Michael chose a strange point for me to start telling you my story, but that’s not a surprise. Ever since we met, he’s done everything he can to keep me off balance. It’s my feet. He wants me to tell you about my feet. Later, I’ll tell you about the other parts of my body he’s had – as he calls it – “customized”.

It’s terribly humiliating to me to have feet like this. After a year of training and three surgeries, I can no long keep my balance unless I am wearing ballet boots with six inch heels. I wear them to the grocery story, to the bank, everywhere I go. I wore them to work until they fired me. One of the two dozen men I was servicing passed my name along to the wrong person. He ratted me out to upper management. After they took me away for a weekend of fucking and beatings, they fired me. No severance package, no letter of recommendation, nothing. In fact, their going away present was to put up a website with my phone number and movies they’d taken of me that weekend.

For weeks after that, I was constantly taking calls from strangers. They would phone me and tell me where to come to fuck them, or they would let me get them off over the phone. The funny thing about that is that’s how I met Michael. I’d been making my living doing phone sex for six years. I had a steady clientele and was making good money. My record year was sixty thousand dollar. Tax free. Michael had been a customer for about a year when he showed up at my door. I’d been careless and dropped some clues about local sites, summer events in town, my high school sweetheart and the like and he’d used those clues to find me. He showed up at my door with audio and videotapes of our sessions, an organization chart from the place I worked part-time as a lawyer’s assistant, and a handful of legal documents. In less than an hour, I’d signed over my house, my car, my bank accounts and everything else he asked for. Life as I knew it was over.

In the following weeks, he had me keep working both at the lawyer’s office and on the sex lines. At the same time, he started initiating me into his world. I spent most weekends bound and naked or servicing men and women he brought home. I was flogged and spanked regularly, and teased for hours and hours before I was allowed to cum. He had me cut off ties with my friends and family then moved me into an apartment, taking over my four bedroom home. Nobody knew where I was, I had effectively vanished from the planet.

Michael had a series of regular customers. Some were just fuck-and-suck types, but those were rare. He gave me out to the freaks, the weirdest of the weird. It made sense, his fantasies on the phone had always been the farthest out. His life was the same.

There are three customers in particular who are the hardest for me. They all have two things in common: a latex fetish and a desire to see me drink as much cum as they can provide. Their names are Peter, Marco, and Thomas. Peter loves breast torture, Marco loves having me on exhibit at his parties, available to swallow cum for all of his guests, and Thomas loves…well, Thomas is the hardest. Thomas fancies himself a body sculptor. He’d heard of the Barbie doll girl and it set him off. He thinks of me as raw material from which to create the perfect submissive woman. He showed her to me. More about that later.

Michael wants me to describe at least one episode with each of them for you. He has edited this story four times, telling me to be more descriptive, trying to create the perfect catalyst for your pleasure. He enjoys imagining you using me and this story is the conduit. Please enjoy me, please enjoy what they do to me vicariously, please post your comments to me on what else you would like to know about me. Please let me know what Michael and his friends should do to me next for you to read about.

PETER

My titties are 40D. They are firm for a woman of my age (42) and have been used and abused by a series of doms and dommes over the years. Michael introduced me to Peter one night in May in the basement of a bar. We’d arrived half an hour earlier and Michael had left me alone at the bar and sat in a booth with Peter. Michael was describing me to Peter, how many men I’d fucked that week (six), what I was wearing underneath the dress (a latex body suit with openings that left my tits exposed), and how much I was going to cost Peter ($500 for the evening).

My cunt was twitching like mad already just watching the two of them talk. Michael had given me to dozens of men since he took over my life and had continued my training. I was no longer bound and abused on the weekends, it was a daily thing now. I craved cock all the time. And pain. For months now, I could not cum unless I was in pain.

Three men hit on me during that half-hour. I wanted to fuck them, but every time I looked at Michael, he shook his head no. My frustration was building, nipples stiff and excited, every move I made rocketed lust to my nipples and pussy. One of the men actually rested his hand on mine on the bar and I nearly wet my pants. He saw it and leaned in for a kiss. I kissed him deep and hard, my hand starting to reach for his crotch but I looked at Michael and he shook his head again. I pulled back and shook my head. The man called me a tease, splashed his drink in my face, and walked away. I stood there with the cold liquid dripping down my face and didn’t move. The humiliation was so arousing, I wanted to swim in it. My cunt oozed. When the bartender handed me a towel, I took it reluctantly and wiped my forehead. I let the rest of it trickle down my skin, enjoying feeling like a rejected whore.

