The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Melissa realised that she had given no thought to Orja Supplies until this morning. The whole week had been filled with preparations for the baron to go on a tour of the households of three friends of his who lived in Tarvash. This had involved Melissa and the other ladies-in-waiting scurrying across town putting in orders and collecting items at the direction of Chapryne. The baron and his entourage were scheduled to leave the city in five days’ time meaning that preparations, not aided by Baron Hoskild’s vacillating, were even more frantic than ever.

Melissa cut down a narrow street flanked by residential properties. She was not certain whether this was taking her the right way but she needed now to get over from Uphriel Street to Ysanis Street as quickly as she could. Today the main thoroughfares appeared to be particularly busy and difficult to get along. Melissa could only imagine that the period of fine weather was the cause. Suddenly a few steps away a door opened and out stepped two small and wiry men wearing rough clothing; their heads were hooded. In that moment Melissa guessed that her rush had made her lack caution. Whilst Kerans was generally a safe place, it did not mean that it was free of robbers. Instinctively Melissa’s hand went to the purse of coins at her belt. To desperate men the money Chapryne had entrusted her with would look like good pickings. Melissa turned frantically to look back the way she had come; wondering if in her encumbering dress she had any chance of outrunning them. A short way ahead of her lay Xerxes Street but with the men blocking her way it might as well be in Latchader Beyond.

Melissa turned and made to hurry back the way she had come, hitching her dress up to give her legs at least a chance of running. Then she was conscious of someone beside her and saw one of the men sprinting along the gap between her and the series of doorways. Then he was in front of her but rather than try to block the way once more he simply lifted a clenched hand and a spray of liquid came out into her face. Melissa drew up short, scenting the liquid in her nose and tasting it on her lips. She turned away from the man. His comrade dodged out of the way this time but followed Melissa an arm’s reach away as she stumbled back up the street. Melissa’s limbs felt heavy and her vision was increasingly blurred. She pressed on seeing the better lit entrance to the narrow street, feeling that if only she could reach it she would be safe. However, with every step she forced from her legs, it felt to be getting further away rather than closer. Then she stumbled and, slumping against a door, found herself sliding to the ground; her dulled gaze fascinated by the sky visible between the rooftops. This was then replaced by black.

“There, get her into the chair.”

Melissa came awake slowly. Everything felt very distant almost as if her spirit had detached from her body. There was something about the room she was in that was familiar but she could not replace it.

“The city guards chased off two robbers. They had dosed her with something.” The voice continued; it was female and had a tone of maturity.

“I heard that was what they do now: far less risk of bloodshed.”

“The guards were going to take her back to their post, but I recognised her as Syssa so I had them bring her here. Julia confirmed to the guards that she was expected to come here today for her outfit. They seemed content with that.”

Dimly Melissa tried to grasp what she was hearing and connect it back to what she knew. The name Syssa meant nothing to her. However, some sense told her she was safe for now. Whether she fell asleep or lost consciousness again, she had no idea. When she came to again, Melissa found she was naked, the air cool on her body, which felt slippery. Was she being washed? Melissa tried to find her voice to ask what was happening but her mind could not make it happen.

“That’s it Syssa, you like the oil, making you so slippery and shiny. Soon we’ll have you in your lovely sexy clothes.”

The words and the cosseting seemed to jar and Melissa found them difficult to comprehend. Her vision was clearing a little and she realised she was being supported by one woman, young and smartly dressed and then another was crouching and then she felt something cool at her ankle and then the other. The sensation rose slowly up her leg, with new coolness at her feet as one leg was lifted then the other, but further up it was warming to body temperature, feeling tight but not unpleasantly so. Was this some dream? Was she misinterpreting what was happening? What had the liquid done to her? Melissa felt so tired and had no ability to resist or complain as the sensation rose, coming to more parts of her body: now her bum, now her wrists, now her arms, then her back. The tightness felt good, exciting even and Melissa struggled to rouse her consciousness more to enjoy the sensation.

Melissa blinked. As the effects of whatever her robber had sprayed into her face finally wore off she became suddenly very conscious that something was very different. The aroma of rubber was intense. The scent had always been here in Orja Supplies, where she quickly recognised she was, but now she was conscious of it close to her. Her body felt strange and for some moments she put that down to the attack, but, as she moved, rising from where she had been laid down, she realised it was because every part of her was held tightly. She sat up abruptly and the sound of the high heels and the short, platformed soles of her long boots hitting the floor told her it was real. Her body was now coated in glossy black rubber. She ran her gloved hands over her shiny thighs, but her fingers’ touch was now insulated. She guessed she was hooded because everything around her sounded muted. She flexed her cheek muscles and confirmed they now lay below a layer of rubber. Running her hand over her head she recognised this hood was clinging to her and that meant her hair had gone to make the fit that much tighter. She knew that her family would be unable to recognise her now that she was dressed as a domino; perhaps even if she stripped these clothes off.

