Author's Note: This story was based on three pix from various artists at DA. Since then, I've recreated those images myself, using 3D art. These image can be found at Deviant Art, under the name TrystlsInk. My Trystl page has been permanently banned. The Visionsofdarkness website may also have a copy.

Chapter 1 - The Perfect Boss

I was a real person once, with a life that was (at least partially) my own.

Even though I'd moved to a new (and strange) city the very moment I turned eighteen, I still felt plugged-in to the ebb and flow of humanity. My neighbors weren't exactly friendly, but they were ever present, like a sea of humanity carrying me along on its currents. Within a few weeks, I'd heard the frequent sirens so often that they ceased to register and I stopped thinking about the danger they represented.

I found work at a small local strip bar called, Leaky's Lutz.

My boss was a hansom young man named Victor, with dark hair and a slight Russian accent. I worked as a waitress, which meant that I had to wear sexy (and revealing) clothes, but I didn't have to take them off. Victor was always trying to change my mind about that. "You have a smoking body," he'd tell me, "You could make a lot more money if you worked the stage... and the back rooms."

He paid all his girls the same, but the strippers were the ones who got the big tips. Some times there was so much money thrown on the stage that it was a wonder the girls never seemed to trip over it.

The thought of making more money was definitely appealing. But the very idea of getting up in front of a room full of people? No! Even with my clothes on, the idea of doing that made my heart race and my skin crawl. I couldn't imagine what taking my clothes off in front of them would be like-but no doubt it would be terrifying beyond belief. It would be a miracle if I didn't feint or trip on something and crack my head open. I had an inner ear problem that made me a little accident prone whenever I tried to wear high heels.

Of course, I envied the girls with that kind of confidence. Deep down (very deep) I think I longed for the adulation they received from the crowds, but it wasn't me. When Victor (or one of the customers) gave me a compliment, my face turned red and my belly filled with butterflies; and I had to concentrate extra hard as I walked away from them to make sure that I didn't trip on something and fall down-just to prove that their compliment was undeserved.

When I was younger, I wanted to be in the school play-I even went to the audition, but I just couldn't bring myself to get out on that stage. I felt the lights burning into my skin and thought of all those people sitting in the darkness-and I ran. I could hear the other girls laughing behind me.

No, dancing on the stage was definitely out. I felt uncomfortable enough wearing the short-shorts and tie front top that was pretty close to being a clone of the uniform for the Dallas cheerleaders, only without the vest; and the colors were black and white, instead of blue, giving the girls (especially the girls with piercings) a sort of goth punk look. I thought the rings and studs were kind of cool, but every time I thought of getting one myself I'd hear my father's condescending voice saying, "Look at those disgusting clowns with hunks of metal in their face."

His persistent voice influenced a lot of what I did and didn't do. He was the main reason I moved out as soon as I turned eighteen. I wanted to get away from his constant negativity.

"You'll fall on your ass," he sneered from his easy chair as I dragged my stuff out to my old beater of a car. On the way, I almost made a prophet out of him-but that just fueled my determination. I could hear his voice booming through the door after me. "When you do, don't come back here for a hand out."

No chance of that, I told myself, I'd rather die first.

But it was just one more reason why every penny counted.

The only apartment I could afford was in a rather bad part of town, but it seemed that about a third of the landlord's building budget had been spent on security, so at least the doors had decent locks. More importantly, it was within easy walking distance of Leaky's Lutz. My piece of shit car only worked about half the time, so being able to walk was crucial to my financial survival.

Most of the waitresses seemed to prefer calling the place Leaky's, but many of the dancers (especially those who frequented the back rooms) took pride in saying the full name. When they heard a customer calling it, The Leaky Sluts, they'd just smile and say something clever like, "That's us, baby. Want to go into a back room where I can grease your chassis?"

I would never be able to say something like that, but I envied and admired the girls who could.

After working at Leaky's for a few months I began to realize that the bar had a surprisingly high turnover. By the time I'd been there for six months all the waitresses (who I'd thought had been there forever) had either become strippers (all the strippers seemed to start as waitresses) or they'd quietly moved on to a different job. Before long, I was the old hand that everyone seemed to look to for answers. The down side of advancing so fast was that sometimes I still felt like a novice when I had to ask Victor another question that I should have known. But the upside was that I was working very closely with victor, now, doing things like inventory, setting schedules, stocking the bar, or discussing the new girls. After six months, I still found myself gawking at him occasionally, when I thought he wasn't looking or when he was staring back at me with those intoxicating eyes of his.

