Date Night.

Date night

By 2nn

WARNING! This story is not for minors or people who don't like sexual

writings, BDSM, homosexuality and such. It depicts extreme slavery,

brutal torture, forced feminism, hard core homosexual sex, and a range

of other sexual activities. If this offends you stop reading now.

Kimmie checked herself one final time in the mirror, to make sure that

she looked acceptable - or rather that she looked perfect; at least as

perfect as a worthless and nearly used up sissy bitch could look. Her

black hair, still completely untouched by grey, looked good - very good

- in the perfectly combed page boy she kept it in. Her makeup was

flawless; lips full and red, eyes framed in just the right amount of

black.

Around her neck was her very best necklace, made from big, black, shiny

pearls. Not real pearls of course - nothing she owned was valuable in

any way - but nice nonetheless. Her earrings matched of course, as did

the ring on her finger. She had chosen black because most of her

wardrobe was black as was her best outfit; the one she wore tonight, for

the most special night of the month, for date night.

Her skirt was black, smooth and stopped just above the knee, its

surprisingly elegant cut making her ass look good. Surprisingly because

it, like everything else she owned, was not a designer label, but rather

a rip-off of a designer label and visibly so. Her white silk imitation

shirt was smooth and her full, round and entirely fake tits held the

fabric up nicely, now of course helped by a push up bra. Past forty now,

her once full and perky silicone tits were now only full and sagged when

not held up by a bra. She didn't wear any panties, but then again she

never had. The only thing in the way of covering anything she had down

there was same inescapable chastity device she had now worn for 25

years. It hadn't been off for all those years and she had nearly

forgotten what her sissy clit looked like underneath. Not that she was

ever going to find out - Master had made that perfectly clear - but she

still wondered sometimes, just as she still wondered how an orgasm would

feel. 25 years of enforced chastity had only dampened her desire very,

very slightly and she wasn't entirely sure that it didn't have something

to do with age rather than chastity.

Finally her feet were held in a pair of black lacquer stilettos. They

were the single most sexy and yet elegant part of her outfit and easily

the most expensive. They had six inch heels, thinner than a pencil and

were made from a shiny black plastic-like material. The shoe itself had

thin heel strap and was very narrow with a toe so pointy it most of all

resembled an arrowhead. 25 years ago they would have been almost two

sizes too small for her feet, but her toes along with the rest of her

foot were now so twisted, compressed and ruined that shoes even a

fraction larger would be too large. The shoes were as shiny as it was

humanly possible and of all the things in her wardrobe she loved these

the most.

She had loved heels ever since Master had first made her wear them, all

the way back when she had merely been a shy, gay teenager with a crush

on a strong and handsome man she sometimes met on the way home from high

school. As she looked at herself in the mirror, checking that the shirt

was not rumpled before she put on the black bolero jacket completing her

outfit, she recalled again how he had approached the slight and somewhat

feminine teenage boy she had been while that boy had bought a soft

drink. None of his friends and no one he knew had been around as the

tall and muscular young man, only a couple of years older than himself,

had suddenly stood behind him at the counter, his hand unseen by others

gently caressing his prey's ass, making him jump slightly. The clerk had

seen nothing and no one had noticed how he waited outside for the man

who had groped him to exit. God, he had been so excited! Only seventeen

at the time, fully aware that he was homosexual, but too shy to have had

sexual relations with anyone yet, he had been standing outside the

store, his heart pounding and his cock rock hard in his jeans. His

future Master had been so casual, so blasé when he came out of the store

and approached him; so calm when he suggested that they meet later. Even

then he had had a hard time understanding how he could possibly agree to

such a dangerous arrangement. Sure he had been high on lust, but even so

he should have been more cautious.

But no. That very night he had not only blown the man, but also been

fucked. Three days later he had accepted putting on heels for the first

time. He remembered the red five inch pumps vividly; how he had been so

horny and excited that when the man who would soon own him had touched

his cock briefly, his fingers only just caressing the shaft, he had cum,

moaning as he shot his load. Only ten minutes later he had cum again,

this time naked except for the red five inch pumps, on all fours as the

man fucked his ass while reaching around and jerking his young lover's

erect cock until he screamed, came and collapsed, panting and moaning.

Perhaps he had been lost from that very first caress. As Kimmie, as the

young boy was soon to be turned into, thought about it as the years

passed, she thought that perhaps he hadn't had a chance. He had simply

been easy and desperately horny prey and the man had somehow seen that

from the very beginning. Kimmie tended to think that that was it, but

perhaps she was looking for excuses.

In any case it became a fever: Every night after that he had found some

pretext to go out and be with the man. He spent the nights wearing ever

more feminine outfit; the one constant being high heels. More and more

he was moved towards being actively submissive; proving blowjobs without

getting anything in return, acting submissively, groveling, playing the

pretty young girl and even begging for a fuck.

After two weeks he slept through school during the daytime, pretended to

participate in the family dinners, only to sneak out at night and get

bossed around while wearing women's clothing and then fucked by the man

he now thought of as his lover. Because he loved him. Even when he made

him prance around in pink panties, a stuffed pink bra, white ankle socks

and pink heels, begging in a squeaky falsetto to be allowed to "suck

Daddy's lollipop". It was humiliating beyond words, yet so exciting that

when the man finally entered him from behind, after endless demeaning

and humiliating overtures, he moaned for a fuck, begged for the man to

touch his cock and screamed at the top of his lungs when he spurted.

There was no doubt: He loved the man and what he did to him.

Only a month after meeting the sexy and mysterious stranger, he did what

everyone his whole life had told him not to do: he ran away with him.

Taking only what he could fit in a small backpack, he left home, leaving

a note saying that he had left and that he would get back in touch soon.

This of course never happened. From the second he got into the man's

car, the young man ceased to exist.

Within 24 hours he had been dressed up, bound, fucked and beaten so

badly that he had spent an hour begging for the man to stop, crying and

pleading through broken lips and teeth, his eyes swollen so badly that

he couldn't even see that his assailant had left long ago.

His captor, the man he now called Master, had had a large house and he

used the basement to train his sissies brutally, for he was only one of

three sissies Master owned. And that he was being trained was no joke

either. He spent endless hours practicing walking in heels, dressing as

a female and applying makeup. He learned how to do hair and nails, how

to speak in a light voice, a feminine voice she still employed. He

practiced blowjobs, hand jobs and flexing his ass properly when getting

fucked until his muscles burned and he cried from exhaustion.

Her teeth - already she was being thought of as feminine rather than

masculine - were pulled out soon after the first serious beating - most

them had been broken anyway - and her orgasms stopped altogether.

Less than thirty-six hours after running away, Master locked her cock

away in metal tube with only a tiny hole at the tip. The device was kept

in place by a very tightly fitting ring around the balls and two rods

piercing the new sissy's cock right behind the head and in the center of

the shaft. The tube left no openings in which even the smallest part of

the shaft or head could be touched and the rods, once pushed through

tube and cock, were welded in place. The tube kept the sissy's cock

pointing down and back so that it could more easily hidden when wearing

a skirt or dress and had a small eyelet to attach a string to and so

pull it further back. The day it went on had been not only the day of

her last orgasm, but also the last time she had seen her cock other than

the very base of it. That had been twenty-five years ago now and not

once had the device been off. And not only that: Kimmie knew that she

was never going to be allowed to cum again.

While at Master's house she had no name. Master simply called her a

series of demeaning names; slut, bitch, cow, cunt and so on. No errors

of any kind were tolerated and since the rules were never stated

publicly but rather had to be guessed (the sissies were not allowed to

talk to each other) her first weeks were spent in near constant pain,

seemingly always begging forgiveness or mercy or both. Three weeks after

arrival she had been broken completely, now too cowed, too afraid and

too eager to please to offer even token of symbolic resistance. Orders

were carried out without hesitation and she smiled at Master always in

the hope of not incurring punishment. So strong was her desire to please

after being broken that when Master had her eat shit straight out of the

asshole of a huge and fat fried of his, the newly broken sissy complied

instantly, eating all of it and thanking Master afterwards.

In the beginning, before she had been broken so utterly, she had thought

about escape from this nightmare all the time, but after a couple of

weeks only she became too afraid to even think about such things. She

would lie bound together with the other sissies, sobbing under their

filthy blankets on the cold floor. Everyone of them wished they hadn't

followed the mysterious and sexy stranger, but at the same time they had

lost all hope of ever escaping. Certainly it was a more complex than

just a matter of poor sissy boys being broken and demeaned. They had had

all exhibited strong submissive tendencies, which Master played to

expertly. Cheeks burning with shame Kimmie remembered how she had

voluntarily pranced around in heels and cooed feminine noises at Master

and she also remembered how she had begged for a fuck. That

submissiveness was still there, ever present and controlling her

responses, but the dominating factor in her life was now the enormous

fear of disobedience. The very thought of crossing Master and the

thought of the terrible pain it would mean made her shake and fight for

control of her bladder. As it was she now cried in the dark together

with the other sissies; cried for the lives they had lost and for the

lives they had gained instead as they looked forward to endless sexual

servitude and boundless humiliations without even the prospect of sexual

relief.

Or rather, they cried provided Master hadn't taken them with him to bed

in which case they would spend the night being jerked around like a

puppet during his vicious fuckings. For Kimmie these nights were the

best. In spite of the brutality and denial, despite the fact that she

was being turned into a slave, she still loved being taken by Master.

After being broken thoroughly and after her training had begun in

earnest, she underwent a series of cosmetic surgery procedures. First

her facial features underwent a major overhaul as her Adam's apple was

removed; her jaw line made much more feminine and several other facial

features were softened. She was also provided with a pair of false

teeth, giving her a slight but very sweet lisp. Or at least some of the

men she was used by thought it sweet, while it merely made Kimmie even

more self-conscious and less apt to speak.

Then she was given a pair of truly massive fake tits, nearly perfectly

spherical with long and sensitive nipple that very nearly defied all

later attempts to keep them hidden or at least somewhat less obtrusive

underneath clothing. After the tit implants Kimmie, or "stupid slut" as

she was being called at the time, had to learn walking all over again,

just as she had to relearn nearly all motions she went through in a day.

Although enslaved, broken and battered, abused at every turn, Kimmie

loved those tits. Touching them or having them touched by Master made

her moan with pleasure and was one of the things remaining to her that

she loved and which made her strain against the cage imprisoning her

clitty. Her tits and the heels she had to wear all the time, even when

sleeping. She loved heels, loved them so much that when she thought no

one was watching she sometimes sucked the heels of her stilettos or

rubbed the toe against her balls, squashing them ever so slightly as her

imprisoned sex strained in vain against the unbreakable steel.

During her stay at Master's house she gradually learned not only her

feminine and her sexual skills; she also learned a skill set which could

be used more generally. Practicing on the other sissies as well as on

people, both dominants and slaves, Kimmie trained as a hair dresser and

manicurist as did the other sissies. Kimmie found that she actually

liked both of these activities a lot, enjoying the work just as much as

the slightly submissive nature of the work itself.

Then suddenly after what she thought was about a year in Master's house,

she was suddenly given two sets of clothes and an id-card. The clothes

were simple; one of the sets simply a pair of jeans (very tight) and a

T-shirt, while the other set was a bit more formal with a presentable

but sexy skirt, a very feminine shirt, a pair of stockings and a pair of

fairly nice black six inch pumps. She also got some cheap, fake jewelry

and a cheap handbag. The id-card, a very well made fake, had her picture

and the name read "Kimberly Holland". Master announced that this was now

her name and that he would simply call her "Kimmie the slut".

Dressed in the nice outfit and holding her small handbag in one hand,

containing only her one piece of fake id, and with a plastic bag

containing her other set of clothes in her other hand, Kimmie stood

unbound in Master's basement and looked at her owner utterly bewildered.

Smiling at her lack of comprehension he told her that she was now going

to be put to work, making money for him.

Gaping in confusion, Kimmie was blindfolded and led from the basement

and up into Master's car. The car stopped some time later, time Kimmie

had tried using to assess her situation. Tried and failed. She was

completely lost and utterly reliant on Master and she was just about to

break down and cry and beg of Master not to release her when the car

stopped and Master removed her blindfold and spoke. He pointed to a

fancy looking hairdressing salon on a busy and obviously prosperous

street and told her to go into the shop and ask to speak to the

proprietor, Estelle, and tell her whom she had been sent by. Hearing

Master's name after calling him only Master for so long felt strange and

somehow wrong.