It was clear that there had been some error or had it indeed been deliberate? Melissa could hardly believe that anyone would want her as a sex-slave; she was far too dowdy for that. Was it the result of something financial? She remembered back to what had happened to Arletta. Was she being held because of some debt Baron Hoskild had run up? Her fear was that he would leave Kerans and she would remain here dressed like this. What effect would that have? Would she forget who she was? Would she end up becoming a sex-slave anyway? If she walked out of here now she knew she would be unable to convince anyone that she was anything different, though she imagined she lacked the sensual walk and the lascivious manner associated with such women. Melissa fumbled to get the hood off, but with her rubber-gloved hands she could not get a grip. She could tug down the zip that held her in the catsuit and the one over her pussy but stopped as she realised exposing her body beneath was hardly going to help her.

Melissa stood up, thinking the only way forward was to find Alexandrina or one of the other more senior staff. As she moved she became conscious of the rubber being like a second skin; the way the boots made her walk and how her bum, held so tightly, swayed. She imagined that if she remained dressed this way for very long then she would begin to move in the way she associated with sex-slaves; she guessed that was one reason why they were dressed like this. Now she could understand that the rubber clothes not only showed people that the woman was a sex-slave; they also actually made her adopt those characteristics. As she opened the door Melissa almost walked into two slaves and she staggered back into the room. This pair wore rubber from head to toe like her but it was a dark red shade. Their boots and gloves were shaped as if they were clawed. Tails stretched from the smalls of their backs and from their masks horns stretched, their red hair protruding in fiery cascades from the tips. Melissa imagined these outfits had been specially commissioned for a party.

As Melissa watched the two slaves being led away up the corridor she realised she was admiring their outfits. Stopping herself, she reached out to confirm there was not already a collar around her neck. She wondered what it must be like to be led like an animal, a prized pet perhaps, but one with no control over where it went. She envisaged herself tugging away, chasing after another slave and being pulled back to heel on her leash by her master. It was a scenario she had seen with rich men’s dogs, so why should it be any different when they were out walking their slaves? It was the thought of her being treated that way that came hardest. Was it wrong for her to be handled like that? As a citizen certainly it would be, but as a living piece of property, in the eyes of the law, then, no, it was completely acceptable. Of course under the law, she was no slave but dressed like this, in the eyes of the public, she certainly was. For a moment Melissa wondered if she would be an obedient slave or whether she would have to be chastised with a crop to bring her to order. She envisaged the leather of Baron Hoskild’s crop smacking across her rubber-held buttocks. Melissa stopped herself again, realising she was not only now envisaging herself remaining a slave but one who was the property of the baron. She had to ensure that did not happen.

Melissa did not know which way to turn in this place and decided that given the two slaves she had just seen had clearly been dressed in their new outfits it was likely that they were on the way out of the store. That would be at the front where she was most likely to find someone who remembered her and could help her out. The slaves and the woman leading them had passed through a door at the end of the corridor and Melissa walked quickly to it, as best she could in her boots. The sound of the rubber as she moved reminded her that she was clad in it, but she realised that somehow that was becoming less unusual for her. Perhaps it was because it fitted her so snugly. As she thought about that Melissa was swept with a strange wave of pleasure: a delight rather than a concern that she was dressed this way. She slowed her pace and without realising it, adopted the manner of walking of the two slaves she had just seen.

Beyond the door was another of the rooms with a range of doors off it. Perhaps, Melissa thought, it was the same one that she had come into on her last visit. She picked a door which she felt at least was aligned in the direction she wanted to go. This door opened on to a sheer curtain but Melissa pushed it aside and stepped into what she saw was a lounge, perhaps a kind of boudoir. There were cushions scattered across the floor and sumptuous couches spread around. Ahead, through another doorway, she could see a clutch of women in various states of undress, though each wore a collar. They were dressing in a range of rubber outfits. Then, from close by, she heard a giggle and realised that lounging on the floor were two slaves clad in black rubber like herself but with their heads uncovered. In fact their catsuits were open she could see now and they were pressing on each other’s breasts and their fingers were slipping into their open pussy slits.

