Author's Note: This is meant to be a One Hit Wonder (I always enjoy his stuff), hope you like it. As always, please leave comments so I know if this is any good.

Updated (2012/05/22): Well, I lied. Actually, this was going to be a one-off, but then I’m terrible at letting characters go, and thought of their further adventures. I hope you like it, please leave me a comment, you never know, you might inspire me to write more...

Updated (2012/06/18): The dramatic end of Teresa's journey and the start of the rest of her life. Enjoy!


Part 1

I tell you what, sometimes it really pays to pay attention when people talk to you, it saves a lot of confusion and embarrassment later. Hi, my name is Teresa, and the story I want to tell you is from when I was much younger, an eighteen year old first year art student, in fact. I was actually a bigger girl then - my mum called it puppy fat, the kids at school just called it fat, and were pretty cruel about it. As this story is about art, you could say I was Rubenesque, although I wasn't that fat, but I did have big boobs - I know you like cup sizes on this site, so I was about an EE (!). I slimmed down a lot in my twenties, including my breasts, thank God - they were just too big to live with!

Anyway, I had managed to reach the ripe old age of eighteen as a virgin - not through choice, I might add! - and now I was at art college, horny as hell, and totally naïve - not a good combination.

I had a crush on one of my tutors, called, Serge - he was about thirty five, was French, had designer stubble, dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. God, I was totally infatuated with him from day one, but then every girl in the college was probably the same, so I worshipped him from afar, pining like a fat little puppy.

Once a week I had a tutorial one-on-one with him, but this was a nightmare, because whenever he was talking to me and I was looking into those beautiful blue eyes, there was this sort of buzzing in my ears, and I didn't take in a tenth of what he said to me. He must have thought me a complete moron too, as I became utterly tongue tied when he asked me a question. I'm going red with embarrassment just thinking about it all these years later. I would go back to my tiny little flat and cry in despair at my uselessness, then bring myself off thinking about him - I may have been a virgin, but I had experienced plenty of orgasms, it's just that they were all at my own hand. I was a sad case.

I managed to get through the first year without getting thrown out, despite demonstrating no discernible talent or aptitude for art, and it was my final tutorial before the end of the summer term. Serge was talking to me, and as usual, I was staring into those eyes and hearing buzzing, when something suddenly got through.

"I finally have an opportunity for a major exhibition, and I want you to be my model," he was saying. Whoa!

"You want me?" I asked, incredulously, "Really? Okay!" Wow! I was going to get to model for him! That meant spending hours and hours together!

"Are you sure?" he asked, sounding a little taken aback by my enthusiasm.

"I would absolutely love to help with your work!" I gushed, "When is the exhibition?"

"It's next week," he replied, giving me a simply divine smile that just turned me to jelly, "I'll send you all the details. And you really don't mind being naked for several hours at a time?"

"Oh no, it sounds like fun!" I laughed. Naked, eh? This was getting better and better! I imagined myself, Kate Winslett to his Leonardo DiCaprio, draped over a chaise longue as he paints me, then ravishes me in the back of a vintage car later...

The address I had to turn up at was a swanky private gallery in the West End, which I thought was a bit odd - surely he'd have to paint me before the exhibition, wouldn't he? Shouldn't we be meeting in his studio, rather than the gallery? Oh well, I assumed he knew what he was doing...

I went in and was met by this really snooty French woman. She was tall, slim, gorgeous, well-dressed - all the things I wasn't. I introduced myself and asked for Serge.

"So, you're the model?" There was the sound of surprise, possibly incredulity, in the question, and she looked me up and down critically. I felt like I was back in school, being interrogated by the school bully about my lunch money.

"I can see why he chose you," she said, her gaze fixed on my breasts, "you'd better come this way, Serge is in the gallery at the moment. I am Francoise, his artistic director."

Francoise led me through several rooms with various interesting pieces of avant garde art on display. Eventually, we came into a room, and I could see Serge with his back to me, in front of what looked like a giant spider's web.

"Ah, Terese, ma petite, bonjour, bonjour!" he exclaimed as he rushed over to us and air kissed me on both cheeks, twice.

"I see you have met my wife, Francoise. Merveilleux!"

I was devastated - he was married? I didn't hear much after that as I was in a daze, and I only registered snatches of what he was going on about.

"...centrepiece of the exhibition... performance installation... woman and the monster... man's fear of female sexuality..." He did drone on a bit.

"Now, I must go and meet my sponsors and guests. I will leave you in the very capable hands of Francoise." More air kisses, and then he was gone, and I was alone with the school bully.

"You'd better get your clothes off then, hadn't you, 'ma petite'." The last bit was said with dripping sarcasm. I swallowed hard, and realised I'd got myself into a bit of a fix. But I'd said I would do this - had been incredibly enthusiastic, in fact - and I couldn't back out now without completely ruining Serge's big show. So, rather reluctantly, I started to take my clothes off, under the implacable gaze of the rather cold Francoise. Eventually, I was naked, trying to cover myself with my hands and failing rather badly.

She led me to the spider's web, which I now saw was constructed from black rope about half an inch thick, and mounted in a steel frame about six feet square. She pointed out two wooden blocks on the floor, about three feet apart, and told me to stand on them, with my back to the web, so I was facing out into the room. I did as I was told, having to stand with my legs embarrassingly far apart. The centre of the web was now against the small of my back.

Francoise bent down and, taking a clear plastic strap I hadn't seen, passed it around my ankle and buckled it in place. There was one for my other ankle as well, so now I was strapped to the web. She attached similar straps around each of my thighs and around my stomach. Then, she told me to stretch my arms upwards while she strapped them down as well, so I was spread-eagle on the web, naked, and entirely helpless. This was not looking good for me.

"Yes," Francoise said, with an evil little smile playing on her lips, "I can see why Serge chose you." As she spoke, she massaged my breasts, one in each hand, squeezing and stroking them, before leaning in and licking my large areolas and sucking my nipples.

I was so shocked I couldn't speak! No-one had ever touched me like this, no man, let alone a woman, and the effect was electric, with a direct line to my pussy. But she stopped, just when I wanted her to keep going, and walked away. She went to the far end of the room and pressed a button on the wall. Suddenly, the whole frame with the spider's web, and me on it, started to rise into the air, until I was halfway between floor and ceiling, suspended there. My weight was taken on the thigh straps, and it was fairly comfortable, although it did spread my legs even further apart. Francoise came back over to me and picked up the blocks I'd been standing on, then looked up at me with a smile. I just looked down at her dumbly and watched as she walked to the door, switched out the lights, and left, shutting the door behind her. I was left in the pitch black, with nothing to do but wait.

It was maybe an hour before the door opened again. Some very soft lighting in the middle of the room illuminated the arrival of a group of people into the room, ten, twenty, maybe more, men in suits and women in cocktail dresses, all with drinks in their hands, chatting animatedly and looking round the room to see what was going on here. I realised they couldn't see me, up in the air and in the shadows, which was a relief, though I knew it couldn't last. I saw Serge stride into the room and go to the far wall, where he faced his audience.

"Mesdames et Messieurs, thank you for sparing your time - and your money (polite laughter) - for my humble exhibits. This is the final piece, what I call a performance installation, entitled 'The Monster Within Man', I hope you will like it."

The light went out and a film projection appeared on the blank wall opposite me. A girl wearing a pink gingham dress sits on a giant toadstool, eating a very large piece of bread dripping with what looks like honey. Some pleasant music is playing in the background. This goes on for a while, and the girl gradually gets honey all over her face, and her hands, and then her dress - she is a really messy eater! She takes the - frankly bizarre - decision to remove the dress, but then she gets honey, or treacle, or whatever it is, all over her body, and her bra and panties. So, of course, she strips out of them too, so now she's siting on the toadstool, stark naked, but still stuffing her face! How does she stay so slim if she eats so much bread and honey, I found myself wondering. Mind you, most of it seemed to be missing her mouth and dripping on her breasts...

The music changes and becomes sinister, scarier. Gradually, we see, descending behind her, a giant spider! She's still blissfully unaware, despite this huge great thing, as big as she is, right behind her. The spider rears up, its forelegs about to engulf her, when the image fades to black.

Suddenly, a spotlight came on pointing directly at me, and everyone turned, staring up at me, hanging there in the web. The music transferred from the film and began blaring out of speakers either side of me. It was certainly very atmospheric, and I felt a sense of dread creeping over me. A noise above me made me look up, and I let out a scream - the giant spider was coming out of the ceiling and descending towards me!

Yes, I knew it wasn't real, of course I did, but it's like when you scream at the movies. Plus it was moving its legs very realistically, and its eyes - all six of them - were shining, like beady little marbles. And I don't like spiders, even little ones, at the best of times. It was just really scary, okay?

When it was right in front of me, it felt like it was staring at me, and I saw a picture appear on the wall behind it. I realised it was a picture of me, close up, focused, in fact zoomed in, on my boobs! The thing had a camera in it, and what it saw was being projected to the audience.

The legs of the thing came towards me and I felt them against my skin, making me scream in alarm again. I felt something touching my breast and looked down to see that the spider's leg ended in a small clamp, and the thing was closing on my nipple! I squirmed and tried to get away from it, but it kept adjusting its position until finally it was in the right place and clamped shut. I squealed in pain as the thing bit down hard, and a few seconds later, I let out another howl as my other nipple was caught in the vice-like grip. I felt two painful pinches on the soft skin of my tummy as the next two legs attacked me, then my bottom was feeling the pinch as two more legs got to grips with my ample flesh. This thing was evil, and it was fully intent on torturing me. I just thanked my stars it didn't have any more legs. Spiders are insects, right?

It didn't take me long to realise my mistake, as the final two legs attached themselves to the edges of my pussy and made me scream in both surprise and pain, as they pulled my lips apart, exposing me completely to the rapt audience. Meanwhile, the top two legs had decided to take my poor, tortured nipples for a tour of the surrounding area, pulling my breasts all out of shape as they tried to keep up. The picture on the wall panned from my distended nipples, to my spread pussy, to my tear stained face, whimpering for mercy.

The mechanical monster used its grip on my flesh to pull itself closer to me, until the head was right next to my face, like that scene in Alien, when Sigourney Weaver meets the alien. Suddenly, I heard what sounded like the faint crackle of a speaker.

"Enjoying yourself yet?" It was Francoise' voice! She was controlling this instrument of torture! I was being assaulted by my tutor's wife!

"Don't worry, the fun part starts now."

The back section of the robot creature swung forward, until it was inches from my body, the tip of the abdomen between my thighs. To my horror, something extended from the body, it's stinger! As I looked at it more closely, I saw that it actually resembled... oh my God, it was going to put that thing inside me!

"For God's sake, someone help me!" I screamed, "It's going to rape me!"

I looked down at the sea of faces, but I realised they thought this was all part of the performance, and from the expressions I could see, they were enjoying the show!

I let out another scream as it thrust into me, forcing its way deep inside my virgin place. I was in so much pain, but then, somehow, transformed into unbelievable pleasure. It thrust in and out, giving me sensations I'd never had before, and pretty soon I was thrusting back. The next time I screamed, it was in orgasmic ecstasy, and I didn't care about anyone or anything at that moment. But the moment was over all too soon. The spider released me and went back up to its secret lair in the ceiling, leaving me hanging, exhausted, from the web.

The audience broke out in applause, and I like to think it was for my performance, as well as the spider's.

It was another hour before Serge and Francoise returned and finally released me.

"Darling, you were magnifique!" Serge exclaimed enthusiastically, hugging my naked body to his.

"My backers were overwhelmed by my genius, and your performance was remarked on too. So, after three more nights here, we leave for Paris on the first leg of our two month tour of Europe!"

Two months of being stripped naked each night, tied up and being forced to cum in front of a crowd of faceless strangers?! I couldn't wait!


Part 2 (added: 2012/05/22)

As we sped across northern France on the Eurostar towards Paris, I couldn't believe my luck - here I was, about to spend most of the long vacation travelling around Europe, starring in an art show, and getting paid for it! Okay, not a lot, but Francoise had given me a small advance when I'd signed the contract for the two month tour, shortly after my 'audition' at the London gallery. It had hurt my pride a little when I found out I wasn't their first choice - the woman in the video was supposed to do it, but had got a better offer at the last minute to star in a porn film - but then, I wouldn't ever have expected to be picked for something like this, so second choice was pretty good for me.

