GEETWO STORIES - PAGE 019
- THE TITANIUM TRAP -
The special equipment you ordered is ready, Miss Carteret. If you would like to drive over here, I can have it installed in about an hour.”
“Great. I’ll get a taxi and be there in about thirty minutes. I can hardly wait, but are you quite sure it’s finished this time? I was so disappointed last month when it wasn’t.”
“Yes, quite sure, Miss. I’ve checked and re-checked everything several times. It matches your specifications to the last millimetre.”
“Terrific! I’m on my way.”
"Just one last thing, Miss. Are you quite certain you want to do this?”
“Of course I am. Why do you ask when you must know it’s what I want? And in any case, you’ve already got my written confirmation that I’m doing this because I want to.”
“Just checking, Miss Carteret. After all, once the equipment is installed, it will be virtually impossible to remove.”
“I know that. That’s the whole point of it. I wouldn’t have paid you as much as I have for something that could just be slipped off, would I?”
“No, I really don’t believe you would. Very well, I will get everything ready for your final fitting, Miss.”
“Good, then I’ll be with you soon.”
As she replaced the phone, Imogen Carteret shivered in excitement and anticipation. Finally, at the age of twenty-seven and after three years of hard saving, her dream was about to become the reality she had wanted for so long. It had cost her every penny she possessed and deprived her of the social life and romance that her curvaceous body, slim legs and pretty blue-eyed, blonde-haired face would normally have brought her, but she just knew it was going to be worth it. If she had ever told anybody what she was going to do with the money she’d squirrelled away, no doubt they would think she was mad, but it was her dream, her fantasy. As far as she was concerned, what she chose to do to herself was no-one’s business but her own, no matter how kinky or weird they might think it was.
Thirty five minutes later, she stepped out of the taxi in front of the small, security-fenced engineering workshop, taking care to ensure that the long calf-length cloak she wore didn’t swing open to reveal the fact that she was completely nude beneath its folds. As the taxi drove away, she took a deep breath and pressed the intercom set into the gates. They swung open soundlessly and as she stepped in, closed with a forbidding metallic clank behind her. It wasn’t the first time she had visited the workshop and so she knew exactly where to go.
“Good evening, Miss Carteret.”
“Hello, Mr Quentin.”
He was a tall, black-haired man in his early forties, quite muscular, with calm brown eyes and an air of having seen everything that life could offer. Nothing ever seemed to surprise or shock him and he had just smiled and nodded when Imogen had explained shyly what it was that she wanted him to build for her.
“I can do that.” he had said, and he had.
He showed her into the small, rather untidy room behind the workshop; a room she thought of as the fitting-room, and as she hurried across to the table holding the equipment he had built for her, he stood quietly, smiling his enigmatic smile. She picked up each of the superbly crafted and machined devices in turn, her eyes gleaming with barely-suppressed excitement as she examined the smooth perfection of polished black titanium.
“It’s ... beautiful!” she breathed at last and his smile grew broader.
“I’m glad you like it, Miss.”
“I want you to put it on me straight away. All of it. Right this minute.”
“As you wish. You will have to undress, of course. As you specified, it is all designed to your exact measurements.”
“That’s how I wanted it.” Imogen nodded, kicking off her shoes and with trembling fingers undid the three buttons of her cloak, then dropped it to the floor and stood completely naked before him. His eyes widened fractionally, but he did not look away and as he inspected her firm, medium-sized breasts, narrow waist, slim hips and long, slender legs, Imogen felt her nipples harden and her sex grow damp, as they always did whenever she displayed her body for him to take measurements, or check the fit of a particular piece of her equipment.
“Well, we had best get started then.” he said evenly. “I’ll begin with the corset. A four inch reduction from twenty-four to twenty inches. Lift your arms, please.”
The titanium corset covered Imogen from above her hips to the lower third of her breasts, lifting and separating her taut flesh so that the globes thrust proudly forward and upwards from the skillfully constructed support; her nipples jutting arrogantly above the quarter-cups.
“Breathe in as deeply as you can.”
As she obeyed, he squeezed the rear of the corset together until a series of small clicks confirmed that the ratchet-locks had engaged. Imogen panted for breath, her midriff constricted in a vice-like grip.
“Wow! It’s even tighter than I’d imagined!” she gasped, then gulped as Mr Quentin chuckled.
“You wanted it tight, so you’d better get used to it, because it’s going to be there a while.”
She knew that was true for she was the one who had specified the desired size of her waist and unless she could find someone with the specialized tools necessary to cut the thing off, that was the size her waist would remain.
“Oh well!” she smiled wanly, “At least I won’t have to diet anymore.”
Quentin grinned and reached for the second item of equipment, then crouched before her, noting with approval the pale, denuded triangle where her pubic curls had been before she’d had the electrolysis treatment which ensured she would remain hairless. It was another indication of just how seriously she was taking her transformation and he found it admirable that she would go to such lengths.
“Spread your legs and lift your feet one at a time, please.” he requested.
As she obeyed, he slid the shaped titanium harness up between her gaping thighs, ensuring that it nestled firmly into place and cupped her sex and anus before passing the metal waistband around her already corsetted body just above her hip-bones. Once again, he had to exert considerable force to make the ratchet-lock engage and as it did so, Imogen winced as the harness compressed her lower belly.