As she watched the two slaves toying with each other’s bodies and felt surprisingly aroused, she wondered if somehow the clothes she wore were making her see and feel things differently. It was almost as if looking out through the eyeholes of the mask she was looking into a different world and yet, ironically, one more suited to how she was dressed. It was as if she was an exotic creature able to return to her own environment. Then she saw another slave lounging on a couch. This one was dressed the way she was herself, her rubber coated head thrown back as she thrust a shiny black dildo into her pussy. Melissa tried to banish the thought that this was some vision of herself of the future. The blatant nature of the woman’s actions was shocking. Yet, Melissa realised that dressed like this; walking around in this place which was increasingly appearing like somewhere from a mythical realm, it could be easy to steadily become like these women and forget who she was meant to be.

Now Melissa saw that there were shop assistants hurrying back and forth in the room beyond. She strode in that direction, trying to attract the attention of one or other of them; trying to work out which was the senior one. They all seemed preoccupied with helping the slaves put on their catsuits and boots or shed one outfit in favour of another. Melissa felt as if she had become invisible and was frustrated that no-one was paying attention to her. As she considered it, however, she guessed it was not surprising. She looked like a slave and slaves were property, little different to a piece of valuable furniture, perhaps, at best, like a treasured pet. How would a dog attract attention? It might bark or jump up or lick its owner’s hand. What would be the equivalent for a slave? Melissa realised that she knew. Self-consciously she began to sway her hips in what she felt was a provocative way. She worried that she would look foolish, like a child mimicking a court dance. However, instead, she found her confidence growing. In addition, her rubber-clad body clearly liked to move in that way and without thinking, Melissa found herself naturally stroking her hands across her body and down between her thighs, which she scissored, a move eased by the long boots and slippery clothes she wore. Then her nipples yearned for attention and she grasped them, exciting them, making them strain against the rubber.

Rather than an assistant, it was a slave who noticed her, one now dressed almost identically to Melissa; her facial features hidden behind a hood. Perhaps she was broader than Melissa, perhaps a little smaller, but she sauntered over and reached out to put her hand over Melissa’s grasping at a nipple. Her other palm pressed against the rubber pulled tight over Melissa’s pussy. Suddenly it was as if some new way of feeling had been brought into Melissa and she gasped, trying to cope with the sensations. Then the slave was kissing her, and Melissa felt no ability to resist as the domino’s tongue slid into her mouth. All the feelings were amplified by what she wore and this overwhelmed her, making Melissa unable to stop; to snatch herself away. She wondered why it was so incredibly better when someone else touched her in these places and how she had come to be kissing a slave this way, pursuing her tongue and now pulling her body tight against her own.

“Lidiya, Kayla.” Melissa heard an authoritative female voice calling.

The slave kissing and fondling her stopped and turned towards the voice. The one sliding the dildo into herself, ceased and stood with the toy still protruding from her sex. A woman wearing sweeping purple robes and, by Melissa’s estimation, to be in her late fifties, swept over towards the three.

“Ah, I see, well you’re not Lidiya or Kayla. You’re not even collared, though you look so fine, domino. Who is your owner?”

“I am …” Melissa said but her voice was weak. “I am Syssa.” She said more forcefully but then halted herself. “No, I am …”

Melissa struggled to form the word of her name. Had the mask had some effect on her speech? Was it something more than that? Did her body want her to be Syssa or, given how many people seemed to assume that she was that woman, did part of mind feel the name was correct?

“Baron Hoskild.” Then came from Melissa.

The woman smiled. “Ah yes, I have heard of him. Well, he seems to have acquired a lovely new domino in you Syssa. Maybe I can persuade him to lend you out as a playmate for Lidiya and Kayla; for me too, perhaps.” The woman chuckled.

“Julia.” The woman spoke now to a passing assistant.

“Yes Madam Garalle.”

Melissa recognised the young woman and was pleased as she seemed like one who could help her out of this situation. Whatever was happening to Melissa from being dressed this way appeared to be advancing. Dimly she was aware how easily she could have simply been scooped up with Madam Garalle’s clutch of slaves and taken off somewhere where no-one would know her true identity.

“I think this new slave is rather lost, she is Syssa, belonging to Baron Hoskild.”

Julia looked at Melissa with an expression of relief. “Yes, of course, thank you. The baron’s representative has just arrived.”