Victor had a way of saying things that made me blush to my toes-while at the same time making me feel good about it. Blushing because I was hearing a genuine compliment-instead of one that was being wielded like a weapon-was a new experience for me. I'd had unusually large and firm breasts since I was in seventh grade. On the school bus, it was like some sort of initiation thing for the boys to cop a feel as I walked by. I just ignored it, because if I ever made a fuss about it then everyone started talking and pointing at me as they made snide comments about how my father probably paid for breast implants because he was fucking me. Or that they were a measure of how big a whore I was. And after all the public humiliation, the best I could expect was a few weeks of piece before the unwanted touches became even more frequent-if slightly more covert.

But when Victor said sexual things to me, somehow it didn't seem like a personal attack; and instead of making me feel bad, it made me feel good about myself.

I still remember the first comment he ever made. It was getting late and I was dragging a little because I hadn't slept enough the night before. "God!" I muttered, as I checked my face in the mirror. "I look like shit."

"I don't know," Victor said, startling me slightly (as he often did) because I hadn't realized he was standing right behind me. "That old man at table five sure seems to like the way you look!"

"Oh," I said skeptically. I certainly hadn't noticed anything. "Why do you say that?"

"Every time you walk away from his table his eyes are glued to your ass."

I blushed, but I felt happier and more awake the rest of the night.

When he said things like that, it made me think that one day I might actually have the courage to work the stage, where the real money was being made.

No, actually, that's probably not quite true. The REAL money was made in the back rooms, but only the girls who worked the stage had time to spare between their dancing sessions. Every once in a while I'd glance in at them longingly as they freshened up, fixing their make up or changing into a new set of clothes for their next turn.

Unlike the dancers, the waitresses didn't have time to rest on their backs, as Victor put it.

When I was working, I didn't mind not making the extra money so much. Working the tables kept me close to the bar; and Victor. I spent a lot more time with him than the dancers did; that was one of the main benefits of being a waitress.

Victor had always had this way of putting me at ease, but the more we worked together the easier it was to talk to him. He asked me questions and seemed to remember my answers in a way that I wasn't used to. Most people don't. They ask questions just to have something in between talking about themselves, never really listening to the answers, let alone remembering what I said. But Victor remembered everything. And the more I opened up, the more personal his questions became... and yet, coming from him, I didn't mind. For perhaps the first time in my life, I was beginning to like talking about myself.

When I complained that I didn't know many people and didn't really know what to do with myself when I wasn't working, Victor smiled and said, "Maybe you should go out with me."

I blushed and didn't answer.

It was obvious he was teasing. I'd always had a body that made people take notice, so they'd hoot and whistle, but when I turned around I could see the way their expression changed when they saw my face. I wasn't exactly ugly, I guess, but the best you could say about my face was that it was exceedingly plain, and that was when it wasn't covered with acne.

A few nights later, he surprised me by asking again.

"What are you going to do on your day off?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I need to go grocery shopping, but my car isn't working."

"The grocery store is a great place to meet people," he said with a smile. He often talked about his personal life this way. "Maybe you should let me take you shopping, so we could pretend like we were meeting there. Then when we were done shopping, I could take you back to my apartment and show you my pantry."

"I'm sure you have a very nice pantry," I said with a blush.

"I do," he grinned. "It contains some very large jars. I think you'd enjoy seeing them."

"And why is that?" I asked, playing along.

"I don't know... maybe you could take inventory and give me some honest criticism. I've always wanted to know just how large my jars are."

"That's very thoughtful of you," I said, still blushing. "We have so much fun doing inventory here at work."

The moment I said that I knew it was the wrong thing. He thought I was being sarcastic, and I wasn't. Not that it mattered. He was teasing me-playfully, but still he was only teasing-I was sure of it. If only I wasn't so awkward when it came to accepting compliments; I wasn't used to them. Instead of saying something witty to encourage him, I fumbled through, making a fool of myself. I smiled at him, trying to look wise and mysterious instead of just clumsy.

A few days later, victor and I were receiving an inventory shipment before the bar opened up. The regular driver was a short, older guy, named Pavel, with gray hair, sad eyes and a pockmarked face that was as gravely as his voice. His Russian accent was much heavier than Victors, but he was friendly enough. When he looked at me, his eyes sparkled in a way that made me feel like we were old friends.

"You make nice couple," he said as Victor came up behind me and placed his hand on my shoulder to read the invoice I was holding. "How long you been together?"

Looking at me with an amused little smile, Victor raised his eyebrow, as if he was about to share a joke. "Oh, Susan and I have been together forever," he said.

"Is dis right?" Pavel asked with a pleased smile.

