Spencer’s UK Tour

Literotic asexstories – Spencer’s UK Tour by SirNoseDVoidOfFunk,SirNoseDVoidOfFunk
It hadn’t occurred to me immediately that the chastity cage upgrade I’d received while we were getting ready to the trip to England was to humiliate me. When Mistress removed the one piece jelly cage and replaced it with a rigid metal penis cage that connected to a split ring around the base of my genitals, I just thought my agreement to become her non-consensual slave on a permanent basis had earned me a fancier and more impressive looking cage. The fact that I’d received an orgasm, even if it was ruined, before the cage was changed made me think I was being rewarded.

The other shoe dropped when I dressed for the flight. Mistress had told me to put on a long sleeved sweater dress with a mid thigh length skirt and a mock turtle neck in a black viscose/lycra mix that was more or less skin tight. No falsies, and no way to tuck the larger cage away out of sight between my legs. I was obviously a cross-dressed sissy rather than trying to pass as a woman, despite the fact that I’d been allowed to pass, sometimes very successfully, when dressed in public before now. My outfit was completed with a pair of fishnet knee socks and my platform mary janes. The cage wasn’t any bigger than the one piece jelly one, but it was a lot more obvious. It also registered on the metal detector as we passed through the security check before boarding the airliner. After the explanation of that and an examination by one of the HSA officers who’d been infesting airports over the three years since 9/11, I didn’t even blink when Mistress took the ballet pumps she was wearing as her own traveling footwear off and told me to worship her feet once the plane was finally in the air. I spent what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes or so sucking her toes, licking her feet and feeling my cock test the limits of its new imprisonment in front of the other passengers in the half empty business class compartment. Getting hard in this one did hurt a lot more than the jelly cage had. At least we weren’t in carriage class, I told myself as I felt sneaked glances and blatant rubbernecking on me for the rest of the flight. Cathexis were up in First so they missed the show, though Mistress and our tour manager Lydia had explained the bassist in their support band’s new outlook on life to them when we briefly met in the departure lounge. I’d gone down on all fours and kissed Mistress’ feet there in front of everybody. Being exposed like that had given me such a thrill I’d probably have come on the spot if my cock wasn’t caged.

Even before the plane came in to land in the UK, I was getting the idea that this was going to be a very different tour to any I’d taken part in before becoming a slave.

“Just why,” Earl said, “are we doing an interview with some limey hack out here when the papers are based in London and we’re playing there on Saturday?”

Kara gave him a speculative look then turned to Mistress and Arabella. “You girls going to tell him,” she said, “or shall I?”

Arabella smiled. “Go for it.” Mistress patted my head and nodded.

“The hack has probably done something to piss off the editor,” Kara said, “so they’ve sent her out here, instead of letting them do the interview in London. Also, all the fuss about those shows is going to be over the headliners, but they can get away with talking to the no mark support band out in the sticks.”

“Right,” Earl said. “So where the hell is she?” The hack was running late. To be fair, we couldn’t have found this pub if it hadn’t been so close to the hotel we were booked into for the night. We’d literally got off the plane, made our way there, got changed and eaten, then made our way here. The Holiday Inn was in some sort of midget industrial estate, and was a short walk though an underpass to the pub. It wasn’t really the sort of grim dive you’d meet Brian Glover in on a moor in Yorkshire, but I felt that we probably looked a little out of place, having made an effort to dress up for the hack.

Mistress was wearing one of the black PVC catsuits she’d acquired for stage wear. We’d only be in the country for a fortnight and were playing a mere ten shows, so she thought rotating a couple of them would be good enough for the whole tour, as she was going to be stuck behind a drum kit on stage anyway. The catsuit was sleeveless, showing off her lean, muscular arms. She wore a pair of patent leather elastic sided ballet pumps, which she probably wouldn’t bother with onstage.

Arabella was wearing a black rubber vest dress with white high heeled cowboy boots and jeans jacket. Her bad cowboy hat, black felt with a leather band of silver conchos, sat on the table top next to her drink. Kara was more rock chick looking: leopard print leggings, ankle boots with kitten heels, a baggy black t shirt and a low slung bondage belt. Earl was sporting a pair of leather jeans, another black t shirt and a battered pair of Doc Martens he was planning to replace before leaving the country.

For my own part I was wearing a black PVC bondage harness with matching chaps and sleeves buckled to the corset looking garter belt and the shoulder epaulets between the collar and the breast cups my flat chest didn’t fill. The bottom part, connected to the garter was a g string that bared my buttocks. My face was more heavily made up than any of the girls’, my hair was bleached bone white apart from the pink streaks dyed into it, and I was kneeling at Mistress’ side.

The whole situation was deliciously humiliating, even without journalists from the NME arriving. The photographer took a photo of the American goth country band grouped around the pub table, then another when Mistress put her hand on my head and the rest of the band adjusted their poses. I kept my eyes lowered. The interview didn’t take long. The photographer took individual close ups of Arabella, Kara and Earl and one of Mistress smirking at the camera as I kissed her PVC coated ass. The final photo was taken outside in the car park, and for that one Mistress slipped her pumps off and handed them to the hack, then had me go down on all fours and kiss her left foot while she rested the other on top of my head, her bent knee shifting the cuff of her catsuit up a little and better exposing the anklet with a key and a “HW” inscribed charm around her right ankle. My hands were flat on the floor and my left side was facing the photographer, so maybe the tattooed wedding band that filled the bottom joint of left ring finger with Mistress’ name and Celtic knot work would show up on the photo as well.

I wondered what the lead time on reviews for the NME were. Maybe the issue with the article would appear while we were still in the country. I was out as a slave in print as well as on the internet now. It felt surprisingly good, and not being allowed to talk to the NME stringer felt like more of a blessing than a burden.

The trouble came later on, after the first show.

The cubicle stank. A strong aroma of disinfectant didn’t completely mask mixed scents of semen, piss and amyl nitrate. This situation made for a very different after show routine to the ones I had gotten used to over my years as a professional musician.

The show had gone well. The sort of dismissive approach of a B or C list journalist being sent out to Bristol to interview us obscured it, but we were probably seen as being a hipper band than Cathexis, even if we couldn’t have filled two thousand seat halls on a UK tour ourselves. When Cathexis came offstage themselves, there was a brief, drunken party backstage. As that escalated, I watched Mistress flirt outrageously with two members of the band we were supporting, and escalate to sucking face with one of them. I’d known this was coming. Before leaving to get on the plane I’d put the anklet on her myself, kissed her foot and begged her to cuckold me. That didn’t make watching her make out with another musician hurt any less.

Mistress had left with two of Cathexis, the keyboard player and the rhythm guitarist. On her way out, she’d handed me a slip of paper and told me that rather than going back to the Holiday Inn and sulking, I should get changed and go to the club on the paper. Then she snapped her fingers, and I showed my submission and slavery by going down in front of the whole room and kissing her feet before she swept out with the two members of the headline act, heading back to the far nicer hotel that Cathexis were booked into. The contempt I could feel from the audience of band members, roadies, groupies and liggers would have made my balls ache even if I wasn’t locked into a chastity device. The fuck me shoes she’d swapped for her pumps for before coming to the Colston Hall excited me as well: open toed courts with cheat heels and a slight platform.

At the Holiday Inn I changed out of the lycra leotard, fishnet pantyhose and high heeled courts I’d worn on stage into the dress and shoes I’d worn on the flight over, picked up a clutch bag, and went out to look for a cab. The address turned out, of course, to be a gay bar. Earl had found a list of glory holes online somewhere and given Mistress a copy listing those for the towns we’d be playing on this tour. When I explained myself to the doorman and offered the password I’d been told, I was taken through a back way to the glory holes. I had stepped into an empty one, bolted the door after me, and settled down to wait. I wondered how much of me was visible through the hole. It had a rubber grommet around its edges, protecting whatever was stuck through from splinters.

A tapping snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up and saw fingers in the hole, drumming on the inside of the wall it was cut in. I knelt in front of it and sucked them. They were replaced by a penis, and I started to suck that. It was uncut, and not particularly clean. I didn’t let that bother me as I sucked it as deep as I could into my mouth, humming and swallowing. As the penis stiffened and I eased back the foreskin with my lips and tongue to lick the glans I tasted a sickly sweet tang of dried lubricant and I could taste a definite hint of shit as well. The idea that I was sucking a cock that had already been up somebody’s ass tonight was thrillingly degrading. The downside was that if the cock’s owner had already fucked somebody up the ass tonight, it might take me a while and a lot of effort to bring them off again.

