Tara and I had been co-workers for a few months. We worked together at a clothing company that specialized in latex, leather and bondage wear. Even though we both landed our jobs at around the same time, Tara always told everyone that she had seniority over me. Truthfully, from the moment that we started we had been competing with one another in all of our projects. Let’s face it, niche companies like ours needed to watch its expenses, and we both knew that the company really only needed one fetish fashion designer. I tried not to be overtly competitive, but I knew that she was doing everything in her power to keep her job.
Our boss encouraged us to work together, even become friends, but we both knew the company wasn't big enough for both of us. I think that they were trying to evaluate us side-by-side to decide which of us to retain and which to let go. To ensure that we worked together, the owner of the company decided to send us both to host a fashion show for some of our customers in Cuffield Heights, a neighboring city. We were told to share the assignment which included: designing and selecting the products to exhibit; booking the venue; hiring the talent; and composing and narrating the presentation.
Any hope that we could both secure a position within the company faded away as soon as we began working on the assignment. We couldn’t agree on anything without arguing. After a heated discussion, we decided to keep the expenses to a minimum. Instead of using experienced, highly paid models, we would use lifestyle slaves; and instead of renting a hall or banquet room, we would use a local fetish shop. We also hammered out the format of the show. It would be a detailed exhibition of three outfits, each demonstrated by a different model. Unlike a traditional fashion show, our models would not easily be able to change in and out of their outfits and equipment.
Dividing up the tasks was just as difficult as deciding on the details of the show. Eventually, we decided to use designs that we had each just completed - two of Tara’s and one of mine. Tara said that she knew players in the area, and she insisted on lining up the talent. So, I agreed to research and reserve the venue. Finally, we flipped a coin to decide who would write the program and who would narrate the fashion show. I won, and I picked the narrating task figuring that it would give me more exposure.
We only had a week to get everything ready for the show. I quickly selected a fetish shop based on Internet research. It was pretty easy since there was only one fetish shop within 50 miles of Cuffield Heights. Tara contacted a Mistress who was able to arrange for three slave girls to act as our models. Then everything ground to a halt while Tara completed her designs and wrote the narration script. I couldn’t believe how slowly she worked.
I had my design completed before we were even assigned the project. In fact, I had several finished designs from which to choose. I ended up going with my second best outfit. My best outfit was amazing, but probably too strict for a model to endure for the time it would take to describe and demonstrate all of the features. Besides, if things didn’t work out well for me with the show, I wanted to keep an ace in the hole to impress the boss afterwards.
Tara finally finished the script on Thursday morning. I think that she held back on purpose just to limit my preparation time and make me nervous. In a way, it worked, too. I really only had the afternoon to rehearse, and she was with me the whole time criticizing and correcting me. Of course, Tara called it “coaching.”
On Friday, Tara and I drove together to the fetish shop in Cuffield Heights. It was the first time that we ever had a chance to get to know each other outside of work. She actually seemed likable - not at all what I expected. We took our time driving. We stopped for a long lunch, and we talked about things we liked and disliked. We talked about our past, and we completely avoided talking about work. I think it was the most enjoyable time I had ever spent with her.
Friday evening we arrived at the fetish shop. It was everything I expected it would be. It was a large retail store on the outskirts of a commercial district, and it was a one man business. We introduced ourselves to the owner, Dave, and he showed us around. Dave had rearranged his freestanding clothing racks in such a way as to create a kind of runway and stage. From the stage, I could point out the features of our three designs. The presentation area was surrounded by cocktail tables and chairs, and the audience would be close enough to examine, and even touch, the products.
The owner took us to the back room to show us where the girls would be dressing and undressing. It was perfect. Dave prided himself on providing the proper atmosphere for his patrons, and his changing rooms were actually four 6 x 6 jail cells with barred ceilings and locking doors. Tara and I were very impressed. How cool!
We were running short on time, so we unloaded the bags of gear from the car. Before we had left, we prepared each bag with a different set of restraints that we would be presenting. We placed each of the bags in a separate cell. We had also brought bags of gear to sell, and we gave all of those bags to the owner to display along the periphery of the store. That way, the audience could buy our merchandise following the show. Of course, Dave would receive a portion of the sales to compensate him for the use of his shop.
I tested the microphone installed in the podium that the store manager had rented for the occasion, and everything seemed to be in order. I was reviewing the script, and I was refining my pacing when the first Mistress arrived with her slave. Their appearance shattered the calm confidence that I had been building.
The Mistress entered the shop with her back to me, tugging and berating her slave all the while. I was shocked. I had only assumed that the slaves that Tara had lined up were doing the show willingly, but clearly I was misinformed.
The Mistress was impeccably dressed in a revealing, but commanding, leather halter top and leather mini skirt. The slave wore leather, too, but it was in the form of a full body harness with an integrated collar. She fought against thick leather wrist and elbow cuffs that were locked to the harness at strategically placed D-rings. Her mouth was completely covered by a half-hood, and although her speech was utterly unintelligible, she effectively communicated her contempt for the Mistress.
The slave’s ankles were also wrapped in thick leather cuffs, and they were connected by a short leather hobble. The hobble, maybe 18 inches long, prevented the slave from getting any significant leverage on the Mistress, and she stumbled in whatever direction the Mistress pulled the leash attached to her collar.
“Where can I put this?” the Mistress asked as she dragged the slave toward the back of the store.
“Um, there are dressing rooms, uh, I mean holding cells just through that door,” I said, dumbfounded.
I watched as the two passed through the door to the backstage area, and I could hear the Mistress cursing at and threatening the helpless slave. Eventually, after the sound of a heavy metal door closing and locking, the commotion subsided. The Mistress reemerged from the back area looking perfectly calm and controlled, as though nothing unusual had happened. She strode over to me and looked me over from head to toe before speaking.
“I’m Mistress Madison, and who might you be?”
“Hi, I’m Wanda,” I said managing a strained smile.
“I see. I thought Mistress Tara was putting on this little show,” she responded, ignoring my outstretched hand.
Before the situation could get more awkward, Tara came through the front door.
“Madison!” she called out.
“Tara!” the Mistress responded as she turned away from me to greet Tara.
After a brief hug, the Mistress regained her stern expression.
“I was concerned after meeting your little pet, here, that you might have caught the same thing that the twins have.”
I was confused. The twins?
“Yes, I heard,” Tara said, shaking her head in concern.
“Please excuse us for a moment. I need to talk to Wanda about this,” Tara continued as she grabbed ahold of my upper arm and pulled me toward the front door.
As we hurried toward the exit, Tara looked back over her shoulder and asked “But, Brooke is still coming tonight, right?”
“She wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mistress Madison called back as the front door closed behind us.
Tara grabbed both of my shoulders and faced me. Then she dropped her head toward the ground.
