Mannequin by Master Ivan
Posted: Fri Mar 04, 2016 5:48 pm
Mannequin
“Midnight Exotics. Can I help you?”
“Uh, yes. I was told you have the most unique lingerie collections in the area.”
“Yes. Lingerie, nightwear, funwear, anything appropriate for the bedroom, not to mention our wide selection of erotic toys.”
“Toys?”
“Of course. We offer a complete line of leather and rubber accessories, everything from whips to edible underwear, from handcuffs to the most exotic specialized restraints...”
“All right. How do I find you?”
“We’re open from 10 PM to 2 AM, by appointment only. Your name?”
“Sheila Mason.”
“And what is your height and weight?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Mason, to serve you well, we must be sure to have properly fitting items in stock for your appraisal. To do this, we always get your vital statistics ahead of time.”
“OK. I’m five feet six inches tall, weigh about one hundred twenty-five pounds and my measurements are 36c-24-32.”
“Fine. Now what would you be looking for?”
“Well, I’ve got a date this weekend with a hell of a guy, at his place. I’ve heard he’s into all kinds of kinky things, and I wanted to be ready for anything.”
“I understand. I’m sure we can help you. When would you like to visit us?”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“About 10 PM?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent! We’ll be expecting you.”
* * *
I’m not sure why I even called them in the first place. I knew my weekend would be challenging enough on its own. I’d heard this guy was even into whips and chains, and I might even find myself tied to his bed an hour after I got there. Still, it held an amazing erotic attraction for me, and I wanted to take the plunge. But this “Midnight Exotics” place was a bigger mystery. Why the strange hours? How personal did they intend to get? And to top it off, I was informed they’d be sending a car to pick me up.
When the night arrived, I had no idea what to wear. I eventually decided on a simple shift, in a thin, red material. It hugged me well in the right places, and it was cut so low as to be quite revealing. I wore nothing beneath it, and stepped into some high-heeled sandals to finish the package.
The car arrived promptly at 10. The nondescript driver said only “Miss Mason?”, and I answered, “Yes.” He drove in silence, then escorted me into a large building in the middle of the warehouse district. We took a concealed elevator to the top floor, where I was pointed to the simple but elegant entrance. The driver smiled, said “Good luck, Miss Mason”, and vanished.
I was a bit nervous. First a private car, then a mysterious, hidden store, buried in a warehouse. And why would I need luck just to buy some undies? The door was locked. I pressed the doorbell and was buzzed in.
There was a small security foyer. A woman sat in a booth behind some thick glass and spoke thru an intercom.
“Miss Shiela Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Please show me some identification. A driver’s license will do nicely.” I took the license out of my purse and presented it to her.
“Fine. Now, please put your purse and your clothes in the basket below the glass.”
I froze in fear. My clothes?! “I beg your pardon, did you say to hand over my clothes?”
“Yes. We outfit you completely, taking everything into consideration. Your clothes inhibit you, prevent us from making the ideal choices for your body structure, color and mannerisms, and they cause you to conceal the very things our apparel is designed to present. Enough stalling, Miss Mason. We have to move along.”
Maybe I should have ran. On the other hand, the door through which I had come had been unlocked electronically. Had I chosen to run, I might have been stopped right there. Whatever the outcome, I had to see this through. I removed my dress and sandals and dropped them into the basket. It withdrew into the wall, leaving me naked. The next door buzzed, and I walked through.
There was a desk, behind which sat a woman. She was tall, dark, full-bodied and dressed in what looked like shiny black latex or PVC. “Welcome, Miss Mason.”
I looked around, uncomfortably, for a nonexistent chair. There was none. I stood naked before her, waiting.
“We need to understand your purposes in depth to properly outfit you. You say you are preparing for a date this weekend?”
For some reason, I still did not challenge her on what was clearly a blatant invasion of my privacy. Somehow, she was in control. “Yes, I’ll be visiting him late Friday, possibly spending the weekend at his place.”
“Right. You also mentioned he had a wide variety of interests. Do you know how wide those interests are, and how far you see yourself going to please him?”
“Uh, I don’t really know. I’ve heard stories, but only second and third hand. I’ll be playing entirely by ear.”
“Alright then. You’ll need several outfits, and we’ll fit them to your own body and personality types. Some adjustments may be in order...”
As she made some notes, I heard the sound of a barely audible moan behind me. I turned, and was shocked at the sight which greeted me.
There were two women, one on each side of the door. They were both bound, suffering. On the right, the girl was covered entirely in rubber, from head to toe. Not an inch of flesh was visible on her, but the rubber, although extremely tight, was thin enough to reveal every pore on her skin. Her wrists were hoisted high above her head; her toes barely touched the floor. Looking closer, I could see she was gagged, as well. Her jaw was strained open to accept the gag built into the helmet of her costume. Although her legs were strapped together, I could also see where the rubber pulled tightly into her crotch. Again, I saw what had to be the circular base of what had to be a dildo filling her cunt, and another at her ass. Finally, I heard the low hum of vibrators. Yes, she was moaning with good reason, probably coming every few minutes.
The second girl caught my eye. She was naked, wrists bound together and hoisted high. Her legs, unbound, were spread several feet apart to rest on the small ends of some two-by-four boards rising from the floor. She was also gagged, and looked at me in fear. At one point, she removed her feet from the boards and closed her legs. Her toes, also, barely grazed the floor beneath her. I noted with shock that the ends of the boards on which her feet rested each had several small, sharp, pointed spikes rising from their surface. When she spread her legs wide to take the weight from her wrists, she would torture her feet. I watched her for a moment, as her wracked shoulders suffered, until she returned her feet to their painful perch upon the spikes and opened her body to our gaze once again.
“They’re in training, Miss Mason. That darling in rubber has shown evidence of frigidity when under stress. The rubber, the restraints and the dildos will all aid her in solving that problem.”
I was hypnotized by the sight, drawn by the power of my own fantasies. “And the other?”
The woman smiled cruelly, almost vindictively. “She’s being punished for impertinence. She’ll be spending the night as she is. Come along now, we must get you started.”
I followed, shuddering in fear. The woman hadn’t mentioned whether the punished girls were employees, customers or what. Might I be subjected to the same treatment? As I thought about it, a warm rush passed through me. Suddenly, I noticed we had stopped, and the woman had turned to observe me. She saw my color as my body betrayed its responses. She smiled, knowingly, then silently turned again and moved on.
