0 comments/ 50105 views/ 3 favorites Biker Auction Ch. 01 By: DommeFem It started as these things usually start, a text message from my Mistress telling me to expect a package and to prepare myself. You think back on the previous packages and the events that followed. The pencil skirt and business attire and the business meeting that followed – actually, it was not the meeting that you think of, but being bent over the conference room table, your arms stretched across the table as you were taken from behind. And then there was the time that your Mistress sent you to a bar wearing a long coat, heels and a collar – and nothing else. The doorbell interrupts your daydreaming. Ah, Federal Express. You often wondered whether the driver had any idea of what was in the box and always thought from the looks on their faces, sometimes they were men sometimes women, that the knew, but how could they? You sign for the package still half daydreaming and, after shutting the door open the box, wet with anticipation. The scent of leather strikes you as you open the box and grin. Leather, you know what that means. But it's not quite what you expected. It's not bondage gear, at least not exactly. First there is a jacket, waist length, heavy. Boots. Tall, very high boots that reach to your knees with those impossible high heels that you know your Mistress loves to see you in. You pick up the jacket first, lift it to your face, and breath deeply the smell of the leather. Leather pants with an odd assortment of zippers and snaps – you set them aside to figure out later, and finally the instructions. As you pick up the paper you realize there are no panties or bra – and you know that all you will be wearing is in the box, nothing else. you are glad to see there are socks otherwise those boots would kill your feet. You read the instructions which are, as expected, sparse – clear, concise and to the point. A time – you look at your watch, and note that you have two hours – and the usual instructions. Shower, shave everywhere (and carefully), dress in these items and these items alone and be ready at the appointed time. You quickly shower and shave being very careful to get every hair. From past experience, you know that this is important to your Mistress so to be sure you shave again. Smooth and dry, you powder myself generously knowing that this will help with the leather, and pull your hair back into a pony tail. There were no instructions as to your hair, but you know what will fit with the outfit. Your long black hair is pulled back severely into a pony tail high up on your head, with the tail hanging loosely down your back. Naked, you walk into the living room to where you had left the clothes. The pants had to be figured out first and it took some doing. There were many zippers and snaps in, what appeared to be odd places, but after you got them on, it all made sense. Looking in the mirror – you are wearing nothing but the leather pants, the purpose of the pants became very clear. The combination of zippers and snaps ensured that there would be easy access. As you walk around the room, you realized that there was something else. You couldn't tell if it was a zipper or a snap at first, but you feel something pressing against you. Standing in front of the mirror and examining the pants, you realize that it wasn't accidental and it wasn't a zipper. There was, sewn into the pants, something that pressed against your pussy, spreading you just a bit. The pants, of course, fit perfectly, accentuating your hips, snug, just at the edge of too tight. As you watched myself in the mirror, turning this way and that, you happened to see the clock. Shit. You realize that you are almost out of time. Quickly you pull on the jacket, leaving it unzipped as you pull on the boots. It was a good thing that you left yourself some time as the boots took some doing. They had laces up the side so that they were very snug, and took a great deal of time to get on. Finally, you stand–tottering a bit at first, and look at yourself in the mirror. As you zipp up the jacket, feeling the rough leather against your naked breasts, the cell phone in the jacket pocket vibrates softly. Vibrates, not ring – if you hadn't had the jacket on, you wouldn't have felt it. Quickly you picked up the phone. A text message: Leave. Now. You walk (gingerly) out the door expecting to see a limo waiting at the curb. As you walk down towards the street there is no one waiting – momentarily you are surprised, you know the text message was clear that you were to leave at that moment, where was your ride? Then you hear it, softly at first – a rumbling, then a roar that you know. It was distinctive: Harley Davidson. She roared up to the curb – and I do mean roared, screeching to a halt, reaching out with her long legs to stabilize the big bike as it came to a stop. You hesitate briefly– she isn't even looking at you, just staring straight ahead. She turns to look at you and you can see in her eyes that she's rough, she has muscle on her and the look on her face at your slender female form is an odd combination of lust and disdain. One word crosses your mind. Dyke. You quickly walk to the bike, swing your left leg over the bike, and settle into the seat and as you wrap your arms around her waist, she roars off forcing you to hold on for dear life as she races down the street. The distinctive vibrations of the Harley shake you to the core – what is it they say in the advertisements? Put something powerful between