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Rachel's Retrospect

By: Magda Sandor



I have little awareness of the passing of time now, but I do know it has been about a year since I was made a sex slave.

My parents reluctantly let me go off to college in Boston. Living the good life retired in Vermont, as an only child my mother was fearful of letting me leave home. But I was restless, adventurous, and 21 years old. All of my friends had left home and gone to college three years ago. I had finally convinced my parents to let me go. I was desperate to escape what I thought was their obsessive power over me, and I wanted to start my life as an adult. 

When I arrived in Boston in the fall, I fell in love with the city and the campus. My parents had arranged for me to rent a small second-floor, three-room apartment in an old building a friend of theirs owned. It was musty with noisy plumbing and an ancient gas stove that rarely worked, but I loved it. I was finally on my own.

I made friends on campus quickly and enjoyed going into town with them to the clubs and pubs. I was smart, wealthy and pretty; I realize now it gave me instant access to the better cliques of students on campus. At the time I didn’t care if my money and position bought me popularity; all I knew was I was having fun and had my freedom at last. Little did I know that my freedom would soon be taken from me in a way I could have never conceived.

I can at least remember it was a Thursday evening that I was to meet Brandon and Heather at “The Roxy”, a large popular dance club in the heart of Boston. I didn’t have classes on Friday, so I planned to drink a lot, dance a lot, and hopefully pick up – or get picked up by – a good-looking guy. At home I dated a little – mostly the sons of the wealthy couples my parents knew. They were nice and polite young gentlemen, but only a few tried to score with me. And I was more than willing. 

Brandon and Heather, as usual, were late. So I sat at the bar in "The Roxy" and bought myself a few glasses of wine. I usually liked to have a drink in front of me; it seemed to encourage any interested men to buy me another. And that usually led to conversation, dancing, and if I was lucky, a good screw.

I had found since I’d been on my own, a new Me was emerging. She was a free, adventurous, daring, and very sexual young woman. While I was innately a “nice girl”, I did enjoy being a young, attractive, wealthy woman who was finally free to explore the world and try new things.

Sitting in the “The Roxy” on that Thursday night, a man approached me. He was somewhat older than the usual college crowd – maybe 30 or so years old. While he was dressed nicely in jeans and carried a leather jacket over his shoulder, there was something rough looking about him. He wore a large silver chain around his neck. There were a couple of tattoos on his arm. His hair was black and long – slightly greying - and he had a short beard and moustache. A gold hoop earring hung from his right earlobe, just below another piercing where he wore a diamond stud.

“You waiting for Brandon?” he asked.

“Yes. He and Heather are late as usual. Are you a friend of his?” I replied and took another sip of wine. He wasn’t really my type, but I always played it cool and casual around men.

He put a five-dollar bill down on the bar and waved to the bartender to bring another drink for me.

“Yeah – talked to him earlier. He and Heather are going to the “Caprice” instead.”

“Damnit,” I quietly exclaimed; “I’ve been sitting here an hour waiting for them.”

I remember the man smiled – “Hate it when that happens. Let me buy you a drink then I’ll give you a ride over to the “Caprice”.”

I looked up into his dark brown eyes, slightly piercing and mischievous, and nodded.

“Sure, why not? I’m Rachel…”

I now cannot remember much of what happened next. I either drank too much or he drugged me. I know now it was the latter.

The first thing I remember when I woke up was not being able to move. Wherever I was seemed only dimly lit, cool, musty and smelled of incense and scented candles.

As I blinked open my eyes and could focus, I looked up and saw my reflection in a large full –length mirror. I was tied to a bed. It was a king-size bed with old, chipped, brass ladder-back headboard and footboard. My wrists were bound in black leather cuffs and handcuffed to the end rungs on each side of the headboard. My ankles were bound in similar cuffs, secured at each end rung of the footboard. I was still dressed, but there was a black leather collar belted tightly around my neck, with a large silver metal loop dangling from the front of it. In my mouth was a cloth gag – an old bandana – tied around my head.

I struggled weakly at first, still drowsy from the effects of the drug, and tried to yell. It took me a little while to truly realize what had happened, and what was happening to me. I now can’t remember much of what I thought those first few hours of abduction. Mostly, all I think I thought about was how afraid I was, what might happen to me, and how I could escape. 

Once I fully awoke and calmed down enough to think rationally, I was able to turn my head to either side enough to look at where I was. It seemed to be a large basement. The only light was a collection of candles on a table next to the bed where I was bound, so the rest of the basement was cast in dim light. 

The windows of the basement, placed just below the ceiling and the groundline, had been boarded up so no light could enter the dank cellar.

The man entered the heavy metal door of the basement entrance, locked it securely behind him with a key he then slipped into the pocket of his jeans, and approached the bed.

“Do you know what is happening to you?” he said with a slight smile, his dark eyes running the length of my body.

I wanted to struggle but was too afraid to move.

The man sat down on the edge of the bed next to me.

“Well, you should know a few things, and never forget them. Do as you are told to do and you won’t end up dead in some alleyway for the rats to find. Don’t ever try to escape, because you won’t ever be able to. And I will kill you if you try.”

He smiled now and ran his rough hand up and down my extended arm –“My old lady and me just sold our last slave to a friend, and we wanted a new one. Brandon is an old friend of mine – I sold some coke to him for a while. We saw you with him one night last week in “The Roxy”, and my old lady wanted you. So here you are…”

I whimpered a little bit, trying to fight back tears of fear, and struggled to loosen my arms.

The man laughed –

“Won’t do you any good, little girl. The more you struggle, the tighter the cuffs will get. And don’t fucking cry – I hate it.”

Saying that, he reached over and smacked me across the face. I bit into the gag as the sting of his slap tingled all over my face, and fought even harder to be quiet. I think fear was overwhelming me, but I tried to keep my head and think clearly. I knew it was imperative I stay alert to what was going on in order to survive the situation.

At that moment, I could hear the locks on the basement door rattling, and a tall, slightly large-figured woman entered. She had long dyed red hair, a face covered with severe make-up, and wore black leather pants and a black Harley-Davidson cropped tank top. At that moment I felt instant fear of her, unaware at that moment this woman would eventually become my Keeper, my Lover, my Abuser, my Mistress. And the man sitting next to me I would come to know as my Master and Owner.

The woman stood at the end of the bed and looked down at me with green eyes and a slight smile.

“She’s awake,” the woman said in a deep, smoky voice.

“Yep – told her what was going on,” the man replied.

“Cool,” the woman said with a smile. “Hey girl, I hope like hell you were worth the effort. It ain’t easy getting new slaves. Cops are getting closer, and we gotta move soon.”

I heard the woman’s words, but all I could do was feel my body struggling against the cuffs and against her exploring eyes. It was all starting to sink in, and I was terrified in a way I had never felt before. 

“Relax, girl,” the woman said as she approached the other side of the bed and sat down next to me. “I ain’t gonna Use you just yet; you aren’t ready yet.”

I stopped struggling and tried to calm my breathing. As I kept my gaze up into the mirror above me, I saw the woman reach over with both hands and begin to unlace the bustier I was wearing. I instantly closed my eyes, not wanting to see her do this to me, and I felt the sting of her fingernails draw painfully across my cheek.

“Keep your eyes open, girl,” she commanded harshly; “I want you to watch everything I do to you.”

I opened my eyes, but they were clouded with tears, tears from the sting of her scratch and from the fear of what was happening to me.

The woman drew the last of the lace open and pulled back the leather garment from my chest. As I watched, silent but breathing heavily, I could almost see it as a dramatic and sensual unveiling of a woman’s beautiful body. At that time I couldn’t understand that was exactly what it was, but the moment now has meaning for me, and I will never forget it. It was the moment my body was taken by my Mistress and my Owner.

I could see my well-formed, pale-skinned breasts sag slightly as they were released from the bustier, my dark pink nipples erect as the cool, damp air of the cellar gently caressed across them.

The woman said nothing as she then moved to unzip my skirt. She opened it to reveal the black satin G-string thong I wore. I didn’t dare look directly at either the man or woman, but out of the corners of my eyes I caught them glancing at one another with satisfied smiles.

I looked up again into the mirror and saw my body as they saw it – a pretty young woman bound hand and foot to a bed, nude except for black panties and a gag in her mouth…helpless to whatever her captors desired to do to and with her. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, I remember now that I felt myself become damp between my legs. Even then my body knew I was meant to be what I became.

The man smiled – “Good enough for me.”

The woman smiled back at him – “Yeah, she’ll do for a while. She ain’t pierced, good tits, no tattoos.”

“Well, not yet she don’t,” the man replied, and looked at me with a dark grin.

Hearing that my body unconsciously began to struggle for freedom again. The man and woman both laughed at me.

“I gotta go meet Joe for a trade,” the man then said and moved toward the steel door; “Have fun with your new slut, Linda – later…”

The woman – who I now knew was named Linda – got up and turned on the old stereo sitting on the dresser. Out of the hollow darkness of the cellar I heard some sort strange music that I couldn’t define. It was like jazz mixed with Goth metal.

The woman then stood by the bed and began to undress. I could not help but watch her. Standing almost nude, she had a large, muscular but still feminine body. There was a tattoo of barbed wire around her right upper arm, and on the left outside upper arm was a tattoo of a red heart with a black dagger through it.

Her breasts were quite large but still firm. Through each nipple a gold hoop was pierced, about 2 inches in diameter. Through the upper skin of her navel was a smaller gold hoop. Her vaginal region was shaved clean, and through the skin of the left fold of her vagina a gold stud was pierced. Her whole body was slightly tanned and well toned. I had only seen another woman’s nude body back in the campus locker room after a game of softball. Of course I never really looked at my classmates as they changed clothes or showered in the locker room; but at that moment I could not help but take in this woman’s body and helplessly stare.

The woman looked down at me and laughed, putting her hands on her hips for a moment –

“So what do you think of me, girl?”