“Follow me,” Michael said. I saw him and Peter walking toward the hallway that led to the stairs. I got off the barstool, feeling the latex tugging at my legs and cunt, wiggling my ass as I walked. The stairs were dark and led to the bathrooms in the basement. The basement was dimly lit too, just a 60 watt bulb hanging uncovered from a fixture. I was in four-inch heels at the time and made my way carefully down the stairs, still learning to balance on the toes of the ballet boots.

As soon as I stepped off the last stair, Michael turned around and smiled at me. “This is your new friend Peter.” I nodded. I watched anxiously as Michael handed Peter an old-fashioned wooden ruler. Peter smiled. “Raise your dress and offer him your breasts.” I looked around, saw the doors of the Men’s and Ladie’s rooms and the store room. Michael had often shown me off in public but this was close quarters and I was afraid.

“Suzi, please recall that hesitation will result in another visit to the Box.” My gut tightened but I immediately reached for the hem of my skirt and pulled it up until it was around my neck. Without any warning, Peter hit me hard across the bottom of my tits.

“Ahhh!!” I yelled, but Michael clamped his hand over my mouth. Peter raised the ruler and hit me again and again, my body squirming with pain, tits turning bright red as he worked methodically from side to side, top to bottom. My knees were weak by the time he stopped and tears were running down my face. Michael removed his hand and I sucked in air, chin quivering as I held in the sobs. There were footsteps on the stairs above and I turned to Michael. He pointed toward a space just beyond the Men’s room door. I stared the lower my dress but he laughed and said, “not hardly.” I pulled it back up and walked the five feet past him that put me just outside the Men’s room.

A woman came down the steps and stopped dead in her tracks. It was one of the women from work, one of the computer team we were always asking for help. Her eyes widened and she sucked in her breath. There I was directly in front of her, dressed neck to ankles in black latex, red and swollen titties exposed and body shaking with pain. My face must have been a horrible mess too, mascara running and hair tangled. She turned and ran back up the stairs. I was destroyed. I would have to see her the next day when I walked past the Help Desk on my way to my cubicle. I collapsed against the wall, dropped my dress.

“Show them to me,” Peter barked. In a daze, I raised the dress again, not caring now what happened. He pounced on me, fingers twisting and yanking my nipples, trying to pull them off of my body. I felt my cunt swelling, wanted to rub myself against his leg or touch myself but knew better. His face was right against mine, his breath in my nose. “Do not ever do that again,” he growled, twisting harder than I’d imagined possible. I cried, “no, never, no, no Sir, no, never…” repeating it over and over to keep myself from passing out.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind Michael. Peter turned his head, dropped his hands. It was the bouncer, a huge bald-headed man with a skin tight black shirt. “Get the fuck out of here,” he growled. Michael whispered something to him and he turned around and went back upstairs.

“Let’s go,” he said.

MARCO

The first thing Marco did when Michael dropped me off at his party was have me suck his cock. He didn’t cum easily and I worked a long time at it. He pulled my hair and slapped my face, all pretty tame stuff compared to some of my other doms.

Afterwards, the party really began. He took me to his playroom and tied ropes to my wrists and ankles then to pulleys that hung from the ceiling and floor. Marco pulled the ropes one by one, working from left to right wrist, right to left ankle, very precisely and methodically, until I was suspended with my feet several inches off the ground. Then, he started in again, stretching my legs until I thought my body would split in half, my arms until they nearly came out of the sockets. He used a 24-tail flogger on me. He started with my bottom. I loved the feeling, the pain coursing through me, right around to my pussy then back again. Then, up and down my back, inch by inch, until everything was on fire. Next, he came around and stood in front of me. When he hit my tits for the first time, I jerked but because I was tied so tight, the pain of moving was worse so I did what I could to stay still. He saw that and smiled, hit me harder and harder until I was screaming. My titties were on fire, bright red and covered top and bottom with marks. After that, the pain became a blur. He worked up and down my belly, then my thighs from crotch to knee.

Marco stopped for a minute, rubbing his crotch and smiling. Then, he walked around behind me. I readied myself for another back whipping but instead, the horrible leather strands came up between my legs and smacked against my naked and swollen pussy. I screamed and tried to move but couldn’t. He hit me there again and again until it became just a single ongoing sensation, a burning, pulsing fire between my legs.