your legs? As she roars – and that is the only way to describe her driving – through town, taking turns at impossible angles and speeds, you feel the genius of the design of the pants. And I do mean feel. It is more than a seam at the crotch, there is an insert that, with each vibration of the bike, presses deeper inside of you, opening you. The leather pants seem to tighten (although you know that can't be true) squeezing you tighter and tighter. As your pussy gets wetter and wetter, the leather rubs against your pussy lips increasing the sensation from the bikes vibrations. And then there is the sensation of your bare nipples on the leather jacket. You ride for you don't know how long, the wind whipping your long hair, your pussy getting wetter and wetter. You pull onto the freeway and head out of town. By watching the signs you see you are headed for the shore – perhaps Ocean City or Dewey Beach, you can't be sure. You end up in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, cruising in off of the highway and down the main drag towards the beach. The long throbbing drive – those Harley's do throb – had taken it's toll on you. You are sweating, despite the cool air flowing across me, and can feel that your pussy juice had soaked the crotch of your pants. As she turns into town the road is filled with bikes, almost all Harleys and none of those crotch rockets that the boys liked. The riders were almost exclusively women, many large muscular women. A phrase came into your head. Dykes on Bikes. And that's when you saw the sign – and that's what it said. Dykes on Bikes. Raising funds for breast cancer research at the beach. Well, you think, this is for a good cause wondering what is in store for you. As you think back over what your Mistress has arranged in the past, you hope that you can help raise a lot of money for the cause and a smile comes, unbidden, to your face. She pulls over and parks. As you gingerly get off the bike, you realize that she hasn't said a word to you the entire drive, and barely looked at you. Now she turns to you, and says one word. "Follow." There is something in the tone. Menacing isn't quite right, although she is that. But there was something else. Commanding – not in the sense of her giving me a command, although she clearly did that, but her tone and delivery carried unmistakable command and power and you find yourself following instinctively. As she threads her way through the crowd you follow as best you can – after the hours on the bike your legs are shaky and the boots aren't making it any easier. The lobby is filled with biker chicks – and not the ones who ride on the back of a man's bike. At first all you notice are the biker chicks who are clearly the drivers – the exude power and authority. Shortly you begin to notice the chicks who ride on back – often slightly built, with a more gentle air about them. As you walk through the crowd you also notice that the drivers are all taking to each other and the passengers are largely standing quietly a step behind their drivers. It is clear who is the Mistress and who is the slave, or at least subservient. It is all the more interesting in that this all is happening in the lobby of a hotel on the beach. A hotel, not a private residence, so that there is a smattering of others, clearly not in the biker group, warily walking through the lobby. You reach the check in desk and are handed a key – how they knew which key to give you, you don't know but you have come to expect these things. Your Mistress always has the details planned out well. You are given an envelope with instructions which you open and read. You are directed to a particular conference room and, looking at the map on the wall, wind your way through the crowd, down a long hallway to the main conference room for the fundraiser. As you enter there is a table for people to sign in and, before you can tell anyone your name, a large woman walks up to you. "There you are. Come now, it's time to get started." Again there is something about the tone, commanding, powerful. Not domineering, well perhaps a bit, but not the brusk way a male Dom might talk, but very effective – you obey without thinking, and follow her. As you reach the front of the room the lights start to dim. While it's mid-afternoon, there are no windows in the conference room and, with the doors closed, the effect is of twilight. As the lights go down you hear a soft hum from the speakers in the ceiling, white noise to drown out the sound of the room. You are lead up four stairs onto a small stage in the front of the room and all eyes turn to you. There is a tall woman standing in the center of the stage with a wireless microphone in her hands. She is large – not fat or overly muscled, but defined. She is wearing bike leathers, tailored to her figure and exudes power and command. As you reach the center of the stage you feel all eyes in the room on you as the woman with the microphone says: "The bidding will start at $1,000." Biker Auction Ch. 02 "There you are. Come now, it's time to get started." Again there is something about the tone, commanding, powerful. Not domineering, well perhaps a bit, but not the brusk way a male Dom might talk, but very effective -- you obey without thinking, and follow her. As you reach the front of the room the lights start to dim. While it's mid-afternoon, there are no windows in the conference room and, with the doors closed, the effect is of twilight. As the lights go down you hear a soft