“Do you want me to insert the toys now?” he asked calmly.
Imogen shivered as she glanced involuntarily at the table where two massive titanium rods waited ... the rods that could be fastened into her harness via the circular holes positioned directly over her sex and anus.
“No ... no, not yet.” she whispered softly, “Maybe ... maybe a little later, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s up to you.” He smiled, “Let me know when you’re ready. In the meantime, what would you like next?”
“I think it’s time for my sh-shoes.” she replied, trying hard to keep her voice as level as his. “I’ve been practising for quite a while and I’m pretty confident I’ll be OK.”
But, when he fitted the incredible titanium footwear to her feet she found herself a lot less certain. The immense seven-inch spike heels forced her to arch her feet into an almost vertical line and left her teetering on the tips of her toes. Her calves immediately began to protest at the unnatural tension and when she told him how uncomfortable she was, he immediately agreed to her request to leave the titanium locking straps undone so that she could remove the shoes whenever she could no longer endure the remorseless aching of her leg muscles.
Relieved of that worry, she watched intently as he fitted her ankle- and knee-bands, then brought over their adjustable spreader-bars and clipped swivel mountings into the sockets built into each band, effectively securing her legs widely spread and unable to either close or open any wider.
Her arms were next and at his request, she clasped her hands behind her back and allowed him to fasten a titanium band around each of her slim wrists then secure the cuffs together.
“Oooohh! Uhh, that’s really tough on me!” she protested as he squeezed her elbows together after clamping a band above each joint, but by then, it was already too late.
The cuffs were locked and there was nothing she could do about it. The tension of her bound arms was enormous, far more stressful than she had ever imagined it would be, for with the cuffs welding her elbows together, her shoulders were pulled back painfully and her breasts tautened until she felt as though they were going to burst!
“Oh! Take the elbow cuffs off!” she pleaded urgently, “Please, Mr Quentin! I had no idea they would hurt so much! I can’t stand it. Really I can’t!”
“But you told me that you wanted strict bondage, Miss Carteret.” he replied coolly. “In point of fact, you insisted on it. Anyway, you look wonderful with your shoulders arched backwards and your breasts offered so wondrously.”
She gazed down at her presented globes tipped out-thrust nipples and gasped in fearful excitement as she saw how true his words were. It was how she had always imagined she would look in her fantasies and as she felt her belly churn with intense arousal, her nipples stiffened to the knowledge that she was as tightly bound and hopelessly defenceless as she had always dreamed of being.
“Just try and relax, my dear.” he advised her gently, “You will soon get used to it. After all, it is what you want, isn’t it?”
Imogen wondered now whether it really was, trying to decide whether the unexpected discomfort of her bondage was too high a price to pay in order to realize her long-held fantasies of slavery and submission.
“Well, isn’t it?” Quentin asked again. “You did ask me to turn you into a titanium captive and positively insisted that I design your bondage to be as strict as possible and completely escape-proof. It seems to me that I have only done exactly what you requested. However, if it is too much for you, just say the word and I’ll start cutting it all off.”
He left the unspoken question hanging and as Imogen gazed down at the gleaming black metal that held her and felt the tight constriction of her waist, torso and limbs, she felt her arousal intensify and understood that this was what she truly wanted.
“No.” she replied softly. “Don’t do that, please. You’re right. I’m sure I will get used to it eventually and I couldn’t bear to see all your lovely work go to waste just because of a little discomfort. I’m sorry I was such a baby about it. Carry on, please, and don’t take any more notice of my whining. I love all these things you’ve made for me and I’m really grateful for all your hard work.”
“Thank you.” he said. “I appreciate that and believe me, it was a pleasure to make all this and even more of a pleasure to see you wearing it.”
Relaxing as much as her bonds permitted, she saw him pick up the half-head helmet he had made to her specification. He brought it towards her and he commanded her again.
“Open your mouth widely, please.”
Imogen stretched her jaws as wide as she could, knowing that the built-in O ring on the inside of the shaped titanium mouth-plate would locate itself behind her front teeth and hold her mouth wide open, making her unable to do more than mumble unintelligibly, yet leaving her mouth available to be filled with anything he chose to push into it.
The tight-fitting metal covered her whole face from just under her nose to beneath her chin and as he locked the helmet behind her neck, she felt a first true twinge of unease as she recognized just how helpless she had no just become.
For years, she had harboured private fantasies of extreme bondage and slavery; visualizing herself as a totally bound, totally subjugated slave to a dominant Master, but now, suddenly, it dawned on her that she had never continued her fantasies beyond the point at which her helpless nudity was ravaged by her Master and she ... inevitably ... surrendered to him willingly and was rewarded with her customary, mind-blowing orgasm.
Now, though, she really was inescapably bound and totally unable to resist. Her unease grew to outright alarm as Quentin picked up the expandable titanium pear-gag and as he walked towards her, she tried to tell him that she had decided that enough was enough. She did not want him to silence her even more effectively than she already was! To her horror he took no notice and when she tried to back away, found that the combination of her towering high heels and the spreader-bars between her ankles and knees restricted her movement to such a degree that she almost fell. There was no hope of evading him as he reached for her.
