Capturing Kat
  • Author - Jennifer Harrison
  • Rating -   
  • Site Rank - 178 of 2955
  • Story Codes - M-f, consensual, non-consensual, reluctant, analplay, armbinder, bondage, extreme, humiliation, kidnapping, latex, machine, packaging, public, slavery, torture, toys, tricked, waterplay
  • Post Date - 3/27/2011

Part 1

I have never been a very confident girl – my English father left us when I was very young, my Chinese mother always blamed me for that and never had a good word to say to me. Even though I was a pretty girl, with my mixed race looks, she always denigrated me and put me down, so I never believed it when people said nice things about me. I wear my black hair tomboy-short, have big, black-rimmed glasses to hide my face, and I always dress to disappear into the background, because I'm embarrassed by my curvaceous figure. I am bright, and left home to go to university at eighteen, moving as far away as possible, both physically and culturally – going from a small country village to the big city. I struggled for the first few months, unable to make friends and having to rent a squalid flat. I threw myself into my work and cried myself to sleep at night. And then I met the man who was going to change my life.

I was working at a restaurant clearing tables and he was a customer, dining with a very attractive woman with long blonde hair down her back. He looked in his mid-forties, about twice the age of his date, but distinguished and very expensively dressed. I could feel his eyes on me as I gathered up their plates and I felt uncomfortable, preferring not to be noticed.

"Kat ?" I heard him say in an amused tone, "That's an unusual name" He was staring at my chest, or rather the name tag on my chest, which gave the shortened form of my name, Kathryn. I glanced up at them nervously, unable to think of any response. I noticed the woman was looking at me with something like hatred, but possibly a little fear as well. He was looking me up and down, checking out my body under the uniform of black shirt unbuttoned to show off my cleavage and tight black trousers which accentuated my bum, which I was always embarrassed to wear but had no choice.

"Do you like working here, Kat ?" Again, I could not say anything and looked at him a little fearfully – I would be sacked if I was caught 'fraternising' with a customer.

"I think you have ... potential", he said with a smile on his lips. "You should come to work for me" He reached out and I saw he was holding a £20 note, as much as I would be earning that night.

"Take it", he urged, "A tip for doing such a fine job on our table". I glanced around to see if anyone was watching – we were strictly forbidden from taking money – before grabbing the note, mumbling my thanks and scurrying away.

As it turned out, someone had seen me take the money and had snitched on me to the manager. He was a real bastard and took great delight in lecturing me, before informing me I was sacked, and he was docking me my evening's wages as well. As I walked home in the rain, I bitterly regretted accepting the money and ever meeting that odd man. When I got home to my bleak flat, I took out the £20 note to store it away to pay for rent, and noticed it was wrapped around a business card, which had the words "Farout Enterprises, Owner D. Harman" on it, followed by a telephone number. I checked the name out on Google but found nothing. I put the card on my bedside table and went to sleep.

I returned my uniform the next day and, despite my profuse apologies and offer to pay the tip into the communal fund, they would not give me my job back. I went around all the restaurants and bars, looking for any work, but there was nothing available at all. After a few days I was getting desperate, as I didn't have enough to pay the rent at the end of the week and they were not sympathetic to defaulters. I picked up the business card and, with some trepidation, called the number.

"Hello ?" I was surprised to hear a woman's voice at the other end. I hadn't really thought about what to say.

"Oh, er, hi" I stammered, "I met Mr. Harman the other day and he suggested I ring this number to apply for a job ?"

"Uh-huh" I could sense the coldness down the line.

"Name please". I gave her my name, using the shortened Kat, as I hoped he might remember me.

"Contact number ?" I gave her my mobile number.

"I'll ask him to call you" And with that, the line went dead. I was rather doubtful about the call, as I seemed so unprofessional. But I needed a job and, unpromising as it seemed, I didn't have any other options. I was in a lecture when the phone went, and I had to hurry out, apologising as I went.

"Hello, Kat ?" I heard his voice, "Thanks for calling earlier. I'm glad you decided to take up my offer"

"Hello, Mr. Harman –" I started, but he interrupted.

"I've only got an opening at one of my shops at the moment, retail assistant, but if that works out we can see how we go"

"I'm a student, Mr. Harman" I explained, "So can't work 9-5"

"Perfect" he said smoothly, "You can work evenings and weekends. I'll pay you hourly, twice minimum wage, plus an unsociable hours allowance. When can you start?"

"As soon as possible" I said, thinking of my rent due at the end of the week.

"Tonight too soon ? I could show you the ropes, get your uniform sorted out, and get you earning right away. How about I meet you at the shop at seven ? I'll text you the address" I blurted my thanks and that was that.

I went home and decided what to wear. I knew there would be a uniform but I wanted to make a good impression, so I wore my best little black dress and heels – cocktail party clothes, but they were the best I had. The address of the shop was in Soho which, combined with the fact it was open at night might have given me a clue, but I was very innocent. It wasn't until I was standing outside that I realised it was what they call a 'Private' shop, with blacked out windows, selling sex toys and other stuff (I'd never been in one so had no real idea). I hesitated, but I really had little choice, I needed the money. I plucked up my courage and went inside.

The interior was dimly lit, with racks of what my mother would call 'filthy' magazines and DVDs along the walls. In the dark recesses, there were other things which I could only dimly make out. There were also half a dozen customers, all men, perusing the merchandise, although they were all now staring at me, as if I was an alien from another planet.

"Kat ! Thanks for coming !" I turned and saw Mr. Harman, as I had come to think of him, walking towards me. He stood just too close to me, looming over me, making me uncomfortable, and I felt his hand on the small of my back as I he guided me towards the counter. It was laden with boxes of condoms of many names, shapes and, I noticed, flavours. Behind it slouched a surly-looking young man.

"Kat, this is Steve, he'll talk you through the merchandise and show you how to operate the till later, when we have a quiet period" Steve looked up briefly from the magazine he was looking at, but didn't return my smile.

"Now, let's get you into your uniform !" Mr. Harman said enthusiastically, leading me towards the back of the shop.

"What I need you for, Kat, is to bring some glamour to this place. I want to attract women into the place – they always spend more – and at the moment they feel too intimidated to look around. What better to put them at their ease than a bright, sexy, glamorous young woman working here ? I suspect it might encourage some of my regulars to spend more too !" We moved into a back room littered with boxes of stock and he indicated a curtained-off cubicle.

"What I want you to wear is all laid out, just take your time and come back out into the shop when you're ready" With that, he gave me an encouraging smile and left me alone. I pulled back the curtain and looked at my 'uniform' – there were fishnet stockings, a suspender belt, a thong, silver platform heels and a silver lamι dress. I was shocked but, as I said before, I felt I had no choice – the money was too good and my situation too desperate. I stepped into the cubicle and pulled the curtain across, before stepping out of my dress. I had never worn stockings or suspenders before, so I felt uncomfortable putting them on. When I picked up the dress, I realised it was a halter-neck, so I could not wear my bra underneath it. As I pulled it on over my head, I also realised that it was made from an elasticated material, so that it clung to my body so tightly my belly button showed. The skirt flared out from the hips and was so short the tops of the stockings were clearly on show and I knew that if I bent over even a little, my knickers would be on view. I refused to wear the thong, deeming this to be just too revealing, and kept my knickers on under the dress. The shoes had three inch platforms and seven inch stiletto heels, far higher and steeper than any shoes I had ever worn before. As I straightened up and looked at myself in the mirror, I blushed deep red as I saw what a tart I looked, my nipples showing clearly through the shiny, clinging material, fully erect like small bullets.

"You look stunning !" As I stepped back into the shop Mr. Harman smiled, putting his arm around my waist. Steve had stopped reading and was smirking at me unpleasantly, while the customers were once again staring.

"Now, I have to leave, but Steve will look after you. We close at 11, so I'll pop back and check how you've got on". With a smile he walked out, and I was left to get on with it.

Steve walked me around the shop, enjoying my constant embarrassment as he showed me the merchandise – dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, handcuffs, costumes, and other things I didn't even recognise. The magazines and DVDs covered everything from schoolgirls and grossly obese women to bondage, shoe and rubber fetishes, to bestiality and scat. He took me behind the counter, where there were rows of gags, whips and strange, cruel clamps, and I didn't even want to guess where they were meant to go.

After the tour, he showed me the till, how to cash up and how to close up. After that, he told me to start my job. This involved walking around the shop and making sure everything on the shelves was in the right place, straight and well presented. Suddenly, there seemed to be a lot of magazines which needed sorting out, and they were all on the bottom shelf, requiring me to bend down, stretch over, and generally flash my knickers to all and sundry. My face was permanently red and flushed.

By the end of the evening, my feet and legs were aching from the shoes, but I had started to lose my embarrassment, partly because I was exhausted.

"So, how was your first shift ?" Mr. Harman asked when he returned. I gave him a wan smile and said it had been hard work.

"You'll soon get used to it" he said, "Why don't you get changed and we'll settle up. Oh, by the way, one thing. When I give you an outfit to wear, I expect you to wear it all, not just what you feel like wearing. Image is everything. Any other time, I'd dock your wages, but as its your first night, I'll let you off" I looked at him and saw the raised eyebrow and serious look, and knew he meant the thong. I blushed and scurried off.

When I returned from the store room, Steve had closed up and gone.

"Why don't we nip next door for a drink and I'll work out how much I owe you"

"I'm very tired, Mr. Harman" I said, "Couldn't you just pay me now ?"

"Sorry", he said dismissively, "Steve has locked the cash drawer, I'll need to cash a cheque. Anyway, the night is young, this place is only just getting going". He walked out of the door and waited impatiently for me, so he could lock up. I had no option but to follow him down the road and into some backstreet pub, which was absolutely packed out. I waited while he pushed his way to the bar and then came back, carrying two glasses.

"The landlord will cash me a cheque a bit later, when it quietens down a little. Bottoms up !" He encouraged me to finish the drink, a double G&T, quickly, then went back for another. Three or four of these later, I was wasted. I realised I hadn't eaten since lunchtime and I was definitely feeling very drunk. Everything became rather hazy after that – I remember staggering outside and getting into a taxi with him, but that was about all.

When I woke up, it was morning and I was in bed, naked. Not my bed, I quickly realised.

"Good morning, sleepy head !" I heard a cheery voice from the doorway and looked around to see Mr. Harman in a towelling robe, carrying a tray towards me. Trying to gather my wits as my head pounded, I realised I was in a hotel room and I could see my clothes littered around the room. I wondered who had taken them off.

"What happened ?" I croaked.

"Well, you were out of it and I wasn't fit to drive, so a hotel seemed the best option. Here, drink this, my patent hangover cure" He put a full glass of some foul smelling concoction to my lips and forced me to drink it, even holding my head when I tried to pull away. Immediately I felt violently sick and, despite being naked, I ran for the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.

"Better out than in, I always say" I heard, and saw him in the doorway, watching me puke repeatedly, until I was just retching bile, shaking and in a cold sweat. He held out a robe and, staggering to my feet, I slipped into it, before splashing my face with cold water to try and revive myself.

"I need to get on" he said, "I think you need some more sleep, so why don't you go back to bed and I'll see you tonight" I was too ill to argue and I crawled back into the bed and fell asleep.

I was woken by the maid entering. The bed covers had been pulled back, so she saw me lying there naked, with my clothes strewn all around. On the bedside table, there was £10 and a note saying "Taxi fare, wages tonight". When I got up, I couldn't find my underwear, so I had to put on just my dress and shoes. With no makeup or hairbrush, I looked a state walking through reception and I could feel the stares of the staff, judging me.

I went back to the shop that evening in scruffy clothes, knowing I would have to get changed anyway. I noticed a sign in the window – "Feel free to ask for advice from our friendly FEMALE staff" – and wondered what kind of clientele that would attract. Steve was behind the counter and told me that Mr. Harman wouldn't be in until later, but he had left the outfit he expected me to wear. When I went to the cubicle, I had expected to see the silver dress, but there was an entirely different outfit laid out. It looked like a one-piece swimsuit made out of thin latex rubber, accompanied by boots and gloves. I swallowed hard, knowing this would be even more revealing than the dress. Once again, I was desperately uncomfortable, but still had no choice – I had rent to pay tomorrow, and still no money.

I took off my clothes and squeezed myself into the red swimsuit, which was incredibly tight. It was cut so high around the thighs that I had to tuck my pubic hair in at the edges so it didn't show, while at the back, my buttocks were left entirely exposed. The neckline plunged between my breasts to my navel, and the back was totally cut away and only held together by thin straps, leaving me with an exposed bum cleavage as well.

On the chair, I found a spray can labelled Rubber Shine and a cloth. Feeling that I was committed beyond the point of shame, I sprayed the cloth and rubbed it over the suit until it was gleaming. I found the exercise rather simulating and by the time I had finished, my breathing was a little ragged. I pulled on the boots, which were black leather and reached up to my thighs, then the black satin gloves, which reached to my elbows.