It didn’t. He started spurting in my mouth almost immediately he was fully hard and pulled his cock away quickly as I swallowed his load. A banknote poked through the hole and fluttered to the floor, and I picked it up to check the denomination, wondering if he’d have dropped a larger note if I hadn’t been daydreaming when he turned up. Maybe I could make enough to get into the club proper, if there was butt fucking going on in there. Mistress might have packed the dildos I’d been using for my oral and anal training regimes since I’d become her chastised sissy slave, but I hadn’t seen any sign of them yet. I thought about Mistress being spit roasted by two of Cathexis or lying back while one fucked her pussy and the other fucked her mouth and felt the aching in my blue balls get worse. The idea that I’d been hoping I’d be allowed to watch them fuck her was the most humiliating part of the whole thing.

“Get up, slave.” I opened my eyes and saw Mistress standing over me, holding her heels in one hand and bag in the other. Her hair was disheveled and her skin had a soft glow to it. My heart and balls ached in tandem as I wondered if I’d ever made her look this satiated and smug. She walked over to the bed to check that I’d spent the night on the floor, then dropped her burdens on it and sat primly, sneering down at me. She snapped her fingers and I crawled forwards and kissed the tip of each toe in turn. This had been a constant piece of etiquette since the new arrangement began. Whenever she snapped her fingers, I kissed her feet.

“While you’re down there,” she said, “you can lick them clean.” She looked over at the money I’d put on the bedside table. “Looks like you had a productive night as well.” I started licking her soles. “I can’t understand why this turns you on,” she said. “I sucked Ross’ toes last night and it was really gross. Disgusting, actually. And that was after we’d fucked in the shower so that he could nail my pussy while Taylor fucked my ass. That I did like. I could feel their dicks almost meeting inside me. That was incredible. I’m not sure, but I think they could feel each other’s meat pressing against each other through whatever’s between my colon and my pussy. As soon as Taylor started coming, Ross started up almost at once as well. I might have come as well if they hadn’t brought me off twice already like that. A big hard dick pressing on either side of my g spot. Delicious.”

The soles of Mistress’ feet weren’t all that dirty, but I gave them a thorough licking. I had an idea that one or both of Taylor and Ross had been less concerned with Mistress as a lover than as a prop to convince themselves that they weren’t fucking each other. Rubbing their cocks against each other wrapped in her anus and vagina might have been more of a turn on for one or both of them than my beautiful Goddess was. Of course, saying anything about that would have been incredibly stupid, as well as just sounding like jealous bitching. But I supposed that since Mistress had gone off with Taylor and Ross and sent me away to suck cock in a glory hole at a gay bar I was a jealous bitch, and would remain one as long as I was her slave.

“They both fucked me missionary style in the bed as well,” Mistress said. “It seemed to take Taylor longer to get it back up, so I let Ross fuck me first, then he took over when Ross came. Then, when we woke up, I sucked Ross off while Taylor did me doggy style. Being spit roasted is harder to manage than it looks, isn’t it? It might be possible to respect how quickly you’ve taken to that as somebody who spent years masquerading as a heterosexual if you weren’t so utterly contemptible, disgusting and pathetic. Still, I can understand why you’ve learned to enjoy that, and it’s incredible waking up in bed with two guys with big hard cocks who’ve fucked you hard all night. I’m going to have to try to pick up three guys next time, and go airtight. Or maybe five and give two of them a hand job while the other three fuck all my holes at once. I’m kind of sore, or I might let you go down on my pussy to see if you can find any cummies there to gobble up. Of course, looking at the tips you got in the glory hole last night, it looks like you guzzled plenty of come without that.”

I kept licking at Mistress’ feet. She hadn’t told me to stop yet. “And of course, I don’t want you licking my pussy after you’ve been sucking cock all night, do I? Your filthy faggot mouth is probably a lot dirtier than my feet. You can stop licking. Go and brush your teeth and shave. Just because we’re on tour, doesn’t mean you’re allowed poor hygiene. You can get an enema and shower as well. After that you can pack up while I shower myself, but for now I’m going to allow you first shot at the bathroom while I bask in this warm glow. Does it feel emasculating to know that a couple of strangers I’ve only just met gave me more sexual pleasure last night than I’ve had from you in years?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Utterly worthless, Mistress.”

“Not yet it doesn’t,” Mistress said. She took hold of my chin and tilted my face up so that I couldn’t avoid meeting her eyes. “You haven’t even began to feel worthless yet, slave. This is just the start. You’ll feel a lot more worthless by the end of this tour, and it’s only going to get worse. Think about me being gang banged like Annabel Chong or dozens of guys covering me with cum so thick it looks like I’ve been painted with wallpaper paste. Think about me sitting in a bath full of come from a hundred guys. Does that idea turn you on, faggot? Would giving me a tongue bath while I’m dripping with come from make you pathetic little weenie swell up in its cage and your balls ache?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. Mistress slapped my face, hard.

“So you want to see your Goddess humiliated and degraded like you are? Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

I did. Mistress spat in my mouth.

“You’re dismissed. Go clean up and make it fast. My warm glow won’t last forever, and you don’t want to try my patience, do you slave?”

I swallowed, stood and curtsied. “No, Mistress, I don’t,” I said. “Thank you, Mistress.”

I was quite proud of myself for managing to walk six feet to the boxy en suite without stumbling or flinching. I shaved myself from head to foot, brushed my teeth, showered quickly, and redid my makeup. Finally, I braided my hair and clipped it on the back of my head.

I spent the whole time thinking about how thoroughly my sponge bag had changed since my last visit to the UK. When I’d toured as part of Lux Aeternum it had contained one of the cheap plastic Wilkinson Sword safety razors, three boxes of Japanese razor blades, a stick of the cheap citrusy smelling Gillette shaving soap or one of the even cheaper Palmolive sticks the Brits did, a badger hair traveling shaving brush, a moisturizing aftershave that was supposed to smell like Bay Rum but didn’t at all, a tube of combination shower gel that also worked as shampoo, an expensive Braun electric toothbrush that I’d acquired purely to use in Europe, gel toothpaste that was supposed to do the work of mouthwash as well, a reel of dental floss, a small bottle of jojoba oil in case the aftershave failed to moisturize, a tube of exfoliating face scrub, a face flannel, a bar of neutrogena soap in a plastic shell and an aerosol deodorant.

All of that, and the battered leather bag it had lived in, originally black but fading to brown along the seams and creases, were gone. I now had a transparent PVC bag with a pink trim and no pockets to make it easier for Mistress to check its contents. The Lady-shave I’d replaced my safety razor with was pink, as was my new toothbrush, and even the gooey shaving gel I was using now. Mistress had said that she’d allow me to use a ladies’ safety razor if I could find a nice bakelite one from the ’50s, but if she did anything that even claimed to resemble bay rum was going to be out. I now had three sorts of moisturizer (two for my face and one a body oil), a perfumey smelling Hugo Boss roll on deodorant that worked just as well as a spray now I was shaving my armpits, a bar of scented soap, a pumice stone and an exfoliating face wash with an even stronger perfume smell than the deodorant. I was still using the same gel toothpaste, but but that had been replaced after Mistress threw out my male hygiene and grooming products. My makeup bag was an identical transparent and pink pouch, and was even more overstuffed than my sponge bag. I had a sort of smaller supply shuttle bag to fit in a handbag or purse, just big enough to hold a lipstick and eyeliner pencil or three, a couple of bottles of nail varnish and a compact.

It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that my bathroom routine took longer since my feminization, but when I got out of the bathroom, Mistress was still tapping her foot with theatrical impatience. She had shed her catsuit and was waiting for me holding something in either hand.

