You Never Know

by lipsticked

copyright 2005 all rights reserved

I moved to Los Angeles from New York about eight years ago, right after my divorce. The marriage didn't last long and ended bitterly. I now live a block from the beach in Santa Monica in a fairly exclusive high-rise apartment building. I quit my job as a graphic artist with a top advertising firm in NY, when I moved and started my own business here. I have about seven big clients who keep me busy and successful. I am lucky in that I do almost all my work from my home. I just need my computer, scanner and internet connection. My name is Steven and I'm 35 years old, 6' tall, 165 lbs, light blond hair, brown eyes, and considered good-looking. The apartment building is about 50% single people, most are attractive and successful. You almost have to be successful to afford to live in this building. I don't get out much both because of my work and a basic shyness. I don't meet people easily. That's probably why I became a graphic artist. I don't even know many of my neighbors. And that is where my problem began.

My apartment is number 10. Directly across the hall is number 11. My last name is Rogers . After I had been living here for a year a new tenant moved into #11. The new name on their mailbox was Roget. I was a subscriber to certain magazines specializing in female dominance, forced feminization and bondage. I also joined several pay sites on the internet about the same topics. One of my magazines, Forced WomanHood, didn't arrive. I wasn't too concerned until I noticed I was receiving mail for apt.11, Roget. I realized that the similarity in our names and apartment numbers was resulting in mail being incorrectly delivered. I picked up the mail in my box for Roget with the intention of delivering it personally.

Before I had the chance, my doorbell rang. I opened the door to a surprising sight. Most of the women in the building are slender, attractive and physically fit. The woman at my door was very overweight, short, sloppy, and generally unattractive. She was probably about 5'1" with mousy short, curly brown hair. Wearing sweat pants and shirt, it was hard to judge her real weight, but she was very wide. Her arms looked strong and her hand was moist as I shook it. She introduced herself as Susan Roget, my neighbor. I recovered from the surprise and invited her in. I noticed the brown paper package in her hand immediately, and thought of my lost magazine. Her head swiveled as she checked out my apartment. She made small talk, commenting on my better ocean view and how neat everything was. I told her I was a bachelor and liked things orderly. I got the impression she was far from neat. She sat down on my sofa and kicked off her sandals. I sat across from her and could see the filth on the bottom of her feet. Overall, she was not an appealing person. She was looking me in the eye when she said that she had gotten some of my mail by mistake. I tried not to react as we exchanged our bundles. I attempted to check out the magazine wrapper to see if it had been opened, but I couldn't tell. Anyway, it couldn't matter, I thought. I didn't see much of the people in the building anyway. Susan Roget asked if I would help her with some light switches in her apartment, but I referred her to the building manager. I really didn't want to have anything to do with her.

After she left, I examined the magazine envelope more closely. Sure enough, it was Forced Feminization, and the flap was closed, but loosely. I didn't know if she had seen it or not. In any event, she made no mention of it so I was probably safe.

Over the next few weeks I noticed that Ms. Roget had many daytime visitors. The apartment bells are loud and voices carry in the hallway. I didn't think much about it other than a slight surprise that she was so popular. I didn't know what she did for a living, but she seemed to be home during the day. I would sometimes check out who was visiting her across the hall by looking through the security viewer in my door. Mostly men, with a few women, all well groomed, but seemingly nervous, and always alone. I only glimpsed her when the door opened and the guests went in. She favored either sweat suit or large print dress, the type that used to be called a muu muu. It fit her like a tent. Sometimes you read stories about a man meeting a dominant neighbor. She is always attractive and sexy. There were some women in the building I fantasized about, but never would my fantasies involve a fat slob like Susan Roget.

I had sent away for an issue of DDI, a directory of dominant women and it hadn't arrived. It was way overdue, and I suspected the mail mix-up again. I had received some more of her mail and intended to use that as an excuse to see if she had mine. Rather than just knock on her door, I telephoned. She answered immediately. Her voice was sexy, if you didn't know what she looked like. She seemed puzzled for a minute, then said that yes she did have some mail for me. She had tried to return it, but I was out when she rang my bell, then she put it aside and had forgotten about it. I'm rarely out, but didn't want to call her a liar. It could have happened. She asked me to wait a few minutes before coming over so she could clean up. I almost laughed, because I thought she needed to do more than cleanup, she needed a major overhaul.

