G2-Story-26-Gemma-Pt-3

Several weeks after the party at Alicia’s, where Gemma and her sister in bondage Clarissa had been made to show the full extent of their submission to their Masters, the brunette found herself at the home of the dominant Steven.

Delivered inside the specially-modified transport crate, her body strapped immovably into position and her lips sealed behind a tight leather gag, Gemma had had no inkling of where she was being taken or whose eyes would drink in her helplessly bound nudity as the crate was opened.

The sight of Master Steven’s familiar face relieved one of her understandable fears ... that of finding herself at the mercy of a complete stranger ... but his first words to her as he gazed down at her embarrassed face, ushered in a whole new set of worries.

“Ah, so there you are at last, slave girl. I expected you yesterday. That’s damned annoying. Not a very auspicious start and now you have only three days to make up for it before we have to be away on our travels. Now, let’s get you out of there.”

As he leaned over her, his fingers working at the straps and buckles securing her, Gemma mulled over his words anxiously. It wasn’t her fault that she was later than expected, she hadn’t even known that she was expected. Surely, he couldn’t really blame her for that? And what did he mean about them being away on their travels? What travels? Where was he going to take her? And why?

Stepping from the crate and going immediately to her knees on the grass as a sign of her submission to him, she wished that he had removed her gag as well as her bonds. With it still firmly in place, she couldn’t ask any of the questions that buzzed around in her head.

He moved behind her and Gemma arched her spine as he clipped her wrist cuffs to her ankles, presenting her in a graceful bow and opening her to his eyes, then he squatted on his heels before her and Gemma coloured, feeling the first stirrings of arousal while he subjected her to a humiliatingly detailed inspection.

“As lovely as I remembered.” he said softly, “Bondage and slavery obviously suit you.”
Gemma gulped and squirmed with embarrassment, only too aware that it was true, but wishing that he hadn’t recognised it.

“Keep still” he ordered casually and Gemma froze, the arousal in her belly intensifying as she obeyed.

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you what will happen if you disobey.” his smile did nothing to soften the threat and Gemma bit down hard on the gag between her teeth, steeling herself as best she could as his hands reached for her.

His fingers danced lightly over her proffered breasts, stroking here, giving a gentle squeeze there and her head went back, exposing the taut curve of her throat as his delicate caresses built her arousal inexorably higher; her breasts swelling and nipples growing hard as she responded involuntarily.

Gemma tried to obey, she really did, but all of her slave training had been designed specifically to eliminate her ability to control her responses, and as her Master’s right hand slid between her spread thighs to find the engorged lips of her sex, she could hold back no longer.

With a muffled shriek of unbearable passion, she broke her position, bending forward from the waist as far as she could, her breasts and shoulders shaking uncontrollably and her thighs snapping shut to trap his hand at her belly.

“I shall crop you for that, slave girl.” he said coldly, but his fingers continued to arouse her nipples and sex. Gemma moaned despairingly, nodding her head, knowing that she would be punished but willing to pay the price if only he would give her the climax his hands had brought so near.

“Randy little slave!” he laughed, but his voice was not unkind and Gemma shuddered in blazing need when his extended fingers drove deep into her pulsating sex and his thumb rubbed firmly at the hard, protruding nub of her clitoris.

“You will pay for this climax, slave, so you had best make the most of it.” and Gemma’s belly convulsed wildly when his left hand released her breasts and landed with a stinging crack on her tight-stretched right buttock. The instant flaring heat and her instinctive lunge forward drove her even more firmly onto his penetrating fingers and she gave a wild scream of surrender as the added stimulation pushed her over the edge and into her longed-for orgasm.

On her knees, bowed forward over her Master’s trapped hand, Gemma came like the hot, submissive slave girl she was, belly pounding hugely as heated love juices sprayed into her sex and over his embedded fingers, the jingling bells fastened to the nipples her quivering breasts marking her surrender, her brown eyes wide with the pleasure of her climax.

As her thighs relaxed their vice like grip, her Master pulled his hand from her belly and Gemma dropped her eyes in shame when he held his fingers up and she saw the slick wetness of her submission glisten in the sunlight.

“Randy little slave.” he said again, laughing and Gemma felt herself redden.

It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t her fault she responded so helplessly. It was what she had been trained to do. Trained by Masters just like him. She felt his hand stroke her hair, but she wouldn’t look up. Damn him! Damn them all for making her a slave girl! Her eyes filled with hot tears. She couldn’t help what she had become and it wasn’t fair of him to tease her. His hands released her cuffs, but only to reposition them and she kept her head lowered in the only protest she dared make when he clipped her ankles together and her wrists to the rear of her collar.