Madam Garalle smiled, clearly a little pleased that she had aided in reuniting slave and owner. Melissa was relieved that now there was someone here who would know her. She imagined it would not be Chapryne but Inceta, Phel or even Brinson.

“Syssa, slave, follow.” Julia said firmly.

With those words, Melissa found her body responded automatically and she began walking behind the assistant as if it was precisely what she wanted to do. They stepped through a number of doors and then out on to the shop floor that Melissa recognised. Brinson was indeed there, seated in one of the store’s chairs, accompanied by a young woman dressed in travelling clothes who stood close by.

“My sir, Brinson, I have your slave, Syssa.” Julia said as she hurried up.

Brison was a slender man in his late thirties with a pale complexion and long features. His voice, however, was deep and sonorous.

“Yes, I have the woman who will become Syssa here.” He gestured to the young woman by him.

Rather tentatively the woman looked up at Julia, but did not speak.

“Ah. I think there must have been an error. If you can please wait.”

Julia hurried to the counter and looked through the papers there. Moments later Alexandrina arrived and the two women discussed something but too quietly for Melissa to make out. Then Alexandrina came over with a clutch of papers.

“My sir, Brinson. The woman who has become Syssa arrived some hours ago and has been put into her slave wear. She is here.”

Alexandrina gestured to Melissa. Her heart sank as she realised the extent of the mistake. As she had suspected, they had simply assumed that she was the one to be changed, not this woman from the country. Her mind ran rapidly trying to think what to say.

“As you will see, the measurements for the outfit the baron commissioned match this woman precisely. I do not think they would suit this … this one here.”

Alexandrina indicated the country woman. Melissa knew this was precisely the case. Had she been tricked into being measured for the clothes? Yet, contrary to what she had thought some moments before, this did not seem to be something deliberate on the baron’s part. If it had been why would he then bother sending Brinson and this other woman who it was planned would have become Syssa?

“You are right. Have this one measured and I will take this Syssa now then at least the baron will have one new one to take to the country. Call this new one Lyssa and he will soon mix them up anyway. I will provide the funds.”

Now Melissa stepped forward and tried to speak. She felt her heart racing and her breathing was constricted.

“I, I, I …” Melissa stuttered, sure that Brinson would know her name and it would draw him up short.

Then she became aware of someone behind her and turned to see that it was Julia; her hands still raised. Melissa’s own fingers now went to her neck as she realised what the gesture had signified. As she had suspected she found there was a collar there now, a ring at the front with the leash that she would be led on.

“My sir, Brinson, she is collared now; ready for you to lead her to her owner.” Julia smiled at Syssa and it was apparent she felt she had done a good job. “Syssa you look so wonderful, your master will be delighted.” She said in softer tones.

All thought of protesting, of speaking out had gone from Melissa’s mind and in the next few moments, other thoughts naturally disappeared. Any concept that she was anything except a sex-slave was untenable. Of course, this was confirmed by how she was dressed and rightly that she had been collared. Syssa remembered back to her preparation, from her standing holding a collar against her, through being measured for these wonderful clothes and her experiences as a domino here before coming to the final step: her collection.

Syssa ran her hands over her slick body, keen that it was used by her owner. She knew that she would have to be patient, but there could be pleasure enough in toying with herself. She imagined what the plainly dressed woman would look like once she had been properly transformed. There was something delicious about her curvy body that Syssa knew she would have pleasure playing with. Julia now attached a leash to Syssa’s collar and handed it to Brinson. Across the shop, the doors were being opened into the caged wagon and Syssa was taken over to it, enjoying how it felt to be led. Soon she was in the cage and with her leash tied to a ring at the side, she sprawled across the cushioned floor. The doors of the cage were closed and she was left alone. In moments she had opened the slit over her pussy and had buried her fingers deep inside her, feeling that she was consummating being given this wonderful catsuit and being made a domino.

Syssa groaned and panted unashamedly as she fingered herself, squeezing out every atom of pleasure from the fact she was now just a sexual toy, coated in this glistening black rubber all over. She wanted to be nothing else, just this perfect slave for her master. Between the orgasms that she brought herself to and perhaps sleep, Syssa was uncertain how much time had passed. However, now the woman, the one she thought of as Lyssa was brought in. She was not in a domino’s outfit, but her clothes had changed. She wore a black leather corset, a short leather skirt and long leather boots laced tight. There was a distant look in this woman’s eyes as if she had already begun down the path to becoming a domino.