This was the second meeting with my neighbor, and the first in her apartment. I rang the bell and she answered dressed in one of her print dresses. I did notice she was wearing boots under the dress, which surprised me at the time. She even had put on lipstick! Thick and red, and slightly smeared, as if applied hurriedly. Her apartment was everything I expected. It was a mess. I didn't look as if it had been cleaned in weeks. There were old pizza boxes on the table, open soda cans, filled ash-trays, and dishes in the sink. There was a pile of old newspapers in the living room, and some old underwear and sandals by the sofa. Susan did not ask me to sit down, so I waited uncomfortably standing in her living room. She went to get my mail and when she returned with a surprise. She had one hand behind her back and held my mail with the other. She handed me the package, but I could see that the DDI magazine was not present. It would have been a large brown envelope. I was disappointed, and didn't notice Susan's other had come from behind her back. She held a jockey's horsewhip and was slowly tapping it against her thigh. I must have starred at it, hypnotized, like a mouse dropped into an anaconda's cage. She didn't say anything. Just stood there tapping the whip.

"Is something missing?" she asked innocently.

"No, nothing. Thank you. I'll be going. I'm sorry to trouble you." I said, turning to leave.

I didn't get far. A meaty, strong hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me around.

"Not quite so fast, Steven. We have some things to discuss first."

"I don't know what you mean", I stammered. I really wanted to get out of there.

"I recognized you the minute I saw you. In a building this size I would have bet there would be at least one worth owning per floor."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I have to go." I said turning again.

This time when she pulled be around, she slapped my face hard with her open palm. I went reeling. She was strong. She pushed me down to the floor and stood over me. "Forced Womanhood, DDI, not your standard reading matter. You're a submissive slut just waiting to be told what to do. Well, just think of me as a gardener and you're low hanging fruit. I'm collecting you. You may not realize it yet, but you belong to me."

The quiet way she said it was frightening, yet thrilling. I was submissive, but found her physically disgusting. This was not what my fantasies were like.

She bent over, so her face was inches from mine. "Now, bitch, get those clothes off." She said in a louder voice. "I'm not going to tell you twice." She was powerful, threatening and physically intimidating. I could not look her in the eye and did not doubt that she was serious. Suddenly she did not seem so comical to me. I removed my clothes and tried to fold them, but she just kicked them away, yelling at me to be faster. Finally, I was naked, still on the floor. She grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to me knees. She produced handcuffs from somewhere and walked behind me to lock my wrists together. Now that I was naked and cuffed, she stepped back and slowly circled me. I suddenly flashed on the image of a shark in the ocean circling its prey. She used the jockey whip to spread my thighs apart, and lift up my shriveled penis.

"Not very large, is it. bitch. I bet your tongue is longer." She said, looking at me thoughtfully.

I knew my cock was small. It was part of the reason for my divorce. Fully extended it barely reached six inches, but it was very small in diameter. There wasn't even a cockring that fit me. All were too large. I wished I knew what she was thinking.

My head snapped left and right as she slapped me. I hadn't even seen it coming. Then she pulled my head up. My mouth was hanging open and she spit directly in it. "My spit is going to go through your body. As it does, I am going to possess you. You are finished. Get used to it. I am going to be the most important person in your life."

I was dazed from her hits, and her words. She was crazy. She left the room for a moment, but returned almost immediately.

"Good. You didn't move. It would have been hard on you it you had. You don't do anything with my permission - talk, move, piss, shit and sometimes breathe."

I hadn't moved because I couldn't. I was dazed, cuffed and naked. She had a lipstick in her hand and proceeded to smear it over my lips. She made no pretense of just covering my lips. That was too much trouble. She just covered everything near them. Then she stepped back to admire her work.

"Now you will be known as Stephanie. Stephanie the Slut. That sounds good. I don't want to see you without lipstick on, either here or in your own apartment. It's just a reminder whenever you look in the mirror about who owns you. And call me Mistress Susan from now on. Now, crawl over to me."

She had seated herself in the center of the sofa. I crawled to her, over my clothes and old newspapers until I was directly in front, on my knees. She pulled up the bottom of her huge dress to reveal knee high boots and enormous thighs. She was not wearing any underwear. "Okay, Stephanie, let's see what I own now. Get to work on my cunt and do a good job or I'll bitchslap you until to pass out!"

I found the idea of sucking her cunt distasteful. Her fat hung in layers. I wasn't even sure I could find her cunt in all that flab. But a small part of me was thrilled and revolted at the same time. I really had no choice. This woman had stripped me, beat me, humiliated me and now intended to use me as her sex toy.