I instantly turned my head away from her with a strange embarrassment, and stared back up at the mirrored ceiling.

In the reflection, I watched her as she bent over the table next to the bed and lit a stick of sickly sweet-smelling incense. She then sat down on the edge of the bed next to me and opened the drawer of the table. I saw her retrieve a small kitchen knife, and I instantly began to struggle. That overwhelming fear I had just temporarily put at bay rose up again with increased ferocity.

The woman turned to me, and I gazed back at her with no doubt terrified eyes. She smiled.

“Stop struggling, girl; I ain’t gonna cut you right now.”

She then moved down and slid the serrated edge of the knife under the side of my panties. With one strong pull of the knife, she cut the material in two. The woman then leaned over and repeated the act on the other side of my panties. She pulled the severed satin material away to expose my crotch. As the cool damp air hit my exposed vagina, I could feel a tingle run through my entire body and I shivered. I could hear the woman quietly moan with pleasure as she watched me. She reached over to the table, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lighter. She placed a cigarette between her dark red coloured lips and lit it. Exhaling the smoke, she began to speak.

“Let me tell you how it is from the start, girl. Forget your life before this moment – it ain’t real anymore.” The woman began to gently run her long fingernail around my right nipple. The sensation was intense and my body jolted, my breathing increased.

“See,” she continued, “Jack and me keep slaves. Been doing it for years. Had to sell the last one, Carla. She was getting too old and too used.”

As I listened, I stared up into the mirror, my mind alert but my thoughts blinded by a darkness that I suppose was fear. It is now hard to describe. The woman drew her blue-painted fingernails down across my stomach, causing my stomach to involuntarily quiver. I watched her doing this to me; part of me was repulsed, but another part of me – a part that now is my true consciousness – was strangely aroused by it.

“You’re about 21 or 22 years old, ain’t you?” the woman asked me.

I reluctantly nodded.

“Yeah, I told Jack I wanted a college girl,” she continued; “Get a lot of good years out of one; then sell her for a good price after she’s trained.”

Her hand was grazing the dark hair covering my crotch, and I could feel myself growing wet, the pit of my stomach tingling harder.

“So here’s the deal,” the woman said after taking a long draw on the cigarette.

“This is your new life. You are my and Jack’s sex slave. Do what we tell you to do and you will live to see another day. Just get used to it. You may get to like it – a lot of our slaves do.”

The woman drew her finger down between my open crotch and began to rub my clitoris. As she touched that sensitive, wet part of me, my whole body jolted and I uncontrollably gasped against the now-damp cloth gag.

“Jack and me are gonna do things to you you ain’t never seen or thought of before. And you are gonna do things you ain’t never thought of before,” the woman explained as she slowly smoked the cigarette. She was smiling with a salacious grin as she freely toyed with my body, watching and seemingly enjoying the reactions she pulled from each gentle assault.

“I’m gonna train you what to do, girl. All you gotta do is obey what we say. Simple as that. You try to get away and you are a dead bitch – you understand?”

I quickly nodded that I did, my eyes again clouding with tears as I tried to look at her. 

Over the next few days – although it just as likely could have been a few weeks – I was harshly and painfully trained to be a sex slave. I was told that the leather collar around my neck was a symbol of my Ownership by them, and would not be removed unless I was sold to another owner. It was tight and abrasive to my skin, but after a while I got so used to it that I didn’t realize I was wearing it.

I was given food twice a day. An hour afterward I was allowed to relieve myself. I had to hold my need until those two times, or I would be severely punished. It also was the only time I was given even a small amount of physical freedom. The woman – who I now was instructed to call “Mistress” or “Ma’am” – always stood over me while I ate to assure I did so. At first I wanted to refuse to eat as a sign of defiance, even though I was starving and needed sustenance. However, I quickly learned to obey her commands, and eating was one of them I knew was best for me to obey.

I also learned that Jack – my Master, my Owner – was an extremely sick, evil man. He was a ex-Hell’s Angel who dealt in drugs and sex slaves as a living. From what I heard during their discussions around me – at which times I was regarded as a non-entity – Jack was moving up in the drug/slave trade, and he and Mistress Linda would soon be leaving Boston. I could only assume I would be going with them. The thought terrified me, but I had absolutely no choice in the matter.

At first, my training routine was predictable. It usually started with Mistress releasing me from the bed, my hands always handcuffed behind my back and my ankles always in shackles. I was taken to the Frame, my hands bound above my head and ankles cuffed to each side of the frame, legs spread wide apart. Mistress would then place weighted clamps on my nipples. It was extremely painful, but if I screamed or expressed any kind of pain, she would move behind me and whip me with a long leather strap. This would go on for what seemed like hours. My screams of pain echoed through the musty cellar, but I knew no one could hear me or rescue me from this nightmare. 

Eventually, I mentally and physically toughened up enough to endure the weighted clamps and whipping without making a sound. At that point, I was freed of the uncomfortable ballgag Mistress placed in my mouth whenever she was training me. However, I still was only allowed to speak or make noise when Mistress or Master permitted me to. 

Once Mistress was finished with me, she would then ‘prepare’ me for the Master’s training. This I dreaded even more than Mistress’ training of me. She shackled my wrists and ankles to the wall, spread eagle and forced to stand on my toes for hours until Master arrived. Or worse, she would tie me to “The Table” as I called it, my ankles tightly bound with rope or chains to each lower end of the table. My wrists were equally tied to each top corner of the table, secured to the large metal eyehooks nailed there. The ballgag was placed in my mouth and strapped tightly around my head. A chain hanging from the ceiling was attached to the metal loop on my collar, and I was hoisted by the neck a few inches off the table. Mistress then left me there like that until Master came to Use me. It was extremely uncomfortable and painful. The surprising thing was that I was quickly becoming used to it. More, I found myself fighting the thought that I actually liked it. In the few fleeting moments of true coherency I stole for myself, I realized this all was a horrible experience I should constantly try to escape. I knew that I should hate and abhor what was being done to me. But after a while, getting used to Mistress’ and Master’s training of me, I found myself changing my way of thinking, my way of being. Despite it all, I was becoming a willing sex slave.

Master usually started with clamps. I watched him in the mirror bolted to the ceiling above, attach the metal spring clamps to my nipples, and progressively tighten them until I whimpered in pain. He worked over me, occasionally glancing at me, but usually focusing on my body. Then he would take a set of metal spring clamps and attach one to one of my vaginal folds. A metal chain was attached to the each clamp, which he would run under my hips and bring up to the other side. The clamp attached to that end would be clamped to the other fold. My vagina would then be pulled wide open for his free Use.


Rachel's Retrospect Ch. 02



I had been in bondage as a sex slave for over a year. In this time I had been trained to serve and endure incredibly dark sexual torture by my Master and Mistress. I knew what I was supposed to do, and how I was supposed to obey. My Owners dictated my entire existence; by now I had forgotten my previous life as a free young woman. They had taken my name away and given me a new one – jane. They had taken away my freedom, my self-confidence, and my self-will. Not only had I grown to accept this, I also had grown to embrace it. I have wondered whether I was always meant to be a sex slave – I have taken to it, accepted it, so completely. By this time, however, it doesn’t really matter. I am what I am.

Boston was extremely cold in the winter. I assumed I was still in Boston – my Master he drugged me when he abducted me so I have no idea still exactly where I am being kept. 

The dungeon where I live is not heated well, so it is very cold. I am rarely allowed to wear clothing – a slave should always be nude in order to allow her Master or Mistress instant and complete access to their slave’s body.

I shivered a bit in the cold as I lay on the cot in my cell located in the far south corner of the basement dungeon. I had learned how to fall asleep while being chained by my collar to the wall by a ten-foot chain. Usually I was so exhausted after being Used by my Master and Mistress, sleep came instantly.

That evening during my session, Master and Mistress seemed quite angry. They used me to vent that anger. I was bound by rope, my wrists together, to a beam in the ceiling. A spreader bar was put between my ankles and I was cuffed to it. Master then hoisted me up by the rope until I was a foot off the floor. The pain in my wrists and arms was extreme. I had a ballgag in my mouth so I could only muffle my distress.

Mistress took a 5-foot long riding crop to my back and fiercely whipped me for what seemed like an hour. I could feel the open welts on my back trickling blood. My whole body jolted every time the whip hit me, and it caused my body to swing suspended in the air. This put more pressure on my wrists and caused me to whimper in even more pain. I wanted to scream but I absolutely knew not to allow myself to. It was one of the very first lessons I had learned from Master and Mistress when I became their sex slave.

While Mistress whipped me, Master took a pair of small metal weights and attached them to the gold rings pierced through my nipples. Master and Mistress had recently ceremoniously had my body pierced as a mark of their Ownership of me. It also allowed them to Use me in even more elaborate, painful ways to satisfy their dark sexual desires.

The pull of the weights on my nipples was excruciating; although I had long gotten used to this particular pain. Master added three more sets of weights, until my nipples and breasts were pinched and stretched farther than I thought possible. Tears were stinging my eyes at the unbelievable pain. I was whimpering constantly, biting into the ballgag to try to silence my need to scream.

Master then took more weights and attached them to the gold rings pierced through each of my vaginal folds. The pain was so overwhelming I almost passed out.

When Master took a small clamp attached to weighted chain and attached it to my clitoris, I began to wail and openly cry.

“Shut your stupid mouth, girl,” Mistress almost yelled at me in her harsh, smoky voice; “Be quiet and take your punishment.”

Her command instantly silenced me. Even as she now took the crop to my stomach and tortured breasts, I only quietly whimpered.

At some point I must have passed out, because when I awoke, I was alone. I was still hanging from the rope, my body almost numb in aching pain. I could look down and see the bleeding lashes covering my stomach and breasts. The weights had been removed from my gold rings, but I could somehow still feel the pull of them.

