen felt her passion intensify still further and understood that she had already passed the point of no return.

            For good or ill, she was committed and about to experience genuine, full-time enslavement.

            Whether she wished to ... or not.

 

******************

 

            Quentin stood over his trembling blonde captive, relishing the quivering of her taut breasts and titanium corsetted body while she climaxed to the vibrators he had locked into her, watching the play of expressions in her wide blue eyes while she discovered just how impossible it was to defy the electronic devices she’d that had unwittingly been fitted into her body

            It was by no means the first time he had seen the effects of such things on a slave who was bound and unable to move, for he not only catered to a small, highly-specialised market of fetish enthusiasts for whom the domination, stringent bondage and absolute submission of their slaves was perfectly normal and unremarkable ... he was also an active member of such a group.  When he saw her horror give way to shocked awareness of her helplessness and recognition of her uncontrollable and quite irresistible sexual arousal, he knew that she had lost all power over her own body and its responses.  That was the first, vital step of her journey into full slavery, for after the recognition that her body was no longer hers to command, would come acceptance. It would  most probably be an unwilling acceptance but that didn’t matter.  It only took time and careful conditioning to turn even a reluctant captive into an obedient and co-operative slave and there was no great hurry.

 

 

            A few extra days here or there were unimportant in what would be a lifetime of slavery and quick or slow, it would make no difference to the end result.

            With a quick double-flick of his finger, he pressed two more of the buttons on his remote control.

 

******************

 

            Imogen jerked wildly in her bonds, screaming mindlessly in terrified disbelief when the unceasing arousal of the vibrators in her belly was interrupted by sharp pulsing, rhythmic waves of sundering pain!  A jolting series of electricity shocks pulsed directly into the most intimate and sensitive tissues of her sex and anus!

            With bulging eyes, she stared fearfully up at Quentin, unable to comprehend what he had done to her, then she gave another muffled scream of dreadful anguish when he pressed the buttons again to send a second series  of agonizing jolts searing through her belly.  Through her suddenly tear-filled eyes she saw him smile then heard him chuckle with amused pleasure.

            “Now you know what this little box can do, slave.” he grinned down at his weeping and inconsolable captive.  “So, if you want to avoid more of the same, I strongly advise you to do exactly what your Masters order.  You must be a good little slut from now on.”

            It was at that moment, with the sound of his laughter in her ears and her body tingling from the after effect of her unavoidable and undeserved punishment, that Imogen fully realized quite how far beyond fantasy her desire for the thrill of bondage submission had taken her.

            This was no game!  It was only too real and although the shocks were not unbearably painful, they were distinctly and intimately horrid: more than enough to ensure her obedience.  With the two devices locked immovably into her body, a Master ... any Master ... holding the remote-control, could inflict whatever combination of unbearable pain and pleasure he chose, to make her submit to his will.  There was no way for her to resist and certainly no hope of escaping the trap she had set for herself.  Imogen was forced to accept the fact that she had already become the helplessly subjugated and totally controlled slave she had fantasized about being for so often and a devastating wave of excitement rolled through her still churning belly.

            Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet Quentin’s hard gaze, then nodded twice and lowered her head as much as her collar permitted, in humble submission and to show her acceptance of his advice.

            “Very sensible of you, slave.” he said firmly.  “Not that you had any real choice in the matter.  Now, I don’t want to hear a sound out of you when I take that pear-gag out of your mouth.”

            Thankful that at least one element of her bondage was being eased, Imogen kept absolutely silent, not even risking a gasp of relief when her compressed tongue was freed.  It was a pity that the built-in ring-gag still held her lips and front teeth in a stretched ‘O’, but any relief was better than none.  Or so she thought, right up to the moment he unzipped his trousers and his rampant maleness sprang forth.  She knew instantly what he was going to make her do and to her shame, felt her sex ooze again with hot juices of arousal.

            Both of her previous lovers had wanted her to pleasure them with her lips and tongue and although she’d not particularly enjoyed the experience, they obviously had, and even complimented her on her skill then virtually begged her for more.

            Quentin was not begging.