“This is what you’re wearing for the trip to Cambridge,” Mistress said. I took the pink rubber thong from her and pulled it on. It barely covered my device, and was tight enough that the metal cage was visible through it. She snapped her fingers then, when I’d kissed her toes, had me stay on my knees as she fastened a thick leather collar round my throat and locked it shut with a miniature luggage padlock. “A slave has no secrets,” Mistress said. “A slave has no pride. I’m going to make sure that everybody on the tour knows where to find you when I send you to a glory hole. Think about sucking off our roadies, Cathexis’ crew, audience members, journalists, people who used to think you were a man rather than a come guzzling mouth on the other side of a hole in a gay bar. Everybody’s going to know what you are.”

“Now hurry up and pack.” She strutted into the bathroom as I began to fold up her catsuit.

In the pink latex thong and collar I felt more exposed than I would have been in just my cage. I spent the trip kneeling at Mistress’ feet in the aisle between the rows of seat. The tour bus we’d rented, or rather Cathexis had rented for us, was larger than we needed. It was far less showy and expensive than the one they were using, and had no facilities apart from a small toilet stall at the back. That didn’t really matter as with only nine of us on there, there was plenty of space for everybody to spread out. Apart from the five band members there was our manager Lyndi and three roadies, one of whom, Helga, was Arabella’s slave and spent the whole trip kneeling at her owner’s feet but had been allowed to wear a pair of jeans and a t shirt along with her own metal collar. Of course, the fact that there was a slave crest tattooed on the right side of her shaved head made stripping her naked redundant. I knew she was British herself, and came from somewhere in the West Country. Perhaps she was glad that we’d only played the one concert in Bristol and hadn’t gone further over that way, though I was sure the various plastic surgeries she’d had altered her appearance a lot more than her shaved head did.

Everybody was fairly dressed down. No press or anything else until the show, so we could just check into the hotel and wait until seven. Mistress was wearing a pair of leatherette PVC hot pants and a Cradle of Filth t shirt. She’d taken her ballet pumps off so that I could paint her nails. She’d also announced to the whole bus that my mouth and asshole were available to anybody who wanted them. I was a little disappointed that neither of the two guys we had in the road crew besides Helga had taken her up on that.

Of course, the stop for lunch might have put them off. I waited on the coach while everybody else went off to get some fast food, then, when they returned, ate my own lunch out of a dog bowl. Mistress had picked up a tin of dog food and a tin of baked beans from a shop in the service station, set up a bowl by the coach in the car park, emptied both tins into it, then filmed me going down on all fours and eating it. Maybe the British are too polite to rubberneck, but I felt something inside me die as I ate the disgusting, cold slop like an animal out where everybody could see me. A slave has no pride, I told myself. I am not a man, or even a human being. Small wonder my wife and Goddess would rather fuck a real man than whatever it was that I was being turned into. After I finished eating, I was further humiliated by being ordered to take the bowl to the toilets and clean it. If it hadn’t been for the thong, the camera would have caught my cock trying to stiffen at that, and oozing. I luxuriated in the contempt and revulsion I could feel from the guys who came into the toilets as I washed the bowl out. If anything, I was a little disappointed that I’d been sent to the small outdoors block in the car park to do that instead of being sent into the service station to use the toilets in there. Mistress’ camera stayed on me as I walked to the block, and I wiggled and minced, even though I wasn’t cross-dressed. I’d been given a pound to get a disposable toothbrush out of a machine in there, and enjoyed clearing the taste of my lunch out of my mouth. I’d eaten worse, since beginning my descent into slavery, but that didn’t make the mix of cold beans and dog food taste any better. I had an idea that Mistress was possibly in some sort of contest with Arabella, as Helga was an enthusiastic coprophile and copraphage who’d spent time as an adult baby and could apparently stomach anything. She’d even, Arabella had claimed, eaten live maggots as a punishment on occasion. Obviously, I had a lot of catching up to do before I could compete with Helga on that level. I found the thought more than a little frightening. However much the idea of eating Mistress’ shit made my cock protest its imprisonment and my balls ache, I’d found actually doing it incredibly difficult the three times we’d tried it so far. I just hoped it would get easier. Maybe Mistress’ ongoing oral training to destroy my gag reflex and constantly feeding me repulsive tasting swill to strengthen my gullet and stomach would help with that.

The soles of Mistress feet were crinkled and lickable looking as she knelt with her toes curled back and sucked Ross’ cock in the dressing room. We’d just come offstage and Cathexis were killing time before going on. I wondered if Mistress was angry that Ross had asked for a blow job while Taylor primped in the mirror. I knew that it was the keyboards player that interested her a lot more than the rhythm guitarist, but they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. I wasn’t sure that a slave-owning Dominatrix should be on her knees preforming fellatio, but my opinion hadn’t been asked, Taylor had taken me to one side earlier and said that he was going to have my ass and mouth as well as my Goddess’. He’d said “Mistress” with a sneer while telling me this, and done air quotes. He also mentioned that he was hoping to get Ross into bed without a passive female in a threesome to let him pretend there was nothing gay about their bromance before the end of the tour, which explained a lot, and matched my suspicions closely enough that I felt smug to have called that so well. I had to give the ass-hat credit for not asking Mistress if he could borrow me, but being made complicit in him fucking me without telling her made me feel skeevy and sleazy, no matter that I’d spent three hours in a glory hole last night, sucked Earl’s cock in front of the band, and made a porn film where I was fucked sore and bloody by a bunch of black guys with intimidatingly huge cocks. Only the fact that Mistress had declared my mouth and anus freely available to anybody on the tour who wanted them put me off telling her about that, though she was hardly in any position to pay attention at the moment. The fact that Taylor had told me that I was the one of the two of us he really fancied, and that I made a much better sissy than I had a man didn’t help with my mixed feelings. Neither had a French kiss that smudged my lipstick and made my balls ache and my imprisoned cock hurt. I had an idea that Miles, Cathexis’ drummer and the band member Mistress was really after was more interested in me than her as well. I’d noticed him checking out my ass with a discrete but intense appraisal that felt colder than the wind off a glacier more than once. The fact that the rubber thong I’d spent all day wearing before dressing to take the stage had invited that sort of assessment didn’t make it feel any better. I’d worn a pink fishnet body stocking, another bondage collar and matching wrist and ankle cuffs on stage tonight, along with masking tape crosses over my nipples and a sort of PVC drawstring sack fastened over my chastity device. Some aspects of my new role terrified me, but I had to admit that I was enjoying the exposure a lot. I’d never have dared to dress like that on stage when I was straight and more or less vanilla guy.

Ross’ eyes rolled back a little and his face tightened. Mistress took his cock out of her mouth, kissed it, then stood and beckoned me over. I hurried over as quickly as I could taking mincing little steps, and she grabbed the back of my head pulled my face to hers and kissed Ross’s semen into my mouth. I heard a not quite ironic cheers from a few observers as Ross adjusted his black leather jeans and joined the rest of Cathexis on the way to the stage. Mistress broke contact and smiled at me, as I held the semen in my mouth, waiting for further orders.

“Swallow,” she said. I swallowed. “No glory hole tonight, slave,” she said. “I want to put a listing on the website next to the tour itinerary, but Arabella isn’t having that. Earl isn’t exactly keen either, come to that. Maybe he’s worried that they’ll think you’re dressing up and it’s really him sucking cock through a hole? Anyway, I suppose it isn’t really practical. It isn’t like anybody takes a laptop to a rock concert. Still, if people go to an internet cafe while they’re waiting for the venue to open or something. It probably belongs on our website not the band one, and that’s just a placeholder at the minute, anyway.”

Mistress giggled and patted my cheek. “You’re learning,” she said. “No talking unless you’re asked a direct question. Get me my shoes.”

I picked up her pumps where she’d left them. That she hadn’t worn a pair of fuck mes on the way here should have been a hint that I wasn’t going to be dismissed to a glory hole somewhere, I supposed. I put the shoes on her feet as gently as I could, but wasn’t invited to kiss them. She read the look in my eyes and smirked.

“Oh no, slave. I’m not having a mouth with come on it kissing my shoes. Ewww! Still, look on the bright side. Earl has asked to borrow you tonight, so you’ll get to guzzle a bit more come, even if you won’t have the parade of cocks in your mouth you had last night. Off you go. Don’t even think about coming back to my hotel room until we’re checking out. I want to get some writing done for the website tonight.”

I curtsied and backed away from her towards Earl.