We arrived at a fitting room. There were two other women being fitted, one of them naked. Several employees were active, and there was another woman in punishment. She stood in a pillory, her neck and wrists confined between the boards, her ankles bound several feet apart. I noticed her nipples sported clamps, with sizable weights hanging from them. Her ass appeared welted, and she moaned quietly as she suffered.
I was brought to a round platform, some four feet in diameter, perhaps six inches high. Its surface was rough wood, sprinkled with sawdust. Something about it struck a chord within my deeper fantasies, but I could not place it. I stepped up onto the platform, and realized my naked body was on display. Then, it struck me. I had the feeling of the old, traditional slave block, at the auctions. The wood and sawdust were classic elements in the tradition, and something told me they were provided with that intent. As I stood, exposed, the fantasy worked on me, and I felt myself opening and getting wet.
Three women started working on my measurements. One directed the efforts holding a clipboard, while the other two used the tape. They were more than thorough; they did a detailed analysis of all my physical features. Beyond measuring my neck, wrists, ankles, the length of my limbs, even the circumference of my head, they spent much time sizing my breasts. Even my very cunt was measured in several ways, and I knew the growing moisture it bore did not escape their notice.
Early on, just after my arms were fully measured, I was told to lace my fingers behind my neck. On several occasions, I moved my hands to scratch, ease an aching muscle, or just relieve the pressure on my modesty. Each time, the women were very stern about my holding position, later also keeping my feet well apart. At one point, the woman holding the clipboard asked, with seeming understanding, “I’m sorry this takes so long, Miss Mason, but it is important you cooperate with us. Shall I provide the means to ease the strain on your arms?”
I was still naive. “Yes, thank you.”
Leather bands were fastened around my wrists and ankles, and a much wider one around my neck. They used a tiny key to attach the leather, one which would be necessary to remove it. All the leather was fitted with rings. It occurred to me I was being shackled. Seconds later, my wrists were padlocked to the rear of my collar, and my ankles were similarly locked wide apart to the rings at the very edges of the block upon which I stood.
The measuring continued. Now, however, the hands of the women were more familiar, daring, caressing me when there was no need to do so, even penetrating both my lower openings. My arousal grew quickly, and visibly.
They finished without warning and left the room wordlessly. I was left chained to the block, naked, ankles spread wide, wrists still locked to the back of my collar. I had already been blatantly exposed for some time, but with an obvious purpose as the team of women took their measurements. Now, there was no purpose. People continued to walk in and out of the room in various states of undress, seemingly paying little attention to me. On two occasions, a pair of customers (or employees?) stopped and openly appraised my body, commenting on me in explicit terms. I asked them, “Could you please get someone out here to release me? There’s no reason to keep me bound in full view of everybody...”
I was answered with only smiles. Minutes later, the woman in charge of the fitting appeared. She carried a small object in her hand.
“Really, Miss Mason. I don’t understand your complaints. You have come to us to prepare you to please your weekend date. We currently have no less than six seamstresses at work on your outfits, and I was called out of a conference related to your program to deal with your complaints. If you intend to please your man, you’ll have to be much more open to displaying your beauty to him, and much more tolerant of his restraints and punishments.”
“B-but, I just wanted some lingerie!”
“Miss Mason, we prepare the entire package. Clothes, body, makeup, even attitude. No woman leaves this place until she is totally prepared to serve her man!”
I opened my mouth to repeat my protests, but before another word could get out, she filled my mouth with the object she carried. It was a rubber cock. My jaw had to stretch to accept it, and when she tightened and locked the leather strap to hold it in place, it penetrated deep to the back of my throat.
“Now, perhaps you understand what we mean by adjustments. There will be others made to your attitude as we proceed.”
I was left standing naked, shackled, brazenly exposed like a whore. A moment later, a glass cylinder slowly lowered from the ceiling, enclosing me, isolating me from any verbal contact or even physical touch. I was now simply a displayed woman. I noticed a small sign on the glass, but as it was facing out, away from me, I was unable to read it at first. Perhaps thirty minutes later, a couple stopped to examine me, this time a male and female. The guy had on mirrored sunglasses. I managed to catch a reflection of the sign as he oogled my open cunt. It read, “Reserved”.
I remained in the glass cage for well over an hour before they came for me again. My wrists were moved to my back and re-locked behind me. The gag was left in place, leaving me unable to voice my protests.
They called it the fitting room. Part of it did look like a fitting room, as it contained several sewing machines, work tables, stacks of bolt cloth and leather and numerous other related items. The remainder of the room, however, more closely resembled a torture chamber. There was a pillory, several types of racks, and many other objects I could not identify, beyond the obvious rings and straps clearly intended to restrain the body of an unwilling female. There was also a pedestal, identical to the one from which I had just been released. It was there I was brought, and quickly restrained.
They tried several outfits out on me. All were easily put on and taken off with my wrists and ankle shackles in place. One was a corset, in fishnet and black leather, with more rings, straps, buckles and features than I could count. Another was in white lace, a third in red satin, and a fourth in a pastel pink. All fitted perfectly, and all displayed my body to the greatest advantage, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Shoes were also included. There were opera pumps and open-toed sandals, none with heels less than five inches high. There was an unbelievable pair of what they called “Ballet Boots”, which had my toes pointed straight down and sported incredible ten-inch heels. These, I noticed, featured locks at the ankles and at the upper reaches of the boot tops--I would not be removing them without a key.
They were quite pleased with the results. And from what I could see through a wall mirror, so was I. They left me in the white lace outfit with black patent high-heeled sandals. There were removable panels in the lace which could reveal my nipples and my entire crotch; these were removed, exposing me.
My shackles were the next thing to be matched. Several sets were examined; stiff black leather and chrome went with the leather outfit. With the red, the shackles were done in solid brass; with the pink, they used matching pink kidskin, decorated with jewels. To go with my white outfit, they chose solid chrome.
All of them fit perfectly, without a hint of chafing or discomfort. Still, when I struggled, there was not a bit of give to them. A single key controlled them all--I would not be able to remove any of them.
The woman in charge of my processing appeared before me. “Now, Miss Mason, I’m proud to say we have finished most of your apparel for your weekend. Still, just as we are perfectionists in the creation of our lingerie, we are similarly perfectionists in terms of how our apparel is worn. While you look ravishing, your conduct has been combative and unyielding, totally contrary to our objectives. It is time to make some major adjustments in this area.”