Syssa crawled over to her and nuzzled Lyssa’s booted knees. The woman grinned and ran her hands over Syssa’s slippery head. Syssa could sense Lyssa’s arousal and sliding between her leather-clad thighs pushed her mouth beneath the leather skirt to where Lyssa’s pussy was wet and open. Syssa’s tongue flicked out and she heard Lyssa groan pleasurably, clearly already easing into a way of thinking that welcomed such attention rather than feel embarrassed by it. Vaguely Syssa wondered how long this woman had been becoming a slave or whether it was just what she had witnessed at Orja Supplies that had made her so accepting of what she was to be.

“By the One,” Lyssa groaned, “yes, I’ve got become a domino if this is … oh, if this is how, how good it feels.” She struggled to finish her sentence.

Syssa was keen to confirm that what Lyssa was feeling was so right. She was going to tell her but instead found herself kneeling back on booted legs. One gloved finger hooked through the ring of her collar while the other sensuously stroked her breasts, with Syssa give a joyful grunt every time she tweaked a nipple. Then she was purring, sliding her hands down to her pussy. Lyssa looked on as if entranced by the light as it glistened from Syssa’s rubber clad body. Then Lyssa was down, crawling towards Syssa as if worshipping her as a manifestation of her goddess. Syssa knew that she would be aching to become the same. For now she teased down the zip over Syssa’s pussy and then buried her face into the hot, wet, soft folds. Syssa threw back her head as Lyssa’s lips and tongue probed into her. She was oblivious to the sexual sounds coming from her. She was a domino and they were natural noises for her to make. Her body convulsed but she was oblivious, letting her mind be swept along by the physical sensations not simply of what was being done to her but of what she was and what she would remain forever.

Syssa lounged in the enclosed carriage. It was luxuriously lined but with black leather rather than velvet cushions that there would have been there if she had been a lady of means. The short bars at the small windows and the longer ones fronting the door, showed anyone that she was caged. That was right, she was a valuable slave. Unusually for her, Syssa felt a little on edge but she came to imagine it was because she was being taken on a journey to visit the estates of Master’s friends in the country. She had no ambition to travel; she had no ambition for anything except to continue to serve Master as best she could. However, she could imagine that at the estates there would be even bigger parties than she had been part of here in the city, since … Syssa tried to remember when she had begun serving sexually Master and his friends at parties, sometimes performing erotic dances or sucking a lord’s cock or a lady’s pussy while they dined. However, Syssa could recall nothing from before that time and guessed it was of no concern.

The wooden carriage door opened though the barred door beyond it remained closed. A lady-in-waiting stepped up and for a moment Syssa was disappointed as she had hoped that instead it would be another of her master’s slaves to be her playmate during the journey. The woman looked at Syssa for some moments and the domino wondered if this woman had come here to play with her, whether with Master’s permission or not. Maybe she had seen Syssa at one of the meals and had become infatuated with her. As she studied her face, in part concealed by the large hat she wore, Syssa realised she recognised this woman as Lyssa and her disappointment increased. She had anticipated that by now Lyssa would have her catsuit and mask and had hoped that she would be the one to share the journey. It was clear something else had happened. Lyssa looked a little uneasy herself, studying Syssa but not speaking.

“I am Melissa Orla de Neva-Campagna.” The lady-in-waiting said in an uncertain tone. “Raised up by the graciousness of the Baron Hoskild.”

Syssa could see that this Melissa was aroused but reining in her feelings pretty well. As she heard the name, Syssa ceased to associate the woman with Lyssa, it was clear they could not be the same: Lyssa was a slave; Melissa was a lady in waiting.

“To replace a missing lady.” Melissa added quickly and quietly.

Recognising the woman’s status, Syssa, knelt up, her head bowed, her thighs splayed.

“How may this slave fulfil her Master’s orders?”

Syssa still hoped it would be a chance to sex this woman.

“This is for you.”

Melissa pushed a large rubber dildo through the bars and it fell on to the cushions. Syssa reached out her hand to take it. As she did she found she was desperate to slide it deep inside her. Having someone do that for her would have been so much more delicious. Syssa reached out for Melissa as if to draw her into the cage. For a moment the lady-in-waiting hesitated, but then stepped back, closing the wooden door behind her.