“What's wrong?” I asked. “Who are these twins?”
Tara took a deep breath, and she explained that the twins are the other two models for the show. They had come down with the flu, and their Master wouldn’t let us use them to model our designs at the show tonight.
I was at a loss for words.
I looked at my watch, and the audience would start arriving at any time.
“That’s it then,” I said. “We don’t have a show. There’s no way that that Mistress is going to be able to get her slave in and out of our designs quickly enough to have a cohesive show.”
Tara looked away.
“There must be some way to salvage this,” she said with frustration in her voice.
After a moment, her eyes lit up, and she said “Wait a minute, there is one way that we could still do the show.”
“What, just ask for volunteers?” I joked.
“Well, kind of…” Tara said with a twinkle returning to her eyes.
I was really hoping that she had come up with a workable solution. I had worked tirelessly on this collection - even harder than Tara - and now everything was going to be ruined because we didn’t have enough models to put on the show. Tara's solution was simple: we needed someone to replace the missing slavegirls. Of course, I agreed with that, but how could we possibly replace two of them?
Tara explained that we didn’t need to replace them both. We just needed one. If we had one other model, she could show the first outfit. And while Mistress Madison’s slave modelled the second outfit, the replacement would have enough time for a costume change, and she could then model the third outfit.
It sounded like it could work.
“Can you call up one of your contacts and get us a replacement?” I asked.
“There’s no time for that. They would have to be here already. Besides, all of my other contacts will be in the audience,” she explained.
Then she dropped the bombshell. Who did she have in mind as the replacement? None other than me!
"You can't tell me this 30 minutes before we are scheduled to unveil the collection, Tara!” I protested, my voice rising to a high-pitched whine. I was hysterical.
“You insisted on lining up the talent. This is on you, not me. You should have had the models in their cells already!" I complained.
"And now you want ME to fill in for the missing slave?!" I couldn’t believe this.
"Why can't we get a local girl to fill in?" I asked, grasping at straws.
"You know the owner wouldn’t like that. We're on our own here, and we need to come up with a solution fast," she explained.
Of course, I knew that our boss had a strict policy against using potential customers as volunteers. He was always concerned that they might complain during or after the demonstration, and that he could lose sales.
"The truth is that if we don't find a replacement, we don't have a show. You said so yourself!" she said giving me a concerned, pleading look.
She was right. There was no way we could do this show with only one slave.
The truth was we needed at least one other slave. Of course, we did have 2 Mistresses helping us - one to oversee and dress the slaves in the back room, and the other to parade them down the runway. As soon as I considered asking one of them to be the replacement, I realized that they would never accept the role of a slave.
"But who's going to narrate the show if I agree to fill in as a model?" I asked, worried.
I was in charge of the presentation, and I couldn't risk messing it up.
"Don't worry about it. I wrote that presentation, remember? And I was there the entire time you rehearsed it. I can fill in for you, but as much as I want to, I can't fill in for the missing slaves. You're much better suited for that role," she concluded.
She was right. Tara was a lot older than me. She really couldn’t pass for a slave. The missing twins were 21 years old, 5’ 7” tall and blonde. I saw photos of them back at the office. Their Master kept them at a demanding 105 lbs. I analyzed the situation, and I came to the same conclusion as Tara: I was the only candidate to fill in for the missing slaves. I had pretty much the same statistics as the twins. I was 22 years old. I stood 5’ 6”, and I was a little more curvaceous at 115 lbs.
Of course, I had a list of objections a mile long, but my biggest objection was my low tolerance for pain. As one of the designers of the collection, I knew this clothing line was as strict as they came. It included higher heels, tighter corsets, bigger gags, dildoed panties, and more restraints than our previous fetish collections. Tara and I considered our “Severe Discipline Collection” a challenge for even the most flexible and experienced slaves.
"So, what do you say?" Tara asked me. "Are you willing to step in and save the company?"
I stared into her hopeful eyes with a thousand thoughts running through my mind. I couldn't believe what I was about to do, but I couldn’t come up with a better solution.
"OK. I'll do it. I'll do it... but you owe me big!" I replied.
"Thank you, Wanda! You just saved both of our butts!" Tara said beaming.
“Do a good job, and I might have a special treat for you after the show," she smiled and winked at me.
That was a bit weird. I didn’t know what she meant by that, but being caught up in the urgency of the moment I didn’t really care.
We hurried inside before the audience began to arrive. Once we were in the back of the store, I accompanied Tara into one of the holding cells. It seemed smaller once you were inside it. Across from my cell was the cell where the other slave was being kept. She sat sullenly on a bench along the far side of the cell. She was still gagged, but the body harness had been removed.
In fact, she was completely naked except for a pair of handcuffs and leg irons. The chain of the handcuffs was threaded through the bars of the cell to hold her arms out of the way. Similarly, the chain of the leg irons snaked through the bars to keep her from going anywhere. Although I knew they existed, I had never seen a real-life slave before. Handcuffed, and gagged as she was, she looked like she had a lot to complain about. Her face spoke volumes as she sat quietly waiting to be used like a doll in our hellish fashion show.
I felt a little guilty. I knew that my designs might be used unwillingly on many such girls. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I often fantasized about slaves like her. Many nights I wondered what it would be like to be treated like that. I never thought that I would be so close to living out that fantasy.
Her tone dripping with arrogance, Tara ordered me to strip. I was surprised that she wasn’t a bit nicer about it since I was covering for her mistake, after all. Nonetheless, I complied with her command, and I removed all my clothing and my high heels. I folded up my belongings and set them on the bench in the cell.
Tara stood in front of me with a smile.
"You know something, I've been wanting to say this for a long time," she confessed.
"Turn around, slave," she commanded.
There was an undertone of victory in her voice, but I wasn’t going to play her little game. I simply ignored her arrogance and turned around so she could lock my hands behind my back with a pair of handcuffs.
"I'm sure you're going to enjoy this as much as I am," Tara whispered in my ear as she secured the handcuffs.
It was a strange feeling. Even though I worked as a bondage gear designer, I had never been fully restrained. Oh, I had tried on leather cuffs, one wrist at a time, but I had never had my wrists fully restrained before, let alone behind my back. I tested the cuffs, and they weren’t going anywhere. My adrenaline increased. It was definitely a strange sensation.
After I was handcuffed, Tara took me by my shoulders and spun me around to face her. She looked me up and down just like Mistress Madison had done a few minutes earlier. Tara stared into my eyes and told me that I would be treated the same as the other slave in every sense of the word. She and I were the only representatives of our company, and we needed to keep this little foul-up to ourselves.
“What about the store owner and Mistress Madison?” I asked. “They’ve seen me. They’ll know that something happened.”
“I thought about that,” Tara said as she picked up my clothes and carried them to a couple of bags near the door. As she put my clothes into one of the bags, I thought it was convenient that Tara had thought to bring along some extra bags.
