****** Date Night. ******
                           Provided By: BDSM_Library
                              www.bdsmlibrary.com



Synopsis: The sissy slave Kimmie has a date with her brutal Master and recalls
her 25 years of chastity and slavery, before being subjected to a night of
torture
Date night
By 2nn

WARNING! This story is not for minors or people who don't like sexual
writings, BDSM, homosexuality and such. It depicts extreme slavery,
brutal torture, forced feminism, hard core homosexual sex, and a range
of other sexual activities. If this offends you stop reading now.

Kimmie checked herself one final time in the mirror, to make sure that
she looked acceptable - or rather that she looked perfect; at least as
perfect as a worthless and nearly used up sissy bitch could look. Her
black hair, still completely untouched by grey, looked good - very good
- in the perfectly combed page boy she kept it in. Her makeup was
flawless; lips full and red, eyes framed in just the right amount of
black.

Around her neck was her very best necklace, made from big, black, shiny
pearls. Not real pearls of course - nothing she owned was valuable in
any way - but nice nonetheless. Her earrings matched of course, as did
the ring on her finger. She had chosen black because most of her
wardrobe was black as was her best outfit; the one she wore tonight, for
the most special night of the month, for date night.

Her skirt was black, smooth and stopped just above the knee, its
surprisingly elegant cut making her ass look good. Surprisingly because
it, like everything else she owned, was not a designer label, but rather
a rip-off of a designer label and visibly so. Her white silk imitation
shirt was smooth and her full, round and entirely fake tits held the
fabric up nicely, now of course helped by a push up bra. Past forty now,
her once full and perky silicone tits were now only full and sagged when
not held up by a bra. She didn't wear any panties, but then again she
never had. The only thing in the way of covering anything she had down
there was same inescapable chastity device she had now worn for 25
years. It hadn't been off for all those years and she had nearly
forgotten what her sissy clit looked like underneath. Not that she was
ever going to find out - Master had made that perfectly clear - but she
still wondered sometimes, just as she still wondered how an orgasm would
feel. 25 years of enforced chastity had only dampened her desire very,
very slightly and she wasn't entirely sure that it didn't have something
to do with age rather than chastity.

Finally her feet were held in a pair of black lacquer stilettos. They
were the single most sexy and yet elegant part of her outfit and easily
the most expensive. They had six inch heels, thinner than a pencil and
were made from a shiny black plastic-like material. The shoe itself had
thin heel strap and was very narrow with a toe so pointy it most of all
resembled an arrowhead. 25 years ago they would have been almost two
sizes too small for her feet, but her toes along with the rest of her
foot were now so twisted, compressed and ruined that shoes even a
fraction larger would be too large. The shoes were as shiny as it was
humanly possible and of all the things in her wardrobe she loved these
the most.

She had loved heels ever since Master had first made her wear them, all
the way back when she had merely been a shy, gay teenager with a crush
on a strong and handsome man she sometimes met on the way home from high
school. As she looked at herself in the mirror, checking that the shirt
was not rumpled before she put on the black bolero jacket completing her
outfit, she recalled again how he had approached the slight and somewhat
feminine teenage boy she had been while that boy had bought a soft
drink. None of his friends and no one he knew had been around as the
tall and muscular young man, only a couple of years older than himself,
had suddenly stood behind him at the counter, his hand unseen by others
gently caressing his prey's ass, making him jump slightly. The clerk had
seen nothing and no one had noticed how he waited outside for the man
who had groped him to exit. God, he had been so excited! Only seventeen
at the time, fully aware that he was homosexual, but too shy to have had
sexual relations with anyone yet, he had been standing outside the
store, his heart pounding and his cock rock hard in his jeans. His
future Master had been so casual, so blasé when he came out of the store
and approached him; so calm when he suggested that they meet later. Even
then he had had a hard time understanding how he could possibly agree to
such a dangerous arrangement. Sure he had been high on lust, but even so
he should have been more cautious.

But no. That very night he had not only blown the man, but also been
fucked. Three days later he had accepted putting on heels for the first
time. He remembered the red five inch pumps vividly; how he had been so
horny and excited that when the man who would soon own him had touched
his cock briefly, his fingers only just caressing the shaft, he had cum,
moaning as he shot his load. Only ten minutes later he had cum again,
this time naked except for the red five inch pumps, on all fours as the
man fucked his ass while reaching around and jerking his young lover's
erect cock until he screamed, came and collapsed, panting and moaning.

Perhaps he had been lost from that very first caress. As Kimmie, as the
young boy was soon to be turned into, thought about it as the years
passed, she thought that perhaps he hadn't had a chance. He had simply
been easy and desperately horny prey and the man had somehow seen that
from the very beginning. Kimmie tended to think that that was it, but
perhaps she was looking for excuses.

In any case it became a fever: Every night after that he had found some
pretext to go out and be with the man. He spent the nights wearing ever
more feminine outfit; the one constant being high heels. More and more
he was moved towards being actively submissive; proving blowjobs without
getting anything in return, acting submissively, groveling, playing the
pretty young girl and even begging for a fuck.

After two weeks he slept through school during the daytime, pretended to
participate in the family dinners, only to sneak out at night and get
bossed around while wearing women's clothing and then fucked by the man
he now thought of as his lover. Because he loved him. Even when he made
him prance around in pink panties, a stuffed pink bra, white ankle socks
and pink heels, begging in a squeaky falsetto to be allowed to "suck
Daddy's lollipop". It was humiliating beyond words, yet so exciting that
when the man finally entered him from behind, after endless demeaning
and humiliating overtures, he moaned for a fuck, begged for the man to
touch his cock and screamed at the top of his lungs when he spurted.
There was no doubt: He loved the man and what he did to him.

Only a month after meeting the sexy and mysterious stranger, he did what
everyone his whole life had told him not to do: he ran away with him.
Taking only what he could fit in a small backpack, he left home, leaving
a note saying that he had left and that he would get back in touch soon.

This of course never happened. From the second he got into the man's
car, the young man ceased to exist.

Within 24 hours he had been dressed up, bound, fucked and beaten so
badly that he had spent an hour begging for the man to stop, crying and
pleading through broken lips and teeth, his eyes swollen so badly that
he couldn't even see that his assailant had left long ago.

His captor, the man he now called Master, had had a large house and he
used the basement to train his sissies brutally, for he was only one of
three sissies Master owned. And that he was being trained was no joke
either. He spent endless hours practicing walking in heels, dressing as
a female and applying makeup. He learned how to do hair and nails, how
to speak in a light voice, a feminine voice she still employed. He
practiced blowjobs, hand jobs and flexing his ass properly when getting
fucked until his muscles burned and he cried from exhaustion.

Her teeth - already she was being thought of as feminine rather than
masculine - were pulled out soon after the first serious beating - most
them had been broken anyway - and her orgasms stopped altogether.

Less than thirty-six hours after running away, Master locked her cock
away in metal tube with only a tiny hole at the tip. The device was kept
in place by a very tightly fitting ring around the balls and two rods
piercing the new sissy's cock right behind the head and in the center of
the shaft. The tube left no openings in which even the smallest part of
the shaft or head could be touched and the rods, once pushed through
tube and cock, were welded in place. The tube kept the sissy's cock
pointing down and back so that it could more easily hidden when wearing
a skirt or dress and had a small eyelet to attach a string to and so
pull it further back. The day it went on had been not only the day of
her last orgasm, but also the last time she had seen her cock other than
the very base of it. That had been twenty-five years ago now and not
once had the device been off. And not only that: Kimmie knew that she
was never going to be allowed to cum again.

While at Master's house she had no name. Master simply called her a
series of demeaning names; slut, bitch, cow, cunt and so on. No errors
of any kind were tolerated and since the rules were never stated
publicly but rather had to be guessed (the sissies were not allowed to
talk to each other) her first weeks were spent in near constant pain,
seemingly always begging forgiveness or mercy or both. Three weeks after
arrival she had been broken completely, now too cowed, too afraid and
too eager to please to offer even token of symbolic resistance. Orders
were carried out without hesitation and she smiled at Master always in
the hope of not incurring punishment. So strong was her desire to please
after being broken that when Master had her eat shit straight out of the
asshole of a huge and fat fried of his, the newly broken sissy complied
instantly, eating all of it and thanking Master afterwards.

In the beginning, before she had been broken so utterly, she had thought
about escape from this nightmare all the time, but after a couple of
weeks only she became too afraid to even think about such things. She
would lie bound together with the other sissies, sobbing under their
filthy blankets on the cold floor. Everyone of them wished they hadn't
followed the mysterious and sexy stranger, but at the same time they had
lost all hope of ever escaping. Certainly it was a more complex than
just a matter of poor sissy boys being broken and demeaned. They had had
all exhibited strong submissive tendencies, which Master played to
expertly. Cheeks burning with shame Kimmie remembered how she had
voluntarily pranced around in heels and cooed feminine noises at Master
and she also remembered how she had begged for a fuck. That
submissiveness was still there, ever present and controlling her
responses, but the dominating factor in her life was now the enormous
fear of disobedience. The very thought of crossing Master and the
thought of the terrible pain it would mean made her shake and fight for
control of her bladder. As it was she now cried in the dark together
with the other sissies; cried for the lives they had lost and for the
lives they had gained instead as they looked forward to endless sexual
servitude and boundless humiliations without even the prospect of sexual
relief.

Or rather, they cried provided Master hadn't taken them with him to bed
in which case they would spend the night being jerked around like a
puppet during his vicious fuckings. For Kimmie these nights were the
best. In spite of the brutality and denial, despite the fact that she
was being turned into a slave, she still loved being taken by Master.

After being broken thoroughly and after her training had begun in
earnest, she underwent a series of cosmetic surgery procedures. First
her facial features underwent a major overhaul as her Adam's apple was
removed; her jaw line made much more feminine and several other facial
features were softened. She was also provided with a pair of false
teeth, giving her a slight but very sweet lisp. Or at least some of the
men she was used by thought it sweet, while it merely made Kimmie even
more self-conscious and less apt to speak.

Then she was given a pair of truly massive fake tits, nearly perfectly
spherical with long and sensitive nipple that very nearly defied all
later attempts to keep them hidden or at least somewhat less obtrusive
underneath clothing. After the tit implants Kimmie, or "stupid slut" as
she was being called at the time, had to learn walking all over again,
just as she had to relearn nearly all motions she went through in a day.
Although enslaved, broken and battered, abused at every turn, Kimmie
loved those tits. Touching them or having them touched by Master made
her moan with pleasure and was one of the things remaining to her that
she loved and which made her strain against the cage imprisoning her
clitty. Her tits and the heels she had to wear all the time, even when
sleeping. She loved heels, loved them so much that when she thought no
one was watching she sometimes sucked the heels of her stilettos or
rubbed the toe against her balls, squashing them ever so slightly as her
imprisoned sex strained in vain against the unbreakable steel.

During her stay at Master's house she gradually learned not only her
feminine and her sexual skills; she also learned a skill set which could
be used more generally. Practicing on the other sissies as well as on
people, both dominants and slaves, Kimmie trained as a hair dresser and
manicurist as did the other sissies. Kimmie found that she actually
liked both of these activities a lot, enjoying the work just as much as
the slightly submissive nature of the work itself.

Then suddenly after what she thought was about a year in Master's house,
she was suddenly given two sets of clothes and an id-card. The clothes
were simple; one of the sets simply a pair of jeans (very tight) and a
T-shirt, while the other set was a bit more formal with a presentable
but sexy skirt, a very feminine shirt, a pair of stockings and a pair of
fairly nice black six inch pumps. She also got some cheap, fake jewelry
and a cheap handbag. The id-card, a very well made fake, had her picture
and the name read "Kimberly Holland". Master announced that this was now
her name and that he would simply call her "Kimmie the slut".

Dressed in the nice outfit and holding her small handbag in one hand,
containing only her one piece of fake id, and with a plastic bag
containing her other set of clothes in her other hand, Kimmie stood
unbound in Master's basement and looked at her owner utterly bewildered.
Smiling at her lack of comprehension he told her that she was now going
to be put to work, making money for him.

Gaping in confusion, Kimmie was blindfolded and led from the basement
and up into Master's car. The car stopped some time later, time Kimmie
had tried using to assess her situation. Tried and failed. She was
completely lost and utterly reliant on Master and she was just about to
break down and cry and beg of Master not to release her when the car
stopped and Master removed her blindfold and spoke. He pointed to a
fancy looking hairdressing salon on a busy and obviously prosperous
street and told her to go into the shop and ask to speak to the
proprietor, Estelle, and tell her whom she had been sent by. Hearing
Master's name after calling him only Master for so long felt strange and
somehow wrong.