The journey was spent sitting and chatting. Well, actually, it was pretty much a monologue from Serge. I think it must have been the presence of his wife and artistic director alongside him, but I couldn't stare into those limpid blue pools (yes, I feel a bit queasy at that language too, but it was how I felt at the time), and get lost in his beauty. I ended up listening to him and, oh my God! What a crashing bore! His sole topic of conversation was himself - he only talked about his art in order to illustrate what a genius he was. Maybe he was a genius - like I said before, I'm not sure I have an artistic bone in my body - but, to my ear, he was insufferably arrogant, self-centred and vain. Don't get me wrong, I would have gone to bed with him in a heartbeat, just so long as he promised not to talk! That started me off into a little daydream, where he was trying to talk but couldn't, due to having my pussy on his face! I felt myself blushing at the thought, and I shot a glance at Francoise to see if she'd noticed.

I was startled to find she was staring at me intently, and I quickly looked out of the window, blushing even more deeply. Had she read my carnal thoughts about her husband? That stare felt like it went deep into my soul! I glanced back surreptitiously at her every few minutes, and each time her steely gaze was fixed on me. I was becoming unnerved, and stared at the scenery flashing past, ignoring Serge's continued cataloguing of his virtues.

I think he must have had to draw breath at some point, because Francoise suddenly asked me a question about my background. As I stuttered out a reply, Serge quickly became bored that we weren't talking about him, closed his eyes, and was soon asleep. Francoise continued to interrogate me about everything from my childhood to my sex life, and although I was blushing furiously, I felt compelled to answer even the most intimate of questions, under her unyielding gaze. I was intensely relieved when we arrived in Gare du Nord and disembarked.

We were staying in a fairly low rent hotel to save money, and I was shocked to learn that, to save more money, the three of us would be sharing a room! It didn't seem to be an issue to Serge and Francoise, who were totally cool with the idea, and I went along with it, being too shy and embarrassed to say anything. I realised that paying for my own room would cost more than they were paying me, so I swallowed my pride and tried to look like I was cool with it too.

The room was a bit shabby, and had a double and a single bed. There wasn't even an en suite, we had to go down the corridor to the communal bathroom. It was pretty late, so I grabbed my nightie and my wash bag, and went to the bathroom, leaving the other two to do whatever they were doing. I took off my make-up, brushed my teeth, and put on my nightie, but keeping my underwear on underneath - the nightie was a little brief, and I didn't want to inadvertently flash anyone.

When I got back to the room, Serge was stripped down to his Y fronts, and I automatically glanced at the bulge in the front before I could stop myself, noticing it was quite large. I blushed and looked at Francoise who, inevitably it seemed, was staring at me and had clearly seen the look, so I blushed some more and, flustered, went to my bed, fussing with the rather thin duvet. Serge left the room to go to the bathroom, still dressed only in his pants - crikey, the guy had no shame or self-consciousness!

"Would you help me with this, please, Terèse?" Francoise asked in a sultry tone. She was standing with her back to me, holding up her glossy black hair, clearly inviting me to unzip her dress. Why couldn't she just wait for Serge to come back?! My hands were shaking a little as I pulled down the zip, and as I stood back, she turned and stepped out of the dress, revealing the most elegant and expensive underwear I'd ever seen - satin bra, silk French knickers, suspenders and sheer stockings, all in black. With her four-inch high heels, she looked a million dollars, or maybe francs, as they were back then.

"Thank you, darling," she said as she hung the garment in the wardrobe. Serge returned and, to my astonishment, whipped off his briefs and climbed into the double bed, naked. I had only caught a glimpse of him from the back, but his buttocks looked pretty firm and impressive to my untrained eye. I realised Francoise had caught me peeking again, and I became a fireball of embarrassment. I went to get into my single bed.

"A moment, Terèse," Francoise ordered, and I stopped, turning to face her. She was standing with her legs apart and hands on hips, looking powerful and very sexy.

"I need to check something," she continued, "take off your clothes, please."

"I-I beg your pardon?" I stammered, totally taken aback.

"For the show, I need to check something, strip please!"

The tone of command in her voice was unmistakable. I can rationalise it by saying I was effectively her employee, she had already seen me naked, and it was no big deal, but I know what happened - I responded to that tone. I glanced at Serge, to see he was reading his newspaper, oblivious to anything else, as it wasn't about him. I found it a little hurtful that he wasn't interested enough to see me naked to even look up from the racing pages or whatever - actually he was probably re-reading the review of the London show - but I wasn't surprised. Slowly, I lifted my nightie over my head and dropped it on the bed, revealing my cheap bra and big knickers, before looking beseechingly at the woman in front of me. Her expression didn't change, she just waited for me to continue. Which, eventually, I did, unable to resist that commanding look, trying to cover myself with my hands once I was nude.

"Hands by your sides!" she ordered in an exasperated voice, making me feel guilty for wasting her time. She stared openly at my crotch, and I went even redder.

"As I thought," she said, almost to herself, "the girl in the video has a shaven pubis. For authenticity, so must you. Don't you agree, Serge?" There was a noncommittal grunt from the bed, and I don't think he even glanced up.

"Come!" Francoise picked up her wash bag and took my hand, heading for the door. I reached for my nightie but she had already pulled me away and suddenly I was in the hallway, naked! I thought I might die of shame at any moment if someone walked by, but we made it to the bathroom without seeing anyone. Francoise told me to stand in the bathtub, which I did, and she ran warm water from the shower over my pubic hair. I felt like a little girl as I stood there and allowed her to lather me up, then carefully shave away every last scrap of my curly mop. I dried myself, feeling how the rough towel scoured my sensitive skin, a little alarmed by the curious sensation, while she brushed her teeth and removed her make-up. Then she took my hand again and led me out of the bathroom.

I wasn't so lucky this time, as outside the door, waiting to use the bathroom, was an elderly lady in a dressing gown and curlers. She looked at both of us, then at my newly shaven pussy, and an evil-looking grin came to her face, as if she had decided something about me, something dirty. I opened my mouth to explain, but realised that, even if I'd known how to speak French, I couldn't explain anyway. The woman swept past us, and we returned to the room without further incident.

As we walked to my bed, Francoise picked up my polyester nightie and my rather worn underwear.

"You should be wearing silk, my dear," she remarked as she sashayed across the room.

"I-I can't afford it!" I protested, watching her throw my clothes in the furthest corner of the room.

"Then sleep naked!" she retorted, half turning to me with a smile. "I always do."

I watched transfixed, as she kicked off her heels and put her foot on the chair, before unclipping the suspenders and rolling down her stocking. She repeated this on her other leg, then removed the suspender belt. Next came the bra, releasing her perfect, perky breasts - what a contrast to my ugly monstrosities! Finally, she slid her silk knickers down her legs, revealing her pert round cheeks, and I could have cried at the unfairness of it all, thinking of the wobbly mass of my own derriere! She turned to face me, and I stared at the forest of tight black curls on her mound, which was thick and luxuriant, so neat it must have been trimmed. As she pinned her hair up in the mirror, I saw the equally luxuriant underarm hair, and one of the rumours I'd heard about French women was confirmed.

"Enjoying the show?" she asked with a little smile on her full, red lips. I was caught staring again! I turned away and got under the duvet, curling into a ball of embarrassment. A couple of minutes later, the lights went out and I was plunged into the safety of the darkness.

I couldn't sleep, I just lay there thinking about what had just happened - I had no idea what had just happened, but I thought about all these weird events and the feelings they had engendered. My fingers explored the strange nakedness of my pussy and I saw Francoise undressing once again, in my mind's eye. I had to resist the temptation to let my fingers explore a little more vigorously, and I turned over restlessly, staring at the dim outline of the other bed, wondering what they were trying to do to me.

As I was lying there, I saw movement and started to hear noises from across the room. As the sounds of creaking bedsprings joined the grunts and moans, it was clear that Serge and Francoise were making love. I wanted to turn away but, for some reason, I couldn't, I just lay there, transfixed by the vague outline in the dark of the duvet going up and down. I realised my fingers had slipped between my shaven lips and were slowly rubbing along the slit, toying with my clitoris.

I froze as the duvet was thrown back and a naked body rose from the bed. I realised it was Francoise' slender frame, and she was riding on top of the prone form of her husband. The noise levels went up, and I knew I would never have slept through this. I wondered whether anyone in an adjoining room could sleep through it either - they were certainly going at it with gusto!

The activity before me reached a rousing climax, as it were, the body collapsed back onto the bed, and moments later the duvet was back in place and all was quiet. I was very aroused, having imagined myself riding in the French woman's place, but I hadn't managed to bring myself to orgasm at the same time as the others. Now, I couldn't continue to finger myself without making a noise, and in the sudden silence, I was too self-conscious to do it. This left me unable to sleep, and horny as hell but unable to bring myself off. It was a long night!

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I awoke with a start at a sudden noise. I must also have kicked off the duvet in the night, because I was suddenly aware I was cold and naked, and on display. Serge was heading for the door, but he was also naked, and I could see his... I want to say 'willy', but that sounds so childish in this story... I saw his cock, and it was fully erect. This must be the famous 'morning glory' a man gets when he badly needs to pee. I couldn't believe he was going into the corridor like that, but he did!

"Ah, you're awake at last!" I turned and saw Francoise standing near me, still naked, stretching her lithe body like a cat. God, she looked so sexy! My eyes went to her crotch, where I saw the dried cum from the previous night on her pubic hair, and was amazed by her total lack of self-consciousness.

"Come on, let's take a shower!" Once again, I found myself being hustled naked into the corridor, but now we had to wait for Serge to come out of the bathroom, and as we stood there, a middle-aged couple walked by, giving us both, but me in particular, filthy looks. When Serge finally opened the door, he gave his wife a peck on the lips, said 'good morning' to me, and went back to the room with barely a glance. If I still had any hopes of him ever fancying me, they were well and truly crushed right there by his complete lack of interest.

"There is never enough hot water for two showers," Francoise explained as she stepped into the tub and gestured for me to get in with her. As before, there seemed to be no gainsaying the woman, and I found myself standing uncomfortably close to her as she pulled the curtain around us and turned on the water.

We only had one bar of soap between us, and she used it to get a good lather on her hands before passing it to me. But, rather than washing her own body as I expected, she started to rub her hands over my breasts, covering them in soap! And she didn't stop there either, soaping my back, stomach, then reaching around me and massaging my buttocks. When she brought her hands around to the front and ran her fingers across my pussy, I let out a yelp, then allowed her to push my thighs apart and wash between my legs. She took the shower head off the wall, and played the powerful spray across my bare mound. Now I was moaning quite loudly, and I was sure I was about to cum, but at the last moment, she took the spray away and used it to rinse the soap off the rest of my body.

"My turn now," she said, spreading her arms to make her body available to me. I did what she'd done to me, except with more timidity and less confidence. When it came to her pussy, I tentatively brushed at her bush as lightly as possible, but she grabbed my hand and pressed it against her body.

"Harder," she ordered with a smile, "I'm a bit dirty down there." I swallowed hard, and rubbed her more vigorously, eliciting an appreciative moan from her. She pulled her lips wide apart, forcing me to stimulate her even more. I brought down the shower head and rinsed her clean, hearing her moans becoming more strident, just as they had the previous night. When I judged she had reached the same level of arousal as I had earlier, I went to put the shower head back, but she grabbed my hand.

"I'll tell you when to stop," she growled, fixing me with a glare and pulling in my free hand to finger her, while the spray pounded against her clitoris. It was clear she was not going to let me stop until she had cum, so I resigned myself to it, and ensured it was over as quickly as possible. God, she was noisy when she climaxed! As she leaned back against the wall with a smile on her face, she suddenly pulled me in and planted her open lips against mine, her tongue forcing its way into my mouth, while her other hand pulled our wet bodies together. The kiss was sensational, and the feel of our breasts squashed together and sliding around, as the now-lukewarm water cascaded down on us was fantastic! By the time she broke away, I was hot and bothered all over again!

But there was to be no relief for me and, once we had dried ourselves, I left the bathroom even more frustrated than when I went in. Outside, we met the same woman as we had the previous evening, and it was clear from the smug, knowing look on her face that she had heard Francoise' vocals earlier. I quickly returned to my state of near permanent red-faced embarrassment, and we returned to the room.

When we got back, Serge was dressed and once more engrossed in the newspaper. I went to my bag to get my clothes for the day, but it had been emptied. I looked at the other two, but Serge was still reading, while Francoise had put on some super-sexy cream-coloured French knickers and camisole, and was now choosing a dress.