The worst thing about being gay, I’d decided was the body hair. I’d never really thought about how gross fucking somebody who was covered from head to foot with pubic hair must be for women, despite my lifelong reluctance to go down on any pussy that wasn’t clean shaven. Apart from his scalp, Earl didn’t shave anything, though he did keep his small Vandyke clipped short. Eating out his hairy ass crack was completely gross, even if I couldn’t taste any shit there. He’d had me go at that twice, suck his fingers and toes, kiss his buttocks, bite his nipples, lick his feet, and kiss and lick just about every part of him apart from his cock, which was very hard, and oozing precum shortly after I started. I found out why he was bent over the bed, looking at the door while I rimmed him when somebody knocked at the door.

“It’s open,” Earl said. “Enter.” Taylor walked in. It suddenly crossed my mind that maybe Mistress had set this whole situation up to mess with my head. Would telling tales be considered better or worse conduct for a slave than withholding information its owner might want to know? I had no idea, and it was likely that both were wrong and would require correction. If I was damned either way, I might as well go for the option that caused me the least immediate hassle.

Earl seemed entirely blase about being found naked with a sissy slut’s tongue up his ass. I was naked apart from my chastity device myself: Mistress had come by Earl’s room and ordered me to strip, then ripped the tape off my nipples and slapped my face before telling me to make sure I gave Earl a good time. I wondered what Taylor would have thought if he’d watched that, but he seemed to enjoy the current spectacle. For my part I kept licking as I hadn’t been told to stop. “Why don’t you stay there and suck me off first,” he said. “Watching Ross get his pipe waxed has left me needing to empty out, and nearly as blue balled as this chaste little bitch. After that you can get me hard by fucking my ass, or I’ll suck you off, whatever. It shouldn’t take me long to get hard again.”

“Ooooh,” Earl said. “Big talk from a little bitch. What you’re saying is that you can’t last thirty seconds without coming, you know that? Go for it, then. You, keep licking.”

That was my role tonight, then. Earl and Taylor were going to fuck, and I was just here to provide oral service and make things a little bit nicer for them both. More licking hairy asses and sucking hairy toes. At least with my mouth on Earl’s anus, Taylor couldn’t see my face fall at the realization that I wasn’t going to be getting the spit roasting I’d imagined as soon as he walked into the room.

I kept licking as Taylor walked to the bed, dropping his trousers on the way. He’d taken his boots off outside, and had bare feet under his New Rocks. I was amused to see that his erect penis was slightly smaller than Ross’, which did make me wonder about Mistress’ priorities. Still, he was a prettier boy than the guitarist, I supposed, and either had less body hair or was blond enough for it to be less obvious. That was definitely a point in his favor for me as well as for Mistress.

I moaned. I’d been wrong about Earl and Taylor’s plans. There was a hard cock pumping in and out of my lubed anus, and I loved it. There was probably a term for the position, but I was on all fours with my ass raised, Taylor was kneeling behind me fucking my ass and Earl was kneeling behind him fucking his ass. If Taylor had been a little bigger, I’d have had enough pressure on my prostate to come. Earl, who was quite a bit bigger, probably could have managed that. I imagined that was why he was fucking Taylor and Taylor was fucking me.

“It hasn’t even been a faggot for a whole month,” Earl told Taylor. “Less than four weeks since its Mistress shaved it, locked its cock away and started its oral and anal training. If Dee can turn a guy who thinks he’s straight into a mincing cock hungry twink like this that fast, your failure to lay any pipe with Ross is kind of pathetic. Dee’s a drummer, for fuck’s sake. Not the sharpest tools in the box, are they?”

“Oh, up yours,” Taylor said.

“Again?” Earl said and laughed. Taylor blew a raspberry.

“Maybe later. Ross is kind of a special case. He’s completely terrified of gay guys. Like really scared.”

“Despite the fact that his bestie in the band is bi?”

“I said he was scared, not that he was smart.” Taylor’s tone was a bit snarky. “So what would you do?”

“Maybe Nimue might be interested in turning him into a slave and telling him that he’s going to learn to suck cock? Worked with this bitch. Haven’t seen it myself, but Dee claims it’s learned to come from having its ass fucked.”

“Fat chance. Nimue’s a bottom.”

“Yeah, so all that Dominatrix posturing in the photos and on stage is fake?”

“Total put on, my man. Dylan’s calling all her shots for her. The image is just because they’re crazy on Siouxsie.”

“Both of them? I always thought straight guys who were into Siouxsie were all subs. There’s a reason they dig that image of hers.”

“Don’t tell me, dude, tell Dylan. And say out of arm’s reach when you do.”

“So, you imagining I’m Ross and you want him pounding your anus to jelly, or do you want him where Dee’s bitch is?”

Taylor grunted. Maybe that thought did excite him. “Both,” he said. “It’s just foreplay until you’ve both come in both holes, right?”

I knew Earl well enough to know he’d love that line, even before my perspective on sex was changed. “I hear you, brother,” he said. “And you’re preaching to the converted, there. Have you thought of drugging him?”

“Fucksakes, dude, I slip him a roofie and he won’t even be able to twitch, never mind popping a boner.”

“I was thinking of X,” Earl said. “I know there’s guys can’t get up on that, but if he can, he’ll be easy meat. Hell, even if he can’t, you can still investigate his dirt road and give him some oral training, can’t you? Once you’ve been up or down either a few times, how’s he going to turn you down in future?”

“Maybe,” Taylor said. I had an idea if he wasn’t taking his rhythm from the way Earl was pounding his own ass he might have lost his groove thinking about that. “Dunno if he’s ever tried it, though.”

“So don’t tell him. Spike him. You don’t have to take him to a rave just to feed him a pill or two, do you?”

“He probably thinks raves are gay,” Taylor said. “It’s a long shot, but it might just work.”

“Got to work better than paying a gang of clones to rape his ass. That might put him off brown love rather than inspiring a desire for further experimentation.”

“True that,” Taylor said. “Still, when all else has failed desperate measures must be taken…”

It was Earl’s turn to snort. “Try slipping him a mickie first. Trust me dude, you will not believe how many guys who think they’re straight I’ve picked up when they were loved up.”

“Think of this as a reward for being such a good, obedient sissy slave and an enthusiastic cocksucker and fuckpig,” Mistress said. I was trying to, but it didn’t help any. With the chastity cage my genitals felt vulnerable exposed, even without looking at the instrument of torture she was holding. If she was going to put that thing on me, I was sure I’d be very pleased for the penis shaped gag in my mouth.

The Kali’s teeth bracelet was a small metal band, hinged like the split ring that went around the base of my genitals for a chastity cage to attack to. It was a wider band from front to back, though, and a flat tube. It also had a smaller diameter. The biggest difference, of course, was that its inner surface was studded with blunt metal spikes.

I was spreadeagled on the bed. The Holiday Inn bed had a metal frame headboard and footboard an Mistress had tied my wrists to the headboard and ankles to the footboard with bondage tape. I’d felt a head rush and a shocked anticipation as she removed my chastity cage, licking her lips lasciviously and even kissing my exposed penis before producing the Kali’s teeth with a flourish and wicked smile. This was a position she’d put me in before riding me often when we were still a balanced couple, rather than taking part in a one sided power exchange, though she’d tied my ankles together then, rather than tying me down spread eagled. Until she’d produced the spiked cock ring, I’d been half hoping that she’d ride my own cock rather than the dildo protruding from the gag in my mouth. She stroked my cock with a forefinger of her free hand, and giggled as it stiffened.

“Somebody’s looking forward to this,” Mistress said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to put this on you, and ride the dildo while I suck you. Hold still.” I froze as she opened the toothed ring, snapped it shut around the base of my cock and slipped the loop of a luggage lock though the top to clamp it shut. I could feel blunt spikes digging into my penis all the way around it, and I wasn’t much more than semi erect. “There,” Mistress said. “Doesn’t that feel nice?” She leaned over me and licked the head of my cock, then sucked it. I felt myself stiffen and the spikes dig in further.