But she had to comply and five minutes later she was asking Estelle for
a job as a hairdresser and manicurist. Estelle reacted to Master's name
with a remark about how he had previously supplied her with excellent
girls. She then questioned Kimmie a bit about herself; a very strange
and vague episode as Kimmie desperately weaved about, ending up giving
in effect no personal information. The salon was a very nice place,
obviously catering to the wealthy, and Estelle turned out to be a very
strict employer, more than a little demanding and certainly mean to
those who worked for her. That is, when none of the customers were
watching. But that was in the future. The first time Kimmie was in the
salon recommended by Master, Estelle gave her the job, told her what the
pay was - no negotiations here, but the pay was ok - and told her to
that she expected Kimmie to be dressed nicely every day. The look on
Estelle's face told Kimmie that while she accepted the clothes Kimmie
wore, she obviously thought they were cheap. Having set a time at which
she would turn up the next day, Kimmie left the salon and returned to
Master's car where she reported back to Master, receiving only a grunt
as reply.

They drove to a much less wealthy neighborhood, not a slum or ghetto
area, just a drab, cheap and boring working class area; a place full of
apartment blocks and small, cheap houses right next to each other.
Coming from a small town with no apartment blocks, Kimmie thought the
place looked awful; depressing even. Her view did not change as Master
led her out of the car and into one of the apartment blocks. While
obviously cheap, it was also in a reasonable state or repair, but the
inside was even more depressing that the outside. Taking the elevator he
led out to the seventh floor, down a long hallway, stopping at a grey
door. The name tag on the door already read "K.Holland" and Kimmie
suddenly had to suppress an urge to cry. Master unlocked the door and
pushed her inside. As the door shut behind them, Master showed her the
place which would be her home for the next twenty-five years.

It was a one room apartment and they had stepped right into the living
room, if living was the right word. On her right was a tiny bathroom,
with a toilet, a sink and a shower. The toilet had no seat and there was
no shower curtain as such luxuries were not for people like Kimmie and
she was instructed to never acquire such things. Also there was no warm
water; not in the shower and not in the tap by the sink. In fact even
the so called kitchen did not have warm water. The living room was
surprisingly small and Kimmie now suspected that she had been placed in
an apartment originally meant for students or people in need of urgent
relocation. The room was perhaps eight by twelve feet, with a tiny
kitchen-like area at the far end. The room was already furnished - sort
of. At the left hand wall stood a large closet and almost at the other
end, right before the kitchen area stood a table and a chair. In between
stood a Stairmaster and hidden behind the closet, in the corner, stood a
large wicker basket, the kind used for large dogs, with a couple of
blankets.

Seeing her new home Kimmie did finally begin to cry and had she known
that nothing in the room would be substituted and nothing new would be
added for as long as she lived there, twenty-five years so far, she
would have cried even harder. As it was Master loved to see his sissies
cry in defeat and soon Kimmie was on her knees, sucking her owner's cock
as tears ran down her face.

The cocksucking calmed Kimmie down and after swallowing Master's cum and
dutifully thanking him for it, Kimmie got up and received further
instructions. Master gave her a number she could call collect from a
phone booth (it was before cell phones became commonplace and besides
such a valuable item would never be Kimmie's) should she ever need it.
He gave her the keys to the apartment, a subway pass valid for a month
and a small amount of cash; just enough to make it by until she got paid
the first time and with an instruction that she would have to repay it.

Then he told her in detail about the rules for her life. At day she
would work as a hairdresser and manicurist, while at night she was going
to work in one of Master's whorehouses. Somehow Kimmie was unsurprised
as she understood that he had several. Master would take all of her
earnings in the whorehouse and two-thirds of what she earned at the hair
salon. The rest would be hers to pay the rent, light, heat, subway pass,
clothing and food.

As for food she was now not only a vegetarian but a vegan. Only Master
interpreted Kimmie's brand of veganism a bit differently than otherwise.
On one point he was more lax than the standard definition and that was
in the fact that Kimmie was allowed to wear leather shoes and clothes,
could she afford any. Master's insistence on veganism for Kimmie was not
founded in animal welfare but in the simple wish to make life as cheap
and unpleasant as possible for Kimmie, to control her as much as
possible while still making as much money off her as he could. So not
only were meat, fish and dairy products banned, but fruits also, since
fruits were expensive relative to vegetables and could be considered
pleasurable because of the sweetness. Any other drinks than pure,
non-sparkling water was forbidden as well. In fact all stimulants were
forbidden; drugs, alcohol, caffeine and so on. Kimmie looked at Master
in disbelief, but of course said nothing. How was she going to manage
this?

As for life inside the apartment, this too was strictly controlled.
There was of course no hot water - this was the first time Kimmie heard
this and she started with shock - so her two daily baths - one in the
morning and one after service at the whorehouse - would be in cold water
only.

The table and chair were not for her; they were for the man who would
come once a month to collect the money she had earned. Both the chair
and the table would be covered in a special kind of cling film - which
Kimmie would pay for out of her household budget - which showed even the
slightest disturbance and which could not be straightened again after
being disturbed.

Kimmie was, when home, allowed to kneel while eating. In all other
situations she would have to stand up. Sleeping would of course be in
the doggy basket, with the added bonus that she had to be in bed by a
designated time. This was insured by a collar Kimmie had missed when she
had looked the apartment over. The collar was secured to the concrete
wall with a sturdy chain and was connected to a timer clock and a data
logger, which would then log the time she went to bed. The timer would
insure that she got up on time as it gave the wearer a small, but very
painful electric shock by way of wakeup call.

Upon rising she would eat breakfast and then work out on the Stairmaster
so that her ass and legs could remain attractive. Only she had to work
out wearing stilettos, since high heeled shoes with a heel height of
minimum 5 inches was all she was allowed to wear.

After some exercises for her back and stomach she would shower and be
off to work after dressing and applying make-up. Master made it quite
clear that he expected her to look her very best every day and that he
fully expected a sizable fraction of her already limited budget to be
spent on clothing, shoes, accessories and beauty products. Kimie's heart
sank further, but she had no time to think about it as Master now
ordered her out of the apartment. Exiting the building Master pointed to
where the nearest subway station was and the ushered her into the car.

In shock Kimmie was driven to an anonymous building in an anonymous part
of town. Occupying five floors from the tenth floor and up in the
building, which was a mixture of apartments and offices, was the
whorehouse where Kimmie would spend all of her evenings. The routine was
simple: She turned up, took off all of her clothes, including her shoes,
and donned her uniform. All of the whores at the place, male, female and
in between like Kimmie were slaves and each had his or her own uniform.
Kimmie's consisted of a bra made from some lacy pink material (not a
flimsy kind of lace since it had to hold her truly massive tits) and a
pair of pink plastic ankle boots with nine inch heels and a two inch
platform. They were even smaller than her regular shoes and terribly
hard to walk in, but she soon got good at it since she was forbidden to
sit or lie down when not with a customer. Finally her outfit was
supplemented by a set of restraints, or at least the preparations for
restraining her. Around her neck was a leather collar with a ring;
around her ankles were also sturdy leather cuffs with rings, as was the
case with her wrists. All were pink and all were locked on with
padlocks.

Holding the keys to the padlock was a severe looking mistress, Mistress
Rowena, who bowed to no one. No one except Master that was. Around
Master she groveled, cooed and tittered like a schoolgirl, obviously
both hopelessly smitten with him and at the same time absolutely
terrified of him, as well she should be. He in turn treated her slightly
better than the slaves, but with obvious disdain all the same.

When he came around with Kimmie the first time, Kimmie crawled over to
kiss Mistress Rowena's stilettoed feet but only moments later Kimmie
stood by watching as Rowena crawled over to Master, kissed his expensive
leather shoes and finally blew him, hands folded behind her head and
looking adoringly up at him as she forced herself to take all of his
cock down her throat. It was an obvious demonstration of power; who had
power over Kimmie - everyone but herself - and who had power over
everyone else: Master.

Master handed her over to Mistress Rowena who controlled the whorehouse
and with that her life as Master's money making slave began. Every day
was very much the same:

Early in the morning she woke as her collar delivered a sharp shock to
her throat and opened at the same time. She then crawled out of bed and
into the bathroom. Here she removed the ballet toed boots with ten inch
heels she had slept in. They were very small and the heels were so high
and the toe so pointed that even Kimmie with her twenty-five years of
completely unbroken experience was unable to walk in them. They were her
sleeping shoes and once off she left them in the bathroom, where she
would put them on late at night.

Barefoot Kimmie did not stand up. She had long since lost the ability to
stand up in anything less than heels five and half inches high. Only in
heels six inches or above did she feel comfortable. She put on a pair of
ankle high stiletto boots with six inch heels. They were her cheapest
pair and well used. They had to be since the next job for Kimmie was to
get on the Stairmaster and work out for an hour, after which she trained
her stomach (flat and attractive without any hint of a "six-pack") and
back (had to be strong to withstand all those hours on her feet in
heels).

Drenched in sweat she then went back into the bathroom, sat down and
removed her workout stilettos, now warm and sweaty like herself. She
then crawled under the shower. First she got herself wet, a very cold
experience since she was forbidden to use warm water. Once sufficiently
wet, she lathered up in soap, paying extra attention to her crotch,
armpits and compressed, ruined feet. She made sure to wash in between
her toes, which could now only be separated using her hands. Her
toenails had long since been pulled out for her to able to put on ever
smaller shoes and wear them forever longer periods of time and whatever
muscles left in her toes were insufficient for her to flex or separate
them. Kimmie had to pay special attention to her toes and her crotch so
they didn't attract mold or other diseases. And Master wouldn't like
that, no not one bit.

Her body lathered up Kimmie then lathered her hair in a very expensive
shampoo, which put a terrible drain on her very limited resources, but
which she had to use. Working as a hairdresser her hair had to look its
very best.

Then she turned on the cold water and made absolutely sure that all soap
and shampoo was gone from her hair and body. When she was done she
shivered with intense cold as she did every morning. Drying herself was
one of the true pleasures of her day - a bitter reminder of just how
wretched her life really was - as it almost made her warm again.

Dry, she then put on the pair of stilettos chosen for the day. She had
long since stopped wearing heels less than six inches high and as she
got older the height of her heels had grown a bit. The average heel was
now six and half inches high. Her co-workers at the salon - all
blissfully unaware that Kimmie was forced to wear such shoes - all told
her that working in such heels was ruining her feet, while they at the
same time looked at her elegant posture with envy. The result was that
several of them now wore heels once or twice a week, while at the same
time upping their dress in general. Estelle was very pleased with the
result.

Continuing her morning ritual Kimmie then used a blow dryer to dry her
hair and her imprisoned cock inside the steel tube. The closest she
would ever get to actually touching her cock, the cold air (the heating
element in the dryer had of course been disabled) was one more reminder
of her status. Hair dry Kimmie then applied make-up and did her hair,
standing naked in heels in front of the mirror. Only after this was done
was she allowed to put her clothes for the day on. Before putting on her
clothes she usually turned and looked at her body in the full length
mirror. She looked to see if the work at the whorehouse the previous
night had left any marks on her - which it frequently did - and to check
if she still looked attractive. She found that she did still look
attractive, but also very thin. So thin in fact that it bordered on her
being emaciated.

Not only was her decidedly ascetic vegan life style a factor here, but
an equally important factor in her almost dangerously low weight was the
fact that she had very little money for food. When all the bills
relating to the apartment were paid and her monthly subway pass was
paid, she had to buy clothes, make-up accessories and all the other
items she needed to look her very best. Because anything less than that
would incur the wrath of Master and his henchmen and that was something
she would die of starvation to avoid.

So when she had to buy a new pair of shoes or her outfit at the
whorehouse wore out, as it often did, she immediately had to buy a new
one and that amount of money was removed from her food budget. It was a
rare month where Kimmie didn't go completely without eating for at least
three days. She had long ago reached the point where she loved blowjobs
not only because they made her feel sensuous (and they still did;
blowjobs being one of the things she took real pleasure in), but because
she could swallow the cum and thus get a tiny bit of sustenance. On an
average night she might only give two or three blowjobs, but on a very
good night she might give up to ten blowjobs or more. On these nights
she went to bed happy with a full stomach and she would then usually
skip eating the next day so that she had a little more room for
unforeseen expenses.

After looking her dangerously skinny body over in the mirror Kimmie
would chose the day's outfit and then eat breakfast. If breakfast is the
most important meal of the day Kimmie often thought, then her own
breakfast proved what a low an insignificant person she was. On the days
where she actually ate any, it consisted of a couple of carrots and a
two glasses of water eaten as she knelt on the floor. Chewing carrots
with a set of dentures rather than real teeth was problematic to say the
least, but so was everything else in Kimmie's life. For Kimmie
everything was hard and meant to be so; simple but hard.

