I have been a submissive for as long as I can remember, since my first boyfriend I guess, who liked to tie me to chairs and fuck my face, or tie me to the bed all night so he could use me whenever he wanted. I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t enough. The boyfriends who followed were too kind, or wanted to be dominated themselves. I stopped having boyfriends and instead haunted secret clubs looking for the perfect master. Years of frustration led me to respond to the rumour that the Master and Mistress were looking for a full-time slave.
I have never felt so fulfilled, so satisfied, as I have in their house.
I have been the Master’s sex slave for three weeks now, and, my trial period having finished (and the Master, to my relief, having decided to keep me), it is time to be measured and fitted.
The Tailor arrived early in the morning with his assistant, and went with the Master and Mistress into the small fitting room. While they chatted the assistant took me to the ground floor bathroom and, without speaking or making eye contact, washed me thoroughly. He cuffed my wrists to the bar suspended from the ceiling and proceeded to soap and scrub every inch, every crevice, every orifice. When done, he untied me and dried me off before leading me, naked, to the fitting room.
I stood there, my nipples hardening despite the warmth of the room, ignored while they finished their conversation and their coffee. The Mistress left and the men finally turned their attention to me.
The Tailor stood and walked around me, inspecting. At random moments he would trail a hand down my back, over the curve of my buttocks, up my thighs, over my flat belly. His study was different to the inspection the Master and Mistress had given me before taking me on.
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Theirs was curious, testing, probing. His was more assessing, more critical, and under his cold blue eyes and frown, I felt insufficient, a poor design. At the same time, I felt deeply aroused, flushed, hot and wet with suppressed excitement. The Master watched me, watched the Tailor examine me, watched my breasts heave and my skin flush.
“So, you want the full works for this one?” the Tailor asked the Master, crossing his arms, his mind already working out the details.
The Master stood up. “Yes. She’ll be no trouble. ” He squeezed my breast as he went past, knowing I was well trained and he did not have to remind me of anything.
The Tailor wasted no time. He told his assistant to get me up on the table and into position. The table was low, an unusual height for a table ― but this one was specially designed. Padded cuffs were chained to the four corners, and these were clasped around my ankles and wrists and tightened so I couldn’t move. My legs were spread wide on the padded surface; cold air touched my pussy and made me shudder. No sooner was I in position than I felt something press against my vagina.
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A long, slim dildo was inserted with a grunt from the Tailor. It slipped in, not uncomfortably, but then the Tailor turned something on the end and it began to expand inside me, growing bigger and bigger until it pushed against the walls of my vagina. I moaned, I couldn’t help it, and panted a little. I had never felt so full. The Tailor ignored me. To his assistant he said, “She’s a comfortable size 3, but make a note that she could go wider. Easily an 18 in length. ”
He didn’t take it out. Next, he began to push another at my anus. This one didn’t go in as smoothly, his angle was off and I gripped the table edge, trying to stay still while I bit my lip at the pain. The Tailor slapped my arse a few times and the sting of it made me more relaxed. The dildo went in and was forced all the way up. Again he expanded it; I could feel it pressing up against the one in my vagina ― the walls felt so thin, I could feel so much friction. It made me want to shit but the Tailor, knowing perhaps from experience what it was like for the slaves he fitted, quickly pinched my clit. I gasped, but it worked.
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My two holes were stuffed and stretched, pulsing around the intrusions. The Tailor told his assistant, “Size 2, needs to work on that. How she takes the Master up there I don’t know. ”
Next he reached between my thighs and put clamps on my pussy lips and my clit. It didn’t hurt much at all. The Tailor was watching my reactions, and when I did nothing he took them off and put sharper ones on. I gasped, but not enough. The third set brought tears to my eyes and made me wriggle on the table, trying to shake them off. He slapped my bum sharply until I stilled.
My nipples came next. He went straight to the crueller clamps, sharp metal pincers pinching them mercilessly. Not satisfied with this, he began attaching little metal balls on hooks to the loop in the clamp, weighing my breasts down, making the nipples lengthen, the clamps bite deeper. I cried out, I couldn’t help it, the pain an exquisite torment.
Nothing was removed, I was given no relief. The Tailor came round to my head and, none too gently, gripped my chin and ordered me to open my mouth.