But she had to comply and five minutes later she was asking Estelle for

a job as a hairdresser and manicurist. Estelle reacted to Master's name

with a remark about how he had previously supplied her with excellent

girls. She then questioned Kimmie a bit about herself; a very strange

and vague episode as Kimmie desperately weaved about, ending up giving

in effect no personal information. The salon was a very nice place,

obviously catering to the wealthy, and Estelle turned out to be a very

strict employer, more than a little demanding and certainly mean to

those who worked for her. That is, when none of the customers were

watching. But that was in the future. The first time Kimmie was in the

salon recommended by Master, Estelle gave her the job, told her what the

pay was - no negotiations here, but the pay was ok - and told her to

that she expected Kimmie to be dressed nicely every day. The look on

Estelle's face told Kimmie that while she accepted the clothes Kimmie

wore, she obviously thought they were cheap. Having set a time at which

she would turn up the next day, Kimmie left the salon and returned to

Master's car where she reported back to Master, receiving only a grunt

as reply.

They drove to a much less wealthy neighborhood, not a slum or ghetto

area, just a drab, cheap and boring working class area; a place full of

apartment blocks and small, cheap houses right next to each other.

Coming from a small town with no apartment blocks, Kimmie thought the

place looked awful; depressing even. Her view did not change as Master

led her out of the car and into one of the apartment blocks. While

obviously cheap, it was also in a reasonable state or repair, but the

inside was even more depressing that the outside. Taking the elevator he

led out to the seventh floor, down a long hallway, stopping at a grey

door. The name tag on the door already read "K.Holland" and Kimmie

suddenly had to suppress an urge to cry. Master unlocked the door and

pushed her inside. As the door shut behind them, Master showed her the

place which would be her home for the next twenty-five years.

It was a one room apartment and they had stepped right into the living

room, if living was the right word. On her right was a tiny bathroom,

with a toilet, a sink and a shower. The toilet had no seat and there was

no shower curtain as such luxuries were not for people like Kimmie and

she was instructed to never acquire such things. Also there was no warm

water; not in the shower and not in the tap by the sink. In fact even

the so called kitchen did not have warm water. The living room was

surprisingly small and Kimmie now suspected that she had been placed in

an apartment originally meant for students or people in need of urgent

relocation. The room was perhaps eight by twelve feet, with a tiny

kitchen-like area at the far end. The room was already furnished - sort

of. At the left hand wall stood a large closet and almost at the other

end, right before the kitchen area stood a table and a chair. In between

stood a Stairmaster and hidden behind the closet, in the corner, stood a

large wicker basket, the kind used for large dogs, with a couple of

blankets.

Seeing her new home Kimmie did finally begin to cry and had she known

that nothing in the room would be substituted and nothing new would be

added for as long as she lived there, twenty-five years so far, she

would have cried even harder. As it was Master loved to see his sissies

cry in defeat and soon Kimmie was on her knees, sucking her owner's cock

as tears ran down her face.

The cocksucking calmed Kimmie down and after swallowing Master's cum and

dutifully thanking him for it, Kimmie got up and received further

instructions. Master gave her a number she could call collect from a

phone booth (it was before cell phones became commonplace and besides

such a valuable item would never be Kimmie's) should she ever need it.

He gave her the keys to the apartment, a subway pass valid for a month

and a small amount of cash; just enough to make it by until she got paid

the first time and with an instruction that she would have to repay it.

Then he told her in detail about the rules for her life. At day she

would work as a hairdresser and manicurist, while at night she was going

to work in one of Master's whorehouses. Somehow Kimmie was unsurprised

as she understood that he had several. Master would take all of her

earnings in the whorehouse and two-thirds of what she earned at the hair

salon. The rest would be hers to pay the rent, light, heat, subway pass,

clothing and food.

As for food she was now not only a vegetarian but a vegan. Only Master

interpreted Kimmie's brand of veganism a bit differently than otherwise.

On one point he was more lax than the standard definition and that was

in the fact that Kimmie was allowed to wear leather shoes and clothes,

could she afford any. Master's insistence on veganism for Kimmie was not

founded in animal welfare but in the simple wish to make life as cheap

and unpleasant as possible for Kimmie, to control her as much as

possible while still making as much money off her as he could. So not

only were meat, fish and dairy products banned, but fruits also, since

fruits were expensive relative to vegetables and could be considered

pleasurable because of the sweetness. Any other drinks than pure,

non-sparkling water was forbidden as well. In fact all stimulants were

forbidden; drugs, alcohol, caffeine and so on. Kimmie looked at Master

in disbelief, but of course said nothing. How was she going to manage

this?

As for life inside the apartment, this too was strictly controlled.

There was of course no hot water - this was the first time Kimmie heard

this and she started with shock - so her two daily baths - one in the

morning and one after service at the whorehouse - would be in cold water

only.

The table and chair were not for her; they were for the man who would

come once a month to collect the money she had earned. Both the chair

and the table would be covered in a special kind of cling film - which

Kimmie would pay for out of her household budget - which showed even the

slightest disturbance and which could not be straightened again after

being disturbed.

Kimmie was, when home, allowed to kneel while eating. In all other

situations she would have to stand up. Sleeping would of course be in

the doggy basket, with the added bonus that she had to be in bed by a

designated time. This was insured by a collar Kimmie had missed when she

had looked the apartment over. The collar was secured to the concrete

wall with a sturdy chain and was connected to a timer clock and a data

logger, which would then log the time she went to bed. The timer would

insure that she got up on time as it gave the wearer a small, but very

painful electric shock by way of wakeup call.

Upon rising she would eat breakfast and then work out on the Stairmaster

so that her ass and legs could remain attractive. Only she had to work

out wearing stilettos, since high heeled shoes with a heel height of

minimum 5 inches was all she was allowed to wear.

After some exercises for her back and stomach she would shower and be

off to work after dressing and applying make-up. Master made it quite

clear that he expected her to look her very best every day and that he

fully expected a sizable fraction of her already limited budget to be

spent on clothing, shoes, accessories and beauty products. Kimie's heart

sank further, but she had no time to think about it as Master now

ordered her out of the apartment. Exiting the building Master pointed to

where the nearest subway station was and the ushered her into the car.

In shock Kimmie was driven to an anonymous building in an anonymous part

of town. Occupying five floors from the tenth floor and up in the

building, which was a mixture of apartments and offices, was the

whorehouse where Kimmie would spend all of her evenings. The routine was

simple: She turned up, took off all of her clothes, including her shoes,

and donned her uniform. All of the whores at the place, male, female and

in between like Kimmie were slaves and each had his or her own uniform.

Kimmie's consisted of a bra made from some lacy pink material (not a

flimsy kind of lace since it had to hold her truly massive tits) and a

pair of pink plastic ankle boots with nine inch heels and a two inch

platform. They were even smaller than her regular shoes and terribly

hard to walk in, but she soon got good at it since she was forbidden to

sit or lie down when not with a customer. Finally her outfit was

supplemented by a set of restraints, or at least the preparations for

restraining her. Around her neck was a leather collar with a ring;

around her ankles were also sturdy leather cuffs with rings, as was the

case with her wrists. All were pink and all were locked on with

padlocks.

Holding the keys to the padlock was a severe looking mistress, Mistress

Rowena, who bowed to no one. No one except Master that was. Around

Master she groveled, cooed and tittered like a schoolgirl, obviously

both hopelessly smitten with him and at the same time absolutely

terrified of him, as well she should be. He in turn treated her slightly

better than the slaves, but with obvious disdain all the same.

When he came around with Kimmie the first time, Kimmie crawled over to

kiss Mistress Rowena's stilettoed feet but only moments later Kimmie

stood by watching as Rowena crawled over to Master, kissed his expensive

leather shoes and finally blew him, hands folded behind her head and

looking adoringly up at him as she forced herself to take all of his

cock down her throat. It was an obvious demonstration of power; who had

power over Kimmie - everyone but herself - and who had power over

everyone else: Master.

Master handed her over to Mistress Rowena who controlled the whorehouse

and with that her life as Master's money making slave began. Every day

was very much the same:

Early in the morning she woke as her collar delivered a sharp shock to

her throat and opened at the same time. She then crawled out of bed and

into the bathroom. Here she removed the ballet toed boots with ten inch

heels she had slept in. They were very small and the heels were so high

and the toe so pointed that even Kimmie with her twenty-five years of

completely unbroken experience was unable to walk in them. They were her

sleeping shoes and once off she left them in the bathroom, where she

would put them on late at night.

Barefoot Kimmie did not stand up. She had long since lost the ability to

stand up in anything less than heels five and half inches high. Only in

heels six inches or above did she feel comfortable. She put on a pair of

ankle high stiletto boots with six inch heels. They were her cheapest

pair and well used. They had to be since the next job for Kimmie was to

get on the Stairmaster and work out for an hour, after which she trained

her stomach (flat and attractive without any hint of a "six-pack") and

back (had to be strong to withstand all those hours on her feet in

heels).

Drenched in sweat she then went back into the bathroom, sat down and

removed her workout stilettos, now warm and sweaty like herself. She

then crawled under the shower. First she got herself wet, a very cold

experience since she was forbidden to use warm water. Once sufficiently

wet, she lathered up in soap, paying extra attention to her crotch,

armpits and compressed, ruined feet. She made sure to wash in between

her toes, which could now only be separated using her hands. Her

toenails had long since been pulled out for her to able to put on ever

smaller shoes and wear them forever longer periods of time and whatever

muscles left in her toes were insufficient for her to flex or separate

them. Kimmie had to pay special attention to her toes and her crotch so

they didn't attract mold or other diseases. And Master wouldn't like

that, no not one bit.

Her body lathered up Kimmie then lathered her hair in a very expensive

shampoo, which put a terrible drain on her very limited resources, but

which she had to use. Working as a hairdresser her hair had to look its

very best.

Then she turned on the cold water and made absolutely sure that all soap

and shampoo was gone from her hair and body. When she was done she

shivered with intense cold as she did every morning. Drying herself was

one of the true pleasures of her day - a bitter reminder of just how

wretched her life really was - as it almost made her warm again.

Dry, she then put on the pair of stilettos chosen for the day. She had

long since stopped wearing heels less than six inches high and as she

got older the height of her heels had grown a bit. The average heel was

now six and half inches high. Her co-workers at the salon - all

blissfully unaware that Kimmie was forced to wear such shoes - all told

her that working in such heels was ruining her feet, while they at the

same time looked at her elegant posture with envy. The result was that

several of them now wore heels once or twice a week, while at the same

time upping their dress in general. Estelle was very pleased with the

result.

Continuing her morning ritual Kimmie then used a blow dryer to dry her

hair and her imprisoned cock inside the steel tube. The closest she

would ever get to actually touching her cock, the cold air (the heating

element in the dryer had of course been disabled) was one more reminder

of her status. Hair dry Kimmie then applied make-up and did her hair,

standing naked in heels in front of the mirror. Only after this was done

was she allowed to put her clothes for the day on. Before putting on her

clothes she usually turned and looked at her body in the full length

mirror. She looked to see if the work at the whorehouse the previous

night had left any marks on her - which it frequently did - and to check

if she still looked attractive. She found that she did still look

attractive, but also very thin. So thin in fact that it bordered on her

being emaciated.

Not only was her decidedly ascetic vegan life style a factor here, but

an equally important factor in her almost dangerously low weight was the

fact that she had very little money for food. When all the bills

relating to the apartment were paid and her monthly subway pass was

paid, she had to buy clothes, make-up accessories and all the other

items she needed to look her very best. Because anything less than that

would incur the wrath of Master and his henchmen and that was something

she would die of starvation to avoid.

So when she had to buy a new pair of shoes or her outfit at the

whorehouse wore out, as it often did, she immediately had to buy a new

one and that amount of money was removed from her food budget. It was a

rare month where Kimmie didn't go completely without eating for at least

three days. She had long ago reached the point where she loved blowjobs

not only because they made her feel sensuous (and they still did;

blowjobs being one of the things she took real pleasure in), but because

she could swallow the cum and thus get a tiny bit of sustenance. On an

average night she might only give two or three blowjobs, but on a very

good night she might give up to ten blowjobs or more. On these nights

she went to bed happy with a full stomach and she would then usually

skip eating the next day so that she had a little more room for

unforeseen expenses.

After looking her dangerously skinny body over in the mirror Kimmie

would chose the day's outfit and then eat breakfast. If breakfast is the

most important meal of the day Kimmie often thought, then her own

breakfast proved what a low an insignificant person she was. On the days

where she actually ate any, it consisted of a couple of carrots and a

two glasses of water eaten as she knelt on the floor. Chewing carrots

with a set of dentures rather than real teeth was problematic to say the

least, but so was everything else in Kimmie's life. For Kimmie

everything was hard and meant to be so; simple but hard.