Tara explained that she would tell Dave and Madison that I came down with the flu and that I needed to leave. They didn’t see us arrive in the same car, so they won’t know the difference.
She returned with a leather hood in her hands. I was somewhat surprised because I recognized the hood, and it wasn’t part of our “Severe Discipline Collection.” It was one of my designs that I was saving to show the boss after we returned. I was still trying to understand Tara’s plan. If she told them that I left with the flu, I realized that it would count against me with the company. I wondered whether she was going to use this mishap to make me look bad.
Tara smoothed out my hair and fed it through a hole in the back of the hood as she pulled it completely over my head. Aside from the hole in the back to accommodate longer hair, the hood had a few integrated D-rings, holes for the wearer’s eyes, nostrils and mouth, and nothing more. It completely obscured the features of the wearer, rendering the wearer little more than a leather object.
“Wait a minute, Tara,” I said with the leather hood forcing my lips into a slight pout.
“If you tell them that I left with the flu, I won’t get credit for all my work on the show,” I explained.
“Hmmm. Maybe you’re right,” Tara said thoughtfully.
Tara calmly continued her work on the hood. It was intended to be a made-to-measure piece, and it included a lace-up back. Tara stepped behind me and tightly laced up the hood. When she was done, it fit like a second skin. It appeared to be made especially for me - because it was. Whenever I designed a new piece, I would use my own measurements whenever possible to ensure that the piece looked the way I intended it to look.
This one fit perfectly, even though this was the first chance I had to try it on. Tara followed the hood with a made-to measure posture collar from the same design. She must have been looking through my office when I wasn’t around!
I could hear Mistress Madison coming into the back room.
"Now, open wide, slave," Tara said in a sing-song voice.
Even though we weren’t done talking, I instinctively opened my mouth. I knew that we couldn’t discuss the situation in front of Mistress Madison. What I didn’t know was that Tara had selected a blow-up gag that was intended to be used on unruly slaves. I recognized the bitter rubber taste as soon as she slipped the deflated bulb into my mouth. As she strapped it tightly behind my head, I tried to tell her that she had used the wrong gag, but my protest came out like a mumble.
I adjusted the bulb within my mouth as Tara locked leg irons to my ankles, and I again tried to alert Tara to her mistake to no avail. I was sure that they could understand me that time, but they both completely ignored me.
"Is everything ready, Mistress Tara?" asked Mistress Madison.
That was the second time she had addressed Tara as “Mistress.” The first time, I shrugged it off as a formality since Tara was the one who had dealt with them, but this second instance concerned me.
“I see you’ve found a replacement for the twins,” Madison said smiling.
"Yes, this one is a little feisty," she said referring to me.
“I’m sure she is,” Madison replied.
“I’d be feisty too if my co-worker convinced me to strip naked and then handcuffed me,” Mistress Madison added with a chuckle.
Well, it was clear that Mistress Madison knew what was going on. I just hoped that Dave didn’t know, or he might tell my boss, and I would surely lose my job.
“Of course, I want her head hooded the entire time she is here. The gag is not to be removed either. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mistress Tara," answered Madison.
I began to worry that maybe I had trusted Tara more than I should have. I struggled a little again to test my bonds, but they were unyielding. Again, I tried to complain about the gag and the flaws in Tara’s plan, but she just pumped up the gag until it was inflated beyond a comfortable level silencing my complaints. Then, Tara pushed me onto the bench in the cell and locked the door. She beamed with a mischievous smile. Of course, I was worried and scared, but there was nothing I could do. I was handcuffed, leg ironed, gagged and naked in a cell far from home. It was slowly dawning on me that Tara had planned this all along, and that I had fallen into her trap!
Tara had always been jealous of me. She had graduated from a top university as a fashion designer, yet I was at the same level as her without any formal training. We even had the same salary. I couldn’t believe that she would stoop this low. With twenty minutes until the show was scheduled to begin, Tara left to take the announcer's place on the stage. Mistress Madison began to dress the slave girl in the other cell, and I thought that was strange since Tara and I had decided that I would demonstrate the first and third outfits.
I tried to get Madison’s attention. I shook my handcuffs and grunted into my gag, but she just glared at me and continued to prepare the other girl. Then, I realized that it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if the other girl went first. That would mean that I would only have to endure one walk through the store instead of two. I stopped making a fuss and decided to just let this play out. What choice did I have, really?
I watched in silence as the Mistress forced the girl’s arms behind her back into a leather muff-style armbinder. The girls arms were folded so that her forearms ran parallel across her back. Even though the girl could never have escaped the tightly buckled muff, Madison added leather cuffs at each elbow, and connected them using a leather bicep binder. There was no slack in either the elbow binder or the muff. The poor girl’s arms were now secured from every direction. As if to psychologically abuse the girl, Mistress Madison added locks to every buckle. Now, the girl could not escape even if she had assistance.
Mistress Madison continued to work quickly. She buckled a basic leather collar tightly around the girl’s neck. Then, she wrapped the girl’s waist in a leather corset that she laced up tighter than I thought possible, and she added a pair of leather panties with a vibrating element in the crotch. When Madison knelt down to apply ankle cuffs, the girl instinctively moved her foot away. I could see Mistress Madison’s expression, and she was furious.
She calmly rose to her feet. She took the girl’s chin in her hand and whispered something through gritted teeth into the girl’s ear. I couldn’t hear what was said, but all of the blood drained from the girl’s face, and she provided no further resistance for the rest of the show. The Mistress finished putting on the girl’s ankle cuffs and locked a matching leather hobble belt between them. Finally, Mistress Madison moved up to replace the girl’s gag with the leather penis gag that matched the rest of her outfit. Before removing the gag, Madison gave the girl a stern look, and as soon as the gag was removed, the girl started pleading in a whisper.
“Please, Mistress Madison. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I promise I’ll be good. Don’t be mad at me…”
Her constant string of submissiveness was only silenced when Madison unceremoniously shoved the new gag into the girl’s mouth and buckled it tightly in place. The girl choked on it for a moment, but relaxed and accepted her fate in silence after that. Even though I was handcuffed and naked as I observed the girl through the bars of my holding cell, a sense of pride built within me. The girl looked exactly as I had imagined when I designed the outfit. Fortunately for me, it was the second most severe of the three outfits that we had brought to the show.
We arranged the presentation so that the most severe outfit would be shown last. That meant that I would have the good fortune of wearing the least severe outfit - one of Tara’s designs similar to the body harness that the other girl had worn into the shop. Frankly, Tara’s design was completely uninspired, but I wasn’t complaining.
There were still a couple of minutes before the show was to begin. With the slave girl’s outfit complete, Mistress Madison tied a leather leash to one of the bars across the top of the girl’s holding cell. She clipped the other end of the leash to the girl’s collar and turned on the vibrator in the girl’s panties.