There was one more thing on the chair, a thin leather collar, like a dog collar, with a silver chain hanging from the front. I really didn't want to wear it, but I remembered the thong and the threat to dock wages and I picked it up. It was a tight fit and I had to pull it to make the two halves meet behind my neck, but when they did, there was a distinct click. The chain hung down between my breasts, feeling cold against my skin. As I looked at myself in the full length mirror, I suddenly realised, for the first time in my life, I looked and felt incredibly sexy. I took off my glasses, mussed up my hair and licked my lips, enhancing the effect. I ran my gloved fingers over the shiny latex, gently rubbing each nipple to erection, before letting my hand glide down across my stomach and between my thighs. With the tightness of the rubber and the smoothness of the gloves, I couldn't work my fingers inside to reach my swollen and receptive sex, as I wanted to, but I could rub my fingers along the crack between my lips, which I could feel through the material, and indeed seemed to be made supersensitive by the thin covering. I let out a gasp as I leaned forward, putting one gloved hand onto the mirror to steady myself, while the other worked hard to satisfy the burning desire within me. I felt my knees buckle and I slumped against the cool glass, panting and whimpering as my ever more desperate fingering brought me to the edge of orgasm and then, gloriously, over that edge. As the waves of pleasure swept through my body, I stumbled back onto the chair, legs splayed and back arched as I waited for the sweet agony of the 'little death' to pass. At last, spent, I slumped in the chair, trying to gather my thoughts and my wits.

As I came out into the shop a few minutes later, I was surprised to see a dozen customers standing and looking at me, and I was even more shocked when they burst into a spontaneous round of applause. Behind them, I saw Steve's leering face and, as he indicated the wall behind me, I looked round. The wall-mounted TV monitor, which normally showed pictures from the CCTV cameras covering the shop floor, was showing a still picture of the store room. Slowly I realised it wasn't a still but a view of the room with no-one in it, and that the view was from inside the changing cubicle out into the room. I suddenly knew the camera was positioned behind the mirror, a two-way mirror, and I had just unwittingly given them a spectacular floor show. With my face once more burning with shame, I ran out of the shop, but I was back in the store room and therefore on the screen. I pulled the curtain across, obscuring the hidden camera, but then saw the camera in the corner of the store room, whirring around to focus on me. Confused, I ran back into the shop and went behind the counter, hoping this offered some kind of barrier between me and the gaggle of dirty old men leering at me. Of course, that just meant being closer to that dirty young man leering at me, Steve.

The rest of the evening was a nightmare. Customers kept coming up to the counter and asking for my help. "Which of these DVDs would you recommend ?" they'd ask, holding up two vile films called 'Shit on My Face' and 'The Torture of Eve', or something equally horrendous; or "Do you think this would satisfy a real woman like yourself ?" as they proffered the biggest dildo they could find. I had to wander around the shop, picking up magazines deliberately dropped on the floor while the punters followed me around, almost drooling over me. When one of them got his mobile phone out and took a picture of me, Steve was suddenly all protective, aggressively insisting the man delete the photo and warning everyone that pictures and videos were not allowed. I was glad that my shame was to be limited to just the 'live' experience.

"However", I heard Steve go on, loud enough so they would all hear, "Come back tomorrow night and we may have some screen grabs from the earlier performance on sale". I was dismayed and, when I cornered him on his own later, told him he couldn't do that.

"Not my idea, take it up with the boss" was all he'd say.

The shop was busy right up until Steve closed up. I asked him not to lock the till before Mr. Harman turned up, as I had to have my money, and he reluctantly agreed, before leaving me alone to wait for the owner. I got changed and came back into the shop, to find Mr. Harman there, watching the TV monitor. I saw an image of myself, leaning into the camera, bringing myself off, while the sounds of my gasps and moans filled the room.

"Magnificent performance !" Mr. Harman said jovially, "You're a real natural"

"I didn't know you were filming me !" I protested.

"Of course not, that's why your reaction is so real ! Well done. Now, we need to settle up. Here's your wages for the two nights, and here is a bonus for taking the initiative and being a real trooper, as well as boosting sales tonight !" The bonus was more than the wages and altogether it was nearly a month's rent. I was stunned, as well as relieved, but I had to say something.

"Mr. Harman, I don't feel comfortable with what I am doing here" I said hesitantly.

"Oh, don't worry" he said breezily as he ushered me out and locked up. "I'll make everything much more comfortable for you. Oh, just one other thing. To keep our relationship on a professional level, I think it would be best if you called me 'Sir', is that alright ?". He looked at me expectantly, demanding a response.

"Very well ... Sir" I mumbled. He smiled broadly and, before I could say anything else, he had gone off into the night.

When I got to the shop the next night, it was packed. I pushed my way through to the back of the shop, where Mr. Harman was waiting to usher me into the store room. I was surprised to see that the room had been cleared of boxes and had a carpet on the floor. There was a dressing table and chair against one wall, and a wardrobe against another. The changing cubicle had been changed into a shower stall and there was even a sofa in the room as well.

"I hope you find this rather more comfortable" Mr. Harman said, walking over to the wardrobe and opening it.

"Mr. Harman, I didn't mean –" "Ah, ah, what did we say about 'professional' relationships ?"

"Please ... Sir ... I meant I don't feel comfortable with the whole dressing up and parading in front of those ... creeps"

"Nonsense !" he exclaimed, with a dismissive wave, "This is pure theatre and you are the star of the show. You must dress the part to satisfy your public !"

"But Sir", I protested, "This is wrong !"

"Kat, we are making money ! You want – need – to make money, don't you ?"

I nodded my head in shame.

"Very well, let's get on, you've wasted enough time already. Now I think you will need help in doing this up". He held up a corset, covered in red satin and black lace, with suspenders hanging down from it. I swallowed hard, knowing I was defeated. I looked up at the corner of the room to check whether the CCTV camera was trained on me, but I saw that there was now a camera in each corner, meaning there was no hiding place. Slowly and miserably, I stripped off my street clothes, trying to cover my nakedness from the lenses. Mr. Harman took the clothes, put them away in the wardrobe and handed me the corset. I stepped into it and, with considerable difficulty, pulled it up over my hips. It was already pinching my waist in, and it pushed my breasts up and out, so they looked like big round globes, cut in half by the top of the corset which barely covered my nipples. He passed me the other items of my costume – sheer black stockings, shoes with four inch platforms and eight inch heels, a black lacy thong – and I put them on in silence. The final item was the collar I had worn the previous night, which clicked tightly in place as before, uncomfortable but not choking me.

"Come over here and I'll lace you up" Mr. Harman said in a commanding voice, which brooked no disobedience. I grabbed the back of the chair, facing the dressing table mirror and leaning forward as he instructed. He worked methodically, pulling the laces through a little at a time and I felt the garment tighten around me, inch by inch, until I was struggling to take more than short, shallow breaths. When he had done as much as he could, and I was becoming light-headed from a lack of oxygen, he gathered up the laces and put them behind a panel behind my back, which zipped up and I heard another quiet click. When I straightened up and looked at myself in the mirror, I was shocked by the effect. I have a naturally small waist and curvy hips, but that had been exaggerated to a ridiculous degree and I now had an impossibly tiny waist, with my hips flaring dramatically from the bottom of the corset. My breasts looked enormous too, straining to break free from the intolerable constraints they were under.

"You just need to touch up your make-up a little, a bit of lipstick, some mascara". He indicated I should sit at the dressing table and I saw the make-up laid out. The lipstick was blood red and glistened on my lips, while the mascara outlined my eyes dramatically – the overall effect with the corset was a surreal, almost doll-like image, assuming you were thinking of a sex doll.

Mr. Harman led me out into the shop and through my throng of admirers to the counter, where more surprises awaited me. The clothes I was wearing were reproduced in a little display under a sign reading "What our model is wearing : 5% discount tonight only", while on the counter were A4 sized photos of me from the previous night, leaning against the mirror, my eyes wide at the moment of orgasm. A sign next to these said "One free with every 2 purchases". They were certainly marketing me hard.

I was ordered to wander around the shop and 'mingle', which meant having to brush past the men who were pretending to look at the goods on the shelves rather than at my goodies equally on display. Whenever they could, they brushed past me or forced me to brush past them, and on more than one occasion I felt a hand stray onto my buttocks or 'accidentally' graze across my breasts. I was almost relieved when Mr. Harman called me to the counter.

"Ah, Kat, this gentleman" he said, indicating the sleezy individual currently ogling my breasts, "Has just purchased a very expensive ... outfit, and is very keen for you to model it for him before he takes it back to his 'girlfriend'. You wouldn't mind, would you ? You don't have to change, you can try it on with what you're wearing"

"Er, no ... Sir" I said doubtfully, looking at the short, fat, sweaty man and wondering what sort of girlfriend he had.

"Excellent, well, we can put it on right here. Just put your arms in here and I'll slip it on"

He was holding something made out of black leather, lots of straps and buckles, and a couple of arm holes. I thought it was some kind of biker jacket, and put my arms behind me and into the sleeves. But instead to my hands appearing at the end of the sleeves, they were funnelled together and held behind me. I felt a strap tighten around my wrists and when I tried to pull my arms out again, I couldn't. Mr. Harman took a strap attached to the top of the leather garment just by my left shoulder, passed it across my chest and fastened it to a buckle underneath my right arm, before repeating with a strap from my right shoulder to underneath my left arm, pulling the straps tight and ensuring the contraption could not be shrugged off.

"Now, sir, you will see the straps along the arm binder here, perhaps you'd like to just tighten them and observe the effect on the wearer ?" The fat man shuffled eagerly over to me and I got a whiff of his body odour before he grabbed the straps behind me and started to buckle them. As each one was pulled tight, my forearms were forced closer together and my shoulders pulled back, thrusting my breasts out in front of me. I gasped in discomfort as he progressed up my arms until my elbows were touching inside the arm binder.

"Very good, see how the breasts are accentuated by the strictness of the bondage". Mr. Harman sounded like a super-smooth car salesman as he grabbed my breasts to emphasise his point.

"Please, Sir", I whined, finally finding my voice, "That really hurts. Please unstrap me"

"Which is where your second purchase comes in" Mr. Harman said. As I looked around to try and see what he was holding now, he gripped me by the jaw, forcing my mouth open and stuffing a bright red ball into it. Moments later there was a strap across my cheeks, one under my chin and two up the side of my face, which joined together and went over my head to buckle at the back.

"'Et 'e 'o !" I shouted around the ball with some difficulty.

"This gag was such a good choice, sir" Mr. Harman went on smoothly, ignoring my struggles and shouts, which had got everyone in the shop looking at me.

"Because by using this" He attached a small tube with a bulb at the end to a pipe on the ball in my mouth, "You can quickly silence those annoying noises" He pumped the bulb a couple of times and suddenly I could no longer move my jaws, as they were forced further apart, or my tongue, as it was crushed against the floor of my mouth.

"Now what you've got here is good, but what I think you need to do, sir, is to accessorise". He led me into the middle of the shop, scattering the crowd watching the performance, then stopped and reached up. Hanging from the ceiling was a chain with a hook on the end, which I had never noticed before, and he pulled it down, attaching the hook to a ring on the top of the head harness I was wearing, meaning I was held there, unable to get away. The crowd formed a circle around me, literally salivating at the floor show unfolding before them.

"You can apply one of these" Mr. Harman said, and I saw that Steve had come round and was holding a metal bar with a strap at either end. As he squatted down in front of me I couldn't look down to see what he was doing, but I felt one of the straps fastened around my left ankle, then my feet were pulled wide apart and the other strap fastened around my right ankle.

"The spreader bar not only puts her in an attractive stress position, it also gives access to all areas" I felt a finger run across the front of the thong and I suddenly went weak at the knees and my hips ground involuntarily.

"See how turned on she is by what some people would say is mistreatment ? Now, what she needs is to be teased, and what better than with these ?" He was holding up one of the evil-looking clamps I had seen the other day and I tried to beg for mercy and shake my head, but I was just turning the audience on more.

I felt a hand on my breast and heard a zip being pulled. Moments later, first one then the other cup had been removed and my breasts were bare and on show, eliciting a small cheer from the audience. I felt my nipple being pulled and flicked, until it was standing erect, and I knew what was coming next. I felt my nipple squashed between the spring-loaded teeth of the clamp until it was pinching painfully and the weight of the clamp was dragging the nipple down. The torture was repeated on the other nipple, but after a few seconds the pain ebbed to a dull ache. Mr. Harman and the fat man stood in front of me, examining me, I'm sure enjoying my discomfort.

"The good thing about these particular clamps" Mr. Harman went on, "Is that when you apply the lead weights supplied with them, the clamps are designed to grip more tightly, biting more firmly, as they get heavier". I squealed into the gag as I felt the effect he had just described, the metal teeth digging into the tender flesh of my nipples as they were dragged down towards the floor. The dull ache became a constant and intense pain which could not be ignored. The faces in front of me smiled cruelly as my cries and whimpers forced a large quantity of saliva to escape past the ball gag and slide down my chin, before dripping onto my chest and oozing between my breasts and under the corset.