After breakfast Kimmie removed her teeth, cleaned her mouth and washed

teeth and made sure everything smelled fresh and attractive. Then she

picked up her purse, put on her jacket or coat and left for work. The

subway station was nearly two miles from her apartment, but she couldn't

afford a bus pass too so she walked. Two miles in six inch heels. Two

miles in six inch heels no matter if it rained or snowed and no matter

how cold it was. All her heels were, as per Master's orders, bought to

fit her feet (that is squeeze them hard) in their bare state. Kimmie

hadn't owned a pair of stockings, much less socks, since she had become

Master's sissy slave. In the winter the two mile walk, even in boots,

made her feet so cold that she used all day at work just to warm them

up, only to lose all that heat en route to the whorehouse and as she

travelled home late at night. In winter, which lasted for a couple of

months in the city she now lived in, she often had the feeling of having

permanently cold feet. Forbidden to wear underwear this applied to her

crotch too, especially since this was imprisoned in unbreakable

stainless steel.

But in spite of this, Kimmie had in twenty-five years never had a sick

day. Not once. The reason for this was not her fantastic constitution,

but a simple business decision of Master's. Master had looked to

industrial farmers and concluded that he would use some of the same

tactics to avoid disease in his slave whores. As a consequence Kimmie's

refrigerator was always equipped with a stock of high powered

antibiotics and at the smallest indication of the sniffles Kimmie was

instructed to take a full cure. This was probably unhealthy in the long

run for an ordinary person, but given Kimmie's nearly emaciated state it

was probably the only way for her avoid dying of pneumonia or something

similar. Besides, as she often thought to herself as she ate the

disturbingly powerful pills, it was unlikely that she would grow old or

be allowed to retire anyway.

For the first few years of her slavery Kimmie had entertained the

fantasy that one day Master would let her go after making enough money

off her. Gradually the fantasy shifted to one where a customer became

smitten with her and he bought her from Master and eventually let her

free or let her stay with him as his lover or even wife. Kimmie had many

variations of this fantasy, but after five or six years she began to

realize that it was never going to happen. Slaves at the whorehouse were

permitted to chat, but rarely had the opportunity as the whorehouse was

a very busy one. But as she picked up more and more from the older

slaves, male, female and in between, she understood that there were only

one way in which a slave was retired, even if there were many variations

on that theme.

A few died as consequence of brutal customers. Either as "accidents" or

as a service the customer had paid for in advance. Some were "retired"

in snuff movies, but again the numbers were small. Most of the old

slaves who no longer made money at the whorehouse kept their daytime

jobs (still money for Master) and were then forced first to walk the

streets at night, a very dangerous job as a whore, and when even that

didn't pay well enough they were forced to take a second ordinary job,

like cleaning or dishwashing at night. These jobs didn't pay as well as

selling their asses had, but small money was still money and the slave

never saw a cent of it anyway. But the lifestyle they had been forced to

live took a heavy toll and many were worn out by their late thirties or

early forties and when they began generating medical bills Master's men

came for that slave and soon a new one occupied the miserable little one

room apartment they had occupied.

Kimmie was all too aware that she was one of the oldest of the slaves at

the whorehouse, perhaps even the oldest, and that the others were now

mostly much younger and that they had begun regarding her with some

trepidation, as if her increasingly exposed position would somehow rub

off on themselves. But although she feared the consequences of growing

older, she couldn't help but note - with no small amount of satisfaction

- that she still drew customers and only very rarely sat around waiting

for business. Still, the thought of what was going to happen once the

customers started walking past her in the whorehouse was never far from

her mind.

There was a persistent rumor among the slaves at the whorehouse that

Master was the one actually doing the slaves and that his preferred

method was strangulation, but no one seemed to know where the rumor came

from or if it had any truth to it.

After walking to the station she caught the subway to the salon. Already

her feet were sore. In spite of the many years of practice, walking

great distances in heels was still murder on the feet. On the train she

stood up for all of the fifty minutes it took for her to arrive at the

subway station closest to Estelle's hairdressing salon "The Tip" as it

was called. Standing up was mandatory for her in all situations where

she could and sitting down on a subway train was something she simply

wasn't worthy of.

At "The Tip" she was nearly always the first one to arrive, right after

the Estelle the owner. When she had first been hired at Master's

recommendation Kimmie had been convinced that Estelle knew exactly what

Kimmie was; a shemale slave slut. But soon she came to realize that this

wasn't the case. Kimmie was treated like any other employee at the salon

and paid the same. Kimmie was paid like the others; cash in an envelope

together with a piece of paper with the detail of the payment, but that

was all. No bank transfers, no statement to the IRS. What her employees

did in relation to taxes was their thing and not something which Estelle

worried about.

Consequently Kimmie hadn't paid a single cent in taxes all of her life

and no one had come looking for her or that money. The reason was of

course simple: No one knew she existed. Her only piece of ID was

entirely fake, her salary was in cash, rent was handled the same way

directly with the building superintendent. Her subway pass was paid cash

at the station as was food and such. That only left the utilities bills

and they too could be handled in cash. The utility company had no idea

that it was Kimmie who lived in the apartment and not the fictitious

person whose name was on the bills. Kimmie did for all intents and

purposes only exist when she was at work and then only to the people

there. She could vanish from the face of the Earth and no one would

know; a fact not lost on her.

At the salon she worked as hard as she could, a very quiet but

unfailingly polite and service minded woman in her forties, always

impeccably dressed and fabulously good at combining comparatively cheap

clothing in ways that made the whole outfit look classy. She was always

impeccably made up and with an elegance of posture and deportment envied

by many. How she managed to stay on her feet all day in those heels of

her was a mystery to most of the others.

In her lunch break Kimmie enjoyed sitting with the others and listening

to their conversation, but as a consequence of Master's forbidding her

to have friends she only very rarely joined in and only when asked

directly and very persistently. Not that she spent much time eating at

lunch. Usually a carrot or maybe even two made up her lunch, but many

times she simply had a glass of water and nothing else. Her almost

alarming skinniness did not go unnoticed by her coworkers, but when they

confronted her with it she simply smiled and said nothing. In time the

questions stopped and it became clear to the others that she was simply

a case of an anorexic that somehow managed to function in spite her

illness.

Kimmie made very sure not to make any friends. Not only because she was

forbidden and as such risked being punished, the very thought of which

made her tremble with fear, but also because Master had made it quite

clear that her friend - should she make one - would be grabbed and

turned into a slave. And Kimmie simply couldn't bear the thought of that

happening to someone else.

The first year she had been out of Master's basement Kimmie had tried

different surreptitious tactics to break Master's hold on her and

perhaps even to escape. His hold on her was very nearly complete and

unbreakable as Kimmie had been broken very thoroughly indeed in his

basement, but still a tiny sliver of independence stuck out.

Her first attempt was logical. When she had gotten her first month's pay

one of Master's henchmen had been waiting for her outside to show her

what to do, but the month after that no one had been waiting for her. Or

so she had thought. When she got out of the salon, money in hand, and

saw no one she made a quick decision. She did not go home, but instead

made her way to the bus station, bought a ticket to a city far away from

Master and sat down to wait for the bus. She waited for an hour, looking

over her shoulder all the time, but no one came for her and she began to

hope that she would make.

Five minutes before the bus was scheduled to leave she got up to stand

in line. She got within three feet of the line when two huge men flanked

her, grabbed her arms as one of them, hidden from view, shoved a gun in

her side and led her out of the bus station. Three feet away; five

minutes. That was how close she had been. But as the two men pushed her

into the backseat of a car, sitting down in either side of her,

squeezing her between them, she recognized both of them from the bus

station. She recognized the driver of the car as well. They had all been

in the bus station the whole time. They had let her get her hopes up

when all along there had been no hope, no chance of escape. She opened

her mouth to beg, but realized the futility of it and simply began

sobbing with terror. Her terror proved to be well founded. For a whole

month she did not go to the whorehouse at night, but was picked up after

work and transported to a dungeon where she then spent the next seven

hours screaming in pain and begging for forgiveness.

There had been two more attempts at escape from her side before she was

broken utterly and gave up hope of ever breaking free. After the last

one, which had been just as doomed as the other two, Master had

personally overseen her punishment. Taking his time he had amputated her

two small toes, naturally without even the slightest use of anesthetic.

He had sown up her wounds and given her a new pair of shoes, two sizes

smaller than what she had previously used, taken the money for them out

of her purse and then walked her home. Three miles in six inch heels, in

a pair of brand new too small shoes and with her feet mangled by the

amputations, not an hour old. The whole way Kimmie had felt like

screaming and fainting, but had been kept up by Master holding her hand,

acting as assurance that if she did she would suffer even worse than she

already had. The worst irony of it was that the whole way home with

Kimmie stumbling along in her heels, constantly on the verge of

collapsing or just vomiting from the unbearable pain in her feet, Master

acted outwardly as the compassionate and loving boyfriend. He held her

up - smiling as he hissed at her that he'd squash her balls if she fell

- spoke soft words of encouragement - promising to have her ass broken

so bad she wouldn't be able to hold shit if she didn't keep on walking -

and hugged and kissed her when they stopped - breathing into her ear

that she was a useless slut and that if she failed to perform he'd turn

her into a human toilet for the rest of her life - and all the way

people turned and looked at them, pityingly at her and warmly

approvingly at him. It was a nightmare, the worst she had yet

experienced and she promised herself to behave so that she'd never again

have to do this.

Once inside her apartment Master made it quite clear that she was to

carry on her regular daily routine in spite of the unbearable pain in

her feet. Kimmie kissed his boots and promised to be good and with that

he was off. The punishment was far worse than "just" the amputations.

Walking in stilettos and standing up always slowed the healing process

down very much and so the pain stayed with her more than two months. The

loss of two toes made all of her footwear too small and she had to buy a

whole new load of shoes and as a consequence she had four very lean

months, starving outright the last week of every month.

That was the end of her resistance. Kimmie had no more left; was far too

afraid of Master and his punishments. She gave up all hope of release or

escape and this brought with it additional changes making her more

compliant. For the first few years Kimmie had held on to her original

identity as a boy. This identity had been seriously weakened in Master's

dungeon during the first year and living as a cowed female didn't help

either. She had also held on to the memory of her family, of her mother.

That changed after the amputations. One day, when she needed a nice

memory to hold on to, she found that she could no longer remember where

she had come from or what the place looked like. Alarmed she searched

her memory and came up with an even more alarming discovery: She

couldn't remember what her real name was. She had some ideas, but

couldn't pin it down exactly and this made her very nearly panic. It

happened at the whorehouse and depending on your outlook this was either

very fortunate or very unfortunate, since she was just about to blow

someone. This was an activity she loved and the cocksucking calmed her

down; calmed her down to the point where her unconscious mind pushed the

unpleasant memories back and away and made her focus on the pleasant

feeling of a cock in her mouth. This made the memories fade even further

and over time this happened again and again until she really couldn't

remember who she had been or where she came from. After three years as

Master's slave she could imagine nothing else for herself, nothing

better and in spite of her miserable existence it became all she aspired

to be; a lowly cocksucking, eternally chaste sissy whore. Property of

Master.

After work, and Kimmie was usually the last to leave save for the person

with the key to the salon, a thing Kimmie would not let herself be

trusted with, Kimmie took the subway to another part of town where the

whorehouse was located.

Sometimes she needed to shop for clothing or groceries and for this to

take place she'd have to ask for permission the day before. If

permission was granted, she was allotted a specific time she could use

and she was positive someone was watching although she had never spotted

anyone doing so. Perhaps it was in her head; a figment placed there as a

result of her brutal conditioning and forced mental collapse at Master's

hand. Most probably this was the case, but she was terrified that it

might be real and of the consequences of disobeying so she always kept

time.

But the shopping for clothes - which usually took place with at least

four months in between each expedition - was her absolute favorite

activity even though it usually meant that she'd starve for the rest of

the month. She had discovered how good she was at picking out outfit,

combining them to look even better and first of all she had discovered

how much she enjoyed looking good; looking attractive and looking

feminine. She thought that if Master or someone else were to one day

give her a real and expensive designer outfit like the ones she always

had to pass without buying she would quite possibly die from happiness.

Freedom was no longer even a dream for her.

Whether she had gone shopping first or she went there directly after

work, Kimmie would soon be arriving via the service entrance of the

whorehouse, quickly getting out of her work clothes and into her pink

whore clothes. The cuffs were locked on by Mistress Rowena who checked

on all the slaves before they were let out to make money.

Once dressed - if that was the right word - Kimmie would go to the

common area of the whorehouse, a very large open room two stories high,

pleasant and inviting. In the room were three groups of slave whores:

women, men and sissies. The groups were not that harshly divided, but

all of them had to stand up and wait for business, strutting their stuff

whenever a potential customer came by. Kimmie of course joined the

sissies, greeting the five others. The group size was not constant and

neither were the people in it. Kimmie had known quite a few other

unlucky sissies or boi bitches and she now had the dubious honor of

being the oldest. The oldest by nearly ten years.