That order brought Gemma’s head up and she gaped in disbelief at his broad back as he strode towards the long, low brick farmhouse and disappeared through the front door. For a wild moment, she thought of trying to escape, but the idea of herself naked, bound at ankles and wrists, trying to hop to freedom, was so ludicrous that it even brought a wry smile to Gemma’s gagged lips. It was laughable, but if she couldn’t escape, then she had better obey. If he came back and found that she wasn’t in the punishment position, she would be in even more trouble.

Having her wrists secured behind her neck made things awkward, but Gemma knew that her difficulties would not save her from additional punishment and bent forward gingerly until her elbows met the grass. Another wriggle or two and she was in the ordered position, her forehead resting on the ground and her buttocks raised high in the air and available for whatever punishment her Master cared to inflict.

It was the most embarrassing, undignified position of all those she had been taught and she was well aware that that was the reason why the Masters had invented it. In it, a slave girl was quite helpless, shamefully exposed and unable to see what was going on behind her; all of which added to the misery of the slave and the pleasure of the Master.

Gemma knew it, but unfortunately was not immune to the effect and as she knelt in the grass humbly awaiting her Master’s return, she felt exactly the same fears and anxieties as any other slave girl.

Boots wished through the grass towards her and she shivered in anticipation, suddenly terrified that it might not be her Master. What if it was someone else? A stranger who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Her brain quailed and as she struggled in blind panic to lift her head, muffled whimpers leaked past her gag as she imagined unknown eyes staring at her upraised bottom, unknown hands ravaging her defenceless sex and an unknown man cashing in on his good fortune by taking her helplessly offered body before going on his merry way.

Held by her own body weight and unable to get sufficient leverage to lift her face from the grass, Gemma shuddered horribly as the boots stopped behind her, then a hard finger speared into her shamefully lubricated sex, and a second thrust irresistibly past the tight ring of her anal passage and Gemma squealed wildly into her heavy gag as the double violation forced frantic responses from her invaded body.

Her legs shot out straight behind her and she collapsed on her belly, but even this could not eject the probing fingers and she screamed in anguish, certain that she was at the mercy of a stranger and about to be taken, but then came the sharp sting of a whip across her vainly clenching buttocks and her Master’s brusque command

“Back in position, slave. You were not given permission to move.” sounded like music to her ears and her eyes filled with tears of relief and gratitude as her worst nightmare proved to be unfounded.

A second sharp cut of his whip tempered her relief with painful reality, as did the third, applied with a brief command.

She struggled back to her knees and pressed her forehead into the grass rather too slowly to meet his wishes. In position, her bottom smarting, Gemma could not help but wriggle as his embedded fingers slid from her sex and anus, earning herself another stinging stripe as he snapped.

“I told you to keep still!”
She fought grimly not to move as submissive desire swirled through her belly in response to the thrilling memory of his ruthless plundering of her body.

“That’s better. It seems that you are neither as well trained nor as obedient as you should be, slave. I strongly suggest you improve, or this will only be the first of many croppings I shall have to give you.”

Steven’s voice was calm, but quite implacable and Gemma understood that she was in the power of a perfectionist. She would be permitted no laxity whatsoever, any infringement would be punished and her groin moistened with a fearful excitement. With an abbreviated whistle, his crop descended on her bottom and Gemma winced, biting down on her gag to stop herself from crying out as scorching heat flashed into her buttocks. A second, third and fourth stripe turned her flinching bottom into an inferno and salty tears rolled down her cheeks even as the heat of her punishment spread into her belly, confusing her completely with blistering arousal as she was disciplined.

The fifth and sixth stripes completed her punishment and to Gemma’s absolute astonishment and humiliation, the touch of her Master’s hand on her chastised buttocks triggered an immediate and intense orgasm. Inextricably mixed in her spinning brain, pain and pleasure combined to give Gemma a totally unexpected climax and as she spasmed and pulsed in her release, she groaned to the knowledge that she had revealed to a Master who would not hesitate to use it against her, a side to her personality that even she had not known existed.

Above her kneeling, whip-striped, climaxing body, Steven, her Master nodded in satisfaction. He had not known of Gemma’s ability to climax under punishment, but now that he did ... He bent swiftly and unclipped her ankle cuffs, then freed his fully aroused maleness, thrust her thighs apart and entered her in one massive lunge.