After breakfast Kimmie removed her teeth, cleaned her mouth and washed
teeth and made sure everything smelled fresh and attractive. Then she
picked up her purse, put on her jacket or coat and left for work. The
subway station was nearly two miles from her apartment, but she couldn't
afford a bus pass too so she walked. Two miles in six inch heels. Two
miles in six inch heels no matter if it rained or snowed and no matter
how cold it was. All her heels were, as per Master's orders, bought to
fit her feet (that is squeeze them hard) in their bare state. Kimmie
hadn't owned a pair of stockings, much less socks, since she had become
Master's sissy slave. In the winter the two mile walk, even in boots,
made her feet so cold that she used all day at work just to warm them
up, only to lose all that heat en route to the whorehouse and as she
travelled home late at night. In winter, which lasted for a couple of
months in the city she now lived in, she often had the feeling of having
permanently cold feet. Forbidden to wear underwear this applied to her
crotch too, especially since this was imprisoned in unbreakable
stainless steel.

But in spite of this, Kimmie had in twenty-five years never had a sick
day. Not once. The reason for this was not her fantastic constitution,
but a simple business decision of Master's. Master had looked to
industrial farmers and concluded that he would use some of the same
tactics to avoid disease in his slave whores. As a consequence Kimmie's
refrigerator was always equipped with a stock of high powered
antibiotics and at the smallest indication of the sniffles Kimmie was
instructed to take a full cure. This was probably unhealthy in the long
run for an ordinary person, but given Kimmie's nearly emaciated state it
was probably the only way for her avoid dying of pneumonia or something
similar. Besides, as she often thought to herself as she ate the
disturbingly powerful pills, it was unlikely that she would grow old or
be allowed to retire anyway.

For the first few years of her slavery Kimmie had entertained the
fantasy that one day Master would let her go after making enough money
off her. Gradually the fantasy shifted to one where a customer became
smitten with her and he bought her from Master and eventually let her
free or let her stay with him as his lover or even wife. Kimmie had many
variations of this fantasy, but after five or six years she began to
realize that it was never going to happen. Slaves at the whorehouse were
permitted to chat, but rarely had the opportunity as the whorehouse was
a very busy one. But as she picked up more and more from the older
slaves, male, female and in between, she understood that there were only
one way in which a slave was retired, even if there were many variations
on that theme.

A few died as consequence of brutal customers. Either as "accidents" or
as a service the customer had paid for in advance. Some were "retired"
in snuff movies, but again the numbers were small. Most of the old
slaves who no longer made money at the whorehouse kept their daytime
jobs (still money for Master) and were then forced first to walk the
streets at night, a very dangerous job as a whore, and when even that
didn't pay well enough they were forced to take a second ordinary job,
like cleaning or dishwashing at night. These jobs didn't pay as well as
selling their asses had, but small money was still money and the slave
never saw a cent of it anyway. But the lifestyle they had been forced to
live took a heavy toll and many were worn out by their late thirties or
early forties and when they began generating medical bills Master's men
came for that slave and soon a new one occupied the miserable little one
room apartment they had occupied.

Kimmie was all too aware that she was one of the oldest of the slaves at
the whorehouse, perhaps even the oldest, and that the others were now
mostly much younger and that they had begun regarding her with some
trepidation, as if her increasingly exposed position would somehow rub
off on themselves. But although she feared the consequences of growing
older, she couldn't help but note - with no small amount of satisfaction
- that she still drew customers and only very rarely sat around waiting
for business. Still, the thought of what was going to happen once the
customers started walking past her in the whorehouse was never far from
her mind.

There was a persistent rumor among the slaves at the whorehouse that
Master was the one actually doing the slaves and that his preferred
method was strangulation, but no one seemed to know where the rumor came
from or if it had any truth to it.

After walking to the station she caught the subway to the salon. Already
her feet were sore. In spite of the many years of practice, walking
great distances in heels was still murder on the feet. On the train she
stood up for all of the fifty minutes it took for her to arrive at the
subway station closest to Estelle's hairdressing salon "The Tip" as it
was called. Standing up was mandatory for her in all situations where
she could and sitting down on a subway train was something she simply
wasn't worthy of.

At "The Tip" she was nearly always the first one to arrive, right after
the Estelle the owner. When she had first been hired at Master's
recommendation Kimmie had been convinced that Estelle knew exactly what
Kimmie was; a shemale slave slut. But soon she came to realize that this
wasn't the case. Kimmie was treated like any other employee at the salon
and paid the same. Kimmie was paid like the others; cash in an envelope
together with a piece of paper with the detail of the payment, but that
was all. No bank transfers, no statement to the IRS. What her employees
did in relation to taxes was their thing and not something which Estelle
worried about.

Consequently Kimmie hadn't paid a single cent in taxes all of her life
and no one had come looking for her or that money. The reason was of
course simple: No one knew she existed. Her only piece of ID was
entirely fake, her salary was in cash, rent was handled the same way
directly with the building superintendent. Her subway pass was paid cash
at the station as was food and such. That only left the utilities bills
and they too could be handled in cash. The utility company had no idea
that it was Kimmie who lived in the apartment and not the fictitious
person whose name was on the bills. Kimmie did for all intents and
purposes only exist when she was at work and then only to the people
there. She could vanish from the face of the Earth and no one would
know; a fact not lost on her.

At the salon she worked as hard as she could, a very quiet but
unfailingly polite and service minded woman in her forties, always
impeccably dressed and fabulously good at combining comparatively cheap
clothing in ways that made the whole outfit look classy. She was always
impeccably made up and with an elegance of posture and deportment envied
by many. How she managed to stay on her feet all day in those heels of
her was a mystery to most of the others.

In her lunch break Kimmie enjoyed sitting with the others and listening
to their conversation, but as a consequence of Master's forbidding her
to have friends she only very rarely joined in and only when asked
directly and very persistently. Not that she spent much time eating at
lunch. Usually a carrot or maybe even two made up her lunch, but many
times she simply had a glass of water and nothing else. Her almost
alarming skinniness did not go unnoticed by her coworkers, but when they
confronted her with it she simply smiled and said nothing. In time the
questions stopped and it became clear to the others that she was simply
a case of an anorexic that somehow managed to function in spite her
illness.

Kimmie made very sure not to make any friends. Not only because she was
forbidden and as such risked being punished, the very thought of which
made her tremble with fear, but also because Master had made it quite
clear that her friend - should she make one - would be grabbed and
turned into a slave. And Kimmie simply couldn't bear the thought of that
happening to someone else.

The first year she had been out of Master's basement Kimmie had tried
different surreptitious tactics to break Master's hold on her and
perhaps even to escape. His hold on her was very nearly complete and
unbreakable as Kimmie had been broken very thoroughly indeed in his
basement, but still a tiny sliver of independence stuck out.

Her first attempt was logical. When she had gotten her first month's pay
one of Master's henchmen had been waiting for her outside to show her
what to do, but the month after that no one had been waiting for her. Or
so she had thought. When she got out of the salon, money in hand, and
saw no one she made a quick decision. She did not go home, but instead
made her way to the bus station, bought a ticket to a city far away from
Master and sat down to wait for the bus. She waited for an hour, looking
over her shoulder all the time, but no one came for her and she began to
hope that she would make.

Five minutes before the bus was scheduled to leave she got up to stand
in line. She got within three feet of the line when two huge men flanked
her, grabbed her arms as one of them, hidden from view, shoved a gun in
her side and led her out of the bus station. Three feet away; five
minutes. That was how close she had been. But as the two men pushed her
into the backseat of a car, sitting down in either side of her,
squeezing her between them, she recognized both of them from the bus
station. She recognized the driver of the car as well. They had all been
in the bus station the whole time. They had let her get her hopes up
when all along there had been no hope, no chance of escape. She opened
her mouth to beg, but realized the futility of it and simply began
sobbing with terror. Her terror proved to be well founded. For a whole
month she did not go to the whorehouse at night, but was picked up after
work and transported to a dungeon where she then spent the next seven
hours screaming in pain and begging for forgiveness.

There had been two more attempts at escape from her side before she was
broken utterly and gave up hope of ever breaking free. After the last
one, which had been just as doomed as the other two, Master had
personally overseen her punishment. Taking his time he had amputated her
two small toes, naturally without even the slightest use of anesthetic.
He had sown up her wounds and given her a new pair of shoes, two sizes
smaller than what she had previously used, taken the money for them out
of her purse and then walked her home. Three miles in six inch heels, in
a pair of brand new too small shoes and with her feet mangled by the
amputations, not an hour old. The whole way Kimmie had felt like
screaming and fainting, but had been kept up by Master holding her hand,
acting as assurance that if she did she would suffer even worse than she
already had. The worst irony of it was that the whole way home with
Kimmie stumbling along in her heels, constantly on the verge of
collapsing or just vomiting from the unbearable pain in her feet, Master
acted outwardly as the compassionate and loving boyfriend. He held her
up - smiling as he hissed at her that he'd squash her balls if she fell
- spoke soft words of encouragement - promising to have her ass broken
so bad she wouldn't be able to hold shit if she didn't keep on walking -
and hugged and kissed her when they stopped - breathing into her ear
that she was a useless slut and that if she failed to perform he'd turn
her into a human toilet for the rest of her life - and all the way
people turned and looked at them, pityingly at her and warmly
approvingly at him. It was a nightmare, the worst she had yet
experienced and she promised herself to behave so that she'd never again
have to do this.

Once inside her apartment Master made it quite clear that she was to
carry on her regular daily routine in spite of the unbearable pain in
her feet. Kimmie kissed his boots and promised to be good and with that
he was off. The punishment was far worse than "just" the amputations.
Walking in stilettos and standing up always slowed the healing process
down very much and so the pain stayed with her more than two months. The
loss of two toes made all of her footwear too small and she had to buy a
whole new load of shoes and as a consequence she had four very lean
months, starving outright the last week of every month.

That was the end of her resistance. Kimmie had no more left; was far too
afraid of Master and his punishments. She gave up all hope of release or
escape and this brought with it additional changes making her more
compliant. For the first few years Kimmie had held on to her original
identity as a boy. This identity had been seriously weakened in Master's
dungeon during the first year and living as a cowed female didn't help
either. She had also held on to the memory of her family, of her mother.
That changed after the amputations. One day, when she needed a nice
memory to hold on to, she found that she could no longer remember where
she had come from or what the place looked like. Alarmed she searched
her memory and came up with an even more alarming discovery: She
couldn't remember what her real name was. She had some ideas, but
couldn't pin it down exactly and this made her very nearly panic. It
happened at the whorehouse and depending on your outlook this was either
very fortunate or very unfortunate, since she was just about to blow
someone. This was an activity she loved and the cocksucking calmed her
down; calmed her down to the point where her unconscious mind pushed the
unpleasant memories back and away and made her focus on the pleasant
feeling of a cock in her mouth. This made the memories fade even further
and over time this happened again and again until she really couldn't
remember who she had been or where she came from. After three years as
Master's slave she could imagine nothing else for herself, nothing
better and in spite of her miserable existence it became all she aspired
to be; a lowly cocksucking, eternally chaste sissy whore. Property of
Master.

After work, and Kimmie was usually the last to leave save for the person
with the key to the salon, a thing Kimmie would not let herself be
trusted with, Kimmie took the subway to another part of town where the
whorehouse was located.

Sometimes she needed to shop for clothing or groceries and for this to
take place she'd have to ask for permission the day before. If
permission was granted, she was allotted a specific time she could use
and she was positive someone was watching although she had never spotted
anyone doing so. Perhaps it was in her head; a figment placed there as a
result of her brutal conditioning and forced mental collapse at Master's
hand. Most probably this was the case, but she was terrified that it
might be real and of the consequences of disobeying so she always kept
time.

But the shopping for clothes - which usually took place with at least
four months in between each expedition - was her absolute favorite
activity even though it usually meant that she'd starve for the rest of
the month. She had discovered how good she was at picking out outfit,
combining them to look even better and first of all she had discovered
how much she enjoyed looking good; looking attractive and looking
feminine. She thought that if Master or someone else were to one day
give her a real and expensive designer outfit like the ones she always
had to pass without buying she would quite possibly die from happiness.
Freedom was no longer even a dream for her.

Whether she had gone shopping first or she went there directly after
work, Kimmie would soon be arriving via the service entrance of the
whorehouse, quickly getting out of her work clothes and into her pink
whore clothes. The cuffs were locked on by Mistress Rowena who checked
on all the slaves before they were let out to make money.