But she still had business and on average she entertained about five

customers; mostly men but also the occasional woman. Most of her trade

was with her regulars and fortunately for Kimmie, and quite possibly one

of the reasons she had lasted for so long as a whore, almost all of her

regulars were mainly interested in relatively vanilla-like sex games.

Most liked to tie her up in some way and have her show slave behavior to

some extent, but serious beatings or torture was rare from her regulars.

Most of the time this was true of her other customers as well. Kimmie

seemed to be the kind of girl whose demeanor encouraged soft and

pleasant sex games; lengthy foreplay, extensive kissing, long, slow

fucks and long, sensuous blowjobs or cuntlappings.

Blowjobs were Kimmie's favorite and always had been. At first, all the

way back when she had first met the man she would end up calling Master,

it had been because of the sensuousness of it and the feeling of doing

something good for her partner, for the unspoken submissiveness of it.

That was still a big part of it and also the fact that she could behave

submissively as she must while enjoying it at the same time. But soon

after being put out in her own little cell and made to work for Master

another reason had joined these: Sustenance. More than five blowjobs and

her stomach began to feel wonderfully full. More than ten and she

skipped the evening meal and more than fifteen - it had happened - and

she felt distended to the point of needing to go to the bathroom.

There were, however, also quite a few customers who liked to beat up or

torture her. And as long as they paid the extra money, no one stopped

them, no matter how brutally they behaved. Many, many days Kimmie had

had to apply make-up to cover bruises, wear long sleeved shirts to cover

marks on her wrists or turtleneck sweaters to cover strangulation marks.

In the beginning she had fooled herself into believing that no one at

the hair salon knew, but one day one of the other hairdressers came to

work with a bruise on her cheek covered by make-up. It was expertly done

and the women getting their hair done hadn't noticed a thing. They were

there too short a time and absorbed by their own mirror image to notice,

but Kimmie couldn't help but notice. And she saw for the first time how

the other must look at her when she came to work bruised and battered.

It was shocking beyond belief and she felt suddenly and hopelessly

grateful for the discretion the other had shown her, probably believing

her to be in an abusive relationship with some asshole who lost his

temper and kept his woman down with his fists. She nearly cried at that

thought. If only the others knew. But of course they couldn't and

mustn't. Master had been quite specific on what would happen and after

that day Kimmie redoubled her efforts at keeping her injuries hidden.

She didn't fool herself into believing that she was a hundred percent

successful, but she did believe that she had gotten better and she

noticed a certain drop in the pitying looks from some of the others.

Most of her brutal customers were one-offs or perhaps sadists who

returned a couple of times, but since they had a whole whorehouse at

their disposal the temptation to live out their fantasies on as many as

possible was often too much to resist. But Kimmie did have return

customers who were brutal. One in particular scared Kimmie more than

most others. It was a woman, now in her early sixties and she had been a

regular for more than twenty years. Luckily she came only in once about

every other month, but when she came Kimmie felt like letting her

bladder go and crying with fear.

The woman's playing didn't involve anything elaborate or obviously

hurtful; nothing to burn her, no needles or knives, nothing that left

permanent marks. No the woman's favorites - the thing she did every time

without fail - was a very lengthy round of bastinado.

Kimmie had heard about her and her practice from two of the other

slave's who had been subjected to it but when the woman picked her one

night it soon became clear that her fascination with feet and beating

them would be especially hard on Kimmie. She had tied Kimmie on a wooden

plate in one of the whorehouse's dungeons. Kimmie was impaled on a dildo

sticking out of the plate and she was tied with a strap around her neck

encircling the wooden pole she "rested" her back against. Her hands were

cuffed behind her back, behind the pole and her legs, spread wide were

strapped down to the wooden plate, completely immobile. The wooden plate

was raised about two and half feet off the floor to provide better

working conditions for the torturer and Kimmie watched as the woman

(Kimmie knew her only as "Mistress") as the first and only of her

customers removed her footwear.

Upon removing the first bootie the woman actually gasped with excitement

and throwing the boot away she removed the other with obvious pleasure.

She caressed Kimmie's feet, paying special attention to the place where

her little toes had been and as she moved on to play with the rest of

Kimmie's foot her eyes glazed over with sexual excitement. She

questioned Kimmie and when she found out that Kimmie could never again

stand flatfooted because of her forced wearing of six inch heels of

higher, the woman stopped, groped Kimmie's feet intensely and came,

moaning softly as she stretched, arching her back slightly. It was

deeply ominous and disturbing; a distinguished looking woman in her

forties at the time in an absolutely impeccable designer business suit,

designer heels, designer jewelry and hair looking like a million dollars

groping a sissy slaves feet to the point of cuming.

Her orgasm over, the woman looked intensely at Kimmie. Her eyes were no

longer glazed over, but piercing and intense, an evil and mean desire to

hurt Kimmie present so clearly that Kimmie shivered involuntarily.

And hurt her she did. Producing a simple wooden baton about a foot long

and made from smooth, black hardwood she proceeded to beat the soles of

Kimmie's feet. She beat them meticulously, she beat them hard and most

all she beat them for a long, long time. Soon Kimmie was crying and

begging, but the woman merely smiled wider the more Kimmie cried,

occasionally stopping to masturbate while still beating Kimmie's feet.

The beating didn't stop, didn't slow down and eventually Kimmie vomited

from the pain (not that she had anything in her stomach to throw up) and

still the woman continued. She used one hand to beat Kimmie's feet and

the other to caress them and the combination of these two actions was

scary beyond belief. The woman's orgasms were too numerous to count for

Kimmie, enveloped in a haze of pain as she was, but the woman had found

her perfect victim. She tortured Kimmie that way for the whole evening,

never stopping and never slowing down. She only stopped when Mistress

Rowena came into the room after knocking politely and quietly telling

her that the whorehouse was closing. The woman acknowledged the message

without slowing down and as soon as Mistress Rowena left she came one

last time, kissed Kimmie's feet ever so gently and left the crying and

begging wreck Kimmie had turned into for others to release.

She became a regular, returning every second month or so and the routine

never varied; only now she never spoke to Kimmie. The questioning she

had subjected her to the first time was apparently enough and now all

she wanted to do was to live out the same bastinado torture scene on

Kimmie again and again. For more than twenty years she had tortured

Kimmie and had cum so many times it was doubtful if the number was even

countable and yet she had not spoken a single word to Kimmie since the

very first time. She came, tied Kimmie up, beat her feet as she

masturbated and then she left without a word, kissing Kimmie's mangled

feet gently before leaving.

Walking home in stilettos after that made Kimmie so sick with pain that

she was invariably unable to eat even the meager dinner she usually ate

on the subway home; a baggie full of raw vegetables. The pain would,

however, always be worst when she woke up the next day after removing

her "sleeping boots", ballet toed boots smaller than anything else she

had. It would usually be three days before she stopped feeling like

screaming with every step she took and more than a week after before

most of the pain went away. And once that happened she could spend the

next month or so fearing the woman's next visit. She had long since

given up all attempts at disguising her fear of the woman and when she

saw her at the whorehouse she invariably broke down and cried. The woman

didn't mind but neither did she seem to take any special pleasure in

seeing Kimmie cry; she simply walked up to her, grabbed Kimmie's hand

and led the sobbing slave to a room and began her ritual.

Most nights, however, were not as bad as that. Usually she would serve a

number of customers and as the night wound down she would, with a bit of

luck, have semen in her stomach and perhaps some leaking out her ass,

which somehow always made her feel special. She couldn't explain it, but

the feeling of that sticky fluid leaking out of her ass always gave a

sense of belonging; of being taken care of.

At one a.m. the whorehouse closed its doors and Kimmie went home. First

she walked to the subway station and then took it to the station nearest

her home. Along the way she consumed her main meal of the day, which she

had carefully kept in her bag all day. Usually it was raw vegetables,

but sometimes it was a vegetable stew now cold. It was hard consuming it

standing up in the train, but she had learned. The reason she ate on the

train and not at home was that it bought her a few precious minutes of

extra time lying down and more importantly it was the only way in which

she was able to make it home in time to lock the collar around her

throat at the designated time. She usually made it with only a minute or

two to spare. When the train was late she missed it and was then

punished for it later.

When the subway arrived at her stop she still had two miles to walk

before she was home and she usually got there just before three a.m. She

then cleaned her mouth and her dentures and put them in a glass for the

night. Then she got naked and slipped into her ballet sleeping boots

with the ten inch impossible-to-walk-in heels and crawled to bed; or

rather crawled into the dog basket in the corner, put the collar around

her neck, hearing it close, pulled the rough blankets around her and

instantly fell asleep sometime right after three a.m. That meant that

she got four hours of sleep before the alarm when off at seven. She got

even less on the nights where she simply had to take a cold shower

first, removing whatever disgusting filth had been deposited on her

body.

This routine Kimmie followed six days of the week as the hair salon was

open on Saturday as well.

But Sunday was not a day of rest as one might have expected. On Sundays

Master had gotten Kimmie yet another steady job, this one working as a

hairdresser too. The shop she worked in on Sundays was much less formal;

in fact it didn't formally exist as a hairdresser and all none who

worked paid any taxes. It was owned by a hard faced white woman named

Joanie. Joanie was just one step away from poor white trash as were most

who worked there and certainly all of her customers. It required Kimmie

to have a second much more trashy wardrobe and her make-up on Sundays

was also much cheaper looking, with much redder lips, redder nail

polish, high hair and long, dangling earrings. Her shoes were white, red

or pink stilettos and skirts either very short or substituted with

impossibly tight jeans. Wearing the jeans - and she had orders that

every second Sunday was jeans day - was singularly painful as it

required her to squash her genitals almost into her ass.

Pay was decided by the number of customers and paid out after each day.

Joanie liked the quiet and somehow classy girl who came and did her job

almost without a sound and certainly without complaint, but she wondered

where she came from as all others who had ever worker for her had been

essentially lovable loudmouths. But since Kimmie worked hard and never

complained, even when her man had obviously beat the shit out of her the

night before, which happened disturbingly often, Joanie was less

inclined to ask and simply pay her and smile. Besides Kimmie was

notorious for avoiding questions with downcast smile and sweetly and

politely refusing any overtures into any kind of friendship.

Work on Sunday didn't take quite as long as it did on all other days,

but still Kimmie got to the whorehouse as fast as she could afterwards.

The first thing she had to do was hand over her pay, every cent of it.

She did this to Mistress Rowena who was also very experienced in

questioning the slaves, both male, female and in between, about how much

they had been paid and if they had used any of it. Kimmie, like almost

all of the others, had long since given up tricks of any kind and simply

handed over her pay without any comment.

On holidays there was no rest for Kimmie either. Master kept her to make

money and since she was a slave there was no reason for her to take any

more time off than was strictly necessary for sleeping, eating,

transportation and such. If the holiday was just one day she usually

reported to the whorehouse first thing in the morning, just as early as

she would have had she been going to Estelle's or Joanie's. The only

reason for to deviate from this was if Master had found other profitable

employment for her: If Estelle or Joanie had an extra day open or if

Master had managed to rent her out for a whole day.

Renting her out was a favorite for the longer holidays and for vacation

time. While Estelle and Joanie might think that Kimmie left for vacation

with her bastard of a wife beater, she mostly left to be rented out for

an extended period of time to some wealthy customer. Kimmie looked

forward to these periods with a mixture of terror and expectation.

Terror for the obvious reason that most of the "accidents" which took

the lives of the slaves happened at private locations where some rich

pervert subjected his new rented bitch to a long and elaborate fantasy.

Six times in twenty-five years she had come very close to getting

killed.

Once she had been grabbed, raped and nearly killed by a sicko in an

alleyway, saved only by the fact that her attacker let go of her neck

when she passed out from the strangulation instead of waiting for her to

actually die. She had been at work the next day smiling somewhat

nervously of course, but at least Master's men had found the bastard and

castrated him before turning him into a toothless, sexless rent-boy.

Horrible as it was, it actually made her very grateful to Master.

Kimmie's broken mind did not have the energy to stop and consider the

fact that Master had actually had kidnapped to be raped for the rest of

her life so she dropped to her knees and kissed Master's boots with

fervor as she thanked him.

The five other times had all been while rented out to a paying customer.

Three of those times she had been so badly damaged that she had had to

spend two to three days in bed, the only times in her twenty-five years

"career" as a slave whore that had happened. It had of course happened

over vacations and holidays so no one had noticed except for Master, who

had responded only by extracting extra pay from those customers.