Powerless against his masculine strength, her hips clamped by his strong fingers, Gemma gasped as her sex was filled, panting for breath as he pulled her back against his belly; his erect shaft driving deep and then deeper still into her wet, bubbling heat, building her desire to match his, until both trembled on the brink of orgasm. His right hand searched for, and found, his crop and as he grated out.

“Now, slave girl!” and flicked the leather across Gemma’s reddened buttock.

Master and slave exploded as one, his seed jetting into her belly to mix with the spraying pulses of her love juices as she came to his bidding. Locked together, panting and groaning with joint pleasure, Gemma and her Master spasmed and shuddered in ecstasy, giving and receiving pleasure in equal amounts until both were spent and collapsed to the grass in exhaustion.

Pinned face down beneath her Master’s bulk, Gemma tried to come to terms with the unsuspected existence of a masochistic streak in her make up. That it was there, she could not deny and knew that Steven would use it to enslave her even more deeply, she didn’t doubt for a moment. The question was, could she control it? Would Steven permit her to control it? And did she even want to?

Her climax while under discipline had been thrillingly powerful. Dare she allow herself to give in to such desire again? More to the point, would she be allowed not to?

Her Master stirred and rolled from her and as he took her into his house and locked her collar to the ever-present chain leash fitted in all of her Master’s homes, Gemma resigned herself to her fate and relaxed, deciding to enjoy her life as much as she could, when she could and let the future take care of itself.

It was the morning of her second day with Steven and she was freshly bathed, her hair brushed and gleaming, her stomach replete with the delicious breakfast he had prepared. Her lightly-tanned flesh glowed with good health, contrasting excitingly with the gleaming steel surrounding her throat and ankles, but her wrists were locked, as ever, behind her back. The only fly in the ointment as far as Gemma was concerned, was that he had brought along her uncomfortable high-heeled shoes and they were once more locked securely on her feet, forcing her to stand bolt upright and making her calves ache.

As she preceded her Master, tip-tapping on her heels down a long corridor towards the rear of the house, Gemma was acutely aware of his eyes on her naked thighs and buttocks, but she was now accustomed to nudity and secretly proud of her trim body and the desire it created. As a slave girl, it was her prime role. She was supposed to be desirable and knew that she was.

Gemma looked curiously at the door to her left, wondering what was behind its plain, unmarked panels and noted the twin bolts at top and bottom when her Master swung it open. Evidently, it was a room designed to keep its occupant imprisoned and her belly twitched pleasantly to the thought that she was about to become its occupant.

The room was about ten or twelve feet square, windowless and painted a neutral cream colour, its only furnishings a single, comfortable looking armchair facing a television set along the left wall. To the right, halfway between the wall and the chair, an unidentifiable object about three feet high stood under a blue dust sheet and as Gemma looked at it, she had a strong hunch that it, whatever it was, was the reason for her presence. Steven closed the door and slid home a bolt at the top and Gemma’s hunch grew stronger while he moved to the mysterious shape.

“This is my favourite.” he told her cheerfully and swept the dust sheet to one side to reveal a gleaming steel post rising from the floor. It was not just a post though for it was equipped with an odd, distorted U, rather like a horse’s saddle, at its top, and the post had a large, knurled thumb wheel halfway up the post with another just under the saddle.

“Come over here. I want you to see what you’re getting into ... or, rather, vice versa.” and his face split into a broad grin when Gemma eyed him warily.

She had learned from bitter experience that Masters who grinned, invariably meant trouble for their slaves. But then, so did Masters who didn’t. Either way, her wrists were locked behind her, which meant she didn’t have a choice. As she approached the device and her smiling Master, she began to like the look of it less and less. The saddle was quite narrow at its centre and wider at each end with two holes in it; one larger in the middle and the other smaller. The whole thing was lined with gleaming rubber and Gemma took an involuntary pace back when its purpose became shockingly clear.

“That was quick, slave girl.” her Master said approvingly. “Most slaves take a lot longer to work it out.”

Gemma stared at him and her belly gave a slow, excited lurch as his evident pleasure confirmed her reasoning. The saddle was exactly that, but for a slave girl’s bottom, rather than a horse’s rider; the two holes corresponding to her sex and anal passage and giving access to her even though she would be sitting down. He crooked a finger at her and the sheer arrogance of the gesture took her breath away, which was, perhaps, just as well because it gave her time to reflect on her situation.