Once dressed - if that was the right word - Kimmie would go to the
common area of the whorehouse, a very large open room two stories high,
pleasant and inviting. In the room were three groups of slave whores:
women, men and sissies. The groups were not that harshly divided, but
all of them had to stand up and wait for business, strutting their stuff
whenever a potential customer came by. Kimmie of course joined the
sissies, greeting the five others. The group size was not constant and
neither were the people in it. Kimmie had known quite a few other
unlucky sissies or boi bitches and she now had the dubious honor of
being the oldest. The oldest by nearly ten years.

But she still had business and on average she entertained about five
customers; mostly men but also the occasional woman. Most of her trade
was with her regulars and fortunately for Kimmie, and quite possibly one
of the reasons she had lasted for so long as a whore, almost all of her
regulars were mainly interested in relatively vanilla-like sex games.
Most liked to tie her up in some way and have her show slave behavior to
some extent, but serious beatings or torture was rare from her regulars.
Most of the time this was true of her other customers as well. Kimmie
seemed to be the kind of girl whose demeanor encouraged soft and
pleasant sex games; lengthy foreplay, extensive kissing, long, slow
fucks and long, sensuous blowjobs or cuntlappings.

Blowjobs were Kimmie's favorite and always had been. At first, all the
way back when she had first met the man she would end up calling Master,
it had been because of the sensuousness of it and the feeling of doing
something good for her partner, for the unspoken submissiveness of it.
That was still a big part of it and also the fact that she could behave
submissively as she must while enjoying it at the same time. But soon
after being put out in her own little cell and made to work for Master
another reason had joined these: Sustenance. More than five blowjobs and
her stomach began to feel wonderfully full. More than ten and she
skipped the evening meal and more than fifteen - it had happened - and
she felt distended to the point of needing to go to the bathroom.

There were, however, also quite a few customers who liked to beat up or
torture her. And as long as they paid the extra money, no one stopped
them, no matter how brutally they behaved. Many, many days Kimmie had
had to apply make-up to cover bruises, wear long sleeved shirts to cover
marks on her wrists or turtleneck sweaters to cover strangulation marks.
In the beginning she had fooled herself into believing that no one at
the hair salon knew, but one day one of the other hairdressers came to
work with a bruise on her cheek covered by make-up. It was expertly done
and the women getting their hair done hadn't noticed a thing. They were
there too short a time and absorbed by their own mirror image to notice,
but Kimmie couldn't help but notice. And she saw for the first time how
the other must look at her when she came to work bruised and battered.
It was shocking beyond belief and she felt suddenly and hopelessly
grateful for the discretion the other had shown her, probably believing
her to be in an abusive relationship with some asshole who lost his
temper and kept his woman down with his fists. She nearly cried at that
thought. If only the others knew. But of course they couldn't and
mustn't. Master had been quite specific on what would happen and after
that day Kimmie redoubled her efforts at keeping her injuries hidden.
She didn't fool herself into believing that she was a hundred percent
successful, but she did believe that she had gotten better and she
noticed a certain drop in the pitying looks from some of the others.

Most of her brutal customers were one-offs or perhaps sadists who
returned a couple of times, but since they had a whole whorehouse at
their disposal the temptation to live out their fantasies on as many as
possible was often too much to resist. But Kimmie did have return
customers who were brutal. One in particular scared Kimmie more than
most others. It was a woman, now in her early sixties and she had been a
regular for more than twenty years. Luckily she came only in once about
every other month, but when she came Kimmie felt like letting her
bladder go and crying with fear.

The woman's playing didn't involve anything elaborate or obviously
hurtful; nothing to burn her, no needles or knives, nothing that left
permanent marks. No the woman's favorites - the thing she did every time
without fail - was a very lengthy round of bastinado.

Kimmie had heard about her and her practice from two of the other
slave's who had been subjected to it but when the woman picked her one
night it soon became clear that her fascination with feet and beating
them would be especially hard on Kimmie. She had tied Kimmie on a wooden
plate in one of the whorehouse's dungeons. Kimmie was impaled on a dildo
sticking out of the plate and she was tied with a strap around her neck
encircling the wooden pole she "rested" her back against. Her hands were
cuffed behind her back, behind the pole and her legs, spread wide were
strapped down to the wooden plate, completely immobile. The wooden plate
was raised about two and half feet off the floor to provide better
working conditions for the torturer and Kimmie watched as the woman
(Kimmie knew her only as "Mistress") as the first and only of her
customers removed her footwear.

Upon removing the first bootie the woman actually gasped with excitement
and throwing the boot away she removed the other with obvious pleasure.
She caressed Kimmie's feet, paying special attention to the place where
her little toes had been and as she moved on to play with the rest of
Kimmie's foot her eyes glazed over with sexual excitement. She
questioned Kimmie and when she found out that Kimmie could never again
stand flatfooted because of her forced wearing of six inch heels of
higher, the woman stopped, groped Kimmie's feet intensely and came,
moaning softly as she stretched, arching her back slightly. It was
deeply ominous and disturbing; a distinguished looking woman in her
forties at the time in an absolutely impeccable designer business suit,
designer heels, designer jewelry and hair looking like a million dollars
groping a sissy slaves feet to the point of cuming.

Her orgasm over, the woman looked intensely at Kimmie. Her eyes were no
longer glazed over, but piercing and intense, an evil and mean desire to
hurt Kimmie present so clearly that Kimmie shivered involuntarily.

And hurt her she did. Producing a simple wooden baton about a foot long
and made from smooth, black hardwood she proceeded to beat the soles of
Kimmie's feet. She beat them meticulously, she beat them hard and most
all she beat them for a long, long time. Soon Kimmie was crying and
begging, but the woman merely smiled wider the more Kimmie cried,
occasionally stopping to masturbate while still beating Kimmie's feet.
The beating didn't stop, didn't slow down and eventually Kimmie vomited
from the pain (not that she had anything in her stomach to throw up) and
still the woman continued. She used one hand to beat Kimmie's feet and
the other to caress them and the combination of these two actions was
scary beyond belief. The woman's orgasms were too numerous to count for
Kimmie, enveloped in a haze of pain as she was, but the woman had found
her perfect victim. She tortured Kimmie that way for the whole evening,
never stopping and never slowing down. She only stopped when Mistress
Rowena came into the room after knocking politely and quietly telling
her that the whorehouse was closing. The woman acknowledged the message
without slowing down and as soon as Mistress Rowena left she came one
last time, kissed Kimmie's feet ever so gently and left the crying and
begging wreck Kimmie had turned into for others to release.

She became a regular, returning every second month or so and the routine
never varied; only now she never spoke to Kimmie. The questioning she
had subjected her to the first time was apparently enough and now all
she wanted to do was to live out the same bastinado torture scene on
Kimmie again and again. For more than twenty years she had tortured
Kimmie and had cum so many times it was doubtful if the number was even
countable and yet she had not spoken a single word to Kimmie since the
very first time. She came, tied Kimmie up, beat her feet as she
masturbated and then she left without a word, kissing Kimmie's mangled
feet gently before leaving.

Walking home in stilettos after that made Kimmie so sick with pain that
she was invariably unable to eat even the meager dinner she usually ate
on the subway home; a baggie full of raw vegetables. The pain would,
however, always be worst when she woke up the next day after removing
her "sleeping boots", ballet toed boots smaller than anything else she
had. It would usually be three days before she stopped feeling like
screaming with every step she took and more than a week after before
most of the pain went away. And once that happened she could spend the
next month or so fearing the woman's next visit. She had long since
given up all attempts at disguising her fear of the woman and when she
saw her at the whorehouse she invariably broke down and cried. The woman
didn't mind but neither did she seem to take any special pleasure in
seeing Kimmie cry; she simply walked up to her, grabbed Kimmie's hand
and led the sobbing slave to a room and began her ritual.

Most nights, however, were not as bad as that. Usually she would serve a
number of customers and as the night wound down she would, with a bit of
luck, have semen in her stomach and perhaps some leaking out her ass,
which somehow always made her feel special. She couldn't explain it, but
the feeling of that sticky fluid leaking out of her ass always gave a
sense of belonging; of being taken care of.

At one a.m. the whorehouse closed its doors and Kimmie went home. First
she walked to the subway station and then took it to the station nearest
her home. Along the way she consumed her main meal of the day, which she
had carefully kept in her bag all day. Usually it was raw vegetables,
but sometimes it was a vegetable stew now cold. It was hard consuming it
standing up in the train, but she had learned. The reason she ate on the
train and not at home was that it bought her a few precious minutes of
extra time lying down and more importantly it was the only way in which
she was able to make it home in time to lock the collar around her
throat at the designated time. She usually made it with only a minute or
two to spare. When the train was late she missed it and was then
punished for it later.

When the subway arrived at her stop she still had two miles to walk
before she was home and she usually got there just before three a.m. She
then cleaned her mouth and her dentures and put them in a glass for the
night. Then she got naked and slipped into her ballet sleeping boots
with the ten inch impossible-to-walk-in heels and crawled to bed; or
rather crawled into the dog basket in the corner, put the collar around
her neck, hearing it close, pulled the rough blankets around her and
instantly fell asleep sometime right after three a.m. That meant that
she got four hours of sleep before the alarm when off at seven. She got
even less on the nights where she simply had to take a cold shower
first, removing whatever disgusting filth had been deposited on her
body.

This routine Kimmie followed six days of the week as the hair salon was
open on Saturday as well.

But Sunday was not a day of rest as one might have expected. On Sundays
Master had gotten Kimmie yet another steady job, this one working as a
hairdresser too. The shop she worked in on Sundays was much less formal;
in fact it didn't formally exist as a hairdresser and all none who
worked paid any taxes. It was owned by a hard faced white woman named
Joanie. Joanie was just one step away from poor white trash as were most
who worked there and certainly all of her customers. It required Kimmie
to have a second much more trashy wardrobe and her make-up on Sundays
was also much cheaper looking, with much redder lips, redder nail
polish, high hair and long, dangling earrings. Her shoes were white, red
or pink stilettos and skirts either very short or substituted with
impossibly tight jeans. Wearing the jeans - and she had orders that
every second Sunday was jeans day - was singularly painful as it
required her to squash her genitals almost into her ass.

Pay was decided by the number of customers and paid out after each day.
Joanie liked the quiet and somehow classy girl who came and did her job
almost without a sound and certainly without complaint, but she wondered
where she came from as all others who had ever worker for her had been
essentially lovable loudmouths. But since Kimmie worked hard and never
complained, even when her man had obviously beat the shit out of her the
night before, which happened disturbingly often, Joanie was less
inclined to ask and simply pay her and smile. Besides Kimmie was
notorious for avoiding questions with downcast smile and sweetly and
politely refusing any overtures into any kind of friendship.

Work on Sunday didn't take quite as long as it did on all other days,
but still Kimmie got to the whorehouse as fast as she could afterwards.
The first thing she had to do was hand over her pay, every cent of it.
She did this to Mistress Rowena who was also very experienced in
questioning the slaves, both male, female and in between, about how much
they had been paid and if they had used any of it. Kimmie, like almost
all of the others, had long since given up tricks of any kind and simply
handed over her pay without any comment.

On holidays there was no rest for Kimmie either. Master kept her to make
money and since she was a slave there was no reason for her to take any
more time off than was strictly necessary for sleeping, eating,
transportation and such. If the holiday was just one day she usually
reported to the whorehouse first thing in the morning, just as early as
she would have had she been going to Estelle's or Joanie's. The only
reason for to deviate from this was if Master had found other profitable
employment for her: If Estelle or Joanie had an extra day open or if
Master had managed to rent her out for a whole day.

Renting her out was a favorite for the longer holidays and for vacation
time. While Estelle and Joanie might think that Kimmie left for vacation
with her bastard of a wife beater, she mostly left to be rented out for
an extended period of time to some wealthy customer. Kimmie looked
forward to these periods with a mixture of terror and expectation.
Terror for the obvious reason that most of the "accidents" which took
the lives of the slaves happened at private locations where some rich
pervert subjected his new rented bitch to a long and elaborate fantasy.
Six times in twenty-five years she had come very close to getting
killed.

Once she had been grabbed, raped and nearly killed by a sicko in an
alleyway, saved only by the fact that her attacker let go of her neck
when she passed out from the strangulation instead of waiting for her to
actually die. She had been at work the next day smiling somewhat
nervously of course, but at least Master's men had found the bastard and
castrated him before turning him into a toothless, sexless rent-boy.
Horrible as it was, it actually made her very grateful to Master.
Kimmie's broken mind did not have the energy to stop and consider the
fact that Master had actually had kidnapped to be raped for the rest of
her life so she dropped to her knees and kissed Master's boots with
fervor as she thanked him.