I must have hung there for another hour or so, my mind blank with exhaustion and pain. When I heard the key in the door lock of the dungeon, I audibly sighed with relief.

Master did not speak as he lowered me to the ground and I crumbled to my knees. I fell to the floor in exhaustion and simply could not move. Master moved around me to untie my wrists – which were now raw and bleeding – and removed the spreader bar cuffs from my ankles.

“Get up, girl,” he ordered me. I immediately tried to rise to my knees to stand, but I was so weak and in pain I collapsed again to the floor.

I heard Master grunt in displeasure as he grabbed my long blond hair in his hand and began dragging me toward the shower. By this time I was so numb I barely felt the pain in my head from being dragged by my hair. I was panting heavily and whimpering as he pulled me into the shower stall – a small, three-walled structure in which Mistress bathed me twice a day. As I sat crumpled in the corner of the stall, Master turned the water on very cold and stood there as he watched the rinse water spraying my body turn red with my blood.

Mistress arrived and once I was clean, helped me stand and took me to the large bed near the center of the basement. It was an old, large four-poster bed Master and Mistress had obtained for Using me.

I sat weak and compliant on the side of the bed as Mistress once again attached my leather wrist and ankle cuffs to me. As their slave I wore them all the time, as I did the black leather choker collar around my neck. For a sex slave, these items are like jewelry. I had come to wear them almost proudly in a strange way.

Mistress then ordered me to lie on the bed on my stomach, which I slowly did – each movement sending searing pain throughout my body. Mistress then took the four foot chains attached securely to each post on the bed and attached the clamps on the ends of them to the metal rings in each of my wrist and ankle cuffs. I was thankful she did not make me lie on by scarred, injured back and buttocks. I was truly amazed when Mistress began to gently apply cortisone ointment to the wounds she had just hours ago assaulted on me.

“jane,” Mistress began speaking quietly, using the slave name she and Master had given me long ago; “Master and me…well…we gotta split town for a while. And we ain’t gonna be able to take you with us.”

Hearing this stunning news I forgot my pain and turned my head to look at her, forgetting the rule of never looking at Master or Mistress directly unless given permission to.

“So we are gonna rent you to a Dom we know,” she told me; “Just for a little while until we can find a new place and send for you.”

The shock of hearing this was overwhelming. For over a year I had existed in this damp dungeon basement and my life had been completely controlled by my Master and Mistress. Now she was suddenly telling me she and Master were leaving, and I was going to be in the possession of someone I did not know. I began to cry.

“Quiet, girl,” Mistress said, but it was muttered softly and almost compassionately. She continued to attend to my wounds.

“We don’t like it either,” she said, glancing up at Master, who sat on the other side of the bed and had been silently watching.

“But we got no choice. This Dom you are going to is a friend of Master’s and me. Just do whatever he tells you to do and obey him like you do us.”

I weakly nodded to her that I understood, but I was still quietly crying and my mind was full of fear. What came next for me as a sex slave was a whole new world of dark obsessions and sexual desires I could never have imagined.

For three days Master and Mistress only came to the dungeon to feed me and bathe me. Although they did not Use me, I was either kept in my cell on a leash or tied to the Mistress’ large four-poster bed. For hours I was alone, and I wondered what was in store for me. By this time I had completely bonded to Master and Mistress, and their treatment of me. I did not know now if I could live without them. As I looked up into the large mirror over the bed at my nude, pierced body, I saw the beautiful possession of my Owners. This was THEIR body, for THEIR use – not someone else. I did not want another Dom or Master using my body for their pleasure; it was not their place. Or so I thought. But I was being “rented”. Someone had paid Master and Mistress money for the temporary possession and Use of my body. By the way Master and Mistress had spoken about it to me, I could tell they did not like the idea either.

During those three days I heard great activity upstairs in the main part of the house. People coming and going, furniture being moved, pots and pans clanging together. I actually missed being Used by Master and Mistress during that time – after a year of daily punishment and Use I had grown to not only accept it, but in a very dark, strange way, enjoy it. It satisfied me in some subconscious way to submit to their torture, and contented me to know that it pleased them to Use me in such insidious ways.

I was asleep bound to the bed when Master and Mistress came for me. They uncuffed me from the bed, chained my hands in front of me and shackled my fee together. Mistress dressed me in a black leather halter bondage top and black zippered mini-skirt. She then made me step into a pair of 6-inch black patent leather high heel shoes. I had not been this dressed in over a year, and it felt strange to wear concealing clothing again.

As she attached the leash to my collar, she spoke to me –

“You will always wear this collar, no matter who has possession of you, jane. You are still our slave. Don’t forget that.”

I was put in a large metal cage, 5 feet long and 5 feet high. My wristcuffs were handcuffed together around one of the top bars on the cage, and my shackled feet were cuffed to one of the sidebars. I had to sit with my head bowed and my knees slightly pulled to my chest. It was somewhat uncomfortable. The cotton gag tied around my mouth told me that I must remain silent. A blindfold was placed over my eyes and tied tightly behind my head, just after the cage had been encased in a fitted flannel cover. At this point I could feel the cage being lifted and carried through the house and then outside. I had not been in the out-of-doors in over a year, and the smell of the fresh air and grass was intoxicating.

I do not know how long I was in the cage, how far I had traveled or where I had been taken. I could tell I was in some sort of vehicle, but had no concept of time. My arms were beginning to ache from the awkward position they were in, and my legs were numb and falling asleep.

The rest of me must have fallen asleep to, because I was aroused by the feel of the cage being lifted and carried again. The crate tilted slightly as if ascending stairs, and I sensed at that moment that I had arrived to my new “home”.

I heard muffled voices, Mistress’s boot heels clicking against the floor, and a heavy door close and lock.

I felt the sudden breeze of fresh air as the cage cover was removed, but I still could not see where I was. Nothing happened for a long time, and I sat there silently, breathing heavily in fearful anticipation.

Finally, I heard the creak of the cage door open. Above me, my cuffed hands were released and recuffed together inside the cage in front of me. It felt wonderful to move my arms again. My ankle shackles were removed from the cagebar and rechained together. A large, strong arm then reached around my waist and pulled me out of the cage.

I lay silently on the floor, curled up in a ball.

“Well, I finally have Jack and Linda’s little slut slave for my own,” a male voice said in dark amusement. I felt his foot rest on my side and jiggle me a little.

I felt the blindfold being removed from my eyes. I blinked a little in the bright light.

“You’re rather pretty,” the man said; “I will have a lot of fun with you.”

I was taken to a bedroom and placed on the bed. My wrist cuffs were attached to the headpost and my shackled ankles secured to the footboard. I laid there quietly with my eyes closed, trying to stay calm and prepare myself for whatever was to happen to me.

When I heard the door of the room open and close, I found the courage to open my eyes.

The man looked to be in his forties, his head shaved clean. He had a large, bushy grey moustache and several gold rings pierced through each ear. His eyes were brown, and his voice was always laced with powerful disdain. He instantly frightened me.

“You will call me “Sir””, he told me as he stood over me. “You will do whatever I tell you to do, and you will submit to whatever is done to you. And you will always thank me when it is done. Do you understand?”

I simply nodded my head, my eyes cast down away from his stare.

“You will speak only when spoken to; I will not tolerate questions or comments.”

I nodded my understanding.

“You will eat once a day, and you will be permitted to shower twice a day. I like my slaves clean, “ he added with a wry smile.

“You will keep your pussy shaved, and you will not be allowed to cum until I give you permission. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Very well then,” he said, and began to uncuff me from the bed. He freed my wrists and ankles from the shackles, but my cuffs remained on. He attached a long leather leash to my collar and told me to get on my hands and knees.

He pulled me along as I moved across the floor on all fours, tugging at my collar forcefully as we went. In the kitchen he led me over to a bowl on the floor.

“This is where you will eat, slave,” he told me. I was shocked, but kept my head down and remained silent.

He tied the end of the leash to the handle of one of the cabinet drawers and untied the ballgag from the back of my head. I then heard the grinding of a can opener. Into the bowl on the floor he spooned out several large mounds of something that barely resembled food. It did not take but a minute to recognize the smell of it. It was dog food.

He pushed my head into the bowl and tugged on the leash at the same time. I wanted to cry but was too afraid. I had no choice about what I had to do. I meekly licked the food to discern its taste. It was horrible and I gagged a little.

“Eat it, bitch,” he ordered; “It’s all the food you are gonna get today.”

I was extraordinarily queasy after eating the food; I barely managed to keep from vomiting. I felt completely broken by his treatment of me so far. I felt immense dread at the coming days with him, and even prayed to God that my Master and Mistress would soon send for me. I had no idea if they knew the Dom they had rented me to would treat me this way. Actually, it really didn’t matter. I was a slave to be Used however seen fit by whoever possessed me.

The Dom blindfolded me again. My wrist and ankles cuffs once again chained together, he pulled me by the leash attached to my collar through a door and down some concrete stairs. I stumbled a bit as he led me, but I could smell and feel a cool winter breeze against my skin.

We walked a good distance – I don’t know how far – until I knew I was once again indoors. He stopped and I stood still where I was. The blindfold was removed from my eyes and I found I was in an old wooden barn.

The old structure had been somewhat converted into a living space. Different areas had been sectioned off with large sheets or blankets strung over wire that had been run along the open, lower level of the structure. The hayloft was still present, but I could see nothing of what might be up there.

The floor was made of ancient wood that had no doubt been there since the barn was built. A few old, tattered rugs covered several large gaps in the floor. A large, king-size mattress and boxspring were set on the floor in the middle of one visible “room”. A few sheets – too small to cover it alone – were spread over the top of the bed. Around the floor of the mattress I could see the metal eyehooks drilled into the base wood, and felt a shiver run down my spine.

In the middle of the barn, in what I took to be the “main room”, surrounded by sheet walls, was a sofa, a few chairs, and a very large wood table. I discovered a bit later than behind another set of sheets was a makeshift kitchen, with an old gas stove and ancient noisy refrigerator. 