Minus her arms in a small, locked room with a Master who had already shown that he was by no means averse to using a crop to make her obey, her options were, to say the very least, somewhat limited. She couldn’t run or hide, nor could she fight and the smile on his face as he crooked his finger a second time, told her that he knew it.

Licking her dry lips, she moved back towards the device as slowly as she dared, her imagination working overtime and fuelling the growing warmth between her thighs.

“Climb aboard, pardner and let’s hit the trail.” he drawled in a passable imitation of a cowboy and Gemma smiled weakly at his misplaced sense of humour.

Fortunately, the inches added to her legs by the high heels meant that she could comfortably clear the saddle and she adjusted her feet on either side of the steel post, preparing to sit.

“No, no, slave girl.” he chided her gently, “You stay just as you are.” and he bent to the lower thumb wheel, spinning it rapidly.

To Gemma’s astonishment, the saddle rose smoothly and silently and she shivered as cool rubber liner came into firm contact with the sensitive flesh between her legs; the raised sections before and behind fitting snugly against her buttocks and the curve of her lower belly. It was surprisingly comfortable, much more so than she had imagined, and Gemma flashed her Master a smile of relief.

“I’m glad you like it, slave girl.” he said briefly, “Now, straighten your legs a little more. It’s better when most of your weight is taken by the saddle.”

Gemma complied willingly and he raised the seat another two inches so that her heels rose from the floor until only the soles of her shoes were in contact and the rubber-covered saddle cupped every crevice of her cradled sex and bottom. The pleasant tension held her labia and the crack between her buttocks slightly opened. The sensation was extraordinary! She could barely wriggle and without her arms or his assistance, couldn’t possibly dismount from the device.

“May I speak, Master?” she asked and when he nodded, said simply, “I love it Master. It’s just like riding a horse.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? He chuckled, “But I’m not quite finished yet so you just stay there and I’ll be back soon.”

He unbolted the door and disappeared, leaving the door open behind him, but Gemma couldn’t have got down from her perch even if she had wanted to. She didn’t give it a second thought as she explored her metal steed. She could rock slightly back and forth, rather less from side to side and she just feel the edges of the two holes beneath her sex and bottom, but that was about it. The holes raised all sorts of interesting possibilities in her mind and she didn’t even try to control the inevitable heat that built inside her as the result of her thoughts; instead, simply sitting back and allowing her brain to fantasise about all the things that might be done.

By the time Steven returned, Gemma had already built up quite a head of steam and the sight of several broad leather straps in his hand did nothing at all to calm her excitement. The first strap he used on her was attached to a very large rubber ball gag and she opened her mouth wide even before he brought it to her lips; her willingness to cooperate bringing a smile to his face as he packed her mouth full and buckled her into silence. Further straps at her ankles and knees bound her legs securely to the pole and she savoured her increased helplessness when he wound the saddle up a further inch, pressing the rubber thrillingly tight into the softness between her thighs.

The last strap served a double purpose: linking her collar to her wrist cuffs and raising her hands away from the saddle and buttocks, and then was clipped to the rear of the saddle itself to prevent her bending forward. As he stood back to enjoy the fruits of his labours, Gemma’s belly thrilled to the stringency of his bondage. She was his, completely and hopelessly, every part of her body freely available, unable to put up the smallest resistance, no matter what he did to her. The mere thought of what he could do, set the bells tinkling at her breasts and, as if at a signal, Steven moved forward and inserted a finger into her sex. Gemma whimpered, her torso juddering, but he simply withdrew his finger and nodded when he saw the wetness of her need.

Without a word of explanation, he knelt and his hand began to turn the second thumb wheel; the one just below the saddle, his eyes fixed on Gemma’s face. For several seconds, nothing seemed to happen and she stared down at her Master, puzzlement wrinkling her brow ... but then, she felt steadily increasing pressure against the moist lips of her sex when something huge and hard began to rise from the hole in the saddle!

Her eyes bulged with dawning horror while her labia were stretched to accommodate the invader and she shook her head frantically from side to side even as her Master continued to turn the wheel. The massive shaft sank relentlessly deeper into her body.

Shrieking for mercy, Gemma fought madly to raise herself onto the very tips of her toes, stretching her body upwards until every muscle quivered with strain. It was exactly what her Master had been waiting for. His hand snapped to the other wheel, spinning it fast and raising the saddle to take up the pitiful fraction of slack Gemma had managed to win for herself with such effort.