"Excuse me" I heard someone say, "I asked this stuck-up bitch yesterday if this would satisfy her, but she was too up herself to answer. Could we find out now ?" I saw the enormous, life-like dildo held up in front of me, still encased in its shiny packaging.

"If you buy it, Sir, I'm sure she will be happy to model it for you"

"Really ? She doesn't look too happy about it"

"But I don't hear her protesting, sir, do you ? Steve, can you reposition her while I ring this gentleman's purchase through ?"

Mr. Harman moved out of my line of sight, but Steve appeared at my side. He reached up and I felt the head harness released from the hook, allowing me to relax from my stretched position. But the relief was very temporary, as Steve took hold of the arm binder and pulled it up behind me, forcing me to bend forward until I was doubled over, with my arms stretched up above me and my bum thrust out behind me. As I was made to bend over, the pain from the nipple clamps intensified as they twisted around until they were dangling below me, pulling my breasts down towards the floor, with the teeth ripping my skin as they took up their new position. I heard the hook scrape against the metal ring at the base of the arm binder and I was trapped in a new stress position. Apart from the pain in my nipples, my shoulders were now at an unnatural angle and were soon aching terribly, while the combination of the spreader bar, the high heels and my bent posture were stretching my hamstrings to what felt like breaking point. But that all became background distractions as I felt the thong I was wearing pulled down until it was stretched between my knees. All attention in the room, including mine, was now focused on what was happening behind me.

"I don't think you'll need to use the KY jelly you bought, sir" I heard Mr. Harman say as he stood behind me, "she looks like she is well lubricated already". Immediately, I felt the head of the dildo pressed against my pussy lips and, without hesitation, thrust into me as far as it would go. I let out a muffled cry and my knees almost gave way, sending another wave of agony through my shoulders, as the long, thick shaft was slowly pulled back and then thrust in, over and over again. The pain was intolerable, but everyone in the room could see I was being turned on, as my juices coated the rubberised monstrosity and started to dribble down my thighs. I fought against the reaction of my body to the stimulation it was being forced to receive, but it was no use, I couldn't stop the feelings of intense pleasure rising up, until the orgasm hit me like a train. I twisted and struggled in the tight bondage, snorting and gasping for breath, not caring about the constant string of drool coming from my lips and forming a puddle on the floor beneath me. Most shamingly, I was pushing my hips back in rhythm to intensify the thrusts of the dildo, which moments before I had wanted desperately to escape. The plateau of my climax seemed to go on longer than ever, before finally abating and sending me crashing into post-orgasmic fatigue, which was so intense it would have made me collapse to the floor, if I hadn't been hanging from the ceiling.

"So, would anyone else like to try out their purchases on our gorgeous and very accommodating model ?" Mr. Harman must have been doing a roaring trade as, over the next hour or so, I had a bewildering array of different devices thrust into my pussy, forcing me to cum, until I was almost delirious with tiredness and over-stimulation, my body covered in a slick sheen of sweat. "Can I try this on her ?" became the phrase of the night, as the clientele became more and more comfortable with the idea that I was there only for their pleasure and excitement, to enable them to live out some of their own sick fantasies, as long as it involved spending money on the shop's range of toys.

As yet another object was about to be thrust towards me, I suddenly noticed the cold touch of KY being smeared around my sphincter and dribbled down between my buttocks. I tried to make noises of protest – this was surely a violation too far, I had never taken anything up there before, and I certainly didn't want to start now – but my weak, almost inaudible, cries were ignored, as they had been throughout. I felt something pressing against my hole, stretching it wide, wider, beyond the point where surely it would go no wider, then sliding into me, filling my back passage, forcing whatever was in there back up inside me, increasing the feeling of being completely stuffed. At the point where I was certain I could take no more, the girth of the intruder reduced and my sphincter closed around it, greedily sucking it in a little further and ensuring I couldn't expel it. And then it started vibrating, sending weird signals through my body, somewhere between pleasure and deep, unsettling discomfort. The butt plug must have been pressing against the walls of my vagina, because I could feel the vibrations passing through to my pleasure centres and slowly, unbelievably, disgustingly, I felt myself begin to climb the mountain towards yet another climax. I seemed to take forever, but everyone knew it was coming, that I was cumming, and they waited, watching in fascination as I was brought off by pure anal stimulation.

At last the terrible night came to an end. Steve began to herd the customers towards the door, promising them that 'mementos' of tonight's show would be on sale tomorrow night. Finally I was released from the spreader bar and the arm binder, enabling me to release myself from the ball gag and try and massage some life back into my aching limbs and jaw. I removed the clamps gingerly, then grimaced as the blood returning to my nipples provided its own special agony.

"Excuse me, can I buy that thong ?" There was one customer still in the shop, and he was pointing at my groin, although his question was addressed to Mr. Harman.

"Certainly, sir, what size and colour would you like ?"

"No, I mean I want the one she's wearing".

"Ah" said Mr. Harman, appraising the situation quickly, "That will cost an extra ... £10 ?" The man nodded.

"Certainly, sir. Kat, give the gentleman his goods" I looked at him beseechingly, wanting to avoid this last humiliation, but I could see I would receive no mercy from him. With my head bowed, I pulled down the thong, stepped out of it and handed it over. Disgustingly, he put it to his nose and sniffed it. Clearly not satisfied, he leaned forward, forced me to spread my legs, and wiped all the juices from the inside of my thighs and from my pussy, before sniffing it again and, now happy with his purchase, putting it in his pocket and heading to the till to pay.

I retired to the store room, Mr. Harman and Steve ignoring me as they tidied up. All I was thinking was get changed, get paid, get out and never EVER come back here – these people were sick, warped, and would only continue to exploit me in this gross, degrading way if I didn't get out. I wanted to get the police on them, but I realised they could legitimately claim I had willingly dressed up and had been well paid for my troubles.

I pulled at the wardrobe doors, unable to open them. They must have been locked to stop anyone stealing my clothes, I reasoned, and went back to the shop to ask them to unlock it. But now I couldn't get the store room door open, it must have jammed, no matter how hard I pulled or twisted the handle it stayed firmly shut.

"Hello ?" I called, "The door's stuck, could you let me out please ?" Incredibly, it took two minutes of banging and calling before I realised that maybe the door wasn't stuck, maybe it was locked.

"Hey !" I shouted, "Let me out, you sick bastards ! Let me out !" I hammered on the door and my shouts turned to screams when I heard the shop door open and then slam shut. I paused, listening in horror as the locks clicked into place, before resuming my desperate banging and cries to be released. When I was hoarse and my fists were hurting, I stopped and listened, my ear pressed to the door. There was not a sound from the shop. I slowly realised I had been abandoned, locked away, kidnapped, imprisoned and with no idea when or how or if I would get free.

Part 2 (added: 05/06/2011)

When I finally gave up on banging on the door and shouting, my number one priority was to get out of that damn corset and shoes, which were killing me. But even there, I found myself imprisoned – I could not unzip the panel behind my back hiding the laces to the corset, and the straps around my ankles holding the shoes had a little clip which required a key or screwdriver to unfasten. Even the collar, which I had removed easily yesterday, wouldn't come off, so I was locked into the fetish outfit I had been forced to wear.

Frustrated by the clothes, I explored my 'prison cell' to see if it held anything which might help me. I was surprised to find a small refrigerator in one corner which contained a stack of energy drinks. This was good in one way, in that I was dying of thirst and I guzzled a whole bottle down in one go, but in another way it was very bad news, because it indicated that they planned to keep me here for some considerable time. In another corner, I found something altogether weirder, which made me feel sick. In a small alcove was a toilet, but not only had the seat been removed, the top of the bowl had been deliberately broken, so that there were upturned shards of porcelain, forcing anyone trying to use it to squat over the bowl. And there, behind the toilet, was a CCTV camera, angled up to target the exact area where my bum would be if I had to use it. These two bastards were covering all the angles, hoping to satisfy even the sickest of perverts.

As I suspected, the sofa folded out into a bed, with a thin, plastic-covered mattress, and I slumped down on the edge of it, feeling desperate about the situation I found myself in. But now I had something else to worry about – I was having a hot flush, which is unusual in a nineteen year old. My face was burning with a rush of blood, my heart was pounding and that was not all. My pussy was suddenly tingling and, when I 'accidentally' grazed the tips of my fingers across my pubic hair, it was like an electric shock going through my body. I parted my pussy lips, and I could feel that my clitoris was engorged, and incredibly sensitive to my touch. Moments later, I was lying back on the bed, legs wide apart, my fingers desperately trying to satisfy the uncontrollable urge to make myself cum. I knew I should not be doing this, that the CCTV cameras would be picking up my every move, that some time soon perverts would be enjoying watching me masturbating for their pleasure, but I just couldn't stop myself, I was out of control. I was grunting and whimpering in desperation as I forced myself to a rapid orgasm, but it didn't seem to satisfy me at all, I kept going, forcing myself to cum again. I was pinching and squeezing my nipples with one hand while the other worked on my burning pussy, as I rolled about on the bed, trying to get some satisfaction. At last, after my third climax, I was spent, and I lay there, exhausted, even though the blood was still coursing through my body. Slowly, understanding dawned on me – I must have been drugged with Viagra, and it must have been in the energy drink. I felt sick with shame at how I had displayed myself, but I was even more dismayed at just how warped these guys who had kidnapped me were. Suddenly I was frightened at where this horrible nightmare was leading. I crawled up the mattress and fell into a troubled sleep.

I woke up in the night – morning, afternoon, I had no idea, the lights were always on – with a desperate urge to pee. I didn't want to use the toilet, I didn't want to humiliate myself any further, but I couldn't see many alternatives. I could use the shower instead, but I suspected that would be monitored by a camera as well; I could just go in the corner of the room, but that would be caught on CCTV anyway, plus I still had some vestige of civilisation, even if the bastards who'd imprisoned me didn't. so I dashed to the toilet and squatted over the broken bowl. As I did so, extra lights came on behind me and I heard the camera whirr into action. I thought it might inhibit me from going but, as I released my stream of steaming urine, I suddenly realised that my bowels were also moving. I just had time to realise that the drink must have been spiked with a laxative as well as Viagra, before my bottom exploded with a surge of liquid diarrhoea which seemed to go on forever. I wondered what kind of sick pervert wanted to see me shitting everywhere, but I knew they would be out there and they would pay good money for this horrible video.

I staggered back to the sofa-bed, having cleaned myself up as best I could, and curled up in a foetal ball, just wanting the world to leave me alone, and that's the position in which I fell asleep again.

I woke with a scream and clutched at my thigh, which was stinging like it had been attacked by a hive of bees.

"Get up, you stinking slut !" Steve was standing over me, holding the riding crop he had just hit me with. I scrambled to my feet as he threatened to hit me again, and cowered in front of him. He reached out and grabbed the chain hanging from my collar and pulled me to him, but only so he could unlock the straps on my shoes and release the corset laces, before loosening them and ordering me to strip. I did as I was told, feeling relieved to ease myself out of the corset and take off the shoes, even though I ended up naked. Meanwhile, Steve had put a metal bowl full of disgusting-looking and foul-smelling chunks of meat in gravy on the floor in front of me.

"Get down and eat it !" he ordered. I looked at it and turned up my nose.

"I can't eat that – its dog food !" I let out a scream as the crop slashed down across my buttock.

"Don't give me any lip, you cheeky cunt ! Eat it now !" I fell to my hands and knees, with the bowl in front of me. My stomach retched just at the smell, but as I looked up imploringly, I saw him raise his arm threateningly and I stuck my face into the bowl. It tasted worse than it smelled and it was all I could do to stop myself throwing it straight back up, but I managed to choke it down eventually.

"Lick the bowl clean" he commanded, with evident relish. That was almost too much, the texture of the gelatinous gravy making me retch again, but I just managed to keep it down.

"Good job you weren't sick", he sneered, "You'd have had to eat it all over again. Now get in the shower and get your filthy body clean".

As I got into the shower cubicle, the first thing I saw was the camera in the wall behind a pane of glass, with no pretence of secret surveillance – I was going to be filmed and they didn't care that I knew it. The shower had only one control, just a big button, with no power or temperature settings. Tentatively, I pressed the button, and was immediately hit by a blast of ice-cold water from the shower head, making me squeal in surprise and to cower in the corner as I was quickly drenched and shivering. I tried to switch the thing off, to catch my breath, but pressing the button again had no effect. The water was so cold and intense, I tried to get out of the cubicle, but the door was locked, presumably by the same mechanism which operated the shower. I had no choice but to stand and be hosed down until it decided to stop. Mercifully, it relented after maybe five minutes, but I was shaking violently and uncontrollably, I was so cold. There was a soap dispenser attached to the wall and I lathered myself from head to toe, using it as shampoo as well as shower gel. I hesitated to press the button again, but I had no choice, I had to rinse myself. It was so fierce it was like standing in front of a fire hose, and I struggled to stay on my feet. As I finally stepped out, the only towel around was a small hand towel, and I rubbed myself vigorously dry to try and warm myself up. When I was done, I put the soaking towel over a rail to dry – I doubted if there would be fresh for the next time.