"Excuse me, but has someone taken my clothes?" It felt ridiculous to say it, but that was clearly what had happened. Francoise turned to me with a smile.

"I'll get you some new clothes today, darling, you have to be smartly dressed, as you are representing us to some very important people. In the meantime, I got rid of those cheap rags."

I was astonished, and I'm sure my face showed it. How could she be so cruel, and arrogant, and dictatorial? How dare she take my stuff! My mind went back to my first impression of her - the school bully. And here she was in action, humiliating me and laughing in my face!

"But... but what am I to wear now?" I stammered in disbelief.

"You can relax here, cherie," she replied nonchalantly, "you're not needed during the setup. I'll bring the clothes over later."

And with that, they walked out, leaving me naked and trapped! I was utterly dumbfounded, outraged and miserable. If I could have got on a train and gone home right then, I would have done it. But, not only did I not have any clothes, I didn't have enough money for the train or a ferry. All I could do for the moment was grind my teeth and bide my time, but the gloss had certainly gone off the trip!

After I'd searched the room in vain for my clothes, I wrapped myself in a sheet and sat down to wait for Francoise to return. There was no TV and nothing to read, so I was also bored stiff, with nothing to distract me from my thoughts. The only alarm was when the maid turned up to clean the room and, as I couldn't explain that I didn't want the room cleaned, she just got on with it. The embarrassing bit was when she insisted on taking the sheet I was wearing! There was a brief tug of war before she won, and I was left exposed, at least until she handed me a clean sheet.

I sat around and wondered why I had let myself be put into this situation - I had just been steamrollered by Serge's domineering wife. Why couldn't I be stronger? I resolved to stand up to her when she returned, demand my own clothes back, and refuse to go to the gallery and take part in the exhibition. This worm was going to turn!

Francoise finally reappeared in mid-afternoon, and on top of everything else, I was hungry and thirsty, having missed breakfast and lunch. She was carrying a number of bags, and looked very pleased with herself. I steeled myself for a confrontation.

"Francoise," I started, speaking as firmly as I could, "I want my own clothes back, please, and I want them now. I don't want to do the show either, I want to go home - I don't think you have shown me any respect." My heart was pounding, but I'd said what I had to say.

She looked around, her face a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"I'm sorry, Terèse," she replied, putting the bags down and drawing herself up to her full height which, with the high heels, was considerably more than me. Now I felt physically intimidated, as well as psychologically.

"Did I not make myself clear? Your clothes are gone, in the rubbish. I have beautiful new clothes for you here. As for not doing the show, I could say you have signed a contract to do it, and we could sue you for breaching it. I could say, give me back the money I advanced you, then pay me for these clothes, then pay me for your train ticket here and this room, then you can find your own way home. But I'm not going to say either of those things. Keep the money. Keep the clothes."

Her words were vaguely conciliatory, but as she said them she was slowly moving forward, and I was retreating, cowering a little.

"I will just say this. You. Will. Do. As. I. Order. " Her tone of voice was so menacing, I was actually frightened and, as she said 'order', the backs of my legs hit the double bed, I lost my balance, and I fell backwards onto the mattress. Now she loomed over me, and I flinched when she put her hand out, but only to lay it against my cheek rather than slap it.

"As for respect, I think you're right, there is a sad lack of it here. From now on, I will call you 'ma petite souris', and you will call me 'Maîtresse', do you understand ?" her hand moved from my cheek to my throat, and squeezed.

"Yes, Mattress!" I squeaked, appropriately - I didn't know it then, but she was calling me her 'little mouse'.

"In French!" she commanded, squeezing a little harder. I frantically thought back to my schoolgirl French classes as I struggled for breath.

"Oui, Maîtresse!"

Satisfied by my obeisance, she let me go and fetched the bags over.

"Naked, you are beautiful, little one," she said conversationally, "but in your clothes, you looked ugly. What you need is this."

She brought out a white, lace-covered corset, the kind of thing I'd never even seen, let alone worn. I stood up and, after a moment's confusion and the departure of the last vestige of my resistance, I stepped into it, pulling it up my legs. It was a struggle to get it over my hips, but after a brief hiatus, I had it in place, covering me from breasts to hips. Even before it was laced, I could feel the stays squeezing me across my lower chest and stomach. When I poured my enormous boobs into the cups, for the first time in my life I suddenly had a very impressive cleavage!

Francoise had me hold onto the edge of the table as she gradually pulled the laces through, tightening the garment all around my body. I was struggling a little for breath, and my breasts seemed to be ballooning up in front of me, but still she was pulling. By the time she had finished, there were stars in front of my eyes and I was a little light headed. She packed the laces away behind the panel, zipped it into place, and slipped a tiny lock through the hasp. Oh my God! I was locked into this monster! Yet another reason I couldn't disobey her, I realised.

"You also need decent shoes," she said, producing a pair of black strappy sandals with what looked like six inch heels. The highest shoes I'd ever worn were two inches, so this was going to be a challenge. First, she gave me some white stockings, which came to mid-thigh, and didn't require suspenders. After I'd pulled these on, I sat down on the edge of the bed to put the shoes on, then tottered to my feet. Francoise lent me a steadying hand as I went to the mirror on the wardrobe door.

"There!" she said triumphantly. "Not so much the sack of potatoes now, as you English say!"

I was mesmerised by the vision in front of me - I looked like a sex bomb! Jane Mansfield, Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe! I was... well, none of them, but God I looked good! I had a real hourglass figure, my breasts were out on a gravity-defying platform, and my legs were shapely and relatively long. Okay, I could hardly breathe and I was soon in pain from those shoes, but I just couldn't believe I could look so desirable.

As I was admiring myself, Francoise quietly squatted down and slipped two tiny locks through the buckles on the shoes. Now I was locked in the shoes as well. My disquiet was increasing, along with my arousal.

"Okay, let's go!" she suddenly declared brightly.

"I can't go out like this!" I protested, but the word had hardly left my mouth before her hand slapped hard across my face, knocking me off the heels and sending me sprawling on the carpet.

"You stupid bitch!" she spat at me. "That was a test! Don't ever tell me what you can or cannot do, I tell you what to do and you do it! Understand?"

"Oui, Maîtresse!"

"That's better," she said, offering me a hand up, "now, you will do your make-up and then you will try on the dress."

She told me to apply black mascara and eyeliner, then gave me some blood red lip gloss. I looked just this side of a tart. Then she started brushing my mousey brown hair out.

If we'd been friends, we would have talked.

If we'd been acquaintances, we would have talked.

If we'd been employer and employee, we would have talked.

If we'd been art director and model, we would have talked.

If we'd been equals, we would have talked.

I sat in silence.

She brushed.

In silence.

When she was done, she plaited my hair into two pigtails at either side of my head. It looked rather juvenile, but somehow familiar. When Francoise brought out the dress - pink gingham - I realised that she was dressing me and making me look more like the girl in the video at the start of my 'performance'.

The dress was tight around the body - it wouldn't have fit if I hadn't been wearing the corset - with white cotton puff sleeves and white cotton ruffles across the bust, framing and presenting my décolletage, as the French say - 'tits', we'd say in English. The skirt flared out from low on my hips to just - only just - below my bottom. There was a significant expanse of flesh between the hem of the dress and the stocking tops, and it was clear that any false move on my part, or even a gentle breeze, would expose either my bare arse or my bald pussy!

"Please, Mistress -" I started but she raised a finger.

"Ah, ah, ah! French!"

"Er, s'il vous plait, Maîtresse... je veux ... les ... knickers, s'il vous plait?" My schoolgirl French couldn't cope, which was perhaps the point - she was taking my voice away as well!

"Good effort, ma petite souris," she responded condescendingly, "but no, you do not get panties - we are in the entertainment industry, and this will certainly be entertaining! Now, it really is time to go."

I took a last look in the mirror, and thought I looked like a porn star version of Little Miss Muffet - which was entirely the point, I suppose. Good job, Francoise!

As expected, I was horribly embarrassed to be out in public dressed as I was. It started at the front desk of the hotel, where the desk clerk did a classic interpretive performance of 'leering letch', not sure whether to stare at my breasts or my arse, and deciding to flick between them. Out in the street, I had to contend with walking in the unfamiliar heels, as well as trying to stop the skirt from blowing up around my hips - I wasn't entirely successful with either.

Things didn't improve much when we went into the Metro, the Paris underground. It was out of the wind, but it was very crowded, and I could feel a lot of eyes on me. The arrival of the train took me by surprise, as it pushed a huge block of air in front of it, causing a sudden violent gust of wind! There were a number of cheers, whistles, and a smattering of applause as I fought in vain to cover myself up. Everyone on the platform got a good look at everything I had to offer below the waist. When I looked to Francoise for help, I saw she was openly laughing at my discomfort, before stepping onto the train.

I hesitated, thinking I just didn't want to go along with her, as things would probably just get worse. She smiled at me, utterly relaxed, just waiting for it to dawn on me that I had no ticket, no money, no passport, no French, and no room key at the hotel! I was completely dependent on her! As the doors started to close, I had to jump into the carriage, twisted my ankle and fell on the floor, my dress around my waist once again. As I looked up, everyone in the carriage was staring at me, either in shock, disgust, amusement, or lust. Francoise, still smiling, offered me a hand and helped me to my feet.

"See?" she said, "I told you it would be entertaining."

Eventually we reached the gallery, and I felt a little better to be out of the public gaze, although I knew it was soon going to be much, much worse. However, before the performance, there was a reception for the patrons, and I filled a plate with canapés, grabbed a glass of wine, and stood there, munching away, as men ogled me and women glared disapprovingly.

"Slow down, ma petite," Francoise chided as I stuffed another pastry in my mouth, "or that corset will kill you. Now, you are not to speak English tonight, do you understand? You speak French or not at all."

This order effectively gagged me, as my French was not good enough to hold a conversation, so I had to just stand there like the dumb brunette that I was, while people all around chatted to each other, but staring at me. I could see Serge holding forth to a rapt audience, probably talking about his favourite topic i.e. himself. There was no sign of his wife. I felt like a zoo animal, on display to the gawping crowds. A vision of a chimp masturbating came into my mind, leading me to imagine myself raising my skirt and fingering myself in front of this lot - now that's entertainment! But this just reminded me how horny I was - I should have taken the opportunity to pleasure myself in the hotel room, while I had the chance! In a - very - perverse way, I was now looking forward to the assault of the spider.

By the time Francoise came to prepare me for the performance, I was a little drunk from the wine. We did not speak as she undressed me and strapped me to the web. I was surprised when she started to spray me with what felt like oil, then spread it around, until every inch of my body was glistening like a bodybuilder. This just added to my feelings of arousal and frustration, as she ran her hands over my breasts, buttocks, thighs and even my shaved mound. I was almost panting by the time she had finished.

"I felt your performance in London was becoming rather staged," she said as she rubbed the oil over my face as well, "so I've added a few surprises to be make your reaction a little more... natural. Don't worry, nothing too painful." This last was clearly to assuage the look of alarm that had crossed my face.

"So, are you ready to give your best for us tonight?"

"Oui, Maîtresse!" I replied, with rather more enthusiasm than I'd expected. I was raised into the shadows to await my cue.

As the great and the good filed in, still eating, drinking and chatting, I felt the familiar pre-performance nerves, but also felt a mounting sense of excitement - my mechanical rapist, controlled by my domineering Mistress, was about to violate me in front of all these people! Why the hell was I excited?!

Serge did his introduction, in French this time, and interminably long, then the film started. Then it was my turn - the lights came on me, and I looked up in anticipation for the appearance of the monster. I felt something light touch my cheek, then something in my hair, then something on my breast. I looked down and - screamed! There was a real spider, about an inch across, scurrying across my skin and disappearing between my breasts! I could feel them crawling through my hair, and I lost it completely, screaming, and struggling against my bondage, shaking my head to try and get rid of them. Before I knew it, the giant mechanical spider had gripped onto me, its pincers biting cruelly into my nipples, seemingly much harder than before, and I was crying, and begging for it to stop.

"Ready or not, here I come!" I heard Francoise say through the speaker, and I looked down to see the dildo sticking out of the spider's abdomen. It was dripping with lubricant, which was unusual - despite the terror induced by the spiders, which seemed to have scurried off into hiding, well away from me, I was certainly well-lubricated enough already. But what surprised me was how thin it was, not much thicker than a pencil, and I wondered how something so small was going to bring me to orgasm. Then I felt the tip of the dildo slide between my buttocks...