The five other times had all been while rented out to a paying customer.
Three of those times she had been so badly damaged that she had had to
spend two to three days in bed, the only times in her twenty-five years
"career" as a slave whore that had happened. It had of course happened
over vacations and holidays so no one had noticed except for Master, who
had responded only by extracting extra pay from those customers.

So Kimmie had ample reason to fear those rental arrangements. But she
also looked forward to them for the nicest periods she experienced as
slave had also happened in those periods. First of all none of the
people, male or female, who had rented her had had the imagination
required to comprehend just how little food she got by on daily, so each
of these rental periods had resulted in her putting on much needed
weight. Weight without she would probably have perished a long time ago.
Secondly only two of the ones who had rented her had let her sleep as
little as she did on her ordinary days. Most seemed to think that five
hours of sleep was torture when Kimmie usually got by on four. Third,
but not least in Kimmie's mind, was the fact that some of these perverts
did not want her to beat her or torture her, but simply to have a
beautiful slave companion who would do anything they asked.

Three times she had been rented out to people she had been very close to
falling in love with or had in fact fallen in love with. One had been a
gentleman-like guy who had dressed her in the finest of designer clothes
and shoes, adorned her with expensive jewelry and given her flowers
every day of the week he had rented her. They had had sex at least five
times a day, but it had been soft and gentle even when he commanded her
to kneel and blow him. She had slept beside him on silken sheets and
eaten breakfast in bed with him. He had paid Master to have her skip her
vegan with no fruit even lifestyle and she had gorged on fruit, tasty
bread and whatever he had pleased. Going back to her normal life had
been very hard, but still she had felt refreshed and rested.

The one time she had fallen in love had surprisingly enough been with
woman. The woman had rented her for a week and Kimmie had spent the
whole week naked except for heels and a collar; a collar made from
exquisitely formed silver links. The woman, her name was Karen, had also
paid to have Kimmie eat whatever Karen pleased and she had handfed
Kimmie every time they ate. Kimmie had looked at with large love struck
eyes, barely noticing the delicious food being put gently into her
mouth. Karen had taken Kimmie with her into the bath and the first time
Kimmie had slipped beneath the foamy surface of a hot bath, slipping in
between Karen's smooth legs, she had been overcome with emotion and
cried with gratitude. They had spent the holiday either making gentle
love or simply petting, touching and caressing each other. Of course
Kimmie couldn't cum, but not only was she harder inside her prison that
she had ever been, but she had also loved every time Karen had arched
her back and purred, moaned or screamed as she came. On the last day of
the vacation Kimmie had for once dared to break the rules and while
kneeling beside Karen's table after dinner - Karen at the table while
Kimmie knelt beside her and was fed by hand - and softly and timidly she
had asked Karen if she would consider buying her? Karen looked at her
intently, but not really surprised as Kimmie rushed on while she had the
courage and told her that she loved Karen and she wanted to stay with
her always; she would do anything - anything - for her.

Karen had smiled a little sadly and explained that she wasn't going to
buy Kimmie for a number of reasons. Firstly Master had clearly indicated
that Kimmie was not an object you could buy and Master was clearly not a
man to be trifled with. Kimmie was more than a little surprised at the
fact that she wasn't for sale since she had always had the impression
that the money she could bring him was the deciding factor in her life.
Secondly Karen liked variation and one week with a slave was enough. And
lastly, and here Karen's face took on a hard and lustful look, she loved
this moment when the slave begged to be owned by her and she got to dump
the slave, put her in place and exert her cruel authority over her
rental object. Kimmie was heartbroken as she realized that it had all
been part of Karen's cruel game but she was at least unsurprised when
Karen spent the last hours of the rental period fisting Kimmie while she
kneaded her balls until Kimmie stopped screaming and vomited with pain
before passing out. Sobbing she walked to the nearest subway station,
holding back the moans of pain coming from her mangled balls and with a
taste of shit in her mouth as the very last thing Karen had done was to
have Kimmie kneel, fully dressed and ready to go home, so that Karen
could take a dump in her mouth.

The whole experience had confirmed to Kimmie that she was never going to
escape, that she was doomed to a life of brutal sexual servitude without
even the slightest chance of being rewarded in any way.

Once a month, on the day she got paid at Estelle's, Kimmie would receive
a visit from Master's henchmen rather than simply bringing the envelope
with money to the whorehouse. Master, who actually on rare occasions had
collected the money himself, called it "date night"; an ironic remark if
there ever was one. On date night Kimmie rushed from Estelle's salon out
to buy a juicy steak and a bottle of wine, both of which had better be
of good quality. Kimmie did this knowing full well that she would
benefit from none of it. After shopping she was to rush home and dress
her finest and wait for her date that night. She had no way of knowing
who came or when they came or even if they wanted to eat dinner at her
place with Kimmie as the ever subservient slave smiling sweetly and
willingly as she prepared and served a meal she was not allowed to eat
herself.

She would stand in right inside the door at six-thirty at the latest,
ready for her date and ready to hand over almost all of her hard-earned
money, leaving only a pittance for her to get by on for the rest of the
month. Sometimes her date showed up soon after six-thirty and in that
case there was as good as no chance that she would serve dinner for that
person. He or she would, Kimmie had surmised over the years, be at the
very beginning of his or her route to collect money and wouldn't have
time for a meal. Kimmie would dutifully hand over the money, the man or
woman would inspect her and her apartment, sometimes even make Kimmie
blow him, and then he or she would leave, some of them taking the steak
and wine with them. Mostly they just watched her pour her hard-earned
money down the drain and throw the equally hard-earned steak out in the
trash chute. It hurt quite a bit seeing all that good food go to waste,
but there was actually a compensation which almost made up for it. It
was the fact that she was free to eat in good time and sleep all she
wanted. Usually this was the arrangement she liked best and if she had
handed over her money by seven, she was usually asleep by eight. For
Kimmie this was luxury beyond what she otherwise dared hope for.

Sometimes, however, the person Master had sent would arrive late in the
evening. Kimmie had tried waiting for five hours, standing up in the
same spot the whole time, which might have been hard for most others but
which was actually kind of relaxing for her. If the collector came late,
there was a greater chance that Kimmie would serve dinner and suffer
some kind of abuse later on. This had its own charm for Kimmie, because
it meant that she could behave a bit more normally; perhaps even pretend
to herself she was the collector's girlfriend and that she was serving
him after a day at work. Later he would fuck her, just like Kimmie
imagined regular relationships were. Her conditioning was abundantly
clear in these situations as she fully expected to be used and beaten
and be grateful to boot as long as the abuse did not result in marks she
had to cover the next day.

Master had five collectors who came regularly by Kimmie. Two were
basically uninterested in anything other than getting the money and
perhaps a quick blowjob, no matter how late. The three other were
different.

There was Master Alan, a wiry little man who loved to make her scream.
No matter how late or early Master Alan always took the time needed to
make Kimmie scream, cry and beg. Sometimes he didn't even want a blowjob
before he left; the torture was obviously satisfying enough for him. If
he came to Kimmie last on his route, she could be sure that she would be
very sore the next day.

The second was Master Frank. Master Frank was the completely opposite
end of the spectrum. A large man in every way with a large mustache and
seemingly a pleasant behavior (how pleasant can you really be if you
control slaves for a living?) he always made Kimmie cook for him if he
came to her last. He drank copiously from the wine she poured and spent
a great deal of effort groping her as she cooked and served him, often
slipping his hand all the way up to her crotch and fondling her
imprisoned genitals and stroking her thighs and ass with great feeling.
He would stand behind her as she cooked and fondle her tits as he
pressed his hard-on into her ass. He would kiss her neck and have her
kiss him and as he ate he always had her keep his cock in her mouth.
Kimmie's orders were always to keep him hard, but to not bring him to
orgasm. After dinner she usually ended up riding his cock as he remained
seated in the chair, Kimmie facing front all of her clothes loosened but
not removed, Master Frank groping her tits from behind as Kimmie cried
in the squeakiest falsetto she could manage that she loved Master
Frank's cock, begging him to impale her and split her in half. Corny as
it was it made Kimmie feel wanted, desired even, and she always
responded to his goodbye kiss with real fervor.

The third was a woman, Mistress Wanda. Mistress Wanda was no doubt the
most complex and certainly the most demanding of the three. Mistress
Wanda was always dressed in a skin tight leather suit; leather pants,
leather jacket over a shirt pulled together at the neck with a leather
tie and of course leather boots with six inch heels. The suit varied in
color; sometimes black, sometimes red, then green, blue and even white
and it was always perfectly matched from boots to tie. She was a small
woman, no more than five foot two inches, but her behavior and demeanor
left no doubt who was in charge when she entered the room, her coal
black hair usually pulled together in a tight ponytail contrasting her
pale, white skin and blood red lips.

Mistress Wanda rarely made Kimmie cook, preferring to sip the wine as
she made Kimmie perform. Just what she made Kimmie perform was almost
always a surprise. Once she had made Kimmie lick every single square
inch of her leather clad body, from the soles of her boots to her face
and hair. Kimmie had performed elaborate strip numbers without the aid
of music of any kind, had had forced enormous objects up her ass, eaten
a week's worth of Mistress Wanda's shit, tried - and failed - to drink
two gallons of urine, pierced her balls with sturdy skewers and whipped
her own thighs bloody as well as many other painful and humiliating
rituals. Mistress Wanda was always demanding and always made Kimmie do
it to herself. Afterwards she would make Kimmie eat shit straight out of
her ass, wash Kimmie's mouth out with industrial strength soap and then
have Kimmie eat her pussy while she whipped her ass and back.

Not much but the desire to please and the fear of failure passed through
Kimmie's mind as she straightened her outfit and checked her make-up in
front of the mirror on date night. She hoped for either an early pickup
and an early night or Master Frank this evening. Mistress Wanda, if she
was not in a too disgusting mood, might also be an interesting evening
Kimmie thought as she turned in front of the mirror and looked at her
almost painfully skinny appearance; an appearance she had come to view
as her best look. Her ass might be very tight and skinny, but her legs
were long and slender (thin) and her finest heels made them look even
better. Her outfit was wrinkle free and her make-up smudge free, her
hair perfect down to the last lock. She was as ready as she would ever
get for the trials of date night.

At six-thirty a key turned in the lock and the door opened. As were her
orders Kimmie curtseyed deeply, her head demurely down, stood up and
turned slowly so that she might be inspected properly and thoroughly.
She did this without missing a beat even though her heart was pounding
and her breath had become shallow and nervous. The door had opened not
to reveal Master Frank or Mistress Wanda but Master. Master was here!
The cruel, evil and devastatingly attractive and sexy man who had
enslaved her all those years ago and whose hold on her would never ever
be released.

After presenting herself as usual she continued to obey the standing
orders without missing a beat and gracefully sank to her knees and
leaned forward to kiss his thousand dollar designer shoes, whispering
devoutly as she did: "Master".

Master let her finish her foot worship after which she remained prostate
as was customary. Only after letting her wait for a minute while he
entered the apartment - room - did he allow her to rise. The joy and
fear of seeing Master was unmistakable on her face and Master suppressed
an evil grin. Kimmie for her part was more excited than she had been in
years. Master was evil no doubt about that, he was the person in the
world who had done her most harm and continued to harm and violate her
every day, but Master was also the person in the world Kimmie lusted
after the most.

He had chosen her well and indoctrinated, conditioned and taught her
even better and no one in the world knew this better than Kimmie. She
might have been broken and she might have been forced into her current
and for all intents and purposes permanent state of slavery by this very
man, but she loved him still and her acceptance of her state was rooted
in this bizarre affection for an evil and uncaring man. Master could
have her anytime and under any circumstance. Kimmie would never hesitate
and deep down in her secret heart she thought it was probably good that
she had been unable to escape; perhaps she had even helped her captor in
catching her. After twenty-five years of sexual denial and brutal
slavery, Master still pressed all of her buttons at once, shorting out
all her feeble attempts at self-preservation.

Once on her feet Master walked right up to her, standing uncomfortably
close to her as she looked demurely down and her breath came in excited
pants that were not demure in any way, but rather the sure sign of a
bitch in real heat. He stood like that for full two minutes, almost
succeeding in making Kimmie squirm with unease and excitement. Then he
put and arm around her waist and drew her close, pressed her chin up
with the other hand and kissed her deeply. A soft moan escaped Kimmie's
throat as she was released and her eyes had acquired a dreamy, glazed
look. His assault came quickly and was a rape fantasy come though: A
quick jerk made all the pearls of her best necklace fly across the room,
both hands sought out her ample tits, kneaded them for a few seconds and
then ripped her best shirt into pieces. The bra underneath was next and
soon it too was ripped to pieces. As her final piece of clothing, her
best skirt was removed with a tearing sound, one little depressing
thought penetrated Kimmie's lust and love clouded mind; how she was
going to have to cut down on eating in the coming months to be able to
pay for the suits replacement.