Mr. Harman had joined Steve and I felt I had to make one last attempt to appeal to reason.

"Oh, Mr. Harman, please, you have to let me go, you can't –" My entreaties were cut off as Steve once more lashed out at me with the riding crop, catching me across the shoulders.

"That's for addressing me inappropriately" Mr. Harman said coldly.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I forgot" I whimpered, actually putting my hands together in supplication.

"I think we've moved beyond the 'professional' relationship. You can call me Master" I was rather taken aback by this, but I could see he was expecting me to reply.

"Yes ... Master" I said reluctantly, but seeing Steve's arm rising once more.

"Good" Mr. Harman said, "And to Steve as well". I swallowed hard.

"Yes ... Master"

"Good. Now, Steve is going to punish you for having the temerity to try and tell me what I can and can't do". Steve grabbed me as I wailed, whipping me hard, once across each buttock.

"Get her ready while I organise the shop" Mr. Harman said as he left the room.

"Put your clothes on and do your make-up" Steve ordered, indicating the bed, where various items had been laid out. There was a short rubberised corset which zipped up the front and, although it was much less restrictive and less traditional than he one I'd worn last night, it looked very sexy once I'd got it on. There was a wide collar made in a matching material, and when I put that on, I had difficulty turning or lowering my head.

Next were black latex stockings, which were a nightmare to get on and, when I had finally worked them all the way up to my thighs, a tiny lock clicked home around the tops, ensuring I would need to be released from them later. There were more impossibly high heels to wear, which also locked in place around my ankles, and to finish off the ensemble, black latex gloves which also locked in place just below my armpits.

I sat at the dressing table and put on the make-up – bright red lipstick and black mascara again, plus blue eye shadow and a little blusher – and I wasn't sure if I looked more like a hooker or a transsexual.

"Lie on the bed and keep still" Steve barked. When I did so, he sprayed shaving foam all over my pubic hair and, five minutes later, I was completely shaved down there and cringing as the aftershave he had splashed over my pubic mound stung like crazy. He dragged me to my feet and, pulling my arms behind me, looped a leather belt around them and yanked it tight around my elbows, pulling them together so quickly I let out a gasp of pain as it felt like my shoulder had been wrenched out of its socket. I felt a gag thrust into my mouth and strapped tight behind my neck, but it wasn't a ball gag, it was a ring which forced my mouth wide open. It appeared I was now ready, as Steve dragged me out into the shop.

I noticed that the display by the counter had been set up with what I was currently wearing and I could see and hear that the large monitor on the wall was replaying my 'performance' in the store room from the night before. Underneath the monitor was a sign saying 'Live streaming 24/7 at' – and I realised, with a sinking feeling, that my imprisonment was now a Big Brother-style webcast.

Steve made me stand right in the middle of the shop, which had been cleared of displays so that a small raised dais could be added. He helped me step up and stand with my legs apart, while he locked chains around my ankles, holding me in place. He removed the belt holding my elbows together behind me and raised my arms up towards the ceiling, where two more chains hung down. He wrapped and locked one around each wrist, holding me stretched out in a star position, on display to anyone walking into the shop. He positioned a couple of signs next to me, one of which said 'Today's special : Whips, canes, floggers', the other 'See It. Buy It. Try It'. I felt physically sick, and it wasn't just because of the dog food I'd eaten.

Steve came over to me carrying a pole, with a Rampant Rabbit vibrator taped on the end of it. He pushed the fluorescent pink device into me, ignoring my protesting moans at the lack of lubricant, then jammed the other end of the pole against the dais, so that I was impaled on the thing, unable to get away from its insistent stimulation when he switched it on. A few minutes later, they opened the shop and a flood of eager customers rushed in, excited to see what the horny girl was doing this time, and they weren't disappointed. Not only was I sexily dressed, in chains, with bare breasts and freshly shaved pussy on show, but I was writhing and moaning in very obvious sexual arousal, and a large gobbet of drool had escaped through the ring gag and was hanging off my chin, oozing down my chest. They stood and watched, open-mouthed, until I reached a noisy climax, cumming so hard that my juices could be seen running down the pole. There was no respite, of course, as the Rabbit buzzed away inside me, and they settled in for a repeat performance. It wasn't until I had reached a second exhausting climax that Mr. Harman came over and removed the vibrator and pole, telling everyone that if they wanted further entertainment, they had to buy his toys to use on me.

A few minutes later, I felt my first 'customer' forcing an enormous plug into my butt. This was quickly followed by someone who had bought some kind of electric shock device, which he enthusiastically pressed against my clitoris and repeatedly fired, leaving me screaming in pain and thrashing about uselessly in the chains, until somehow he forced me to cum, after which I hung limply from the chains, barely conscious.

It wasn't long before someone had bought a cane, and brought it over to try out on me. He tried a few light strokes across my buttocks, clearly enjoying my yelps of pain and struggles to avoid further punishment. But he got into his swing and I was soon screaming in agony as he brought the stick down as hard as he could.

I was still trying to come to terms with the pain from my arse after the severe caning when I saw another man step in front of me with a flogger in his hand. I watched in horrified fascination, almost mesmerised, as he swung it from side to side, the leather tails swishing through the air, as he got the feel of it, letting his anticipation, and that of the crowd, mount, along with my fear. When he brought it down across my breasts, it was every bit as painful as I had feared, the individual strips of leather biting into my skin and each bringing its own little pain explosion, while the overall effect was one of a blinding and excruciating agony as he whipped the flogger across my chest again and again, achieving a terrible rhythm and reducing me to foods of tears.

I hung limply from the chains, trying to recover from this beating, but I was not to be left in peace. Some sadistic bastard decided that what I really needed, with my breasts still throbbing from their whipping, was to have clamps attached to my nipples. I could only groan weakly as the customer reached up to me and pinched and pulled my aching nipples to erection, then closed the vicious metal teeth on them, which brought a desperate wail from my throat, already hoarse with screaming.

When I thought my torment could not get any worse, it did exactly that. There was an interlude where I was only subjected to penetration by a variety of dildos and vibrators, both front and back, which was humiliating and uncomfortable, but not particularly painful. The nipple clamps continued to torment me, but the niggling pain from them was suddenly eclipsed by a searing pain in my pussy. The collar prevented me from looking to see what was happening, but it was pretty clear that clamps similar to those on my nipples had been applied to my labia. The initial burst of agony didn't seem to dissipate as it had for my nipples, if anything it intensified. As I cried out and struggled, thrashing in the chains, I felt the clamps, with what felt like lead weights attached, swinging against my thighs. The man with the electric shocker must have returned, or maybe someone else had bought one, because suddenly my clitoris was being electrocuted as well. I felt like I was going out of my mind with pain as I looked out at the sea of upturned faces, all so excited at what they were witnessing. Mercifully, at some point in all this I lost consciousness, freeing me at least temporarily from my torture.

When I came around, I was lying on the mattress in the converted store room. I had been left there alone, presumably dumped there to recover. The clamps had been removed, but my whole body was aching and I lay still, letting the pain subside. Maybe half an hour later, I heard the door open and I turned to see Mr. Harman and Steve come in.

"I see you're awake" Mr. Harman said with no particular air of concern in his voice, "You rather spoilt the evening for some of the punters, forcing us to stop their entertainment"

"Maybe we should punish her for being so weak" Steve suggested with an evil look.

"Well, to help her to understand her new role in life as our property rather than our employee, I think we should assert our rights of ownership". Property ? Ownership ? I didn't understand what they were talking about.

"Sounds good to me, do you want to go first ?" Steve asked.

"I thought we might do her at the same time". Steve grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet, pinning my arms together behind my back once again by buckling a belt around my elbows, while Mr. Harman pulled a large packing crate into the middle of the room. I was forced to lie across the crate on my stomach, and the two men took up positions in front of and behind me. I watched Mr. Harman unfasten his trousers and pull them down, revealing his surprisingly large cock, which was fully erect. Without any preliminaries, he slid the head of it through the ring gag that was still in my mouth, pushing it all the way in until I was choking on it. At the same time, I felt Steve grab me by the hips and force his own erection into me, driving it in until his thighs were slapping against mine. They seemed to establish a rhythm, where they would both thrust into me at the same time, penetrating at deep as was possible. They rode me like that for an age, they seemed able to control themselves to prevent cumming too soon, and to my astonishment and dismay I found myself becoming more and more aroused. I didn't want to cum for them, to give them the satisfaction of responding to their touch, but my body was betraying me. I was licking and sucking at the cock in my mouth, and pushing my hips back to meet Steve's thrusts. And then, within the space of a few seconds, all three of us came. First, the cock in my mouth twitched and squirted down my throat, which seemed to trigger my own orgasm, sending shivers through my body and convulsions in my pussy, which almost certainly caused Steve to shoot his load as well.

I was relieved when I felt the belt on my arms loosened, but by the time I had freed myself and got off the case, they had left and I was once again locked away on my own. I knew I was locked in the clothes I was wearing, including the corset and collar, but my hear sank when I realised the ring gag was also locked on and couldn't be removed. I was thirsty, having spent all evening drooling over myself, but I didn't want to risk the energy drinks from the fridge, as I assumed they were all drugged, and I didn't want to suffer that horrible mix of aphrodisiac and laxative, so I lay down on the mattress and tried to go to sleep.

I had no clock or natural daylight, but when I woke up, I was sure it was afternoon and I was surprised that my captors had not come in to prepare me for the night's activities. When I did a count-back, I realised it must be Monday, and the shop didn't open on Monday, so I would probably be left until tomorrow. In a way, this was great, I certainly needed a day off, but I was starving hungry and very thirsty. I still didn't want to risk the suspect drinks, so I decided my only option was to get in the shower and drink the water there. I must have looked a bit odd, getting into the cubicle dressed as I was, but I couldn't keep worrying about people watching me, and indeed, this became less and less of a consideration – they say people in reality shows soon forget the cameras and, despite their intrusive nature, I was gradually getting used to those trained on me.

The water from the shower was just as cold and powerful as before, and I almost immediately regretted the decision to go in there. I cowered in the corner with my back to the stream, trying to just catch some of the water dripping down my face in my permanently open mouth. I didn't try to wash myself and got out of there at the earliest opportunity, but I was still shivering violently as I hunted around for the towel I had used the other day. But it had been removed, and I could only drip disconsolately on the floor.

The day dragged by, with nothing to do and nothing to distract me from thinking about my situation, which was bleak. I was being held against my will, imprisoned, and with no realistic hope of release or escape. I could think of no-one out in the 'real' world who would report me missing – my landlord would just assume I had done a runner, and re-let my room, the university had students drop out and disappear all the time, I had no close friends and my mother didn't know or care where I was. I was being forced to exhibit myself every night, and I had now been forced to have sex with my captors as well, and I had no way of stopping them doing whatever they wanted with me. I lay down and cried myself to sleep.

I woke up at some point – no idea if it was day or night – and couldn't cope with the thirst and hunger. I also couldn't face the shower again, so had to resort to the energy drinks. I had finished two of them before I could stop myself, and I sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for the drugs to kick in. I don't want to describe it, but the effects were worse than the first time, as the urge to cum and the need to purge myself hit at the same time, forcing me to squat over the toilet in front of the camera, but at the same time I was unable to keep my fingers out of my burning hot pussy. The sense of shame and humiliation was overwhelming, but that still couldn't stop me from making myself cum to multiple orgasms as I rolled around on the floor, out of control.

The door eventually opened and, after being fed more dog food, I was forced to go through the routine of getting ready for another night in the shop. I had to wear a body harness, all leather straps and steel rings, which was buckled tight around my neck, chest, breasts, stomach and hips. My breasts were pulled through two of the steel rings, making them look like weird fleshy globes tacked on to my body. The harness went between my legs and buckled up tight, but there were holes in the strap, so that toys could be inserted if required. My head was covered by a leather hood, strapped on very tightly, with a built-in ring gag, so I would be drooling again tonight. The boots I was made to wear were bizarre, and instantly painful. They came up above my knees and had such high heels that I was forced up onto my toes like a ballet dancer, and could take only tiny steps. The final item I had to wear was a heavy metal bar connecting three manacles, which locked around my neck and then my wrists, holding my arms out to either side of my head, like mobile stocks. Suitably attired, I tottered out into the shop.

The doors had just been opened but the place was already mobbed. Steve was pushing me through the crowd, but they were taking every opportunity to cop a feel, and I was being groped, my breasts and bottom squeezed and pinched, my pussy and asshole fingered, as I went by. I was grateful for the hood which completely covered my face, giving me a degree of anonymity which, perversely, meant I felt less ashamed that all the physical contact was turning me on. My head was telling me that I could not enjoy being used and abused against my will by all these total strangers, but my body wasn't listening.