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He slipped a hard rubber ring into place that stretched my lips wide, and then proceeded to shove a long rubber cock into my mouth, over my tongue and down my throat. His hand felt the bulge in my throat; with his crotch in my face I could see how turned on he was, yet still so professional. He measured how far it could go before I couldn’t breathe, and seemed satisfied with the result. He withdrew the cock from my throat but left it in my mouth. The assistant wrote the measurements down.
With every orifice stuffed and every sensitive protrusion aching, the Tailor removed the clamp from my clit. He gave me no warning ― hadn’t spoken to me yet; I was just a slave after all ― before piercing my clit for a ring. I screamed around the cock in my mouth, my whole body jumping and writhing as I tried to break free. Tears streamed from my eyes at the pain. The Tailor took up a short flogger and whipped me, whipped my arse, whipped my poor stinging pussy, whipped my weighted-down breasts, until I hurt all over and could no longer feel the throbbing in my clit above the stinging everywhere.
I breathed in big heaves through my nose which was all snotty, and hung my head. The Master had promised I would be no trouble and I had already failed him.
The Tailor wasn’t displeased, though. His assistant held a tissue to my nose and told me to blow. He wiped the tears from my face and patted my head as a reward.
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I wondered if they were going to do my nipples next, as the clamps were removed.
They didn’t, to my relief, but they hadn’t finished. The assistant took the cock from my mouth but left the ring in. He cranked the table lower until it was the right height for him to take out his erect penis and push it into my mouth. With the ring holding my mouth open I could do nothing to stop him from fucking my mouth. He thrust in, deep into my throat, and grabbing my head in both hands he closed his eyes and started pounding. I was like some kind of toy to him, used to get relief. And why not? That was what I wanted, after all. My pussy was squeezing the cock still imbedded in it, though I was not allowed to orgasm without permission.
The Tailor’s assistant finally thrust in one last time, held and shuddered as hot salty spunk shot down my throat. He withdrew and tucked himself away, patted me on the head again, Good Girl he seemed to say.
The Tailor had watched all this, and I wondered what he would do for his own relief.
He ‘deflated’ the dildo in my pussy and pulled it out. There was a sloppy sucking sound as it came out, quickly replaced by the Tailor’s short but very thick penis. He rammed it in, took hold of my hips and hammered at my pussy.
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It felt quite bruised by the time he shot his load inside me.
They removed the other dildo and the mouth ring but left me chained to the table. Next I was fitted for a new set of clothing, measured around the hips, waist, breasts, thighs ― everywhere. They wrapped collars around my neck and took note of the size I could comfortably wear. They wrapped belts around my waist and straps between my legs to get the right fit. They fitted me for new butt plugs of varying sizes, wanting to increase it gradually. And they measured me for new high heels. Everything I wore or was inflicted with would be custom made. It made me happy, made me feel like I had been accepted.
***
Two nights later it was all delivered, a vast array of costumes, collars, chains, belts, straps and clamps. The Master took me to his dressing room and played with me for hours, testing out all the new toys. He had already had a lot of fun with the ring in my clit. After he had fucked me for the third time and had tested all the toys, he inserted dildos into my vagina and anus, fitted me into something very like a chastity belt, and ordered me to remain on my knees with my hands clasped behind my back until he told me otherwise.
I stayed there like that all night, tormented by the pleasure and the discomfort, limbs tired and heavy, trying to stay awake, trying not to take any pleasure from the ordeal.
At six the next morning he walked in, crossed his arms and surveyed me with a smile.
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“You did very well, slave. Now take it all off and go and bathe. ”
I rushed to do as he said before preparing breakfast.
On the weekend the Master and Mistress hosted a big party, a gala event where I learned what their business was and how they made all their money.
They are designers of sex toys, all kinds, and costumes. They are known to be the best in the business, and twice a year when their new catalogue comes out they invite their rich, select clientele to the house to test out the new products.
The Toy and I were to be the guinea pigs, if you will. We followed the Master and Mistress into the big party room, where they strapped us into cuffs and leather harnesses suspended by strong steel wires from metal frames bolted to the ceiling beams. It was an ingenious contraption. The guests would be able to manipulate us like puppets, moving our limbs, raising us into the air for easy access, having us vertical or horizontal, however they wished.
It was not comfortable, and my limbs were aching well before the first guests arrived.
The Master and Mistress told us that, for tonight, we were permitted to come as often as we liked, and to make as much honest noise as we could, since that would give the guests a good idea of how well the new toys worked.