Mistress picked up the camera and took a few photos of me, zooming in on my cock. “Oh, I was forgetting,” she said, and clipped a pair of clover leaf nipple clamps to my nipples. The pain from those made my cock stiffen further. Mistress took a few more photos and giggles. “Now remember, slave,” she said, “the pain from this,” she teased my glans with her fingertip, “is just as delicious and exciting as the pain from these,” she gave the chain between the clamps a sharp tug. “Remember that.” She climbed up onto the bed, squatted over my face and lowered herself onto the dildo, moaning as the long fat rubber cock slid up inside her. Every time she rose up and flattened down again, drawing it out and driving it into her, I tensed, anticipating her lips on my cock. The expectation was bad enough, but when she leaned forwards, took my penis in her mouth and bit down gently, the mix of pleasure as my freed cock swelled and tensed and pain as the spikes dug into my meat was unbearable. It got even worse as she took my glans into her mouth, licked the crease and sucked.

“Aaaaaw,” Mistress said, breaking that contact and grinding her crotch down the dildo into my face, “has the poor sissy’s tiny ickle clitty got an owie? Does that hurt? Poor sissy. Sissy would much rather have a big fat cock in its mouth than have its own cock sucked, wouldn’t it? And I bet it would accept any pain if it was a man sucking its nasty little winky not a woman.”

She bobbed up and down on the dildo some more. “This is part of destroying you, slut,” she said. “I’m going to make you impotent. I’m going to train you to come from having your ass fingered and fucked, without you even getting hard. You don’t need this anymore,” she sucked my cock again, hard, then stopped and spat on it, “and I certainly don’t want it.” She started riding the dildo again before speaking again, timing her speech to her movements and breathing. “I’m going to shrink it right down. Make it so tiny that you’ll be so ashamed of having such a tiny pathetic little joke between your legs you’ll beg me every day to cut it off. It’s a pathetic sorry little excuse for a cock already, but that doesn’t mean it can’t get smaller.” She sucked it again. I saw purple flashes behind my closed eyes as the spikes dug in deeper and bit hard on the gag in my mouth. “You like that idea, don’t you? It’s making this pathetic little thing even harder.” She bit and sucked, then sucked slowly, hard and lovingly, taking little breaks to speak, or kiss and lick the helmet. “You want. Me. To cut. This off. You want me. To castrate you. That’s what you want. The thought excites you. Have you ever seen a nullo? Think about. Having a smooth crotch. Just a little hole. To piss. No need for a cage. You want that. You’re going to learn to hate. Your pathetic little cock. So much that. You’ll beg me to. Cut if off.”

She stopped sucking and nibbling my cock while teasing me and rode the dildo again. This time, she masturbated me, massaging the head and working the shaft above the spiked bracelet. I heard a roaring in my ears and felt my head swim as the spikes dug in deeper and worried that I was going to faint. Would I choke with this huge gag filling my mouth if I did?

Mistress sucked again. “Ooooh,” she said, rising up on my face and cock, and fingering the ring, “is that blood? Poor sissy. Poor little sissy clitty. Maybe I need to soften it a little to stop it bleeding. Would sissy like that?” She slapped my balls, slamming the open palm of each hand into them hard first from the right side, then the left. She reversed the order the second time she did that, then switched order again and led from the right. Each of her six blows was harder than the last, but they were nothing next to the pain as the spikes in the Kali’s teeth bracelet dug into my cock. She sucked it again, then stopped and she brought both hands together at once, with a slapping sound that was impossibly loud. I felt my stomach flip over like I was going to vomit and couldn’t stop myself from forcing a strangled, whiny squeal around the gag in my mouth. “Yes, it sounds like sissy likes that a lot. I hope sissy does, anyway. I’m sure it can appreciate just how angry and upset its Goddess will be if it’s inconsiderate and ungrateful enough to force her to stop when she’s finally found something fun to do with its pathetic little excuse for a penis.”

She went down on me again. To my shock, I felt penis start to pulse in her mouth, the pain from the points piercing it trebling. She stopped sucking and slapped my balls again, and the ruined orgasm made the pain even harder to bear. After that, she ignored my spurting, bleeding penis and rode the dildo over my mouth to what sounded like a couple of orgasms, her squirting mingling with my tears

“Oooooh,” Mistress said, stroking my wilted cock “that does look sore. I bet it’ll be glad to go back in its cage where it’s nice and safe, won’t it?” I was still tied down to the bed, but Mistress had removed the double ended dildo gag from my mouth. I had left tooth marks in the soft rubber biting down on it in pain, but she seemed to find that amusing rather than annoying. She guided my cock into the metal cage, fitted the prongs on its top on either side of the split ring behind my balls, and slid the padlock through the loops, locking it away again. “I’ll have to look into finding a cage or device you can wear a Kali’s teeth bracelet inside. Of course, I’ll have to hold up my other plans for this while we’re doing that. I think after spending a few months in one of those constantly, you’ll beg me to use a reduction device to permanently shrink your penis, won’t you?” She kissed the chastity device, poking the tip of her tongue between the bars of the cage, then looked up at me with hard, expectant eyes.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“You can start now,” Mistress said. She picked up the digital camera off the bedside table and raised it to her eye. “No, I think you can start by apologizing for you tiny, pathetic dick and ask me to punish it. Say how embarrassing you find that pathetic little thing between your legs, how much you hate it, how inferior you feel when you compare it to real men’s cocks as they fuck your mouth and your ass.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I have such a pathetic wimp dick, Mistress,” I began. “I’m sorry I’ve never been able to please you sexually and I deserve to be punished for that. I hate having this pathetic, tiny stupid thing between my legs. I deserve to be punished. I don’t deserve to even have a penis if this pathetic thing is all I can manage. Please hurt it, whenever you please, and however you choose. Mangle and mutilate and destroy it so that it can never get hard again. Please hurt the pathetic thing…”

I held still as Alexis and Melissa Defries examined me. I knew for a fact that Defries wasn’t their real name, and I doubted that they were sisters. It wasn’t my place to say anything, so I kept quiet about that.

Alexis was the taller of the two, with chocolate brown hair worn in a short bob and hard gray eyes lurking behind a pair of rimless spectacles. She had a small, pursed mouth that I imagined had been shriveled by overdoing the Dominatrix sneer, incredible long legs a trim waist and small but perfectly formed breasts, all shown off to perfection by the skintight black latex catsuit she was wearing. Her outfit was finished off with a military looking waist length jacket worn open and a pair of spike heeled calf boots. I wasn’t sure whether the latex gloves on the fingers investigating my body were part of her catsuit or a separate garment.

Melissa was paler, with blue eyes, a wider but even more tightly controlled mouth and a long mane of ash blonde hair that might even have been natural: her eyebrows were the same shade. She wore leather rather than rubber, a corseted bustier that gave her a wasp waist, thigh boots that almost reached the bottom of the bustier and hid all but the briefest glimpse of a English peaches and cream complexion around her upper thighs, and a pair of fingerless opera length gloves, all in smooth blue glove leather. The final touch was the least submissive collar imaginable, a thin leather choker just wide enough for two rows of pyramid studs. Her bare fingers were investigating me as well.

“These are,” Melissa said, squeezing my balls “a lot more resilient than you’d expect.” They both had upper class sounding accents, but rather different ones. I had an idea that Alexis’ was natural, or at least trained from childhood, while Melissa’s was a recent acquisition or affectation. Of course, I might well have had that backasswards, and wasn’t fool enough to offer an opinion or ask about the truth of the matter. “It’s this you have to worry about damaging.” she released my danglies and tapped the cage.

Alexis and Melissa ran a porn site called the Political Asylum. I wasn’t sure where the politics came in, but presumably it was some sort of mega feminist spin on standard FemDom stuff, perhaps with a few references to the prison asylums Chinese and Russian undesirables were sent to for re-education back when those were communist countries.

“Well,” Alexis purred, “that’s what its owner is hoping we’ll help her with isn’t it?” I assumed her accent was more authentic as her speech was less precise than Melissa’s.

“Indeed, Mistresses,” Mistress said. She was sitting off to one side, away from the two cameras filling the space that was set aside for filming. It was a large living room with a hardwood floor. For her part, Mistress was wearing a pair of red PVC leggings, high heeled strappy sandals and a black silk blouse. “I’m eager to learn.”

“Sure you don’t want to join in?” Alexis said. “The more the merrier, and I’m sure your slave would enjoy your attention. Just between the two of us,” she said, reaching around me to pinch my nipples, “I think it’s a little scared of us. Is that right, slave? Do I frighten you?”