But there wasn't much room in her tiny, damaged and heavily conditioned
mind for such practicalities as Master continued his assault. Kimmie
moaned with lust as Master easily secured her hands behind her back with
a pair of handcuffs and started a tit mauling frenzy, kneading, beating
and scratching her massive tits, pulling and pinching her nipples until
her moans turned into her cries and her tits were red going on blue.

Master threw the naked sissy who wore only heels and chastity device
down on floor. Kimmie lay on her back, looking up between Master's legs
as he stood above her, a foot on either side of her head, facing her
feet. Dropping his pants, he squatted down until almost sat on her face.
He then grabbed her tits by her long and very sensitive nipples, pulled
them together and began fucking them, the pre-cum on the tip of his
massive cock providing a tiny bit of lubrication to her truly massive
bulbs. Dangling so mouth wateringly close Kimmie tried in vain to bring
her tongue into contact with Master's balls, but had to give up. All she
could do was to lie down and take it.

As always Master made her take all she could. At first he was content to
just mangle her tits while fucking them, but after working them over
good, he shifted one of his hands over to work on Kimmie's balls. At
first he rolled her balls gently in his hand, already scaring Kimmie so
much that her breaths came in fast and shallow. Then the rolling turned
to kneading and the kneading became harder and harder until he was
squeezing them, making her scream.

After hearing her scream for some time, he stopped fucking her tits and
put his throbbing member into her mouth instead after first yanking her
dentures out and throwing them on the floor, while still continuing his
mangling of her balls. Having lost interest in her tits for now, he used
both hands for her balls all the while working on finding the right
angle to fuck her face in so that he could make her deepthroat him. Soon
the pain in her balls, although unchanged and extremely hard to bear,
became secondary as Master used his cock to asphyxiate his victim. His
strokes became longer and longer until he held his cock in her throat
until she convulsed with lack of air. Only then did he pull out and only
just enough for her to gasp for air, sucking desperately to get air
around his member. Kimmie nearly managed to get her breathing back to
normal when he began again and soon she was again convulsing beneath the
man she loved, convinced once again that this time he was going to kill
her. Finally, with Kimmie desperate for air and on the brink of losing
consciousness, Master came in her mouth and throat. Incredibly Kimmie
managed to swallow his load in spite of her need to breathe properly.

Master pulled his slave to her feet by her hair. Kimmie already looked
decidedly worse for wear and Master removed her handcuffs and instructed
her to clean herself up after pouring him a glass of wine. Kimmie,
forgetting all the evil things he had done to her, nearly fainted from
joy when she understood that Master would be staying and her heart
pumping away giddily she poured the wine for Master, hands trembling and
with a deeply infatuated smile on her eager face.

Kimmie rushed her cleaning and reapplication of make-up as much as she
could and soon she stood smiling eagerly by Master's chair. She still
wore only her heels and the tube holding her straining cock. It had been
years since Kimmie had been so horny and her cock tried desperately to
get hard inside its unbreakable prison in spite of her mangled balls.
The effect Master had on her was unlike that of any other individual and
Kimmie would do anything for even the tiniest fraction of Master's
glorious attention.

Master had brought a bag with him - Kimmie hadn't even noticed - and had
assembled a low dildo pole with a low, wide and stable foot. The dildo
itself was about a foot long and very wide, with five rows of nasty
looking knobs running down its sides. Kimmie guessed, correctly, that
she would be impaling herself. This was by no means new to her, but the
dildo as well as the pole's height, about a foot at most, was definitely
a challenge. But impaling herself was of course not the whole show.
Master first secured her hands behind her back again with handcuffs.
Then he tied a thin piece of rope tightly around her throat. Not so
tight as to choke her in any way - at least not yet - but very tight
nonetheless.

Pulling her manacled hands up as far as they would go in between her
shoulder blades, he then tied the other end of the rope to the small
chain connecting the two cuffs. Quickly finding out that the rope around
her neck was tied with slipknot, Kimmie now had to use all of her
strength to hold her bound hands in place as far up between her shoulder
blades as she could. Even the slightest shift in the position of her
hands resulted in the rope around her throat tightening. And since it
was tied with a type of slipknot where the tension didn't ease even if
she managed to get her hands up their former position again, every
little movement in her arms in the wrong direction resulted in her
moving closer and closer to cutting off all air to herself.

Her task would - as Master put it without even a trace of sarcasm in his
voice - be simple: While squatting up and down in the very low dildo
pole, Kimmie would blow Master, the aim being making him cum before she
was strangled by the slipknot. Simple.

Getting down on the dildo, although exceptionally awkwardly placed and
very large and unpleasant, proved to be the simplest part. Pumping up
and down was harder and doing this while sucking Master's glorious pole
- never loosing contact, not even for split second - was very, very
hard. But there was nothing for it and Kimmie began her work. Already on
the first cycle up and down she failed to suppress a small jerk in her
arms and the noose tightened. This caused her to lose concentration and
her lips slipped from Master's cock for just a fraction of a second and
as punishment he simply gave the noose a hearty tug, further restricting
her breathing. Her pumping up and down became more frantic and her
suction on Master's cock more solid as she tried to compensate. This
caused her to lose concentration once again and soon the noose tightened
further, leaving her only with a tiny inadequate wheeze of a breath. The
next wrong movement of her hands was not far behind and her breathing
was now completely cut off. Doing her utmost to obey her orders she kept
her lips on Master's cock while moving up and down on the dildo. Her
eyes were turned upwards, visually begging the cruel, uncaring and
evilly smiling man as she desperately hoped he would cum and end her
work.

Master had cum not too long ago and she had been at it for no more than
a few minutes so there was no chance of Master cumming. The chance of
him showing her mercy was even less Kimmie realized with real terror
mixed with real, sexual excitement. She might actually die! There was a
real chance - a very good chance - that Master would simply let her
choke to death as she failed to make him cum. Kimmie's movements became
spasmodic, her legs reduced to making short, little unfinished jumps,
never getting off the dildo, while her cocksucking became a series of
desperate head movements as her eyes became bigger and bigger.

Her diaphragm spasmed for air, causing her taut stomach skin to convulse
and spots began to appear before her eyes. Her legs lost the ability to
keep her upright and her feet slipped from under her. Without a sound,
her eyes almost popping out of her head, she slipped down on the dildo,
driving it all the way home and even taking most of the pole it was
mounted on in her ass. Her bluish face, mouth gaping open, was turned
up, her nearly purple tongue visible inside, her legs trembled and her
feet spasmed weakly as one last thought ran through her mind: "Master is
killing me!"

She came to coughing and retching, still sitting on the dildo. Master
held her head by the hair and he had somehow loosened the noose around
her neck. She managed to switch to great, heaving breaths and with the
help of a few well placed slaps to her face and tits, she finally came
around. "Useless cunt," Master said in a truly scary toneless voice and
continued: "We'll try that again, shall we bitch?" Terrified Kimmie
nodded frantically and with that he let go of her hair and she began the
near impossible task again.

Kimmie lasted a few minutes more this time, but the first choking
experience had scared her badly - she had always feared and hated breath
games - and as her breath was once again cut off completely she panicked
and convulsing and flailing like crazy she sank even further down over
the dildo pole as her legs kicked and her body jerked in desperation.
The last thing she saw before everything went dark was Master annoyed
face looking down on her.

This time he abused her very badly verbally, slapping her around by both
the face and tits before making her begin again. On so it went; Kimmie
would try desperately to make him cum while fucking her ass with the
brutal dildo and while she gradually became better she also inevitably
she fell short, ending up losing consciousness as panic enveloped her
mind. She lost count after the seventh loss of consciousness, too
terrified to keep such information in her tiny mind anymore. It went on
and on and somewhere in the back of her mind Kimmie wondered how Master
was able to stay hard for so long; real proof, if any was needed, of her
status as a stupid piece of fuckmeat: Master naturally stayed hard by
subjecting her to these games and the longer they went on, the better it
was for him.

Finally, with Kimmie far beyond the point of real mind numbing panic,
Master came. Kimmie didn't perceive that it had really happened at
first; she had simply sunk down on the pole as usual, spasming and
flailing with panic as she lost consciousness while desperately fighting
for air that just wasn't there. Just before all faded to blackness, she
distantly felt something warm spraying her face and lips, but it was too
far away for her to recognize it as Master's cum spraying her purple
face, protruding tongue and utterly desperate eyes.

When she came to, her hands were free and she could no longer feel the
horrible tightness of the rope around her neck (although she would feel
the effects of the rope for the next week or more). She cried with
gratitude after restoring her breathing to normal, crawling over to kiss
Master's shoes and only when he commanded her to clean herself up and
remove the cum from her face did she realize that this particular part
of the ordeal was over.

Crying with gratitude she waddled into her tiny bathroom and began the
process of restoring a pretty image of herself for Master's pleasure.
The cum and tears were soon gone but looking at her face and neck she
realized that for the next couple of weeks she would be wearing heavier
than usual make up and turtleneck sweaters and sweater dresses. Her face
was starting to bruise where she had been slapped and around her neck
ran a blood red band where the skin had been torn by the rope. Her tits
were also beginning to show a deep blue shade in addition to the scratch
marks already there.

As she hurried to get ready for Master he was suddenly there, standing
right behind her, looking over her shoulder at her in the mirror. He
reached around her waist in a very possessive gesture, pressing her body
back into his. Kimmie nearly fainted with bliss. Oh God how she loved
being owned by this evil man! Kimmie stood still as his other hand moved
up her thigh, taking a diversionary path to her crotch where it gently -
and very possessively - cupped her frustrated and unused testicles,
before moving up her body and finally cupping her breast. After the
first inch of the hands' movement Kimmie had begun to moan with
pleasure. The terror from the choking was still there as was the fear
that Master would abuse her to death, but they didn't dampen her lust
for the evil man, her desire to belong to him; they only fuelled this
desire further.

A tiny voice in Kimmie's mind shouted: "He's evil! He sees you only as
an object to torment for his own pleasure. He'll end up killing you!"
and a much stronger voice answered, the voice that was the real Kimmie:
"I know. I love him and what he does to me. My only wish is to provide
pleasure for him, no matter the cost". With that the voice of
self-preservation was muted and Kimmie devoted herself to the moment;
relishing in her status a pleasure object for an evil bastard.

The hands stopped roaming and after a while Kimmie opened her eyes and
stopped her lustful moaning. In the mirror Master fixed her eyes,
looking straight into them as she whispered in her ear: "You are the
longest serving cunt I have ever had. No other useless slave shit has
lasted so long as you and you continue to make money for you, as is your
purpose". Kimmie's heart swelled with pride and sorrow. Pride at being
able to serve Master for so long and for being able to make him so much
money. Sorrow because he spoke the obvious truth: He didn't love her, he
only owned her for the money. But still he owned her and her joy at
being owned by this man was stronger than any need for true affection.
If being an object for this man was the only way in which she could earn
even a tiny, perverted and twisted part of his dubious affection, then
she would take that over everything else. She knew that he had
conditioned her to this; that he had tortured her into submission by
still she wanted him more than anyone or anything else.

Master spoke again: "Keep earning money for me bitch and I will continue
to let you live this life of luxurious privilege". The last sentence was
spoken without even a hint of irony and he went on: "Stop earning money
and I will take real pleasure in doing you like this". With that he
closed both hands around her throat with lightning speed and squeezed
them tightly shut, lifting her clear off the floor in the same movement.
He lifted her only so high so that she could see her own desperate face
in the mirror as her mouth opened up to suck air that wasn't there while
her eyes became huge and again started to protrude from her face.
Desperation grew and her legs began to kick and jerk as spasms hit her
diaphragm. Her hands began to flail but her conditioning was so strong
that they never even went near her assailant; they simply flailed in
desperation as she was strangled. Her face turned purple again, her
tongue protruded like a blackening bulb from her mouth and her struggles
grew desperate and spasmodic until she finally lost consciousness again
thinking that Master was killing her.

But he hadn't and she came to on the cold bathroom floor, sucking air in
great whoops while coughing badly. Seeing that Master was no longer
there she pulled herself together and meekly minced into the living
room. Here Master sat on the only chair in her apartment; a chair she
had never had the honor to use. "Get over here bitch," he commanded and
Kimmie minced over to stand by the chair, terrified, beaten and defeated
- and desperately happy that he was here with her.

In his hand was the horrible dildo which had been mounted on the pole.
Master had detached it and fitted it with three one pound lead weights.
Reacting to a slight nod from Master Kimmie bent over and he shoved it
none too gently all the way up into her ass. Then he slapped her ass and
told her to cook dinner for him. He didn't have to say that she had to
keep the weighted dildo in place throughout.