The Dom had somehow also managed to pipe in water to the barn, and in another section he had erected a small wooden stall in which to shower and a working toilet. All of this told me that this was where I was to live until I was returned to my Master and Mistress.

The Dom pulled me by the leash and told me to lie on the bed. He attached chains secured to the hooks in the floor to bind me spread eagle on the bed. He then sat down next to me.

“It is time to see all that I have paid for,” he said with a sensual smile, and began to remove my clothes. I laid still and tried to be calm, but I know my heavy breathing of fear gave away my true feelings. However, it seemed to please him to frighten me.

As I lay nude before him, he freely ran his hands all over my body, moaning with pleasure as he did. His rough fingers played and teased the rings on my nipples; he pulled at them until he could make me gasp with pain. Then he would laugh and smack them with the palm of his hand. It made me wince with discomfort but I tried to stay silent. All I really wanted at that point was to be left alone with my disturbed stomach until the queasiness went away.

Surprisingly, he soon did just that. He silently got up and walked out of the barn, locking it up behind him. I lay there in the dim light of the cool, creaky barn. There was no mirror above me; I strangely missed that.

The only way I knew the passing of time was by the small gap of light between two of the barn’s upper roof shingles fading from white to grey, purple to black. I also could feel the air in the drafty barn growing cooler; I shivered in the cold darkness.

Sleep was invading my senses when I heard the doorlocks turn and the door creak open. Heavy footsteps were approaching me, so I shook my head to rouse myself from sleep.

The Dom moved around the bed and turned on the small lamps on each side. Suddenly I could see the barn, the lamps giving the place a deep warm glow.

He then sat down on the side of the bed and explored my body with his eyes. He smiled.

“How do you like the place?” he asked me with a self-humoured grin.

Since he had not gagged me I had the rare occasion to freely speak.

“It is very nice, Sir,” I quietly responded.

He laughed – “Yeah, right. Well, it’s remote and no one will bother us here. So, that means no one will hear you when I make you scream.”

Saying that, he pinched my left nipple between his fingers and pulled it upward. My breathing became harder and I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

He smiled at me and then let go, turning to the small table next to the bed. From within the drawer he took out a small leather case. He unzipped it and folded it open on the table. I did not dare turn my head to watch him, but when he turned back to me with a syringe in one hand and a rubber medical tourniquet in the other, I instantly began to squirm in fear. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to beg him to not do what he was going to do.

The Dom was now glancing over my arm.

“Clean, eh,” he spoke more to himself. “I’m surprised Linda didn’t hook you; she deals in drugs, you know. Uses ‘em too. A lot.”

The Dom smiled.

“She musta been saving you for a Class A sale; keep you clean, get more ‘green’.”

He laughed at his own joke; it quickly faded into a sigh.

“Oh well, guess I’ll be the one to get your started.”

He began to tie the tourniquet around my upper arm.

“Please Sir, don’t do this to me,” I begged. It has slipped out in my overwhelming fear.

The Dom paused a moment and looked me straight in the eyes.




Rachel's Retrospect Ch. 02



“Did you say something?” he asked, his tone obviously displeased and bordering on anger.

I instantly shook my head.

“Good,” he replied. “I didn’t think you had.” 

He emphasized his words so that I immediately understood his meaning. Simply, I was totally helpless to what he was going to do to me. It was useless to beg. I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm, but my whole body was trembling.

“I think you will like my little concoction here,” he said as he slowly pushed the needle into my protruding vein; “It’s my own recipe,” he smiled.

I was terrified. I’d never used drugs before. Oh, once or twice I smoked some pot with friends in college; and I did drink frequently. But I had never injected myself with drugs, and the idea of it repulsed and frightened me. I had no idea what he was injecting me with, but I knew it was going to be terrible for me.

The Dom left me alone for what seemed only a short period of time. I laid there, my heart beating rapidly in fear of waiting for any reaction from the drugs. Now, I can only relate what happened from hazy memory. I do not remember my exact emotions and definitely no sense of reality.

The Dom removed me from the bed, tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to another part of the room. Tattered, slightly stained sheets sectioned off this area. I only had a moment, and only from a disadvantaged view, to see what all was in this area. I caught glimpse of an old, ripped leather sofa, some end tables…beer cans, newspapers, used condoms littered the floor.

He tossed me on a very large oak table on my back, and quickly, forcefully used rope to securely tie my wrists and ankles to the legs at each four corners of the table. It was extremely uncomfortable, but by this time I think my body was tingling hot and numb from the drugs. My mind was growing hazy, a million visions filling my head. Breathing was difficult, and I was somewhat aware of gently panting to get enough air.

I do not remember when the other Dom and his slave arrived; time had ceased to exist for me. I remember opening my eyes for a moment, and seeing another tall, leather-clad man standing over me. He grinned at me, but it did not register. Standing somewhat behind him, head bowed, neck collar attached to a chain whose end was wrapped around the Dom’s hand tightly, was a black-haired girl. Even in this cold weather, she was dressed in only an open-cut, PVC black halter and PVC G-string thong. It was barely enough to cover her, and I thought I could see her shivering. Her nipples were visible through the open halter bra, and I saw a pair of chained nipple clamps attached to the gold rings pierced through them. Her hands were tied or cuffed behind her back – I could not see how – and her feet were tied together by rope with enough slack in-between to allow her to walk. I could not see her face, as it was bowed and her dark hair hung down over to cover it. But I got the impression she was gagged in some way. Although my ability to reason was altered, my impression of her, however dubious, was that she was very young, and in great distress.

The Doms were talking, but I could not understand what they were saying. Their words seemed fuzzy, mumbled. Both of them had beer cans in their hands, and were now moving about the room. The other Dom seemed to have chained the girl’s leash to the table upon which I was bound; she merely stood there near me, head bowed, shivering, silent.

My next memory, if real, was turning my head to see the Doms sitting on the sofa injecting one another. I think I also remember the other Dom injecting his slave, but I am not certain of that; I just recall hearing her moan a bit as he stood near her.

Most of this time I was in a fog. I could sense people around me and things being done to me, but I am not sure during this time exactly what.

When I did find relative cognizance, the two Doms were standing over me on either side of the table. Both had removed their shirts, tons of tattoos glaring off their torsos and arms. I did not see the other slave.

There was a set of chained clips attached to the rings in my nipples; which were then attached to the ring in my navel, and one of the rings in my vagina lips. I knew they were attached very tightly, but I barely felt any pain. A leather strap had been wrapped around and tied to my head, gagging me. I did feel the pain of that, and I was aware of biting into the rough leather.

“My” Dom now seemed to be saying something, but I am not sure what it was. Either my mind could not register it, or he was speaking in a foreign language.

When he picked up the long, ornamental knife from the table and held it over me, somehow my survival instincts kicked in and I began to struggle and moan. I could consciously feel fear now, but didn’t realize I had no way of escaping.

He placed the knife a few inches from my left nipple, and was speaking as he draw a small cut into the skin. Although I did not feel pain, my body jolted at he cut. I watched him hand the knife over me to the other Dom, who did the same thing to my right breast. I know I was struggling to get free, but my body was bound so tightly to the table I could only shift around slightly.

Both Doms them bent over me and licked and sucked the blood dripping from the knife wounds. At that point I think I was actually lying still, breathing heavily – exhausted from struggling, exhausted from fear, and lost in the full effects of the drugs.

I have no memory of what might have happened after that. The next thing I can remember is being placed on the bed again. My body felt like lead, and all I could do was helplessly endure what the Doms were doing to me.

My Dom tied my ankles together with rope, then wrapped rope around my thighs and pulled them far apart. He attached the ends of those ropes to my ankles, and bent me backwards over them. He tied both my wrists to each end of the footboard. It was extremely uncomfortable but I couldn’t really feel it; just sense the discomfort.

The other slave had been positioned on the bed in the same position, secured to the headboard. Our knees were almost touching one another’s.

The other Dom then took long, thin chains and attached the ends of them to each of our nipple rings. I could instantly feel the pull on mine, and moaned. I could hear the other girl making noises of pain too. I also heard both the Doms laughing and moaning with pleasure at their ‘handiwork’.

I saw my Dom holding a long metal pole in his hand. It was maybe three feet long. He covered both raw ends of it with condoms, then pushed one end of it into my vagina. I could feel the pressure of the large diameter pole pushing deep into me. The other Dom was lifting his slave’s hips up to receive the other end of the pole. I heard her cry out when it was inserted.

We now laid there – the other slave and I – bent backwards and bound with the metal pole connecting us. The other Dom took two sets of chained clamps and attached them to her vagina rings, then to mine, pulling them tightly outward. Although I don’t know how long it had been since I had been injected, but the drugs might have been starting to wear off. I was beginning to feel pain again.

After that, the Doms both then moved away, leaving us bound and tortured there on the bed. I could hear the other slave moaning and quietly crying. For some reason I wanted to speak to her, try to comfort her – but both of us were gagged in some fashion.

I must have passed out for a while, but was awakened by the sting of a crop slapped across my stomach. My eyes instantly opened and I saw both the Doms standing over us. The other Dom was viciously whipping his slave, and she was openly and loudly crying out with each strike. I had long become conditioned to enduring the strike of a whip, but I did begin to gasp and whimper by the time my Dom had struck me about 20 times. I could feel the welts rising on my stomach, my breasts, my thighs. I can remember just closing my eyes and trying to breathe deeply, to just simply endure the punishment until he stopped.

What happened next I can remember very clearly and will never forget.

Somehow the other slave and I had been released from the awful vaginal bondage, and were now kneeling on the bed facing one another. The girl still had her head bowed, but being face to face with her now, I could make out her looks. She was indeed young, maybe a few years younger than I was. She wore no makeup, but there was a gold stud piercing through her nose, and one in her tongue. She was not very pretty, but she had lovely straight black hair. She was skinny, her breasts small, her skin slightly freckled. I could see the remnants and scars of past abuse like patchwork upon her skin.