“Yes, Mistress Alexis,” I said. She tweaked my nipples viciously then patted my cheek.

“Good,” she said. “We should. I find a little fear helps a slave maintain the correct attitude. You’re going to be a good boy for us, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress Alexis,” I said. Apart from my chastity cage I was naked, and I wasn’t wearing any makeup which made me feel even more exposed. My wrists were locked into cuffs over my head and I wore a pair of leg spreaders. My white and pink hair had been gathered into a ponytail on one side of my head.

“See that you are,” Melissa said. She walked over to Mistress, who handed her the key to my cage. “Thank you, Mistress Deanna. I’m not sure that this is the right cage for your slave.”

“To be honest, I’ve been making it wear a smaller one in soft acrylic, but I thought a metal one would be more fun going through customs.”

“Ah,” Alexis said. “I see. It’s into humiliation not pain, then?”

“That’s part of the problem. I want it to be into whatever I tell it it’s into. Any advice on a better device before you demonstrate how to bust its balls?”

“The smaller the better,” Melissa said. “I like the hard plastic ones. The CB 600 is particularly good as an everyday thing. The metal ones look better, but you really need to get one custom fitted. If they don’t fit well they can chafe, and I’ve even seen them fall off if a slave gets scared enough.”

“Or cold,” Alexis added.

“Or cold, yes.” Melissa opened the padlock, slid off the cage and opened the split ring. “This ring is a good fit. It’s tight enough not to slide off or let your slave’s balls hide inside his body, but it it isn’t cutting off circulation. If you find the balls are unusually cold, that’s the first sign of trouble. You could do with a smaller cage though. If you like, I can have a look to see if I can find something suitable as a replacement for you.”

“Are you sure? The metal cages are expensive.”

Melissa made a peremptory hand waving gesture of dismissal. “Don’t worry about it, we have boxes full of the things. Review copies, people hoping for product placement in a video, we were sponsored by one manufacturer for a while.”

“Their gear’s useless, though,” Alexis said. “We made a point of never using it on camera, didn’t we, Mistress?” As Melissa took the padlock cage and ring over to put on the table by Mistress out of the way, Alexis lifted my penis with one hand, and slipped a pink ribbon around my waist, passing it over my penis twice then tying the ends around it in a bow. I was relieved that her handling didn’t have me erect in front of my Mistress, but for all I knew, Alexis would resent that and take it out on me.

“That’s why they gave a load of it to every fetish film company in the UK and half of the ones in Europe,” Melissa said. She pushed my ponytail up into the double layered rubber hood she was carrying, then pulled it into place over my head. I held still as she zipped the two flaps that came from the side to the front up, covering the eye and mouth holes underneath. “Nobody else used them either, did they?”

“You’d think the reviews would have tipped them off that was a bad idea,” Alexis said. “It might be the only time Skin 2, >, Janus, Domina and Secret have ever all agreed on anything. They deserve to be remembered for that, at least. Is anybody still using them now?”

“The Other World Kingdom might be,” Melissa said. “They don’t even seem to be willing to pay for decent fishnets, do they?”

“Very true,” Alexis said. “Shall we talk Mistress Deanna through a quick warm up, before we start filming?”

“That’s a good idea, Mistress Alexis,” Melissa said. “The trick is to kick from the knee, not the hip. You’re professional drummer, and I’m sure as a westerner you can ride and do other activities that have built your legs up.”

“I did gymnastics as a child,” Mistress admitted.

“So a full force blow might cause serious damage. It’s very unlikely that you’ll crush or burst a testicle, but that can happen. So what you do is this: raise the hip with the knee bent, then straighten it, like so.”

I felt a flash of agony in my balls and my stomach flipped over. I heaved and whimpered. “Oh, shut up you big baby,” Alexis purred into my rubber covered ear. “My sister is talking. I really don’t think you want to upset her, just at the moment, do you?”

“No, Mistress Alexis,” I said. I felt a second painful shock in my balls and heard Mistress laugh.

“Rhetorical question, you pathetic imbecile,” Alexis said. “Shut up.”

“As Mistress Alexis has just demonstrated,” Melissa said, “you can make the sort of gentle kick I just demonstrated look like a more assertive one. Like this.”

I managed to keep quiet this time.

“And that’s all there is to it,” Mistress Alexis said. “Of course, raising the thigh and then flexing the knee repeatedly without making contact can raise anticipation if the subject can see what you’re doing. Doesn’t apply in this case, but even if so just a little tap that barely makes contact,” the tap was possibly a little harder than she planned, but it was a lot easier to stay quiet through than the blow before, “will make a slave wriggle and flinch.”

“That sounds pretty straightforwards,” Mistress said.

“Why don’t you have a go yourself? We’re not filming yet, and it’s a simple technique.”

“Why not?” Mistress said. I heard her heels clicking on the hardwood. “So, raise the thigh and then straighten the knee?” She didn’t do it anywhere near my balls but I still flinched. Mistress wasn’t the only one who laughed at that. Then another bolt of pain flashed through me and my stomach flipped again. They all laughed that time.

“Perfect,” Melissa said. “Shall we go and look for a better cage while it recovers a little before we start filming?”

I heard three pairs of heels click away from me. This was going to be even worse than I’d expected. “Some people,” Melissa said as their footsteps retreated “like to inject the scrotum with a saline solution before they start ball busting. It might or might not cushion the testicles a bit, but it’s big impact on your slave would be humiliation.”

“For some reason,” Alexis said, “there are slaves who find having their knackers inflated like a space hopper embarrassing. Ridiculous really, but worth remembering. I don’t like the look of that myself…”

The door closed and her voice was cut off.

I was surprised to see Helga waiting for me as I left the glory hole in Glasgow. The sex shop was in walking distance of the motel we were staying at. Helga was dressed more masculine than I was, in a pair of combat shorts, a ribbed muscle shirt and a photographer’s vest. The side pockets of her shorts and the vest were packed with stuff, and her feet were bare. For my part I was wearing a little black dress with a high neck and long sleeves, black courts with three inch heels and peep toes, and pink fishnet ankle socks. I could hold my leather clutch bag over the bulge in my crotch but without any falsies under the dress, there wasn’t really any point. I had a much smaller bulge now, in any case.

Helga had seen the new chastity device the DeFries “sisters” had found to replace the slightly overlarge cage I’d been wearing before anyway. Mistress had me strip off to show it to everybody when we got back from making the film. As promised, the new enclosure was a lot smaller, and felt constantly constricting, even when I was limp. It had a small cup on the end, with a short closed metal tube behind that, and had been a tight fit even squeezing my limp dick into after it after my balls had been kicked, slapped punched and cropped so hard that I was convinced I’d never be able to get hard again. I’d fainted a couple of times during the filming, but with my arms pinned over my head I couldn’t collapse, and the next blows to my testicles had brought me straight back. A duller but louder ache had replaced the normal soft pain in my balls from backed up sperm and thwarted arousal, since my ball-busting film. I supposed they were bruised, though apart from a couple of sores that had faded overnight, there hadn’t been any marks left on my scrotum. I’d fallen asleep worried that they’d be more swollen than if Mistress had let Melissa inject my scrotum with saline solution yesterday, but my testicles were still the same shape, even if my whole scrotum was very tender feeling.

I’d still been wearing the double layered hood while the new device was fitted, so just how small the thing was came as a surprise when I saw it. I had an idea that my cock had been pushed back inside my body, or at least retreated that way when it tried to get hard. It was a surprise, but attempted erections were less painful in this than the metal cage, though they did cause an unpleasant itching sensation at the root of my penis. I’d just been relieved to find that I could still get aroused, despite the pain in my abused balls. There was a single hole in the end of the cup, which an inserted catheter or sound inside my urethra was screwed into and fastened with a hex head nut. I had no idea how far inside me that ran as I hadn’t seen it fitted, but I imagined the metal section was just to fasten it in place, and the rest of its length was plastic or something softer. I was pretty sure that I’d feel it if there was a metal catheter locked inside my urethra, but this one I hardly noticed it was there. Of course, my penis being so completely immobilized and incapable of flexing or swelling might make it less obvious if it couldn’t move around whatever was inserted inside of it. I was surprised that the smaller device was a lot more comfortable, but wasn’t going to complain.