Master was staying for dinner! Kimmie's heart was bursting with joy at
the prospect being allowed to serve Master dinner, with all that
entailed and the prospects for further abuse it carried with it. So
naked, in chastity device and heels and sporting three lead weights
hanging out of her ass, Kimmie went about cooking, making sure to clamp
her ass shut and keep the dildo in.

First Master ordered her to pour a glass of wine, something she did with
the most stupidly grateful smile imaginable. Kimmie loved Master more
than reason and instead of fleeing craved and sought out his dangerous
and harmful attention.

Dinner was uneventful. Kimmie served the carefully prepared steak,
poured the wine and otherwise stood at attention with a sweet and happy
smile; a smile greatly contrasted by her by now bruised tits, the very
visible strangulation marks on her neck - both from the rope and from
Master's hands - and finally from the very visible signs of abuse on her
face. The contrast was brought home by her almost emaciated body, the
look of a starved sexual prisoner.

When the meal was over and Master sat at the table sipping wine, he
turned to Kimmie and said: "Bring me the white cardboard box I've left
by the door". Scampering as quickly as she could, Kimmie soon found the
box, which looked like a shoebox without any markings, and brought it to
the table. It was indeed a shoebox and when Master had removed the paper
padding the inside of the box, he took the shoes out and placed them on
the table, pushing the box aside. On the table now stood the most pretty
and elegant pair of booties Kimmie had ever seen, obviously a pair of
designer shoes: Kimmie estimated that the "leg" of the booties would
stop right below the ankle, making them a cross between a shoe and an
ankle boot. The material was rich, matte, black leather and on the front
of the foot was a discrete V-shaped cut. The heels were six and a half
inches high and relatively thick, perhaps the equivalent of two or three
pencils thick. The soles were red, as was the inside of the heels. They
were also very small. Kimmie thought they might be two or three sizes
too small for her and this thought made her sad, as it meant that they
could impossibly be for her.

In this assumption, however, she was wrong. Master fixed his gaze at her
and said: "These are for you Kimmie, the first of your new wardrobe of
shoes". However much she might have desired the pretty shoes, this
sentence caused an involuntary yelp of fear to escape her. Not only did
this mean that Master would force her to wear them - something which
could only mean extreme pain - but he obviously also meant for her to
substitute all of her shoes, a massive investment which would mean
starvation for months to come. But saying these things out loud was out
of the question and Kimmie simply bowed her head and thanked Master for
his kind consideration.

When she looked up again she saw that Master had an evil, lustful look
on his face; a look which made Kimmie weak kneed with desire and turned
her insides to water with pure fear. "However", Master continued, "your
feet are much too big for the pretty shoes, you big, fat useless cunt,
don't you agree?" In the tiniest of voices Kimmie, with a BMI of 15,
agreed that she was indeed a fat cunt. Master informed her that some
adjustments of the size of her feet were needed in order for her to fit
the pretty shoes, a statement Kimmie agreed with in a barely audible
voice. Master grabbed Kimmie's chin and looked into her eyes: "Ask me
nicely - very nicely - to please adjust your feet to fit the new shoes".
Kimmie knew she was doomed and dropping to her knees she begged Master
to please adjust her feet to the proper size, kissing his feet as she
cried with fear, pleading not for mercy but for real torture.

Half an hour later Kimmie, for the first time ever, the first time in
twenty-four years, sat on the chair in her apartment. Her ass was
stuffed with the same dildo as before, now completely embedded inside
her and the chair had been covered with plastic. Her arms and upper body
was tied to the chair with a solid band of duct tape stretching from
right above her hips to right below her tits and her legs were almost
fused with the chair legs, duct tape being the material of choice here
as well. And for the first time her shoes had been taken off. Her mouth
had been stuffed with three pairs of filthy panties and sealed with a
penis gag, almost forcing the panties down her throat. Her eyes were
large and frightened above the wide leather strap holding the gag in
place and her breathing was shallow and frantic. A large piece of
plastic covered the floor beneath the chair and Kimmie watched
helplessly as Master laid out his tools; the tools which would reduce
her feet in size and cause Kimmie untold misery.

Already Kimmie's small toes were missing from Master's previous
ministrations and as she looked at the tiny heels, Kimmie couldn't help
but wonder just how much of her toes Master was going to remove for her
to fit them? To Kimmie the shoes now looked at least three sizes too
small.

Master went into the bathroom to wash his hands and as he came back, he
approached her from behind, gently grasping her shoulders and whispering
softly, ever so softly, in her ear: "I will not release a single one of
the bonds holding your body or face until I am completely done with
you". His tone was that of a lover, verbally caressing Kimmie with his
evil words so that her tiny, imprisoned member pressed against its cage
harder than it had been in more than twenty years. "If you puke into
your gag I will let you drown in it, you useless slut, so make sure that
you control yourself". Still the words came out soft, gentle and caring
in tone even if their content was brutal and inconsiderate to say the
very least. The tone of Master's brutal words was such that Kimmie
actually moaned with passion and lust as Master warned her of the risk
of drowning in her own vomit.

Before beginning in earnest Master made a few crucial preparations.
First he placed two absorbent pads under Kimmie's crotch as both he and
Kimmie expected her to lose control of her bladder. Then he went about
preparing each of her toes, except the big toes. He did this by tying a
piece of string very, very tightly around the very base of the toes,
cutting off the blood supply. Kimmie instantly knew that this meant that
he would be cutting her and began to keen and weep with fear. Master
smiled gently at her, saying: "You know that you both want if and need
it, you fat, worthless bitch, so stop your pathetic whining". Again he
spoke in caring and loving tones, belying the cruel message.

Then he started in earnest. The first step was the complete removal of
the toes next the small toes, which were of course already absent.
Master used a pair of surgical nippers for the job and afterwards he
cauterized the wounds with a strange powder, which stopped the blood
flow instantly, but which also caused an intense burning sensation. The
pain was unbelievable and Kimmie had to fight both the urge to vomit
with pain and the need to faint, since she was sure that fainting would
result in vomiting while she was unconscious. Also the process was far
from quick, seemingly stretching forever as Master performed his cruel
and grizzly task meticulously.

On the next two toes (on each foot) he was more "lenient" removing only
the outermost joint of them. Kimmie lost all sense of time, immersed in
a world of intense pain where her only focus was avoiding fainting and
vomiting. It was by far the worst and most protracted pain even Kimmie
had ever experienced and even though she now missed four of her ten toes
and had another four ties cut down to half size, the pain wasn't over
yet. Master had one final "adjustment" to make; one that coming from him
sounded so logical and necessary that Kimmie almost welcomed it. Almost.

As a result of Master's work on her feet they were now too asymmetrical
for standard footwear, with no toes on the outside and a big toe on the
inside. This posed a problem since the point of most shoes is centered
at least to some degree. Master of course had a quick and permanent fix
for this: He simply broke Kimmie's big toes at the outermost joint and
twisted the broken joint towards the outside of her feet, thus shaping
her feet to fit the shoe she would wear, rather than the other way
around.

Finished Master then washed and dried Kimmie's feet and held them up so
she could better see what had been done. Horribly mangled as they were,
the bleeding had nonetheless stopped completely and so Master brought of
her new shoes. Even in pain as she was, Kimmie was also had a shoe
fetish of the worst kind and her first thought as Master put them on the
floor was: "God! They are sooo pretty!" And small. Very small. As Master
grabbed her foot in one hand and a shoe in the other, he informed her
that they were indeed three full sizes smaller than what she had
previously worn. And with that he slid them onto her foot.

It was a tight fit, even for a foot as mangled as Kimmie's and once on
the pain was of course blinding, but soon both of Kimmie's feet were
clad in those wonderful designer booties. Kimmie's couldn't see properly
just how good they looked and actually thought more about how nice it
would be to be able to look in a mirror than how painful it would be
getting to that mirror.

That soon changed as Master untied her upper body and pulled her to her
feet while letting her gag stay in place. The pain was extreme, almost
as bad as when Master had cut her, but somehow she managed to stay
upright while fighting back the nausea and urge to faint. Master holding
her hand she was walked to the mirror, step very careful and stumbling,
while screaming into her gag at the top of her voice.

In front of the mirror, however, with Master holding her waist in a very
possessive - and to Kimmie very arousing - manner, Kimmie loved the way
the shoes looked on her. Not only were they very pretty and very, very
stylish, they quite simply made her foot look extremely good. And
extremely small. So small in fact that Kimmie had to look twice so make
sure that the image wasn't a mirage of some sort. Naked, but gagged and
looking decidedly worse for wear, Kimmie nonetheless looked very good.
So good in fact that Master yanked out her plug, lifted her up by the
waist and dropped her on his very erect and very much ready member.
Suspended in mid-air, held only by Master's cock and his firm grip on
her fake tits, Kimmie spent the next almost half an hour being jerked
around like the fuck puppet she really was. When Master had finally cum,
she was pulled off his pole and made to squat down - making sure that
her feet were still firmly planted on the floor - and clean his cock.

Having the enormous gag removed was both a relief and a source of
discomfort. With the gag in Kimmie had effectively been free to scream
all she liked, which was a good way of getting some mental relief. No
more. But then again, Kimmie wouldn't trade the opportunity to suck
Master's magnificent cock for anything in the world, no matter how
painful or demeaning and the mere act of licking his pole made her feel
good again.

Once the cock was clean, however, the good feelings stopped. Master now
had her practice walking in her new heels, both to "help" her adjust to
walking around with hardly any toes at all, but also to shape her feet
properly for her new shoe size. It was excruciatingly painful and for
the longest time Kimmie stumbled along in a daze of pain, but gradually
- and greatly encouraged by Master's occasional blow to her balls - she
got the hang of it.

Before Kimmie had only vaguely been aware just how much work her toes
performed when walking even in as stiff and high heeled shoes as hers.
Had Kimmie not had plenty of previous experience walking in ballet
heels, where the toes don't help with balance at all, it's doubtful
whether she would have been able to master her new tiny footwear so
quickly, but after "only" a few hours of careful practice - interrupted
by two glorious fucks, which left her longing more than ever to be
allowed to cum - she had the hang of them.

The process had not only been painful but so arousing to the helplessly
conditioned sissy slave that she now longed more for an orgasm than at
any other time in the last ten years or even twenty. The yearning almost
made her beg for an orgasm. Almost. Of course she had said nothing to
Master about her desire and it was probably wise as he seemed very
intense, very determined to hurt her, very much focused on her;
something which made Kimmie perversely happy, proud beyond her limited
capability to describe.

But it was now nearly morning and Kimmie was ready to drop, tired beyond
anything she could remember. Master of course had no intention of
allowing her to rest and so, when he deemed her proficient enough in
walking in her new footwear, Kimmie was ordered to swallow a large dose
of antibiotics - just to keep possible infections away - and then he
gave her two small, innocuous looking white pills. Five minutes after
swallowing them Kimmie felt like she was never going to sleep again. She
did not feel rested or refreshed in any way, but rather she was filled
with nervous energy, unable to suppress a slight trembling going through
her whole body. Master told her that the pills would keep her awake
until she came back from the whorehouse late at night. After dutifully
thanking him, Kimmie was sent off to the shower.

On her knees, naked and shivering under the cold water in the shower
Kimmie had a chance to think about her situation. She had that chance
every morning and she took it every morning, thinking hard about what
she was, what her life was like an what her options were as the cold
water rinsed her abused body. And every morning she reached the same
conclusion; that no matter how miserable her existence as slave was, no
matter how much pain she was in, no matter how humiliating and seemingly
unrewarding her life was she chose this life over all the other options
she had.

Yes, she had been mercilessly conditioned and yes, she was watched for
much of the day and yes, she had no money and no education to speak of
and her chances of making a life for herself on the terms offered to
most of the rest of the world were slim, very slim, but other options
existed. Kimmie had long ago figured out how she might escape when there
were no watchers. She had long ago worked out how she might get the
police's help to break free, to bring down Master and his whole network
of deeply evil people.

But Kimie chose not to. Even now, horribly mutilated and abused,
shivering under the cold, cold water imposed on her by Master, she chose
this life; the miserable, painful, humiliating and in all likelihood
short life of a slave. Because that was what she was deep down inside,
it was who she wanted to be, it was what she wanted to be: used, abused,
preyed upon and without a real friend anywhere. Because it was what she
craved, what she deserved, what she needed. Master had done this to her
and she loved him for it, loved him more now than ever before. No, he
didn't care for her as an individual at all, but he desired her as an
object to torment and worse and that was what Kimmie craved, needed,
desired more than anything in the world. If Master should, as Kimmie
stepped out of the bathroom, declare that he wanted to strangle her
exclusively for his own amusement; Kimmie would put her hands behind her
back, stretch her neck, tilt her head back and thank him. Thank him
simply for using her for pleasure and thus giving her life a purpose.