Still gagged, I stared back angrily at her. An assistant stood at hand nearby, to whom the woman said, “Remove her gag.” She smiled at me, knowing I was waiting to explode.
“Be cautious, Miss Mason. At this time, you are dressed in our custom creations. We require all our clients to conduct themselves perfectly when so attired. We will not tolerate any disrespect, hesitation in obedience, attempts to conceal or refuse access to one’s body, or any lack of complete submission. The punishments you witnessed during your early processing are minor compared to what you may experience at this stage, so I advise you to be careful.”
My gag came out. Still otherwise restrained, I let my anger up to the surface. “How dare you! I’m just here to buy clothes, not to...”
“Gag the cunt again!” The cock-gag was again locked into my mouth.
“Now, we will release your wrists. You will voluntarily cross them behind your back and keep them there.”
As the lock was released, I struggled briefly, trying to grab the assistant. Immediately, my wrists were seized and locked together again, behind my back.
“You have already earned punishment, pig. When we unlock your ankles, you will stand in place, feet well apart.”
She smiled, knowing I would fight. I kicked out once, and my ankles were joined by a foot of chain.
As the assistant held me, she asked, “The horse and cane, Mistress?”
“No. She’s too crude for that. Use the pedestal and a heavy strap. Later, she can submit her ass and mouth to use.”
I screamed through my gag and struggled against my restraints, but to no avail. A moment later, I was shackled for punishment. My ankles were spread, I was bent over a padded support, and my wrists were likewise locked between my ankles. The position was severe, but got much worse as they cranked up the pedestal beneath me. Soon, I was stretched tight as a bowstring. With my posture collar still locked on, I literally could move nothing but my fingers.
I waited a short time, fearful and helpless, while they took the strap from the wall. It was a good three feet of heavy, stiff belt-leather, almost three inches wide, attached to a wooden handle over two feet long. I began to cry, knowing I was in for some severe pain.
It was the assistant who would lash me. She spent a minute or two caressing me, not only my ass-cheeks, but my breasts, my sides, my thighs, even penetrating my cunt and ass briefly. I felt myself responding to her touch unwillingly, humiliating myself. And those about to witness my upcoming punishment were well aware of it.
My humiliation was interrupted suddenly by the strap as it cut into my ass for the first stroke. Every muscle in my body flexed as the pain rolled over me. I screamed, futilely, into my gag. Those around me heard only a moan, and saw little motion except for the muscle lines in my body becoming more distinct. Worse, I even felt my cunt betraying me, as it opened further, invitingly, in response to the pain.
The strokes continued until a full dozen landed. I continued to cry, to attempt to scream, for a fair time after it ended, not realizing it had stopped until one of the women stood before me with the strap.
“When your gag is removed, cunt, you will kiss the strap, then thank me for your well-deserved punishment. Any failure or hesitation will be further punished with another half dozen. Do you understand?”
I was only half aware of her words. As my gag was removed and the strap was presented, I could only moan. Quickly, the gag was thrust back into my mouth, and seconds later, my ass again erupted in pain. Again, I screamed, shaking my head in disbelief, as another six strokes of the heavy strap landed, welting my ass and upper thighs.
Again, the gag was removed. This time, a part of my mind with which I was not yet familiar acted on my part, kissing the strap, then saying the words: “Thank you, Mistress, for a well-deserved punishment.”
Now, the woman’s face showed her approval as I debased myself. “Very good, cunt. Now, you may advance to the next stage of the program.”
As I contemplated what the rest of the “Program” might yet involve, I was released. Again, I was warned not to conceal myself with my hands on pain of punishment.
She put me on a leash and ordered me to crawl behind her on hands and knees. Soon, passing through several occupied rooms, we came to a display area already containing a number of girls. Some held their poses voluntarily, while others were bound in place. All were positioned with the obvious intent to expose themselves and attract the attention of anyone who cared to observe them.
I was made to mount another pedestal, identical to the ones in the fitting room earlier. My feet were spread the full four feet to the edges of the platform, and my wrists held behind my back.
“You will keep your wrists and ankles in position, your spine straight, your elbows well back, your tits and cunt thrust forward. You will hold position voluntarily until released, or you will be bound in place for a much longer period, as well as earning more punishment.”
With that, she was gone.
I held position. I had already seen what sorts of punishment could be doled out, and my ass already bore painful welts. Not having been prohibited from turning my head to look around, I surveyed the other girls on display. Two others held the same pose I did, one of those bound. That last also had freshly welted breasts, as well as some weighted nipple clamps. A tear flowed down her face, landing on one breast. She would be helpless to wipe her eyes. Another girl was spread out wide against a wall. Her unshackled feet rested on brackets over four feet apart, while her hands held onto short studs extending out from the wall. She wore only a bustier to cover her, leaving her nipples and cunt as exposed as mine were. More so, in fact, since her legs were opened even wider than mine.
An hour passed, and I did not break position. A couple of other unrestrained girls did move prematurely, and were quickly lashed, then bound into a worse position than they started with, presumably for a much longer time to come.
The worst part of it was the patrons who drifted through during my hour. They could touch as well as look, and they made much use of their hands on us all. Perhaps my breasts would be caressed, or my cuntlips would be pulled open, painfully. Even worse, they would frequently insert fingers into my mouth, commanding me to clean the pussy juice from them, both my own juice and that from the other girls. In spite of my pain and humiliation, I ended the hour unbound, in a state of great arousal. And I knew it showed, right down to the wet tops of my stockings.
Leashed again, I was led off, to the accompaniment of another lecture. “You’re progressing nicely, pig. You present yourself well, you’re obedient for the most part, and you’ve been submitting properly. Now, though, you’ll be tested on your real function, that of giving direct pleasure.”
Now, I shuddered. I knew I would continue to be subject to punishment for any hesitation or disobedience, both by the lash and restraint. And now, I was to serve sexually, to please anyone who wanted me.
My costume was changed. I was dressed in the black leather corset and black sandals with six-inch heels. My forearms were strapped together and attached, elbow to wrist, to the back of the corset. Finally, a posture collar was locked around my neck. I would not be able to turn my head to avoid my duty.
All my prior drills seemed pointed, ultimately, to the activity in the room to which I was led next. It was broken up into well over a dozen alcoves, most occupied by a girl. All were either naked or dressed to expose their most intimate assets. All were attached to their alcoves by a lengthy chain, and their wrists were all locked out of the way behind their backs. For some, this was all. For others, there were more severe restraints, spreading the ankles of one, forcing another to remain kneeling. Some wore gags, or chastity belts, limiting their use by their male partners to the prescribed openings.