“Hi,” Helga said. “How much did you make tonight? Mistress, my Mistress, not yours,” Helga smiled as she said that, almost flirtatiously, “thinks that Miss Deanna might be getting a bit too full of herself over how popular he slave is getting as a cocksucker, so she sent me to provide a little competition.” There was nothing flirtatious about the way Helga opened her toothless mouth and waggled her split tongue at me. I couldn’t really compete with that, I supposed. She looked at my face and her expression softened.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “it gets easier. Well, no, it doesn’t, not really. It doesn’t get any easier, but you learn to deal with it better. The deeper you go, the worse it gets and the harder it is to take. It gets harder, but the harder it gets, the more pride you can take in enduring it. I’m sure you think that Miss Deanna has shoved you right in the deep end, but honestly, what’s been done to you so far is nothing. A chastity device and a little gay sex? Glamorous, sexy women kicking you in the balls? That’s nothing. You haven’t even got your feet wet.”

She fished a plastic case out of her pocket, and opened to take out a pair of dentures. She slipped those into her mouth, adjusted them, perhaps a little theatrically, with her tongue and smiled at me. “there is no limit to how low you can sink once you’ve started to descend. None. However far down you think you are, you will be nowhere near the bottom, and there is no way back up. You can always sink further, but it’s a one way trip. You can only descend further.

“If you’ve even gone this far,” Helga said, “you’re committed. It’s an addiction, and it takes more and more to get the same buzz. That’s why it gets harder.”

Helga studied my face. “You need to work on your poker face,” she said. “Come on, let’s go. And let’s talk as well. I know you’re under a speak when you’re spoken to rule, but I am speaking to you. Look at it this way, it doesn’t matter what you tell me and whether I grass you up or not.”

“Sure,” I said. “If Mistress wants to punish me, she’ll punish me. What I do or say has nothing to do with it. But…” I trailed off and shrugged helplessly.

“But you still want to obey her and please her because this is something you’ve chosen and you want to do it right?” Helga said. She took my hand and we started away from the sex shop. “I know. I’ve been there a lot longer than you have, remember?”

Arabella had acquired Helga about eighteen months ago. There’d been some sort of lightning whirlwind romance in Texas beforehand, then she’d gone back to England for a few months to wind up her affairs and get rid of her property. She’d been with Arabella ever since.

“Could you tell I was going to end up like this?” I asked. “Begging to become a slave, the whole non-consensual thing?”

“No,” Helga said. “Beyond the fact that you obviously loved and adored Miss Deanna, there weren’t any signs. You really did a good job of hiding all that. In hindsight, though there were probably a few clues I missed.”

“Right,” I said.

“Oh, don’t get all arsey with me, girlyboy,” Helga said. “You think there’s some sort of S&M version of gaydar and people who are into the scene can spot a submissive a mile off? Doesn’t work that way. The only people who think that are the sort of tits who think that they’re an alpha dominant and everybody else is a sub next to them. And most of them are power bottoms or fakes desperate to prove that they are too a top not real dominants anyway.”

“Got you,” I said.

“So ask me about my teeth and my tongue,” Helga said. “You’ve been dying to ever since you first saw me haven’t you? I might not have pegged you as a fundamentalist bottom, but there’s no hiding the other.”

“Isn’t that everybody?” I asked. Helga laughed.

“Point. Okay then. I did have my teeth removed at Mistress’ instruction, but to arrange a legal death, because they were distinguishing marks. I won’t say I’m not really Helga because I am and always will be now that I have the paperwork to prove it, but I used to be somebody else who’d had a lot of dental work done, and the teeth had to go with a body to convince the authorities that she was dead.

“Now the split tongue was done purely to make me better at cunnilingus. Boys like a gum job, but a clitty is a little too small to nibble on like that.”

“I see,” I said.

“I’ve had other stuff done that’s more extreme. I’ve had plastic surgery: a nose job, a built up chin and cheeks to give me a rounder face, a breast reduction to give me smaller asymmetrical boobs, which were a distinguishing mark I needed to become Helga, and then much bigger implants afterwards. I’ve even had my vocal cords shortened to give me this high, squeaky voice. That might sound like a lot but I’ve still seen slaves that make me look like a virgin as far as body mods go. Permanently infantilised adult babies. Ponygirls who’ve had their arms amputated and their vocal cords severed. Surgically dehumanized pigs, cows and dogs that aren’t able to walk upright anymore. All sorts of freaks and weirdos.”

Helga stopped and looked concerned. “Slavegirl,” she said, “you’ve gone white. I hope you’re not going to faint. What did you think non-consensual slavery means? The first thing any real slave owner does is get a medical waiver and power of attorney signed and registered. Mistress’ clade are famous for it, and if Miss Deanna joins it, which she’s hoping to, you won’t have any choice in the matter.” Helga ran her hand down the front of my dress. “If Miss Deanna thinks keeping you in chastity’s too much trouble and you’d look better with all this gone, it’ll go. You know I’ve had a clitoridectomy, right?”

“No, I didn’t,” I lied. “Was that a punishment?”

“Just to prove that I’m properly submissive and serving my owner out of the correct attitude, rather than sexual drives. I’m a service oriented slave, not a sex slave, and having my sexuality cut away proved it. It’s an act of devotion to your owner, and giving that up feels incredible. Not that sex isn’t a factor, but if it’s all that’s driving you into this, you’re not going to be able to handle it, and Miss Deanna is in a lot of trouble.”

“How so?” I said.

“Because only two groups of people are allowed to witness some of the things Mistress has shown Miss Deanna,” Helga said. “If she isn’t a slave owner, she’ll have to become a slave instead.”

I stopped walking as that sank in. Helga looked up at me, concerned.

“I can’t let that happen to her,” I said.

“No,” Helga said. “Don’t worry though, I’m sure that you won’t. I can see it in your face. If it’s you or her then it’s going to be you, right?”

“Damn straight,” I said. I had an idea that my voice sounded a lot more masculine than it had for weeks. “Nobody’s enslaving, modifying or mutilating my Goddess. If one of us is going to be turned into a freak, then it’s going to be me. No offense, Helga.”

“None taken, girlfriend.” Helga gave my hand a friendly squeeze and we started walking again. “I like being a freak. I’m proud to be a freak, and every change that’s been made to me is a mark my owner has placed upon me. Way better than a slave brand or a property stamp.”

“You have one of those, though.”

“Yes, I do, and I had to earn it. I’ve had electrolysis all over my body. I’ll never be able to grow any hair ever again. Some might think that’s a bigger thing than cutting off my clitty, splitting my tongue and pulling out my teeth. Doesn’t the thought of being modified to Miss Deanna’s design intrigue you?”

“It does,” I admitted. “It terrifies me, and the thought of what she might do to me gives me the jitters, but I can’t deny I’m curious.”

“Good. You just need to cultivate that attitude, then.”

“I’ll have to. I think Mistress is going to castrate me. Maybe nullify me.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“If that’s what I have to accept to remain her slave, then I want it.”

“See? It’s easy. You had an overnight stay at the Hoffman memorial, right?”

“Yes.”

“I love that place. I’m a very enthusiastic coprophile, as I’m sure you know, and I used to have a thing for incontinence and the whole ABDL thing. Mistress had my sexuality edited as well as my body. Brainwashing, conditioning and hypnosis to get rid of the kinks she found distasteful and didn’t want in her slave. It worked, I suppose, but I still like the idea of the permanently infantilised adult babies they have in there. Lifers, they call them. They’re locked away discretely at the back, where day trippers paying for a short stay can’t see them. I’d love to become one of those, even if my taste for messing nappies and being force-fed has been suppressed.

“How did spending time there make you feel?”

“Weird,” I said. “I did quite like soiling myself. The baby food, not so much.”

“I imagine your pickiness is something your Mistress is going to concentrate on getting rid of. I doubt that she’ll want to make you incontinent anyway. I’m told that some guys like a rank arse, but nobody’s going to pay to bum you if you’re leaking all the time.”

“What do they do?” I asked.