So Kimmie had ample reason to fear those rental arrangements. But she

also looked forward to them for the nicest periods she experienced as

slave had also happened in those periods. First of all none of the

people, male or female, who had rented her had had the imagination

required to comprehend just how little food she got by on daily, so each

of these rental periods had resulted in her putting on much needed

weight. Weight without she would probably have perished a long time ago.

Secondly only two of the ones who had rented her had let her sleep as

little as she did on her ordinary days. Most seemed to think that five

hours of sleep was torture when Kimmie usually got by on four. Third,

but not least in Kimmie's mind, was the fact that some of these perverts

did not want her to beat her or torture her, but simply to have a

beautiful slave companion who would do anything they asked.

Three times she had been rented out to people she had been very close to

falling in love with or had in fact fallen in love with. One had been a

gentleman-like guy who had dressed her in the finest of designer clothes

and shoes, adorned her with expensive jewelry and given her flowers

every day of the week he had rented her. They had had sex at least five

times a day, but it had been soft and gentle even when he commanded her

to kneel and blow him. She had slept beside him on silken sheets and

eaten breakfast in bed with him. He had paid Master to have her skip her

vegan with no fruit even lifestyle and she had gorged on fruit, tasty

bread and whatever he had pleased. Going back to her normal life had

been very hard, but still she had felt refreshed and rested.

The one time she had fallen in love had surprisingly enough been with

woman. The woman had rented her for a week and Kimmie had spent the

whole week naked except for heels and a collar; a collar made from

exquisitely formed silver links. The woman, her name was Karen, had also

paid to have Kimmie eat whatever Karen pleased and she had handfed

Kimmie every time they ate. Kimmie had looked at with large love struck

eyes, barely noticing the delicious food being put gently into her

mouth. Karen had taken Kimmie with her into the bath and the first time

Kimmie had slipped beneath the foamy surface of a hot bath, slipping in

between Karen's smooth legs, she had been overcome with emotion and

cried with gratitude. They had spent the holiday either making gentle

love or simply petting, touching and caressing each other. Of course

Kimmie couldn't cum, but not only was she harder inside her prison that

she had ever been, but she had also loved every time Karen had arched

her back and purred, moaned or screamed as she came. On the last day of

the vacation Kimmie had for once dared to break the rules and while

kneeling beside Karen's table after dinner - Karen at the table while

Kimmie knelt beside her and was fed by hand - and softly and timidly she

had asked Karen if she would consider buying her? Karen looked at her

intently, but not really surprised as Kimmie rushed on while she had the

courage and told her that she loved Karen and she wanted to stay with

her always; she would do anything - anything - for her.

Karen had smiled a little sadly and explained that she wasn't going to

buy Kimmie for a number of reasons. Firstly Master had clearly indicated

that Kimmie was not an object you could buy and Master was clearly not a

man to be trifled with. Kimmie was more than a little surprised at the

fact that she wasn't for sale since she had always had the impression

that the money she could bring him was the deciding factor in her life.

Secondly Karen liked variation and one week with a slave was enough. And

lastly, and here Karen's face took on a hard and lustful look, she loved

this moment when the slave begged to be owned by her and she got to dump

the slave, put her in place and exert her cruel authority over her

rental object. Kimmie was heartbroken as she realized that it had all

been part of Karen's cruel game but she was at least unsurprised when

Karen spent the last hours of the rental period fisting Kimmie while she

kneaded her balls until Kimmie stopped screaming and vomited with pain

before passing out. Sobbing she walked to the nearest subway station,

holding back the moans of pain coming from her mangled balls and with a

taste of shit in her mouth as the very last thing Karen had done was to

have Kimmie kneel, fully dressed and ready to go home, so that Karen

could take a dump in her mouth.

The whole experience had confirmed to Kimmie that she was never going to

escape, that she was doomed to a life of brutal sexual servitude without

even the slightest chance of being rewarded in any way.

Once a month, on the day she got paid at Estelle's, Kimmie would receive

a visit from Master's henchmen rather than simply bringing the envelope

with money to the whorehouse. Master, who actually on rare occasions had

collected the money himself, called it "date night"; an ironic remark if

there ever was one. On date night Kimmie rushed from Estelle's salon out

to buy a juicy steak and a bottle of wine, both of which had better be

of good quality. Kimmie did this knowing full well that she would

benefit from none of it. After shopping she was to rush home and dress

her finest and wait for her date that night. She had no way of knowing

who came or when they came or even if they wanted to eat dinner at her

place with Kimmie as the ever subservient slave smiling sweetly and

willingly as she prepared and served a meal she was not allowed to eat

herself.

She would stand in right inside the door at six-thirty at the latest,

ready for her date and ready to hand over almost all of her hard-earned

money, leaving only a pittance for her to get by on for the rest of the

month. Sometimes her date showed up soon after six-thirty and in that

case there was as good as no chance that she would serve dinner for that

person. He or she would, Kimmie had surmised over the years, be at the

very beginning of his or her route to collect money and wouldn't have

time for a meal. Kimmie would dutifully hand over the money, the man or

woman would inspect her and her apartment, sometimes even make Kimmie

blow him, and then he or she would leave, some of them taking the steak

and wine with them. Mostly they just watched her pour her hard-earned

money down the drain and throw the equally hard-earned steak out in the

trash chute. It hurt quite a bit seeing all that good food go to waste,

but there was actually a compensation which almost made up for it. It

was the fact that she was free to eat in good time and sleep all she

wanted. Usually this was the arrangement she liked best and if she had

handed over her money by seven, she was usually asleep by eight. For

Kimmie this was luxury beyond what she otherwise dared hope for.

Sometimes, however, the person Master had sent would arrive late in the

evening. Kimmie had tried waiting for five hours, standing up in the

same spot the whole time, which might have been hard for most others but

which was actually kind of relaxing for her. If the collector came late,

there was a greater chance that Kimmie would serve dinner and suffer

some kind of abuse later on. This had its own charm for Kimmie, because

it meant that she could behave a bit more normally; perhaps even pretend

to herself she was the collector's girlfriend and that she was serving

him after a day at work. Later he would fuck her, just like Kimmie

imagined regular relationships were. Her conditioning was abundantly

clear in these situations as she fully expected to be used and beaten

and be grateful to boot as long as the abuse did not result in marks she

had to cover the next day.

Master had five collectors who came regularly by Kimmie. Two were

basically uninterested in anything other than getting the money and

perhaps a quick blowjob, no matter how late. The three other were

different.

There was Master Alan, a wiry little man who loved to make her scream.

No matter how late or early Master Alan always took the time needed to

make Kimmie scream, cry and beg. Sometimes he didn't even want a blowjob

before he left; the torture was obviously satisfying enough for him. If

he came to Kimmie last on his route, she could be sure that she would be

very sore the next day.

The second was Master Frank. Master Frank was the completely opposite

end of the spectrum. A large man in every way with a large mustache and

seemingly a pleasant behavior (how pleasant can you really be if you

control slaves for a living?) he always made Kimmie cook for him if he

came to her last. He drank copiously from the wine she poured and spent

a great deal of effort groping her as she cooked and served him, often

slipping his hand all the way up to her crotch and fondling her

imprisoned genitals and stroking her thighs and ass with great feeling.

He would stand behind her as she cooked and fondle her tits as he

pressed his hard-on into her ass. He would kiss her neck and have her

kiss him and as he ate he always had her keep his cock in her mouth.

Kimmie's orders were always to keep him hard, but to not bring him to

orgasm. After dinner she usually ended up riding his cock as he remained

seated in the chair, Kimmie facing front all of her clothes loosened but

not removed, Master Frank groping her tits from behind as Kimmie cried

in the squeakiest falsetto she could manage that she loved Master

Frank's cock, begging him to impale her and split her in half. Corny as

it was it made Kimmie feel wanted, desired even, and she always

responded to his goodbye kiss with real fervor.

The third was a woman, Mistress Wanda. Mistress Wanda was no doubt the

most complex and certainly the most demanding of the three. Mistress

Wanda was always dressed in a skin tight leather suit; leather pants,

leather jacket over a shirt pulled together at the neck with a leather

tie and of course leather boots with six inch heels. The suit varied in

color; sometimes black, sometimes red, then green, blue and even white

and it was always perfectly matched from boots to tie. She was a small

woman, no more than five foot two inches, but her behavior and demeanor

left no doubt who was in charge when she entered the room, her coal

black hair usually pulled together in a tight ponytail contrasting her

pale, white skin and blood red lips.

Mistress Wanda rarely made Kimmie cook, preferring to sip the wine as

she made Kimmie perform. Just what she made Kimmie perform was almost

always a surprise. Once she had made Kimmie lick every single square

inch of her leather clad body, from the soles of her boots to her face

and hair. Kimmie had performed elaborate strip numbers without the aid

of music of any kind, had had forced enormous objects up her ass, eaten

a week's worth of Mistress Wanda's shit, tried - and failed - to drink

two gallons of urine, pierced her balls with sturdy skewers and whipped

her own thighs bloody as well as many other painful and humiliating

rituals. Mistress Wanda was always demanding and always made Kimmie do

it to herself. Afterwards she would make Kimmie eat shit straight out of

her ass, wash Kimmie's mouth out with industrial strength soap and then

have Kimmie eat her pussy while she whipped her ass and back.

Not much but the desire to please and the fear of failure passed through

Kimmie's mind as she straightened her outfit and checked her make-up in

front of the mirror on date night. She hoped for either an early pickup

and an early night or Master Frank this evening. Mistress Wanda, if she

was not in a too disgusting mood, might also be an interesting evening

Kimmie thought as she turned in front of the mirror and looked at her

almost painfully skinny appearance; an appearance she had come to view

as her best look. Her ass might be very tight and skinny, but her legs

were long and slender (thin) and her finest heels made them look even

better. Her outfit was wrinkle free and her make-up smudge free, her

hair perfect down to the last lock. She was as ready as she would ever

get for the trials of date night.

At six-thirty a key turned in the lock and the door opened. As were her

orders Kimmie curtseyed deeply, her head demurely down, stood up and

turned slowly so that she might be inspected properly and thoroughly.

She did this without missing a beat even though her heart was pounding

and her breath had become shallow and nervous. The door had opened not

to reveal Master Frank or Mistress Wanda but Master. Master was here!

The cruel, evil and devastatingly attractive and sexy man who had

enslaved her all those years ago and whose hold on her would never ever

be released.

After presenting herself as usual she continued to obey the standing

orders without missing a beat and gracefully sank to her knees and

leaned forward to kiss his thousand dollar designer shoes, whispering

devoutly as she did: "Master".

Master let her finish her foot worship after which she remained prostate

as was customary. Only after letting her wait for a minute while he

entered the apartment - room - did he allow her to rise. The joy and

fear of seeing Master was unmistakable on her face and Master suppressed

an evil grin. Kimmie for her part was more excited than she had been in

years. Master was evil no doubt about that, he was the person in the

world who had done her most harm and continued to harm and violate her

every day, but Master was also the person in the world Kimmie lusted

after the most.

He had chosen her well and indoctrinated, conditioned and taught her

even better and no one in the world knew this better than Kimmie. She

might have been broken and she might have been forced into her current

and for all intents and purposes permanent state of slavery by this very

man, but she loved him still and her acceptance of her state was rooted

in this bizarre affection for an evil and uncaring man. Master could

have her anytime and under any circumstance. Kimmie would never hesitate

and deep down in her secret heart she thought it was probably good that

she had been unable to escape; perhaps she had even helped her captor in

catching her. After twenty-five years of sexual denial and brutal

slavery, Master still pressed all of her buttons at once, shorting out

all her feeble attempts at self-preservation.

Once on her feet Master walked right up to her, standing uncomfortably

close to her as she looked demurely down and her breath came in excited

pants that were not demure in any way, but rather the sure sign of a

bitch in real heat. He stood like that for full two minutes, almost

succeeding in making Kimmie squirm with unease and excitement. Then he

put and arm around her waist and drew her close, pressed her chin up

with the other hand and kissed her deeply. A soft moan escaped Kimmie's

throat as she was released and her eyes had acquired a dreamy, glazed

look. His assault came quickly and was a rape fantasy come though: A

quick jerk made all the pearls of her best necklace fly across the room,

both hands sought out her ample tits, kneaded them for a few seconds and

then ripped her best shirt into pieces. The bra underneath was next and

soon it too was ripped to pieces. As her final piece of clothing, her

best skirt was removed with a tearing sound, one little depressing

thought penetrated Kimmie's lust and love clouded mind; how she was

going to have to cut down on eating in the coming months to be able to

pay for the suits replacement.