I was brought to an empty alcove. My collar chain was six feet long and attached to the wall at floor level. I was made to kneel upright, my knees well separated.
“It is time for your final test. You have learned to respect your owners, to obey commands, to submit to exposure and punishment. Still, all your training has been geared, ultimately, to your sexual submission. Here, you will be tested in that area...”
To my dismay, an assistant began strapping a leather device around my waist. It had a panel which dropped over my cunt, with a sizeable dildo to fill my pussy. As it was forced in, I moaned loudly, close to orgasm. I was shamefully aware of the vast quantity of pussy juice already lubricating my hole, soaking my upper thighs. A pair of straps crossed my ass-cheeks, leaving my anus exposed and available. The device was tightened severely, then locked.
“For a slut in heat, as you have proven yourself to be, pleasure must be denied until you have demonstrated complete submission. For the first two hours, you will remain here locked in your chastity belt. If you submit completely to any use thrust upon you without protest or hesitation, your chastity belt will be removed and your cunt made available for use. Hesitate, and you will remain denied as well as earning more punishment.”
Seconds later, I knelt alone, exposed, humiliated, restrained and available for any use save the one I desired. My mouth and ass would serve the pleasure of anyone who desired to use me, while my own pussy would remain filled, teasing me while denying me, constantly reminding me of my vulnerability.
A man rounded the corner. Dressed in a most respectable suit, he appraised me openly with his eyes. I looked back at him, fearful and vulnerable, knowing he could violate me at will. He was satisfied with what he saw, apparently, as he stood before me, presented his erect cock at my face, and with a handful of my hair, pulled my mouth down onto him.
Within three strokes, he had penetrated my throat. There was no need for gentleness or consideration; I was a trained girl, here because I had submitted to the tests and passed. Moments later, he filled my mouth with a sizable load, then vanished.
Two more men, then a woman, followed, all using my mouth. I considered myself fortunate, as my ass was still unviolated, but I knew that would not last long here. As the thought crossed my mind, another man entered my alcove.
He was accompanied by a woman. Deciding quickly, they positioned me with my face to the floor. The woman sat with her thighs around my face, then raised her skirt and, with two handfuls of my hair, pulled my face into her pussy.
Without warning, the man drove his cock into my ass. I screamed with the pain, but the girl’s insistent grip in my hair quickly forced my tongue to continue serving her cunt, in spite of my pain. As my ass was fucked, my face was driven hard into her cunt, increasing her pleasure. Soon, she went into orgasm, ordering me to, “Swallow it, bitch!” Moments later, after a most vocal climax, she commanded, “Now, suck me clean!” She held me firmly in position until her man’s orgasm, several minutes later. When he finished, he similarly dragged my face around, this time by my collar chain, and forced me to clean his shit-soiled cock with my mouth. Finally, they repositioned me again, with my face to the floor, presenting my ass to passersby as his come slowly dripped down my thighs, soaking my stockings. Predictably, the next three men in a row used my ass.
Apparently, I had served well. The woman in charge of my training appeared with an assistant, and my chastity belt was removed. Wordlessly, they presented the dildo which had filled my cunt to my mouth, and I cleaned it thoroughly, swallowing the juice with which I had soiled it.
Her eyes met mine. She looked back at me intently, penetrating my soul. I looked back, knowing myself owned, not daring to defy any order which might issue.
“Tell me, cunt. What is the most important thing for you to concern yourself with?”
I thought only for the second or two it took to get my answer into words. “The pleasure of those I serve.”
She smiled, then turned and walked away.
The next few hours need little description. I served with all three of my openings, taking pleasure when permitted, giving pleasure whenever and however it was demanded of me. An hour later, my arms were freed; another hour, and my collar and chain vanished. For the last several hours, I was kept totally nude, as well as free of all restraints. Nevertheless, I debased myself for a constant stream of men and women, serving them all, even submitting to the occasional whipping or nipple clamps from some of them. Finally, well worked, dripping come from all three of my openings, I was deemed properly prepared.
I was dressed in my original red shift. Well, not exactly. The skirt had been raised dramatically, to my upper thighs, and slit further along one side to my hip. The neckline was also lowered, and the material had been taken in around my breasts to present me like a whore. I wore no stockings or underwear, and my feet stood in black patent sandals, with heels over five inches high.
“A car will be here for you in a few minutes. You will be taken directly to your date’s home, where you are anxiously awaited...”
I wondered. How would they know? Then I remembered, for the first time since my arrival, where I had heard about “Midnight Exotics”. It was from Ivan, my date. He had mentioned it briefly just before I had consented to the weekend. He knew I would come, and I had been expected. Indeed, I found that he had outlined the program of treatment I had received, and he would be paying the entire tab.
“Please remember--while you are dressed in our designs, you are to maintain your self-discipline. We guarantee all our work, including your personal performance. Any shortcomings will result in your being returned to us for punishment and retraining.”
“Of course, Mistress.” For the first time, I began to see the obvious. I had been trained for complete enslavement. And, I knew, the training had been quite successful.
“One more thing. Most girls who make it through our training learn to love their servitude. Many return voluntarily, for both use and further training. You will be welcome to do so at any time.”
I smiled. I knew I would be back.
* * *
The weekend went quite successfully. Ivan, or should I say, Master Ivan, was totally satisfied with my training and performance. I took great pleasure in serving him, being used by him, even being punished by his firm hand. It was only a few days later that I moved in with him and began serving him and his friends as a full-time, live-in slave. All my old clothes have been burned, and when I am permitted to dress, I wear only clothes purchased at Midnight Exotics.
I haven’t forgotten them, either. I owe them a lot. Once a week, I visit them, voluntarily, for a one or two day stint. Sometimes I am trained and punished; sometimes I serve as a simple sex slave in an alcove.
What has grown to be my main pleasure, though, is when I pose, either naked or wearing their lingerie; sometimes free, but more frequently restrained by my own request. There is almost a fetish-like attraction for me in being placed on display for any number of men and women to observe and touch me at will. I have been told by the Mistresses that I wear their creations well and present myself in perfect submission. I will continue to do so as long as my Master permits me.
Now, I am truly fulfilled. Most of each week, I am a total slave to the man I love. And as each week draws to a close, and my submissive side yearns for even greater degradation and totally impersonal use, I report to Midnight Exotics, and serve as their enslaved Mannequin.