I had no time to think because Mistress Susan grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into her thighs. She pushed me in deep and she spread her legs and moved forward slightly on the couch. This position allowed me to find her cunt with my tongue. Her thighs were wet with sweat and her cunt was moist. Obviously capturing and training a new slave excited her. My knees rubbed on the carpet as my weight shifted to plunge deeper into her. I licked and sucked as best I could. There was a lot of moisture and a lot of flesh. Her clit was covered. I sucked, licked, tongued and swallowed. It seemed to take forever. Suddenly her thighs tightened around my head. It thought my head would crack. It was incredibly painful and wouldn't stop. Then, instant relief. I could breathe again. The pain in my head was gone. Now I could notice the pain in my knees. Mistress Susan pulled me away. You could almost hear the pop of the vacuum seal breaking. My chest heaved, trying to move volumes of air. I sat back to take some weight off my knees.

Mistress Susan looked down at me and took my chin in her hand. She moved her face close to mine and looked me in the eye. I lowered mine. "That wasn't bad for the first time, but you had better get good fast. I expect you to do that at least three or more times a day - when I get up, before I go to sleep and anytime during the day I feel like it. Forget about your cock. Its no good to me or probably any woman. You won't need it. I might use it as a leash. I'll have a locking chastity device by tomorrow for you. I was expecting it today. Ha! Ha! - maybe it's in your mailbox by mistake. Wouldn't that be a laugh."

This was going too fast for me. Chastity device, face-fucked three times a day by this blob of flesh, - I didn't want this. For a minute I thought she could read my mind.

"Doesn't sound like what you expected when you walked in here. Well, your expectations don't count. Mine do!"

She prodded me to my feet and had me walk into her bedroom. It was a mess. Worse than the kitchen and living room. I was placed in a chair in front of a dressing mirror. Mistress Susan re-did my lipstick, taking more care this time. She put a long blond wig on me as well as a red bra, garter belt and panties. She got out a digital camera and took some pictures. Then shoved a black dildo in my mouth and took some more. Next, she positioned me on the bed, spread my legs, tied my ankles to rings on the bedframe and put a gag in my mouth that had a dildo on each end. Mistress Susan shoved some KY jelly in my asshole and, in spite of my squirming around, shoved a pink dildo half into my asshole. A snap of the jockey whip on my cock made me stop moving. As a final touch, she put lipstick and then clothespins on my nipples. She did all this without saying a word. The only sound, aside from my moans, was the sound of the camera cranking off photos. She left me there on the bed and went into the other room. When she returned, she told me she had uploaded the images to her website in an encrypted format. She also commented that the close-ups looked great. She was sure the landlord would like to see the photos and well as my employers. She proceeded to mention my clients by name. I was stunned. She must have been in my apartment alone with access to my computer and files.

I couldn't keep up with the changing situation. I had gone from being concerned that my neighbor might know I had an interest in crossdressing, to being bound, fucked and blackmailed all at lightspeed. I knew nothing about this woman and she now occupied the center of my life. She obviously had been investigating me.

They say that the first part of brainwashing is to isolate the victim from his normal environment. Then subject him to humiliating acts and repeat over and over what you want him to believe. Well, I was isolated, humiliated, and being told that I was now Stephanie, slaveslut, property of Mistress Susan Roget, and I was starting to accept it.

While I was off in my fog, Mistress Susan was disrobing. She removed everything except her boots. She was huge. Her arms were shaky with fat. Her stomach had rolls. Her tits were like watermelons, hanging down under their own weight. Her nipples stuck out like fingers, big and thick.

"You look so pretty with that cock sticking out of your mouth that it would be a shame to waste it." She said as she mounted me. First she sat on my chest and breathing became incredibly difficult. I could only take very shallow breathes through my nose, and those painfully. She adjusted herself, and with a massive heave, move up to impale her cunt on the dildo gag jutting from my mouth. My head was squashed into the pillow. The little I could see just before my eyes were covered by the folds of her stomach was massive tits swaying over me. My head was pounded into the bed. I could only lay there and hope to survive. I tried to take some air each time she moved upward and brace for the punishing weight to follow. I have no idea how long the torture lasted. I was soaking wet when Mistress Susan finally got off me. I was exhausted, beaten and broken. It was a horrible experience that I would do anything to avoid, but part of me was thrilled to have been her dildo - craved the humiliation of being used by this dominatrix. She was physically overwhelming and against my will, I was being psychologically dominated as well.