Victor's words gave me a sudden adrenaline rush. I felt very bold and reckless; and willing played along. "Oh yeah," I said, "we're like an old married couple. One of us starts a sentence and the other finishes it."

"Dis is good," Pavel said with a genuine smile. "I like to be seeing you."

"I like to see you too," I replied.

I picked up one of the cases of booze as Victor switched to Russian (which was obviously easier for Pavel) and the two of them shared a pleasant conversation. I didn't understand a word of what they were saying, but I noticed how they kept looking over at me and smiling. Somehow, I couldn't shake the feeling that they were talking about me. And the things I imagined them saying made me blush bright red. This made Pavel's eyes twinkle even more and he even smiled at me again, from across the room.

When Pavel was gone, Victor said teasingly, "You know, for an old married couple, we don't seem to go out very much."

My heart seemed to skip a beat. Maybe he wasn't just teasing.

There was no way he could really want to go out with me. I wasn't sophisticated enough for someone like Victor: I was too young and unsure of myself. I'd never even been on an actual date before. I wouldn't know what to do with someone so ... perfect.

Normally I wouldn't have had the courage to say anything, but I was still feeling strangely emboldened after Pavel's visit. "Maybe we should change that," I said, trying to make it sound like I was joking, in case he wasn't serious. My heart was hammering in my chest and my hands felt suddenly cold, even though my face was very warm. I looked down at my hands, knowing that I hadn't pulled off my attempt at being casual. I knew I looked foolish, standing there with my hands trying to find something to do so they didn't just hang there awkwardly.

I braced myself for the inevitable let down. I didn't expect him to be cruel, that wasn't his way, but he'd explain that he was only teasing. That I was too young for him. That he was my boss.

That I wasn't pretty.

"Great! So I'll pick you up at eight then."

And just like that, I had a date with my boss.

He promised to take me to the best restaurant in town, which turned out to be the penthouse in a high-rise apartment. His living room was bigger than my whole apartment-and I couldn't help wondering how much a place like this must cost. Perhaps I should have stopped to wonder how a guy who owned a strip club in a sleazy part of town could afford such a nice pad, but I was too busy being dazzled by my date's irrepressible charm.

Without asking, he went to the bar and fixed me a drink. He knew what I liked because I always fixed the same thing when I was at the strip club: a fuzzy navel, heavy on the juice.

"I thought you were taking me out," I said as he handed me the drink. I blushed when I realized the words sounded more like an accusation than I'd intended.

"No," he said with a grin, "I suppose I've taken you in, instead-but I don't' think you'll be disappointed when you taste the food."

"I didn't know you cooked," I said lamely, trying to make conversation.

He grinned. "Only when I'm trying to capture a sweet young girl's attentions. Usually I make due with room service."

"Your apartment has room service?"

His smile broadened. "I've prepared everything I could in advance, but it will still take a few minutes to cook the food." He held out his own glass, as if making a toast and said. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable.

I took a drink at the same time he did, and although there seemed to be plenty of juice in my drink I could feel the alcohol burning at the back of my throat more than it usually did. Today I didn't mind. I figured I'd need all the liquid courage I could get-so I took another long sip as he went into the kitchen. A moment later I heard something sizzling in a pan.

I took another drink and leaned back on his intensely comfortable couch. I was filled with a nearly unbearable happiness as I sank into its soothing embrace, listening to Victor making my dinner only a few feet away. I took another sip and closed my eyes, breathing a sigh of contentment.

Everything was right with the world.


Chapter 2 - An Imperfect End to the Perfect Date

I woke feeling groggy.

Dangling uncomfortably from some obviously strong ropes, I quickly realized that I was naked except for a dirty, green, cleave gag (that was pulled much too tight for comfort), the cheap, golden-colored, hoop-ring (which was the only piece of jewelry I owned) and a cheap pair of slip on shoes (which threatened to fall off if I didn't keep my toes curled). My breasts were wrapped with rope; my arms bound in a tight little square behind my back. More ropes held my knees pulled up to my armpits, which was the source of most of my discomfort. These ropes forced my legs to splay apart embarrassingly wide, exposing my camel-toe cunt to anyone who might want to see.

The first thing I thought about, as I hung there with my crotch exposed, was the time when my father saw me walking back to my room from the shower, wearing a T-shirt and a pair of panties. "Cover that thing up," he'd said with a scowl, "it's disgusting!"

I didn't even know what he was talking about-I walked around the house like this all the time. But then I looked down and saw how my panties had gotten wedged a little between my lower lips. Without even knowing why, I suddenly and inexplicably felt very ashamed.