With his hand gripping the back of her neck and steadying her, she squealed shrilly when he pushed the folded pear through the ring on the front of her mouth-plate and located its screw-thread into the matching fitting in the titanium strap. With casual twists of his fingers, he screwed the gag into its socket, then spun the knurled knob on its base, so that the metal pear expanded inexorably, filling her mouth and pinning her tongue. In seconds her cheeks bulged against the tight face covering and brought an end to any hope of intelligible protest on her part.
Stunned by the ruthless efficiency of the gag, she could only whimper through her nose and stare downwards in horror as he knelt to fasten the titanium straps of her shoes around her slender ankles, condemning her to wear the towering heels until they were cut from her feet. He rose to smile into her shocked eyes, and Imogen felt a cold chill of apprehension ripple up her spine. Against her wishes, he had gagged her, then locked her shoes on. She saw the cruel smile curving his lips and the hot glitter of anticipation in his eyes as he surveyed her proffered breasts and gaping thighs and trembled in anguished helplessness, realising far too late, that she did not really know Mr Quentin at all.
Quite clearly, he was a superb engineer and machinist. Her bondage proved that, but of the man himself, his nature and desires and character, she knew nothing at all, except that his business was to design and manufacture custom-built bondage and control equipment. That was why she had come to him in the first place. After years of fascination with the idea of bondage and slavery, she had eventually managed to save enough money to realize her dream of having herself fitted with top-quality, state-of-the-art restraint devices capable of being worn for extended periods. Her intention then was to find a compatible Master through one of the numerous bondage web sites she frequented under the pseudonym of “Titania The Slave” and offer herself to him as a permanent, live-in slave-girl.
She had planned over many months, thought it through during the long, lonely nights when she had stayed in to save money, weighed the pro and cons of semi-permanent bondage and the loss of her freedom and ability to choose and considered the dangers of such actions. She thought of the arrangements she would make to ensure her safety and even made herself confront the fact that she might be punished by her Master for any infractions of the rules he chose to set as she was taught to submit to his will and his absolute power.
Only when she was as certain as she could be that she had explored every aspect of her desires and their likely consequences, and that the path of total physical, mental and sexual subjugation was the one she wanted to follow and experience, did she take the next step by contacting Mr Quentin through his web site, with her ideas.
She had covered every angle, or so she had thought, except that of finding herself bound, gagged and helpless ... at the mercy of the man who had constructed her bondage equipment. In her fantasies, she had always assumed it would be her strong, handsome, wealthy and thrillingly dominant Master ... the Master she herself would have chosen to serve as a slave, one who would be the one to fulfill her deepest desires by binding her and depriving her of speech and freedom as he claimed her for his own and made her his willingly helpless captive. Instead, she was chained and utterly helpless, her naked body hopelessly available for Quentin to do as he wished with her. Horror filled her blue eyes and the terrifying implications of her plight crashed into her brain as she remembered the careful plans she had made to ensure her safety by depositing letters detailing her plans with her bank and lawyer.
In the event of her disappearance, those letters would explain her plans, name Mr Quentin and her new Master and give a starting-point for an investigation, as well as a virtual guarantee that nothing too awful could happen to her. At least, they would have done if they were not still sitting in the memory of her computer at home, waiting for her to get around to printing and actually posting them. Thrilled and excited that everything was ready for her final fitting, she hadn’t given a thought to the letters and now it was far too late! In her determination to keep her plans totally secret, she’d made certain not to let anyone know where she was or what she intended to do.
Quentin strode to the table and began to apply lubricant to the two huge shafts she had specified for her sex and anus and Imogen shuddered wildly, tottering slowly and clumsily towards the closed door of the fitting-room in her enormously high heels, cruelly hampered by the spreader-bars between her ankles and knees. He calmly prepared the rods to be inserted into her body. She knew it was hopeless, and it was, for long before she reached the door, he was at her side, then dragged her back to the table and prepared implements. In seconds he began pressing a long, thick shaft through the fitting on her harness and deep into her unprotected sex, impervious to her gag-muffled screams while he screwed the rod into place. She was bent over and he slowly inserted the second thick shaft into her anus, forcing it past her frantically resisting muscle until it too was fully embedded and screwed into its socket.
Weeping in shame and terror at the ruthless penetration of her most secret and intimate recesses, Imogen fought madly against her bonds, her limbs and buttocks flexing and jerking desperately as she struggled to free herself and eject the horridly uncomfortable twin invaders from her body. Her despairing efforts were in vain, for titanium is both lighter and stronger than steel: the very qualities for which she had chosen it as the material for her bonds. It was a choice she now bitterly regretted, knowing as she did that there was not the slightest chance of her breaking or escaping its implacable grip on her flesh.
She lifted her tear-streaked face to gaze imploringly at him as he fetched the final piece of her equipment, then froze as he held the wide strip so that she could see it clearly. She recognized it instantly of course, because she was the one who had spent hours poring over its design, determined to get every detail exactly right.
It was her slave-collar.
Three inches wide and a quarter-inch thick, with four equally-spaced rings dangling from it, the collar was far stronger and heavier than it needed to be for security, but Imogen had insisted, set on wearing something that would be an unmistakable and an un-missable symbol of her willing slavery and complete submission to the Master she had chosen. What she had not designed was the gleaming inscription cut through the polished black outer coating into the shiny metal, and as she read the words, “Titania, The Slave” engraved in letters an inch high, her whole body trembled and her eyes bulged with shock.