"Oh my God!" I cried out, "Not there! Please! NO!"

I struggled to avoid the tip of the dildo as it pressed against me, then froze when I realised my movements had actually helped centre me over the advancing shaft. I tried to move away again, but it was too late, and I screamed again at the shock and the shame of being penetrated anally, rather than any pain.

"Oops!" the speaker crackled.

Suddenly, I felt the intruder expanding inside me, inflating, stretching my poor bottom passage, and this time I did scream in pain, very real pain. It slid out a little way, but then it slowly pushed back into me, deeper than before, ripping another scream from me. On and on it went, with me crying, wailing, and begging for mercy. At last, it stopped, the monster deflated and withdrew, and the lights went out. Wild applause broke out from below, but I just hung limply from the straps, sobbing silently.

Eventually, I was lowered back down, to find Francoise standing in front of me. She lifted my head with her hand under my chin, and kissed me passionately, full on the lips.

"You were wonderful, souris!" she exclaimed and, somehow, her praise made me feel better about myself.

"I am so hot right now!" she continued, "I am going to give you such a good time later! But first, we have to get you cleaned up and ready for your second performance."

Second performance?! You mean I have to go through all that again?! I was in a stunned daze as she wiped away my tears, then wiped away the disgusting discharge that had trickled down my leg. Before I had come to terms with what had happened and what she had said, I was on my way back to my starting position. My bottom was very sore, but more than that, my frustrated arousal was driving me mad. I really hoped Francoise would make me cum this time...


Part 3 (added: 2012/06/07)

I was exhausted by the time we got back to the hotel room, in the early hours. The second performance had not been quite as painful as the first - I think Francoise had gone easy on me - but the spiders were just as terrifying. I have a genuine phobia of them, and I wondered if Francoise had an inexhaustible supply.

I was glad to get out of the corset and lie in my bed, naked. After having to listen, once again, to Serge and Francoise noisily making love, my thoughts went back to what my tormentor-in-chief had said earlier - 'I am so hot right now! I am going to give you such a good time later!' What had she meant? Had she even been serious? I certainly needed a 'good time' right now - I had not been allowed an orgasm, and I needed one so badly!

I was startled when I felt a body sit down on the bed, and I turned to see the outline of Francoise' naked body over me. I felt a finger laid on my lips to warn me to keep quiet. The duvet was pulled away, despite my clinging on to it, and dumped on the floor. I felt her hand on my stomach, caressing me, moving downwards, making me draw a sharp breath as it cupped my sex, and two fingers slid down between my thighs. She leaned down over me, and I felt her nipples brush against the flesh of my breasts.

"Do you want me to show you a good time, ma petite?" she whispered.

"Oui, Maîtresse!" I replied, hardly able to breathe. I didn't think I was a lesbian, I was just desperate!

"Don't be frightened," she said as she leaned closer, pressing her body against mine, and kissing me aggressively, her tongue forcing into my mouth and exploring, as I tried to respond. I felt her hand close around my wrist and pull my arm above my head on the bed. She broke the kiss, and a moment later, I felt something around the wrist - a rope! She was tying me to the bed?!

"Non, Maîtresse! S'il vous plait!" I whispered urgently as she took my other arm and started to tie that too.

"Sssh, petite souris! Don't be frightened! This won't hurt at all."

She reached down and I felt rope tied tightly around my ankle, then my leg pulled off the side of the bed. She quickly tied my other ankle down the other side of the bed, and I was spread wide, unable to resist her. Not that I'd done anything to try to stop her before. This was now a fantasy situation - I'm helpless, do your worst! 'This won't hurt at all' - God, I hoped that was true!

I nearly screamed when I felt her lips on my lips - and I don't mean another French kiss! She put her hands on either side of my pussy and pulled, opening me up like a flower, and I could actually feel her hot breath on sensitive skin on the inside of my slit. When her tongue touched me, I let out a stifled squeal, and for the only time in my life, I wished I was gagged. I was almost there, all I needed was for just a little attention on my clit! I was writhing on the bed, pulling at the ropes. It was dark, I was naked, tied down, and being teased and tormented - God, I'd never felt so sexy in my life!

"Shall we try a little mutual satisfaction?" she asked in a temptress kind of way.

"Oui, oh Oui Oui, Maîtresse!" I replied, struggling to contain my excitement.

She twisted around on the bed, her knees either side of my chest and lowered herself, so that her face was over my pussy, and hers was inches from my mouth. Both descended together and, half-crazed by my frustrated lust, I eagerly leaned up off the bed and stuck my tongue in. She tasted - frankly - disgusting. Obviously, I knew how I smelled down there, but I'd never tasted a man's semen before, and I think that's what I was tasting now - Serge's cum, from their earlier sex session. But I just went for it - I could feel her tongue licking around my slit and down around the entrance to my... okay, vagina is the only word, even though it sounds so clinical. I was so desperate to cum, I would have done anything - probably something Francoise was aware of and was exploiting.

As her tongue flicked tantalisingly, I dug deep, trying to force her to climax, so that she would bring me off too. I was having some success with my 'no prisoners' approach, as I heard her working herself up to full volume. As she became more and more excited, she was doing less and less for me, but I remembered the incident in the shower, when she had become very aggressive when I tried to stop. I felt I was past the point of no return, and so was she, now sitting up and riding my face, in the same way as she had ridden her husband's cock. I could hardly breathe as her thighs pressed down against my cheeks, her pussy covered my mouth, and my nose was shoved between her buttocks - I had to make her cum just as a matter of survival! At last she was really screaming, and suddenly there was a flood of juices from her pussy into my mouth and face, honestly, it was like she's wet herself!

She finally got off me, and I was able to breathe good, clean air again. But I was still writhing on the bed, left hanging on the edge.

"Maîtresse, s'il vous plait, je viens aussi?" I whispered desperately - please make me cum! She leaned down and kissed me full on the lips.

"Hmmm... I think... non, not tonight ma petite souris, maybe tomorrow."

"Oui, Maîtresse. Merci, Maîtresse," I replied, almost in tears at my frustration. She went back to her own bed, leaving me tied down, so I couldn't even do it myself! I did feel a silent tear run from my eye, as I lay there, wondering how I was going to get myself out of this mess.

When I awoke in the morning, I'd been untied, and I was allowed to go and shower alone, albeit with no clothes for the trip to the bathroom or back, but I didn't meet any guests. Francoise helped me into the corset, dress and shoes, and we left for a publicity session - a well-known magazine wanted to do an interview with Serge, while Francoise and I were to go with the magazine's photographer for a 'glamour photo-shoot', whatever that meant. It would provide much-needed funds for the tour, so I would have to go along with it

The art director and I headed to the botanical gardens by the Seine, where we met the photographer, Claude, a balding man in his fifties, who looked at me with very poorly disguised lust. He discussed his plans with Francoise - all in French, naturally, so I had no idea what was going on - while I tried to control the fly-away hem of my dress.

We moved to a quiet area of dense foliage and posed for some fairly standard shots - Francoise alone, both of us together smiling and laughing, me on my own, in rather more suggestive poses - leaning back against a tree with my foot raised up the trunk so one knee was bent, bending forward and pouting, giving an impressive view down my cleavage, straddling a fallen trunk suggestively. Francoise stepped in and pulled the puffed sleeves off my shoulders, exposing a little more flesh for the camera, which whirred as Claude fired off more shots. Then she handed me a pot of honey, with a honey dipper, just like the girl in the film, and encouraged me to hold it up, then let the honey drip onto my chest, oozing down between my breasts. More whirring, more shots.

I saw Francoise in the corner of my eye as I posed approaching again, but this time she thrust a clear perspex box under my nose - and I screamed, very loudly. Inside the box was a tarantula! A big, hairy-legged, bird-eating spider!

"Calm down, Terèse," she scolded, "it's harmless! It'll make a great prop!"

"Non, non, non, Maîtresse, s'il vous plait, non!" I squealed, backing away. She now looked annoyed and, handing the box to Claude, grabbed my arm and hustled me over to the tree I had been photographed against earlier, pushing my back against the rough bark. She fished in her bag, and pulled out a very shiny pair of handcuffs!

I really tried to get away now, whining in terror. But I found out just how much stronger than me the French woman was, as she gripped my arm, locked a cuff around it, then twisted it behind my back, and behind the tree. The cameraman put down the box and stepped forward to help, grabbing my other arm and pulling it back so that the other cuff could be locked on. I was trapped! I let out another, desperate scream, but it was cut off, as a large rubber ball was forced into my mouth and the strap buckled around my head - I was gagged!

I focused on Francoise before me, pleading with my eyes for mercy, but the expression I saw on her smiling face was pitiless.

"Mmm, you look good with your lips stretched and your mouth full! I must gag you more often."

She reached for the neckline of the dress and pulled it down, exposing the cups of the corset holding my breasts. She fiddled with them and, to my surprise pulled them away - they could be unzipped, apparently - fully exposing my breasts. She picked up the honey dipper and dripped more of the sticky, syrupy liquid onto my chin, my chest, and my nipples. I could hear the camera, as Claude tried to capture it all.

Francoise put down the honey and picked up the box again. I watched in horror as she opened the box and allowed the spider to crawl onto her hand. As she approached me, I screamed hysterically into the gag, pulling frantically at the cuffs, trying to get away, all in vain. Inexorably, the vile creature came towards me, bringing the spider with her. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the horror.

I felt something touch me and my eyes shot open. I looked down and saw the tarantula just sitting there on my left breast, covering the nipple. I froze, my mind gripped with terror, just staring at the motionless arachnid. I only started to scream and cry again as it walked, incredibly slowly, across my chest to the other breast.

This nightmare went on for another ten minutes, and I have tried to block the memory from my mind. Finally, the spider was put back in its box. I was released and, ignored by the other two, who were deep in conversation, I shakily readjusted my clothing, trying to crape as much of the syrup from my body as I could.

I spent the rest of the day in a daze. There was some food, there were some meetings, there were drinks, there were old men ogling me, then I was back on the web, naked and helpless.

"You were very brave today, souris," Francoise cooed as she stroked my hips, "and I'm going to give you a special reward."

She held up a vibrator, a huge vibrator, black and shaped like a ten-inch cock, complete with veins and even balls! I watched hungrily as she smothered it in lubricant, lowered it to my hole, and eased it in. I let out a long moan, full of pent-up longing, as it slid into me, stretching me, filling me up, until its balls were resting against my thighs. Switch it on! Please! Now! I said nothing but I'm sure she could read the message in my eyes.

But instead, after bringing me right to the edge, she eased the thing out of me, leaving my pussy feeling like a fish out of water, gasping for sustenance.

"More of that later!" she promised, and I fervently wanted to believe her, as she once more raised me up.

Both performances that night were traumatic, because the little spiders brought flashbacks of the tarantula crawling on me, and my desperate screams rang around the gallery. Not that the audience objected - the more real my torment, the more they seemed to enjoy it. I was grateful to get back to the sanctuary of the hotel room.

"So, do you want your reward now, little mouse?" Francoise asked when all three of us were naked. My bottom was sore from the abuse it had received, my body ached, but my pussy was still dripping from all the stimulation it had been receiving over the last few days.

"Oui, Maîtresse, s'il vous plait," I whispered, ashamed at my wantonness.

My Mistress - that was how I was beginning to think of her! - moved a small coffee table to a spot a couple of feet from the end of the bed, then put the black dildo right in the middle of it - the 'balls' had suckers under them, and the phallus pointed straight up at the ceiling. As I stared at it, imagining myself sitting on it and bring myself off, Francoise came up behind me. She pulled my arms behind me, and I heard the handcuffs click shut around my wrists, meaning I would have to do it without using my hands. Serge came over and switched on the vibrator, then sat on the edge of the bed, facing me, his hand stroking his semi-erect cock.

"There you are, petite souris," Francoise murmured in my ear as she reached around and fondled my erect nipples, "your chance to achieve satisfaction, just climb on board the ride to heaven!"

Oh, God, I wanted to so much! But they would both be watching, I'd die of embarrassment! I couldn't! I felt a hand drift down across my stomach and start to play with me, just raising my arousal levels that little bit higher...