            He was not even asking her permission or seeking to persuade her.  Without the slightest consideration for her wishes, he was just going to use her for his pleasure, no matter what she wanted.  His thick shaft plunged through the steel ring and filled her mouth and Imogen shuddered wildly to the masochistic thrill of her total inability to prevent him from ravaging her as he pleased.  Guided by her memories of satisfying her lovers, she was able to take his full length and girth without choking, then his rigid flesh began to pump back and forth in the warm, moist cavern of her mouth and her nostrils flared to suck in air.  His fingers knotted in her hair and he took her with long, hard thrusts while she surged against her chains, kneeling abjectly before him.

            Deprived of any choice as to what she would or would not do, Imogen could only accept her fate and began to suck and tongue urgently at his shaft while her darkest fantasies and the reality of her situation mixed inextricably in her reeling brain to send overwhelming arousal blazing through her swirling belly.

            Delighting in the sensations of her soft warmth surrounding and encouraging his maleness to even greater size and recognizing her surrender to his demands, Quentin took full advantage of Imogen’s helpless response to her plight, continuing his remorseless thrusting into her receptive mouth.  With a casual flick of his fingers, he jabbed at the buttons on the remote control.

 

 

******************

           

            Imogen jerked madly against her titanium restraints when pulses of unbearable stimulation and waves of pulsing pain shot through her belly and anus, their random and quite unpredictable torment adding fuel to the inferno of her arousal and reinforcing her sense of being utterly controlled and dominated.

            Gagged by Quentin’s thick shaft, she could not even scream and as a gigantic orgasm exploded into her quaking body, her blue eyes opened wide in awed disbelief while foaming cataracts of boiling sensation thundered through her pounding belly; evidence of her total submission to the incredible passions unleashed by her ruthlessly enforced subjugation.  There was no chance of her resisting: no possibility of holding back, or retaining even a vestige of self-control!  Imogen was sent spinning down into a bottomless vortex of sexual surrender that engulfed her entire body and brain in the white-hot ecstasy of an orgasm more powerful and more intense than any she had dared to imagine.  She knew that she had changed and been changed ... forever.

            Her fantasies paled into insignificance compared to the frenzied tumult consuming every fibre of her being and when she recognized that her earth-shattering climax was that of a truly submissive and fiercely responsive slave, Imogen abandoned all hope of returning to her former life of freedom, independence and responsibility for her own actions.  She welcomed her future with a muffled, wordless scream of overwhelming pleasure.

            No more, for her, the daily grind of office work.  No need any longer to scrimp and save for those things she longed to possess.  Never again to spend the long nights alone with only her fantasies for company.  No more to dream of a strong Master to dominate and use her as she wished to be used ... for in her mind and body and heart, Imogen knew that she was a slave; one whose bonds and collar were only the outward signs of the fire of slavery that burned within her and could never be extinguished..

            In the grip of needs and emotions far too intense and powerful to deny, Imogen climaxed again and again, her belly convulsing hugely to send waves of her hot juices flooding down over the vibrator embedded in her sex, her buttocks flexing and jiggling around the other in her bottom while the first climax of her new life as a permanently collared slave raged unstoppably through her shuddering body.

            Gazing down at the panting, spasming blonde who knelt before him in her chains; her gagged cheeks bulging around his iron-hard shaft, Quentin surveyed the havoc he had created in her body and savoured the power of his absolute mastery over her while she was made to submit totally to his will.  Just like the several other women who had wanted to explore their submissive fantasies and paid him to manufacture the collars and shackles essential to their desires, he knew that Imogen had taken the irrevocable step across that line dividing fantasy from reality.

            Like them, she had not fully understood the consequences of asking to be chained and collared; assuming that the bondage was merely symbolic, rather than the permanent and irreversible life-change it represented.  Even on their knees and at his mercy, they had still not seen or believed that they had actually become the slaves their submissive natures made them, until, as with Imogen, they had found themselves helplessly serving his desires and experiencing the undreamt of power of their own fervid responses to captivity and subjugation.

            Only then, while their tightly-bound bodies erupted into the huge orgasms that betrayed them as the slaves they were, did they finally realize the truth and understand what was to become of them.  By then, as with Imogen, it was too late for them to turn back or escape from the fate which lay ahead.  Far too late for the decision had been made: the manacles were on their limbs, their locks secured, and each was the slave of her Master and her own overwhelming needs.

            With a smile of triumph curving his lips, Quentin used the remote control to administer a final series of cruel electric shocks to his helpless victim, then turned both vibrators to maximum and jerked his hips forward to bury his engorged shaft to its full length in her mouth.