The girl closed her eyes and moaned into her gag. She rubbed her thighs and moved her feet up and down as though she was prancing in place. The girl looked frustrated, confused and in ecstasy all at once. She tried to rub up against the bars, but the leash was too short. The shortened leash prevented her from sitting down on the bench, as well. She just rhythmically rocked her hips and moved her legs in a kind of pleasure dance.
While the girl was preoccupied by the vibrating panties, Mistress Madison added locks to the few buckles that were missing them. Finally, she removed a set of clover nipple clips from the bag that we had brought from the office. I packed that bag, and I didn’t remember putting them in there. Again, I thought that Tara must have gone through things when I wasn’t around.
The Mistress flicked the girl’s nipples several times until the ends became nicely pronounced. When she was satisfied, Mistress Madison attached the clips to the girl’s nipples, and let the connecting chain swing freely between them. The girl jumped and screamed into her gag, but continued her dance with a furled brow. Clearly, the nipple clips were painful, but they didn’t over power the effect of vibrator. I made a mental note of that for my future designs. When she was finished admiring her handiwork, Mistress Madison then turned her attention to me.
"Now it's your turn, pet", she said with a sinister grin.
"Your mistress told me you'll be wearing the strictest outfit," she confessed.
I looked at her with questioning eyes and began to shake my head slowly. No. That couldn’t have been right. The second outfit was supposed to be the least severe. Before we could continue, Tara and Mistress Brooke entered the back room. Tara called Mistress Madison over to join them near the door to make last minute preparations.
They talked softly. So, I couldn’t make out everything that was said. As I understood it, Madison was responsible for preparing the models, me and the other slave girl; Brooke was responsible for parading us around the shop floor; and Tara would be narrating the show, pointing out all of the interesting features of our creations. I thought I heard Tara ask Madison why I wasn’t dressed yet. Mistress Madison responded that she was working on it, and that I would be ready when the other girl was done modelling the first outfit.
Mistress Brooke confirmed that the other girl would be modelling the first and third outfits, which gave me some comfort, but then I heard Tara say something about me. I only picked up bits and pieces, but I began to have serious concerns.
“... Are you sure that you should keep her out there during the third presentation? That might be longer than she can handle,” warned Mistress Brooke.
“Don’t be silly,” Tara said dismissively. “She has made my life a living hell for the past six months. I think that she can put up with twenty minutes of discomfort.”
“With all due respect, Mistress Tara, it won’t just be twenty minutes. It will be more like an hour. At least 10 minutes back here waiting to go out; twenty minutes for her presentation; twenty minutes waiting for the last presentation to finish; plus whatever time you want to let the customers examine her,” Brooke said, defending her earlier warning.
“Enough!” Tara said impatiently.
“It’s my show. Do it my way,” Tara commanded, and she went out to start the fashion show.
Brooke hung back long enough to tell Madison that she had serious reservations about Tara’s decision, but Madison didn’t seem to care.
“I say the bitch gets what she deserves. If somebody stole my designs, I’d torture them for more than just an hour,” Madison spat.
“I guess,” answered Brooke as she took the other girl out of her cell and waited for the cue from Tara to come out.
I knew I had been totally deceived. Mistress Brooke was in on this scheme, as well, and they both think that these are Tara’s designs. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! I didn’t steal any of Tara’s designs. Her designs were horrible. I would have been embarrassed to call any of her work my own. If anybody had stolen someone’s work, it was Tara. After all, I was locked into two accessories that she brazenly stole from my office.
I had to let Madison know that Tara was lying to them. I began to grunt loudly into my gag, stomp my foot and frantically motion toward my hood with my cuffed hands. I must have looked like a mental patient. I’m sure that the hood accentuated the frenzied emotion in my eyes. Unlike before, Madison didn’t ignore my protests. She walked over to me and twisted my left nipple so hard I thought it would come off.
“Listen here you stupid bitch!” she hissed. “Like I told Mistress Brooke, I think you’re just going to get what’s coming to you.”
Even though my nipple still stung, I grunted “uh-uh” and shook my head “no” with a vengeance.
The Mistress turned around to get the rest of my outfit out of the bag. One by one, she pulled out articles that I designed but had decided not to unveil until after the show. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Some of the items were stolen from my office - prototypes that I had the fabrication department make for me. But there were other items that I had designed for which I had not gotten around to requesting prototypes. That could only mean that Tara had been on my work computer! She must have provided the plans to the fabrication department herself.
During the twenty minutes that the other slave girl was modelling the first outfit, I was forced into black leather ballet high-heels. The shoes were locked onto my feet using two padlocks each, making it impossible for me to remove them without the key. Next, Mistress Madison applied a black single glove for my arms. I could see in the mirror that the fabrication department had followed my design exactly, including the red trim that tied all of the pieces together. She cinched it tight and removed the handcuffs once my upper arms were painfully pinned against each other.
Then came the corset. It was a ribbed red leather corset with black trim to compliment the armbinder. She strapped it tightly around my waist, but thankfully I could still breathe without too much pain. My naked breasts were then adorned with nipple clamps. Unlike the nipple clamps worn by the other slave girl, these had sharp barbs that could puncture the skin with the slightest pressure. I almost passed out when she put these on me.
Finally, to top it all off, she produced a set of dildoed panties that I designed. I never requested a prototype for the panties because I had decided the design was too severe. I was thankful to see that Tara didn’t stick to my original design - probably because the fabrication group wouldn’t let her.
The panties I designed included two 8-inch dildos. The ones I had to wear included only a 6-inch dildo for my pussy and a 3-inch anal plug. Thank God for small favors! Madison lubricated both insertables using a jar from the bag. She forced me to to step into the panties, and she slowly pulled them up, forcing me to take in both dildos. They were a little stimulating at first because of the lubricant and the fact that I was forced into them against my will, but after a short while, they were just uncomfortable.
Once I was dressed, Mistress Madison locked my ballet high-heels together using an 18” leather hobble, and she led me to the door at the back of the store to wait for Mistress Brooke. I had only been standing there a few minutes and my feet were in agony. I couldn’t wait for Mistress Brooke to return with the other model and present me to the audience. The sooner I this was over with, the better.
As we stood there waiting, I could hear Tara’s presentation, and it wasn’t the same as the script that she had given me the day before. It seemed as though she had brought other accessories with her to demonstrate in front of the audience. At one point, she invited two men from the audience to participate in the demonstration. That girl must have been mortified.
Tara concluded the demonstration and announced that Mistress Brooke was going to retrieve “our second lucky model.” Mistress Brooke appeared at the door and exchanged the slave girl’s leash for mine.
As she began to lead me out. She glanced behind to ensure that I was following along when she suddenly stopped short.