The Doms were reattaching the clamps to each of our nipples, joining us together once again. Our collars also were chained to one another’s. The other Dom then took his slave’s cuffed hands, pulled her backwards to attach her wrists to her ankles. We both instantly cried out in pain as our nipples were pulled painfully outward. My wrists were already cuffed to my ankles with a somewhat longer chain, so I could only move forward slightly to relieve some of the tension on my nipples. I was gasping and panting in pain, the other girl whimping loudly. At that point, the whipping began again.

My Dom ordered me to count out each strike, followed by a “Thank you – may I have another.” I managed to gasp out the words each time. He gave me 20 strikes; the other Dom giving his girl 30, which she cried out with such intense pain I even winced at her punishment.

We were both released after that, both of us sweating and panting in relief from the exquisite pain. They both removed our gags so we could breathe easier, a surprising act of ‘kindness’ after the incredible punishment they had just given us.

The other Dom pulled his slave back up to a kneeling position. I could see her face flushed and covered with tears. My Dom moved my cuffed hands to the front of me, the other girl’s still attached to her ankles by a longer chain.

My Dom unhooked the chain between the girl and I on my end, and handed it to the other Dom. My Dom then spoke to me.

“Kiss her, slut. Do it now.”

My brain was still very fuzzy, and I was so tired I could hardly maintain my kneeling position. I slowly, hesitantly bent forward, turned my head slightly, and pressed my lips to the girl’s parted mouth. I had not kissed anyone – and had not been kissed – since I had been abducted over a year ago. It was not a custom for a Master or Mistress to kiss their slave. It felt surprisingly good to me to make intimate contact with another human being again. It didn’t even matter who. Her lips were dry but soft, and I could feel her breath on my face as I kissed her. What felt even nicer is that she began to react and kiss me back. I could feel our bodies begin to move with one another’s as the kiss grew deeper. She had raised her head and was becoming lost in our embrace, her eyes closed, her lips eager for mine. I heard the Doms chuckling, moaning and encouraging us, but I did not listen. Suddenly, my whole mind was focused on the girl. I did not know then if it were the drugs or the nearness of a warm, receptive “sister”, but I suddenly wanted her. I had never felt this way before, feeling sexually attracted in a dominant way toward another girl. But at the moment, I really did not think about it.

I was kissing her face now, gently licking the tears away. I could hear her breathing becoming harder, whisper-like moans crossing her lips and vibrating upon mine. It was incredibly erotic, to be chained by the nipples to this young helpless girl who could hardly move, and have the freedom to kiss her.

I did not even wait for directions from My Dom – I began moving my lips down across the side of her neck, placing soft, biting kisses upon the warm, moist skin. I could taste her salty perspiration, and it strangely aroused me.

I was able to move my head down across her chest and find her pinched, erect nipples with my tongue. I began gently sucking and flicking my tongue upon them, each time causing her body to jolt as her back arched forward into my sensual assault upon her young body.

I don’t even know what I was thinking at this time – I just knew what I was feeling tactilely, and it felt wonderful. It was so easy to get lost in the warm, soft, intimate feeling of it.

The palms of my hands, now cuffed together in front of me, found her soft, quivering stomach and lightly stroked it. I could feel her body begin to tremble as my hands slid lower and found her wet vagina. My fingers began to tickle and massage her swollen clitoris as I continued kissing the tips of her nipples, her neck, her lips.

The girl panted and moaned, her body arching and jolting in uncontrollable pleasure as I made love to her. I somehow sensed the Doms nearby, but they were both silent now, watching intently as the girl and I engaged with one another.

It only took a few minutes for the girl to cum – I could feel my fingers become soaked with warm, slick liquid, and felt her whole body tense up as her moan turned to a cry and she screamed out with the ecstasy of complete release. I wonder now if that had been the first time she had been allowed to orgasm since her enslavement. I guess I will never know. I just know now – with some satisfaction – that I made the girl cum, and that she enjoyed it. For me – now – that kind of power is intoxicating and addictive. And I now know how to use that power very, very well…

Winter passed into spring during my enslavement to the Dom. He kept me captive in the barn, and used me often and fiercely. Often darkly. I quickly came to learn the Dom was involved not only in drugs and BDSM, but Satanism as well. I was used as an unwilling but helpless “sacrifice” in several Black Rite ceremonies involving other Doms, Dommes and slaves of both sexes. I was cut and bled during these ceremonies, and my blood was drunk by the Doms and Dommes. After many of these ceremonies I was fucked by each Dom, who literally lined up to rape me with a dark cruelty that made me scream through my gag with unmasked terror. 

Over the months I was in the Dom’s possession, I was whipped, beaten, violated and tortured. I was also made to cook the Dom’s meals in the small makeshift kitchen. And I was still made to eat food out of a bowl on the floor while on a leash. Often it was dog food; sometimes the remains of the meal I had just made for the Dom.

I had almost given up ever being with my Master and Mistress again. jane was slowly fading into nothingness, and I was becoming a non-entity. My sadness was so deep that I could not even consciously wrap my mind around it, or my incredibly horrendous situation. I could not even cry, and eventually, I did not even make a sound at all. I was a zombie.

I can at least recall it was early morning, spring, cool but sunny, when I was awakened by a gentle touch to my scarred stomach. I had not felt a gentle touch in such a long time, it instantly roused me.

Sitting next to me was my Mistress, looking down at me but wearing a pair of sunglasses. She was still large and tanned, and I immediately sighed in a slowly awakening cognizance of Life again at seeing her. 

Master stood slightly behind her; he looked the same.

“We’ve come to take you to your new home, girl,” he said, and started to smile.

I believe I even smiled too.

I should have learned long ago that any small gift of happiness was short-lived. And in this case, tragically.

Master and Mistress bound me and placed me in a covered cage. I was almost happy to be in it, knowing I would be with them again and never see the Dom again.

I could not see, but I could feel the movement of being in a vehicle of some kind. 

It happened very quickly, and ended just as quickly. I cannot now even remember sound; just the feeling of being violently thrown from side to side, and rolling over and over, cuffed to the bars of the cage.

When the cage was ejected from the truck, the velocity was so fierce it ripped the leather cuffs from my wrists and I tumbled – cage in tow strapped to my anklecuffs – down a steep embankment. Even as I rolled I could see the huge truck tumbling down behind me, engulfed in flames. 

I knew it was going to crush me, but I could not stop rolling – the weight of the cage pulling me downward. I slid down the rest of the grassy embankment on my back, and finally stopped moving as the cage and I hit the dry creekbed at the bottom. My head hit a rock and I passed out. Simple as that.

When I awoke, my head was throbbing with pain. The truck, now just a mass of twisted metal smoldering with acrid smoke – a random flare-up of fire here and there - was about 40 feet from me. I do not know how it avoided rolling over me, and I don’t care. It did and I am alive to tell the tale.

I did not even bother to approach the wreckage. I knew my Master and Mistress were dead somewhere inside. I also knew that I needed to release my bleeding ankles from the cuffs.

I sat there for a while on the sharp grass, stunned and bleeding, the spring sun shining down and a cool breeze spreading the unpleasant smell of gas and burning metal across the valley. It seemed there was not a sound around; or at least I could not hear anything.

Somehow I knew I was in shock. I knew I had to have had a head concussion – the palm full of smeared blood told me that. I also could sense the feeling of after over a year, being totally free of shackles and bindings.

I reached up to my neck and unbuckled the leather collar that had for so long been attached there. I threw it on the ground near me, and took a deep breath. I was a human being again. I was free again.

Some might expect me to go straight to the police and report what had happened to me – all of what had happened. But I did not. It would be difficult to explain why I did not. Over the past year, I had changed radically; my whole way of thinking had been seriously altered. But beyond that, I had had my own thoughts and ideas ‘enlightened’. It can be argued that I had been slowly brainwashed to think this way; it doesn’t really matter. Now… NOW…all I know is that I am once again in control of my life. It is far from the life I could have ever imagined having – but it is now all I know. And I am very content with it. I have become a very strong woman who no other man or woman can control. In fact, it has become the other way around…

The ladies at the Salvation Army were very good to me in those first days of freedom. Goodwill became my favourite department store. The soup kitchen food was not great, but it was wonderful compared to cold, canned dog food.

I spoke little and told absolutely no one about my ordeal; although the counselors at the help centers did ask how I came to be there. I was a young girl with apparently no family; emaciated and covered in scars and needlemarks. I had no doubt they thought I was a runaway junkie. That was fine with me. What I really was was much more tragic; I had no intention of sharing it with another.

It might be asked why I just did not go home to my parents. I can only ask this in response: “Would you?”…

Once I was able to ‘get on my feet’ again, so to speak, I lived at the shelter and worked nights until I got enough money to rent a tiny, rat and roach-infested room in an old boarding house on the south side of town. It had a cold water faucet, an old cast-iron bathtub next to the gas stove – upon which only one burner worked – and an ancient refrigerator that was so noisy I sometimes could not sleep because of it. Of course, the horrific nightmares from which I awoke screaming most nights also contributed to my insomnia. That and the fact that I was working as a hooker to support myself…




Rachel's Retrospect Ch. 02



The work was easy. I was a ‘free agent’ and procured my own business. I met other hookers who told me it was much easier to have a pimp, but I swore I would never have another man control me in that way again. So, I may have starved a few nights from lack of business, I at least was in control of who fucked me, and how much they paid me for it.

I lived for about six months like this – sleeping during the day, or at least trying to – going out all night haunting the streets of Boston’s south side enticing young men in cars or outside of bars to hire me for an hour or two.

I did rather well, actually. I knew what to do, and due to my past experience I gained a reputation of being one of the more ‘exotic specialty’ hookers on the street.