Time passed and Syssa pleasured herself with the new dildo, but the wagon made no sign of departing. Then the door opened once more. This time in front of her stood an incomplete domino. She wore the skin-tight rubber catsuit, long gloves and thigh-boots; her head was shaved, but she lacked both the collar and hood that Syssa wore. Beside her on the step was a woman in a full dress, but it was different to the clothes of a lady-in-waiting. In addition there was an air of authority about her that reminded Syssa of the matron of ladies; Syssa reacted by kneeling up into the standard submissive position. This matron unlocked the barred door and nervously the slave stepped into the room.

“Alexandrina … Madame Otass …” The young woman said in a pleading tone.

Syssa looked up, not expecting such an attitude from a slave.

“No, Julia, I have heard all that I require to hear from you.”

Julia bowed her head as if defeated, but to Syssa, that looked better, as if this slave was recognising how to behave properly.

“Is this her?” Julia asked quietly.

“Yes, and it is only just that she impose the punishment for your error.”

Madame Otass turned her attention to Syssa. “Syssa, stand, put this hood on this new slave.”

As Syssa obeyed, Alexandrina turned Julia with her hands, so that her back now faced Syssa. Then she handed over the rippling latex hood that would be the penultimate step to Julia becoming a domino. Without hesitating, Syssa rolled up the hood then pulled it on to Julia’s head. She tugged it down and in moments, Julia’s features had disappeared beneath the skin-tight latex.

“Turn.” Alexandrina commanded.

Hesitating a little, Julia turned to face Syssa once more. Syssa was aroused to see this woman taking the final steps into being a perfect living sexual toy just like herself. She hoped that she would get to toy with her body once the last step was done.

“Syssa, this is the domino Lyssa. Please put on her collar.”

Alexandrina handed over the collar. Syssa was of a comparable height as Julia. She stepped in close, pressing her rubber-clad breasts against those of the new slave. Syssa gasped at the sensation, Julia whimpered.

“No, no, please no, please don’t.” Julia said weakly.

However, Syssa had received an order and she did not listen to Julia’s protests. She pushed the two parts of the collar together and it clicked locked. Then Lyssa convulsed, letting out a long moan and running her hands over her slippery rubber-clad body as if she had just realised what she was. However, then she seemed to get her feelings under control.

“You are Lyssa, you are nothing but a sex-slave, a domino. It is what you always wanted to be from the moment you came to the store. Admit it: this is the climax of your plan.”

“No, no … no, it’s not.” Lyssa gasped.

“Did you make the mistake deliberately just so you would be punished this very way? Did you lust after the one you made into Syssa? Was that it?” Alexandrina asked, but as if she was genuinely curious rather than sneering.

“No.” Lyssa forced out. “Not, not … not attracted to women.”

“I think you’ll find that now you certainly are. Look at this domino, look at her dressed just like you in the skin-tight shiny rubber. I know it she wants you to stroke her, lick her, let her thrust her tongue and fingers deep into your pussy and that is precisely what you want too.”

“No … no … no.” Lyssa’s denials were more drawn out as if she was mustering the will to make them.

“Who are you?” Alexandrina said abruptly.

Lyssa hesitated. “I am, I am, I am … No, I can’t remember, I am … I was, I was going to hold on to my name … my identity.”

“That has gone. Who are you?”

“I am, i am, ohhh ... i am Lyssa, no, yes, i am Lyssa; yes, yes.”

With those words the new slave’s body seemed to Syssa to relax.

“Yes, you are Lyssa. What are you?” Alexandrina pressed.

“i am, i am … i am a domino.”

Lyssa gave a grunt and her body quivered. Syssa smiled; pleased that finally this slave knew her true function. In moments she was grasping Syssa and thrusting her tongue into her mouth, pressing her hand down on her pussy, then slipping her gloved fingers into her pussy, still open to the air and wet from the attention Syssa had been giving it with the dildo. Lyssa’s urgency, her unashamed sexual behaviour showed Syssa that she had been ideal to become a domino. Syssa responded, loving the fact that it was she who had released this woman’s clear need to be so erotic. Breaking, Syssa led her fellow slave by her hand and then eased her down on to the cushions. Behind her she heard first the barred door locked and then the outer wooden door closed. Soon she was conscious that the waggon was moving. However, now she had Lyssa on the floor, lowering her own pussy on to her eager lips and tongue while she slowly teased the new slave’s pussy with the dildo that so recently had slid into herself. Lyssa did not slow in her passion, she licked and sucked as if that was her key purpose. Syssa knew that this new one would be a good domino and she would delight her Master’s guests. Syssa had no jealousy, instead she just counted herself lucky that they had been locked up together and wished that they might be kept as a pair.