hum from the speakers in the ceiling, white noise to drown out the sound of the room. You are lead up four stairs onto a small stage in the front of the room and all eyes turn to you. There is a tall woman standing in the center of the stage with a wireless microphone in her hands. She is large -- not fat or overly muscled, but defined. She is wearing bike leathers, tailored to her figure and exudes power and command. As you reach the center of the stage you feel all eyes in the room on you as the woman with the microphone says: "The bidding will start at $1,000." A voice behind you says 'your Mistress offered you as part of the fundraiser.' There is something about the voice that your brain struggles with. Obviously, a woman. There is power, of course, but a gentleness, no that's not the right word, a kindness to her voice. You feel safe, giving yourself over to her. Until you realize that you are not giving yourself over to her, but to whomever purchases you. The bidding continues, increasing to numbers that your mind struggles to understand. $20,000. $40,000. As it gets to $75,000 the bidding slows and stops at $82,000. "$82,000 for breast cancer research! Let's give our buyer a big hand!" The crowd applauds, a bit more than polite applause, perhaps jealous. The buyer walks to the stage and climbs the stairs -- you get your first look and she takes your breath away. Like so many of the women you have seen this day, she is tall, muscular -- not fat, not with the lean body of an exercise nut, but she is clearly physically powerful. She is wearing leather, black leather, a cross between biker gear and bondage gear and, as she wraps her collar around your neck, you get the very clear impression that she gets her way. Always. The collar is different than you have experienced before. It is, you now know, referred to as a posture collar -- it's very tall and stiff forcing you to hold your chin up and it comes up high under your jaw bone so that you cannot turn your head. She attaches her leash to the front of the leash and leads you down the stairs. Again, it's not as rough as you have experienced before, she doesn't jerk the leash, but exudes power and control. You are fairly certain that with our without the collar and leash, you would follow her without her saying anything. You follow her through the crowd which parts to let you both pass -- the crowd parts with plenty of space for her, but closes in around you, hands brushing your body as you are lead through the crowd. She leads you out of the doors of the meeting room into the main part of the hotel. As you walk down the hallway to the elevator, you try to imagine what the other guests must be seeing -- you in tight leather, impossibly high heels and the posture collar being led by a leash. The thought of it makes you wet and you feel the crotch of the pants pressing against you as with each stride. She says nothing as she leads you into the elevator and up to the top floor. She leads you down the hallway to the corner suite, unlocks the door and walks in pulling the leash behind her. Inside the room you see that she has personalized it, just a bit. The furniture has been moved to the edges of the room and in the center is a free standing metal frame that reached almost to the ceiling. You recognize it as a stand for a sex swing and your pussy gets still wetter. You've always wanted to try one. She leads you forward towards the stand and loops the leash over the top bar, forcing you to stand with your head held high inorder to breath. You hear her moving around the room but can't see what she is doing. You feel her hand rest on your hip from behind, feel her hands start to explore you through the leather. 'I just spent a great deal of money on you' she starts. 'I know it is for a good cause, but I expect to get my money out of you.' 'If you understand, nod your head.' You try to nod yes in response, something that the posture collar makes very difficult. You feel her hands exploring you, probing, stroking, through your leather clothing and try to twist towards her as she moves around you. 'Now, that just won't do.' She takes your right wrist, wraps a sturdy cuff around it and pulls it up to the right, clipping it to a rope through a pulley on the top right corner of the stand. Next, your left wrist is similarly bound. Next your ankles -- you are tied, spread eagle, in the center of a hotel room by a woman who has just spent $82,000 to purchase you. She pulls on the rope attached to your right wrist, stretching you just a bit, and ties it off and then does the same to your left wrist. She moves in front of you and places a tripod with a production quality camera in front of you at just below face level. 'Oh, you didn't think that this was all charitable did you?' she says. The red light on the camera comes on -- it's recording. 'Oh, and don't worry that we wont' get your best angle, there are several other cameras.' We. She said 'we.' Who, you wonder, is 'we?' She pulls back the curtains as you recall that this is a corner room, which means windows on two sides. You look out the window in front of you -- that's the only one you can see -- and see into the hotel across the narrow street. Someone is having a party and the balcony is full of revelers who, you are sure, are in for quite a sight. The lights dim -- so they can see in better you are sure -- and you hear the door open. 'Come in ladies.' You hear people enter but, because of the carpet, cannot tell who or how many -- particularly bound as you are with the posture collar. 