She left me on the bed to recover as she put on her robe. The dildo gag was removed and my legs released. She shoved the pink dildo into my asshole deeper before pulling it out. "You'll be begging me for that one day. I am going to really enjoy making you into my bitch, Stephanie." She said. "Now, lick your pussycock clean."

She shoved the pink dildo that had been up my ass into my mouth. In and out like a ball washer at a golf course. When she was finally satisfied that it was clean, it got dumped into a drawer. I didn't want to think where it had been before she shoved it in me.

I had been fucked, photographed and used by her for two orgasms. I was soaked in sweat and hoped that somehow I would now be released. My new owner had other plans. She pulled me from the bed and I stood on unsteady legs. A push from her finger and I was sitting on the side of the bed. She stood next to me, spread my legs and grabbed my cock in her fist. I didn't even try to resist. I was physically beaten and she knew it.

"Let's see what you've got in your clit" she said milking me. I had no control as my cock got hard under her stroking.

"Come on bitch, give it to me. You won't get many chances like this" she said smirking. I avoided her eyes, and just looked at her tits. I was excited in spite of myself. Under her expert handling, I came in big spurts. She collected it in her hand. Before I had a chance to recover, she held my nose in one hand, pulling my head up. My mouth opened to get air, and she wiped my cum into my mouth. Her hand then dropped to my jaw and held my mouth closed until I swallowed. I gagged slightly. I had never swallowed cum before.

"Get used to it. I have some men who are going to love you - literally." She giggled.

She wiped her hands on the bed sheet and stood before me. We were almost the same height - me sitting, her standing. Again I kept my eyes lowered. She grabbed my hair and pulled my head up, forcing me to look in her eyes. Her eyes drilled into mine like lasers. I wanted to look away, but couldn't.

Finally she said, "You belong to me. You may not like it, you may not want it, but that's the way it is. You're not the only bitch I'll get from this building. I have my eye on the brunette in Apt 23 . She's almost ready. I give her another two weeks before she's on her knees here. Then there's the guy in 36. He practically salivates whenever I walk by. I can get him anytime. But you were my prize. Cute, successful, alone - no girlfriend or family, works out of the apartment, and best of all - a closet submissive tv. Low hanging fruit.

Now, a few rules. You will always call me Mistress Susan, when we are alone, with other people, or on the street. You will never be standing when I am in the room. You will be on your knees or prone. You will be available whenever I want you. If you are not here, I will page you or call you. You must be here within five minutes or you will be punished. You will always wear my collar. It is not removable without damage. If you remove it, you will be damaged. I am physically stronger than you and mentally tougher. You are a helpless sissy. You need my control. You need my training. I will give you a cassette tape to play at night to reinforce my training. You will buy and wear women's underwear at all times. Throw out your present clothes tomorrow. You will get crotchless panties, garter belts, nylon stockings and bras. If you go outside, you must wear these under your normal shirt and pants. I will provide a locking cock harness with only one key - which I will keep. You will be able to piss, but not have erections without my permission. You will wear lipstick and lipliner in this building. You will practice walking steadily in high heels until you can handle 6" stilettos. You will spend most of your day in my apartment cleaning, cooking, washing, and assisting me with my clients. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I'm a professional dominatrix. I have men in here on their knees all day. You will also keep my equipment clean. Whips, chains, bondage gear, and your favorite, dildos. I may use you for demonstrations, or rent you out to some women for special parties. Your ass is mine, and I intend to use it".

I listened in disbelief. My world was crumbling. I couldn't believe it. Denial. Mistress Susan had outlined a life of complete servitude. She seemed so matter of fact that I knew this wasn't the first time she had done this. Everything was planned. Rules were in place. Special items ordered. I was the last piece in the puzzle.

The doorbell rang and I froze in shock. The outside world. Mistress Susan pulled me along behind her, using my cock as her leash. I hurried to keep up. She looked through the spy hole for a moment, obviously recognized the caller, and opened the door. I tried to hide behind the open door, but was pulled out for inspection. Tall grey-haired women stood next to Mistress Susan. She wore a black skirt, white high-collared shirt and high heels. Her thin lips were covered with blood-red lipstick. She almost looked like a strict elementary school teacher.

Mistress Susan looked at her and said, "Mother, I'm so glad you're here. I have the perfect apartment across the hall for you to live. And you can help me train my new bitch. Between us, she won't have a moment free to worry her pretty little head." She pulled me forward by my cock and said, "Isn't that right, Stephanie? Say hello to my mother, Madame Roget."