Now, as I hung from the ropes with my legs spread, I felt that same sense of humiliation.

I'd never even had the nerve to wear a bikini out in public and now, here I was, hanging from ropes, completely open and vulnerable. With a little effort, I managed to close my legs, but doing so forced my knees even higher, putting even more pressure on my arms. The new position did nothing for my modesty and I could only hold it for a few moments before my muscles admitted defeat in my battle with gravity.

The only noticeable effect was that moving seemed to set off a soft alarm, somewhere in one of the back rooms. A moment later I heard heavy footsteps approaching. My heart began beating even harder at the thought of a stranger seeing me like this-even though I knew that someone must have seen me while they were placing me in these ropes.

"Good, you awake," the man standing in darkness said. "We started now."

I recognized that friendly sounding voice even before I saw Pavel (the elderly delivery man I'd meet at Leaky's Lutz) stepping from the darker shadows. For some reason, knowing that it was someone I knew-however slightly-made my humiliation that much worse.

After that first, brief glimpse of his face, he stepped back into the deeper shadows around the light that shone on me. I could hear the rustling of his clothes, the click of a button; then the ropes slowly began to rise, as the gears of a motor pulled me up with them. The motor rattled and vibrated as I rose, causing bottom to giggle slightly as it hauled me higher-until my crotch was roughly shoulder level.

"Very nice," Pavel said with a smile as he stepped back into the light, his eyes still glowing with that same strange friendly glint. He leaned closer and sniffed my crotch; took a deep breath then leaned back. "I like very much seeing you again," he said as he pressed his finger again my pubic mound, right above my camel-toe slit; where my clit was. The rough skin of his finger pressed down, rubbing maddeningly over the deeply buried but still very sensitive nub.

"This must go," he said with a casual flick of his fingers through my patch of thick, curls.

I had a quick moment of panic, thinking that he was referring to my clit, but then it occurred to me that he was probably talking about my pubic hair.

That was preferable, but still not good.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a small pair of scissors, which he used to give me a quick trim. Then, reaching in his pocket again, he pulled out two small squeeze bottles, both about the size of eye drops. He opened the first and squeezed out three drops of oil onto his palm. The second bottle seemed to contain water. After squeezing out three more drops he mixed the oil and water together then began to knead the mixture into my clipped pubic hair, working it down to my bare skin with a firm, insistent pressure that somehow managed to feel good, despite the unpleasant situation. A moment later, his fingers were moving even further back, teasing at the rim of my sphincter. When he was finally done amusing himself, he wiped the rest of the oil from his fingers and pulled a straight razor from a different pocket. Quickly (and very efficiently) he used the blade to cut away what remained of my pubic hairs-taking only a little more time as the blade scraped a ring around my sphincter.

"You have very nice cunt," Pavel said, still with that ever so friendly smile, which I was beginning to find increasingly irritating.

He clapped his hand over my cunt a few times, as if testing it for smoothness-and each slap made my skin sting a little more than the one before. By the time he was done, my newly shaved skin felt hot and damp-and it burned like it was on fire.

"You like, No?" Pavel said with a pleased smile as he shoved his finger surprisingly easily into my pussy-his palm grinding against my pubic mound as he jiggled his hand vigorously.

I gasped with shock as a familiar pleasure overcame the sharpness of the initial pain. My hips jerked spontaneously as his palm kept pounding against the protective mound of flesh above my clit. Or maybe, by now, my clit was beginning to loose its shyness and stick its fat little head above ground.

"Ohuh!" I groaned into my gag as I felt myself getting closer to an orgasm.

I was shaken by how quickly those feelings had come over me. Usually, when I touched myself, it took much longer.

"Yes," Pavel said, abruptly removing his finger just as I thought I was moments away from cuming. "I think you like being play-toy very much."

Now that he was no longer touching me, I was unable to respond in any other way except to take deep calming breaths as I tried to calm down. Each breath seemed to cool the fire between my legs-as it seemed to move back up to my face.

Once again the motors began to whine and the ropes lowered me until my head was about at mid-chest level. Then Pavel began to use the straight edge to scrape the hair from my head.

My lower lips were still quivering-and my face burned with humiliation as I felt my long black hair falling to the floor around me each time his blade inched forward across my scalp. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I thought about the loose of my beautiful black hair. It was one of the few things that I really and truly loved about myself-and it was being sheared away. Pavel would probably sweep it into a dustbin with no more thought than he'd given when he stuffed his fingers inside me.

When he was finished, Pavel placed his palm on the top of my head and rubbed it around-as if testing to see if any stray bits of stubble remained.