Slowly, almost reluctantly, I moved forward. I had to really spread my legs to get myself over the silicone monster, and I hovered there for a second, my dripping cunt - oh God, I can't believe I used that word! - almost touching the vibrating column, before I gently lowered myself onto it, a moan which was almost a guttural howl coming from me. I took it all inside, all ten inches, even though it was painful, and rocked gently back and forth on it. My eyes fixed on Serge's cock, which was fully erect now, and I exploded in a tremendous orgasm which had been building for days. It ran through me like bolts of electricity, making my muscles jump and spasm. I made at least as much noise as they had the previous nights, and I didn't care that someone was banging on the ceiling for quiet!

I stayed on, wanting to ride on to another climax, and another, and another, until I was utterly exhausted! Suddenly, Serge sprung up off the bed and was there, in front of me, his rampant cock pointing directly at me. He moved forward and I tried to sway back, away from it, but Francoise was behind me! She held my head in a vice-like grip, prising my jaws apart, and then my mouth was filled by the shaft as she forced me forward onto it.

I choked. I gagged. I nearly threw up. Then I came again, the sensations just as intense as the first one. I was concentrating on breathing, not being sick, and those amazing vibrations, when I suddenly found myself with a mouthful of semen! My throat refused to accept it, and it flowed out from my lips, down my chin, and onto my body. Francoise pulled my head back, allowing Serge to now spray his seemingly never-ending cum into my face, until I was covered. I continued to go backwards, pulled by my hair, until I was sprawled on the floor, the dildo no longer inside me.

"Sweet dreams, petite souris," I heard Francoise say, though I couldn't open my eyes to see, because of the gunk across my eyelids. I felt the ballgag stuffed into my mouth and strapped tight, then the lights went out. I felt used, dirty, and deeply ashamed of myself - what kind of sex-crazed slut was I becoming?! I lay on the floor, in the dark, and cried myself to sleep.

The next two days in Paris revolved around the show - when I wasn't there, I was pretty much confined to the hotel room. At night, I was not sexually assaulted as I had been previously, but I was kept handcuffed so that I couldn't 'play with myself and ruin my performance', as Francoise put it!

I felt that I was being held prisoner by Serge and his wife, my only purpose being to perform in their sick show and to satisfy their perverted sexual desires. Even if I could escape, where could I go? I had no money with which to get home, and Francoise had even taken my passport 'for safe keeping'! If I went to the police, what could I say? I had come here of my own free will in full knowledge of what I would be doing, having completed three days in London. I had even signed a contract specifying what was required of me. My protestations of being duped, bullied and tortured would be countered and challenged by the French couple, and who were they going to believe - two well-respected French citizens, or a penniless British student hoping to make some easy money?

They had me firmly in their grip, and things were only going to get more difficult, as we left Paris and headed south to our next venue, Cannes on the French Riviera. They were hiring a van to transport the exhibition materials down, and Serge would be driving.

"I'm sorry, cherie," Francoise said to me when we went to get in the loaded van, "there's only enough room in the front for two, you'll have to ride in the back." With all the other exhibits, I thought. I knew this was just another humiliation, another way to dehumanise me, but what could I say? I clambered into the back of the van, and watched as they closed the roller shutter and padlocked it, imprisoning me once again.

It was dark, cramped, and stiflingly hot in the metal container of the van. I quickly took off the dress and found a piece of card to fan myself with, but I was soon covered in sweat, making the corset even more uncomfortable, though of course, I couldn't remove that. I think that's where my weight loss began, right there in that sauna of a vehicle. I bet I lost a few pounds that day! I found some old dust sheets and lay down, trying not to get motion sickness from the rolling progress down the Route du Soleil (highway to the sun).

The van stopped a couple of times for fuel, but they didn't bother to open up the back, even to check I was still alive. By the end of the day, I was starving and dehydrated. When they finally unlocked and rolled up the shutter, it was dark outside, and I could tell we were in a truck stop, parked up, and presumably staying in a truckers' motel overnight. I grabbed my dress and went to get out, but Francoise tossed a baguette and a couple of bottles of water onto the bed of the truck and, before I'd even got to the entrance, slammed it shut. I heard the padlock reapplied, and realised I wouldn't be sleeping in any motel! I searched around blindly in the pitch black and found my 'dinner' - dry bread and lukewarm water. I'd called myself a prisoner, now I was on prison rations!

I passed an uncomfortable and scary night. In the morning, there was a bang on the wall by the cab.

"Are you okay, souris?" Francoise' voice called out through the metal wall.

"Oui, Maîtresse!" I replied, though I didn't feel okay but stiff, tired, and with a blinding headache.

The truck started off, and the day proceeded much the same as the previous one, except it got gradually hotter and even more uncomfortable. By the time we arrived at our final destination, it was night once more, and I was so exhausted, I could only crawl out of the truck, and stand very unsteadily in the hotel car park. I pulled on the dress, and was led to a back stairs - they had paid for a double room, and I had to be sneaked in to avoid paying extra.

The room was up ten flights of stairs, and I was exhausted before I started, so it was a struggle, to say the least! I was grateful to get out of the corset and shoes, and even more so to have a proper shower in the en suite bathroom. Francoise led me out onto the balcony and showed me the spectacular view - it was a beachfront hotel, and we looked out over the Mediterranean sea. Ten floor below was the road along the seafront, then one of the most famous beaches in Europe!

"Beautiful, n'est ce pas?" Francoise said as we gazed out over the blue water, turned silvery by the moon.

"Oui, Maîtresse," I replied. Even though it was quite late, and I was naked, the air was pleasantly warm.

The big question was, of course, where was I going to sleep? Serge came out on the balcony, and handed a roll of foam rubber to Francoise.

"Ah, I envy you, petite souris," she said. Serge gave a snort of derision.

"I don't know why you call her 'little mouse'," he sneered, "she looks like a big fucking pig to me!"

I tried to ignore the gratuitous but hurtful insult, and concentrate on what Francoise had said.

"Pourquoi, Maîtresse?" I asked.

"Because you get to sleep under the stars!" she replied, unrolling the mattress and laying it on the balcony. I looked at her questioningly, but she seemed quite proud of finding a new way to humiliate me.

"Lie down!" she ordered, brooking no argument. Reluctantly, I sank down on the mat.

Francoise went inside for a moment, then came back out, and she had a length of chain in her hand. She wound one end around the bottom of the balcony railing, padlocking it in place, then motioned for me to come closer. I crawled over towards the rail, and had to just sit there as she wound the other end of the chain twice around my neck, then closed the padlock through the links. She pulled me forward and kissed me hard on the lips, then stood up and walked back into the room. The balcony doors closed, the key turned in the lock, and the curtains closed.

I couldn't believe it! It was not bad enough that they treated me like a servant, now I was to be locked away like a slave?! How could one human being treat another in such a way? I felt utterly alone and helpless, but I was so tired that I had no problem falling asleep.

I woke early the next morning, stiff and cold, but the sun soon warmed me up.

"Good morning, little one!" Francoise said, as she threw open the French windows. "You're not needed during the set up today, so I think you should get some sun."

She released me and led me inside, where Serge was dressing, and ignored me altogether. God, I was so over him! At least Mistress Francoise acknowledged my existence, took the time to think of me, even if it didn't always work out to be to my benefit. I was shocked at myself, that I was thinking vaguely nice things about the woman who had basically taken away my freedom! What was wrong with me?

"Put on your shoes, then I have a bathing costume for you to wear when you go to La Plage."

The 'costume' turned out to be nothing more than a black thong! This had to be a sick joke, surely. When I went to the beach, I wore a one-piece costume, a wrap-around skirt and, if I could, a chunky knitted sweater to cover me up! The idea of these monsters in front of me on the loose in public was unthinkable. But, it appeared I had no option - a pair of six-inch heels and a thong which just about covered the area I had shaved, and left my arse hanging out, was going to be my attire for the day.

"Here's some tanning oil," Francoise said, passing me a bottle, "and here's 20 euros for the entrance. Now be careful! I don't want you getting sunburn!"

"Maîtresse... peut etre... couvrir la?" I fumbled with my non-existent French and pointed to my breasts. Surely, I can't walk around with these on display?!

"Don't worry, souris, everyone goes topless in Cannes." There was a snort of derision from Serge, as if to say 'not if they're that big!' Rude bastard!

With that, I was dismissed. I went down the stairs and across the road to the serviced beach area I had seen from the balcony. It was still early, but there were several sun-worshippers already there and, yes, the women were all topless. However, they all looked like cat walk models, with their perky little breasts, not giant melons like mine! I found a sun lounger in a corner, and oiled myself up. A waiter came straight over and asked what I wanted. I panicked - the entrance fee had used up my 20 euros and I couldn't afford a drink! But I was already dehydrated from the previous day.

"Er, l'eau, s'il vous plait," I said, miming a glass being filled from a tap. Two minutes later, he was back with a tall glass of iced water.

"Trois euros, s'il vous plait," he said, leaning down towards me. Jesus, 3 quid for a glass of water?! Only in Cannes! Or Paris, London, Rome...

"Er, j'ai pas d'argent, monsieur, pardon," I said apologetically, indicating I had nothing but the inadequate clothing I was wearing. He smiled and gave me a wink, then left. Maybe he liked big girls, or girls with big tits at least! I had a little fantasy involving me having to suck him off to pay my bar bill, and smiled - someone had finally done something nice for me! Every time he saw my glass empty, he came over and gave me a fresh drink. It made my day.

Normally I take a stack of books on holiday, so I was bored just lying there and sizzling. I saw one of the beautiful people doing stretching exercises, and I suddenly thought that if I was going to be treated like a sex object (!), on display all the time, maybe I should try and make sure my wobbly bits only wobbled when I wanted them to. I'd never been to a gym in my life, and I'd stayed out of gym class at school - why give the bullies more material? - but I started doing stomach crunches and other exercises to try and tighten everything up. It was hard work, but I found I actually enjoyed feeling out of breath and sweaty for the right reasons. I think the cute waiter liked to see me hot and sweaty too, which was fine by me! That was the beginning of a fitness obsession that I've maintained ever since.

I sheltered under the parasol during the hottest part of the day, then lay out through the afternoon.

"You look simply divine, souris!" It was Francoise, standing over me. She was dressed in a thong, the same as me, but with a large sunhat, wrap-around skirt, and she looked absolutely fabulous. She pulled up a lounger next to me and we spent the afternoon sunbathing together. She chatted away, but I was still only allowed to use French, which meant I was largely restricted to 'Yes, Mistress', 'No, Mistress', and 'Thank you, Mistress' when she bought me some very welcome food.

Despite these restrictions, I really enjoyed our afternoon. It was like spending time with a naughty aunt - your mum's younger sister who the family disapproved of, because of her 'loose morals' and hedonistic ways. Francoise' conversation was intelligent, witty, and at time, downright funny. She told me all about the bitchy world of commercial art, was well aware of Serge's rampant self-regard, and took the mickey out of him hilariously. But it was clear that she loved him deeply, and really believed he was a genius, and would do anything to support him.

As for our relationship, she clearly thought of it as a 'bit of fun'. I was outraged by that at first, but it set me thinking. I had always hated my body, yet here I was, surrounded by people who thought I was sexy (except for Serge) - 'big and beautiful', rather than just overweight and stupid. I was experiencing sex in ways I couldn't have even imagined before. Okay, I resented being treated like a child, or a servant, or even a slave, but I quite liked the idea that I was a sex object! Maybe I was so naïve and inexperienced that I deserved to be treated like that. Was I developing Stockholm syndrome, where the kidnap victim begins to see themselves through their kidnappers' eyes?

Whatever, a couple of hours later, I found myself naked and strapped once again to the web - new city, new gallery, new audience, but the same old helplessness.

"I have some good news for you, souris," Francoise said with a smile, "no more spiders. I could see how frightened you were, and it was too much for the show."

"Oh, merci, Maîtresse," I said, mightily relieved that that particular nightmare was off the agenda.

"We just need to find a new spark for the your performance, n'est ce pas?"

She went around behind me, and I let out a squeal of surprise when I felt her attach clips to my pussy lips - they didn't hurt, but I was nervous of what they might do later.

As the performance began, I looked up to see what awaited me - maybe Francoise had lied, or maybe she had substituted some other creepy-crawly for the spiders. But, as the mechanical arachnid appeared, I screamed because of the sudden sharp pain of a pulse of electricity directly into my pussy, shocking me in more ways than one. As the spider came level with me, the speaker crackled into life.

"I hope that didn't hurt too much," Francoise' voice said, "I'll make it up to you."