Before I even had a chance to open my mouth, Madame Roget slapped my face. Her hand felt as hard as her daughter's. "What are you doing on your feet! Get on your knees immediately." I dropped as soon as she gave the command. Almost without thinking. "Now say hello properly, slave." I opened my mouth to welcome her, and barely got out the first word, when she slapped me again.

"That's not the proper way for a bitch to say hello to its owner. Obviously, Susan hasn't had the time to train you correctly. I'll remedy that. Now, crawl behind me, lift my skirt and put press your face into my ass. Lick my entire ass crack and then lovingly kiss and rim my asshole. When you are finished, bow behind me with your head touching the floor. That's the proper welcome I expect." I crawled as instructed and put my head under her skirt. She was not wearing panties, only a garter belt and nylons. I pressed my face forward and started using my tongue. She was very sweaty and I licked her clean. Then I worshipped her asshole and returned to a kneeling position behind her.

"Not bad for the first time. I think it's a good thing that I arrived when I did. You obviously need full-time training and Susan will be busy with clients and working the rest of the building." I looked up in amazement at the mother-daughter dominant duo. This morning I was a free man. This afternoon I was the slut-slave property of an overweight unattractive woman and her grey-haired elderly mother. You never know.

It has been almost three months since I became the property of Mistress Susan and her mother, Madame Roget. My former life seems like a dream, as if it belonged to another person. And I guess it did. Everything Mistress Susan told me the first day has come true. I am her bitch, and her mother's also. They both use me on a regular basis. Madame Roget moved into my apartment. She has the bedroom. My other room, formerly my office, is now the office/gym. I sleep chained to the foot of either Mistress Susan's or Madame Roget's bed. Available for nightly toilet service. And of course the morning and evening cunt-sucking ritual. I never know which dominatrix will use me that night. I am still kept in a state of confusion and have gotten used to following orders immediately and without the slightest hint of objection. They both want me to keep working, so during the day I am chained (literally) to my desk. Since my profession as a graphic artist allowed me to work from my home, my clients did not suspect my new living arrangement. Any pay went directly to my new owners. Mistress Susan has several slaves whose income she controls. Aside from sessions as a professional dominatrix, both she and her mother have made themselves wealthy by accumulating financially successful submissives and taking control of their incomes. I never realized the depth of the information that Mistress Susan had accumulated prior to her conquest of me in her apartment. She had copies of my tax returns, client list, bank statements, resume, medical records and internet membership sites. She played with me like an angler landing a fish. I never had a chance. The same was true about the other people in the building she mentioned. Her words at the time were:

"You're not the only bitch I'll get from this building. I have my eye on the brunette in Apt 23 . She's almost ready. I give her another two weeks before she's on her knees here. Then there's the guy in 36. He practically salivates whenever I walk by."

The brunette is Apt 23 was indeed on her knees before Mistress Susan in two weeks. Her name was Carol; now she answers to "cunt". Even knowing what was going to happen, I still was astounded at the speed and effectiveness of Mistress Susan's domination. She had gathered considerable background on Carol's finances and sexual preferences. She even had the private notes from Carol's psychological therapist. Apparently Carol had one lesbian experience in college, but was strictly heterosexual. Mistress Susan changed that quickly. Carol was no match for her physically (neither was I), and the threat of continued pain made Carol very compliant. Her bondage was more severe. She was tied with ropes in very uncomfortable positions, usually leaving her cunt, asshole or tits available for easy access. Her tits (36c) were squeezed in tight rubber bands and her nipples pierced and hung with weights. Her cunt was filled with all manner of objects - broom handles, coke bottles, flashlights, cucumbers, and her asshole was abused in a similar manner. Her mouth was assaulted and she almost always had a gag or dildo in it. She was forced to swallow pills that made her more malleable. I have no idea what they were. After three days, "Carol the Cunt" was added to the list of possessions of the Roget family.

"The guy in 36" was no problem at all. He was practically a slave even before he walked into the trap. He was not a prize specimen, but he did have a trust fund income that made him a worthwhile addition. After the first day, I never saw him again. He was sent to another state, to one of the Roget's relatives. I have no idea where, who or why.

Madame Roget continued my training whenever I was not with Mistress Susan. I now cleaned both apartments on a daily basis. I also cooked all meals, which were eaten in my old apartment. The food was ordered over the internet from companies like grocery.com. It was always left outside the apartment door. I became adept at cooking meals to their taste. I would serve all meals as their waitress and eat the leftovers on my knees from a dog dish. I was not allowed to use my hands. I was given water the same way.