One night on the hot summer pavement outside the “NightDance Club”, I met Her. She made me a bit nervous at first – she radiated such an aura of subtle but strong power all around her, one could not help but feel and be affected by it. She was a Madam. Her name was Rita. I do not know how old she was or is; much older than I, but very well preserved. She wore finely tailored suits, and drove a huge old white Cadillac that she had freshly painted at least every three years. Why she did not just by a new one I do not know.

How we began talking outside that club I believe was ‘kismet’. She knew what I was, and I had absolutely no idea what she was. At first, I thought she might be a wealthy older lesbian who wanted to hire me for an hour or so for kicks.

But she was not. What I came to learn about her was incredible. Not only did she tell me, she showed me. Rita owned a harem; a very sophisticated, high-class slave trade business. Why Madam Rita ‘chose’ me to introduce and initiate into her cloistered, very private world, I am not sure. However, she did become the one person to whom I told my story.

Rita owned an old warehouse just on the edge of the city. Within it she had constructed an elaborate and very elegant “House”. However, it was not a high-class brothel. It was a training house for the slave trade. She catered to the extremely wealthy – oil Sheiks, the old wealth of Boston, New York, London. She catered to the celebrities and moguls of Los Angeles, and the privileged European aristocracy. What she provided for them was not just a hooker or whore; it was a perfectly trained, totally obedient, guaranteed beautiful and untraceable young woman. A young woman who had been trained to be the best sex slave the world had to offer anyone who could afford to pay for such an exorbitant, exotic possession. And apparently, many did. Madam Rita had acquired immense wealth and power among the elite of the world, but only in its ‘darker circles’.

Rita saw in me the potential, the power, the strength and self-will I had built within myself. She invited me to become one of her “Teachers”. I would live at the Warehouse, she told me over drinks in a private room of the club, would have complete freedom when not ‘working’, and would be paid very well.

“You will never need worry about your next meal, your next warm bed,” Rita told me in her slightly accented voice. The man next to her – her bodyguard – lit the cigarette she held to her lips, and Rita took a long drag of it.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked her, no doubt sounding somewhat naïve.

“You will be on the other end of the…rope, so to speak,” she responded with a dark smile.

I see in you the potential to become a great Madam some day, Rachel. I am getting old…er,” she added with a raise of the eyebrows and a grim smile. I did not smile back.

“I will need someone to take over the business. My current ‘staff’ are excellent, but I do not see the ‘spark’ in any of them that I see in you.”

She reached up a well-manicured red fingernail and grazed it lightly across my cheek and under my chin as she spoke.

You will come live at my Warehouse and under my personal tutelage will become what you were born to become.”

And that is what I did.

The Warehouse was six stories tall. There was a two level basement to the old building. The slaves were kept in the underground basement on the lower floor. I did not ask nor did I want to know how her slaves were obtained. Eventually I was let in on the well-kept secret of her method of procurement; I cannot and will never reveal it.

The rest of the building housed large rooms where Rita’s “Teachers” – Dommes she had recruited after careful consideration and training – initiated and taught the slaves how to behave. I cannot reveal specifics about the Warehouse, or the activities that went on within – and still go on. I can say that usually there were a dozen slaves kept and trained at a time. There was one Mistress for each slave, so that training was very one-on-one and thorough. Rita’s philosophy was that a slave needed to build trust with just one Mistress at a time, in order to accept her training and learn more thoroughly what was expected of her. However, some of the training Dommes were proficient in specific areas, and therefore shared in all of the slaves’ training.

The girls were extremely well taken care of, in terms of nourishment, cleanliness, grooming and healthcare. I do know now that several of the training Dommes that Rita employed were actually previous slaves of hers who had returned to her, discovering through their experience that they had come to embrace the Life.

My own personal training with Rita was extraordinary. While she knew my background, she still wanted to start me out in the position of slave with her, so that I could experience first-hand how her slaves were treated and trained. I agreed to this, and signed a very elaborate contract to this effect. I would be in her ‘employ’ for one year. My salary was quite generous, and I was given a small set of rooms on the sixth floor of the Warehouse. The view was gorgeous.

For the first four weeks of my employ with Madam Rita, I was kept in an ample suite on the “training floor”. This was Rita’s own private room for her slave.

The décor of the room was sumptuous in red velvet and satin, charcoal grey walls, dim but adequate lighting. The ‘equipment’ Rita used was not the crude, handmade nailed planks like my previous Master and Dom – they were made of the finest Italian leather and high-polished stainless steel. I knew that because every slave was made to clean and polish her own set of bondage equipment.

During this first month of my training, I was kept loosely but securely bound to the huge bed in the center of the room. Rita – and her servant girl – would visit me at the same time each day, and then take me through the procedures of her method of slave training. 

For the first week, 24/7, I was kept chained to the bed. This was done to condition the slave to complete submission and to get them used to being constantly bound for long periods at a time. The only times I was allowed up were for bathing and relieving myself. For this times I was taken to the suite’s large bathroom, where Rita’s servant girl would bath me in a large white porcelain bathtub. I was always kept bound hand and foot, which I long ago had become accustomed to. But now, with Rita, it did not seem like captivity and punishment. It seemed a contented, protected bondage in which I knew I was being genuinely cared for.

Rita explained to me her history and philosophy on the slave trade and BDSM during her daily training sessions with me. She was very firm and strict in her orders, but very calm and patient. Since I was already an experienced slave, I knew to obey her on command and therefore did not suffer a great deal of physical discipline. More, it was administered as an example as to how and how not to Use a slave.

Madame – as I was ordered to call her – was an incredible teacher and Dominatrix. She would enter the room in a sleek red leather bodysuit, cut low and tight upon her well-toned body. The woman wore a pair of stiletto thigh-high boots like no one I have ever seen. Molded to every curve of her feet, ankles, calves and thighs, the boots had no doubt been custom-made for her. I was often made to kiss them; it was a privilege and pleasure to do so.

Madame would sit on the bed next to me and speak to me for a while, telling me what she was going to do and why. I understood every word and agreeably submitted to her training. She used clamps and clips, vaginal and anal insertions, harnesses and vices, cuffs of every kind. She whipped me, flogged me, suspended me, chained me, bound me with rope and every other kind of material imaginable. At times, I was tortured for hours. But unlike previously when by my Master and Mistress’ hand it was senselessly cruel and evil, by Rita's experienced hand it was actually fulfilling on every level.

I also was given training by two of Rita’s Dommes. Both excellent teachers and highly knowledgeable in their specific areas, I learned a great deal from them both. One was an expert in Asian rope-tying; but she had invented quite a few techniques of her own which I came to find firsthand were most effective. The other Domme was an expert in slave protocol – language, responses, postures and positions in all areas of BDSM. I found this particularly interesting and learned quickly a variety of protocols practiced all over the world. It also was important for a slave to know a second or third language. When a slave had been properly trained and was on the market and sold to a foreign owner, she was then given a crash course in her future owner’s language. 

Upon my ‘graduation’ from Rita’s tutelage, I was given a small initiation ceremony, officially given my personal set of rooms on the top floor, an expense account, a car, and soon, my first slave to train…

I chose my Domme colour to be purple. It had the impression of feminine softness, but when expressed in deep, bold tones, spoke of strength and sensuality. I wore my long blond hair up, 1-carat diamond studs in my ears (a gift from Madame Rita), manicured red-polished fingernails, and a lavender leather choker necklace.

When I walked into the training chamber to meet my slave for the first time, I was surprisingly not nervous. By this time I knew who I was, what I was, and where I was going. I now knew what my life was to be, and I was very pleased with it.

I closed the door behind me, locked it, and moved gracefully to the bed. Upon it laid a young woman of perhaps 18 or 19 years of age. She had short-cropped brown hair, and sparkling brown eyes…eyes that at the moment were full of fear at my presence. Her nude body was long and lean, small but firm young breasts, taut stomach, shaved mound. She was struggling at her bondage, muffling words of protest through the soft ballgag in her mouth. I just silently sat down next to her. I took a deep breath and smiled as I gazed into her eyes with a piercing gaze that instantly calmed her. I then spoke to her in a low, calm, quiet voice -

“I am Mistress Rachel, and I shall be your Teacher…"



Rachel's Retrospect



The torture Master slowly and pleasurably performed on me was exquisitely painful. He would place a large vibrator inside of me, and pump it in and out of me until I bled. While this was going on, Master would use a metal-studded whip and hit my stomach and breasts until large red welts rose up. Each time I screamed in pain through the muffling gag, he would hoist the chain attached to my collar an inch higher. I soon learned to fight the urge to scream – like with Mistress – and endure the painful training silently.

I did not realize it at the time, but all of this was meant to break my will, my spirit, my self-confidence, and my sense of freedom. In time I came to willfully endure the abuse, the torture, and came to eventually look upon my captors as my true Owners. Likewise, I truly thought of myself as their possession, their slave. They even gave me a new name – “jane”.

Time passed in my slavery without the ability to judge it. Some periods of time passed when I did not know if it was night or day. I lived by the routine Master and Mistress established. I was fed twice a day, bathed twice a day, and endured long training sessions that increased in their intensity. I was allowed to sleep in varying degrees of length. At times the training sessions went on for days during which I was not allowed to sleep; at other times I was allowed to sleep for short periods of time – usually tied to the bed on my back. Mistress told me I was doing very well, which pleased me in some strange way at the time I did not understand but took to heart. Despite myself, I was beginning to feel an unusual ‘affection’ for Mistress and Master. I was now relying on them for my food and my shelter, was told what to do, what to wear, how to speak, how to stand, how to act. Rachel was slowly disappearing and in her place jane was emerging. And jane was a willing, obedient slave to her Owners.

My rewards for obedience were both freedom and pain. The freedom grew to allow me access to the upstairs of the house in which I was kept. Little by little Master and Mistress allowed me to spend time upstairs. I was permitted to cook for them, ankles shackled but my hands uncuffed – Mistress always a few feet away with her whip and holding the leash attached to my collar. Master and Mistress liked my cooking, and I was rewarded with two hours of flogging tied to the Frame. And with each strike of the whip against my bare back, buttocks and breasts, I said “Thank you, Master” and meant it.