'Help yourself to drinks.' You hear ice being dropped into glasses, bottles being opened, but very little talk. 'Is she prepared?' A new voice. Female, not quite as powerful as the woman who purchased you, but not in the least bit weak. 'As you can see, she is ready.' You feel hands on your hips, sliding down, over your thighs, pulling on zippers and snaps until the center of your pants fall away. You feel the cool air of the room on your wet pussy as you are stripped -- at least partially stripped. The legs of the pants, tight to the point of constricting, remain but your pussy and ass are exposed. You feel fingers from behind you slide into you, spreading you open. 'Yes, I can see that she's ready.' 'Who gets to go first?' A new voice. How many are there? 'I believe I went first last time, so one of you should get the honors.' After a brief discussion, a decision is made. She -- and you don't know who, of course -- circles you, her hands lightly grazing your skin, moving from the leather of your pants to your bare ass, unzipping the jacket freeing your breasts. As she moves in front of you, you get the first glimpse of the woman who gets first crack at you and are surprised. Unlike the woman who purchased you, she has clearly let herself go -- she is quite large, barely contained by her bike leathers, and wears thigh soled boots. Serious biker chick and, from the look on her face, not a bit of a sense of humor. She unloops the leash from the over head cross bar and runs it through a pulley on the bottom bar of the stand so that as she pulls on the leash, your neck and head is pulled down. The combination of this tension with your arms tied, spread, is intense, straining your shoulders. She sits in a chair in front of you and pulls on the leash, pulling you down as someone loosens the ropes holding your wrists. Loosens, a bit, but never quite enough, as you are bent forward, your arms are pulled back, spread, over you head until you think your shoulders will dislocate. Just at the edge, where you think you can't take more and will suffer serious injury, the wrist ropes are loosened just a bit more. As you bend forward, your eyes meet first the camera (so that's how she's going to recoup what she spent!) and then the crowd on the balcony across the street, pointing and staring. You look forward and see that the woman sitting in front of you, her pants off and her leather jacket open revealing large breasts and an ample belly. She leans back, spreading her legs and as your face gets closer, hooks her right leg over your shoulder, pulling you towards her pussy. The strain on your shoulders is intense as you are bent forward. You strain forward with your tongue in the belief that the only way to get any relief is to please her. As you are pulled forward, your face is pulled into her pussy -- not the sweetest pussy you have ever licked, but you don't care - all you want is to please her in the hope that you will be released, the pain in your shoulders is intense. She diggs her heels into the small of your back, goading you on as you lick her pussy, spreading her lips with your tongue, sucking on her clit. As she adds pressure to your back, the strain in your shoulders increases still further. You feel the sweat running down your back, her juices running down your chin, as she bucks against your face. She reaches forward grabbing your left breast, squeezing it -- not a gentle caress, but a serious squeeze, rolling your nipples between her fingers, pulling on it, stretching. You are so focused on her that you don't feel the hands on your ass, spreading you, probing your pussy and ass from behind until you feel the tip of a dildo, slick with lube press against your ass. You have no time to prepare yourself -- whoever is handling the dildo (and it's clearly a strap on) slams forward, driving the dildo into your ass, forcing your face into her pussy, and stretching your arms still further. You scream into her pussy as she cums, drenching your face with her juices. Biker Auction Ch. 03 You have been sold at auction for $82,000 to benefit breast cancer research and find yourself bound to a free standing rack in the center of a top floor hotel room. Your wrists are tied, spread, to pulleys on the top corner of the stand, your legs tied, spread. You are bent forward, your neck pulled by a leash on your posture collar and your head pulled back by your hair, and are being fucked in the ass from behind, surrounded by cameras. The woman in front of you has just cum, her juices run down your face, her heels digging into the small of your back, as the woman behind you drives her strap on in and out of your ass. You look forward and notice that there are windows all around and the curtains are open. Across the street -- and it's really not that far -- there is a party which, by the standards of your situation, is quiet tame. Everyone has their clothes on. You see someone point and a crowd gathers. Binoculars come out to help with the view. The stand to which you are bound is lifted -- and you along with it -- and slide out to the balcony to give them a better look. You feel the strap on slide out of your ass as you are moved, swaying, into the cool evening breeze off of the ocean. The crowd across the street grows larger -- while at first they were quiet, intrigued, now they are calling out. You hear a voice next to you respond. "Interested?" The stand is turned to give them a side view. You hear a number