Madame Roget decided to pierce my ears for earrings. Mistress Susan liked the way the earrings looked so much that she pierced my nipples and cockhead. Small gold rings were locked in place. Chains linked the nipple rings together and a separate one hung from the cockring. I was locked to my desk to work by attaching both those chains to an eyebolt in the desk. I could not leave my desk until my owner released me. I was also branded. Madame Roget showed me the branding iron. It had been in the Roget family for three generations. It looked like a cattle brand except it was smaller and said "Property of Roget". The pain was excruciating when the heated iron was seared into my upper right asscheek.

I am always dressed as a sissyslut. I have become proficient at makeup. My real hair is growing out, and soon I will forego the wig for my own styled hair. My body is kept free of all other hair. Even my balls are shaved smooth. My cock is kept in a cage made of steel wire. It is locked in place, but prevents me from having an erection. I can piss or be tortured through the cage. The chain from the cockring easily passes through the cage. I have become proficient in walking in high heels. The pain was incredible at first, but I eventually learned to accept it. Three inch heels are for everyday use and the six inch stilettos are for "playtime". My asshole has been trained to accept larger and larger dildos. A buttplug is usually locked in place to keep me expanded. Mistress Susan uses my mouth on a continual basis. I have become skilled at sucking her cunt regardless of the position in which I must perform. I am even used as her douche. I fill my mouth with soapy water and force in into her cunt. I must do this until her cunt is clean. The soapy water I swallow usually makes me sick, but that is not an accepted as excuse.

Madame Roget on the other hand was not as physically overwhelming, but much more of a disciplinarian. I was always bound, and dressed as her slut. The slightest infraction was excuse for me to be bent over, wrists locked to ankles, ass up in the air and caned until I cried. Another favorite of my owner was to order me lie on the coffee table, tie my wrists and ankles to the table legs, remove my cock cage, and whip my cock and balls. She loved to watch my balls swell. The third punishment involved the round dining table. I was forced, face-down on the table. Eyebolts had been attached to the bottom of the tabletop to allow my wrists and ankles to be tied. The table was expandable by placing additional leaves in the top after it had been pulled open. Madame Roget liked to pull the top open, lay me across it perpendicular to the opening, my cock and balls between the open leaves. The top was then pushed together with my cock and balls hanging down. A heavy weight was attached to the cockring. She could fuck my ass or beat it, make me suck her strap-on, or beat my balls by flicking her cane under the table, hitting me from below. I was helpless as the weight attached to the cockring made any movement painful.

If someone had told me six months ago that I would ever eat shit, I would have laughed out loud. I'm not laughing now. Madame Roget considers shit a part of a slave's diet. I didn't want to do it the first time she gave me the order. By the time she was finished convincing me, I was begging to be allowed to eat it. Now I don't say a thing. I just get on my knees, crawl to the bowl and pick out a piece. I think the next step is her feeding it directly into my mouth from her asshole. She already had a portable toilet seat in the bathroom to be used when she feels like sitting down to piss, but still wants it in my mouth. She uses my tongue as toilet paper when she pisses or shits. Mistress Susan uses me as toilet paper also, but hasn't required me to eat her shit. Yet.

I have been in some sort of bondage every minute since Mistress Susan collared me. I am rarely alone. Either Mistress Susan or her mother has been close by. Every second of my day is occupied with their tasks. I make no decisions. I have no schedule. I only follow their orders.

They seem pleased with my progress. I have given up trying to resist. They are both so overwhelming - physically and psychologically. They understand me better than I understand myself. Maybe I really always needed this. I don't know that I wanted it, but again, I have no choice. And now I can't picture my life any other way than under their control.

I occasionally see “Carol the Cunt” in Mistress Susan's apartment. She is usually bound, blindfolded and dressed like a cheap whore - heavy lipstick, skimpy tight clothes, and high-heeled shoes. Her arms are locked together behind her in a leather armbinder. It is a single tight leather tube that keeps both arms together and extended straight behind her. The position pushes her shoulder blades back and her tits out. It looks very uncomfortable. Carol never says a word. Her tits have clamps on the nipples which are removed periodically by one of her owners. Carol's pain is obvious as they pull the clamps off. When she is seated, her short skirt barely covers her cunt. Once, when I had gotten a bonus from an advertising client for an exceptionally good job, Mistress Susan removed my cockcage and had me stand in front of “Carol the Cunt”. Mistress Susan didn't even say anything. She just snapped her fingers twice. At that signal, Carol immediately opened her mouth and leaned forward, searching for my cock. When she found it, she sucked like her life depended on my cumming. Perhaps it did. It felt so good, I didn't care who was doing it. I came very quickly. Mistress Susan pulled me back and re-attached the cockcage. Carol sat back in the chair. Mistress Susan patted her head, the way you would pat a dog.