In all this time, not once did Master ever fuck me. He had used dildos, vibrators and other penetrating devices on me, but had yet to fuck me himself. I had begun to think a lot about it, and soon began hoping he would. I had fallen in love with him in the only way a true slave can love their Master, and I sincerely wanted him to Use me that way. I wanted him to fuck me to orgasm. I wanted to please him in that way so much, but I could not say a word about it. I just had to try to patiently wait for him to do it. I knew in my heart the time would come.

Mistress, on the other hand, had frequently used me to orgasm; I had come to love pleasing her sexually. She would often use ropes to tie me to a chair in a very sophisticated procedure. Using a simple wooden chair, she would tie my ankles to each front leg of the chair; bring the rope around each thigh and tie it to the back legs of the chair to pull my legs apart. With another rope, she would bind my upper arms to the back of the chair, and tie my wrists up to the middle of the back of the chair. Two shorter ropes would be bound tightly around each of my breasts to painfully enlarge and engorge them; at which time she would clip several wooden clothespins to my nipples and the aureoles. Mistress also would clip clothespins to the lipfolds of my vagina. I did not cry from the pain but I would gasp in heavy breathing to try to endure the exquisite torture.

Once she had done this to me, she would stand in front of me with legs spread apart, pull my head forward, and order me to lick her clitoris until she orgasmed. Her pussy was shaved clean, so I would start by gently licking the bare skin above her vagina, and slowly move down in between the folds. My tongue would find her clitoris and I would feel her body jolt and quiver as I quickened my licking. Mistress usually came fast and hard, and would yank my hair when she did. Mistress would then push me back in the chair, my face covered in her warm, aromatic sticky cum, and would make me sit there unable to clean it off. 

“You like the feel and smell of my cum, don’t you, girl?” Mistress said.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I responded quietly, my head bowed before her; “I love your cum on my face.”

“Good girl, jane,” she said; “You will sit there for 20 minutes and think about how much you love to obey and please your Mistress.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I instantly responded.

And I was left for 20 minutes, bound tightly and painfully in the chair with Mistress’ cum on my face, thinking about all of the pleasurably painful things she could do to me to make me please her.

Master had now started using me in more elaborate ways. In the dungeon, as I now thought of it, I had watched from my cell as he had constructed a suspension device. Attached securely to the ceiling were four long, strong chains, about six feet apart each way. Another shorter chain was attached in the middle of these. Master attached a number of leather straps to the ceiling in a somewhat random fashion, with clip hooks at the dangling end of them. On the sidewall near the chains, he nailed a large metal hook, and tied a five-foot long leather strap to it. Underneath all of this, Master placed a small stool that stood about three feet high.

Mistress sat in her favourite chair nearby smoking cigarettes as Master cuffed and shackled me and brought me out of my cell. He ordered me to sit on the stool underneath the hanging chains. Master uncuffed my hands and attached each of my leather wrist cuffs to two of the outer chains. He then unshackled my ankles and attached my ankle cuffs to the other two outer chains. At that point only my buttocks were resting on the stool, my arms and legs were spread out and suspended by the chains.

I did not resist as he placed the ballgag in my mouth and secured it. I knew what was going to happen to me and I also knew there was nothing I could do but endure it.

He took the leather strap tied to the wall and secured it to my collar. Now my head was pulled back and painfully hanging four feet over the floor. I could not fully see in the mirrored ceiling above me, but I could feel everything being done to my body.

Master then took each of the leather straps he’d randomly secured to the ceiling beams, and attached the clips on the ends of them to my nipples and vaginal lips. I could feel the exquisitely painful pull on my nipples, and whimpered with gasping breaths into the ballgag as quietly as I could manage without letting go screams of pain.

Without warning, Master removed the stool from beneath me, and I sagged slightly as my whole body was suspended solely from the chains and leather straps. My whole body was in agony, and I could not help but release an intense moan of pain.

Master came around to where my head was hanging, and I watched him undress in front of me. Even with my view upside-down, I could not help but stare at his erect and engorged penis. I could suddenly feel myself getting wet at the sight of it, my vaginal muscles beginning to constrict and relax with a tingling sensation of anticipation.

Master then took another wider leather strap and blindfolded me with it. Sensory deprived and painfully suspended three feet from the floor, all I could do was listen to Master and Mistress, and wait for release.

I could feel Master’s presence near my open legs. In a moment, I felt his hard, wet member forcing its way into me, and I moaned openly and constantly.

As he thrust harder in and out of me, striking my stomach and breasts with a bamboo cane at each thrust, my body swayed on the chains, the straps pulling my nipples feeling as if they would rip me apart. I felt so much pain I thought I would faint or die, and hoped for either to escape the torture. However, I also felt myself rising to orgasm as Master fucked me harder and harder. The cock ring around his penis was pushing against my clitoris with painful teasing, and I could feel myself getting wetter.

Master was starting to moan, and I knew he was near orgasm. I was beginning to love the feeling of it all, even the pain. Master was finally Using me for his intimate pleasure, and I desperately wanted to please him. I was also rising toward orgasm, and it was blinding me with ecstasy. 

I felt Master release inside me with a choking grunt, and slowly pull himself out of me. I was so close to orgasm at that moment my whole body was quivering and jolting. I had to bite into the ballgag to fight back the pain of the physical deprivation of not reaching orgasm. That perhaps was the worst torture of the whole session. 

I was still gasping and moaning when I could smell the perfume of Mistress drifting toward me. The clicks of her high-heeled boots against the cement floor were intoxicating. 

“Girl,” she said in her smoky, harsh voice, “did you like what Master did to you?”

A muffled “Uh huh” was all I could manage through the ballgag.

“Do you want him to do it again?” she asked.

I replied instantly in the same strangled way.

“Good girl, jane,” Mistress then responded; “You will now be rewarded.”

I then felt the sharp edge of her crop cut into the skin of my stomach. My whole body arched up in an uncontrollable reaction, a gasping moan escaping my parted, gagged mouth. She whipped me four more times across the stomach, each time with more intensity. I could feel the blood trickling across my skin and rolling around my waist. Mistress then took what felt to be a wooden clothespin, and clipped it onto my clitoris. I could not contain the scream of pain.

“You know not to scream, slave!” she exclaimed in a commanding, fierce voice, and moved to bring the whip down upon the sides of my strained, pulled breasts.

I could feel the tears rolling down the sides of my face. I didn’t know whether I could endure much more without passing out. I knew if I struggled it would only pull on the chains and straps and be even more painful. But just hanging there suspended was more pain than anyone could survive.

Mistress whipped me two more times against each breast, then moved away. I could not stop the moans and gasps produced by the unbelievable pain I felt coursing through my entire body. But I knew I needed to try to control myself and stop my voice from making any noise, or I would be whipped again.

“You did good, girl,” I suddenly heard Master say somewhere near me. “I will now reward you for behavior and obedience.”

I felt his hard member thrust inside me again, and instantly felt that growing ecstasy of impending orgasm. Now my moans were sounds of pleasure, and those I knew in this case were allowed. The feeling of Master inside me, using me, was all I lived for now. He was truly my Master, the Owner of my body to Use as he saw fit.

Master fucked me five times that session, and during the last one finally let me cum. It was exquisite, and when he removed the ballgag from my mouth I thanked him. He just smiled at me and caressed my hair. I will never forget it.

Mistress now also was becoming more intense in her Use of me. By now I was in love with her and loved whatever she did to me. In my previous life I had never felt any tendencies toward lesbianism; I liked men and considered women as only friends. But Mistress was a beautiful, strong, sensual woman, and I could not help but develop strong feelings for her. She was my Mistress and Owner of my body; she took care of me, took pleasure from me, and gave me pleasure. As I grew into accepting my life as a sex slave, I also grew to accept and enjoy the painful sexual pleasures my Owners took from me. And Mistress was exceptional at inventing new ways of sexually torturing me.

I had just been bathed – a ritual that never changed and still remains the same to this day – and Mistress ordered me to lie on the bed in the main chamber of the dungeon. By now the old brass bed to which I had first been tied upon abduction had been replaced by a large wooden four-poster bed. Mistress had placed a red velvet bedspread on it, red being her favourite colour. I silently laid down on the bed and awaited her orders.

Mistress lit the large collection of scented candles on the table, and then sat down on the bed next to me. 

“Put your arms up, jane,” she ordered, to which I complied by lifting my arms up over my head and placing them both near the head posts where the bondage handcuffs had been bolted. 

Mistress attached the cuffs to my wrist cuffs and secured them tightly. She then got up and moved to the foot of the bed, where I offered her each of my ankles for her to secure them to the end posts. Once again I laid there nude and open for her, gazing up at my reflection in the mirror. I now loved what I saw – a young, pretty sex slave, her skin scarred by the lashes of her Owner’s pleasure and punishment – bound tightly to a bed, ready and willing to be used by her Mistress for her Mistress’s dark desires.

Mistress sat by my side on the bed and took a candle from the table. I watched as she held it six inches over my right breast, then slightly tilted it. A trickle of hot red wax dripped down upon my erect nipple, and I gasped at the white-hot pain. My body arched and pulled against my bindings.

As the wax quickly dried and formed a tight covering over my nipple, Mistress moved the candle over my left breast and dripped more wax upon it. I tried not to cry out in pain, and bit my lip to stop the scream.

“Good girl,” Mistress said approvingly, and moved the candle down the length of my stomach, a trail of trickling wax hitting my bare skin as she did. My body arched and jolted with each painful hot drip of wax, but I managed to stay silent.