It was her slave-name, the secret one she had used in her forays into the Web rooms where she went to meet others who shared her passion for bondage and slavery fantasies. For endless seconds, she stared numbly at the collar, unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes. She had never, ever, revealed her true identity to anyone on the Web, and yet there, only inches from her, was incontrovertible proof that someone knew that she and “Titania” were one and the same.
A muffled shriek of despair surged up Imogen’s throat and shattered against her pear gag as Quentin placed the heavy collar around her slender neck. A sharp, double click of its two internal locks snapping closed signalled the final act of her transformation from free woman to inescapably, titanium bound slave-girl and a shudder of terrified misery set her trembling in her bonds.
“I see you’re wondering how we found out your little secret,” he chuckled smugly, “It wasn’t as hard as you obviously thought it would be. My dear, you’re not the only one who uses the web to talk about your sexual fantasies, but unfortunately for you, some of the people who were on-line when you were had much the same desires as you obviously did. They got quite interested when you talked about how you wanted to have a titanium corset and a set of manacles and slave-collar made for you to wear permanently ... and even more interested in your plan to find yourself a Master and ask him to accept you as his slave.”
Imogen screamed into her gag, trying to shake her head from side-to-side in futile denial as she heard how the on-line chat she had enjoyed so much had betrayed her. Then, she stared in wide-eyed disbelief as Quentin chuckled and added more to her terror.
“So, they decided to save you the trouble and enslave you themselves.”
Shaken to the core, she shook her head again, refusing to believe he was serious.
“Oh, it’s quite true!” he smiled broadly and assured her. “You really are going to be a slave so you might as well start getting used to the idea. There’s no way for you to get out of all that equipment you’re wearing. There’s only two keys, and only specialized cutting equipment will get it off. You ought to know, honey. After all, you helped design it.”
The reality of her captivity flooded into Imogen’s brain then and she whimpered softly as she was forced to accept the awful truth of his words. She had demanded tight, inescapable bondage and that was exactly what she had got. At her insistence, Quentin had made the ratchet-locks so that they only operated in one direction, enabling her corset and the harness between her legs to be tightened, but not eased, and he had taken great pains to ensure that it was impossible for her to get her fingers to the locks in the cuffs clamping her wrists. Not that it would matter if she did, for these locks like the ones at her elbows, knees, ankles, collar and helmet, needed a special, high-security key to open.
A key which he had not yet given to her and which she now feared never would. He was speaking again and she forced her mind away from the impossibility of escape without the keys.
“Of course, you made it easier by wanting titanium.” he said casually. “There aren’t many workshops that can handle it and as far as I know, I’m the only one that uses it for bondage equipment. So, there was really only one place you could come to and all they had to do was wait for you to turn up. Here you are. A sweet deal all round. I get paid twice, they get a pre-packed slave and you ... well, you get what you wanted, only maybe not quite in the way you expected.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders and walked behind her, then gripped her biceps and eased her down until she was kneeling on the cool, tiled floor at his feet, her eyes wide with apprehension above the broad strap of her gag. Chain clinked behind her and she attempted to twist her head to see him pull a short length from his pocket and clip it to her wrist cuffs. Then, as she squealed shrilly, he pulled her wrists downwards and fastened them to the ring at the centre of the spreader bar between her ankles, forcing her spine into a deep hollow.
With her body arched into a smooth, graceful curve, Imogen could only gaze helplessly at the taut swells of her out thrust breasts and as she realized that she was bound into the pose she had dreamed of so often ... kneeling as a slave before a Master. Her nipples quivered and stiffened to hard, straining rigidity and her internal muscles clenched involuntarily around the shafts embedded in her sex and anus.
A scarlet flush coloured her cheeks as her body responded to the situation and try as she might, she was unable to stop the shameful display of her unwanted arousal or hide the evidence of her growing sexual need.
For three long, lonely years, she had worked and saved and deprived herself of a normal social life in order to achieve her dream of becoming a full and perfect slave to the Master she would choose. Despite the stunning shock of discovering that, far from having the luxury of choice, her fate was already sealed and lay in the hands of unknown strangers, Imogen could not control the savage heat that scorched through her belly at the prospect of involuntary servitude and sexual subjugation. As a healthy and attractive young woman, the years of denial had been hard to bear, for although she’d had two earlier lovers, neither had fully understood nor satisfied her desire to be bound and dominated.
Their half-hearted and amateurish efforts had soon led her to end the relationships, and she decided to wait until she found a true Master; one capable of imposing the firm discipline she craved and demanding from her the obedience and submission she longed to give.
Alone in her bed after surfing the Web and chatting to other bondage enthusiasts, she had often stimulated herself to orgasm with erotic mental images of herself as a slave, but those fantasies and climaxes, pleasurable though they had been, did not compare to the reality she now faced. Paid for with her own money, designed with her willing co-operation, clamped on her limbs and body and throat at her own request; she now wore the locked and irremovable bonds of a genuinely captive slave and as Imogen felt her belly kick and a spurt of hot juices bathe the thick shaft filling her sex, she gasped and trembled to the power of her blazing need.
Behind her, Quentin took a mobile phone from his pocket and punched in the number he had been told to call.