Master Ivan
Copyright © 1994
“Midnight Exotics. Can I help you?”
“Uh, yes. I was told you have the most unique lingerie collections in the area.”
“Yes. Lingerie, nightwear, funwear, anything appropriate for the bedroom, not to mention our wide selection of erotic toys.”
“Toys?”
“Of course. We offer a complete line of leather and rubber accessories, everything from whips to edible underwear, from handcuffs to the most exotic specialized restraints...”
“All right. How do I find you?”
“We’re open from 10 PM to 2 AM, by appointment only. Your name?”
“Sheila Mason.”
“And what is your height and weight?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Mason, to serve you well, we must be sure to have properly fitting items in stock for your appraisal. To do this, we always get your vital statistics ahead of time.”
“OK. I’m five feet six inches tall, weigh about one hundred twenty-five pounds and my measurements are 36c-24-32.”
“Fine. Now what would you be looking for?”
“Well, I’ve got a date this weekend with a hell of a guy, at his place. I’ve heard he’s into all kinds of kinky things, and I wanted to be ready for anything.”
“I understand. I’m sure we can help you. When would you like to visit us?”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“About 10 PM?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent! We’ll be expecting you.”
* * *
I’m not sure why I even called them in the first place. I knew my weekend would be challenging enough on its own. I’d heard this guy was even into whips and chains, and I might even find myself tied to his bed an hour after I got there. Still, it held an amazing erotic attraction for me, and I wanted to take the plunge. But this “Midnight Exotics” place was a bigger mystery. Why the strange hours? How personal did they intend to get? And to top it off, I was informed they’d be sending a car to pick me up.
When the night arrived, I had no idea what to wear. I eventually decided on a simple shift, in a thin, red material. It hugged me well in the right places, and it was cut so low as to be quite revealing. I wore nothing beneath it, and stepped into some high-heeled sandals to finish the package.
The car arrived promptly at 10. The nondescript driver said only “Miss Mason?”, and I answered, “Yes.” He drove in silence, then escorted me into a large building in the middle of the warehouse district. We took a concealed elevator to the top floor, where I was pointed to the simple but elegant entrance. The driver smiled, said “Good luck, Miss Mason”, and vanished.
I was a bit nervous. First a private car, then a mysterious, hidden store, buried in a warehouse. And why would I need luck just to buy some undies? The door was locked. I pressed the doorbell and was buzzed in.
There was a small security foyer. A woman sat in a booth behind some thick glass and spoke thru an intercom.
“Miss Shiela Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Please show me some identification. A driver’s license will do nicely.” I took the license out of my purse and presented it to her.
“Fine. Now, please put your purse and your clothes in the basket below the glass.”
I froze in fear. My clothes?! “I beg your pardon, did you say to hand over my clothes?”
“Yes. We outfit you completely, taking everything into consideration. Your clothes inhibit you, prevent us from making the ideal choices for your body structure, color and mannerisms, and they cause you to conceal the very things our apparel is designed to present. Enough stalling, Miss Mason. We have to move along.”
Maybe I should have ran. On the other hand, the door through which I had come had been unlocked electronically. Had I chosen to run, I might have been stopped right there. Whatever the outcome, I had to see this through. I removed my dress and sandals and dropped them into the basket. It withdrew into the wall, leaving me naked. The next door buzzed, and I walked through.
There was a desk, behind which sat a woman. She was tall, dark, full-bodied and dressed in what looked like shiny black latex or PVC. “Welcome, Miss Mason.”
I looked around, uncomfortably, for a nonexistent chair. There was none. I stood naked before her, waiting.
“We need to understand your purposes in depth to properly outfit you. You say you are preparing for a date this weekend?”
For some reason, I still did not challenge her on what was clearly a blatant invasion of my privacy. Somehow, she was in control. “Yes, I’ll be visiting him late Friday, possibly spending the weekend at his place.”
“Right. You also mentioned he had a wide variety of interests. Do you know how wide those interests are, and how far you see yourself going to please him?”
“Uh, I don’t really know. I’ve heard stories, but only second and third hand. I’ll be playing entirely by ear.”
“Alright then. You’ll need several outfits, and we’ll fit them to your own body and personality types. Some adjustments may be in order...”
As she made some notes, I heard the sound of a barely audible moan behind me. I turned, and was shocked at the sight which greeted me.
There were two women, one on each side of the door. They were both bound, suffering. On the right, the girl was covered entirely in rubber, from head to toe. Not an inch of flesh was visible on her, but the rubber, although extremely tight, was thin enough to reveal every pore on her skin. Her wrists were hoisted high above her head; her toes barely touched the floor. Looking closer, I could see she was gagged, as well. Her jaw was strained open to accept the gag built into the helmet of her costume. Although her legs were strapped together, I could also see where the rubber pulled tightly into her crotch. Again, I saw what had to be the circular base of what had to be a dildo filling her cunt, and another at her ass. Finally, I heard the low hum of vibrators. Yes, she was moaning with good reason, probably coming every few minutes.
The second girl caught my eye. She was naked, wrists bound together and hoisted high. Her legs, unbound, were spread several feet apart to rest on the small ends of some two-by-four boards rising from the floor. She was also gagged, and looked at me in fear. At one point, she removed her feet from the boards and closed her legs. Her toes, also, barely grazed the floor beneath her. I noted with shock that the ends of the boards on which her feet rested each had several small, sharp, pointed spikes rising from their surface. When she spread her legs wide to take the weight from her wrists, she would torture her feet. I watched her for a moment, as her wracked shoulders suffered, until she returned her feet to their painful perch upon the spikes and opened her body to our gaze once again.
“They’re in training, Miss Mason. That darling in rubber has shown evidence of frigidity when under stress. The rubber, the restraints and the dildos will all aid her in solving that problem.”
I was hypnotized by the sight, drawn by the power of my own fantasies. “And the other?”
The woman smiled cruelly, almost vindictively. “She’s being punished for impertinence. She’ll be spending the night as she is. Come along now, we must get you started.”
I followed, shuddering in fear. The woman hadn’t mentioned whether the punished girls were employees, customers or what. Might I be subjected to the same treatment? As I thought about it, a warm rush passed through me. Suddenly, I noticed we had stopped, and the woman had turned to observe me. She saw my color as my body betrayed its responses. She smiled, knowingly, then silently turned again and moved on.