of responses -- all affirmative and all male. "Come on over" is the response. "But, one at a time." You can't see them, but can imagine their surprise. Turned the way that you are, you have a good view of the ocean, watching the moon rise, feeling the cool ocean wind on your bar breasts. In what appears to be an amazingly short time, there is a knock at the door. You hear it opened and negotiations -- you tune it out, it's none of your business. The next thing you know, he is standing in front of you, naked. He's young, muscular -- obviously works out -- and black. True to the stereotype, his cock is huge, even half hard. He lifts his cock to your lips, as you hear your new Mistress say "Now, remember, she is yours to use as you like. Has anyone ever been able to take you all the way?" "Not yet" he replies. "My little slut here can do it, can't you?" As you start to open your mouth to reply, something like, you aren't really sure, he slides the tip of his cock into your mouth. You don't know if they worked something out in advance or not, but he just holds the tip in your mouth. You realize that cameras are being repositioned. Slowly, steadily, he pushes forward, sliding his partially hard cock into your mouth. You stretch, opening as much as you can, but cannot reposition yourself or move. Further and further he pushes. You feel him on the back of your throat and start to gag. Rather than pull back, as others have done when you gagged before, he uses the gagging motion of your throat as an opening, pressing deeper. You feel your throat stretch as he slides deeper into your throat. Until you realize that you can't breath and as you try to struggle, to get him out enough to catch a breath, you hear those around you laugh. You hear a buzzing in your ears, feel yourself fading, starting to black out and, just as you feel your head start to flop, he pulls out of your throat, and take a long deep breath. After a few breaths, you feel him slide into your throat again. This time it's not slow or gentle, he grabs your face and fucks his cock down your throat, holding his cock in your throat until you start to gray out again, each time pulling out just in time to stop you from blacking out. This is repeated so many times that you lose count, don't even try to keep track. "Damn, no one's ever been able to do that before! What else can she do?" "What are you willing to pay?" you hear your new Mistress say. Your ass is sold to him for $1,000. "Wait" you hear your Mistress say "let's bring over a few more friends and make this a real party." You hear him call out a few names to the crowd across the street. "No" your Mistress says, "just one more." He calls back, telling them just one more, pauses, and says "send Betty." Betty you think, ok a girl, that won't be so bad, can't be as bad as this guy. Betty arrives. She is tall, muscular -- she works out too, obviously, and knows the man well, stroking his cock as she kisses him in greeting. "So," she says, "what have we here?" "Your birthday present, want to see what she can do?" "Oh" says Betty, "I've seen what she can do. Now, let's see what we can do" and starts removing her clothes. Naked, she walks around you, inspecting, her hands sliding over you, tweaking your nipples, spreading your pussy lips. You realize, as muscular as he is, that she is in charge. You recognize the walk -- power. She has brought a bag with her and sets it in front of you so you can see it. First, she removes a harness which she quickly puts on. More strap ons. Then she pulls out nipple clamps, several different styles and, holding them in front of you says, "hmm, let's see, what do I feel like tonight." There are clamps with springs to hold them tight, ones with turn screws and gleaming teeth, others with weights to swing. She holds up a spring clamped set with weights and beckons the man over. "Get her nipples ready, won't you?" He leans forward to suck on your nipples. You feel his teeth on your nipples but what catches your eye is the way that she rests her hands on his back as he leans forward. Possessive. She pulls him back and clamps your left nipple, releasing the spring quickly so that it snaps down on your nipple, the weight swinging freely. She twists your right nipple between her fingers, stretching it and then clamps it in the same manner. She pulls him back, away from you, so that she can examine her handiwork. She slaps your face, hard, so that your whole body sways, the weights on your nipples swaying, pulling on your nipples. When you look up you see that she has attached a strap on -- perhaps as large as his cock to her harness and is moving it to your mouth. In one motion, she slams it into your throat, driving it down your throat, causing more swaying, more pulling on your nipples and then, as fast as it went in, she pulls it out and starts to lube it up. You know what's next - or at least you imagine -- if it was for your pussy, there would be no need for lube, you can feel your pussy juices running down your thighs, so it's your ass you expect. Then you see him in front of you, leaning forward, his ass exposed. You feel someone behind you, spreading your cheeks and feel a finger, slick with lube, slide into your ass. You know what's coming next -- and then you feel it, something pressing into your ass, but you can't tell at first whether or not it's a cock or a dildo. You look at the man bent over in front of you, the one whose cock almost made you pass out moments before, and see him bent