When I looked down, I could see that the black vibrating dildo had been fitted to the spider's abdomen, and was now approaching my wet, welcoming pussy. As it slid home, I let out a noise somewhere between a squeal, a scream and a moan, it just felt so incredible. Francoise brought me to a noisy climax and, as the audience below me applauded, forced me to deliver an exquisite encore! By the time I was lowered back down after a second, equally pleasurable performance, I was worn out. But Francoise seemed to have been fired up by the show and, with me still strapped spread-eagle to the web, almost literally devoured me, kissing and groping me, sucking my nipples and letting her hands roam all over my oily body! Okay, I was thinking, I'm really tired, but if you want to go for this, I'll definitely be up for it...

Francoise quickly stripped out of her blouse and skirt, revealing her usual elegant, sexy underwear - power blue basque, spaghetti-string panties - and pressed her hot body against mine.

"I am going to really make you suffer, now, petite souris!" she breathed into my ear.

"Maîtresse?" I quailed, fright suddenly gripping me.

"Yes, you're going to be begging me for mercy!"

And she was right. For the next thirty minutes, she tortured me relentlessly, using her lips, tongue and teeth on my breasts, and her fingers on my clitoris to bring me, time and again, to the very edge of release but leave me tantalisingly short of the ultimate satisfaction. I didn't believe anyone could do that for so long, or that it could feel any more frustrating, but I was wrong. When she went down on her knees and flicked me with her tongue, I knew what they meant by 'exquisite torture'.

I was begging her for mercy at this point, as best I could, but she just kept on teasing me. My worst nightmare was that she was going to stop, but then my second worst nightmare was she would keep on doing what she was doing! She straightened up and pressed herself against me, her face inches from mine. I felt her fingers spreading me open once more, and touching my swollen little button.

"Are you ready now, little one?" she asked quietly.

"Oui, Maîtresse!" I replied, my voice shaking. God, I was so ready! Please don't leave me this way!

"What would you do, to come right now?"

"Tout, Maîtresse! Tout le Monde!" It was the closest I could get to 'everything' in my weak French - and I would have done anything and everything to cum right then, I was so desperate. She looked at me and smiled. As the seconds ticked by, I feared that she was going to deprive me.

Suddenly, she thrust her fingers deep inside me, reaching for, and finding, the spot which would send me wild. I screamed as I came so hard, but she kept driving into me, extending the moment of bliss until I was gasping for breath. At last, I came off the peak of the climax, but she was not satisfied, she wanted to drive me to a second glorious orgasm, and she succeeded. As I tried to catch my breath, I was in awe of the woman - she had just given me one of the most amazing evenings of my life, and I knew I would always be grateful to her for that.

We spent a week in Cannes, and it was the most fun of the whole tour. Mornings spent soaking up the sun and being ogled by my favourite waiter, afternoons laughing with Francoise, and evenings filled with spectacular sexual stimulation added up to a hugely enjoyable seven days - just the kind of thing I had hoped for when we set out!

The next few days, however, would turn out to be traumatic, and prove to be a turning point in my young life.


Part 4 (added: 2012/06/18)

Our next destination was Monte Carlo, just a short drive along the coast. I was allowed to ride up front with Serge and my Mistress, and I was soon very grateful for this privilege. The scenery was beautiful and spectacular, and arriving in the principality of Monaco via the Grande Corniche coast road was marvellously dramatic.

We checked into our hotel in the late afternoon - I noticed the balcony, and assumed that would be my 'bedroom' tonight - and I was sent to the shower to freshen up. As I came back into the bedroom, Francoise had a surprise for me.

"We're going to the casino tonight!" she cried, clearly as excited as I was when I heard this. "Serge's backers have invited us to meet them there, so we need to get you dressed!"

I was surprised and delighted when she produced a new undergarment for me, something different to the white corset, which implied I would not be dressed as I would be for the show. It was a black satin waist cincher, which pulled me in as tightly as the corset, but did not extend over my breasts. However, it was accompanied by a strapless, half-cup bra, which managed to support my oversized assets, while leaving my nipples exposed. It was a feat of modern engineering!

But the absolute show-stopper was the dress. Black taffeta, strapless, fitted waist, flared skirt. It was gorgeous, and I knew I looked gorgeous in it! My usual heels completed my outfit, and the benefits of a week in the sun were clear to see, in all the sun-kissed flesh on display!

"Darling, you look stunning!" Francoise gushed, as she looked me over like a mother sending her daughter to the summer ball.

"Not bad, not bad at all," Serge commented as he came in from the bathroom. He looked pretty stunning himself, in a classic tuxedo and bow tie - I felt a little of the old attraction there, even though he was probably thinking he was the best-looking one in the room.

He was right, until Francoise came out in her outfit - a backless, full-length evening gown in red. Now, she really was stunning, putting us two into the shade.

We seemed ready to leave, but apparently I wasn't finished yet. To my shock, and I have to say dismay, Francoise put leather bondage cuffs around my wrists and ankles, locking them in place. The final touch was a leather collar around my neck, closed by tightening a small grub screw. I was upset that I had gone from looking like an independent woman on a night out with her friends, to a sex slave under the control of the beautiful couple she served. But when I looked at myself in the mirror, it seemed that the cuffs and collar had added to my alluring looks, and I felt incredibly sexy. Maybe looking like a sex slave wasn't the worst look...

We took a taxi to the casino and, as we walked under that famous portico, it felt like we were walking into a Bond movie! Serge was clearly the handsome villain, Francoise the beautiful but cruel power behind the throne. And me? I think I was the sweet ingénue, bedded by James Bond shortly after the opening credits and murdered horribly but inventively in the first reel!

There was a long period of standing around, trying to look interested as the great and the good - or at least well-heeled and wealthy - chatted to the artist and his art director, and I felt like a spare part. Suddenly, I realised that a man was standing very close to me, examining me, checking out the collar and cuffs. He was tall and slim, with a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, and the dark good looks which indicated an Arabic heritage.

"You are the model, no?" he asked, in an accent which sounded like it had been learned at an English public school.

"Oui, Monsieur," I replied diffidently. My Mistress had not ordered me to only speak French, but it seemed natural.

"You are very pretty," he stated flatly, "what is your name?"

"Terèse, Monsieur," I replied, using the French version of my name, I'm not sure why. I felt nervous and deeply uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze.

"But these," he indicated the cuffs, and put his hand to the collar on my neck, " indicate you are more than just a model?"

"Monsieur?"

"Are you owned by Serge or by his wife?" he asked bluntly, implying it had to be one or other, if not both. I shot a nervous glance across at Francoise who, catching my panicked look, detached herself from the group she was with and came over to us.

"Is everything okay, sir?" I was shocked by her deferential tone of voice.

"I was just admiring your slave," he smiled.

"I think you may have read a little too much into Terèse' costume for tonight," she responded smoothly, "now, why don't we see if Serge is available to describe his vision for the exhibition?" She led him away, and I took a swig of my drink. I realised my hands were shaking.

"Do you know who that was?" Francoise asked excitedly when she returned a couple of minutes later, "he's Sheikh Ali Al Habsi, one of the richest men in the world! He's a billionaire! And he likes you, you know. If you play your cards right, you would be set for life!"

I looked at her unhappily, wishing I could explain how uncomfortable I was made to feel by the way he had looked at me. I had no doubt he liked me, and would like to get with me, but I didn't believe he gave a damn how I might feel about the whole thing. He didn't look like he was used to asking permission...

We went into the gaming rooms of the casino, and split up. Serge went to the roulette table with a few of his patrons, while I followed Francoise over to the baccarat room. She sat down, while I stood behind her chair, watching the game unfold. There were quite a few other women standing behind their players, but they were exclusively tall, leggy, blonde and beautiful, dripping in ostentatious jewellery, and each standing behind a much older man.

I had no idea what the game was about, and just watched the little piles of chips moving from one player to another. It looked like Francoise was quite good at this, as the pile in front of her grew taller. But generally, it was pretty dull.

There was a sudden commotion, and I looked around to see Al Habsi move into an empty chair at our table. He looked directly at me and smiled, an act not involving his eyes, which were cold and dead. The game resumed, and seemed to be interminable, but it looked like the best players were the sheikh and my Mistress.

"Perhaps we should play for something more interesting," he said, and once again he was staring directly at me.

"What were you thinking?" Francoise asked, a knowing smile on her face.

"Why not a night of pleasure with your young... friend?"

"I'm sorry," my Mistress replied, "that would be way beyond the table limit here." The sheikh smiled, and I felt like someone just stepped on my grave. Thankfully, Francoise decided to leave soon after, and I was incredibly relieved to get out of there. I didn't mind if I never saw that guy again! Back at the hotel, I was stripped of my nice new clothes, but the cuffs were left in place, and the chain was locked to my new collar - I got the impression these were permanent additions. I felt strangely secure when I was safely chained up on the balcony, and slept very soundly.

The show the next night was as exciting and satisfying as usual. I was even coping quite well with getting electrocuted in my pussy, knowing the pleasure which was to follow.

As I was lowered back down, I saw someone standing with Francoise, and my sudden feeling of dread was confirmed when I saw that it was the sheikh, staring up at my naked, glistening body. The two of them seemed to be having a pleasant conversation as I hung there before them, unable to cover myself, which for some reason suddenly embarrassed me. I didn't want this guy looking at me close up. How mixed-up was that?

Francoise suddenly seemed to become cold and formal at some turn in the conversation, and shortly after that the sheikh left, looking far from happy. The French woman unstrapped me and returned me to the hotel, all in silence. Clearly something had upset her deeply, but I was struggling to form a question.

"S'il vous plait, Maîtresse, pourqoi... es Tu... annoyé?" I asked, clumsily and, certainly, wrongly. She looked unsure of whether she should tell me, eventually deciding I should know.

"The sheikh wanted to buy you from me," she said, "he offered me a quarter of a million dollars. I told him I wouldn't sell you for a million." She kissed me on the forehead, gave me a tight hug, and left me alone

Oh my God! Bought and sold! How could that be?! We live in a modern world, people are not property, to be treated like cattle! But I realised that, if Mistress Francoise had agreed to the sale, there was absolutely nothing I could have done to prevent it. The thought that I, born and bred in England, with its democratic history, its abolition of the slave trade, could be sold into slavery, was the most scary thing I had ever encountered. I passed a restless night, trying to come to terms with my altered circumstances.

Francoise was up early the next morning, coming out to me on the balcony.

"We have decided not to fulfil the other three nights we were due to be here, I think it is too dangerous. Wait here while we go to the gallery and pack up. I'll be back for you in a couple of hours." With that, she left, locking the balcony windows and leaving me chained to the railing. I was scared by the obvious concern on her face - what did she think might happen?

It was less than an hour before she returned. But as the windows opened, I saw it wasn't Francoise, but one of the hotel staff. Oh heck, what was I going to say now?! He came over towards me, but before I could explain, he had stuck a strip of tape across my mouth! He turned me face down and grabbed my arms together behind my back. I felt tape being wrapped around my wrists, then saw a second man, also dressed as a member of staff, come out onto the balcony. Tape was added around my ankles and knees, then they made me sit up, and wrapped tape all the way around my body and my legs. Despite all my struggling and screaming, there was nothing I could do!

There was a brief hiatus while one of the men disappeared back into the room. He reappeared a few minutes later with a pair of bolt cutters in his hands and, seconds later, I was 'freed' from the railing, lifted up and carried into the room, where I saw they had brought in a laundry hamper. It was no shock when they dumped my tightly bound body into the hamper and buried me under dirty sheets and towels. I felt the thing being rolled away - out of the room, into the lift, across some uneven surface. The towels were removed and I was lifted out, but only so I could be dumped into the trunk of a car, which was slammed shut on me. Moments later, the car was moving away.

I had no doubts about what had happened. Sheikh Ali Al Habsi had not taken Francoise' refusal to sell as the end of the matter - what he couldn't buy, he would steal. I was on my way into his control, and that prospect filled me with abject terror.

When the car came to a halt, I was bundled up in a sheet and carried a few yards, into some kind of building, before being put down and unwrapped. Two men - possibly the same two as had abducted me, but no longer in their fake hotel uniforms - pulled the tape off me, but then dragged me to the middle of the room. There was a metal hook suspended from the ceiling, and they put the D rings on my bondage cuffs over this, holding my arms above my head. They tied ropes to the ankle cuffs and pulled my legs apart, tying the ropes to eyebolts in the floor. As the men walked away, they disappeared into the shadows. The sound of a motor startled me, and I felt my wrists being pulled upwards, until I was stretched tight, my feet no longer touching the ground. I heard the men leave, and I was alone.