He took a break, poured himself a glass of ice water and stood in front of me drinking it. He took an ice cube and ran it across his forehead. “Ahhh…” I was quivering with pain and desperate for something to drink. He stepped closer to me and held the class to my lips. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth. I heard something trickling and opened my eyes and watched as he poured the water onto the ground in front of me. He went back and poured the glass full again. This time, he stood in front of me and looked me in the eyes.

“Are you aware how much more it hurts to be paddled – or flogged in your case – when your skin is wet?” I nodded. I’d learned that years ago with an especially wicked domme. She would soak her leather belt in water before hitting me or sometimes use a spray bottle on my ass before spanking me with a wooden paddle. It was worse. A lot worse.

He flung the glass of water at me. The icy cold jarred me and I heard the water splash to the floor. Marco reached for the flogger and came at me with more gusto than before – he was revitalized. I realized he’d been planning this all along, get me through the warm up, let me think it was over, then the real beating would begin.

I didn’t even try to control myself, I let myself sway and scream with every blow. The pain was the most intense I can remember. Marco was six foot two, hugely muscled, and in a frenzy. I wondered if Michael was somewhere watching, making sure I was safe. I knew he was but he knew my limits. I didn’t want Marco to stop. Michael would know that.

Marco poured a glass full of water and held it in his left hand. He walked around me, splashing water on me then flogging the wet area. The backs of my legs, my calves, forearms, belly, cunt, every inch of me that the leather could find it did. He concentrated on my pussy for a long time and I got into the rhythm of it, actually came while he was hitting me. It was incredible, explosive. I started begging him to put something inside of me. Anything. He laughed and kept hitting me.

I have no idea how long it went on, but at some point, he stopped and left the room. I hung there a long time, soaked with water and sweat, swimming in pain and panting hard. I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes I sitting on an ottoman between two women dressed head to toe in black latex. All I could see was their eyes, the opening for their mouth were zippered shut. They had taken me down and untied me and were rubbing a brownish powder over my entire body. It felt good to have their hands on me and the powder smelled pleasant. Maple. I smelled maple.

The two women were silent. I looked at their bodies. Full and firm. I wanted to touch them, wanted to fuck them actually, anything to get me off. But they were all business, gentle when they needed to be and harsh when they wanted me to turn or stand a certain way. One of them stepped away and came back with a latex outfit, obviously mine. She motioned for me to stand up. I tried but couldn’t. Without my heels, I was unable to keep my balance. The women laughed as I stumbled back onto the ottoman, then signaled for me to try again. I shook my head “no” but was slapped across the face. This time, one of them offered me her hand and I rose. I tried to stand on my toes, but when she let go, I fell over again. I felt humiliated, I couldn’t even stand up on my own in front of these two obvious slaves. Even they were more human than me.

They let me sit, started pulling the latex up my legs, over my ass and up my belly. I felt something funny along both of my legs but couldn’t tell what it was. I tried to ignore it. The latex left my tits exposed again, the same as the other outfit. But this one covered my head and my arms all the way to the fingertips. The eyes and mouth were zippered shut, I couldn’t even see like the others. My hair was pulled in a pony trail through an opening at the top of the hood. The strange feeling came up my arms too now. And across my back. I still couldn’t identify it, but I was afraid.

Hands lifted my feet and I felt boots. They pulled them up and tied them tight around my calves. I was helped to my feet by the two and was able to stand, the heels were high enough and the ties reinforced. My ballet boots.

One of them led me by the hand and I walked out of the room and down a hallway. The feeling was back but now it was all over my body. It started to itch. I tried to ignore it but it was moving around. First, my right arm, then my belly, my bottom, my neck. I had to focus on walking in the ballet boots but the itching kept distracting me. The woman turned me around a corner and up a flight of stairs. When we got to the landing, we stopped. I rubbed my hand along my belly, trying to scratch but feeling nothing through the latex. My body was on fire now with the terrible itching.

Marco unzipped my eyes and mouth.

“How are we feeling?” he asked with an evil grin in his voice. He turned his head and nodded and I felt the zipper opening down the back of the latex suit and fingernails scratching my skin. I nearly came from the sensation.

“Oh, fucking, God, yes!” I moaned. I turned to Marco. “What did you do to me?”