over, gripping his ass cheeks, spreading them wide apart as the woman, obviously his Mistress, moves forward with her strap on, slick with lube. You watch as she presses the tip of her strap on against his ass. His ass is not as flexible as yours, perhaps he hasn't been fucked in the ass as much as you have recently, and she has to push to get it in. He grunts as the head of the dildo pops inside him. The dildo at your ass slides in at the same time. Your eyes are on his ass as the dildo is pressed deeper and deeper into yours, moving on a pace with the dildo in his ass, going deeper and deeper. You feel whoever is behind you -- and for some reason you think it's a dildo, not a cock, pressing against you, with your arms still spread, forcing you forward increasing the pressure on your shoulders. Deeper and deeper she goes into his ass, and deeper and deeper the dildo goes into yours, until you see her bottom out, completed filling his ass. She grips his hips, pulls back, pulling the dildo all the way out of his ass, and prepares to drive back in side of him. The dildo in your ass is pulled back to, out of your ass leaving you with that empty feeling, one that you know won't last long. She drives her strap on into his ass with one hard, forceful jab, you hear him gasp again as your own ass is filled. Now she starts to fuck him in earnest, driving in and out of his ass, slapping his cheeks as she does, and whoever is fucking your ass, matches the pace, driving forward against you, straining your arms, filling your ass. You realize that the dildo that she is using to fuck his ass must be either double headed or have something for her, because she starts to cum as she fucks his ass, shaking and quivering, she collapses onto his back, her dildo still in his ass. She leans back, pulling her dildo from his ass. For some reason your eyes are fixated on his ass and watching the dildo slide out of it. It's longer than you imagined. At last, the tip slides out of his ass. She turns towards you -- your ass is still filled, the dildo still deep in your ass. She guides her strap on, fresh from his ass towards your lips. You breath in, smelling the scent of his ass as she presses the dildo past your lips. The dildo in your ass is pulled back, as she presses forward, you feel your mouth filling and your ass emptying, as she presses the dildo into your mouth, filling your senses with the smell of his ass. You feel the dildo press into your mouth, down your throat, filling your throat just as his cock had filled it before. Only this time, the dildo had just been in his ass. You feel her dildo press into, and then down your throat, until you feel her hips against your face. The dildo in your ass starts to slam in and out of you, forcing your face against the Mistress in front of you. You struggle to breath, feel yourself getting dizzy, light headed, that buzzing in your ears that you felt before when, just as you are about to pass out, the dildo in your mouth is pulled back, just enough, for you to get a long, deep breath -- thick with the smell of his ass -- and then another breath, before she drives forward again, choking you again almost to the point of passing out, before releasing you to permit a breath or two. Over and over, you feel your self almost passing out, you are not aware of the rest of your body, don't feel the weighted nipple clamps swaying, don't feel the dildo in your ass, driving in and out, all you are aware of is the dildo in your throat, the sensation of graying out and coming back, over and over, until, finally, she pulls her dildo out of your throat and sits, exhausted, in a chair facing you. She is sweaty, her hair matted from the exertion. She turns to the Mistress who purchased you at the auction and says "I think she will do. We can complete our transaction, she passed the audition." Your mind is still hazy from the oxygen denial, but this cuts through the fog. Audition. This was an audition -- what could be more than this, what could this be a test for? There is something more than this? Biker Auction Ch. 04 You have been sold at auction for benefit breast cancer research and find yourself bound to a free standing rack on the balcony of a hotel, having been put through your paces and only just learned that it's been an audition - but for what, you don't know. The new Mistress removes her strap on and hands it to her male slave -- without saying anything you note -- and walks into the hotel room with the Mistress who bought you at auction. You know a business discussion when you see one. You feel hands removing your bonds, unhooking and releasing you, gentle hands supporting you as you are slowly released, the posture collar removed, your arms and legs released. You realize how you've been stressed only upon release, feeling your muscles ache at being released. You are led, almost carried, to the bathroom and lowered into a bathtub filled with warm, soapy waters. Almost in a daze, actually there's no 'almost' about it, in a daze you feel yourself being washed, your body, your hair, and removed from the bath, dried and lead back into the room. Everyone, well almost everyone, has gone, the shades are drawn and the covers pulled back. Your robe is slipped off of your shoulders as you are lowered into the bed. You are exhausted, drained, and after the bath, ready to sleep. But the Mistress who purchased you at auction -- and it strikes you that you don't even know her name -- sits in a chair near the edge of the bed. "Well, my