But there wasn't much room in her tiny, damaged and heavily conditioned

mind for such practicalities as Master continued his assault. Kimmie

moaned with lust as Master easily secured her hands behind her back with

a pair of handcuffs and started a tit mauling frenzy, kneading, beating

and scratching her massive tits, pulling and pinching her nipples until

her moans turned into her cries and her tits were red going on blue.

Master threw the naked sissy who wore only heels and chastity device

down on floor. Kimmie lay on her back, looking up between Master's legs

as he stood above her, a foot on either side of her head, facing her

feet. Dropping his pants, he squatted down until almost sat on her face.

He then grabbed her tits by her long and very sensitive nipples, pulled

them together and began fucking them, the pre-cum on the tip of his

massive cock providing a tiny bit of lubrication to her truly massive

bulbs. Dangling so mouth wateringly close Kimmie tried in vain to bring

her tongue into contact with Master's balls, but had to give up. All she

could do was to lie down and take it.

As always Master made her take all she could. At first he was content to

just mangle her tits while fucking them, but after working them over

good, he shifted one of his hands over to work on Kimmie's balls. At

first he rolled her balls gently in his hand, already scaring Kimmie so

much that her breaths came in fast and shallow. Then the rolling turned

to kneading and the kneading became harder and harder until he was

squeezing them, making her scream.

After hearing her scream for some time, he stopped fucking her tits and

put his throbbing member into her mouth instead after first yanking her

dentures out and throwing them on the floor, while still continuing his

mangling of her balls. Having lost interest in her tits for now, he used

both hands for her balls all the while working on finding the right

angle to fuck her face in so that he could make her deepthroat him. Soon

the pain in her balls, although unchanged and extremely hard to bear,

became secondary as Master used his cock to asphyxiate his victim. His

strokes became longer and longer until he held his cock in her throat

until she convulsed with lack of air. Only then did he pull out and only

just enough for her to gasp for air, sucking desperately to get air

around his member. Kimmie nearly managed to get her breathing back to

normal when he began again and soon she was again convulsing beneath the

man she loved, convinced once again that this time he was going to kill

her. Finally, with Kimmie desperate for air and on the brink of losing

consciousness, Master came in her mouth and throat. Incredibly Kimmie

managed to swallow his load in spite of her need to breathe properly.

Master pulled his slave to her feet by her hair. Kimmie already looked

decidedly worse for wear and Master removed her handcuffs and instructed

her to clean herself up after pouring him a glass of wine. Kimmie,

forgetting all the evil things he had done to her, nearly fainted from

joy when she understood that Master would be staying and her heart

pumping away giddily she poured the wine for Master, hands trembling and

with a deeply infatuated smile on her eager face.

Kimmie rushed her cleaning and reapplication of make-up as much as she

could and soon she stood smiling eagerly by Master's chair. She still

wore only her heels and the tube holding her straining cock. It had been

years since Kimmie had been so horny and her cock tried desperately to

get hard inside its unbreakable prison in spite of her mangled balls.

The effect Master had on her was unlike that of any other individual and

Kimmie would do anything for even the tiniest fraction of Master's

glorious attention.

Master had brought a bag with him - Kimmie hadn't even noticed - and had

assembled a low dildo pole with a low, wide and stable foot. The dildo

itself was about a foot long and very wide, with five rows of nasty

looking knobs running down its sides. Kimmie guessed, correctly, that

she would be impaling herself. This was by no means new to her, but the

dildo as well as the pole's height, about a foot at most, was definitely

a challenge. But impaling herself was of course not the whole show.

Master first secured her hands behind her back again with handcuffs.

Then he tied a thin piece of rope tightly around her throat. Not so

tight as to choke her in any way - at least not yet - but very tight

nonetheless.

Pulling her manacled hands up as far as they would go in between her

shoulder blades, he then tied the other end of the rope to the small

chain connecting the two cuffs. Quickly finding out that the rope around

her neck was tied with slipknot, Kimmie now had to use all of her

strength to hold her bound hands in place as far up between her shoulder

blades as she could. Even the slightest shift in the position of her

hands resulted in the rope around her throat tightening. And since it

was tied with a type of slipknot where the tension didn't ease even if

she managed to get her hands up their former position again, every

little movement in her arms in the wrong direction resulted in her

moving closer and closer to cutting off all air to herself.

Her task would - as Master put it without even a trace of sarcasm in his

voice - be simple: While squatting up and down in the very low dildo

pole, Kimmie would blow Master, the aim being making him cum before she

was strangled by the slipknot. Simple.

Getting down on the dildo, although exceptionally awkwardly placed and

very large and unpleasant, proved to be the simplest part. Pumping up

and down was harder and doing this while sucking Master's glorious pole

- never loosing contact, not even for split second - was very, very

hard. But there was nothing for it and Kimmie began her work. Already on

the first cycle up and down she failed to suppress a small jerk in her

arms and the noose tightened. This caused her to lose concentration and

her lips slipped from Master's cock for just a fraction of a second and

as punishment he simply gave the noose a hearty tug, further restricting

her breathing. Her pumping up and down became more frantic and her

suction on Master's cock more solid as she tried to compensate. This

caused her to lose concentration once again and soon the noose tightened

further, leaving her only with a tiny inadequate wheeze of a breath. The

next wrong movement of her hands was not far behind and her breathing

was now completely cut off. Doing her utmost to obey her orders she kept

her lips on Master's cock while moving up and down on the dildo. Her

eyes were turned upwards, visually begging the cruel, uncaring and

evilly smiling man as she desperately hoped he would cum and end her

work.

Master had cum not too long ago and she had been at it for no more than

a few minutes so there was no chance of Master cumming. The chance of

him showing her mercy was even less Kimmie realized with real terror

mixed with real, sexual excitement. She might actually die! There was a

real chance - a very good chance - that Master would simply let her

choke to death as she failed to make him cum. Kimmie's movements became

spasmodic, her legs reduced to making short, little unfinished jumps,

never getting off the dildo, while her cocksucking became a series of

desperate head movements as her eyes became bigger and bigger.

Her diaphragm spasmed for air, causing her taut stomach skin to convulse

and spots began to appear before her eyes. Her legs lost the ability to

keep her upright and her feet slipped from under her. Without a sound,

her eyes almost popping out of her head, she slipped down on the dildo,

driving it all the way home and even taking most of the pole it was

mounted on in her ass. Her bluish face, mouth gaping open, was turned

up, her nearly purple tongue visible inside, her legs trembled and her

feet spasmed weakly as one last thought ran through her mind: "Master is

killing me!"

She came to coughing and retching, still sitting on the dildo. Master

held her head by the hair and he had somehow loosened the noose around

her neck. She managed to switch to great, heaving breaths and with the

help of a few well placed slaps to her face and tits, she finally came

around. "Useless cunt," Master said in a truly scary toneless voice and

continued: "We'll try that again, shall we bitch?" Terrified Kimmie

nodded frantically and with that he let go of her hair and she began the

near impossible task again.

Kimmie lasted a few minutes more this time, but the first choking

experience had scared her badly - she had always feared and hated breath

games - and as her breath was once again cut off completely she panicked

and convulsing and flailing like crazy she sank even further down over

the dildo pole as her legs kicked and her body jerked in desperation.

The last thing she saw before everything went dark was Master annoyed

face looking down on her.

This time he abused her very badly verbally, slapping her around by both

the face and tits before making her begin again. On so it went; Kimmie

would try desperately to make him cum while fucking her ass with the

brutal dildo and while she gradually became better she also inevitably

she fell short, ending up losing consciousness as panic enveloped her

mind. She lost count after the seventh loss of consciousness, too

terrified to keep such information in her tiny mind anymore. It went on

and on and somewhere in the back of her mind Kimmie wondered how Master

was able to stay hard for so long; real proof, if any was needed, of her

status as a stupid piece of fuckmeat: Master naturally stayed hard by

subjecting her to these games and the longer they went on, the better it

was for him.

Finally, with Kimmie far beyond the point of real mind numbing panic,

Master came. Kimmie didn't perceive that it had really happened at

first; she had simply sunk down on the pole as usual, spasming and

flailing with panic as she lost consciousness while desperately fighting

for air that just wasn't there. Just before all faded to blackness, she

distantly felt something warm spraying her face and lips, but it was too

far away for her to recognize it as Master's cum spraying her purple

face, protruding tongue and utterly desperate eyes.

When she came to, her hands were free and she could no longer feel the

horrible tightness of the rope around her neck (although she would feel

the effects of the rope for the next week or more). She cried with

gratitude after restoring her breathing to normal, crawling over to kiss

Master's shoes and only when he commanded her to clean herself up and

remove the cum from her face did she realize that this particular part

of the ordeal was over.

Crying with gratitude she waddled into her tiny bathroom and began the

process of restoring a pretty image of herself for Master's pleasure.

The cum and tears were soon gone but looking at her face and neck she

realized that for the next couple of weeks she would be wearing heavier

than usual make up and turtleneck sweaters and sweater dresses. Her face

was starting to bruise where she had been slapped and around her neck

ran a blood red band where the skin had been torn by the rope. Her tits

were also beginning to show a deep blue shade in addition to the scratch

marks already there.

As she hurried to get ready for Master he was suddenly there, standing

right behind her, looking over her shoulder at her in the mirror. He

reached around her waist in a very possessive gesture, pressing her body

back into his. Kimmie nearly fainted with bliss. Oh God how she loved

being owned by this evil man! Kimmie stood still as his other hand moved

up her thigh, taking a diversionary path to her crotch where it gently -

and very possessively - cupped her frustrated and unused testicles,

before moving up her body and finally cupping her breast. After the

first inch of the hands' movement Kimmie had begun to moan with

pleasure. The terror from the choking was still there as was the fear

that Master would abuse her to death, but they didn't dampen her lust

for the evil man, her desire to belong to him; they only fuelled this

desire further.

A tiny voice in Kimmie's mind shouted: "He's evil! He sees you only as

an object to torment for his own pleasure. He'll end up killing you!"

and a much stronger voice answered, the voice that was the real Kimmie:

"I know. I love him and what he does to me. My only wish is to provide

pleasure for him, no matter the cost". With that the voice of

self-preservation was muted and Kimmie devoted herself to the moment;

relishing in her status a pleasure object for an evil bastard.

The hands stopped roaming and after a while Kimmie opened her eyes and

stopped her lustful moaning. In the mirror Master fixed her eyes,

looking straight into them as she whispered in her ear: "You are the

longest serving cunt I have ever had. No other useless slave shit has

lasted so long as you and you continue to make money for you, as is your

purpose". Kimmie's heart swelled with pride and sorrow. Pride at being

able to serve Master for so long and for being able to make him so much

money. Sorrow because he spoke the obvious truth: He didn't love her, he

only owned her for the money. But still he owned her and her joy at

being owned by this man was stronger than any need for true affection.

If being an object for this man was the only way in which she could earn

even a tiny, perverted and twisted part of his dubious affection, then

she would take that over everything else. She knew that he had

conditioned her to this; that he had tortured her into submission by

still she wanted him more than anyone or anything else.

Master spoke again: "Keep earning money for me bitch and I will continue

to let you live this life of luxurious privilege". The last sentence was

spoken without even a hint of irony and he went on: "Stop earning money

and I will take real pleasure in doing you like this". With that he

closed both hands around her throat with lightning speed and squeezed

them tightly shut, lifting her clear off the floor in the same movement.

He lifted her only so high so that she could see her own desperate face

in the mirror as her mouth opened up to suck air that wasn't there while

her eyes became huge and again started to protrude from her face.

Desperation grew and her legs began to kick and jerk as spasms hit her

diaphragm. Her hands began to flail but her conditioning was so strong

that they never even went near her assailant; they simply flailed in

desperation as she was strangled. Her face turned purple again, her

tongue protruded like a blackening bulb from her mouth and her struggles

grew desperate and spasmodic until she finally lost consciousness again

thinking that Master was killing her.

But he hadn't and she came to on the cold bathroom floor, sucking air in

great whoops while coughing badly. Seeing that Master was no longer

there she pulled herself together and meekly minced into the living

room. Here Master sat on the only chair in her apartment; a chair she

had never had the honor to use. "Get over here bitch," he commanded and

Kimmie minced over to stand by the chair, terrified, beaten and defeated

- and desperately happy that he was here with her.

In his hand was the horrible dildo which had been mounted on the pole.

Master had detached it and fitted it with three one pound lead weights.

Reacting to a slight nod from Master Kimmie bent over and he shoved it

none too gently all the way up into her ass. Then he slapped her ass and

told her to cook dinner for him. He didn't have to say that she had to

keep the weighted dildo in place throughout.