There was a buffet table along one wall, laden with food prepared by caterers (who were not invited) and wine, so the guests could help themselves as the evening progressed. The Master and Mistress brought out the items, gave a brief introduction to each and then passed them around. The room filled with chatter and laughter, everyone was in high spirits and eager to move on to the testing stage.
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Most of them had already found it hard to keep their hands off me and the Toy, stroking and groping and patting and pinching. There was nothing I could do about it, and in truth it was nothing compared to what was to come.
They clustered around us and experimented.
All sorts of dildos were pushed into me, ones with knobbly bits, ones with piston-like heads that thrusted into my cervix. After so much pent-up excitement and stimulation, I came very quickly. I could hear the Toy releasing at around the same time, his shout rising above the noise, and was met with claps and cheers.
The dildo with the piston-like head was only the beginning. I couldn’t see much of what was going on, but I felt everything. Some things that were pushed inside me were quite painful ― one, that mimicked a dog’s with a knot that pushed upwards, and one that felt like it was spiked, made me scream and buck in my harness ― while others were gentle and soothing. One device had a kind of flapping tab that, when switched on, flicked my clit with the kind of stamina no man or woman possesses in their hands. It made me come with a shriek and a cry for relief. The feelings, the pain and the pleasure, were so intense, after the first half hour I wasn’t sure I could last any longer.
But I did.
They tested out different mouth-opening devices, metal ones that pulled my lips back in four corners, ones like a tight rubber tube that fitted into my mouth right up to my throat, allowing for more stimulus ― these kinds the men tested with their own erect penises, or the women strapped on rubber phalluses and fucked me more cruelly than the men. These strap-ons were the Master and Mistress’s design too, and the action of thrusting caused friction on the woman’s clit ― the harder the pounding the harder her orgasm.
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Nothing was out-of-bounds that night; my arsehole was well plumbed. I lost count of the number of times I came, the number of times I screamed in pain and cried for mercy. Yet I loved it. I always wanted to be a piece of meat for the pleasure of others, and this was the epitome of such a desire.
The Master and Mistress walked amongst them, watching, answering questions, giving advice on how better to use a device. Once or twice, the Master paused by me and gently stroked my heaving flank, giving me the energy to continue.
Next came the whips and floggers. I cried without shame as guest after guest tried out different styles, lengths, thicknesses on my bottom, my pussy, my breasts, my back. My face they did not touch, I think at the Master’s request, for some of them looked at me with a greedy gleam in their eye and I knew they wanted to mark me everywhere they could. Some of the guests did not have the skill or the restraint of the Master, and did not know how to mix pain with pleasure. The Master showed them how, and made them wield the tools with more patience and precision.
The night wore on. I don’t know how long the Toy and I were trussed up, being raped and whipped and tormented, but it felt like days, not hours. Eventually though the guests had used up all their energy, had all had at least one turn at fucking us, and began to take their leave. When they had all gone, the Master and Mistress took us down.
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I did not see what the Mistress did with the Toy, I only know that the Master picked me up in his own arms and carried me to the bathroom, filling the tub and easing me into it. He gently soaped me, washed away all the cum and oil and blood, and left me for a while to soak. He came back as I was falling asleep, helped me out and dried me down with a soft towel. He carried me into my bedroom and massaged warm oil into my exhausted limbs. I felt myself sinking, deeper and deeper, and also filled with love for the Master, love and adoration. I didn’t see him take off his clothes, only felt his naked, smooth, muscular body slide into bed and press against mine. He parted my thighs with his knee and sank his hard penis into my sore pussy for the first time. I let out a low moan as he eased into me. My arms, tired as they were, snaked around his back and held on tightly. He began to fuck me slowly, gently, more passionately than ever before. I had never before seen him completely naked, nor so tender. My devotion to him was sealed that night. He had possession of me in every way, and I submitted my entire being to him that night.
He sharply thrusted into my bruised and aching pussy, causing a spike of pain to lace through the pleasure, the most perfect agony. He lowered his head and bit my neck, whispered into my ear, “Cum, little slave.
” His piercing thrusts, not tender now, dug into me and I rose on a crest of pleasure and pain, orgasming with a cry that cut short as I momentarily stopped breathing. As my pussy contracted around him he came into me with a groan. He lay on top of me, his weight reassuring and dominating, my own body pliant and submissive beneath him.
I whispered, “Thank you, Master. ”
.