“This won’t do at all,” she said almost to herself as she reached into her pocket and retrieved a 12 inch chain with a clip at either end. “Anyone looking at you can see that you aren’t a real slave girl. You hold your head up too proudly - as though you are our equal,” she muttered in disgust.
Then she clipped one end of the chain to a D-ring at the top of my hood. She pushed my face as far downward as she could until I was staring at my high-heeled ballet shoes, and she clipped the other end of the chain to the chain connecting the clover clamps biting into my nipples. The result was that I was forced to maintain a submissive posture. I couldn’t raise my head without suffering a painful bite into my tender nipples.
While Mistress Brooke was attending to that last minute preparation detail, Tara was working up the audience. She asked if they liked what they had seen so far, and the audience erupted into a rousing round of applause. It sounded like there were a hundred people or more attending the show. As the audience became quiet again, Tara gushed “Thank you so much. I am so glad you like my design. Here’s another one that I designed for the most experienced players.”
I was fuming! Tara didn’t design either of these outfits. As I shuffled out next to Tara, I couldn’t help trying to raise my head to glare at her, but I never came close to achieving eye contact. The tug on the chain pulled on the clover clips which, in turn, bit into my tender flesh. I yelped into my gag and forced my gaze downward.
Tara lowered the microphone and leaned in close to my ear.
“Who’s in charge now, Bitch?” she whispered with a smile.
There was no denying it. She was. I was devastated, broken and under her complete control. There was nothing I could do. Tara had taken my body, taken my dignity, and taken my credit. I desperately wanted to get back everything that Tara had taken from me, but I couldn’t see how I could do it. I decided to just focus on getting through the night. For the next twenty minutes, Tara used me like a sex toy. She rearranged the accessories in various configurations to demonstrate the many ways that the equipment could be used. At one point, she removed my hobble and directed me to spread my legs so that she could explain the benefits of my leather panties.
I was humiliated, but I reluctantly spread my legs about shoulder length apart. Of course, that wasn’t wide enough for Tara. She slapped the inside of my thighs with a riding crop, one the many unpleasant surprises that she included in our gear bags, until my legs were spread to her satisfaction. All the while, she made jokes about how hard it was to find a good slave, and the audience laughed along with her.
As I stood there in front of God knows how many people, mostly men, Tara slowly described the six inch dildo that was presently inside of me. I blushed beneath my hood. I blushed from embarrassment, but to be honest, I also blushed from sexual excitement. At various times throughout my ordeal, I found myself excited to be used and controlled, and I hated myself for it. To my surprise, she pulled out her smart phone.
“Here’s a feature you won’t find on our competitor’s products,” she announced as she tapped the screen a few times.
Suddenly, the dildo within my sex began vibrating. I screamed in surprise and excitement. To the crowd’s delight, Tara used her phone to adjust the frequency of the vibrations. With every change in speed, my body would betray me, and I couldn’t control myself. With a flick of her index finger, she could make me pant, mew, hum, tremble, sweat or scream. Tara played with me like a puppet, and I was powerless to make her stop.
Toward the end of the presentation, she turned my back to the audience. She locked a spreader bar between my ankles, and pulled my leash down until my ass was on full display. She then clipped one end of the small chain to a ring in the center of the spreader bar, and the other to the nipple clamp chain. Just when I thought that Tara couldn’t do anything more humiliating to me, she would one up herself. Maintaining my position was excrutiating. My thighs and abs burned, but it was better than having my tits ripped off.
While I was in that prone position, Tara took her time explaining how my ass was filled with a three inch butt plug. Without warning, she turned on the pussy vibrator, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The audience giggled at that, but they roared when she surprised me by activating the vibrating butt plug.
I shrieked. I lost my balance, and I fell. My nipple clamps gouged my skin and were forcibly ripped off from the impact. I was just lucky that there was an astute BDSM gentleman nearby to catch me before I hit the ground. Thankfully, he not only cushioned my fall, but he removed the spreader bar and helped me to my feet.
The audience clapped and whistled, and my twenty minute demonstration was over. I was glad to be rid of the spreader bar and the nipple clamps. I breathed a mental sigh of relief even though I knew that Tara was going to make me stay on stage during the other slave’s second presentation. Of course, I figured that it couldn’t be as bad as the previous 20 minutes, but what did I know?
Just as I expected, Mistress Brooke left me alone on the left side of the presentation area and brought the slave in for her encore performance. Meanwhile, Tara tapped furiously on her smart phone, and I felt both vibrators spring to life. But it wasn’t like before. This time, they were on a slow hum. Just enough stimulation to get me hot and bothered, but not enough to carry me over the edge. It was frustrating as hell!
While Tara described the slave girl’s outfit, all I could think about was finding a way to pleasure myself. I felt like a total slut, but I didn’t care. I needed to have my satisfaction. I looked for something, anything, to rub up against. Finally, I lost all of my good sense, and I wandered into the audience. For twenty minutes, I moved from one person to the next - rubbing and grinding up against them. In the distance, I could hear Tara taking credit for yet another of my designs, but I couldn’t focus on that. I wanted and needed to have my sexual release.
My shoulders burned. My hands were numb. But none of that mattered. At that moment, my life’s ambition was to achieve an orgasm. Nobody was watching the demonstration anymore. Everyone was focused on me, and I was focused on me, too. I worked my way through the audience like a cheap whore, and at the end of the twenty minutes, Tara smiled and turned up the vibrators to give me an eruption of pleasure. Again, I found myself screaming into my gag, but I didn’t care. I did it. I did it.
I can’t remember much of what happened immediately after the show. I remember being thankful that I was allowed to sit on a stool. I remember countless people examining my bindings. It seemed as though everyone there had their hands on me somehow. Some caressed me. Some tweaked me. Some slapped me. My next significant memory is being locked back in the cell across from the slave girl. Mistress Brooke positioned me so that I was sitting on the bench. I watched Mistress Madison changing her slave back into the full body harness that she arrived in earlier in the evening.
I looked up at the clock, and it was midnight. I had been there under Tara’s control for three hours. Everyone from the audience had gone home. Only the shop owner and the sow participants remained. Without the background noise of the shop, I could hear Tara talking with the shop owner just beyond the door to the dressing area. He raved about the designs, and he told Tara that he sold more gear during this show than he sold all of last month.
“Your designs were nothing short of brilliant,” Dave said.
“I’ll bet you say that to all the bondage fashion designers,” she joked.
“Too bad that your co-worker had to run off, but it didn’t matter. This show was all yours,” he said.
“Well, just put in a good word for me with my boss when you talk to him,” she suggested.
He didn’t even recognize her shameless self-promotion. Dave just told her that he’d give her glowing review, and he apologized for needing to leave. He explained that he needed to get home for his kid. The babysitter would have a fit since it was after midnight. Finally, he asked Tara to leave out the back door since it would automatically lock behind her.