I felt like I was swaying slightly on the ropes, but then realised that was impossible, the whole room was swaying. I guessed we were on a boat, probably still in harbour, and I cried out for help as loudly as I could - maybe someone would be close enough to hear me. But the way the noise completely died scared me - the room was anechoic, and presumably sound-proofed as well. Jesus, this sick bastard had a torture room built into his fucking boat!

"Hello, Terèse." I heard his voice, but couldn't see him, he was hanging back in the shadows somewhere.

"Reply," he ordered when I remained silent.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," I replied. I'm not sure why I spoke in French - I think it was from loyalty to Mistress Francoise. I was still hers, not his, even though he'd stolen me. The irony of me now thinking of myself as property was not lost on me.

"You are not French, Theresa, and you speak it poorly. Speak to me in English."

"Non, Monsieur."

"Is this really what we are going to have our trial of strength over? Language? Well, I suppose you must draw your line where you can. You have lost your freedom, you have lost your clothes, you never had any dignity, so why not defy me over language?"

He walked into the light, and I saw that he was stripped to the waist, with riding breeches and boots. In his hands he flexed a long cane, and I suddenly felt very frightened, I had never suffered any form of corporal punishment, at home or at school, and had always abhorred any kind of pain. My resolve to resist, even in a small way, wavered alarmingly.

"You are a fat girl, Theresa," he said as he walked around me. I tried to follow him, my eyes fixed on the vicious-looking cane.

"I like fat girls. My first girl was a fat girl. I was twelve, she was sixteen, the sister of a friend of mine at school in England. My father's men brought her to me. Sadly, I was very inexperienced then, and she died after only two months of entertaining me. I am much more careful with my slaves now, they can last years if I want them to, if they still amuse me. Although, they might wish that they had died much sooner. I'm sure you are going to entertain me for a long time, Theresa."

I was terrified now, and I was shaking. But I realised there was no point in begging for mercy - he was a sadist, and there would be no reprieve if I gave in to him, it was irrelevant.

The blow took me by surprise, as it landed across my buttocks. The pain was worse than I'd imagined and I screamed at the top of my voice, breaking down into sobbing as the line across my skin seemed to burn into me.

"I love the sound of a woman's screams," he said with relish as he came up close and put his face next to mine, "are you willing to submit to me yet?"

"Non, Monsieur!" I sobbed, wondering why I was provoking him.

"Good," he growled, a maniacal glint in his eye, "not that it would make any difference. You will suffer as I see fit, there is nothing you can say or do which will change that."

He stood back, and the cane whipped across my buttocks again, dragging another retched scream from me. Again and again he hit me, until tears were streaming down my face, and my arse was one great blaze of pain. I struggled desperately against my bonds, but my body barely twitched in the ropes.

Suddenly, the point of attack changed, and I was ushered into a whole new world of pain as the cane swiped across my front, just below my stomach and just above my venus mound. As the pain flared, I lost control of my bladder and urine ran down my legs and spurted onto the floor. Al Habsi walked in front of me, and I saw the evil grin on his face, as if this was all part of his plan, which it probably was. He stood close, and I felt the cane striking the insides of my thighs close to my pussy. He waited until my eyes widened in horror, recognising where he was going, before directing the short, sharp blows upwards, directly onto my pussy. I thought my head would explode trying to cope with all this pain. I tried to somehow let it just wash through me, but it was impossible, how can you cope with being caned on your most sensitive areas?

There was a break, and I lifted my head to see him walking around me, watching me like a wolf, waiting for the injured prey animal to die. My hair was plastered down by my sweat, and my face was wet with my tears. I knew it would continue, I had no illusions that he would stop any time soon. This was a brief lull, to let the hopelessness of my situation sink in.

When it came, the next blow seemed even worse than the others, as it landed impossibly hard straight across my breasts, from nipple to nipple. Before I could catch my breath from screaming, the assault continued, blow after blow swiping across my breasts, then my stomach, then back to my buttocks, which were hypersensitive from the earlier beating. At some point in this flurry, I feinted into blissful unconsciousness.

When I came around, I was no longer hanging by my wrists, but lying on my back on a table. My buttocks and back were stinging, and I tried to roll onto my side, but I found that my arms and legs were strapped down and I couldn't turn. I lifted my head and looked at my body, distressed to see the ugly red welts across my breasts, stomach and thighs, all of which looked swollen and throbbed with pain.

One of the sheikh's men stood over me and had a pair of bolt cutters, which he was using to cut the locks holding the cuffs to my wrists and ankles. When he had removed all four, he worked the cutters between my skin and the collar around my neck, snipping through the thick leather. I was a little upset at this - they had only just been given to me - put on me, really - by the woman I had come to see as my Mistress, and their removal just reinforced the fact that I was no longer in the safety of her control.

The man now replaced the cuffs with ones made of steel, followed by a steel collar which he closed around my neck, fitting tightly enough for it to squeeze gently all the way around, but not tight enough to restrict my breathing. A moment later the man came back, and he was wearing what looked like a welder's mask. He put a blindfold over my eyes and I heard something going on which sounded pretty industrial. I squealed as, several times, something burningly hot, touched me for a second on a wrist or ankle. Then he was working around my neck, and I held my breath. There was a strange metallic smell in the air, but soon, the blindfold was being removed and I was unstrapped from the table. As I sat up, I looked at and felt the cuffs. They were quite heavy, very solid, and very snug, with some kind of soft lining - I would not have been able to get a paper between them and me. There were four D rings on each, but no lock, and I put my hands to the collar, feeling the same thing. It was obvious they had been welded. That sounded, and felt, very permanent.

I was hustled out of the room, along a corridor, and up on deck. The boat was huge - a 'floating gin palace' I'd heard things like this called, racing drivers and Russian oligarchs parked them in the harbour in Monte Carlo. But we weren't in the harbour, we were speeding across open sea, with no land in sight in any direction. The bright sun made me squint at the azure water, and I realised it was still the same morning I'd been kidnapped! It seemed so long since I had been safely chained on the balcony.

I was taken to the forward deck, where I saw a small cage with sturdy steel bars. A rope from the bars at the top went to the top of a pole, about ten feet tall. I realised that, like the torture room, the only reason the pole was there was for the torment of slavegirls - for my torment.

I was pushed into the cage, having to sit with my knees up by my chin so that the door could be closed and locked. The man who was in charge of me hauled on the rope and lifted me to the top of the pole. He tied the rope off, and then walked away, to get on with other, probably more important, tasks. I was left alone with my aches and pains, and my new slave collar and cuffs - his collar and cuffs.

I was left there all day, through the hottest part of the day, with no food or water. The motion of the cage, rolling against the pole as the boat pitched through the waves, soon gave me motion sickness and I threw up through the bars onto the deck below. The bars I was sitting on became murderously painful, as I couldn't change my position and they pressed against my tortured flesh. I became light headed as my skin crisped and burned in the hot sun, descending into a semi-delirious state where I couldn't think straight.

I remember at some point a deckhand coming by with a hose to clean away my vomit, and I tried to beg him to aim the hose at me, but my throat wouldn't work, and I could only croak. At another point, I saw the sheikh, standing below me, drink in hand, looking up with a smile, before walking away. I fell into semi-consciousness.

The sun was going down when the cage was finally lowered, and I was let out. I couldn't walk, and I had to be dragged below decks. I found myself back in the torture room, my ankles once more tied to the eyebolts in the floor. This time, my arms were joined behind me and hoisted up, so that I was forced to bend double as my hands were pulled vertically above me, making my shoulders scream in pain. My hair was grabbed and my head lifted, so that a ring gag could be forced into my mouth. My head fell back, but no saliva drooled from my mouth, it was bone dry. My head was pulled up again, and a hook was put into each of my nostrils and tied to the hook above, holding my head horizontal. God that hurt like hell! It was also very humiliating, but I was past caring.

"What a picture," Al Habsi said as he strolled over, "the perfect position for a white western whore like you - all holes available for fucking!"

He walked behind me, and I grunted as I felt something thrust into my anus. It started to inflate like the one Francoise used in the show, but it went way beyond uncomfortable and only stopped expanding when I was screaming in agony. Now he squatted down in front of me, and as he stared into my eyes, hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spit it into my face. As it oozed down across my cheek, he straightened up, dropped his trousers, and pushed his erection through the ring gag, into my mouth. I didn't lick or suck, and he didn't expect me to, he just fucked my face until he came, spurting semen into my mouth, which I swallowed greedily, grateful for the moisture.

I watched as he went off into the shadows, and returned with a small flogger, with lots of nasty-looking leather tails. I waited as he disappeared behind me, trying to steel myself, but you can't prepare yourself to be whipped across your pussy! I just screamed as he worked the flogger between my legs and over my still-tender buttocks. Once he had got himself stiff again by hurting me, he thrust his cock into my virgin hole. He banged me hard, while I cried at the thought that this was the first time a man had ever 'made love' to me. Hah, what a sick, cruel joke.

When he was finished, he walked back past me to the door.

"Use her," he ordered, and I saw half a dozen men walk into the room as he left. Over the next however long - one hour? Two? - I was raped multiple times in all my holes, each one of them using me at least twice. When they got bored or couldn't get it up any more, they used the sheikh's toys to torture me in any way they could think. I only knew it was over when my arms were released and I collapsed on the floor. I screamed afresh as my shoulders protested at the harsh position they had been held in for so long.

I was bundled back on deck and into the cage. The sun had disappeared by now, and I shivered in the cold sea breeze. I didn't know how long I could survive this treatment, but I was already wishing I was dead.

I didn't sleep at all that night, I just sat, shivering, my teeth chattering, thinking about the nightmare that my life had become. I must have dropped off shortly after dawn, as my body warmed in the early sun. I was awoken when I was unceremoniously tipped out of the cage and onto the deck.

I was led to the back of the boat, where the sheikh was sitting in one of those big fishing chairs. He looked very relaxed in tailored shorts and Hawaiian shirt, sipping a tall, refreshing drink.

"Good morning, cunt," he said pleasantly, his goons laughing sycophantically at his 'witticism'. "I thought we'd do some shark fishing this morning. Not many sharks in the Mediterranean, but you never know. String her up."

My wrist cuffs were fastened to a chain which ran to a small crane. As I screamed in terror, one of the men picked me up and threw me over the side of the boat. My arms felt like they would be tugged out of their sockets as I swung at the end of the chain. I looked down and saw the water churning below me, then looked across at Al Habsi's smiling face, and his men next to him, laughing at me.

"Lower away!" he called, and I slowly descended towards the sea. Soon my legs were trailing in the cold water, then, as I was lowered even further, a bow wave was forming across my stomach and kicking spray up over my breasts and into my face. I was terrified as I fought for breath, spinning around at the end of the chain. I managed to look up, and saw the men hanging over the side to watch my struggles, and they were soon joined by their boss. The boat began to make small turns left and right, forcing my naked body to trail behind like a rubber inflatable used to pull children in the wake. The water hurt terribly as it tugged at my large breasts, and beat against my stomach. Fear of drowning was the only thing keeping my mind off the horrible pain in my arms and shoulders. Al Habsi signalled for his man to lower me further, and suddenly I was under the surface!

I kicked frantically, trying to get back up, and it seemed an age before I finally broke the surface. I was now quite a distance behind the boat, and being dragged along at what seemed a great speed. The waves slapped against my face and body, and I was swallowing lots of seawater. It was a desperate fight for survival, and whatever I'd said to myself the previous night, just then I wanted to survive. They gradually reeled me back in, apparently in no hurry, occasionally letting the chain go slack, making me sink under the surface each time, until I had stopped struggling, and they finally pulled me out of the water. I was unceremoniously dumped on the deck, amongst the laughing crew, gasping for air and coughing up seawater. I was utterly spent, and this was only the start of the day!

I was set to work, like a proper slave, scrubbing the decks for the rest of the day. Once again, I was left exposed during the hottest part of the day, and had to try to work in the shade as much as possible. Every time a crew member went past me, there would be some attack on me. Sometimes it was as little as being spat on, other times a swift kick to the rear, but several times I was forced to give head, or I was bent over a rail and raped or buggered. It was horrible, soul-destroying, and so demeaning, but at least it wasn't him, and at least I wasn't being beaten.

As the sun started to go down, I was grabbed by one of the deck hands and taken below to the torture room. I was starting to shake in panic, but when Al Habsi came into the room, he had some shock news.