“It’s Quentin. Yes, she’s right here in my workshop. Everything fitted perfectly and she’s wearing it all. That’s right, on her knees and gagged with the rods in. No, I haven’t tested them yet. OK, if that’s what you want, I’ll try them out. Right, I’ll see you in an hour, then.” He switched the phone off and walked around to look down into her frightened blue eyes.
“Your new owners are on their way to collect you, slave.” he said flatly. “It’ll take them about an hour to get here, so, in the meantime, they’ve asked me to test the modifications I made to those little toys between your legs.”
It was the first Imogen had heard of any modifications and as his lips spread into a wolfish grin, she whined into her gag, suspecting that whatever they were, it wasn’t going to make her situation any better.
“Of course, electronics aren’t really my thing,” he confessed cheerfully, taking what looked to her like a small television remote control from his pocket, “but, luckily, an old friend of mine is an expert and he assures me that you should find this pretty ... ah ... interesting.”
His finger jabbed one of the buttons and her head snapped backwards, a despairing wail emerging from behind her gag and her eyes bulging as the rod buried deep in her sex began to vibrate, followed a moment later as he pressed a second button, by the one in her bottom. Their effect on Imogen was instantaneous and overwhelming, her arousal doubling, then re-doubling as the high-speed oscillations of the two devices sent shattering pulses of intense stimulation spearing into the core of her belly and through the unbearably sensitive tissues of her sex and anus.
Squealing in anguish, her fingers clawed at the chain between her wrists and her whole body writhed erotically in her bonds as the vibrators drove her headlong towards an enormous orgasm she could feel building inexorably and could do nothing to resist. Knowing that she was only seconds from being forced to climax, her eyes sought Quentin’s, pleading mutely for him to take pity and save her. She saw him grin and shake his head and understood that he had no intention of doing any such thing. The callous gesture only confirmed the full horror of what was to come and as an abyss of bondage and sexual slavery opened before her, Imogen screamed in wild despair and plunged over the brink.
From deep in the churning pit of her belly, the towering wave of her orgasm welled upwards, brushing aside her pitiful defences and drowning her futile attempts at self-control in a boiling, seething whirlpool of scalding juices. Her body convulsed violently in the throes of her enforced submission while spasm after spasm racked her shuddering frame, each jetting fresh rivers of heated juices into her pulsating belly and over the still-buzzing vibrator. Her buttocks clenched frantically around the second, while her swollen breasts and engorged, stone-hard nipples throbbed and jiggled madly as she screamed her helpless surrender to the sexual storm engulfing her.
Pushed far beyond the boundaries of her previous experience, Imogen found herself incapable of resisting ... far less controlling, the awesome power exerted over her by the combination of her bondage and the vibrators. She submitted utterly to their demands, her screams changing to whimpers and gasps of ever-increasing sexual pleasure as she gave up the futile battle and surrendered herself to the ecstasy of total subjugation.
At the mercy of her two battery-powered mechanical tormentors, she panted for breath as the cycle of relentless stimulation built her arousal towards a second peak before her first climax had even begun to wane, and as she realized that she was powerless to prevent the devices from forcing her to submit again and again until their batteries ran down, her eyes filled with shocked understanding and shameful need. Bound and with a collar locked on her throat, she had become a slave and it was no longer for her to decide her fate ... or control her destiny. In less than an hour, her new Masters would arrive to collect her and it would be they, not she, who would determine her future. Like her collar and the vibrators locked into her body, she would be owned: their possession, to be used as they saw fit.
In her fantasies, she had always envisioned a little romance, some soft music, a bottle of excellent wine, candlelight, perhaps ... all leading to the moment when she would slowly remove her clothes to reveal her body in its new restraint devices and then hand the keys to her chosen Master and sink to her knees to ask him to enslave her forever. That was not what was going to happen. Unless Quentin switched the vibrators off and relaxed her stringent bondage, her new Masters would walk into the small, bare, harshly-lit room and find her still naked, gagged and tightly chained, covered in sweat and quite probably in the throes of yet another devastating climax.
A white-hot lance of pure, submissive lust speared through her body and brain to trigger the second huge orgasm and Imogen squealed and trembled to the volcanic contractions that sent still more juices pouring down over the vibrator and into her sex. Even as she surrendered to the delirious rapture of her enforced passion, she realized to her horrified shame, that the incredible depth and extent of her submission was not only due to the presence of the twin vibrators and the thrilling tightness of her bondage. Certainly they were part of it of course and she couldn’t deny it, but what really frightened and confused her was her own reaction to the thought of being so helplessly displayed to a group of strangers.
Her body responded instinctively to a possibility far beyond anything she had ever dreamed of in her wildest, darkest fantasies and as she pulsed and shuddered in the iron grip of a need she could neither prevent nor control, Imogen was brought face-to-face with an aspect of her own character that was completely new to her. New, shocking and deeply terrifying, for instead of being appalled by the idea of being discovered in such a vulnerable and humiliating situation, she found herself becoming more and more aroused, more and more sexually excited as her brain visualized what might happen when the unknown Masters arrived to claim her.
To them, she would be simply a slave whose body was theirs to enjoy as they desired. Her obedience and submission to their will demanded, and, if necessary, enforced by any means at their disposal. Once in their clutches and subject to the sort of ruthless discipline which featured so prominently in the numerous web sites she had visited and enjoyed so much, there would be no escape from her slavery. As that indisputable conclusion sank into her spinning brain, Imogen felt her passion intensify still further and understood that she had already passed the point of no return. For good or ill, she was committed and about to experience genuine, full-time enslavement ... whether she wished to, or not.