We arrived at a fitting room. There were two other women being fitted, one of them naked. Several employees were active, and there was another woman in punishment. She stood in a pillory, her neck and wrists confined between the boards, her ankles bound several feet apart. I noticed her nipples sported clamps, with sizable weights hanging from them. Her ass appeared welted, and she moaned quietly as she suffered.
I was brought to a round platform, some four feet in diameter, perhaps six inches high. Its surface was rough wood, sprinkled with sawdust. Something about it struck a chord within my deeper fantasies, but I could not place it. I stepped up onto the platform, and realized my naked body was on display. Then, it struck me. I had the feeling of the old, traditional slave block, at the auctions. The wood and sawdust were classic elements in the tradition, and something told me they were provided with that intent. As I stood, exposed, the fantasy worked on me, and I felt myself opening and getting wet.
Three women started working on my measurements. One directed the efforts holding a clipboard, while the other two used the tape. They were more than thorough; they did a detailed analysis of all my physical features. Beyond measuring my neck, wrists, ankles, the length of my limbs, even the circumference of my head, they spent much time sizing my breasts. Even my very cunt was measured in several ways, and I knew the growing moisture it bore did not escape their notice.
Early on, just after my arms were fully measured, I was told to lace my fingers behind my neck. On several occasions, I moved my hands to scratch, ease an aching muscle, or just relieve the pressure on my modesty. Each time, the women were very stern about my holding position, later also keeping my feet well apart. At one point, the woman holding the clipboard asked, with seeming understanding, “I’m sorry this takes so long, Miss Mason, but it is important you cooperate with us. Shall I provide the means to ease the strain on your arms?”
I was still naive. “Yes, thank you.”
Leather bands were fastened around my wrists and ankles, and a much wider one around my neck. They used a tiny key to attach the leather, one which would be necessary to remove it. All the leather was fitted with rings. It occurred to me I was being shackled. Seconds later, my wrists were padlocked to the rear of my collar, and my ankles were similarly locked wide apart to the rings at the very edges of the block upon which I stood.
The measuring continued. Now, however, the hands of the women were more familiar, daring, caressing me when there was no need to do so, even penetrating both my lower openings. My arousal grew quickly, and visibly.
They finished without warning and left the room wordlessly. I was left chained to the block, naked, ankles spread wide, wrists still locked to the back of my collar. I had already been blatantly exposed for some time, but with an obvious purpose as the team of women took their measurements. Now, there was no purpose. People continued to walk in and out of the room in various states of undress, seemingly paying little attention to me. On two occasions, a pair of customers (or employees?) stopped and openly appraised my body, commenting on me in explicit terms. I asked them, “Could you please get someone out here to release me? There’s no reason to keep me bound in full view of everybody...”
I was answered with only smiles. Minutes later, the woman in charge of the fitting appeared. She carried a small object in her hand.
“Really, Miss Mason. I don’t understand your complaints. You have come to us to prepare you to please your weekend date. We currently have no less than six seamstresses at work on your outfits, and I was called out of a conference related to your program to deal with your complaints. If you intend to please your man, you’ll have to be much more open to displaying your beauty to him, and much more tolerant of his restraints and punishments.”
“B-but, I just wanted some lingerie!”
“Miss Mason, we prepare the entire package. Clothes, body, makeup, even attitude. No woman leaves this place until she is totally prepared to serve her man!”
I opened my mouth to repeat my protests, but before another word could get out, she filled my mouth with the object she carried. It was a rubber cock. My jaw had to stretch to accept it, and when she tightened and locked the leather strap to hold it in place, it penetrated deep to the back of my throat.
“Now, perhaps you understand what we mean by adjustments. There will be others made to your attitude as we proceed.”
I was left standing naked, shackled, brazenly exposed like a whore. A moment later, a glass cylinder slowly lowered from the ceiling, enclosing me, isolating me from any verbal contact or even physical touch. I was now simply a displayed woman. I noticed a small sign on the glass, but as it was facing out, away from me, I was unable to read it at first. Perhaps thirty minutes later, a couple stopped to examine me, this time a male and female. The guy had on mirrored sunglasses. I managed to catch a reflection of the sign as he oogled my open cunt. It read, “Reserved”.
I remained in the glass cage for well over an hour before they came for me again. My wrists were moved to my back and re-locked behind me. The gag was left in place, leaving me unable to voice my protests.
They called it the fitting room. Part of it did look like a fitting room, as it contained several sewing machines, work tables, stacks of bolt cloth and leather and numerous other related items. The remainder of the room, however, more closely resembled a torture chamber. There was a pillory, several types of racks, and many other objects I could not identify, beyond the obvious rings and straps clearly intended to restrain the body of an unwilling female. There was also a pedestal, identical to the one from which I had just been released. It was there I was brought, and quickly restrained.
They tried several outfits out on me. All were easily put on and taken off with my wrists and ankle shackles in place. One was a corset, in fishnet and black leather, with more rings, straps, buckles and features than I could count. Another was in white lace, a third in red satin, and a fourth in a pastel pink. All fitted perfectly, and all displayed my body to the greatest advantage, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Shoes were also included. There were opera pumps and open-toed sandals, none with heels less than five inches high. There was an unbelievable pair of what they called “Ballet Boots”, which had my toes pointed straight down and sported incredible ten-inch heels. These, I noticed, featured locks at the ankles and at the upper reaches of the boot tops--I would not be removing them without a key.
They were quite pleased with the results. And from what I could see through a wall mirror, so was I. They left me in the white lace outfit with black patent high-heeled sandals. There were removable panels in the lace which could reveal my nipples and my entire crotch; these were removed, exposing me.
My shackles were the next thing to be matched. Several sets were examined; stiff black leather and chrome went with the leather outfit. With the red, the shackles were done in solid brass; with the pink, they used matching pink kidskin, decorated with jewels. To go with my white outfit, they chose solid chrome.
All of them fit perfectly, without a hint of chafing or discomfort. Still, when I struggled, there was not a bit of give to them. A single key controlled them all--I would not be able to remove any of them.
The woman in charge of my processing appeared before me. “Now, Miss Mason, I’m proud to say we have finished most of your apparel for your weekend. Still, just as we are perfectionists in the creation of our lingerie, we are similarly perfectionists in terms of how our apparel is worn. While you look ravishing, your conduct has been combative and unyielding, totally contrary to our objectives. It is time to make some major adjustments in this area.”
Still gagged, I stared back angrily at her. An assistant stood at hand nearby, to whom the woman said, “Remove her gag.” She smiled at me, knowing I was waiting to explode.