Master was staying for dinner! Kimmie's heart was bursting with joy at

the prospect being allowed to serve Master dinner, with all that

entailed and the prospects for further abuse it carried with it. So

naked, in chastity device and heels and sporting three lead weights

hanging out of her ass, Kimmie went about cooking, making sure to clamp

her ass shut and keep the dildo in.

First Master ordered her to pour a glass of wine, something she did with

the most stupidly grateful smile imaginable. Kimmie loved Master more

than reason and instead of fleeing craved and sought out his dangerous

and harmful attention.

Dinner was uneventful. Kimmie served the carefully prepared steak,

poured the wine and otherwise stood at attention with a sweet and happy

smile; a smile greatly contrasted by her by now bruised tits, the very

visible strangulation marks on her neck - both from the rope and from

Master's hands - and finally from the very visible signs of abuse on her

face. The contrast was brought home by her almost emaciated body, the

look of a starved sexual prisoner.

When the meal was over and Master sat at the table sipping wine, he

turned to Kimmie and said: "Bring me the white cardboard box I've left

by the door". Scampering as quickly as she could, Kimmie soon found the

box, which looked like a shoebox without any markings, and brought it to

the table. It was indeed a shoebox and when Master had removed the paper

padding the inside of the box, he took the shoes out and placed them on

the table, pushing the box aside. On the table now stood the most pretty

and elegant pair of booties Kimmie had ever seen, obviously a pair of

designer shoes: Kimmie estimated that the "leg" of the booties would

stop right below the ankle, making them a cross between a shoe and an

ankle boot. The material was rich, matte, black leather and on the front

of the foot was a discrete V-shaped cut. The heels were six and a half

inches high and relatively thick, perhaps the equivalent of two or three

pencils thick. The soles were red, as was the inside of the heels. They

were also very small. Kimmie thought they might be two or three sizes

too small for her and this thought made her sad, as it meant that they

could impossibly be for her.

In this assumption, however, she was wrong. Master fixed his gaze at her

and said: "These are for you Kimmie, the first of your new wardrobe of

shoes". However much she might have desired the pretty shoes, this

sentence caused an involuntary yelp of fear to escape her. Not only did

this mean that Master would force her to wear them - something which

could only mean extreme pain - but he obviously also meant for her to

substitute all of her shoes, a massive investment which would mean

starvation for months to come. But saying these things out loud was out

of the question and Kimmie simply bowed her head and thanked Master for

his kind consideration.

When she looked up again she saw that Master had an evil, lustful look

on his face; a look which made Kimmie weak kneed with desire and turned

her insides to water with pure fear. "However", Master continued, "your

feet are much too big for the pretty shoes, you big, fat useless cunt,

don't you agree?" In the tiniest of voices Kimmie, with a BMI of 15,

agreed that she was indeed a fat cunt. Master informed her that some

adjustments of the size of her feet were needed in order for her to fit

the pretty shoes, a statement Kimmie agreed with in a barely audible

voice. Master grabbed Kimmie's chin and looked into her eyes: "Ask me

nicely - very nicely - to please adjust your feet to fit the new shoes".

Kimmie knew she was doomed and dropping to her knees she begged Master

to please adjust her feet to the proper size, kissing his feet as she

cried with fear, pleading not for mercy but for real torture.

Half an hour later Kimmie, for the first time ever, the first time in

twenty-four years, sat on the chair in her apartment. Her ass was

stuffed with the same dildo as before, now completely embedded inside

her and the chair had been covered with plastic. Her arms and upper body

was tied to the chair with a solid band of duct tape stretching from

right above her hips to right below her tits and her legs were almost

fused with the chair legs, duct tape being the material of choice here

as well. And for the first time her shoes had been taken off. Her mouth

had been stuffed with three pairs of filthy panties and sealed with a

penis gag, almost forcing the panties down her throat. Her eyes were

large and frightened above the wide leather strap holding the gag in

place and her breathing was shallow and frantic. A large piece of

plastic covered the floor beneath the chair and Kimmie watched

helplessly as Master laid out his tools; the tools which would reduce

her feet in size and cause Kimmie untold misery.

Already Kimmie's small toes were missing from Master's previous

ministrations and as she looked at the tiny heels, Kimmie couldn't help

but wonder just how much of her toes Master was going to remove for her

to fit them? To Kimmie the shoes now looked at least three sizes too

small.

Master went into the bathroom to wash his hands and as he came back, he

approached her from behind, gently grasping her shoulders and whispering

softly, ever so softly, in her ear: "I will not release a single one of

the bonds holding your body or face until I am completely done with

you". His tone was that of a lover, verbally caressing Kimmie with his

evil words so that her tiny, imprisoned member pressed against its cage

harder than it had been in more than twenty years. "If you puke into

your gag I will let you drown in it, you useless slut, so make sure that

you control yourself". Still the words came out soft, gentle and caring

in tone even if their content was brutal and inconsiderate to say the

very least. The tone of Master's brutal words was such that Kimmie

actually moaned with passion and lust as Master warned her of the risk

of drowning in her own vomit.

Before beginning in earnest Master made a few crucial preparations.

First he placed two absorbent pads under Kimmie's crotch as both he and

Kimmie expected her to lose control of her bladder. Then he went about

preparing each of her toes, except the big toes. He did this by tying a

piece of string very, very tightly around the very base of the toes,

cutting off the blood supply. Kimmie instantly knew that this meant that

he would be cutting her and began to keen and weep with fear. Master

smiled gently at her, saying: "You know that you both want if and need

it, you fat, worthless bitch, so stop your pathetic whining". Again he

spoke in caring and loving tones, belying the cruel message.

Then he started in earnest. The first step was the complete removal of

the toes next the small toes, which were of course already absent.

Master used a pair of surgical nippers for the job and afterwards he

cauterized the wounds with a strange powder, which stopped the blood

flow instantly, but which also caused an intense burning sensation. The

pain was unbelievable and Kimmie had to fight both the urge to vomit

with pain and the need to faint, since she was sure that fainting would

result in vomiting while she was unconscious. Also the process was far

from quick, seemingly stretching forever as Master performed his cruel

and grizzly task meticulously.

On the next two toes (on each foot) he was more "lenient" removing only

the outermost joint of them. Kimmie lost all sense of time, immersed in

a world of intense pain where her only focus was avoiding fainting and

vomiting. It was by far the worst and most protracted pain even Kimmie

had ever experienced and even though she now missed four of her ten toes

and had another four ties cut down to half size, the pain wasn't over

yet. Master had one final "adjustment" to make; one that coming from him

sounded so logical and necessary that Kimmie almost welcomed it. Almost.

As a result of Master's work on her feet they were now too asymmetrical

for standard footwear, with no toes on the outside and a big toe on the

inside. This posed a problem since the point of most shoes is centered

at least to some degree. Master of course had a quick and permanent fix

for this: He simply broke Kimmie's big toes at the outermost joint and

twisted the broken joint towards the outside of her feet, thus shaping

her feet to fit the shoe she would wear, rather than the other way

around.

Finished Master then washed and dried Kimmie's feet and held them up so

she could better see what had been done. Horribly mangled as they were,

the bleeding had nonetheless stopped completely and so Master brought of

her new shoes. Even in pain as she was, Kimmie was also had a shoe

fetish of the worst kind and her first thought as Master put them on the

floor was: "God! They are sooo pretty!" And small. Very small. As Master

grabbed her foot in one hand and a shoe in the other, he informed her

that they were indeed three full sizes smaller than what she had

previously worn. And with that he slid them onto her foot.

It was a tight fit, even for a foot as mangled as Kimmie's and once on

the pain was of course blinding, but soon both of Kimmie's feet were

clad in those wonderful designer booties. Kimmie's couldn't see properly

just how good they looked and actually thought more about how nice it

would be to be able to look in a mirror than how painful it would be

getting to that mirror.

That soon changed as Master untied her upper body and pulled her to her

feet while letting her gag stay in place. The pain was extreme, almost

as bad as when Master had cut her, but somehow she managed to stay

upright while fighting back the nausea and urge to faint. Master holding

her hand she was walked to the mirror, step very careful and stumbling,

while screaming into her gag at the top of her voice.

In front of the mirror, however, with Master holding her waist in a very

possessive - and to Kimmie very arousing - manner, Kimmie loved the way

the shoes looked on her. Not only were they very pretty and very, very

stylish, they quite simply made her foot look extremely good. And

extremely small. So small in fact that Kimmie had to look twice so make

sure that the image wasn't a mirage of some sort. Naked, but gagged and

looking decidedly worse for wear, Kimmie nonetheless looked very good.

So good in fact that Master yanked out her plug, lifted her up by the

waist and dropped her on his very erect and very much ready member.

Suspended in mid-air, held only by Master's cock and his firm grip on

her fake tits, Kimmie spent the next almost half an hour being jerked

around like the fuck puppet she really was. When Master had finally cum,

she was pulled off his pole and made to squat down - making sure that

her feet were still firmly planted on the floor - and clean his cock.

Having the enormous gag removed was both a relief and a source of

discomfort. With the gag in Kimmie had effectively been free to scream

all she liked, which was a good way of getting some mental relief. No

more. But then again, Kimmie wouldn't trade the opportunity to suck

Master's magnificent cock for anything in the world, no matter how

painful or demeaning and the mere act of licking his pole made her feel

good again.

Once the cock was clean, however, the good feelings stopped. Master now

had her practice walking in her new heels, both to "help" her adjust to

walking around with hardly any toes at all, but also to shape her feet

properly for her new shoe size. It was excruciatingly painful and for

the longest time Kimmie stumbled along in a daze of pain, but gradually

- and greatly encouraged by Master's occasional blow to her balls - she

got the hang of it.

Before Kimmie had only vaguely been aware just how much work her toes

performed when walking even in as stiff and high heeled shoes as hers.

Had Kimmie not had plenty of previous experience walking in ballet

heels, where the toes don't help with balance at all, it's doubtful

whether she would have been able to master her new tiny footwear so

quickly, but after "only" a few hours of careful practice - interrupted

by two glorious fucks, which left her longing more than ever to be

allowed to cum - she had the hang of them.

The process had not only been painful but so arousing to the helplessly

conditioned sissy slave that she now longed more for an orgasm than at

any other time in the last ten years or even twenty. The yearning almost

made her beg for an orgasm. Almost. Of course she had said nothing to

Master about her desire and it was probably wise as he seemed very

intense, very determined to hurt her, very much focused on her;

something which made Kimmie perversely happy, proud beyond her limited

capability to describe.

But it was now nearly morning and Kimmie was ready to drop, tired beyond

anything she could remember. Master of course had no intention of

allowing her to rest and so, when he deemed her proficient enough in

walking in her new footwear, Kimmie was ordered to swallow a large dose

of antibiotics - just to keep possible infections away - and then he

gave her two small, innocuous looking white pills. Five minutes after

swallowing them Kimmie felt like she was never going to sleep again. She

did not feel rested or refreshed in any way, but rather she was filled

with nervous energy, unable to suppress a slight trembling going through

her whole body. Master told her that the pills would keep her awake

until she came back from the whorehouse late at night. After dutifully

thanking him, Kimmie was sent off to the shower.

On her knees, naked and shivering under the cold water in the shower

Kimmie had a chance to think about her situation. She had that chance

every morning and she took it every morning, thinking hard about what

she was, what her life was like an what her options were as the cold

water rinsed her abused body. And every morning she reached the same

conclusion; that no matter how miserable her existence as slave was, no

matter how much pain she was in, no matter how humiliating and seemingly

unrewarding her life was she chose this life over all the other options

she had.

Yes, she had been mercilessly conditioned and yes, she was watched for

much of the day and yes, she had no money and no education to speak of

and her chances of making a life for herself on the terms offered to

most of the rest of the world were slim, very slim, but other options

existed. Kimmie had long ago figured out how she might escape when there

were no watchers. She had long ago worked out how she might get the

police's help to break free, to bring down Master and his whole network

of deeply evil people.

But Kimie chose not to. Even now, horribly mutilated and abused,

shivering under the cold, cold water imposed on her by Master, she chose

this life; the miserable, painful, humiliating and in all likelihood

short life of a slave. Because that was what she was deep down inside,

it was who she wanted to be, it was what she wanted to be: used, abused,

preyed upon and without a real friend anywhere. Because it was what she

craved, what she deserved, what she needed. Master had done this to her

and she loved him for it, loved him more now than ever before. No, he

didn't care for her as an individual at all, but he desired her as an

object to torment and worse and that was what Kimmie craved, needed,

desired more than anything in the world. If Master should, as Kimmie

stepped out of the bathroom, declare that he wanted to strangle her

exclusively for his own amusement; Kimmie would put her hands behind her

back, stretch her neck, tilt her head back and thank him. Thank him

simply for using her for pleasure and thus giving her life a purpose.