Quentin stood over his trembling blonde captive, relishing the quivering of her taut breasts and rounded belly as she climaxed to the vibrators he had locked into her titanium-fettered body, watching the play of expressions in her wide blue eyes as she discovered just how impossible it was to defy the electronic devices she wore.
It was by no means the first time he had seen the effects of such things on a slave who was bound and unable to move, for he not only catered to a small, highly-specialised market of fetish enthusiasts for whom the domination, stringent bondage and absolute submission of their slaves was perfectly normal and unremarkable, he was also an active member of one such group. When he saw her horror give way to shocked awareness of her helplessness and recognition of her uncontrollable and quite irresistible sexual arousal, he knew that she had lost all power over her own body and its responses. That was the first, vital step in her journey into full slavery, for after recognition that her body was no longer hers to command, would come acceptance. It would be unwilling acceptance most probably, but that did not matter ... it only took time and careful conditioning to turn even a reluctant captive into an obedient and co-operative slave.
There was no great hurry.
A few extra days were unimportant in what would be a lifetime of slavery and quick or slow, it would make no difference to the end result. With a quick double-flick of his finger, he pressed two more of the buttons on his remote control.
Imogen jerked wildly in her bonds, squealing in terrified disbelief as the unceasing arousal of the vibrators in her body was interrupted by a sharp stab of pain when a jolt of electricity was fired directly into the most intimate and sensitive tissues of her sex and anus. With bulging eyes, she stared fearfully up at Quentin as if unable to comprehend what he had done to her, then gave a muffled scream of dreadful anguish as he pressed the buttons again to send a second searing jolt through her belly. She heard him chuckle with amused pleasure.
“Now you know what this little box can do, slave.” he grinned down at her.
“So, if you want to avoid more of the same, I strongly advise you to do exactly what your Masters order and be a good little slut.”
It was only at that moment, with the sound of his laughter in her ears and her body tingling with the after-shock of unavoidable and undeserved punishment, that Imogen fully realized quite how far beyond her fantasies, her desire for the thrill of bondage submission had taken her. This was no game! This was only too real and although the shocks were not unbearably painful, they were distinctly uncomfortable and more than enough to ensure her obedience. With the two devices locked immovably into her body, a Master, any Master, holding the remote-control could inflict whatever combination of pain and pleasure he chose, to make her submit to his will.
There was no way for her to resist, no hope of escaping the trap she had set for herself and as Imogen was forced to accept the fact that she had already become the helplessly subjugated and totally-controlled slave that she had fantasized about so often, a devastating wave of excitement rolled through her churning belly. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet Quentin’s hard gaze, then nodded as much as her collar permitted, twice, and lowered her head in humble submission to show her agreement and acceptance of his advice.
Thankful that at least one element of her bondage was being eased, Imogen kept absolutely silent, not even risking a gasp of relief as her aching jaws were permitted to relax just a little. It was a pity that the built-in ring-gag still held her lips and front teeth in a stretched O, but any relief was better than none, or so she thought right up to the moment that he unzipped his trousers and his maleness sprang forth!
She knew instantly what he was going to make her do and to her shame, felt her sex ooze with hot juices. Both of her previous lovers had wanted her to pleasure them with her lips and tongue and although she had not particularly enjoyed the experience, they obviously had and even complimented her on her skill then virtually begged her for more.
Quentin was not begging.
He was not even asking her permission or seeking to persuade her and without the slightest consideration for her wishes, he was just going to use her for his own pleasure, no matter what she wanted! His thick shaft plunged through the steel ring and filled her mouth, and Imogen shuddered wildly to the masochistic thrill of her total inability to prevent him from ravaging her as he pleased.
Guided by her memory of satisfying her lovers, she was able to take his full length and girth without choking and as his rigid flesh began to pump back and forth in the warm, moist cavern of her mouth, her nostrils flared to suck in air as his fingers knotted in her hair and he took her with long, hard thrusts. Deprived of any choice as to what she would or would not do, Imogen could only accept her fate and began to suckle urgently at his shaft. Her darkest fantasies and the reality of her situation mixed inextricably in her reeling brain to send overwhelming arousal blazing through her swirling belly.
Delighting in the sensations of her soft warmth surrounding and encouraging his maleness to even greater size, and recognizing her surrender to his demands, Quentin took full advantage of her helpless response to her plight. Continuing his remorseless thrusting into her receptive mouth, he jabbed at the buttons on the remote control.
Imogen jerked madly in her titanium fetters as pulses of unbearable stimulation and flashes of sharp pain shot through her belly and anus, their random and unpredictable torment adding fuel to the inferno of her arousal and reinforcing her sense of being utterly controlled and dominated. Gagged by Quentin’s thick shaft, she could not even scream and as a gigantic orgasm exploded into her quaking body; her blue eyes opened wide in awed disbelief while foaming cataracts of boiling love juices thundered through her pounding belly as evidence of her total submission to the incredible passions unleashed by her ruthlessly enforced subjugation.
There was no chance of her resisting, no possibility of holding back or retaining even a vestige of self-control and as Imogen was sent spinning down into a bottomless vortex of sexual surrender that engulfed her entire body and brain in the white-hot ecstasy of an orgasm more powerful and more intense than she had ever dared to imagine, she knew that she had changed, and been changed ... forever.