"Save your energy for the party tonight." Mistress Susan told Carol. "If you do a good job, I'll let you suck my cunt tonight"

Carol spoke for the first time. "I will, I will" she promised with the first trace of enthusiasm. "I'll make you proud of me. I'll be the best bitch they every saw. I'll do anything for you."

"I know you will, cunt. You're mine." Mistress Susan said matter of fact.

It was hard to believe that Carol was the same woman who I met four months ago. That Carol was arrogant and snobbish. This Carol was a puppet. She clearly demonstrated the Roget family's power to capture, dominate and control.

I still had trouble grasping the extent of their empire. I got hints that Madame Roget had two other daughters, who were operating the same way as Mistress Susan. I had no idea of how many slaves they controlled or the profit generated. I did not even know how long the Roget's had been collecting slaves and their incomes. There can't be that many successful people who could be taken without questions being asked. It was true in my case, but I was different, or was I? The Rogets were certainly successful, didn't seem to worry about any authorities, and ran a professional operation. I didn't have time to worry about it. I was too busy performing my own tasks as their slut.

True to her word, Mistress Susan did use me for demonstrations, and rented me out for special parties. I don't know where the women came from, how they knew about the Roget's or their services. Two women were in Mistress Susan's apartment when I was led in by Madame Roget. I was completely decked out in my slut uniform and pulled me along in my 6 inch heels by the chain attached to my cockring. My hands were locked to the posture collar on my neck. A chain attached to my ankles forced me to take small mincing steps. My lipstick was thick and visible around the dildo protruding from my mouth. The vibrating dildo up my asshole was not visible, but a constant reminder to me. The rest of my attire was standard - bra with big inserts, garter belt, crotchless panties with my cockcage sticking out, nylon stockings, and blond wig. The conversation stopped when I minced in. The women were in their late fifties. Their figures were fleshy, but in fairly good shape. They were dressed conservatively and wore jewelry, which, if real, was very expensive. They did not say anything directly to me, but rather questioned Mistress Susan.

"Are you sure he's clean?" The blond asked.

(They would have been more concerned if Mistress Susan's apartment hadn't been immaculate considering her sloppy attire.)

Madame Roget answered. "Just call the slut, it. It's definitely not a 'he'. And yes, it's clean. I make sure of that myself."

They were not about to question someone who looked as severe and confident as Madame Roget on that score.

"Any limitations?" the brunette inquired.

Mistress Susan smirked, "None. If you break it, you bought it. If you want either my mother or myself along it will cost extra, but you might consider the show worth it. We're very creative."

"No, that's okay. I think we can use it just fine."

With that comment, Madame Roget pulled my chain and led me back into her (formerly my) apartment. Financial arrangements must have been finalized, because the next night I was dressed in new all-leather undergarments - bra, garter belt, neck collar, wrist and ankle cuffs. My hands were cuffed behind me and locking 6" stiletto shoes were locked on my feet. The two women I had seen previously came to pick me up. I saw that they were both dressed in all-leather outfits also. The blond had on thigh high boots with sharp-pointed spurs that made a noise when she moved. A long monk's cape was placed on my shoulders, the hood covering my head. The garment reached to the floor, hiding my heels. A leather blindfold was tightly fitted to my head. To check if I could see, Mistress Susan had one of the woman slap me. It took me by surprise, and my cheeks stung from the blow. I almost fell down. Since someone was holding taunt the chain attached to my cock, I could have been really injured. This was not a good omen for me. My cock cage was left off so they could use me any way they wanted.

The evening is a blur. I was given some drug that made everything seem unreal. I can't say much more about the evening other than I left, seated in the back seat of a car and returned in the truck, in the fetal position. Those women got their monies worth. My balls were swollen, my nipples were sore and throbbing, my asshole was on fire and I must have been covered in welts and heel-marks. There are a few clear memories. I remember spurs digging into my back as a woman locked my head with her thighs. She must have used my tongue for 5 orgasms. I'm sure she was the blond who picked me up. She whispered in my ear just before the trunk lid was closed, "When Susan is tired of you, you're mine. That's a promise."