“Be cautious, Miss Mason. At this time, you are dressed in our custom creations. We require all our clients to conduct themselves perfectly when so attired. We will not tolerate any disrespect, hesitation in obedience, attempts to conceal or refuse access to one’s body, or any lack of complete submission. The punishments you witnessed during your early processing are minor compared to what you may experience at this stage, so I advise you to be careful.”
My gag came out. Still otherwise restrained, I let my anger up to the surface. “How dare you! I’m just here to buy clothes, not to...”
“Gag the cunt again!” The cock-gag was again locked into my mouth.
“Now, we will release your wrists. You will voluntarily cross them behind your back and keep them there.”
As the lock was released, I struggled briefly, trying to grab the assistant. Immediately, my wrists were seized and locked together again, behind my back.
“You have already earned punishment, pig. When we unlock your ankles, you will stand in place, feet well apart.”
She smiled, knowing I would fight. I kicked out once, and my ankles were joined by a foot of chain.
As the assistant held me, she asked, “The horse and cane, Mistress?”
“No. She’s too crude for that. Use the pedestal and a heavy strap. Later, she can submit her ass and mouth to use.”
I screamed through my gag and struggled against my restraints, but to no avail. A moment later, I was shackled for punishment. My ankles were spread, I was bent over a padded support, and my wrists were likewise locked between my ankles. The position was severe, but got much worse as they cranked up the pedestal beneath me. Soon, I was stretched tight as a bowstring. With my posture collar still locked on, I literally could move nothing but my fingers.
I waited a short time, fearful and helpless, while they took the strap from the wall. It was a good three feet of heavy, stiff belt-leather, almost three inches wide, attached to a wooden handle over two feet long. I began to cry, knowing I was in for some severe pain.
It was the assistant who would lash me. She spent a minute or two caressing me, not only my ass-cheeks, but my breasts, my sides, my thighs, even penetrating my cunt and ass briefly. I felt myself responding to her touch unwillingly, humiliating myself. And those about to witness my upcoming punishment were well aware of it.
My humiliation was interrupted suddenly by the strap as it cut into my ass for the first stroke. Every muscle in my body flexed as the pain rolled over me. I screamed, futilely, into my gag. Those around me heard only a moan, and saw little motion except for the muscle lines in my body becoming more distinct. Worse, I even felt my cunt betraying me, as it opened further, invitingly, in response to the pain.
The strokes continued until a full dozen landed. I continued to cry, to attempt to scream, for a fair time after it ended, not realizing it had stopped until one of the women stood before me with the strap.
“When your gag is removed, cunt, you will kiss the strap, then thank me for your well-deserved punishment. Any failure or hesitation will be further punished with another half dozen. Do you understand?”
I was only half aware of her words. As my gag was removed and the strap was presented, I could only moan. Quickly, the gag was thrust back into my mouth, and seconds later, my ass again erupted in pain. Again, I screamed, shaking my head in disbelief, as another six strokes of the heavy strap landed, welting my ass and upper thighs.
Again, the gag was removed. This time, a part of my mind with which I was not yet familiar acted on my part, kissing the strap, then saying the words: “Thank you, Mistress, for a well-deserved punishment.”
Now, the woman’s face showed her approval as I debased myself. “Very good, cunt. Now, you may advance to the next stage of the program.”
As I contemplated what the rest of the “Program” might yet involve, I was released. Again, I was warned not to conceal myself with my hands on pain of punishment.
She put me on a leash and ordered me to crawl behind her on hands and knees. Soon, passing through several occupied rooms, we came to a display area already containing a number of girls. Some held their poses voluntarily, while others were bound in place. All were positioned with the obvious intent to expose themselves and attract the attention of anyone who cared to observe them.
I was made to mount another pedestal, identical to the ones in the fitting room earlier. My feet were spread the full four feet to the edges of the platform, and my wrists held behind my back.
“You will keep your wrists and ankles in position, your spine straight, your elbows well back, your tits and cunt thrust forward. You will hold position voluntarily until released, or you will be bound in place for a much longer period, as well as earning more punishment.”
With that, she was gone.
I held position. I had already seen what sorts of punishment could be doled out, and my ass already bore painful welts. Not having been prohibited from turning my head to look around, I surveyed the other girls on display. Two others held the same pose I did, one of those bound. That last also had freshly welted breasts, as well as some weighted nipple clamps. A tear flowed down her face, landing on one breast. She would be helpless to wipe her eyes. Another girl was spread out wide against a wall. Her unshackled feet rested on brackets over four feet apart, while her hands held onto short studs extending out from the wall. She wore only a bustier to cover her, leaving her nipples and cunt as exposed as mine were. More so, in fact, since her legs were opened even wider than mine.
An hour passed, and I did not break position. A couple of other unrestrained girls did move prematurely, and were quickly lashed, then bound into a worse position than they started with, presumably for a much longer time to come.
The worst part of it was the patrons who drifted through during my hour. They could touch as well as look, and they made much use of their hands on us all. Perhaps my breasts would be caressed, or my cuntlips would be pulled open, painfully. Even worse, they would frequently insert fingers into my mouth, commanding me to clean the pussy juice from them, both my own juice and that from the other girls. In spite of my pain and humiliation, I ended the hour unbound, in a state of great arousal. And I knew it showed, right down to the wet tops of my stockings.
Leashed again, I was led off, to the accompaniment of another lecture. “You’re progressing nicely, pig. You present yourself well, you’re obedient for the most part, and you’ve been submitting properly. Now, though, you’ll be tested on your real function, that of giving direct pleasure.”
Now, I shuddered. I knew I would continue to be subject to punishment for any hesitation or disobedience, both by the lash and restraint. And now, I was to serve sexually, to please anyone who wanted me.
My costume was changed. I was dressed in the black leather corset and black sandals with six-inch heels. My forearms were strapped together and attached, elbow to wrist, to the back of the corset. Finally, a posture collar was locked around my neck. I would not be able to turn my head to avoid my duty.
All my prior drills seemed pointed, ultimately, to the activity in the room to which I was led next. It was broken up into well over a dozen alcoves, most occupied by a girl. All were either naked or dressed to expose their most intimate assets. All were attached to their alcoves by a lengthy chain, and their wrists were all locked out of the way behind their backs. For some, this was all. For others, there were more severe restraints, spreading the ankles of one, forcing another to remain kneeling. Some wore gags, or chastity belts, limiting their use by their male partners to the prescribed openings.