"I am finished," Pavel said with a satisfied grin. "But I will like seeing you often. I like this very much. Now you see Victor again. He take good care of you; find new place for you. I think you make perfect party mount."

Potty mouth? Oh my God, what the hell did he mean by that? I wondered.

As he walked away I hung helplessly in my ropes, feeling exposed and out of place. The air felt cool everywhere on my bare skin, but the places where he'd shaved me seemed five or tend degrees cooler than they should. I'd never stopped to realize just how much warmth that little bit of hair manages to trap. Or maybe it had more to do with the absence of something I'd felt constantly my whole life. Whatever it was, it felt very wrong, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I don't know how long I hung there.

It seemed like a very long time before I heard footsteps and a moment later Victor stepped into my circle of light. He have me a long satisfied look. "In case I haven't mentioned this, you looked really spectacular tonight." Placing his hand almost lovingly on the top of my bald head, he let his fingers glide over the smooth skin as he walled around behind me. "I appreciate the effort you took trying to look your best-although Pavel always does top notch work. You look good with a slave's head."

As if testing for smoothness, he let his fingers slide down the back of my neck. His familiar caress sent chills down my spine-as it moved down my neck, over the ropes and found my right breast.

"Now I have to make the tough decision of what to do with you." He cupped my breast and squeezed, as if testing its weight and density in his palm. "Nice," he said. "You have such a tight little body. It's a shame your face doesn't match-if it did, I bet I could have made at least a million, sending you to auction. The bath houses will bring in a smaller profit, but the up side is that you'll have a chance to earn me a profit for a very long time. So the only question now is to determine where your talents lie, so I'll know where you'll be the happiest and most productive."

Now he pinched my nipple and twisted it a few times before slapping my breast firmly a few times.

"Owwwh!" I protested through my gag.

"Nice pain response," he observed as he reached down between my legs (still from behind me) and shoved his fat index finger into my pussy. It was embarrassingly damp "Damn," he said. "Pavel is right. He said you were easily excitable. You might think that would be a good thing, and perhaps (for you) it is. But most of the men who pay to inflict pain prefer their victims to be... a little less receptive to it."

After pumping his finger in and out vigorously for a few moments, he withdrew it abruptly and wiped it on my thigh.

"It would have been better for you," he said as he walked back into the darkness for a few moments, "if you'd just been willing to dance (and work the back rooms) for me. Now you've forced me to use coercion." He stepped back into the light holding a short metal pole (only a few inches long) and he was screwing a much longer (and thicker) phallic probe onto one end. "Now we begin the real testing," he said as he disappeared behind me.

I could tell that he was screwing the metal rod into the floor by the scraping sounds it made. A moment latter he pushed something and the ropes began to lower me. My face burned with shame as I realized what he was planning, but there was nothing I could do about it. Grabbing me by the hips, he picked me up pulled me backward just a bit and let me settle back down with the phallic probe gliding easily inside me. Even knowing how wet I was, I was surprised by how easily it entered. This position seemed to hold me so very open, allowing alarmingly easy access.

The metal rod wasn't positioned directly beneath me. Instead, it was a little behind me, so when he let me go the dildo pressed harder against the front wall of my vagina; it made me feel like I was leaning forward slightly-as if I was about to fall on my face.

I thought things had gotten about as bad as they could down there, but suddenly the probe began to buzz and vibrate. Victor seemed to be pushing something on a small remote control that he carried and as he slowly pushed the slider, the probe began to vibrate faster and faster.

With a small gasp, I drew in a ragged breath, as the metal rod began to pump up and down with long, fluid strokes that filled me with surprisingly intense pleasure. A moment later, he slapped me (really hard) on the ass, and I gasped for a different reason. "You really do have such a nice reflex reaction to pain," he mused as he slapped my lower cheeks a few more times-just as hard.

I couldn't stop the tears that sprang to my eyes or the reaction of my body each time I felt the sting of pain, but I groaned as quietly as I could-too ashamed to let him hear me making loud noises.

He seemed to notice.

"You sure are a quiet one, aren't you?"

I wanted to answer, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me squeak into my gag-no doubt, just like all the other girls he'd done this to.

My god! That must be what happened to the other waitresses who disappeared.

I was sure they all must have begged and pleaded with him. I could just imagine his condescending smile as they said things like, "Please, you don't have to do this!" Or, "Oh God, please don't hurt me!" Or, "Why are you doing this?"

As if they really expected him to change his mind. As if he hadn't already heard dozens of blubbering girls saying all sorts of desperate and foolish things. The one thing I knew with absolute certainty was that not one of them had been able to change his mind. I didn't have much dignity left (given my situation) and I couldn't control all my movements or the tears that trickled from my eyes, but I could suppress the involuntary sounds I made and the pathetic words I might try to speak, if I ever got the chance.