 

 

            Still convulsing in her first full slave-orgasm, the hapless blonde screamed again through her flared nostrils in terrorized anguish when the renewed assault of the twin devices propelled her arousal inexorably higher and still higher, to a peak of straining, gasping sexual frenzy until she teetered on the brink of a third, horrifyingly-powerful climax.

            As she gazed in appalled fascination at an endless vista of bondage, submission and sexual slavery stretching endlessly into her future and felt her belly contract wildly, Quentin’s maleness pulsed deep in her mouth when he reached his release and a fountain of his sperm gushed into her throat.  She had no choice but to swallow it or choke and as she gulped convulsively, forcing herself to drink the copious jets of hot, salt juices which spurted from his jerking shaft, she too juddered and quivered to the floods of scalding love juices that slid from her belly.  The intense eroticism of being forced to pleasure a virtual stranger in such an intimate way replaced the shame and humiliation she felt with the helpless ecstasy and the exquisite physical pleasure of her first slave-orgasm.

            Even knowing that Quentin had taken and used her as a full slave against her will ... that he had deliberately tricked her and was going to sell her into life-long captivity, Imogen was still unable to resist the sensual rapture of submission to her bonds.  The punishing and pleasuring vibrators that had been locked into her body added even more to her feelings of slavery and as she gasped and pulsed with yet another climax, her eyes widened in shocked understanding of what her surrender revealed.

            Despite her fear of what had been done to her and what she’d been forced to do for him, she had climaxed as a slave; her belly writhing and jerking helplessly to the enormous power of orgasms she could not prevent.  Her passion and desire to submit easily overcame her brain’s feeble attempts to impose even minimal control over the maddened responses of her body.  Driven far beyond any limits of modesty or normal civilized behaviour, Imogen was forced to exhibit the incredible depth of her need and the sexual heat that burned within her ... and she knew that Quentin must have seen it and recognized it for what it was ... the sexual fire of a true slave.

            He switched off the vibrators and slid from between her stretched lips, some of his spend trickling from her mouth to spatter across the heaving and bulging, upper slopes of her breasts and Imogen moaned wordlessly in anguish, yet, thanks to her high collar, unable to see the silvery fluid bedewing her pale flesh.  Her face reddened as Quentin gave a cruel chuckle.

            “You needn’t worry about that, slave.” he said casually.  “Your new Masters won’t mind and it certainly won’t be the last time you’ll have it happen.  That mouth of yours will get a lot of exercise I should think and if you’re sensible, you’ll practice as often as you can.  Not that you’re not pretty good already, but pretty good often gets a slave a whipping or other punishments until she gets a whole lot better.  Understand what I’m saying?”

            Imogen understood perfectly for in her fantasies, her dream-Master had often warned that he would punish her if she was not completely satisfactory.  But real Masters had real whips and a shiver of apprehension raced up her spine to set her trembling while she tried to imagine what a whip would feel like when it cracked across her naked flesh.

            Surely, they wouldn’t do such a thing?  It would be awful!  Terrible ... horrible!

            And yet ...  She stared up at him with anxious eyes, then gulped as he nodded and spoke again.

            “It’s good advice, so don’t forget it, slave.” he told her firmly, adding casually, “If you were mine, I’d whip you often, until you became perfect.”

            Her belly gave a massive kick when he spoke those words and a picture flashed into her brain of him standing over her, his arm rising and falling while he whipped her writhing, heavily chained nudity.  She dropped her head quickly to hide the shameful arousal that her imagination sent racing through her body.

            “Slut!” he said cheerfully, “I know what you’re thinking, but that’s OK.  If you didn’t get turned-on by the idea of being disciplined by a Master, you wouldn’t have gone to the trouble and expense of paying me to make you a set of cuffs and a collar, now would you?  And, you’re not the only woman into bondage and submission, you know?  There are quite a number of full-time slaves out there and I make a pretty good living from supplying what they need, so don’t go thinking that you’re anything special, honey.  I enjoyed making you serve me, but while you were better than most, I enjoyed their efforts too.  Now, they’re full time slaves and serve their Masters, just the same as you will in about ...”, he paused and made a big show of checking his watch, “Oh, about ten minutes.”

            Imogen stared ahead numbly, acutely conscious of her tautly offered breasts and the aching of her rigid nipples, shuddering from the fierce heat in her belly and sex when she learned how little time was left before she was enslaved forever by her new Masters.