“Curious after all? They wedge the anus open so that the muscles in the sphincters atrophy. Think about that the next time Miss Deanna has you wearing a buttplug all day. They put a balloon inside the bladder and fill that with epoxy resin to reduce its capacity. Of course, there’s a lot more they can do besides making you incontinent. Teeth are pulled so you can’t eat solid food anymore. Hamstrings are cut and sometimes toes are amputated to keep you on all fours. They take the end joint off each finger and remove the thumbs so the hands are useless. They laser the corneas to blur eyesight and inject the tongue with Botox to stop you speaking clearly. And they infantilise the genitals as well. The baby boys lose their balls and the baby girls lose their clitties. The baby girl lifers have a mastectomy as well.” She squeezed my hand.

“Of course, your owner probably won’t want to do that to you. Maybe you’ll have a full gender realignment. You look rather convincing in a looser skirt and a padded bra, but hormones, plastic surgery and a nip and a tuck would make you very convincing naked. Mind you, that’s something an orthodox surgeon could do, rather than going through the Hoffman or the underground.

“Am I frightening you?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Helga giggled at that. “If you’re going to call me that,” she said, “maybe we should pause for a while. You have a foot fetish, don’t you? How’d you like to worship my filthy, ugly slave feet?”

I wouldn’t have described Helga’s feet as ugly. Apart from the soles that were almost black from ground in dirt, they look pretty good. I had an idea that she’d had her toes straightened at some point.

“I’d like that a lot,” I said. “Would it do anything for you, though?”

“Beyond knowing that a sissified submissive who hasn’t even dropped paper yet is so desperate to prove himself that he’ll worship my feet in public? No, but that’s good enough for me, to be honest.” There was a low wall on the edge of a footbridge we had to use to cross a dual carriageway. She sat on the edge of it, lifted her feet and wiggled her toes. “Start licking.”

I went down on my knees and did as I was told.

Kara wasn’t wearing any panties. She lifted her black vinyl skating skirt, and I began to lick at her pussy. “You really are loving this whole slave thing, aren’t you? Disgusting slut. Still, I don’t have to worry that you’re being coerced, I suppose. Did you marry Dee to try to hide that you’re bi? That’s real pathetic. I hope she’s rough on you. Slower. You’d be much happier with a cock in your mouth than you are sucking a perfect cunt, Wouldn’t you?”

I had an idea that Kara was over her initial feelings of sympathy towards me, and shock over how thoroughly Mistress had enslaved me. That was probably for the best, but it still gave me a twinge. The fact that she’d offered to help if I was in deeper than I could handle had made me feel like I was cheating on my Goddess just by listening to her, but it had been born out of genuine sympathy and an offer of support, even if there was a definite sexual element there.

I couldn’t tell Kara that I was already in so deep that I couldn’t possibly get out without risking the awful things that were going to be done to me happening to my Goddess. It had crossed my mind that perhaps Helga had been ordered to tell me what she’d said by either her owner or mine, and that it might not be on the level. I refused to let that bother me. If there was any chance at all that it was true, then I had to become a full time non-consensual slave to prevent that happening to my Mistress. And I couldn’t deny that having an excuse and being able to pretend I was being forced was making the prospect a lot easier to face.

The glory hole in Nottingham was the most disgusting of the tour.

I was surprised to be kicked awake by Mistress the morning after the final show. I knew we were flying out that afternoon, but a glimpse at the wall clock showed it was very early: just a few minutes after eight. Apart from the bracelet around her right ankle she was naked.

“Yes, I know,” Mistress said. “You were expecting a lie in, weren’t you, you lazy useless pig? No such luck. I made some calls and yesterday and I’ve arranged a surprise for you. I think you’ll like it, so you can view it as a reward for the fact that you’ve managed not to disgrace yourself. I”m even pleased enough to allow you to dress me. Fetch me my black PVC leggings, purple spaghetti strap tank top, and the ballet flats I’ve been wearing, A clean strapless bra and matching panties as well.”

I rose to my feet and curtsied, then backed away from Mistress to her suitcase. It only took a moment to find the clothes she’d asked for. Despite its imprisonment, my cock tried to respond as I slid the panties up her legs and fastened the bra in place, then helped her into the leggings, slipped the top over her head and adjusted it, then put the pumps on her feet. When she finished, she snapped her fingers and I went down on all fours and kissed the toes of the pumps.

“It might be fun to take you out like that,” Mistress said. Apart from my chastity device, I was naked. “I’d better cover you up at least a little, though. Haven’t packed you any loose clothes for this trip, have we? Let’s say the Daisy Dukes, the loose metal slave collar, your mary janes, and you can christen that Cathexis tour t shirt.”

I curtsied again and started to gather what she’d named. When I had I knelt in front of her and handed her the collar. She smiled down at me and petted my head, then handed it back.

“I think we can forget the collar,” she said. “On this little outing, I want everything about your behavior and your demeanor to show that you’re a slave, without any need for attention seeking gimmicks like this. Think you can manage that, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Good. I’ve called for a taxi. Get dressed.”

The taxi dropped us off outside a tattoo parlor. I felt a thrill in my stomach, spine and imprisoned genitals as I realized that I was about to be marked with a slave brand or property stamp. The notion that I’d impressed Mistress enough to do that before signing whatever paperwork Lyndi would have waiting for me back in California was something that made me feel incredibly proud.

Mistress gave me an amused sideways look. “Arrogance and conceit are not desirable qualities in a slave. Follow three steps behind me, and remain silent.”

I followed her into the tattooist’s. The man waiting behind the desk was the least alternative looking ink slinger I’d ever seen: short back and sides and neatly trimmed beard, but in a dark brownish ginger, Harry Potter glasses and a black linen shirt and khaki chinos. If it wasn’t for the tattoos on the bared forearms his rolled up shirtsleeves revealed, I would have taken him for a white collar worker on dress down Friday. The only vaguely alternative note was that he was wearing a pair of suede monk strap brothel creepers. A watch with a leather strap and an analogue face was the only jewelry he wore.

“Morning,” he said. His accent was northern accented, but in a refined sort of way. I have a real tin ear for British accents, but even I could tell that he wasn’t from Nottingham.

“Hey,” Mistress said. “You’re sure this won’t take more than three hours?”

“That’s a conservative estimate,” the tattooist said. “I can probably get it done a lot quicker than that, even if your slave faints and throws up, but I can promise you it’s not going to take any longer. I’ll have you on your way in plenty of time to get some lunch before heading to Manchester to catch your plane home.”

“Good to know, and I’m sure you’re right,” Mistress said, then turned to me. “Strip, slave.”

I stripped. The tattooist got up and examined me. “Nice skin,” he said. “I’ll do the piercing first before starting in on the tattoo. If you’ll just get up on here,” he said and patted a couch upholstered in brown leatherette. I sat on the edge as he took a pack of needles out of the autoclave and wondered what he was going to pierce.

My question was answered when he marked the top of my navel with a wax pencil, and Mistress nodded. He pinched the area he’d marked in a clamp and fed a needle through quickly, then screwed a bar onto the end of it and pushed that through, before unscrewing the needle and replacing it with a bead that screwed closed. I supposed as a sissy, a feminine piercing like that was appropriate. I’d been hoping that Mistress was planning to pierce my nipples or my tongue instead, though.

The tattooist cleaned the new piercing, which wasn’t bleeding much, then applied a dressing. “I don’t need to tell you about the care and feeding of piercings, I take it?” he said. He’d noticed the jewelry in Mistress and her slave’s ears and faces.

“Nope,” Mistress said, “but if you have some antiseptic lotion…”

“Of course. Now for the big job. Not feeling faint?”

That was a direct question. “No, sir,” I said.

“Good. Face down on the big table, then. I’ll put a pad under this.”

I lay face down and waited. I was surprised and disappointed when I felt a transfer being applied to the small of my back rather than my right buttock, but kept it out of my face. Not a slave crest, then. A tramp stamp, to match my new piercing. Mistress was going to turn her sissy slave into a skanky trailer trash slut. I heard a needle gun buzzing as he tested it, then the first hot vibrating scratch as the tattooist began to fill in the outline of whatever he was putting on me. I felt very submissive, utterly controlled and comfortable with the fate I’d chosen for myself. Exactly, I imagined, how a well adjusted slave about to make the arrangement permanent and give up all control for good should feel. I basked in the feeling as I was tattooed, hoping my Mistress found my behavior acceptable.