At the far end of the shop, as far away from the door as you could get, was a small room, which in the past had probably been used as an office by some accountant. There was a sign outside it which read "£10 for 5 minutes with our model". How quaint, I thought as I was hustled inside, still calling me a model, rather than prostitute or whore ! I noticed the cameras as Steve pushed me down onto my knees – this new humiliation was to be broadcast to my fans around the world.

The first paying customer came into the room only a few minutes later and, without saying a word – why would you waste time talking to what was no more than a tool for making you cum ? – he dropped his trousers and stuck his erect cock through the ring into my mouth. Well within his five minutes, he had shot his load and left me to swallow his deposit. Almost immediately, customer number 2 was in there and I was sucking cock again. And so it went, one after another, until I was feeling very queasy with the amount of cum I had swallowed, in addition to what had been splashed in my face and over my body, or had just dribbled out of my mouth and hung in long strings from my chin. As my stomach churned, I shuffled over to a corner of the room and threw up everything in my stomach, including the dog food, in a horrible, stinking mess. Steve heard me (or maybe was watching on camera) and came in, grumbling about having to clean up after me. He also wiped me down, saying that customers had started to complain about sloppy seconds.

After a few more blowjobs, I was pulled up onto my feet and made to bend over whilst I was taken from behind. This then became the norm, with only the occasional customer preferring me to suck them off. Despite the speed with which they came, and their total lack of interest in my satisfaction, I found myself becoming more and more aroused with each brief fucking. After about three of them, I reached orgasm, and after that I seemed to be cumming virtually every time. I was soon exhausted, my body covered in sweat and my feet not just aching but riven by shooting pains from my toes, through my Achilles tendons all the way to the hamstrings in my thighs.

Having decided not to keep beating myself up with moral outrage at my inhumane and illegal treatment, I was almost enjoying being constantly fucked and made to cum. That is, until I felt several fingers being forced into my anus and gel being smeared all around there. I had never been 'buggered', and the thought of it was repulsive. I moaned and struggled for the first time, trying to make it abundantly clear I did NOT want him to go there.

"Stop your struggling, bitch, or I'll punch you" I heard him growl behind me, and I confined myself to pathetic mewing noises to try and appeal to him to stop, but of course it had no effect. As he put the tip of his erection against my sphincter and forced it in, I let out a howl of despair. It didn't hurt any more than having a dildo shoved up there, but it was psychologically so much worse – another humiliating step on the path to total degradation.

It all became a horrible blur as I was violated in all three orifices over the following hours. At last it stopped, the noise from outside abating as customers were ushered out into the Soho streets and the shop was shut. Steve came into the room and dragged me to my feet and back to my cell. I hoped he would free my arms and remove the leather hood but didn't expect him to release me from the clothes – the pattern was that I would stay in my night gear, presumably for the benefit of web viewers. But, rather than release me, he forced me down on the bed and rammed a huge dildo and butt plug into me. The monsters both started vibrating, and as I writhed about under their malign influence, I watched Steve smile cruelly, turn and walk out, locking the door behind him. I let out another inarticulate howl as I was forced to orgasm over and over for the benefit of the cameras. That was a long night.

And the days that followed were long as well, stretching endlessly before me. They all followed the same grizzly pattern – late afternoon: shower, eat, get dressed in some bizarre fetish and bondage gear; evening: service the customers' needs and desires in whatever way necessary, whether in private sex sessions or public displays; night and most of the day: locked away, sleeping, pacing like a caged animal at the zoo, constantly on display; and then it all starts again.

It was mind-numbingly boring – there were no distractions like TV or books, no-one to talk to – and I started to look forward to the evenings just for the human contact, even though I was treated like a dog. I would sometimes act up just to get some attention, even though it meant getting a beating – just like a dog not getting enough love, I suppose.

Gradually the days became weeks – although I knew when a week had passed because of the day off, I had no real idea how long I was there, I was in a kind of trance, unable or unwilling to think longer term than the next day or the next mealtime. My brain had shut down, and I could not even think back to my previous life as an eager and bright student.

And then my life changed again. Mr Harman came in and I knelt submissively on the floor – he had a habit of making me suck him when he arrived, and I had learned to adopt the position if I didn't want to be hit or shouted at.

"Good news, Kat" he said with a smile. I looked up warily – that could mean a new piece of torture equipment which I would be demonstrating.

"Yes, Master ?" I said dutifully.

"Yes", he said as he helped me out of the bondage I had been left in, "I have found your replacement – a beautiful young Chinese girl, almost as naοve as you were when you first came here. So you no longer have to work here in the shop !"

"You're ... setting me free, Master ?" I said with a mixture of hope and fear in my voice.

"Free ?" he said in an amused tone, "Well, I wouldn't be a very good owner if I just turfed you out onto the street, now would I ?" At that moment the door opened and Steve came in, dragging a large wooden crate – large enough, I noted darkly, for a person to fit in.

"I've sold you on to a very good customer" Mr Harman went on, as I stared at him in disbelief.

"Sold me ? But Master ..." I trailed off, feeling bewildered, not sure whether I was just feeling scared at the thought of being in the control of some unknown pervert, or whether I was hurt that my Master didn't want or need me any more – I was being replaced.

"Don't worry, Kat", he went on blithely, "You'll be fine. Now, we need to get you packed for your journey".

Steve grabbed me and together they bound me tightly to a metal pole so I would not be able to bang or kick the crate to make a noise once I was in it. They forced an inflatable gag into my mouth and pumped it until my desperate screams were almost entirely stifled. Then they laid me down in the crate on a bed of polystyrene 'packing peanuts' and, as I struggled frantically but vainly against the ropes, Steve poured more of the peanuts around me and over me, filling the crate and burying all but my face. My last sight as Steve lowered the lid over me was of Mr Harman's face, beaming down at me. Then only darkness and the sound of an electric screwdriver as the box was sealed.

I had no idea where I was going or to whom I had been sold, like the slave I now knew I was.

Part 3 (added: 05/23/2011)

The journey took at least a couple of hours, so I knew I was no longer in London. I had felt the crate being carried and then slid onto the floor of a van. The engine started, the van pulled away, and crawled through the rush hour traffic. Eventually the van sped up and I guessed I was now out of the city and motoring towards my destination, wherever that was. Eventually the van stopped, the crate was lifted out and manhandled up some stairs, before being put down. I waited nervously for it to be opened, for my first sight of my new surroundings.

At last the screws were undone and I closed my eyes as sunlight streamed in. When I opened them, I found a rather distinguished looking man – well built, elegantly dressed, in his late thirties I guessed – bending over me. He reached out and I felt the pressure of the inflatable gag reduce, bringing a moan of relief and also of pain as I tried to move my aching jaw. I felt his fingers behind my head and the gag was removed altogether, then he took out a pocket knife and started cutting through the ropes which had been digging into me for hours and had almost cut off the circulation in my arms and legs. When he had finally got me free, he offered me a hand to help me up, but I couldn't even lift up my arm. To my surprise, he slipped his arms underneath my body and lifted me out of the crate with ease, carried me across the room and put me gently down on the bed. I looked up at him warily, not trusting that this seemingly kind and gentle approach was going to last.

"I'll let you rest" he said in a deep, calm voice, "I'll come back later to see how you're feeling". I watched in silence as he walked away and left the room, shutting the door behind him. I looked around the room, inspecting my new prison, to find that it was rather pleasant. The double bed I was lying on was incredibly soft with a bright white duvet and plump pillows. There was a TV and a clock, which showed me date and time – with a jolt I realised I had been held in that shop for over six months ! There was a desk, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe – and, to my amazement and delight a row of books on a shelf.

But what really took my attention was the window, and I immediately went over to it. There were heavy iron bars in front of the glass and the window could only open a few inches, but I could see the outside world for the first time in – as I now knew – six months and I could feel the cool breeze playing across my naked body, which just felt wonderful ! Looking out, I could see a patch of lawn through the trees quite close to the window, and a high wall enclosing the garden – not a particularly inspiring sight and with no view beyond the confines of the garden, but it seemed like paradise to me.

I turned on the TV and sat watching the BBC news channel, letting it cycle through the stories of the day, just soaking up what was happening out there and wondering what I had missed while locked away. Once the same stories were repeating for the third time, I explored a little more. The wardrobe contained a rack of dresses, trousers and even jeans – not a scrap of latex or leather in sight, in fact everything looked rather expensive and stylish. The drawers contained underwear, but once again elegant, nothing which would have been sold in the sex shop. There was another door from the room, and I found that it led into an en suite bathroom. I searched for hidden cameras but it all seemed 'clean', so I ran a bath and spent the most amazing hour relaxing in the bubbles, gradually starting to feel like a human being again, rather than a piece of meat.

When I had dried myself on the lovely fluffy towels, I put on normal clothes for the first time in months – normal bra and pants, a light summer dress, low heel shoes – chose a book from the shelf, and curled up in the armchair in the corner to read. I don't remember what I was reading, and I kept the TV on, half-listening to them burble on about wars, foreign disasters and the economy, just luxuriating in the mundane normality of everything (except the bars on the window, which I tried to shut out of my mind).

After a while I started to feel hungry and wondered what I would do for food. I had avoided trying the door, assuming it would be locked and my illusion of normality would be shattered, but I was astonished to find it opened. I looked out cautiously into a corridor, with a door at the end and a door to my left. I found the door at the end of the corridor was locked, which I had expected, but the other door led into a small kitchen, which had a fridge stocked with real fresh food, cupboards stacked with tins, a fresh loaf, a small cooker and a sink – it felt like Aladdin's cave ! There was another window, also barred, but providing another view into the same garden, revealing a swimming pool in the distance. I made myself tea and toast – I'm English, after all – and took it back to my bedroom. It felt like I had my own apartment, and if I ignored the locked door and barred windows, I could imagine I was back in the real world. But then I had to admit the door was locked and the windows barred, and I wondered where this was heading.

I was startled by a knock at the door and realised I had dozed off in the chair.

"Come in" I said, rather flustered. The man who had 'unpacked' me came in, and I looked at him in more detail than before. Maybe in his early forties, I now thought, but he looked after himself, possibly working out in the gym or just being very active. He was clean-shaven and lightly tanned, with well groomed hair and nails. He was dressed 'smart casual' – chinos, Ralph Lauren shirt, smart shoes – and seemed to have a pleasant, relaxed manner, with an easy authority.

"Would you like to accompany me to dinner, Kathryn ?" he asked, and it felt like a genuine question, rather than a command, but I was still cautious.

"Yes, Master" I said meekly, submissively, wanting to keep on his 'right side'. He tilted his head with a slight smile, as if considering my style of response.

"You can call me Master if you like", he said, "It sounds good coming from you. Or you can call me Robert. Or Master Robert, its up to you. Shall we go ?"

He led me down the corridor and into the main part of the house. I was surprised at how large it was, like a country mansion, although thoroughly modern. It was well-furnished and that word 'elegant' came to mind again, with striking but tasteful decoration and art on the walls. We went into the dining room, where the table was laid for two, with fine cutlery, glasses and plates. He held my chair as I sat down, poured me a glass of white wine, then disappeared into the kitchen. I sipped the wine, which tasted wonderful, then suddenly thought, this is the time I should try and escape. But instead of getting up and running, I told myself the doors to the outside world would be locked, I would only get punished, I would ruin the calm and friendly attitude this new Master, Master Robert, seemed to have towards me. So, I just sat there, sipping my wine, looking around and waiting nervously for him to return.

The food was excellent – mind you, I'd been surviving on dog food, so not much of a recommendation – and over dinner Master Robert asked me my thoughts on the news I'd been catching up on, discussing everything from global politics to celebrity trivia. I spoke quietly, hesitantly, cautiously, until I gradually gained confidence – both in him and in my ability to hold a real conversation again. I recognised he was deliberately trying to put me at my ease, but I also recognised it was working. As we were sitting with our coffee, things got a bit more serious.

"Kathryn", Master Robert said as he put down his cup, "I think you deserve to know a bit about me and why I have brought you here". I was suddenly back on edge, nervous.

"I used to be a city trader, just retired. I worked in London and used to frequent Soho, looking to satisfy my ... predilections. I happened to go into one of the sex shops and there you were, hanging by your wrists from the ceiling, while someone – apparently a customer – was thrashing you with a cane. I was immediately transfixed, both by your beauty and your predicament". I felt myself blushing, and realised I enjoyed his appreciation of me.

"I knew then I needed you for myself. I watched from the periphery, night after night, not wanting to attract attention to myself. I didn't take part in your torture and humiliation, not because I didn't want to, but because I had no intention of doing it before an audience. I spoke to the shop owner, trying to understand your relationship with him. He was very suspicious of me, accusing me of being a policeman, but I managed to convince him I wasn't. Eventually, I found out he had forced you into this situation and effectively owned you". I blushed again, embarrassed at recalling how easy it had been to manoeuvre me into that situation, but I stayed silent.