Mistress then lowered the candle just an inch or two above my now-shaved crotch, and I watched in the mirror above with barely contained anticipation as she dripped the hot red wax onto my vagina. The pain was so intense that a short cry escaped my lips. I could not help but struggle at my bondage, my eyes squeezing shut with exquisite pain.

“Shut up, girl” she commanded as she let more wax drip onto my vagina. She took one hand and spread open the lips of my vagina, then dripped the hot wax directly onto my clitoris. I uncontrollably arched and struggled, trying desperately not to scream; I just gasped audibly in laboured breathing that only served to make the pain of the drying wax on my nipples intensify.

Mistress stopped for a moment and spoke.

“Do you want me to gag you, slave?” 

“No, Mistress,” I managed to gasp.

“Then remain silent,” she ordered, the previous softness in her voice disappearing.

I tried to relax and calm down, and she allowed me a few minutes to do so. She reached for a cigarette and lit it, smoking it quietly as she sat next to me, the burning candle still in her hand.

Once my breathing had become calm and my body ceased to uncontrollably struggle, Mistress spoke quietly to me.

“Do you like being our slave?” she asked, gazing at me with her dark green eyes.

I nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Tell me who you are,” she quietly commanded.

“I am jane, your sex slave.”

Mistress was thoughtful for a moment, staring into the candle’s flickering flame. Then she spoke.

“Yes, you are, jane. And it’s time to make it official…”

My piercing ceremony was a dramatic event. I was not told what was going to happen to me until the day it had been arranged. Master had been Using me on the Horse and had left me chained there alone for several hours until Mistress came to retrieve me.

The “Horse” was a wooden sawhorse, over which was suspended a metal rod chained to the ceiling. Master cuffed my wrists over my head to the bar, my whole body weight resting on my vagina spread over the top of the rough wooden top plank of the horse. My feet dangled about a foot from the floor, my ankle cuffs attached to another bar underneath to weight me down. The pain was amazing. Master used weighted nipple clamps on me to further the sensation of increased gravity. He also used a wooden bar gag in my mouth that he chained around my head. As I bit into it to muffle my moans of pain, I could feel the indents of teethmarks from what I guessed where previous slaves who had endured Master’s torture.

Mistress came for me at a point I thought I might pass out. She released me and took me to the shower where she washed and oiled me in patchouli. The sensation of her hands slipping over every inch of my body with the slick scented oil almost caused me to orgasm. I contained it as best I could, and waited for her to finish.

She dressed me in only a black satin robe that fell just below my knees. As I stood in front of the dresser, I watched in the mirror as she brushed my long blond hair.

“You are a pretty slave, jane. Master and me are going to perform a ceremony to make you a better slave. Do you understand?”

I shook my head.

Mistress grinned.

“You will soon, jane.”

Mistress cuffed my hands in front of me, shackled my feet loosely enough so I could walk, and took me upstairs. I kept my head lowered and remained silent, still not aware of what was about to happen.

The diningroom was lit brightly lit, the large oak table covered with red satin cloth. The chairs had all been removed from the room. Glancing for a moment at the sideboard cabinet, I saw laying on top of it a variety of metal tools - but I did not know what they were or how they were used. I also instantly was aware of the presence of other people besides Master and Mistress. There were two men and two women. It was obvious by their attire that they were in The Life. One of the men held an expensive-looking digital camera in his hand. At that point I could feel my heart begin to race with fear.

Mistress stood behind me and gently pulled on my hair to make me raise my head and look up at the room. I gazed silently and tried to look fearless, strong and confident.

“Sirs, Madams,” my Mistress spoke, “this is jane, our slave.”

With that introduction, Mistress untied the belt of my robe and slipped it from my shoulders. I now stood partially nude in front of everyone, and suddenly felt very helpless. I knew they were staring at me, exploring my body with their eyes, seeing the scars and welts.

Mistress then unlocked the cuffs on my hands and allowed me to stand free, the sleeves of the robe now falling free and revealing my entire body. I lowered my head in the customary submissive way.

Master then approached me and led me over to the table.

“Get on the table, jane,” he quietly commanded. I obeyed, managing to sit up on the table with Master’s assistance.

“Lay down,” he then ordered, and I moved around to lay on my back on the hard table. I closed my eyes and pressed the palms of my hands against the slightly rough material of the flannel sheet under me. I had no idea what was about to occur, but I could feel all eyes on me. I tried to breathe as calmly as possible, but I could feel my heart beating fiercely against my chest.

Suddenly, unfamiliar male hands took hold of my arms and legs, and pulled me spread-eagle on the table. I tried to fight my instinctive desire to struggle as the other men removed my ankle and wrist cuffs, and wrapped rope around my ankles and wrists. I opened my eyes for a moment to see Master and Mistress standing next to the table, watching. The other two women in the room stood nearby, also watching silently.




Rachel's Retrospect



The two Doms wrapped my ankles and wrists with the rope five times, then tied the other ends to each of the table legs. I was bound so tightly I could not move.

Each of the Doms then stood on either side of the table, and with obvious experience bound each of my breasts with rope. I was almost proud of the fact that I remained silent through this painful process. The only thing evident of my pain was my labored breathing, which swelled my breasts up even more.

One of the Dommes now approached the table, and secured a small leather ballgag in my mouth. I watched as the other Domme took a small cotton swab soaked with alcohol and dabbed it on each of my swelled, erect nipples, my navel, and all through my vagina. It was then that I started to understand what Mistress had meant by “marking” me.

Master now stood on one side of me, one of the Doms next to him. Master held in his hands a small metal forcep instrument, with very small holes in each tip. The Dom next to him held a gold hoop ring, about one-inch in diameter.

Master placed the forceps over my left nipple and grasped it gently within the tong ends. He then began to squeeze them harder together, elongating my nipple in a way that now had become less painful to me from similar treatment.

The Dom then bent over me and slid one end of the opening of the gold ring into the hole of the forceps. As he began pushing the sharp edge of the ring into my nipple, I felt such incredible pain I screamed against the ballgag. Slowly he pushed the metal ring through my nipple, my body uncontrollably struggling, tears filling my eyes. The Dommes now were holding me down by the waist and hips to keep my torso still as the Dom completed the procedure. Master still squeezed the forceps tightly, staring down at the work the Dom was doing. Mistress stood slightly behind him and to the side, silently smoking a cigarette.

After the Dom pushed the ring all the way through my nipple, one of the Domme swabbed the blood from the area with alcohol. Master then released the forceps from my nipples and placed the tong end around the ring itself, squeezing it securely closed.

This procedure was then performed on my other nipple, the pain just as intense. Mistress wiped the perspiration from my face with a soft cloth, and then grazed her fingernails lightly over my cheek in her special way of showing care for me. It helped calm me a bit to know she was there.

Once my nipples had been pierced and adorned with the small gold hoop rings, my breasts were unbound from the ropes. My entire chest ached with great pain, my nipples almost numb from the abuse they’d endured.

Master and the Dom moved down to stand next to my waist. Master gripped the lower part of my navel between the forceps, and pulled the skin upward. Again the silent Dom forced a small gold hoop through the forceps and through the skin. This procedure was far quicker, as the skin was much thinner. I was able to endure it without much more than a staggered gasp as the ring pierced the skin and as it exited. Master squeezed the ring together to secure it and the act was done.

The final act of marking me was to pierce each of my vagina folds with small gold rings. The procedure was the same as the previous ones. The pain was not as intense, but the act of piercing me so close to my clitoris caused me to grow wet as Master and the Dom worked on me. One of the Dommes frequently wiped the uncontrollable cum and blood from the area as the men worked. I tried not to struggle, but my whole body jolted as the Dom pushed the hoop through the sensitive skin Master held gripped and pulled upward between the tong tips.

When they finally were finished piercing me, I was exhausted. I laid there bound to the table, eyes closed and still breathing heavily, my whole body aching. I could feel my nipples swelling up twice their size; likewise the lips of my vagina.

Silently, the Doms and Dommes left the room with Mistress. I could hear them speaking in the other room, but could not make out their words. Master stayed behind with me and cleaned the equipment they had used on me with an alcohol-soaked cloth.

Once he had finished, Master then turned to me and gazed down at my body, examining with steely dark eyes the piercings he’d placed on me. He removed the ballgag from my mouth, allowing me to breathe more freely. I took in a few deep breaths, each causing a searing pain through my breasts.

They left me in the diningroom alone for what seemed like hours, as Master and Mistress talked with their guests. I think I passed out for a few minutes occasionally from the pain.

What finally woke me was Mistress’ and Master’s presence. They untied the ropes that bound my wrists and ankles, and allowed me to sit up. I was dizzy at first, but quickly found my composure with a sip of wine Mistress put to my dry lips.

Master replaced the leather wrist and ankle cuffs, and cuffed my hands together with a chain attached to the ring in my collar. He did not shackle my ankles, and Mistress led me back to the dungeon where I was placed in my cell and allowed the freedom of only being chained to the wall by my collar leash. Master allowed my hands and feet to be free. As Master and Mistress left me in my cell, I carefully laid down on the cot and passed out from the pain searing through my abused, bruised body.

Master and Mistress did not wait but a few days after my Marking to use me again as their sex slave. I was not completely healed, but it did not matter to them. It was far more painful for me, and that was the point. Bound nude to the main bed, I could look up into the mirror and see the gold rings adorning my breasts, my navel and my vagina. I actually started to like the way they looked. They were symbols of my sexual enslavement, to be used by my Master and Mistress for their sexual pleasure with me. It was a strangely comforting feeling.

Thinking back on all of this now, how I came to be what I now am, I cannot imagine any other way of life. Maybe I was always meant to be jane; maybe I was forced into it and have just accepted it because I have no other choice but to. All I know for certain is that I am content and fulfilled serving my Master and Mistress, so I guess it doesn’t really matter. What will happen to me and where it might end I don’t know; I don’t think about it. I take my life moment by moment. Just as any good sex slave should.

- Submitted in thoughtful retrospect by sex slave jane.