She moaned in thwarted despair, now in a worse predicament than ever, for now she dared not relax her stressed muscles. If she did, she would impale herself even more firmly on the shaft transfixing her belly! Cruelly, her Master straightened, fetched the easy chair and sat down; his eyes gleaming with pleasure while he waited for the inevitable moment when his slave could maintain her rigidly upright posture no longer and was forced to take the full length and girth of his device into her sex.

Gemma’s futile resistance could not last and her mind filled with the knowledge of her inevitable defeat when her body gave up the unequal struggle and a muffled gasp was torn from her throat when she at last sank onto the merciless shaft. Steven rose to his feet.

“Bravo, slave girl! A most spirited performance. Doomed to failure of course, but extremely enjoyable. And now, it is time for you to submit utterly to me and my device.”

He returned to the upper thumbwheel, watching Gemma closely while the shaft penetrated inexorably to the very core of her femininity, stretching and filling her until her she thought she could take no more. He went back to his chair, leaning back into its soft cushioning and making himself comfortable while his captive stared in wild distraction at him.

Gemma chewed on her gag, her mind reeling as she understood that he meant to impose yet more torment upon her and her belly kicked with frightening power. Oddly though, it was not the massive shaft sunk deep in her belly which worried her. Thankfully, her body had stretched to cope with its bulk and her constant awareness of its presence was more exciting than frightening. What really frightened her, was her own reaction to the situation. She had had three climaxes, albeit small ones, while her Master wound the shaft into her body and as her internal muscles clutched and squeezed the thick shaft as it penetrated her ... and knew that the smallest additional stimulation would send her hurtling into a fourth. With an ostentatious flourish designed to focus her attention on him, her Master pulled a small black box from his pocket.

“I designed and built that device, you know?” he told her smugly, “I call it my slave girl saddle, and I built the vibrator, too. The one that you’re sitting on and that is now resident within you.”

Gemma’s throat worked convulsively when she heard this news and she gazed fixedly at the box in his hand, hoping desperately that his hovering finger would not press any of the buttons. He did though and her head jerked up, a long shrill scream hanging in the air when from deep between her flexing thighs, came a low-pitched buzzing.

From the outermost lips of her sex to her innermost core, powerful vibrations radiated up into Gemma’s belly, propelling her into a tremendous orgasm, her surrender instantaneous and absolute. Seated atop her post, legs and lower body unable to move to the raging tumult in her belly, Gemma’s shoulders and breasts shook and jiggled enticingly while she tried in vain to alleviate the storm of passion creating such havoc inside her. Instead, to her delicious horror, her jiggling breast and tinkling bells attracted the attention of her Master and his hands joined the overwhelming assault, fondling her breasts, and toying with her erect nipples. Combined with the unceasing oscillations of the vibrator in her belly she was immediately plunged into another climax even before her last had begun to wane.

Exploding in great paroxysms of lust, climax after climax bursting like bombs in her flooded belly, Gemma lost all track of time, its passage marked only by shattering arousal and abject submission while her Master and his terrible, wonderful vibrator forced her to respond over and over again to his will.

At one point in her fantastic ordeal, Gemma tried to resist, clenching her buttocks as her Master moved behind her and began to insert a second vibrator into the tight tunnel of her anal passage, but his free hand rose again to her breasts and she was lost, her body surrendering helplessly to his touch. Her intense humiliation at being plugged at both front and rear lasted only until the second device was switched on, then the two vibrators working together spun her, screaming in disbelief at the impossibility of the increased stimulation, into still another orgasm.

At last, at long, long last, the vibrators purred into silence and Gemma slumped, exhausted, in her bonds, her sweat drenched body trembling and shaking gently as the fading pulses from her last orgasm rippled through her belly.

“Superb, slave girl! Absolutely fantastic.” her Master’s delight showed clearly as he busied himself in unstrapping her legs and easing the vibrators from her body. “I’ll lift you off and take you to clean up, then it’s back you go for the night.”

The realisation that she was to spend the night as she had the day was a terrible blow, but Gemma was too exhausted to care very much and was in any case, still bound and gagged.

She was lifted from the saddle by his muscular arms, then carried to the bathroom and her body gently bathed and rinsed free of the sticky residue of sex and sweat. Gemma studied her Master reflecting on the opposing sides of his nature. At one moment he was the epitome of the ruthless dominant, able to impose the most extreme torment on her and yet, moments later, bathing and caring for her with the greatest gentleness and solicitude.