"I offered to buy you from him. He refused at first, saying you had boosted profits tenfold. Eventually, I struck a deal where I would not only pay for you but provide a replacement girl. I found a suitable replacement in a brothel, a girl who had been trafficked from China, and I bought her. Between you, you set me back a fair bit of money, but I got you and now, here we are".

"Thank you for rescuing me, Master" I said, and I meant it – this was certainly infinitely better than the shop.

"Be careful what you wish for, Kathryn, you may live to regret it" he said seriously.

"You treat me as a human being, Master, the others treated me only as an object to be exploited. Whatever you do to me, it will be in that context".

"You are a human being, Kathryn, a very pretty one. And yet I have bought you like a piece of property. I own you". He looked intently at me, and seemed to make a decision.

"I am a sadist, Kathryn", he said, "I gain sexual gratification from inflicting pain on another. I don't mean I will enjoy whipping you, I mean I will only achieve an erection and reach orgasm by causing you pain – extreme pain. I could never expect someone to willingly let me do that to them – unless they were a masochist, and then I wouldn't get the same thrill from it – so that is why I bought you". I listened in silence, trying to take on board what he was saying.

"I won't need to ... use you every day, maybe not even every week. You will be able to do as you please most of the time, within the restrictions on your freedom I have imposed. But when I wish to use you, there will be no negotiation. Do you understand, Kathryn ?"

"Yes, Master", I said quietly. He gave me a compassionate look, as if regretting what he was going to put me through.

"I think you need time to come to terms with that. I'll take you back to your room". We walked back in silence and, when the door closed, I curled up on the bed, wondering what trials I was going to face.

Over the next couple of days, I started to think that maybe it wouldn't be that bad – after all, I had already suffered at the hands of some pretty sick bastards, and Master Robert seemed so ... kind. And then it arrived – I went to make myself some breakfast one morning and I saw the note, just as he had told me I would. As I read it, my hand was shaking – all it said was "Tonight. 6 pm" but it filled me with dread. I was sick with nerves all day as I wondered what was going to happen. As instructed, I showered, shaving my legs, armpits and pubic area so I was smooth and hairless for him. When I had dried and perfumed myself, I opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, where I had stored the things he had told me to wear. There were leather cuffs for my wrists and ankles and a thick leather collar, which I strapped on securely. All of them sported multiple D-ring connectors, offering plenty of options for tethering or binding me. And then there was the gag I was to wear. It was a simple length of wood dowelling, with a steel ring at either end and a leather strap. The Master had told me to strap it in as tight as I could, and as I did so, I realised just how wide open my jaws were forced, preventing me from closing my lips on the other side of the wood, making it almost inevitable I would soon be drooling like a baby. Master Robert had explained why this was the perfect gag:

"It prevents you from begging for mercy, but allows you to scream as loud as you need" he had told me, unnerving me even further. Now suitably 'dressed', I went into the corridor and knelt facing the door, waiting for him to arrive.

I was surprised to see that the Master had stripped to the waist, and I was impressed by his muscled and hairless chest, over a washboard flat stomach – he clearly worked out. He beckoned me to follow him, and we went through the house to a door off the main hall, leading to steps down into the darkness. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, we stepped into a large open space, but it was so dimly lit by individual spotlights I couldn't see the full extent of it. The floor and walls had been tiled with slate, bringing an image to my mind of blood being easily washed off the walls, an image which I didn't appreciate.

Master Robert positioned me squarely in one of the spotlights, reached up into the shadows above and pulled a chain into view, attaching it to my wrist cuffs with a couple of padlocks taken from his pocket. He walked away and a few seconds later a motor whirred and the chain started to rise up, pulling my arms up with it, until my wrists were above my head, then my arms fully stretched, until finally my feet were pulled off the ground and only my toes were in contact with the cool surface and I was hanging helplessly.

Master Robert stepped back into the light and I let out a little cry of surprise and fear. He was naked, except for leather cuffs around his wrists and a mask which covered the top half of his face, making him look like a medieval executioner. My eyes immediately went to his groin, and I could see he had nothing to be ashamed of in that department – his member was flaccid but even so was an impressive length. But my attention quickly shifted to his hand, and the whip he was holding in it. This was no sex toy, this was a full-sized bullwhip, ten or twelve feet of plaited leather trailing on the floor. With a sudden flick of his wrist, the whip jumped into the air and let out a loud crack close by my side. I let out a squeal of terror and began struggling at the end of the chain, while my eyes were fixed on his arm as he drew it back. Another crack rent the air beside me and I screamed again, my heart pounding with fear now, as the Master took a step towards me and raised his arm again. This time the leather flicked against the outside of my thigh as I turned away and I let out a genuine scream of pain, certain that the skin had been split open by the blow. A searing pain burst across my back as the whip wrapped across my shoulders and around my arm, followed by even more excruciating agony as it carved a line over my stomach. I was crying now, tears streaming down my face to join the saliva gushing out of my mouth, as I gasped for breath, trying to cope with the laceration of my body. I waited for the next strike but it didn't come, and I raised my head to see what Master Robert was doing. He was suddenly close by me, his fingers tracing the ugly red welts on my body, making me wince. I could see that his cock was now semi-erect and had grown a little thicker and longer as he enjoyed my suffering. I tried to form words of pleading, to beg for his mercy, but as he had predicted, only pathetic, animal noises emerged. He stepped back, and the torture resumed.

Each impact brought fresh torment, as he expertly targeted unharmed landing sites for the snake-like whip, its venomous bites torturing my breasts, buttocks, thighs, back, stomach. It was cold in the cellar but I was sweating profusely, my hair plastered to my head.

As he took another break, I hung limply from the ceiling, my breath ragged and laboured. As he approached me again, I saw that he was now fully erect, my torture having finally aroused him. But as I watched him in dismay, he clipped a spreader bar between my ankles, spreading my legs wide apart, so my feet were no longer touching the floor. He stepped back again and my eyes widened in horror as I saw him taking careful aim. I started pulling on the chain, making my body dance, trying to turn away from the next attack, but it was no use. If I thought I was in pain before, I was soon disabused of that illusion. With unerring accuracy, he fired the whip at me again and the very tip of it flicked up and struck me right on my exposed pussy lips. The room echoed to my desperate screams as the leather hit me again and then again, each time in the most sensitive area. Suddenly I felt hands grabbing me around the thighs, pulling me forward and onto his now rampant cock, which he buried deep in my tortured sex. I continued to cry out in pain as he thrust hard where moments before he had been laying the whip. He started to cry out himself and I felt him cum inside me as his fingernails dug into my buttocks at the moment of his climax. He let me go and I swung at the end of the chain, every inch of my body either in acute pain or aching, but with a terribly familiar itch between my legs – despite the agony, I was suddenly hot for him.

I was not to get satisfaction. He let me down from my suspension and I subsided to a crumpled heap on the cold floor, unable to get my legs or arms to work. Master Robert scooped me up in his arms and took me back to my room, where he laid me gently down on the bed.

"I'm sorry I had to do that to you, Kathryn, but ... thank you", he said quietly, then leaned over and kissed my forehead, before leaving me alone. I had just enough energy to remove the gag and crawl under the duvet, before I started to sob silently but uncontrollably. Why was my life so fucked up, I wondered hopelessly to myself.

The next morning, I dragged my aching body into the bathroom and was shocked by the number of ugly red slash marks on my skin. I soaked in a soothing bath for a couple of hours and when I got out, I found several balms and skin creams amongst the toiletries Master Robert had provided, which eased my sores quite well.

I dressed in a shapeless tracksuit which covered me up (who I thought might see me, I didn't know) without pressing on the cuts and bruises. When I went to get something for breakfast, I found a large bouquet of flowers with a note – "Thanks. Robert. X" Oh wonderful, I thought bitterly, the man who is holding me prisoner and torturing me is an old romantic at heart !

I spent the day in my room and didn't see Master Robert until the next morning in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Kathryn, how are you feeling ? Has your body recovered ?"

"Much better today, thank you, Master" I said meekly.

"Good. Today, I need to take you back down to the cellar – don't worry !" he said quickly as he saw the look of alarm and fear on my face, "It's just that the lady who cleans for me, Anna, comes today and I think it best she doesn't meet you just yet".

He told me I didn't have to be naked, and I could take something to read so I didn't get too bored. So ten minutes later, I was in the bizarre situation of sitting, reading a book, in a sex dungeon, wearing a gag to ensure I didn't cry for help and with a chain around my ankle padlocked to a fixture in the floor to stop me running around and making a noise. With a certain irony, I was reading Long Walk to Freedom, about Nelson Mandela's time as a prisoner.

I had an enjoyable dinner with Master Robert that night and slept well. So it came as a jolt the next morning to find the note commanding my presence at another session in the cellar that evening. I was sick with nerves the whole day, unable to concentrate on anything I read or watched on TV. My hands were shaking so much I nicked myself shaving, which I thought a supreme irony, given what I preparing myself for.

When he led me down into the cellar, I was surprised to see a chair in the middle of the room, but this wasn't like the one I had used the previous day – it was made from heavy dark wood covered in black leather and brass studs, with straps along the arm rests, legs and back. I sat down reluctantly and Master Robert proceeded to buckle me in, first my arms and legs, then my shoulders and body, then my hips, until I was almost welded to the chair, unable to raise myself up or even squirm. He fiddled with something on the chair and suddenly I felt the centre of the seat drop away, leaving me perched on the edge with my buttocks and thighs accessible from below. I let out a terrified wail and felt sick in anticipation of what was to come.

What came next was a drenching – Master Robert, having stripped naked, stood in front of me with a hose and turned it full on, making me scream at the cold and choke as the water flooded into my gaping mouth. I turned away and managed to cough and splutter my airway free so I could breathe, but it reminded me of the shower in my earlier prison. Once I was thoroughly soaked, he turned off the hose and I was left dripping and shivering. I saw the Master approaching with a strange-looking box, with a silvery metal dildo on a shaft poking out of the top of it. He positioned the box directly under the chair and adjusted it until I could feel the tip of the dildo against my sex, just parting the lips. He stepped back and I watched as he attached cables from the box to a control panel. Two other wires also came from the control panel and these ended in crocodile clips like the ones you use to jump-start a car battery. I could not shrink away from him as he came towards me with them, I was too tightly strapped down, all I could do was watch in horror as he closed the vicious-looking clamps around my nipples, then throw my head back and howl as they bit deep into the tender flesh.

He went back to the control panel and I watched as he twisted a dial. Slowly the dildo rose up, penetrating me and pushing deep into my pussy, before sinking back to its former position, then rising again. This rhythmic thrusting continued at a slow pace, Master Robert watching me intently until I started to react to the persistent stimulation. As I let out a moan of pleasure, he turned the dial a little and the pace of the dildo increased, making me moan louder which in turn encouraged him to increase the speed of penetration. Soon I was panting as my level of arousal increased and I could feel myself approaching the point of orgasm. Just before the moment of climax, Master Robert hit a button and my world exploded into pain. The dildo stopped at its point of maximum extension and I felt a burning agony as electricity coursed through my body from the clamps on my nipples and from the metal dildo. I put back my head and my screams bounced off the walls, tears streamed down my face and saliva flew from my lips. The pain seemed unbearable, the more so as my body was unable to move and somehow shift or deflect the focus of the pain. Eventually it dulled to an aching throb through my body but most definitely worst in my nipples and pussy. Wearily I dragged my head up from where I had slumped onto my chest and looked at Master Robert. He was staring at me, his blue eyes framed by the black leather hood and he was holding his erect penis in his hand, which was moving slowly back and forth, massaging the stiff member. But his other hand was on the dial, and I felt the dildo start to sink and then rise within me, once again striking its infernal rhythm. I shook my head and whined out an unintelligible plea for mercy as the shaft picked up speed and I felt arousal start to build within me again, despite the pain I was already feeling in my tortured pussy. I was not moaning in pleasure now, but crying out in apprehension at the renewed agony I knew I would get once I approached orgasm. If there was any way I could have controlled my body, then would have been the point to discover it, because at that moment I wanted nothing more than to stop myself cumming, but I couldn't. I heard his hand slap down on the button and I screamed until I was hoarse, the waves of my climax riding on the electricity shooting through me, my whole body sent into spasm, jerking uncontrollably against the straps holding me down. At some point, Master Robert must have jerked off over me, because I was splashed with his cum across my breasts and stomach, but I hardly noticed it happening, totally consumed as I was by my own suffering. As my orgasm abated, I collapsed into a state of unconsciousness.

When I awoke, I was back in my bed, and every part of me hurt. I had trouble walking for a couple of days and I had to put masses of soothing cream on my red and swollen nipples until the swelling finally went down. It was several days before I saw Master Robert again, which was fine by me, and then it was only to lock me away for the cleaner's visit. I was relieved to see the chair had gone, but it only made me wonder what it would be replaced by.

I was at dinner with the Master when he silently handed me a newspaper clipping.