It was a pyrrhic victory, at best, but it was all I had.

Almost as soon as I made this resolution, I realized it might be a little harder to keep than I'd thought-when I realized that Victor hadn't thumbed the vibrator up all the way up yet after all. Now the damned thing was thumping so hard it was very distracting; and because I was still leaning forward, each thump was turned into a sharp pain that seemed to slam right against my increasingly tender clit.

"This is what I call my distraction test," Victor said as he slapped my ass again. "Its purpose is to see how well you can multi-task under duress. So now, it's time to open your mouth, girl." He untied my cleave gag, letting it drop to the floor.

Despite my earlier resolution, I had to bite my lip to keep foolish things from flying out of my mouth.

"Nothing to say?" he asked with a curious grin as he slipped a pair of brass knuckles onto his hands. "I suspect that will serve you well in the years to come. But for now, I want you to listen very carefully. In a moment, I'm going to stick my cock in your mouth. When I do this, you may have a sudden urge to bite it-but if you do that, I will smash my fists into your jaw and it will probably break. Then, I will pull out all of your teeth without using any anesthesia. So do yourself a favor; no biting."

"No... biting," I agreed. It was an effort to get the words out with the thumper distracting me and my face turning red with embarrassment.

"Not even accidentally," he warned.

I nodded. "No... biting," I managed to get out again.

"Very well, then. Open your mouth and let's see what you can do."

The thumper/distraction test was still rattling painfully against my crotch and it was difficult to obey.

"Open," he said, "and I suggest that you try your best to please me. There are worse things than being forced to suck cock all day."

All day?

I couldn't help wondering how literal he was being; and what could be worse.

"Do something,' he said, slapping his large but still soft cock against my cheek. "Or do I need to put a ring gag in your mouth, so I can explore your throat?"

Fuck your test, I thought, still unable to concentrate on anything but the thumper. I was beginning to become aroused again, even though the pain hadn't lessened very much and the combination of simultaneous pain and pleasure was even more distracting than ever. Still, I managed to force my jaws to gape a little wider. He growled, obviously not pleased, but it was enough to encourage him to press his cock against my lips. It was easier to open my mouth with his help. I could feel him entering, rubbing against my tongue and teeth. His cock was curved upward, shaped like a banana.

"You're just about worthless as a cock sucker, aren't you?" He asked as he placed his hand on my bald head and used it to guide my head up and down.

The question was obviously rhetorical, as his flaccid member stuffed my mouth far more effectively than my previous gag. Still, I was a little surprised by how humiliating his words were. I wouldn't have expected that. There was no reason, other than the fear of what it might mean that I should want to impress him with my abilities. Nor was there any reason to think that I should be good at it; I'd never sucked a man's cock in my life. Already, I felt so helpless and exposed and worthless. I wouldn't have thought my inability to impress him could make me feel worse. Why would I want to impress him?

He was pushing his way deeper into my throat. The curve of his cock caused his swollen glands to tickle against the back of my throat, triggering the gag reflex. Ignoring my choking sounds, he pushed in deeper still. I breathed through my nose as he held my head in place so I couldn't pull back. The muscles of my throat convulsed. My diaphragm heaved. Tears were streaming to my eyes. I felt the need to cough, but there was no room to push the air out. My throat felt raw where his skin rubbed against my tonsil.

Damn! Even the thumper isn't quite enough to distract me.

Even as I thought those words, I could feel my focused shifting lower. I tried to concentrate on it, blocking out what I felt in my throat. After a few moments, the balance slowly began to tip towards pleasure and away from pain. My clit tingled with a gentle buzzing. My head felt light, unable to breathe as deeply as I needed-and the buzzing seemed to be caused by that. It grew more intense as my need became greater. In a few more moments it had became difficult to think about anything else. All my muscles seemed to be locking up as I quivered helplessly with this new and terrible pleasure.


Chapter 3 - The Perfect Fit

"Wake up, now," Victor said as he slapped my face.

As I opened my eyes, I realized that I was no longer hanging from the ropes as I had been. Now I was lying on my back on a hard wooden table. My arms were no longer pinned, uncomfortably behind my back. Now they had been folded and stuffed into a loose leather harness that made them all but useless at my side. Tight fitting latex covered my legs from toe to crotch. At my feet, the latex leggings had built in shoes, complete with six-inch heels. A spreader bar held my ankles about two feet apart, making it impossible to roll over even though there was nothing else holding me to the table.