I was brought to an empty alcove. My collar chain was six feet long and attached to the wall at floor level. I was made to kneel upright, my knees well separated.
“It is time for your final test. You have learned to respect your owners, to obey commands, to submit to exposure and punishment. Still, all your training has been geared, ultimately, to your sexual submission. Here, you will be tested in that area...”
To my dismay, an assistant began strapping a leather device around my waist. It had a panel which dropped over my cunt, with a sizeable dildo to fill my pussy. As it was forced in, I moaned loudly, close to orgasm. I was shamefully aware of the vast quantity of pussy juice already lubricating my hole, soaking my upper thighs. A pair of straps crossed my ass-cheeks, leaving my anus exposed and available. The device was tightened severely, then locked.
“For a slut in heat, as you have proven yourself to be, pleasure must be denied until you have demonstrated complete submission. For the first two hours, you will remain here locked in your chastity belt. If you submit completely to any use thrust upon you without protest or hesitation, your chastity belt will be removed and your cunt made available for use. Hesitate, and you will remain denied as well as earning more punishment.”
Seconds later, I knelt alone, exposed, humiliated, restrained and available for any use save the one I desired. My mouth and ass would serve the pleasure of anyone who desired to use me, while my own pussy would remain filled, teasing me while denying me, constantly reminding me of my vulnerability.
A man rounded the corner. Dressed in a most respectable suit, he appraised me openly with his eyes. I looked back at him, fearful and vulnerable, knowing he could violate me at will. He was satisfied with what he saw, apparently, as he stood before me, presented his erect cock at my face, and with a handful of my hair, pulled my mouth down onto him.
Within three strokes, he had penetrated my throat. There was no need for gentleness or consideration; I was a trained girl, here because I had submitted to the tests and passed. Moments later, he filled my mouth with a sizable load, then vanished.
Two more men, then a woman, followed, all using my mouth. I considered myself fortunate, as my ass was still unviolated, but I knew that would not last long here. As the thought crossed my mind, another man entered my alcove.
He was accompanied by a woman. Deciding quickly, they positioned me with my face to the floor. The woman sat with her thighs around my face, then raised her skirt and, with two handfuls of my hair, pulled my face into her pussy.
Without warning, the man drove his cock into my ass. I screamed with the pain, but the girl’s insistent grip in my hair quickly forced my tongue to continue serving her cunt, in spite of my pain. As my ass was fucked, my face was driven hard into her cunt, increasing her pleasure. Soon, she went into orgasm, ordering me to, “Swallow it, bitch!” Moments later, after a most vocal climax, she commanded, “Now, suck me clean!” She held me firmly in position until her man’s orgasm, several minutes later. When he finished, he similarly dragged my face around, this time by my collar chain, and forced me to clean his shit-soiled cock with my mouth. Finally, they repositioned me again, with my face to the floor, presenting my ass to passersby as his come slowly dripped down my thighs, soaking my stockings. Predictably, the next three men in a row used my ass.
Apparently, I had served well. The woman in charge of my training appeared with an assistant, and my chastity belt was removed. Wordlessly, they presented the dildo which had filled my cunt to my mouth, and I cleaned it thoroughly, swallowing the juice with which I had soiled it.
Her eyes met mine. She looked back at me intently, penetrating my soul. I looked back, knowing myself owned, not daring to defy any order which might issue.
“Tell me, cunt. What is the most important thing for you to concern yourself with?”
I thought only for the second or two it took to get my answer into words. “The pleasure of those I serve.”
She smiled, then turned and walked away.
The next few hours need little description. I served with all three of my openings, taking pleasure when permitted, giving pleasure whenever and however it was demanded of me. An hour later, my arms were freed; another hour, and my collar and chain vanished. For the last several hours, I was kept totally nude, as well as free of all restraints. Nevertheless, I debased myself for a constant stream of men and women, serving them all, even submitting to the occasional whipping or nipple clamps from some of them. Finally, well worked, dripping come from all three of my openings, I was deemed properly prepared.
I was dressed in my original red shift. Well, not exactly. The skirt had been raised dramatically, to my upper thighs, and slit further along one side to my hip. The neckline was also lowered, and the material had been taken in around my breasts to present me like a whore. I wore no stockings or underwear, and my feet stood in black patent sandals, with heels over five inches high.
“A car will be here for you in a few minutes. You will be taken directly to your date’s home, where you are anxiously awaited...”
I wondered. How would they know? Then I remembered, for the first time since my arrival, where I had heard about “Midnight Exotics”. It was from Ivan, my date. He had mentioned it briefly just before I had consented to the weekend. He knew I would come, and I had been expected. Indeed, I found that he had outlined the program of treatment I had received, and he would be paying the entire tab.
“Please remember--while you are dressed in our designs, you are to maintain your self-discipline. We guarantee all our work, including your personal performance. Any shortcomings will result in your being returned to us for punishment and retraining.”
“Of course, Mistress.” For the first time, I began to see the obvious. I had been trained for complete enslavement. And, I knew, the training had been quite successful.
“One more thing. Most girls who make it through our training learn to love their servitude. Many return voluntarily, for both use and further training. You will be welcome to do so at any time.”
I smiled. I knew I would be back.
* * *
The weekend went quite successfully. Ivan, or should I say, Master Ivan, was totally satisfied with my training and performance. I took great pleasure in serving him, being used by him, even being punished by his firm hand. It was only a few days later that I moved in with him and began serving him and his friends as a full-time, live-in slave. All my old clothes have been burned, and when I am permitted to dress, I wear only clothes purchased at Midnight Exotics.
I haven’t forgotten them, either. I owe them a lot. Once a week, I visit them, voluntarily, for a one or two day stint. Sometimes I am trained and punished; sometimes I serve as a simple sex slave in an alcove.
What has grown to be my main pleasure, though, is when I pose, either naked or wearing their lingerie; sometimes free, but more frequently restrained by my own request. There is almost a fetish-like attraction for me in being placed on display for any number of men and women to observe and touch me at will. I have been told by the Mistresses that I wear their creations well and present myself in perfect submission. I will continue to do so as long as my Master permits me.
Now, I am truly fulfilled. Most of each week, I am a total slave to the man I love. And as each week draws to a close, and my submissive side yearns for even greater degradation and totally impersonal use, I report to Midnight Exotics, and serve as their enslaved Mannequin.
Master Ivan
Copyright © 1994