“Simple amateur itching powder. Organic,” he said, “maple,” then zipped the eyes closed again. The fingernails continued scratching my back and I rocked side to side in a world of complete pleasure. Then, I felt fingernails scratching my itchy titties and did cum. It was a whole new kind of play, a new way to use me. I came again and the hands went away. “No, no, pleeease!” I moaned, but I felt the zipper close up the back of the outfit.

Someone took my wrist and led me through rooms and hallways until they started me down another flight of steps. This time, only four short ones. Marco unzipped my eyes again and I saw that I was in a small two by three foot pit in the floor in the middle of a large room. There was a crowd of people walking around, all well dressed in evening clothes, snacking on finger food and sipping wine.

Marco knelt on the floor, leaned over and talked quietly to me. “Did Michael tell you I love seeing women helpless? That turns me on. And my friends. They like to cum. A lot. You are tonight’s treat. You are going to be sucking cock and drinking cum all night. And licking pussy if any of their girlfriends are interested. We’ll see.”

As he spoke, a man walked closer and leaned down to look at me. His crotch was just about face height to me and I knew immediately what Marco had in mind. This was a high-class glory hole. Rather than a mouth behind a hole in the wall in a public bathroom, I was an anonymous latex whore with an available mouth. The man unzipped his pants and stepped forward. I was just at the right height for him to shove his cock down my throat. His belt was the last thing I saw as Marco zipped my eyes shut.

THOMAS

Thomas is definitely the worst. Of all the perverts and sex freaks Michael lets use me, Thomas is the only one with a long range plan, and the money and resources to make it happen.

The very first time we got together, Michael stayed. Thomas measured me in a hundred different ways, took detailed notes on my waist and ass, biceps, forearm, fingers, the length of my nails, diameter of my nostrils. He used probes to find how deep he could penetrate my throat, ass, and pussy before meeting resistance, then how much he could push past that resistance. How wide could I be opened? Then, he showed me a computer rendition of what he considered the perfect fetish woman. She was distorted and unreal, her proportions all wrong but I found myself incredibly turned on. She oozed sex, screamed perversion, practically jumped off of the screen and begged to be abused. Her face was seductive, breasts large and perfect, waist tiny and her backside huge and crying for cock. She wore a flimsy white veil that hid nothing. Her nails were long and tapered, beautifully painted, hands tanned and slim. She was wearing thigh-high black latex ballet boots, standing on her toes and six or eight inch heels. I knew that the image had been computer enhanced, nobody had a body like that. Nobody could maintain those proportions and walk, let along in those ballet boots.

He zoomed in and showed us the tiny tattoo across the base of the neck – the word “slave” tattooed in Russian. Then, her mouth. Perfect teeth and lips just slightly larger than normal. He told me that she needed to be just at the edge of freakish. He never knew who he might want to give her to, so he had to keep her presentable. I could tell from the way he said it that he was disappointed he could not turn her into a complete sex object, a freak who would be suited only for the bedroom.

“Notice her eyes?” he asked me. I looked closer and saw that there was no iris or pupil visible. “Blackout lenses,” he said proudly. I shuddered. He scared me. But then, everyone has a fantasy. Michael would know how to deal with him.

After he finished typing in my statistics and showing me the Perfect Slut, he handed me a pair of high heels. I put them on. “Go into the kitchen and bring me a glass of water,” he said. I got up and walked slowly to the kitchen, making sure he saw how my ass moved while wearing the heels. It was a mistake. I was reassuring him that he’d selected the right woman, but I didn’t know it then. When I came back, he told me to drink it and go get another. I’d had doms play bladder games and piss games before and figured I knew where this was going. I looked at Michael. He was smiling. After the third glass of water, Thomas said to Michael, “I’ll give her about ninety minutes.”

The next two hours were a cat and mouse game. Thomas had me walk through the house, looking at his erotic art, going through his collection of videotapes, finally stopping in his bedroom. On the wall were photographs of three women. All of them were naked except for black corsets. I stared at them, stepped closer. The first woman was a blonde in her twenties, a petite thing with huge breasts that hung over the top of the corset and sagged badly. The corset was not collapsing her waist much, but her ass was huge. Her mouth was open and she was showing a pierced tongue between lips puffy with collagen.