Victor had been busy while I was unconscious, but now he apparently needed my help to apply the last bit of my costume.

"Time for your mask," he said, holding up another bit of latex-this one was imprinted in the shape of a face. The inner surface was covered with some sort of oil. "Don't worry," Victor said, when he saw what I was looking at. "Nothing does a better job of dissolving your hair as it grows out than the oil of Esterus, so you'll be able to wear your new face for a very long time."

I tried to protest then, but I was already wearing a ring gag, which rendered my noises incomprehensible as he lifted my head and slipped the mask over my bald head and tugged it down into place over my face. There were no eye holes. Two little slits allowed me to breathe through my nose, but the latex rubber vibrated a little each time I breathed in or out. Victor fixed this by stuffing two little plugs into my nose. They didn't block the air-instead they forced my nostrils to open even wider, making it easier to breathe. The mouth of the mask was a short tube that fit through the metal ring in my gag. It filled my mouth with the taste of rubber, but it didn't go quite deep enough to trigger my gag reflex.

"Very nice," Victor said, slapping my new rubber face.

Walking towards my feet, he grabbed hold of a control box on the end of a thick electric cord and pushed a button. I could hear a motor lowering some chains for several seconds before I saw the hook drop into view. Victor pulled my legs up by the spreader bar and hooked them to the chain; then he pressed the other button on the control box and the motor began to lift the chain upwards. As it rose, it pulled my legs with it. Soon I could feel my ass rising off the table then my lower back. My shoulders slid across the surface of the table-obviously slick with something that covered my torso.

More of that oil of Esterus, no doubt, I thought.

When I was hanging upside down in the air, Victor pushed the table I'd been laying on out of the way and placed a metal ring onto a circular impression on the floor. I could hear something clicking as gears in the floor latched closed, locking the metal ring in place. Now the metal bring formed a bucked, about two feet high. I couldn't understand what it was for.

Victor pushed the other button and the chains began to lower again-dropping me right down into the center of the newly formed bucket. As my face came closer to the floor, I slowly began to realize that there was an indentation in the floor that was just about the perfect shape of my face, with a long tube that was obviously supposed to go into my mouth. Apparently, Victor expected me to press my face into this space and accept the tube down my throat, but I didn't want to have anything to do with it. I could still fill the raw discomfort where his cock had bruised the back of my throat earlier.

"Let it enter your mouth," Victor said.

When I shook my head, I felt something flat strike my ass hard.

"Take it in your mouth," Victor said.

I didn't shake my head, but I didn't let the tube into my mouth either.

Again the hunk of wood struck my ass.

"I'm going to keep spanking you until you obey," Victor said, "So you might as well do it now and spare yourself a really sore ass. You know you're going to give in eventually."

I sighed in frustration, but he was right; so I held my head in the necessary position so that when he lowered me the smaller tube fit into the rubber latex that lined the inside of my mouth. This new tube was smaller, but it didn't stop as it rubbed its way past my tonsils. The tickle at the back of my throat made me wretch, but the tube kept sliding further in and after a few moments my gag reflex seemed to exhaust itself for the moment. The tube was still an unpleasant irritant, but with a little effort I could keep my diaphragm from heaving.

The indentation at the bottom of the bucket was soft and my face pressed into it. Despite the unpleasantness, it was good the tube was in my mouth for I could no longer breathe through my nose. The soft material filled my nostrils, plugging them quite effectively, so that my only source of air came from the tube sticking down my throat. When I tried to swallow, I could feel muscles tightening around the tube, instead of closing properly.

I could hear Victor moving, pushing things around; but I couldn't see anything with my eyes covered with rubber. Then he turned a squeaking lever and I could feel some sort of cold (and very thick) liquid plopping into the bucket that now surrounded my torso. I could feel it splashing on my chest as it filled in around my neck, leaving only my face uncovered-because it was pressed into that soft, foam-like mold at the bottom of the bucket. Slowly, the liquid filled the bucket, covering my breasts, then my hands (sticking out of the V-sleeve that held my arms folded at my side). It kept rising up my belly, over my navel and finally stopping just as it crested above my hips.

I could hear Victor speaking, but at first I couldn't understand him any more. The vibrations had to pass though so many unnatural layers that it took me a few seconds to realize I could still interpret his words, if I listened very closely and concentrated.

"Try not to move," he was saying. "If the foam dries too loose, I'll just have to pour it again. I'll be back in five minutes. It should be try by then. If you've stayed still, like a good girl, I'll take you to your new home. If not I'll give you twenty strokes with the cane-and then we'll try it again."

I heard footsteps, the click of a light switch and the closing of a door.