Her fantasies paled to insignificance compared to the frenzied tumult consuming every fibre of her being and as she recognized that her earth-shattering climax was that of a truly submissive and fiercely responsive slave, Imogen abandoned all hope of returning to her former life of freedom, independence and responsibility for her own actions. She welcomed her future with a muffled, wordless squeal of overwhelming pleasure.
No more, for her, the daily grind of office work. No need any longer, to scrimp and save for those things she longed to possess. Never again to spend the long nights alone, with only her fantasies for company. No more to dream of a strong Master to dominate and use her as she wished to be used.
In her mind, body and heart, Imogen knew that she was a slave; one whose bonds and collar were only the outward signs of the fire of slavery that burned within her and could never be extinguished.
In the grip of needs and emotions far too intense and powerful to deny, Imogen came and came again, her belly convulsing hugely to send waves of her hot juices showering down over the vibrator embedded in her sex; her buttocks flexing and jiggling around the other in her bottom as the first climax of her new life as a permanently-collared slave raged unstoppably through her shuddering body.
Gazing down at the panting, spasming blonde who knelt before him in her chains with her gagged cheeks bulging around his iron-hard shaft, Quentin surveyed the havoc he had created in her body and savoured the power of his absolute Mastery over her as she submitted totally to his will. Just like the several other women who had wanted to explore their submissive fantasies and paid him to manufacture the collars and shackles essential to their desires, he knew that Imogen had taken the irrevocable step across the line that divided fantasy from reality. Like them, she had not fully understood the consequences of asking to be chained and collared, assuming that their bondage was merely symbolic rather than the permanent and irreversible life-change it represented.
Even on their knees and at his mercy, they had still not seen or believed that they had actually become the slaves their submissive natures made them, until, as with Imogen, they had found themselves helplessly serving his sexual desires and experiencing the undreamed-of power of their own fervid responses to captivity and subjugation. Only then, as their tightly-bound bodies erupted into the huge orgasms that betrayed them as the slaves they were, had they finally realized the truth and understood what was to become of them, but by then, again as with Imogen, it was too late to turn back or escape the fate which lay ahead.
The decision was made, the manacles were on their limbs, the locks were secured and each was the slave of her Masters and her own overwhelming needs. With a smile of triumph curving his lips, Quentin used the remote control to administer a last cruel electric shock to his helpless victim, then turned both vibrators to maximum and jerked his hips forward to bury his engorged shaft to its full length in Imogen’s mouth. Still convulsing in her first full slave-orgasm, the hapless blonde whimpered in anguish through flared nostrils as the renewed assault of the twin devices propelled her arousal inexorably higher and still higher, to a peak of straining, gasping sexual frenzy until she teetered on the brink of a second, horrifyingly-powerful climax.
Then, as she gazed in appalled fascination at an endless vista of bondage and submission and sexual slavery stretching far into her future and felt her belly contract wildly, Quentin’s maleness twitched and pulsed deep in her mouth as he reached his release and a fountain of his spend gushed into her throat.
She had no choice but to swallow or choke and as she gulped convulsively, forcing herself to drink the copious jets of hot, salt juices which spurted from his jerking shaft, she juddered and quivered to the floods of scalding love juices that burst into her belly as the intense eroticism of being forced to pleasure a virtual stranger in such an intimate way, replaced the shame and humiliation she felt with the helpless ecstasy and exquisite physical pleasure of her slave-orgasm.
Even knowing that Quentin had taken and used her as a full slave against her will, and that he had deliberately tricked her and was going to sell her into life-long captivity, Imogen was still unable to resist the sensual rapture of submission to her bonds and the vibrators he had locked into her body and as she gasped and pulsed in her climax, her eyes widened in shocked understanding of what her surrender revealed about her.
Despite her fear of what he had done to her and forced her to do for him, she had come as a slave, her belly writhing and jerking helplessly to the enormous power of an orgasm she could not prevent, her passion and desire to submit easily overcoming her brain’s feeble attempts to impose even minimal control over the maddened responses of her body. Driven far beyond any limits of modesty or normal civilized behaviour, she had been forced to exhibit the incredible depth of her need and the sexual heat that burned within her, and she knew that Quentin must have seen it and recognized it for what it was: the sexual fire of a true slave.
As he switched off the vibrators and slid from between her stretched lips, some of his spend trickled from her mouth to spatter across her heaving breasts and Imogen moaned in anguish as she felt the silvery fluid bedew her pale flesh with the tell-tale signs of her humiliation. Her face reddened as Quentin gave a cruel chuckle.
“You needn’t worry about that, slave.” he told her casually. “Your new Masters won’t mind and it certainly won’t be the last time you’ll feel it. That mouth of yours will get a lot of exercise, I should think, and, if you’re sensible, you’ll practice as often as you can. Not that you’re not pretty good already, but pretty good often gets a slave a whipping until she gets a whole lot better. Understand what I’m saying?”
Imogen understood perfectly.
In her fantasies, her dream-Master had often warned her that he would punish her if she was not completely satisfactory, but real Masters had real whips and a shiver of apprehension raced up her spine to set her trembling as she tried to imagine what a whip would feel like as it cracked across her naked flesh. Surely, they wouldn’t really do such a thing? It would be awful ... terrible ... horrible! And yet ... ?