"I thought you might like to read this" he said. I read the headline "Soho sex shop closed down for trafficking", then the accompanying story describing a police raid on a sex shop which had discovered a secret 'brothel' in the store room with a Chinese girl chained to a bed. Police confirmed they had organised the raid following an anonymous tip-off and that the girl was being cared for in a refuge. There was a picture alongside the article of Mr. Harman being led away in handcuffs.

"Did you do this, master ?" I asked. He nodded. "Thank you" I said as I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

When I received the next note, I rebelled. I couldn't face torture like I had suffered before and, though I could see no way out, I refused to acquiesce as submissively as I had before. I refused to prepare myself like a lamb for the slaughter, instead arming myself with the deadliest weapon at my disposal, a bread knife, and waiting in my room, ready to fight for my life. Eventually, there was a knock at the door.

"Get away from me, you sick bastard !" I screamed, brandishing the knife at the door. Slowly it opened and Master Robert entered, looking at me solemnly.

"Put the knife down, Kathryn" he said gravely, "You will only get hurt".

"Oh, and I suppose it'll all be sweetness and roses if I do that, will it ?" I said bitterly.

He knew there was no point in arguing, so he came at me. It was all over in seconds and was pathetically easy – he was stronger, bigger, heavier and fitter than me, plus he knew what he was doing. I found myself face down on the floor with him sitting on top of me, pinning my arms to my sides. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and removed a cloth from it, which he clamped over my nose and mouth. I quickly became dizzy and then passed out.

When I woke up, I was in the dungeon. I had been stripped, gagged and was suspended by my arms and legs, face up to the ceiling. It was difficult to see much as none of the spotlights were switched on, and there was only a dimly flickering light.

Master Robert stood over me, what little of his face I could see under the executioner's hood impassive. He was holding a large candle in his hand, and suddenly I knew the torture to which I was to be subjected. Once more I tried to beg for mercy but it was useless, he would not have understood me, even if he did have any capacity for mercy, which I doubted. He stood in front of my head, so he appeared upside down to me, his naked body only a few inches from my face, and moved the candle over my body. I struggled to lift my head so I could see what he was doing, and watched with growing apprehension as he brought the candle close to my right arm and tilted it. A single drop of wax dripped onto the crook of my elbow and I let out a squeal of pain as it burned into my skin, before cooling and solidifying. My head dropped back and I began to sob loudly as I felt a burning drip on my left elbow. I struggled uselessly, twisting and writhing in my bondage and heard the chains holding me in mid-air rattle, as the drips continued on each arm in turn, progressing up towards my shoulders.

I jumped as I felt wax burn into my left thigh, just above the knee, the hot liquid dribbling down the inside of my leg before solidifying. Another string of drops were delivered up each leg towards my pussy, and in each case the pain was intensified by the targeting of the inside of the thigh so hot wax ran down across my skin, leaving a scorching trail. When he had reached the tops of my thighs, he paused again, but I had no illusions that he was finished.

I was sweating now. I raised my head again to see what he was up to, and saw him standing by my waist, looking into my eyes, and at that moment I felt the first drop hit my stomach. But he kept tipping the boiling hot wax until a small pool of it had run into my navel, and I cried out as it seemed to burrow through the skin into my guts. The pain only subsided slightly as it congealed and then hardened, but by then I could already feel lines of scalding droplets marching across my stomach to my chest, making a bee line for my breasts. Each breast in turn was burned in a pattern of dots which circled around in a diminishing spiral towards the nipple. As I screamed to the blank walls, I felt the wax dripping onto my nipples, drop by drop, first one then the other, until they were completely encased by it, forming little shields which kept in the heat, increasing the torture. As I squirmed in torment, Master Robert paused again.

As I came to terms with the pain of the existing burns, I struggled to look up and see what Master Robert was doing. He was standing between my outstretched thighs, waiting for me to look up, so he could see the look of fear in my eyes as he held the candle over my shaven pussy. I watched in silent horror as he used two fingers to spread my lips, then slowly tipped the candle, allowing a steady stream of wax to fall directly onto my clitoris and the soft, moist flesh of my vagina. My screams reached a new level of volume and desperation as the most sensitive area of all was subjected to the terrible torture. I twisted and struggled in the chains, trying frantically to get out of the way, but he held me in place easily with one hand on my body. Just as I thought it could not get any worse, I felt the broad base of the candle placed between my breasts so that Master Robert could grab my hips in both hands and thrust his rampant erection deep into my tortured pussy, slamming his thighs and balls up against my burnt flesh, intensifying the pain. He rammed his cock into me, clearly enjoying the extra suffering this was causing, as I sobbed and cried in agony. He came pretty quickly, his semen mixing with the rapidly hardening wax as he shot his load across my pussy and up onto my stomach. I hung limply from the chains, my mind and body having given up the struggle to cope with the torture, with no coherent thought able to form in my head as I sensed only pain.

Master Robert let me down onto the floor and released me from the chains, before scooping me up and taking me upstairs, laying me down gently on the bed. But he didn't just leave me there, he gently peeled off the solidified wax, kissed each area of damaged skin and covered it with a skin cream which soothed the irritation. As he kissed and rubbed cream into my arms, stomach and thighs, my tortured body began to respond to his ministrations, and by the time he started to massage and kiss my breasts, I was clearly becoming aroused, moaning now in growing pleasure rather than the pain of earlier. As he peeled away the wax covering on my clitoris, I gave out little whimpers of pain and pleasure as I clasped and unclasped the duvet, trying to control myself. I let out a long, loud sigh of contentment as I felt his lips gently caressing the tender flesh of my labia and clitoris, then groaning with excitement as his tongue began to work me up into a frenzy. He switched his attention back to my breasts for a while, then returned to my pussy which was now aching for him, rather than just aching. I really wanted him inside me at that moment, but I realised he just couldn't get it up without hurting me, and for the first time I felt sorry for him, finally understanding that he had an affliction, not just a predilection. But then my focus shifted back to the immediate situation as I squirmed and panted and whined and moaned my way to a wonderful orgasm.

"I'm so sorry for what I have done to you, Kathryn" he said as I lay there, recovering.

"Hold me, master, please" I whispered, and he did, the whole night, the two of us curling up under the duvet. It wasn't until I awoke the next morning that I realised we were in his bedroom, the first time I had spent the night outside my room / cell.

Our relationship began to change from that moment. Don't get me wrong, his need to treat me cruelly and in a sadistic way to get his own sexual gratification continued to happen and continued to be a source of great tension between us. But, in between those sessions, we were much closer, and I ceased to be a prisoner in any obvious sense, although he didn't offer to release me and I didn't ask to be released – it became a non-subject.

We became lovers in a more traditional sense, and I gradually gained freedoms. I asked if I could be allowed out into the garden and to use the swimming pool to get fit. The next day, he provided me with a range of bathing suits and bikinis, and had an exercise bike and rowing machine installed in the garden for my use.

I finally met Anna, the cleaner, and we became friends. I guess she thought I was just his girlfriend. I realised she had known him for many years and I was genuinely grateful that she 'approved' of me.

After several months with Master Robert, as I continued to think of him and call him, I realised I missed the education which had been so abruptly stopped when I had been kidnapped. After I discussed it with him, I was surprised and delighted when he signed me up to an Open University course in Psychology, my chosen subject, and presented me with a laptop with full internet access, so I could study. This represented another significant step to freedom, but I was now held by a much stronger bond than any rope or chain – I had fallen in love with my captor.

Which is, of course, when my shitty life took a turn for the worse.

Final Part (added: 07/07/11)

I had been with Master Robert for three or four months when it happened. I was sunbathing in the garden, having done a mile in the pool and lying out on a towel on the grass in a fetching pink bikini.

"Would you come in here at moment, Kathryn ?" I heard the master's voice coming through the open French windows and I got up and trotted over there.

"What is it, master ?" I said as I stepped inside and took off my sunglasses. To my horror, I saw my master, kneeling on the floor, stripped naked and with ropes across his chest and stomach. Standing over him, holding a gun to his head, was Steve.

"Hello, Kat, remember me ?" he said with that terrible smile. How could I forget him after all he had done to me in that shop, after all the times he had raped and beaten me ?

"Steve, w-what are you doing here ?" I stammered. Before he answered, he stuffed a ball gag into Master Robert's mouth and buckled the strap tight behind his head.

"I thought I'd look you up for old time's sake, Kat" he said as he pushed the master down on his stomach on the floor, and I could see he had cuffed his wrists and ankles, with the cuffs entwined to form a hogtie. Ropes bound his arms tight to his body, further restricting his movement. Steve stepped over the prone form and came towards me, menacingly.

"That old fool Harman's been put away, I'm out of a job and a lot of money, and it seems we have your boyfriend here to thank". He turned and aimed a kick at the master, hitting him in the side, eliciting a groan from him.

"Please, Steve, don't hurt him !" I cried out instinctively. Steve gave me a curious look.

"So ... I was joking when I said 'boyfriend' but maybe I wasn't that far away". He pushed Master Robert onto his side and swung his boot into his groin, bringing a grunt of pain.

"Please !" I said again, reaching out to try to pull him back.

"Interesting" he smiled, turning back to me and grabbing my arms in a vice-like grip.

"You have feelings for this creep, even though he bought you like a piece of meat ? How cute ! I wonder what you'd do to protect your lover boy ?" He let me go and turned back to the master, putting the gun to his head.

"I'll promise not to shoot him if you show me a good time, just like the old days, what do you say, Kat ?" What could I say ? I slowly nodded my head. He beamed a smile and sat down on the floor in front of the master.

"Do me a little striptease then, like the slut you are – and make it sexy, for both of us".

I didn't see that I had much choice, so I started to sway my hips and run my hands over my body in what I hoped was an erotic dance. I eased the straps of the bikini top down off my shoulders, then turned my back on them and unclipped it, before whirling it around my head and tossing it in Steve's direction. I bent over low, my ass pointing in their direction, and slowly slipped the bikini bottoms off my buttocks and down my thighs. I let them drop to the floor, then turned to face them, my hands strategically placed to cover my nipples and pussy, and flicked the bikini bottoms towards Steve with my toes. I sashayed over to him, before sinking to my knees and putting my arms behind me.

"What do you want me to do now ?" I asked huskily, feeling sick that I had been forced back to the situation I thought I had escaped months before. He unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans and boxers down, revealing his erection.

"Let's give lover boy here a show, as he has a ringside seat. Suck it, bitch !" Reluctantly, and after an apologetic glance towards my true master, I bowed my head over Steve's groin and took his cock into my mouth. I did the best job I could, reckoning a satisfied psychopath may be a less dangerous psychopath. He certainly seemed to enjoy it, keeping up a running commentary, mainly to annoy Master Robert, I think.

"Oh, she's good, your girlfriend, she's so filthy ! You like to suck my cock, don't you, slut ? What do you think lover boy, you like watching your girlfriend taking it ? Come on, Kat, ride me like a stallion !" He pushed my head away and made me straddle him and take him into my pussy, which I am ashamed to say was already hot and wet.

"Oh yes !" he continued, "She's such a slut, this girl ! She's all ready to cum, aren't you, Kat ? How's the view, lover ? I bet she'd love it up the ass, don't you ? Turn around, bitch, and give me that sweet ass of yours". Going bright red, I did as I was told and felt him thrust into me hard and deep, making me screw up my face and squeal in discomfort. At last he climaxed, shooting his cum inside me and across my buttocks. He then made me lick his cock clean, before he put it away and pulled up his jeans.

"Time for us to go, Kat" Steve said, making me turn around and stare at him in confusion and alarm.

"Yeah, sorry about breaking up your little love nest here, but I've already lined up a buyer for you". He smiled at the look of horror on my face and the sudden animation of Master Robert as he struggled vainly to break free.

"You didn't think I'd come all his way for a quick shag, did you ?" he mocked, "Revenge is sweet but it doesn't pay the bills and, like I said, I'm severely out of pocket over you".

He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the floor, forcing me onto my stomach and sitting astride me, pinning me down.

"Please, Steve" I begged as I felt him wrapping rope around my wrists and then elbows, "My master has money, he'll buy me from you again" – I looked imploringly at Master Robert and saw him vigorously nodding his head and trying to echo my words to Steve – "if you just let us go !"

"Sorry, darling" he said, pulling the rope viciously tight, "The deal's already done". He forced a ball gag into my mouth and strapped it in tight.

"You wouldn't want me to welch on a deal, would you ? Now, say goodbye to lover boy, and we'll be on our way".

I looked desperately into my master's eyes and saw him trying to look reassuring and make reassuring noises, but then I felt myself grabbed by the hair and dragged to my feet and out of the room, out of his sight. I struggled frantically but there was nothing I could do as Steve manhandled me out of the door and down to the rather dilapidated car parked on the drive. He opened the boot and forced me into it, lying face down on the filthy carpet. I felt my legs pulled up behind me and my ankles bound tight to my thighs, then he was winding some kind of tape across my face, covering the ball gag and my lips, wrapping it around and around my head until the whole of my face below my nose was encased under several layers. But he kept on wrapping, now covering my eyes, ears and hair, until I could see nothing and hear only muffled sound. I heard the boot lid slam shut, followed by the engine starting and the car pulling away. I was being abducted yet again, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I don't know how long the journey took, all I could concentrate on was staying alive – my breathing was so restricted by all the tape over my face that I was constantly worried that my nostrils or airway might become blocked and suffocate me. This became even more critical when the car screeched to an abrupt halt and I was thrown forward on to my side, allowing saliva to run back into my throat. The car shot forward again and the nightmare continued.