So Kimmie crawled out of the shower, dried herself, put her shoes back
on and minced out to receive Master's instructions and with them meaning
in her life.

Outside the bathroom Master was waiting. In his hands were a pair of
tiny ballet boots, her new home and sleep wear, and on the floor was a
filled plastic bag. It was open at the top and breaking her heart Kimmie
could see all of her precious shoes - both the fancy and trashy - inside
the bag, ready to be thrown out. Master explained that he had taken from
her very limited supply of money the cost of her new shoes and new
ballet boots. Heart sinking Kimmie acknowledged this thinking how little
money this would leave her for food for the rest of the month.

But shopping for food and eating, it seemed, was not going to be very
time consuming for Kimmie for the next few months. Master explained that
as she now only had two pairs of shoes, and since only one of these were
fit for use outside her apartment, Kimmie would have to buy a completely
new set of shoes. Not only that, but Master insisted that she spend the
rest of her money for the month on shoes and shoes alone.

Kimmie whimpered as she realized that she might actually starve to death
obeying Master's orders this month, but nonetheless she curtseyed deeply
and told Master that his orders would be carried out to the letter.
"However," Master continued, "I have of course made arrangements so that
you won't starve to death slut". Kimmie thanked Master with great
trepidation and sure enough: "At my order Mistress Rowena will provide
you with at least one hearty meal every night for the next three months,
which is the time I expect you to need to replenish your shoe supply. If
she hasn't got sufficient shit to feed you herself, she will arrange for
someone else to shit in your mouth". Kimmie felt like crying. Eating
shit every day for the next three months! And only shit! Master had just
told her what all of her money should be spent on and once that order
had been spoken she had no choice. Three full months of shiteating.
Kimmie wondered if she wasn't going to die of starvation, malnutrition
or just plain disgust after all.

And it didn't stop there: "Furthermore", Master went on, "I have
arranged so that Mistress Wanda will handle your monthly pickups for the
foreseeable future as she is currently in a very…voluminous scatological
mood. That should insure you one hearty meal a month". This was even
worse. Mistress Wanda was nothing if not extreme and this meant that
Kimmie would probably be forced to eat shit and drink piss until her
stomach was so full it was near bursting. Kimmie felt like screaming
with disgust and hopelessness but instead she curtseyed deeper than
before and acknowledged Master's command in the smallest possible voice,
a whimpering whisper.

Soon it would be time to go to work so Kimmie applied makeup and got
dressed. Her face was nearly undamaged - at least to look at - so makeup
wasn't a big problem, but dressing was a bit more challenging. Her
bruised body wasn't the problem, even if putting a bra on was very
painful with her bruising, swollen and scratched tits. But the
strangulation marks on her neck were very prominent indeed and would
remain so for a long time to come. The solution was a sweater dress and
once it was on, hugging her skinny, sexy body's every curve; Kimmie knew
it was an excellent choice.

The dress was made from imitation cashmere and it was a rich, almost
brownish, cream color. The material was soft and thick and covered her
sexy, abused body from six inches above her knee all the way up to her
chin. Not only was the nice and soft material and nice contrast to her
aching body and screaming feet, but when Master saw her his face lit up
with desire, something which of course made the enslaved and subjugated
sissy all warm inside.

Kimmie almost melted then as Master drew her close and kissed her
deeply, while fondling her ass. He kissed her for a long time and Kimmie
nearly fainted with delight as she let herself go, kissing back with all
her might and for the first time in two decades took the initiative and
groped Master's crotch, first on the surface of the pants and then, as
the kissing went on, actually going so far as to extract Master's member
and manipulating it with her hands. Kimmie had never been so forward,
never ever, but she could hold back no longer. She loved the evil,
brutal, ruthless and manipulating bastard she called Master more than
anything in the world and she probably didn't have many hours, or even
minutes in which to show it.

So driven by love and desire - even if that desire would never result in
release - Kimmie for the first time in her life took charge. She guided
her very surprised Master down in the floor as she pulled his pants down
and with her expertly trained hands brought him to full mast. Then she
squatted down on his pole, mangled feet in their designer torture
devices on either side of his body, and began moving up and down, using
her considerable sexual skills to the very best of her ability as she
rode him. Her dress was rolled up around her midriff and her hands were
behind her head as she moaned and screamed how much she loved while
taking him for a wild ride. He looked extremely surprised as no other
slave had ever dared to do this (and none had probably ever wanted to
being much too afraid of the consequences), but very pleased
nonetheless.

Kimmie used her skills to keep the fuck going as long as she could, but
eventually Master shot his load and Kimmie keened with delight as she
felt his warm spray fill her insides. After dismounting she dutifully
licked his cock clean and put it back inside his pants. Then she stood
up, straightened out her clothes and waited for the inevitable
punishment.

But this time it was her turn to be surprised. Master instead took her
hand and led her out in from of the mirror. Her standing in front of
him, looking into the mirror and seeing her own reflection and that of
Master standing right behind her, hand around her waist again and his
crotch pressing into her ass, Kimmie again felt like a love struck
teenager as his cum ran in a thin stream down the inside of her leg. She
knew he had hurt her more than anyone else and that he was going to be
the end of her, but she loved him not in spite of it but because of it.
She was his; it was that simple.

Master did, contrary to expectation, not punish her for her forward
ways, but it would be wrong to say that she got off. One arm around her
waist and one around her neck, he leaned forward and whispered into her
ear: "In a minute I will follow you to work, holding your hand and
making sure you walk properly. After that you will go back to your
miserable slave existence and you won't see much of me, except when I
happen to pass by the whorehouse and we certainly won't go at it again
like we have tonight." Kimmie nodded meekly, most of all inclined to cry
with sadness.

"But", Master continued, "one day your earnings will drop because no one
wants your scrawny and used up old ass anymore". Kimmie nodded again,
closer than ever to sobbing as she knew it to be all too true. "When
that happens for a slave I usually just give them more and more regular
work so they can earn their stay". It was a prospect Kimmie did not look
forward too. Demanding and demeaning as it was she enjoyed being a
sexual object for someone.

"That, however", Master went on in the softest of tones, "will not be
your fate". Here Kimmie's heart missed a beat as he went on: "On that
day I will pick you up after work at the hairdresser. I will stand
outside with a bouquet of roses as you finish work". Kimmie's heart was
now pounding, her eyes large and questioning as they sought out his in
the mirror. "I will hold the door as I guide your into my limousine and
we will drive to my house, you curled up in my lap". Kimmie's breath was
shallow and uneven as she waited for him to finish outlining her fate.
"Once there I will treat you to a night which will make the night you've
just experienced seem like a gentle walk in the park". She was now
keening softly with lust and for the first time she thought she knew how
he intended for her to end.

She was neither surprised nor disappointed: "At the end of the night",
he said and pulled down on her sweater, exposing her marked neck, "I
will ask you for something to strangle you with and you will give me
this". With that his hand suddenly, magically, held a neatly wound up
white nylon string which he then pressed in her hand. With that he
almost kissed her ear as he whispered: "Keep it in your purse always and
know that I will one day use it to strangle you with - if you choose to
enter my limo". He then kissed her neck softly, pulling down the sweater
so that his kiss landed on her raw strangulation marks.

Kimmie looked at the inconspicuous looking bundle of nylon thread, quite
thick and utterly smooth and featureless. Her brain couldn't handle its
role. She struggled to make some deeper meaning of it and realized there
were none. It was simply the instrument of her ultimate demise; a simple
and innocuous looking string with which he intended to kill her. His
gift to a favorite slave - should she choose to accept his offer. For
Master had surprised her enormously. She had to turn the sentence over
in her head a few times before she was sure, but now she was: Master had
told her that she would be free to leave when the time came; that he
would only strangle her if she wanted him to.

The very thought played tricks with her mind, made her giddy and
insecure - very insecure. What if she simply walked by Master on that
day? What if she simply broke free; became Kimmie the independent and
free girl? The options were mindboggling - and so very simple. There was
no way Kimmie was going to leave Master; no way in which she wasn't
going to get into his car giddy with lust and aching with gratitude for
Master's time and attention. There was no way Kimmie wasn't going to
give Master the string and thank him as he wound it around her neck.
Kimmie loved Master and would do anything - anything - for him. And just
as importantly: What would she do with herself if she passed Master and
simply broke free? She lived for this; the slavery, the abuse, the pain
and the fact that she would have Master's undivided attention when he
strangled her. No matter how much pain she was going to be in, no matter
how much she would panic when the nylon reduced her breathing to nil,
she was still going to love it. She lived to please Master and if that
brought him pleasure, then that was going to be what she chose.

Kimmie shivered violently, looked up with a single tear in the corner of
her eye and looked into Master's cruel blue eyes in the mirror and said:
"Master, thank you Master. I shall be looking forward to you wonderful
attention. Thank you".

With that the moment was over. Master held her jacket, a stylish black,
leather Bolero, as she slipped into it. Then he held her hand in one of
his, while his other hand held the garbage bag with her now obsolete
shoes. The sight of them shook Kimmie out of her daze as the terrible,
crippling pain in her feet returned and she took the first painful step
out of her apartment.

On the way out of the building Master found a dumpster and threw the
shoes out, signaling the beginning of Kimmie's three month long shit
only diet. Horrible pain in her feet and the prospect of a quarter of a
year of continuous disgust made Kimmie weak-kneed and before leaving for
work she stopped Master, bowed her head and said: "Master, thank you
Master. I love you Master and I will do anything - anything - for you".
The cruel man simply smiled and slapped her face as hard as he could,
catching her so she didn't fall. "I know you stupid slag. Now let's get
you out to make me some money".

The walk to the subway station was uneventful, except for the blinding
pain in her feet. Had she not still been high on her affection for
Master Kimmie would have been tempted to scream, but she knew that was
out of the question. In fact she probably wouldn't be allowed to scream
before reaching the whorehouse at night. On the train, as they stood
amidst all the other commuters, Master found the space to fondle her ass
openly, going so far as to knead her buttocks. Kimmie's face burned with
humiliation, while at the same time her imprisoned cock, locked away
without a single orgasm for twenty-five years and destined to never be
released again, pressed against its prison with newfound strength,
affirming her love and commitment for Master.

Eventually they stood within sight of the salon where Kimmie worked.
Kimmie could see Master's limo parked across the street from it, ready
to whisk him away from her. Her heart ached, for a moment drowning out
the pain in her feet, and she gathered her courage and asked: "Master,
please Master. Master may I be allowed to suck your wonderful member one
last time before we part Master?" The evil man's lustful smile was all
the answer she needed and soon she was kneeling on the ground in an
alley behind where the limo was parked, not even twenty yards from the
street. His pole was in her mouth, her cheeks sunken and a look of
obvious enjoyment on her face. Like a good girl her hands were behind
her head and her eyes were turned upwards in adulation. God how she
loved him!

All too soon it was over and his load swallowed, his wonderful gift of a
tasty meal received gratefully by his utterly devoted slave. After
thanking him Kimmie picked up her dentures from the pavement and
inserted the only slightly dirty set in her mouth. Then she got up and
as she straightened out her sweater dress, she realized that the inside
of her thighs were still smeared with dried cum from when had ridden
Master back at the apartment. All reminders of what she really was and
who she really belonged to. What she would always be and whom she would
always belong to. Always.

Master grabbed her right butt cheek and squeezed it hard enough to
bruise it, looked her in the eye and said: "So long slut" and with that
it was over. Without another word he got into his limo and drove off.
Kimmie fought back the urge to cry; standing for a few seconds to regain
her composure and then went back to her miserable slave existence. She
had money to make for Master and with that she crossed the street and
entered the hair salon. Just before the door closed behind her she
looked back over her shoulder. In a couple of years Master would stand
there with a smile, roses in his hand just for her, and invite her into
his limo for a night of horrific torture ending with her strangulation
and death. She would have the option to pass him by and be free but
there was no chance she was going to take it.

As Kimmie sat down on a low stool and began work on the nails of the
day's first customer, she smiled sweetly as she always did. Her mind,
however, was torn. On one hand she wanted to live and serve Master for
as long as she possibly could. But on the other hand she wanted him to
stand outside that door tomorrow already; stand there to take her and
give her his undivided attention, allow her to serve him as best she
could, no matter the consequences for herself. Kimmie loved Master, knew
exactly what and who she was and was secure in the knowledge that she
had achieved the best possible life for herself - no matter how hard and
demanding.

THE END

If you liked the story please drop me a line at story_2nn@yahoo.com and
tell me what you liked about it; which parts and so on.


Review_This_Story || Email Author: 2nn


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