A few seconds later, I heard the front door close and lock.
I turned back to Mistress Brooke who was sitting beside me. She reached into a gear bag, removed an orange water bottle, and offered it to me.
“Here. Drink this. You need to rehydrate yourself, and this has electrolytes,” she said.
I drank from the bottle. It tasted like a poorly flavored sports drink, but it was just what I needed. Only then did I realize that I was no longer restrained, although I was still wearing the hood and collar. I was too weak to care; too weak to move; and too weak to talk. I just drank.
Mistress Madison asked Tara whether she needed any help cleaning up, and Tara politely declined. They said goodbye, and Madison and her slave headed out the back door without speaking to me or Mistress Brooke.
Tara came back to the dressing area and told Brooke that she could leave, too.
“I’ve got this handled,” she said.
“Are you going to be okay driving home with her?” Mistress Brooke asked motioning her head in my direction.
“We’ll be fine,” Tara said.
“It’s all water under the bridge, now,” she added.
Brooke picked up her belongings and leaned through the cell door to say goodbye to me.
“You drink that up. You’ll be feeling better before you get home,” she offered.
“But honestly, you should be ashamed of yourself. You can’t just go around taking credit for other people’s work,” she added.
“Well, I hope she’s learned her lesson,” Brooke remarked to Tara on her way out.
I tried to sit up and tell my side of the story, but my head was spinning and my mouth wasn’t able to form the words to defend myself.
Once Brooke had left, Tara and I were the only ones left. Tara silently took all of the bags of gear out to her car and packed them into the trunk.
On her last trip out to the car, she helped me up. The room was rocking back and forth. She almost carried me out to the car. She helped me get in, and I promptly passed out. I didn’t wake up until we were pulling up to her house around 4:00 am.
“What an awful night!” I thought as my temple rested against the window of the passenger door.
The sun hadn’t broken over the horizon yet, but I could see a faint glow that would become sunrise within the hour. I closed my eyes to gather my scattered thoughts and remember the night before. It came back in pieces - mostly in reverse order. The last thing I could remember was Tara dressing me and helping me to the car. And then there were those mistresses who helped her take advantage of me. Even though Tara told them horrible lies about me, they never should have helped her enslave me for the evening. Who would do such a thing?
Really, though, I also blamed myself to some degree. I should have known better than to trust Tara. Except for the ride to the show, which was clearly just a ruse, she had never been nice to me. I never should have fallen for her “Oh Wanda, save us! Save us!” routine.
At least I was dressed normally again, though I didn’t remember anyone removing that mask. I reached up to make sure it was off, but my hands were trapped in my lap. I was suddenly wide away, and I sat up to take stock of my situation. That bitch! I tugged uselessly at my wrists which were locked in leather cuffs and secured to a belt around my waist! My ankles were similarly restrained in locked cuffs connected by a hobble!
“Good morning sleeping beauty,” Tara said cheerfully.
“Oh my God! Why are you doing this to me?” I cried.
“You really are pretty stupid if you haven’t figured that out yet,” Tara responded derisively.
“I know that you’re trying to get me fired, but it can’t be worth going to prison,” I said as a veiled threat.
Tara didn’t flinch. She just kept driving. She pressed her garage door opener and turned up her driveway into her two-car garage.
“Honey, I’m not going to prison. You are,” she said without emotion.
She pressed the garage door opener again and the door began to close as Tara got out of the car.
Frantically, I fought with the cuffs that held me! I tried to bring one leg up to my lap so that I could remove the connecting tether or squeeze my foot out of the cuff, but the hobble was too short. My leg kept tugging at the tether and falling back down. I tried the other leg with the same results.
Tara was taking her time. She opened the trunk and casually took the bags one by one into the house.
If my legs couldn’t come to my hands, I would reach my hands down to my legs. I tried to bend over to reach down, but the seatbelt held me fast, and my hands were fastened together so close to that damned belt that I couldn’t reach the seatbelt release button.
“Aarrgh!” I screamed as Tara continued to unpack the car.
“When I get loose, I’m going to see that you go to prison for life!” I screamed at Tara as she opened the passenger side door.
“I told you. The only one who’s going to prison is you,” Tara said calmly.
And without a word more, she produced a can of mace and pointed it directly at my face. I closed my eyes and turned my head as far away from her as I could.
“Now shut up, or I won’t hesitate to mace your ass,” she said menacingly. “And don’t think you can avoid it. I can move my hand anywhere you can move your head.”
I began to hyperventilate. I needed to calm down. I could see no good coming from resisting at that point. I decided that reasoning with her might work better.
“Okay, I’ll do what you want,” I started.
She quickly grabbed a handful of hair and quietly hissed “I told you what I want. I want you to shut your fucking mouth.”
Still holding on to my hair, she tossed the can of mace on the seat next to me, and reached behind to her back pocket. Before I could react, she tugged on my hair. I screamed, and while my mouth was open, she stuffed a compressed foam rubber ball into my mouth. She held it there with her thumb as she let go of my hair and retrieved a roll of duct tape from her other back pocket.
Now, I was terrified. I silently watched her wrap yard after yard of duct tape around my mouth and head. When she was through, the lower half of my face was mummified, and my cries were nearly inaudible. Tara released the seatbelt and tugged me out of the car. Once I was standing, she clipped a leash to the collar that I was still wearing from the night before. She led me like a dog between her car and my own that I had left there the day before. As I shuffled behind her, I caught a glimpse of the two of us in the reflection of my car’s window.
We looked like something from a website catering to damsel-in-distress fantasies, but this was anything but a fantasy. We walked the back of her car and up to the door to her house. The tether between my ankles barely allowed me to navigate the two steps up from her garage. We entered her kitchen and she wrapped the leash around the hanging light above her breakfast table. There I stood like some dumb animal watching her close the door to the garage, water her plants and check the thermostat.
I’m sure that it was mostly an act to show me that even mundane tasks took a higher priority than me. Even though I knew it was a show, it made me feel small nonetheless. I was frustrated and scared, and I couldn’t believe that this was happening to me. I tugged at my wrist cuffs pointlessly.
Eventually, she led me downstairs to her basement. The descent down the stairs was even harder than the steps into the house. After nearly toppling down the first couple of steps, I learned to position my feet as close to the edge of each step as possible to ensure that the tether would allow my other foot to reach the next step. I concentrated only on traversing the stairs and keeping up with Tara until I reached the bottom. Once I had a chance to look up from my task, I watched as Tara unlocked and opened a thick metal door that separated the staircase from the rest of the basement. As we stepped across the threshold, I was amazed, frightened, and sickened all at once. Her full-sized basement was an elaborate dungeon!