I stepped sideways to see the second picture. Another blonde, this time with even bigger tits but firm, standing straight out from her body. Obviously implants and well done. Her waist was much too small for her body and her ass average sized. The look on her face was something between lust and fear. Her mouth was closed but the hugely swollen lips were again obvious. The other thing I noticed were her cunt lips. They were huge! I looked back at the first girl. Nothing unusual down there. But this woman’s were swollen to three or four times their normal size and bright red, like a baboon’s ass. I leaned closer and saw that her clitoris was pushing out from between them, it must have been two inches long and an inch around. It looked like a small cock nestled between two ass cheeks.

“Fascinating, aren’t they?” Michael asked. I didn’t answer. I walked to the third one and saw that she was even more outlandish. Her face was dull and expressionless, her lips thin and bright red. She wore a nose ring and an earring connected to it by a thin gold chain. But it was her body I noticed. The breasts stuck out like torpedoes, like one of Madonna’s most outlandish costumes but real. The corset made her waist nearly non-existent and her ass flared like a comic strip drawing. She was standing with her hands behind her back and her legs spread, again in ballet boots with high heels.

Hesitantly, I focused my eyes on her pussy. She was not swollen as badly as the middle woman, but the clitoris stuck out like a small, erect penis. It must have been three inches long. I shuddered. Looking a bit longer, I noticed that the insides of her thighs were slick, she’d obviously been used shortly before the photo. The shiny juice ran down both legs nearly to her ankles. Extremely humiliating.

I felt a rush of heat between my legs. All of these women oozed sex and perversion and it was turning me on. I was repulsed but aroused at the same time. Why would anyone let someone do this to them? And could I make them do it to me? Then it hit me, these were computer enhanced images. They had to be. I looked at Thomas. He was obviously a computer genius, it would not be difficult for him to do it.

Thomas walked out of the room and we continued the tour. Finally, the inevitable happened. I had to go, so I asked him. His answer was a surprise. He’d play a game with me. If I could correctly tell the order in which those three photographs were taken, he would let me use the bathroom. Otherwise, he would broadcast me on one of the Internet channels that enjoyed that sort of thing. I felt sick. Of all the kinks and twists I’d encountered – and tried – I never understood this one. But it didn’t matter. I knew enough about the men Michael gave me to to understand he was not bluffing.

I tried to put myself inside his head. Were they three of the same women as she got older? Were they images that got more extreme as he learned to use the software? I wished I hadn’t waited so long to ask, the pressure in my bladder was already painful. Were they three different women and it was their age that mattered?

“Well?” Thomas asked. “You’re thinking hard, aren’t you?” He came in front of me and slapped me with no warning. I jerked, felt a drop or two leak out of me. “I know, I know…” I said, trying to stall for time. “Then, tell me,” he said. I felt his hand underneath my skirt, two fingers pushed deep into my cunt, fast and hard. I shook, there was no way I could hold this in. I looked at Michael, would he do something to help me? He smiled and shook his head. My cunt twitched, he was using me without even touching me.

“They are in the right order,” I blurted out to Thomas. He patted my cheek and shook his head. “No. Reverse order.” He stood up and walked into the kitchen, came back with a mixing bowl. “Here you go. Piss into this.” I hung my head and felt the tears running down my face. I couldn’t do it. There are limits. This is just a guy and this is just a scene and… “Arrghhhh!” I screamed as he shoved two fingers up my ass, dry, hard and fast. The piss squirted out of me and into the bowl, most of it splashing onto the floor.

WRAP UP

I’ve realized in the last months that there are no limits on what is going to be done to me. Coming to understand that has made it easier for me to surrender to my fate. I have come to crave the pain, to feel most natural when encased in latex with my titties exposed and being hurt. It’s my natural state now. I often ask to be bound in painful positions when I go to sleep at night, I often solicit strangers on the Internet to use me if Michael is too busy to find someone. It’s dangerous, but so far we’ve always made them come to me, so Michael – or sometimes Thomas – is there to make sure I’m “safe”.

Michael has had me shocked, titty milked by machines, sent overseas to service royalty and around the country to fuck working men, and always, always gives in to whatever Thomas wants to do to me.

Thomas was the one who insisted on the ballet boot training. He was the one who paid for the surgery and for my recovery. He pays Michael a stipend for my living expenses. I have come to realize that there is something special going on between them, something more than just the money and the enjoyment of watching Thomas abuse me. Someday, I may discover what it is.

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