"It seems your Mistress is smarter than she looks," he said, obviously deeply unhappy. My hopes rose when he mentioned my Mistress - had she found me? I hadn't seen another ship all day, and it would take a squad of Navy SEALs to rescue me from here, but he looked worried...

"She has threatened to publicise your situation to the international press and, while she has absolutely no evidence to back up her story, these things always leave some residual smell, and I don't want to embarrass my family at this delicate time." That sounded like a crock of shit to me, and from his expression, I reckon he'd been told to stop displaying his filthy habits in public. I was suddenly elated!

"So, you will be going back to your former owner in a few hours' time. However," he added as he saw the smile spread across my face, "don't be too happy, because I will use those few hours to best effect."

Those few hours were, indeed, the worst in my life. The sheikh, true to his sadistic nature, didn't waste time raping me, he got his kicks from torturing me, and he used his whole range of sick equipment on me. I don't want to even think about that time, but there was electrocution, of my nipples as well as my pussy, and this was not a slight kick but felt like a car battery shocking me, which is probably what it was; there was a saw horse which almost cut me in half, and he flogged me while I sat on it; and there was more I don't want to even recall.

When the time came for the exchange, my hands were tied behind me and I was taken on deck. They put me in a small speedboat and headed in to an unlit part of the coast. I was in the well of the boat, so saw virtually nothing, until they throttled back the engine, threw me over the side, and roared away back out to sea. I am sure I would have drowned even then, if Serge and Francoise hadn't dashed into the surf and helped me ashore. When my arms were untied, I threw then around Francoise' neck, and we both wept tears of joy, relief and exhaustion. My Mistress had saved me and, at that moment, I knew I truly loved her!

We left Monaco as soon as we could and headed to our next venue, in Milan. Francoise insisted that I could not perform for at least a week, due to the welts on my body, but I'm sure she also understood just how traumatised I was. Serge was not happy, as Milan is a big art market and, much as he hated to admit it, I was the star of the show. But he felt guilty that they had not been able to protect me, and anyway, Francoise ruled the roost with him as well as me!

She organised for some kind of expert to come over and see about the removal of the collar and cuffs - I'm not sure if he was a doctor, jeweller or welder. But I think he was rather taken aback to be presented with a young woman welded into what were clearly bondage accessories. His opinion was that removing them would be dangerous - I could be seriously injured in the attempt - and might be impossible. Francoise decided she would seek further advice elsewhere.

I could hardly bear to be out of sight of Francoise, and indeed, when we were together, I clung to her like a nervous limpet. I slept at the foot of the bed, chained to the leg, but reassuringly within earshot of my Mistress' breathing during the night.

She suggested I might want to go home to be with my parents, rather than continue the tour, but I would not have it. I told her I was worried that the sheikh might pursue me and, without her protection, abduct me again. Also, I wasn't too sure how to explain the collar and cuffs to my mum and dad! But there was something else, something I still couldn't articulate to myself, but I knew I wanted to stay with this remarkable woman.

Gradually, I came out of my terrified state, and was able to return to the show, although it was slightly diminished by the need to rely on my acting skills, rather than my actual fear or pain, which Francoise refused to inflict on me. However, once I recalled the image of Sheikh Ali Al Habsi leering at me and projected it onto the spider, my screaming was totally believable once more!

As we progressed around Europe - from Milan to Vienna, Munich, Hamburg and Geneva - the relationship between Francoise and me deepened. We spent a lot of time together, and the more I listened to her, the more I watched her, the further in love with her I fell. It was so strange - I had started off disliking her for her haughty and domineering manner, hating her for the way she humiliated and demeaned me. But now, I loved her for her certainty, for knowing what was best for me, and making it happen.

If it had been a purely platonic love, I could have understood it - if I loved her like an older sister, I would have been fine. But there was an undeniable physical element - she was a beautiful woman, and I was attracted to her; I found myself aroused when I saw and heard her making love; I thrilled to her touch when we occasionally showered together; and I longed to pleasure her in any way I could, but particularly in the ways I had done in Paris.

I still didn't think of myself as a lesbian, even though my experiences with men had all been bad, and my experiences with women - Francoise - had all been good. I had just met a remarkable person, who happened to be a woman, someone I wanted to be with, to serve, forever.

I was sure that, as much as I now wanted to serve her, she wanted me as her slave. She had surely been grooming me for this purpose for the last two months. The incident of my kidnapping had merely brought us closer together more quickly. As the tour drew to a close, I became excited, wondering what the structure of our future relationship would be.

We were performing in Amsterdam, and Francoise said we should have an 'end of tour' party, as this was our last show. She certainly made that last show memorable for me, by making me cum twice in each of the two performances! I was pretty tired by the time I was released, and I just sat around as Serge and Francoise packed up the van, ready to go back home to London tomorrow. Then we hit the town.

I am not a great drinker, and I had never taken drugs (I think I've mentioned my sheltered upbringing before), so going out in Amsterdam was a bit of a shock to the system. I was soon so drunk that I was falling off my high heels and displaying my bare arse and bald pussy to everyone, both accidentally and deliberately. Francoise suggested I needed to sober up a little, so we went to a coffee shop. The cigarettes people were smoking smelled weird, but the cake they gave me was really tasty! Everything seemed to be hilariously funny at that point, particularly Serge - I think he might have got a little annoyed with me, as I kept just pointing at him and giggling inanely.

We finally staggered back to the hotel, and I collapsed on the bed.

"Okay," Francoise said, swaying from side to side a little, "we've been ordering you around for the last two months, and making you do lots of rude things." I burst out laughing at the word 'rude' - it just sounded so rude! Hilarious, huh?

"As a special treat, and as it's our last night, I think you should tell us what to do!" I looked over, and saw that Serge had sprawled himself across a chair and was now snoring quietly.

"Right!" I slurred, trying to focus, "I think he should do a striptease for us!"

Francoise gave him a swift kick to wake him up, then told him what he had to do. Being the guy he was - no shame or self-doubt whatsoever - he immediately started gyrating around the room, tossing his clothes this way and that, while Francoise and I fell about laughing. When he was naked, he continued his dancing, somewhere between belly- and disco-, resulting in his semi-erect cock flopping up and down, making me squeal with laughter. I told him he had to masturbate for us now, and he had no problem with that order, grabbing himself and coming over to where his wife and I were sprawled. As he pulled himself off, making himself good and hard, Francoise sat up and took his erection into her mouth and gave him a good suck. That looked like fun, so I sat up and grabbed it from her, licking and sucking away, until she barged me away and took over again. We playfully fought over his stiff member until it shot its load, spraying both of us in the face. We collapsed in gales of laughter once more.

"Okay," I said, propping myself up on my elbows, "now you tie him to that chair." Serge didn't resist as his wife got out the rope and bound him tightly to the high-backed chair, arms behind his back, and ankles to the back legs, so he was spread wide and available.

"Now, you have to watch," I said to Serge, "while she makes mad, passionate love... to me!"

Francoise turned to me with a broad smile, and proceeded to do her own striptease which, I have to say, was more of a turn on than his. When she was naked, she lay down on top of me and licked the cum off my face, before locking me in an open-mouthed kiss, accompanied by her groping and fondling my breasts. By the time I came up for air, I was panting, and it had nothing to do with a lack of oxygen! She transferred the attentions of her wicked tongue to my nipples, quickly bringing them erect until they were standing out like organ-stops!

"Oh, Maîtresse," I moaned, "Oui... oui... oui!" I am sure that, if she had kept that up for much longer, she would have made me cum just sucking my nipples alone, but she had no intention of stopping there. She continued to suck and lick and nibble at my flesh as her mouth moved down across my stomach to my mound. I felt her tongue prod between my labia, and I let out a long, loud sigh as I opened my legs as wide as I could and let her go to work on me.

I grabbed the headboard above me and wrapped my legs around her, my ankles crossed somewhere in the middle of her back. Christ, she was good! I was crying out as her fingers pushed into my pussy, and her thumb even went up my bum, and it was all just perfect. She had sucked my clit into her mouth and was flicking it back and forth with her tongue when I came, thrashing and moaning and screaming...

She held me and kissed me, cuddling close, but her fingers kept roaming across my hypersensitive skin. Pretty soon, she had me crying out again, begging her for mercy, but really just wanting her to do that forever! When I climaxed for the second time, it was absolutely earth-shattering, and I fell asleep afterwards, warm, deeply content, and in my Mistress' arms.

The trip to London the next day was not so much fun. I was allowed to sit next to the door so that I could roll down the window if I needed to throw up. It was a position I took advantage of on several occasions. For the rest of the journey, I just lay my throbbing head in my Mistress' lap, hoping I might die, just to end the pain!

"So, this is it," Francoise said, as we sat together in a Starbucks. Serge had gone to unload the van, and I was trying to sort out my hangover with copious amounts of black coffee.

"It's been a wonderful summer, Terèse, I want to thank you for being such a good sport."

It gradually filtered through the fog in my head that she was saying goodbye!

"Mais, Maîtresse," I stammered, unable to find the words in my befuddled state, "er, en Anglais, s'il vous plait?" She smiled and nodded.

"You can't leave me, Maîtresse... I thought I would be your... that you would be my Maîtresse forever..." I ran out of words to express my confusion, my disbelief. Surely, she wanted me in the same way I wanted her? I needed her!

"Oh, ma petite souris," she said with a smile and a look of pity, "I was afraid of this." She put her hands around mine, and I looked at her like a lost puppy.

"This was just a summer thing! I have my husband, and my job to do - I run an art gallery in Paris for the rest of the year. You have your whole life to live! Go and enjoy it!"

"But Maîtresse," I said, the tears coming to my eyes, "Now I know what I want to do with my life - I want to be your slave, to serve you, to please you! Please let me be yours, Maîtresse!" I knew I was being stupid - she had a husband whom she loved deeply - but I couldn't imagine going back to life as it was before. She sighed deeply, and seemed to make a decision.

"I thought it might come to this," she said, looking deeply into my eyes, "you have discovered that you have a yearning to be a submissive. Your infatuation with me will pass, but you can never change your true nature."

She waved her hand in a beckoning motion, and I looked around to see who she was signalling. A woman, in her early thirties at a guess, smartly dressed in a well-cut trouser suit and white blouse, with expensive-looking jewellery, was smiling in a kindly way at me as she walked over.

"This is Mistress Jessica," Francoise said, "she is a very good friend of mine, I've known her for years. You will go with her and she will train you to be the perfect little serving girl. This is my last order to you!" She looked sternly at me, as I glanced doubtfully from one to the other.

"Oui, Maîtresse," I said obediently, heart-broken, defeated. I stood up, and followed Mistress Jessica out of the shop, glancing back at my Mistress, then looking forward, to my new Mistress.

I saw Mistress Francoise a couple of months later, when she came to visit Mistress Jessica at her house in north London. I opened the door to her in my black maid's outfit, and dropped a curtsy, as I had been taught, but with a broad smile on my face. I showed her into the drawing room and fetched Mistress Jessica, before going off to make tea. When I returned, they were deep in conversation, but looked up and smiled at me as I came in.

"You're looking very well, Terèse, very fit and trim," Francoise commented.

"Merci, Maîtresse," I replied, bobbing another curtsy, my eyes cast down as the floor - I wanted to give her the best possible impression for Mistress Jessica's sake!

"She's a credit to you, Jessica."

"Thank you, I'm very happy with her," my Mistress said, giving me a smile which made me blush with pride.

"I was going to sell her on," she continued, "but she's so delightful, I decided to keep her. She's invaluable around the house and, I have to say, extremely good at relieving the stresses of the day!"

They chatted and caught up on their lives for the rest of the afternoon, while I happily waited on them. Later on, I was allowed to strip down to my collar and cuffs - Mistress Jessica had decided she liked them, they went well with whatever I was wearing, even when I was wearing nothing - and show Mistress Francoise what new tricks I had learned about giving my Mistress pleasure. From the noise she made, I think she was impressed!

When she left, Mistress Francoise gave me a kiss and told me how pleased she was for me that I had 'found my calling'. When we were alone, Mistress Jessica allowed me to relieve the tension from her day in the best possible way.

I didn't go back to college - I don't think I was ever cut out to be an Art student. I have been with Mistress Jessica for more than fifteen years now, and could not be happier. I feel that I've been so lucky, because my life really only fell into place when my student crush on my Art tutor went so spectacularly wrong!