She stared up at him with anxious eyes, then gulped as he nodded.
“It’s good advice, so don’t forget it, slave.” he told her firmly, adding casually, “If you were mine, I’d whip you often, until you became perfect.”
“Slut.” he said cheerfully, “I know what you’re thinking, but that’s OK. If you didn’t get turned-on by the idea of being disciplined by a Master, you wouldn’t have gone to the trouble and expense of paying me to make you a set of cuffs and a collar, now would you? And you’re not the only woman into bondage and submission, you know? There are quite a number of full-time slaves out there and I make a pretty good living out of supplying what they need, so don’t go thinking that you’re anything special, honey.
“I enjoyed making you serve me, but while you were better than most, I enjoyed their efforts, too. Now they’re slaves and they serve their own Masters, just the same as you will in about ...” he paused and made a big show of checking his watch, “Oh, about ten minutes.”
Imogen stared numbly down at her tautly offered breasts, acutely conscious of the aching of her rigid nipples and the fierce heat in her belly and sex as she learned how little time was left to her before she was enslaved forever. Hearing that she was not alone in her slavery and that others had been forced to pleasure Quentin just as humiliatingly as she had was little consolation. It removed her last faint hope that perhaps he had simply taken his chance to force her to pleasure him while she was helpless, and that all his talk of unknown Masters and permanent enslavement was only a trick to weaken her will to oppose him.
Imogen felt her cheeks flush, well aware that she had not even really tried to resist. It would have done no good, she knew that, but she had not put up even a token fight. Instead, she had submitted immediately and completely. By doing so, she’d confirmed his opinion that she was a natural slave, and her own fear that she really, truly was exactly that. In the deepest recesses of her mind, she knew perfectly well that the reason she had not fought harder against him, was that she had not really wanted to.
The moment he’d locked the collar on her throat had been the culmination of all her fantasies and dreams and she had known instantly that she would never choose to have it removed. The fact that she had not been given that option and had been taken and used and forced to satisfy him while still helplessly bound and at the mercy of the vibrators in her body, had done nothing to change her mind. Quite the opposite in fact: her arousal and desire had grown stronger at every stage of her subjugation until, as he sated his lust in her mouth, she had climaxed as a full slave; partly because she had had no choice, but mainly because she had wanted to serve him as a slave.
Imogen sucked in a deep, trembling breath and straightened her spine to display her body as she had seen slaves present themselves to their Masters on many of the web sites she’d visited, then lifted her head to gaze to Quentin. For five endless seconds, his calm, brown eyes locked with her anxious blue ones, then her face flushed and her eyes slid away as he nodded firmly.
“Very good, Miss Carteret!” he told her approvingly, “You already know the correct kneeling display position, I see.”
Her blush deepened and she began to lower her head in embarrassment.
“No!” he snapped. “Keep your head up! You do not move until you are given permission!”
Imogen gulped and jerked her head erect, frightened by the harsh ring of command in his voice.
“That’s better. Now keep still or you will be punished.”
Her eyes widened, but he took no notice.
“Your body belongs to your Masters now.” he went on, “They will decide what you do and when and how you will do it. You will be taught to obey without question and submit to any demands they may choose to make of you. Disobedience or any failure to be completely pleasing on your part will not be tolerated and will earn you punishment. That will happen quite a lot at first, but you’ll learn quickly. All new slaves do.”
He paused and smiled down at her.
“You may not realize it yet, but you have the potential to become an outstanding slave and a credit to any Master who owns you, which is good in one way, but it means you’ll be expected to live up to it. Masters have high standards for their slaves, so you’re going to have to work hard not to disappoint them. Trust me, that would be a really bad idea, so if I were you, I’d work hard. Really hard.”
Imogen hesitated, wanting to reject his advice and his casual assumption that she was already a slave, but the denial simply would not come and as she trembled to the awesome realization that he was right, he nodded firmly.
“I am sure you will, slave.” he said, his smile growing wider as her face reddened with embarrassment. “I knew you were a born submissive the first time I met you. You’re a natural slave and it was always only a matter of time until you found yourself on your knees at the feet of a dominant. I’m just happy that it was me, but even if it hadn’t been, sooner or later you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from finding a Master and begging him to enslave you. I know it, and in your heart, you know it too, don’t you, slave?”
His words matched her own desires and fantasies so perfectly that Imogen gasped aloud in astonishment, hardly able to believe that he could understand her so well. It was almost as if he had been privy to her most secret and exciting dreams and as he nodded and chuckled at the surprise mirrored in her eyes, she could only wonder how he could possibly have known her deepest thoughts.
“Like I said, slave,” he told her casually, “you’re a natural. You can’t help being a submissive anymore than I can help being dominant. It’s what you are, so you might as well accept it, be grateful for it, and enjoy your bondage and slavery as best you can, because it’s going to be your life for a long, long time to come.”
Imogen knew that she was hearing the simple, plain truth and as the stark message etched itself into her brain, she straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back even further to display her body to best advantage as the slave she knew she was going to have to be.
Quentin gazed down at her and as he read the unmistakable message of her acceptance of the lifelong servitude and submission that they both understood was to be her fate, the intercom buzzed loudly to announce the arrival of Imogen’s new Masters.