            Hearing that she was not alone in her slavery and that others had been forced to pleasure Quentin just as humiliatingly as she had was little consolation, for it removed her last faint hope that perhaps he had simply taken his chance to force her to pleasure him while she was helpless and that all of his talk about unknown Masters and permanent enslavement was only a trick to weaken her will to oppose him.

            Imogen felt her cheeks flush, well aware that she had not even really tried to resist even though it would have done no good, she knew, but she had not put up even a token fight.  Instead, she’d submitted immediately and completely and by doing so, confirmed his opinion that she was a natural slave, and her own fear that she really, truly was exactly that.  In the deepest recesses of her mind, she knew perfectly well that the reason she had not fought harder against him ... she had not really wanted to and the moment he’d locked the collar on her throat had been the culmination of all her fantasies and dreams.  She had known instantly that she would never choose to have it removed, despite it’s constant oppressive clasp.

            The fact that she’d not been given any option but had been taken, used and forced to satisfy him while kept helplessly bound and at the mercy of the punishing vibrators in her body, had done nothing to change her mind.  Quite the opposite in fact, for her arousal and desire had grown stronger at every stage of her subjugation, until, as he sated his lust in her mouth, she’d climaxed as a full slave.

            Partly because she had had no choice, but mainly because she had wanted to serve him as a slave.

            Imogen sucked in a deep, trembling breath and straightened her spine to display her body as she had seen slaves present themselves to their Masters on many of the web sites, then lifted her head to gaze up at Quentin.  For five endless seconds, his calm brown eyes locked with her anxious blue ones, then her face flushed and her eyes slid away when he nodded firmly.

            “Very good, Miss Carteret!” he told her approvingly.  “You already know the correct kneeling display position, I see.”

 

 

            Her blush deepened, but when she attempted to lower her head in embarrassment, he snapped at her.

            “No!  Keep your head up, slave.  You do not move until you are given permission.”

            Imogen gulped and jerked her head erect, frightened by the harsh ring of command in his voice.

            “That’s better.  Now keep still or you will be punished.”

            Her eyes widened, but he took no notice.

            “Your body belongs to your Masters now.  They will decide what you do and when and how you will do it.  You will be taught to obey without question and submit to any demands they may choose to make of you.  Disobedience on your part or any failure to be completely pleasing will not be tolerated and will most certainly  earn you punishment.  That will happen quite a lot at first, but you’ll learn quickly.  All new slaves do.”  He paused and smiled down at her.  “You may not realize it yet, but you have the potential to become an outstanding slave and a credit to any Master who owns you.  That is good in one way, but it means you’ll be expected to live up to it.  Masters have high standards for their slaves so you’re going to have to work hard to not disappoint them.  Trust me, that would be a really bad idea.  If I were you, I’d work hard, really hard.”

            Imogen wanted to reject his advice and casual assumption that she was already a slave, but the denial simply would not come and while she trembled to the awful realization that he was right, he nodded firmly.

            “I’m sure you will, slave.” he said, his smile growing wider when her face reddened with embarrassment.  “I knew you were a born submissive the first time I met you.  You’re a natural slave and it was only a matter of time until you found yourself on your knees at the feet of a dominant.  I’m happy it was me, but even if it hadn’t been, sooner or later you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from finding a Master and begging him to enslave you.  I know it and in your heart, you know it too, don’t you, slave?”

            His words matched her own desires and fantasies so perfectly that Imogen gasped aloud in astonishment, hardly able to believe he understood her so well.  It was almost as if he had been privy to her most secret and exciting dreams, and as he nodded and chuckled at the surprise in her eyes, she could only wonder how he could possibly have known her deepest thoughts.

            “Like I said, slave,” he told her casually, “you’re a natural.  You can’t help being a submissive anymore than I can help being dominant.  It’s what you are so you might as well accept it and be grateful for it.  That way you’ll be able to enjoy your bondage and slavery as best you can, because it’s going to be your life for a long, long time to come.”

            Imogen knew she was hearing the simple, plain truth and as the stark message etched itself into her brain, she straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back even further to display her body to best advantage, as the slave she knew she was going to have to be.

            Quentin gazed down at her and while he read the unmistakable message of her acceptance of the lifelong servitude and submission that they both understood was to be her fate, the intercom buzzed loudly to announce the arrival of Imogen’s new Masters.