dear, you certainly turned out to be a good purchase." You smile, contentedly although wondering exactly what that meant. "My friends and I had a good time with you and I sold you at a good price. I am sure you new owner will be pleased, she certainly was today." New owner? The Mistress stands up, kisses you lightly on the forehead, pulls the covers up and walks out of the room, turning off the light as she goes. As the room goes dark, you are asleep, so tired that you don't even wonder about what this new owner involves. When you awake, the room is dark but because the shades are drawn, you don't know whether or not it's light out. In fact, you couldn't hazard a guess as to whether it was morning or night, your sense of time having been completely eliminated. As you peal back the covers and swing your feet to the floor, you hear a voice. "Hello my pet, I see that you are awake." Without saying a word, you move quickly out of bed and kneel on the floor in the position you were taught by your first Mistress -- knees apart, feet pointed behind you, head down, hands on your knees. "I see you have been well trained. That is good, less work for me." You, knowing your place, say nothing. "Are you prepared to submit to me, freely and entirely?" "Yes my Mistress." You try to sound certain but hear a tinge of fear in your voice. "Very good. In a few moments breakfast will be brought in after which my attendants will be here to see to you. Comply with their instructions." With that the Mistress rises and leaves. Moments later the door opens again -- no knocking -- and a food tray is brought in with a variety of food. You suddenly realize that you are very hungry and each with gusto, more than you normally have for mere food, and before long you have cleaned out the entire cart. The servant -- you didn't even notice him standing there and realize that he made no comments regarding the naked woman eating with such hunger -- clears away the tray. He is followed almost immediately by the attendants who lead you to the bathroom. They are gentle but firm and you follow easily. As before you are lowered into the tub, washed thoroughly, and this time shaved, several times, until you are completely smooth, everywhere but your head, then lifted out of the bath, dried, powdered, your hair pulled back into a pony tail and led back into the bedroom. While you were in the bath, the room was prepared. There are so many things laid out that your brain cannot catalog them all much less figure out their use. You are led forward and step into -- it's hard to describe, although very soon you realize it's a latex body suit. Your feet are slipped into what feel like very tight boots which are then pulled up over your calves and knees. With the latex at your knees you feel yourself being bent forward, your legs spread, and feel cold lube spread over your ass. Your cheeks are pulled apart and a long slender something, you imagine it's a dildo, is slid into your ass followed by something similar into your pussy. They are held in place as the latex suit is pulled up. It is very tight and holds the toys inside of you. You arms are placed at your side and the suit is pulled up over them encasing your arms at your side. The suit is pulled higher, over your breasts and to your shoulders when you see the head covering. There is a mouth piece, like a gas mask, that goes over your mouth but no eye holes. The hood is pulled over your head and you feel the back being zipped up. You are encased, blindfolded with your hands at your side. Through the latex, you feel someone examining you, a hand stroking your body, and a whisper in your ear, 'you are mine now, to do with as I please" at which time the air supply is cut off, someone has blocked the air hose. You struggle to get air, feel your lungs strain, but cannot move. You feel yourself starting to gray out, heading towards unconsciousness. Air is restored, you suck in deeply and as you do so, the devices -- that's how you think of them now -- inside of you come to life. Later you realized that this was timed on purpose, but at the time the shock was overwhelming. How to describe the experience -- the devices seemed to expand in size quickly and connect to each other in some way, but you later realized it was simply the effect of an electric shock. You fall backwards and are caught before you hit the floor -- they were obviously expecting such a reaction. You are lifted to your feet and moved to a box, a life size form fitting box into which you are strapped, your air hose pulled through a hole in the side. The cover is fastened and you feel the box being leaned back as if onto a two wheeled cart and rolled out of the room. You are not drugged, you can sense the movement of the box in which you are encased as it is wheeled through the hotel lobby. You can hear voices around you and for a moment you consider escape -- if you screamed out now, someone would hear you. The moment passes and you make no sound, luxuriating in the sensation of isolation and suspension in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the hotel. You feel yourself being loaded on to a truck and then feel the rhythmic rocking as the truck heads down city streets and onto the highway. As you roll away inside the truck your mind summarizes your situation: you are filled, your ass and pussy, encased in a body suit and inside of a box in a truck heading for, well you really don't know, but based on what you have experienced to date, to somewhere exciting.