It wasn’t just a game room with medieval furnishings. It was a room specifically designed for restraint. Bondage and S&M gear of every sort hung along the front wall and in display cases and racks to one side. There was more variety in that basement than I remembered seeing in the fetish shop last night. Belts, harnesses, cuffs and gags were in one section. They appeared to be categorized, and I was pretty sure I saw several sets of restraints that I had designed. Catsuits, maids outfits, belly dancing outfits and countless other costumes hung on a nearby rack. And yet another section housed implements of pain - whips, clamps, pinwheels and worse.
In a corner along the back, there was an industrial strength prison cell - much more secure than the changing room where I was enslaved last night. This cell included a small table, a cot, a sink, a plastic mirror and a toilet. The bars uniformly stretched from floor to ceiling except for two rectangular holes - one where guards could restrain the inmate’s wrists before opening the cell door, and another where a food tray could be slid in and out. Along the other corner in the back, there was a second cell, but that cell seemed to be a kind of prison office. It included a computer, a printer, a work table and various leatherworking tools and supplies. I figured that many of the restraints adorning the front wall were made in that little cell.
“Welcome to your new home,” Tara said with a smile.
I grunted an unintelligible protest as I took it all in.
“I’ll give you a personalized tour later, but for now, let’s get you acquainted with your accommodations.”
She ushered me into to the jail cell, and tied the leash off on one of the bars above the open rectangle next to the door. Tara exited the cell, closing the door behind her with a tell tale clank that announced that the door had locked. Walking along the outside of the cell to the open rectangle, Tara untied the leash and told me to stand close to the bars. Apparently, I didn’t comply quickly enough for her taste, and she pulled sharply on the leash until my body was pressed against the bars. In that position, my hands were naturally aligned with the rectangular openning. Tara produced a large silver keyring like they used in old movies, and she unlocked and removed the wrist cuffs and belt. She then tossed the keys onto the floor of the cell.
“Unlock your ankles and slide the cuffs and keys out of the cell,” she ordered.
I quickly complied. I freed my ankles, and I slid the restraints and keys through what I had originally thought to be a hole for a food tray.
“You are now free to remove your gag and slide it under the bars like you did the restraints,” Tara said as she picked up the keys and left the basement. She closed and locked the door at the bottom of the stairs behind her.
As I worked to unwrap the duct tape from around my head, I scanned the room looking for a way to escape. There was no clock. There were no windows. The only exit was through the locked metal door at the bottom of the stairs, and to use that, I would need to get out of the cell. Once I managed to remove the foam rubber ball from my mouth, I tried to remove the leather mask and collar. There was no escaping them without the key to the collar.
Having the use of my mouth, I considered yelling for help, but I knew that Tara would likely be the only one to hear me, and I didn’t want to give her any more reason to punish me. So, there was nothing to do but wait. I laid down on the cot to rest, all the while regretting that I ever trusted Tara. I fell asleep reliving the evening before. I remembered how easy it was for Tara to use my enthusiasm for the show against me. I was furious with myself for offering myself up to be handcuffed and gagged. That simple and naive act of trust initiated a series of awful events that were out of my control.
I rested fitfully until I was awoken by laughter and the opening of the thick metal door. Tara and Madison entered the dungeon like two school girls talking and laughing. I sat up on my cot as they walked up to my cell.
“I don’t believe it. You really did decide to keep her,” said Madison as she looked at me as if I was a homeless puppy.
“Well, it was actually a pretty easy decision when I found out that she was the one who had stolen my credit card,” Tara said angrily.
I was appalled! I had never stolen anything in my life, let alone Tara’s credit card.
“I did no such thing!” I blurted out instinctively.
“Oh, yes. I remember you told me about that earlier this week, That was her?” Madison asked, completely ignoring my protest.
“It’s not true!” I reiterated.
“Yeah. She accidentally pulled it out to pay for gas on the way home last night. I recognized it, and I decided to continue her lesson,” Tara lied.
I put my head in my hands and began to sob.
“Why are you doing this to me? You can have the job. I’ll quit on Monday. Please, just let me go,” I begged.
“That will be enough of that,” Tara said without any emotion.
She then instructed me to be silent. I tried to reason with her and Madison a few more times, but she threatened me with such excruciating and unending pain that I knew I had better comply, at least in the short term.
“Strip and turn around, slave,” Tara said in a tone strangely reminiscent of the night before.
I complied. Tara provided the key to my collar, and I removed the leather bindings that I had been wearing for more than 12 hours. To my great relief, the air felt cool over my face as I removed all of my clothes and left them on the cot. I approached the rectangular opening where I knew that Tara would bind my arms again, and I allowed her to handcuff my hands behind my back just like before.
Tara and Madison led me over to a section they called the “play area.” I didn’t dare speak for fear of angering one or both of them. It turned out that they did enough talking for all of us. As they prepared me for what appeared to be a private and uninhibited demonstration, they described in great detail the purpose and effect of every accessory they applied to me. Even with the two of them working on me, it took considerably longer to prepare me than it did the night before. Of course, Tara had considerably more gear in her dungeon than the fetish shop stocked, and Tara’s gear was absolutely top notch.
They replaced the leather hood with a rubber one. It blocked nearly all sound from the outside world, and it had a rubber penis gag that nearly choked me. A thick rubber posture collar that they attached to the hood prevented my head from moving more than an inch or so in any direction. Integrated goggles turned the outside world into mists and shadows. Even though I knew that Tara and Madison were nearby, the hood made me feel as though I was the only thing that existed.
When they were done, I found myself encased in rubber bindings and hanging spread-eagle from chains. The chains were fed through pulleys installed in the high, drywalled ceiling. My hands were in thick rubber suspension cuffs. They had integrated handles, and unlike most such cuffs, these had outer coverings that forced my fingers to perpetually grip the handles. They were essentially suspension fist mitts, and they made my hands useless except as attachment points.
My arms were pulled away from me at 45 degree angles, which caused my shoulders to begin aching rather quickly. Fortunately, most of my weight was borne by a rubber body harness that encircled my torso at several different angles. The harness included straps that encircled the base of my breasts and others that encircled the highest part of my thighs, just under the curve of my ass. My ankles were also restrained with tight rubber cuffs, and my legs were similarly pulled away from me at 45 degree angles. The ankle cuffs were chained to rings mounted in the hardwood floor. In this position, I was helplessly suspended so that my sex was on display at roughly the height of Tara’s shoulders.
I hung there for quite a while without any stimulation. I was startled when my nipples began to be stimulated. It felt like a liquid was massaged into my nipple and areola. It was pleasantly cool to start, and it became even more pleasantly warm over time. Then, I felt something sucking at my nipples. The suction increased in steps until it stopped and became a constant pressure. Coupled with the heat from the liquid, I was getting incredibly turned on. I felt so conflicted that I was turned on by a situation that was fundamentally wrong. I wanted to enjoy the feeling, but I was constantly on guard for the punishment that I was sure would follow.