Eventually the car stopped and I felt cool air across my body as the boot was opened.

"Get her out" I heard a voice – a female voice, I noted – say and felt my legs being untied, then several pairs of hands dragging me out of the car and holding me upright as I tried to make my legs work again.

"Take that tape off, I want to see if she's been damaged in transit" the same voice ordered. The tape was pulled off me, taking great clumps of hair and it felt like bits of skin with it. As I blinked my eyes open, I took in the scene in front of me. I was in a dark and dirty alleyway, Steve's car behind me and a black limousine with smoked glass windows in front. Rain was teeming down, quickly plastering my hair against my face, dripping off my nose and my nipples, chilling my naked body to the bone. In front of me, a tall, blonde woman dressed in police uniform was removing the tape from the lower half of my face, with not too much delicacy. The woman towered over me, and behind her were two more statuesque blondes, similarly attired in police uniform, and off to one side stood Steve, leering hungrily at the Amazons.

"Bring her to me", the same female voice said, and I realised it was coming from the back window of the car, which was open a crack. The woman pushed me over towards the car and I stood there, hunched against the rain bouncing off me, as I was inspected. I could see nothing of the mysterious occupant in the dark interior of the car, but clearly she could see me.

"Very good. Pay the man" the voice said, and the window closed. One of the blondes had a roll of banknotes and she peeled off a number of them, before handing them to Steve.

"Thank you, ladies, nice doing business with you", he said as he went back to his car.

"See you around, Kat. Oh, I don't suppose I will, will I ?" he called over in my direction before getting into his car and driving off.

I was rather surprised when the limousine pulled away as well, as I had assumed I would be put into it. Instead, a large 'Black Maria' police van pulled out of the shadows and drew up alongside me. I was hustled to the back of the van, the doors opened and I was lifted bodily inside and the doors slammed shut. Along either side of the van was a row of metal lockers stretching from floor to roof, with a door handle and large steel bolt on the front. There was a thin slit three-quarters of the way up the door, and in half a dozen of them I could see eyes looking back at me. I could hear the occupants struggling in their lockers, and there was the telltale sound of cries muffled by a gag as they stared at me, the new arrival, with frightened eyes.

As I took in this scene the woman who had lifted me into the van, also dressed as a police woman, removed the ball gag I had been wearing and replaced it with a panel gag which covered the lower half of my face. It had a penis-shaped rubber phallus on the inside of it which filled my mouth and prevented any cries for help. The ropes holding my arms behind my back were left in place and I was pushed back into one of the empty lockers, and I heard the bolts slammed into place. The woman sat on a seat at the front and banged on the wall behind her. The van lurched into motion. It was clear that I was not in police custody, they were not policewomen, and I was not the only one being abducted that night.

The van stopped several times over the next couple of hours and each time, the doors opened and another victim was loaded on board. All were young women and very pretty. They had clearly been snatched off the street, with some of them the worse for drink. They had been handcuffed by the women outside in the street and were quickly gagged once in the van and bundled into a free locker. When all the lockers were occupied, the other women got into the van and it sped off.

Eventually the van stopped and the locker door in front of me opened. I found myself dragged out into the midst of about a dozen other women, who were all still dressed in the clothes they had been wearing when they were picked up, but all were gagged and handcuffed. Some of them were angry and shouting and struggling, others wailed in abject terror at the situation they found themselves in and were struggling to comprehend. They were an ethnically diverse group – four white girls, three Asian or Chinese women, five black women – but they were all young and pretty. I didn't struggle or shout or wail – I knew there was no point, and I watched and waited to see what would happen to us next.

We were pushed and prodded out of the van by the fake policewomen and found ourselves in a large warehouse, with harsh strip lighting overhead. We were led towards a large cage, where we were handed over to three more women, these ones dressed in normal street clothes. One of them grabbed me and cut away the ropes binding my arms, but I had no opportunity to escape as she held me tight and another approached me with a spreader bar. She strapped the bar to my wrists and then attached the strap in the middle of it round my neck so that my arms were stretched out on either side of me at shoulder height. I was led into the cage and forced to kneel on the floor while a chain was attached around my neck and locked to the bars beside me. They then left me to return to the other captives, who were staring wide-eyed at me.

Taking each woman in turn, they cut off their clothing, throwing it onto a growing pile, locked them into a spreader bar like mine, then marched them into the cage and chained them up. Soon we were all sitting on the cold concrete, looking helplessly at each other. Our jailors padlocked the cage door, gathered up the pile of ruined clothes and discarded shoes, and walked away. When they got to the door, they switched off the lights and we were suddenly in the pitch dark. I heard the door slam shut and a key turn in the lock. I could see nothing and all I could hear was the wailing of the women around me.

We were left there alone for hours, with no food or water, no toilet breaks, no light. The smell started to become overpowering, and I have to admit I contributed to it. When the lights did come back on, it was blinding and I had to wait for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I saw one of the guards standing just outside the cage with a hose. As she turned on the water and directed it at the women in the cage, there was the sound of muffled screaming as they tried to get away from the icy blast. When she turned it on me, I turned my back, bent down and opened my legs – I knew she was trying to clean me and the quicker she succeeded, the sooner the jet would go elsewhere. I also tried to get as much water past the gag and into my mouth as I could – I didn't know when I might get another drink. Once we were all hosed down and the guard had sluiced away all the mess, she put the hose away and we were left dripping and shivering in the dark, with the only sound that of desperate sobs.

Several more hours passed before the lights came on again. This time a large door was rolled up and the Black Maria drove in. When it was unloaded, another dozen frightened young women cowered before the cage, looking in horror at us, the realisation dawning that this was what was going to happen to them as well. Once they had been processed, the cage was crowded, and the howls of protest and wails of despair became even louder as we were once more left alone and plunged into darkness.

The hosing down process was repeated some hours later and I believe I had been locked in there for around 48 hours when the pattern was broken. As I adjusted to the lights once more, I saw that two of the guards had unlocked the cage and come in. They went over to a tall black girl and pulled her to her feet, before dragging her, struggling, out of the cage and away through another door. The remaining women looked frightened by this new development, with no idea what was going on. I was philosophical – we were almost certainly going to be shipped off into slavery somewhere, and I needed to save what little energy I had left after two days of starvation for the trials I knew would lie ahead.

The guards came back after about ten minutes and took an oriental girl who screamed and struggled with all her might, but to absolutely no effect, other than to spook the other women even more. Another ten minutes went by and they returned, and this time they came for me. I didn't fight as they led me away into a small bathroom, where one of the guards used a shower head and rough sponge to clean me up, then quickly rubbed me dry. She took my body measurements and noted them down on a piece of paper, along with my height and weight. She removed the gag but immediately replaced it with a ring gag. She then picked up a bottle of body oil and covered my entire body and face, until I was glistening. Another door to the room opened and one of the tall blonde women who had been dressed as policewomen came in, but now she was dressed head to toe in shiny black latex. She led me out and into a much larger room set out with chairs in rows as if for some kind of presentation. There was a small stage at the front of the chairs where the two women who had been 'processed' before me were standing, and I was led up onto the stage alongside them. The chain around my neck was locked to a ring on the wall behind me, holding me in place, so with no chance of escape, I looked around the room to try to understand what was going on. There were several rows of chairs in front of me and, alongside us, a raised circular dais next to a speaker's podium. As more of the kidnapped women were dragged in and lined up alongside me, I guessed we were being prepared for a slave auction.

This guess seemed to be confirmed when the main doors of the room were opened and about forty or fifty men and women filed in. They each had a champagne glass and they were chatting in groups of two or three. They wandered over towards the stage and started discussing the women, pointing and making notes on what looked like a programme of the evening's items for sale. I overheard various comments – "Good breasts", "Thighs are too large", "I like the small one, lot number five" – which reinforced my view that we were up for auction. This seemed to be dawning on the others, as the volume of their wails and begging cries for help increased. I felt desperately sorry for them – the experience of being held captive, bought and sold were not new to me, so I took the situation more calmly, knowing there was nothing I could do at this stage to change what was happening to me. But for the others, they had been having a perfectly ordinary night out and now, here they were, stripped naked, imprisoned, being examined like zoo animals by soulless strangers with cruel eyes. No wonder they were screaming, crying and struggling uselessly to get free.

Several of the latex-clad women who had captured us circulated amongst the audience with trays, replacing empty champagne glasses with fresh ones. Some of the audience members stepped up on the stage and started to examine the merchandise in more detail, grabbing at the girls lined up, checking whether the breasts were real or silicone, how much fat was on the thighs, if there was any cellulite on the buttocks. One woman came up to me and stared into my gaping mouth, and feeling around inside with her fingers, as if I were a horse. She then grabbed me and spread my pussy lips so she could examine my clitoris, though I've no idea what she was looking for.

When all the slaves were lined up on the stage and the audience had examined everyone and made their notes, they gradually made their way to the seats to wait for the start of proceedings. A well-dressed woman strode confidently to the speaker's podium and smiled out at the crowd. When she spoke, I realised she was the woman who had been in the limousine, overseeing my purchase from Steve.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen", she began, "Welcome to this evening's slave auction". Those captured women who had not realised, or refused to believe, that they were now slaves to be sold, howled in despair.

"We have twenty lots for you, twenty beautiful young women, each one brought here against her will, captured on the streets of London in the last two days. They are not only untrained, raw material for you to work with, but they are hot – and I don't just mean their looks". There was a murmur at this, not quite laughter, but acknowledgement of the double-entendre.

"We make no guarantee that the police are not already looking for these women", she continued, "Although I can guarantee that the police are not outside waiting to arrest you. So, let's get started". A latex-clad woman walked to the end of the line and unhooked the chain holding the black woman who had been brought in first. She led her, crying and struggling, along the stage and pushed her up on to the dais, turning her to face the crowd of eager faces. She looked absolutely terrified.

"Lot number one, an African-American", the auctioneer announced, "Her vital statistics are 120 pounds, 5 feet 11 inches, 36DD - 25 - 36. Who will start me off at £1,000 ?" I deliberately didn't follow the bidding process, I didn't want to find myself comparing myself to the others based on what these horrible people bid for us. I tuned out, trying to ignore everything happening around me, trying to not think about what was going to happen to me.

The oriental girl was taken next and then it was my turn, 'Lot Number Three'. I tried to remain calm, and I wondered idly if this would increase or decrease my price, as it was in such contrast to the others, who were all bordering on hysterical. I closed my eyes and waited patiently until I heard the word "Sold !" I was led away from the stage to a back room, where the next stage of the process began.

There were a number of packing cases in the room – it didn't take a genius to guess there were twenty – and two were already packed up, with a label giving the lot number on the side. My ring gag was replaced by a hood which covered my head, buckling up the back and having only a couple of small air holes over my nostrils, so I could see nothing. An inflatable bladder was forced between my lips and pumped until my mouth was completely filled, cutting off all sounds. The bar holding my arms out was removed and I felt straps tightened around my body, pinning my arms to my body and binding my legs together. I was lifted up and put into one of the crates, which was then filled with polystyrene packing peanuts, preventing me from moving around inside. I felt the lid placed on the crate and heard the nails being hammered in place. I was done.

I had to wait for all the other slaves to be auctioned, sold and packed away before anything else happened. Then I felt the crate being lifted, rolled away on a trolley, then lifted into some kind of vehicle. Finally I heard an engine kick into life and I was driven away.

It was only now that I started to panic. I was on my way to God knows what – I felt I had been lucky so far, I could have suffered far worse than I had with Master Robert – maybe that was what awaited me now. Perhaps I would be taken abroad, locked away in some godforsaken stinking brothel, forced to satisfy the sexual needs of sex tourists. Maybe I had been bought so I could be tortured and eventually killed by some bizarre sadistic freak.

When the vehicle stopped and the crate was lifted out, my heart started pounding as I waited to discover my fate. The lid was prized off and I was dragged out onto wet grass.

"You've cost me a fortune, you know, Kathryn". My heart leapt as I heard those words but I didn't dare believe my ears. It wasn't until the hood had been removed and I was looking at his smiling face that I accepted that I was once more in the loving arms of Master Robert ! Somehow he had tracked me down and bought me at the auction – I was 'safe', whatever that means.

So now, at the end of my story, I am once again Master Robert's slave. But I am also his wife ! I finally finished my degree, and I even have a job – I work for a charity helping women who have been trafficked in the sex industry, an area in which I feel I have some expertise.

I guess you could say it turned out okay in the end ;-)

The End
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