So Kimmie crawled out of the shower, dried herself, put her shoes back

on and minced out to receive Master's instructions and with them meaning

in her life.

Outside the bathroom Master was waiting. In his hands were a pair of

tiny ballet boots, her new home and sleep wear, and on the floor was a

filled plastic bag. It was open at the top and breaking her heart Kimmie

could see all of her precious shoes - both the fancy and trashy - inside

the bag, ready to be thrown out. Master explained that he had taken from

her very limited supply of money the cost of her new shoes and new

ballet boots. Heart sinking Kimmie acknowledged this thinking how little

money this would leave her for food for the rest of the month.

But shopping for food and eating, it seemed, was not going to be very

time consuming for Kimmie for the next few months. Master explained that

as she now only had two pairs of shoes, and since only one of these were

fit for use outside her apartment, Kimmie would have to buy a completely

new set of shoes. Not only that, but Master insisted that she spend the

rest of her money for the month on shoes and shoes alone.

Kimmie whimpered as she realized that she might actually starve to death

obeying Master's orders this month, but nonetheless she curtseyed deeply

and told Master that his orders would be carried out to the letter.

"However," Master continued, "I have of course made arrangements so that

you won't starve to death slut". Kimmie thanked Master with great

trepidation and sure enough: "At my order Mistress Rowena will provide

you with at least one hearty meal every night for the next three months,

which is the time I expect you to need to replenish your shoe supply. If

she hasn't got sufficient shit to feed you herself, she will arrange for

someone else to shit in your mouth". Kimmie felt like crying. Eating

shit every day for the next three months! And only shit! Master had just

told her what all of her money should be spent on and once that order

had been spoken she had no choice. Three full months of shiteating.

Kimmie wondered if she wasn't going to die of starvation, malnutrition

or just plain disgust after all.

And it didn't stop there: "Furthermore", Master went on, "I have

arranged so that Mistress Wanda will handle your monthly pickups for the

foreseeable future as she is currently in a very…voluminous scatological

mood. That should insure you one hearty meal a month". This was even

worse. Mistress Wanda was nothing if not extreme and this meant that

Kimmie would probably be forced to eat shit and drink piss until her

stomach was so full it was near bursting. Kimmie felt like screaming

with disgust and hopelessness but instead she curtseyed deeper than

before and acknowledged Master's command in the smallest possible voice,

a whimpering whisper.

Soon it would be time to go to work so Kimmie applied makeup and got

dressed. Her face was nearly undamaged - at least to look at - so makeup

wasn't a big problem, but dressing was a bit more challenging. Her

bruised body wasn't the problem, even if putting a bra on was very

painful with her bruising, swollen and scratched tits. But the

strangulation marks on her neck were very prominent indeed and would

remain so for a long time to come. The solution was a sweater dress and

once it was on, hugging her skinny, sexy body's every curve; Kimmie knew

it was an excellent choice.

The dress was made from imitation cashmere and it was a rich, almost

brownish, cream color. The material was soft and thick and covered her

sexy, abused body from six inches above her knee all the way up to her

chin. Not only was the nice and soft material and nice contrast to her

aching body and screaming feet, but when Master saw her his face lit up

with desire, something which of course made the enslaved and subjugated

sissy all warm inside.

Kimmie almost melted then as Master drew her close and kissed her

deeply, while fondling her ass. He kissed her for a long time and Kimmie

nearly fainted with delight as she let herself go, kissing back with all

her might and for the first time in two decades took the initiative and

groped Master's crotch, first on the surface of the pants and then, as

the kissing went on, actually going so far as to extract Master's member

and manipulating it with her hands. Kimmie had never been so forward,

never ever, but she could hold back no longer. She loved the evil,

brutal, ruthless and manipulating bastard she called Master more than

anything in the world and she probably didn't have many hours, or even

minutes in which to show it.

So driven by love and desire - even if that desire would never result in

release - Kimmie for the first time in her life took charge. She guided

her very surprised Master down in the floor as she pulled his pants down

and with her expertly trained hands brought him to full mast. Then she

squatted down on his pole, mangled feet in their designer torture

devices on either side of his body, and began moving up and down, using

her considerable sexual skills to the very best of her ability as she

rode him. Her dress was rolled up around her midriff and her hands were

behind her head as she moaned and screamed how much she loved while

taking him for a wild ride. He looked extremely surprised as no other

slave had ever dared to do this (and none had probably ever wanted to

being much too afraid of the consequences), but very pleased

nonetheless.

Kimmie used her skills to keep the fuck going as long as she could, but

eventually Master shot his load and Kimmie keened with delight as she

felt his warm spray fill her insides. After dismounting she dutifully

licked his cock clean and put it back inside his pants. Then she stood

up, straightened out her clothes and waited for the inevitable

punishment.

But this time it was her turn to be surprised. Master instead took her

hand and led her out in from of the mirror. Her standing in front of

him, looking into the mirror and seeing her own reflection and that of

Master standing right behind her, hand around her waist again and his

crotch pressing into her ass, Kimmie again felt like a love struck

teenager as his cum ran in a thin stream down the inside of her leg. She

knew he had hurt her more than anyone else and that he was going to be

the end of her, but she loved him not in spite of it but because of it.

She was his; it was that simple.

Master did, contrary to expectation, not punish her for her forward

ways, but it would be wrong to say that she got off. One arm around her

waist and one around her neck, he leaned forward and whispered into her

ear: "In a minute I will follow you to work, holding your hand and

making sure you walk properly. After that you will go back to your

miserable slave existence and you won't see much of me, except when I

happen to pass by the whorehouse and we certainly won't go at it again

like we have tonight." Kimmie nodded meekly, most of all inclined to cry

with sadness.

"But", Master continued, "one day your earnings will drop because no one

wants your scrawny and used up old ass anymore". Kimmie nodded again,

closer than ever to sobbing as she knew it to be all too true. "When

that happens for a slave I usually just give them more and more regular

work so they can earn their stay". It was a prospect Kimmie did not look

forward too. Demanding and demeaning as it was she enjoyed being a

sexual object for someone.

"That, however", Master went on in the softest of tones, "will not be

your fate". Here Kimmie's heart missed a beat as he went on: "On that

day I will pick you up after work at the hairdresser. I will stand

outside with a bouquet of roses as you finish work". Kimmie's heart was

now pounding, her eyes large and questioning as they sought out his in

the mirror. "I will hold the door as I guide your into my limousine and

we will drive to my house, you curled up in my lap". Kimmie's breath was

shallow and uneven as she waited for him to finish outlining her fate.

"Once there I will treat you to a night which will make the night you've

just experienced seem like a gentle walk in the park". She was now

keening softly with lust and for the first time she thought she knew how

he intended for her to end.

She was neither surprised nor disappointed: "At the end of the night",

he said and pulled down on her sweater, exposing her marked neck, "I

will ask you for something to strangle you with and you will give me

this". With that his hand suddenly, magically, held a neatly wound up

white nylon string which he then pressed in her hand. With that he

almost kissed her ear as he whispered: "Keep it in your purse always and

know that I will one day use it to strangle you with - if you choose to

enter my limo". He then kissed her neck softly, pulling down the sweater

so that his kiss landed on her raw strangulation marks.

Kimmie looked at the inconspicuous looking bundle of nylon thread, quite

thick and utterly smooth and featureless. Her brain couldn't handle its

role. She struggled to make some deeper meaning of it and realized there

were none. It was simply the instrument of her ultimate demise; a simple

and innocuous looking string with which he intended to kill her. His

gift to a favorite slave - should she choose to accept his offer. For

Master had surprised her enormously. She had to turn the sentence over

in her head a few times before she was sure, but now she was: Master had

told her that she would be free to leave when the time came; that he

would only strangle her if she wanted him to.

The very thought played tricks with her mind, made her giddy and

insecure - very insecure. What if she simply walked by Master on that

day? What if she simply broke free; became Kimmie the independent and

free girl? The options were mindboggling - and so very simple. There was

no way Kimmie was going to leave Master; no way in which she wasn't

going to get into his car giddy with lust and aching with gratitude for

Master's time and attention. There was no way Kimmie wasn't going to

give Master the string and thank him as he wound it around her neck.

Kimmie loved Master and would do anything - anything - for him. And just

as importantly: What would she do with herself if she passed Master and

simply broke free? She lived for this; the slavery, the abuse, the pain

and the fact that she would have Master's undivided attention when he

strangled her. No matter how much pain she was going to be in, no matter

how much she would panic when the nylon reduced her breathing to nil,

she was still going to love it. She lived to please Master and if that

brought him pleasure, then that was going to be what she chose.

Kimmie shivered violently, looked up with a single tear in the corner of

her eye and looked into Master's cruel blue eyes in the mirror and said:

"Master, thank you Master. I shall be looking forward to you wonderful

attention. Thank you".

With that the moment was over. Master held her jacket, a stylish black,

leather Bolero, as she slipped into it. Then he held her hand in one of

his, while his other hand held the garbage bag with her now obsolete

shoes. The sight of them shook Kimmie out of her daze as the terrible,

crippling pain in her feet returned and she took the first painful step

out of her apartment.

On the way out of the building Master found a dumpster and threw the

shoes out, signaling the beginning of Kimmie's three month long shit

only diet. Horrible pain in her feet and the prospect of a quarter of a

year of continuous disgust made Kimmie weak-kneed and before leaving for

work she stopped Master, bowed her head and said: "Master, thank you

Master. I love you Master and I will do anything - anything - for you".

The cruel man simply smiled and slapped her face as hard as he could,

catching her so she didn't fall. "I know you stupid slag. Now let's get

you out to make me some money".

The walk to the subway station was uneventful, except for the blinding

pain in her feet. Had she not still been high on her affection for

Master Kimmie would have been tempted to scream, but she knew that was

out of the question. In fact she probably wouldn't be allowed to scream

before reaching the whorehouse at night. On the train, as they stood

amidst all the other commuters, Master found the space to fondle her ass

openly, going so far as to knead her buttocks. Kimmie's face burned with

humiliation, while at the same time her imprisoned cock, locked away

without a single orgasm for twenty-five years and destined to never be

released again, pressed against its prison with newfound strength,

affirming her love and commitment for Master.

Eventually they stood within sight of the salon where Kimmie worked.

Kimmie could see Master's limo parked across the street from it, ready

to whisk him away from her. Her heart ached, for a moment drowning out

the pain in her feet, and she gathered her courage and asked: "Master,

please Master. Master may I be allowed to suck your wonderful member one

last time before we part Master?" The evil man's lustful smile was all

the answer she needed and soon she was kneeling on the ground in an

alley behind where the limo was parked, not even twenty yards from the

street. His pole was in her mouth, her cheeks sunken and a look of

obvious enjoyment on her face. Like a good girl her hands were behind

her head and her eyes were turned upwards in adulation. God how she

loved him!

All too soon it was over and his load swallowed, his wonderful gift of a

tasty meal received gratefully by his utterly devoted slave. After

thanking him Kimmie picked up her dentures from the pavement and

inserted the only slightly dirty set in her mouth. Then she got up and

as she straightened out her sweater dress, she realized that the inside

of her thighs were still smeared with dried cum from when had ridden

Master back at the apartment. All reminders of what she really was and

who she really belonged to. What she would always be and whom she would

always belong to. Always.

Master grabbed her right butt cheek and squeezed it hard enough to

bruise it, looked her in the eye and said: "So long slut" and with that

it was over. Without another word he got into his limo and drove off.

Kimmie fought back the urge to cry; standing for a few seconds to regain

her composure and then went back to her miserable slave existence. She

had money to make for Master and with that she crossed the street and

entered the hair salon. Just before the door closed behind her she

looked back over her shoulder. In a couple of years Master would stand

there with a smile, roses in his hand just for her, and invite her into

his limo for a night of horrific torture ending with her strangulation

and death. She would have the option to pass him by and be free but

there was no chance she was going to take it.

As Kimmie sat down on a low stool and began work on the nails of the

day's first customer, she smiled sweetly as she always did. Her mind,

however, was torn. On one hand she wanted to live and serve Master for

as long as she possibly could. But on the other hand she wanted him to

stand outside that door tomorrow already; stand there to take her and

give her his undivided attention, allow her to serve him as best she

could, no matter the consequences for herself. Kimmie loved Master, knew

exactly what and who she was and was secure in the knowledge that she

had achieved the best possible life for herself - no matter how hard and

demanding.

THE END

If you liked the story please drop me a line at story_2nn@yahoo.com and

tell me what you liked about it; which parts and so on.