It seemed as though the same liquid was applied to my helpless anus. Even if I squeezed with all my might, I would not have been able to stop them from doing anything they wanted with my holes. To my surprise, something warm was inserted into my ass. Whether it was the intruder or the liquid, it made me feel incredible. Again, I found myself turned on, but waiting for pain to follow. The only parts of me that remained untouched were my back and my vagina. I expected them to whip me or shock me or pinch me, but I couldn’t help but enjoy what had been done so far.
Finally, I felt someone massaging my back. The hands were skilled, and my entire body began to relax. It was blissful, and after a while, I felt someone else tending to my sex. I couldn’t tell whether it was a finger or a tongue or some other implement, but my sex was being manipulated like an artist molds clay. The massaging from both sides, and the constant reminders on my nipples and in my ass caused a slow eruption to build within me. I tried to suppress it, but it was relentless. I began to writhe, and moan, and scream into the gag. It built to a thrusting shudder before I saw bright sparks fly before my eyes. It seemed like it would last for ever, but it finally subsided leaving me drenched in perspiration.
I couldn’t think straight after that. I was confused why I wasn’t punished. I was conflicted that it felt so good. I loved the helpless feeling of having to take whatever was given to me, and I began to wonder why I had never tried on more of the gear that I created. Then I remembered that Tara had taken credit for all of the creation at the show last night, and I became enraged. I tugged at my wrists and ankle. I threw myself back and forth against the chains that held me in mid-air. “Let me go!” I screamed into the gag, but it was pointless.
Just as I was starting to run out of angry energy, I could feel the hands on my back again. They worked my muscles and brought my heartrate back to normal. I was relaxing again. Then, the maestro resumed her work on my pussy.
“No! I can’t do that again,” I pleaded into my gag.
I felt so good that I began to cry. I really didn’t think I could do it again, but I didn’t have a choice. Again, the waves of pleasure washed over my being. First, as ripples, but they grew. And by the end, they were crashing upon me once again. That cycle played itself out several times. I lost track after six, but it could have been as many as twice that.
When they were done with me, I couldn’t move. I hung there limp, my head bowed as much as the hood and posture collar would permit. One by one, Tara and Madison gently removed my bonds and other accessories. Eventually, everything had been removed except the wrist cuffs and body harness from which I was suspended. I opened up my eyes to see that a portable bath tub, filled with bubbles, was positioned below me. Tara operated a silent winch to lower me into the water as Madison guided me into the tub. Once I was lying in the tub, they removed the remaining restraints, leaving me naked, free and relaxed in a warm bath.
While I was bathing, Madison looked at her watch and told Tara that she needed to leave for a dinner appointment. Tara said that she could take it from there, and showed Madison to the door. Even though I had the chance to escape, I simply couldn’t manage it. I felt much like I had the night before after drinking the sports drink. After reflecting on it, I was sure that there was a sedative or sleeping pill dissolved into it since I slept the entire way home without noticing Tara restraining me. There was no need for such precautions after the session with Tara and Madison. I was having trouble controlling my own body. I trembled with every effort to move.
Tara came back down to the dungeon with a pair of soft cotton pajamas and a fluffy towel. She helped me out of the tub, dried me off, and helped me into the pajamas. They were delightful.
“Don’t expect to be treated like this every night,” Tara said softly.
“It’s the first night of the rest of our lives, and I thought we might start it off better than we ended our last chapter.”
Her words scared me, but I didn’t dare spoil the moment.
It was clear that she intended to keep me as her prisoner for a long, long time. Surely, she wouldn’t be able to keep me here without someone finding out. Clearly, Madison knew about my captivity. And certainly people from work would be looking for me if I didn’t show up on Monday.
Tara helped me back to my cell, tucked my into bed, and headed back toward the stairs, locking the cell door behind her.
“Good night, Wanda. Tomorrow we will get ready for the week,” she said sweetly as she closed the heavy metal door, and everything went black.
I couldn’t believe it, but Tara was determined to keep me as her prisoner for as long as she wanted, and she was right that not every day would be as nice as the first. On Sunday, she forced me to sign a letter of resignation, a letter to my landlord and my car title under the threat of severe punishment and withholding my meals. I was easy to convince since I hadn’t eaten anything substantial since Friday evening.
Fortunately, it seemed that Tara didn’t actually want to follow through on her threats, although I knew that she would if she felt it was necessary. As soon as I signed the papers, she served a lavish bacon and egg breakfast with fresh-squeezed juice, and she explained how she planned to make me disappear.
The two letters I had just signed cited personal reasons for my resignation and relocation. As part of my resignation, I even apologized for shirking my responsibilities and skipping the Severe Discipline Fashion Show. Tara would tell everyone that I had left immediately after we arrived, and that she had to save the company by stepping in as the announcer. I was pretty sure that Dave, the fetish shop owner would corroborate Tara’s version of events.
She intended to send the letters to a friend in Arizona where her friend would mail them to my boss and landlord. According to the letters, I was moving to Flagstaff to start a new life. I didn’t realize it at the time, but while I was in ecstasy all Saturday afternoon, a team of movers were cleaning out my apartment and shipping the contents to a storage unit in Flagstaff. Tara used my credit cards and checking account to fund the entire process.
Although I originally refused to believe it , in hindsight her plan was well thought out. During our trip to the fashion show, she confirmed that I didn’t let my friends and family know about my job. I kept it a secret since I didn’t think that they would approve or understand. They probably would have thought that everyone I worked with was a psycho, and they wouldn’t have been far off the mark.
I am sure that they probably searched for me, but they would have had trouble finding me since I used an alias for all of my designs, and I lied about where I lived. Sadly, it would be very difficult to link Tara with my disappearance. Especially after she took credit for all of the designs that she stole from me. Since she had several prototypes made weeks before the show, nobody would have suspected that they were not hers. What’s more, nobody would have thought that jealousy was a motive since the designs were some of her, I mean my, best work.
I am just her pet now - her toy. She doesn’t even call me by my name anymore, and she hasn’t for years. I spend my days designing fetish gear in her dungeon. When I have completed a design, Tara will take the design files into work, and claim them as her own. Of course, she brings home the prototypes, and she loves making me wear my own strict creations.
I have become her personal slave doll. Tara can be a mean mistress, but over time, I have come to appreciate that side of her. She has unwittingly made me realize how submissive I really am. Now, I try to push my limits as much as I can. Whenever I design something from my cell, it turns me on to know that she is going to make me wear my own creation. She will often hold parties for her friends when she unveils each collection, and I am the entertainment for her and her friends.
Every time she makes me perform, I wonder what my life would have been like if I just hadn’t trusted her that fateful Friday night so long ago.
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