It was a conflict, but in a strange way, she supposed it made perfect sense. He looked after her because he needed her. Without her submission he could not exert his dominance and if he bound her so she could not care for herself, then he would care for her.

She was and nodded her head. He loosened her gag, leaving it dangling below her chin and held a glass of water to her lips.

“Master? Do I ... Do I really have to spend tonight back in that room? Can’t I ... Can’t I spend it pleasing you instead?”

Gemma licked her lips, secretly thrilled inside by his uncompromising answer. Even her offer to please him couldn’t deflect him from his plans. He wanted her riding his slave girl saddle all night ... and that was what she was going to have to do whether she wanted to or not.

She went slowly to her knees before him, her desire to submit burning like a furnace.

“Very well, my Master.” she whispered humbly,” I am your slave girl and must obey.” and opened her mouth wide to receive her gag.

The touch of his hands as he silenced her and carried her back to the room sent delicious shock waves through her flesh and his smile as he stared down at her slim body in his arms made her belly swirl with slave heat when she revelled in her willing surrender to his Mastery. She made no resistance as he placed her back on the damp, stained saddle and re-bound her legs, but could not prevent the soft snort of arousal that leaked from her gagged lips when the twin vibrators slid smoothly into her body, gliding easily in the slickness of her arousal. He checked her bonds carefully, then picked up the black control box

“I have built a random setting into this controller, slave girl.” he told her, “It enables me to enjoy a good night’s sleep without worrying whether you are getting bored. When I set it, the vibrators will be activated at random intervals of anything between ten minutes and an hour. It’s very reliable, as you will find out. Good night, slave girl! I’ll be back in the morning.”

He pressed two buttons on the control box and turned away, ignoring Gemma’s muffled protests and the eloquent pleading of her eyes. At the door, he clicked his fingers and turned to face her

He left the room, bolting the door behind him Gemma stared at it, willing him to return, then looked around the sparsely-furnished room, accepting that it was not going to happen. Her eyes focussed on her bare breasts, then moved lower to the saddle cradling her belly, giving a soft whimper when she visualised the two vibrating time bombs ticking away in her sex and bottom. Ten minutes to an hour her Master had said, with no set pattern. At any moment, one or the other, or even both, would activate and Gemma was horribly aware that it was impossible to resist them. She would be forced to climax and there was no question of it, but when? And how often?

Even worse, if someone was coming to see her in the morning, would she still be sitting on this awful thing, with vibrators still buried in her body? It was too embarrassing to contemplate, but her brain wouldn’t let the awful prospect drop and Gemma felt her face flush a hot scarlet when she imagined one of her other Masters, perhaps Nicos, or Lydia or, worst of all, Roxwell, walking in on her to find her in the throes of a climax.

Lost in her nightmarish fantasy, she was caught unprepared when the vibrators buzzed into feverish activity! She squealed in anguish when her belly ignited and she was forced into the first orgasm of her long, lonely night by the mindless, merciless wires and relays of the control box built by her inventive Master. It proved to be by far the longest and most devilishly erotic night of Gemma’s life, for it seemed as if each time her eyes closed in exhaustion, one vibrator or the other would buzz into life and drag her back to the frenzied cycle of arousal and surrender. Incredibly, despite the constantly simmering heat in her belly and the numerous climaxes forced on her, she did manage to get at least some brief spells of restful sleep and as she was rudely awoken from one of these, she found herself welcoming and delighting in the blazing passion unleashed in her body by her strict bondage and the demands of her mechanical Masters.

From that point, Gemma ceased to fight her captivity and her subjugation, relishing instead the delirious ecstasy of willing submission; basking in the hot glow of her own internal fires as she discarded all the redundant baggage of her former life. She abandoned all thoughts of freedom or equality and dedicated herself, both body and mind, to the achievement of one goal above all others. She would become the perfect slave girl. As she pondered her momentous decision, Gemma felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

No longer would she need to fight to retain some measure of control over her own body. No longer would she fret and worry over her long slide into slavery. No longer would she concern herself with the shame of submitting so deeply. A perfect slave girl needed to fear none of these things, for all would be required of her ... and all would have to be given willingly and gladly.

Gemma examined her emotions as objectively as she could, testing herself to ensure that any decision would not be just the result of her tiredness and the thrilling ordeal she had been made to undergo, warning herself that such a decision could not be taken lightly. Her careful scrutiny made no difference. Amazed at how calm she felt, Gemma made her irrevocable decision and committed herself to slavery and bondage and the joy of submitting to her deepest desires ...

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