And I knew that I was alone.

The foam around my body began to shrink a little as it dried, pulling everything just a little tighter. It seemed far longer than five minutes but I stayed as still as I could, having little doubt that Victor would keep his promise about caning my ass. I had no desire to experience such a thing, so even though fear made me tremble as I wondered about what my future would hold, I didn't struggle to get away.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Victor returned. My head was feeling heavy where the blood had rushed to my brain, but I was still conscious-and for the most part alert.

Victor pressed something on the floor beside me and the metal ring surrounding the foam around my torso opened up, freeing me from its grip. I was still hanging upside down, encased in a semi-stiff tube of foam, but at least I was no longer stuck so tightly in one place. As the motor began to lift me, the smaller tube that stuck up from the floor (so that I could breathe) began to pull out of my throat and then my mouth. I clenched my stomach muscles, trying to lift my head up a little. The blood pressure was beginning to feel very heavy and oppressive in my head, but the foam encasement was heavier than I would have thought and I couldn't quite do it.

"Easy, girl," Victor said, as he placed his hand on the cylinder to steady me.

A moment later the motor began to whine and I could feel the chain rattling as it lowered me to the floor.

"See if you can get up on your own," Victor said.

When I didn't move, he encouraged me by striking my crotch with the flat of his hand. I jerked and tried to sit up, but the weight of the foam was too much. I tried to roll over, but the spreader bar didn't make that very easy either.

"I do so love helping a damsel in distress," Victor said with a chuckle, as he gripped the ends of the foam cylinder and helped me rise awkwardly to my feet. Once I was standing, he pushed my head down so that the length of the tube was parallel to the floor. Then he attached some sort of elastic line to the part of the foam that was centered right in front of my crotch and pulled it out, so that it stretched between my legs. I could feel his forearms brushing against my latex covered thighs as he worked some sort of metal hook into my ass. . I tried to stand up straight again but when I did the elastic strands tightened along the slit of my cunt. They buried themselves between my lips and rubbed uncomfortably against my clit.

"Bet that feels good," Victor said as he worked his middle finger deep inside me, pumping vigorously for a few seconds before pulling out and slapping his hand over my whole pubic mound.

I tried to groan as the pain mounted, but the tube down my throat prevented the vibrations from forming. The best I could do was force the air out of my lungs in a pathetic, whining sound. He kept slapping until I stopped trying to rise up-which wasn't easy, because the more he slapped the more I wanted to rise up. It was the only way I had to protect myself, even a little.

The weight of the foam made me rather top heavy, so I had to lean backwards to counter balance the extra weight, as he lead me out of the room and down a hall. I don't know how I knew it was a hall, but there was something about the way my heels echoed off the walls as I wobbled back and forth-forcing my legs to walk despite the spreader bar that restrained them.

Cli-clop, cli-clop, cli-clop...

I couldn't help wondering how many people might be watching my little stroll. Occasionally, I could hear signs of others-although (from the nature of their groans) I suspected at least some of them were other slaves, like me.

After a short walk, I could tell that we entered another room, and I was sure that Victor and I were not the only ones inside it. Victor took hold of my cylinder at the front and back and began to guide me towards what felt like a wall. I don't know why, but something inside me began to panic; I began to resist, pulling back as best I could. But I had no leverage. Even if I'd had the use of my hands, struggling would surely have been pointless.

"Come on, girl! Stop your struggling and get in there." Victor said.

He leaned into it and puhd me closer to the wall. I could feel it getting closer, like a darker blackness on the blank slate behind my eyelids. Then I felt the face end of the foam cylinder rattling around the rim of a large hole in the wall and another tube entered my mouth, sliding down my throat as someone else joined Victor, pushing on the foam from behind-shoving me into that hole as if I were a cork in a wine bottle. The hole and the foam cylinder both seemed to be slightly conical. The further they shoved me into the hole, the tighter it became until there was no wiggle room at all.

It was a perfect fit.

Something clicked near my face and I knew that pins on the face end of the foam were being locked into place-deep inside that wall.

"Yes indeed," Victor said as he rubbed his large hands over my rear. I was a little surprised I could still hear his voice, although it sounded like it was being amplified into my ear by electrical means. Perhaps the pins that locked the cork in place also served as electrical connections that conveyed sound. I had no idea how that might work, but I could hear Victor's voice now better than I had before he stuffed me into the hole. "You don't have much going for your face, but boy what an ass."

"Da," another man said, sounding as if he agreed. "Is okay if I try now?"

"Be my guest," Victor said, "My newest Leaking Slut isn't going anywhere."