I much preferred Mistress Susan and Madame Roget. Better the devil you know. It was the difference between owning something and leasing it. At least the Rogets wanted to use me long term, although Mistress Susan did say "You break it, you bought it." She thought of me as her property and had trained me to think of myself the same way.

Last week I made an interesting discovery. I overheard part of a conversation between Madame Roget and a trust officer at a bank. At least that's my guess. They were discussing someone's assets. After hearing that, it occurred to me that the Rogets might be getting information on whom to devour by learning about their trust funds or inheritances. Then they could narrow down the list to people who were alone and still further to those who had any submissive traits. It didn't tell me how they picked me, or some other people in the building, but it fit the guy in apt. 36 . I didn't have a trust fund, but fit the other criteria. Then I remembered that my ex-wife had worked in a bank. Maybe she had mentioned my name to someone involved and they knew I would fit the rest of the "slave" profile. Maybe it was even on purpose. I'll never know. But at least it made some sense to me. Regardless of how it happened, I now belong completely to the Roget family. The combination of physical and mental torture, drugs, brutality, humiliation, sexual stimulation, conditioning and deprivation has changed me. My self-image is of a slut. I must obey my owners. It gives me pleasure to be used by my masters. I will do anything. There is no act too humiliating, nothing I will not do or have done to me. I am docile, submissive, obedient, and trained. Two women I never would have looked at twice, now are at the center of my universe. I long to worship their bodies, to eat and drink their waste, to be used for their pleasure and comfort. My bondage is unnecessary now. I wouldn't escape if I could. Where would I go. They have made me into Stephanie the Slut. I am their bitch.

Another four months have passed since I last wrote.

More changes have taken place. Mistress Susan decided it was time to make more permanent changes to me. I was drugged and delivered to a clinic for some cosmetic surgery. I now have breast implants (36D), collagen injected lips, and a liposuction-narrowed waist. The physical recovery period was painful and intense. Mentally, I feel both humiliated and thrilled by my appearance. I am more useful to my owners and feel even more under their control.

When Mistress Susan is meeting a new client, she will have me present in her apartment. I am decked out in the usual attire except for the cockcage, but my cock is pulled back by the chain from my cockring into my ass so it's not apparent. My 36D tits are bare. When I am not wearing a bra, I am in a tight black corset. My waist is being constricted more each day since the surgery. The goal is 22 inches. I'm about 25 inches now. A thin chain connects my two nipple rings. My hands are tied and arms pulled over my head. I am suspended from a hook in the ceiling. The 6" stiletto heels just touch the floor. My own blond hair has grown out and is long and styled. My lips are full and shiny with glossy red lipstick. My mouth is filled with a red ball gag. I look like a real woman, bound and helpless. I am used as an example to new clients. They all see me and wonder. Mistress Susan will lower me to my knees and remove the ball gag. I am ordered to suck the client's cock until he cums. Afterwards, Mistress Susan reveals my cock and makes the client understand that the same thing can happen to him. These hourly slaves get really excited with the fantasy and usually become regulars. Their fantasy is my reality.

I still sleep chained at the foot of the bed of either Mistress Susan or her mother. The wake-up ritual consists of me sucking cunt and being used as a toilet before being allowed to make breakfast for my owners. I am fucked by both on a regular basis, although Mistress Susan is rougher and uses larger dildos. I have adapted to her size and learned how to satisfy her with minimum injury to myself. I have also been trained to hold my breath longer because, in her excitement, Mistress Susan has made me pass out many times.

Mistress Susan has a little act she likes to show to guests. I am positioned on the floor on all fours like an animal. My tits hang down and my cock is released from its cage. Mistress Susan sits next to me and grabs my tit with one hand and cock with the other. To the tune of "Old MacDonald Has A Farm" she alternates milking my tit and my cock. I must moo during the song at the appropriate places. I am stroked to ejaculation and then forced to lick up my "milk". Then she attaches a leash to my collar, and I follow along, still on all fours, mooing, as she leads me from the room.

Madame Roget told me that the surgery performed on me was expensive, and I must work to cover the cost. She has begun taking me to small men-only parties. I am placed on my knees in a bathroom with arms behind me and wrists locked to my ankles. A posture collar is locked around my neck and a thick chain run from the collar to a plumbing pipe under a sink. I am available as party entertainment. How would you react if you went into a bathroom and saw what you thought was an attractive blond woman with bare 36D nipple-ringed tits, black corset with garters attached to black mesh nylons, moist red bee-stung lips, bound and chained, kneeling on the floor. Only I am aware of the large dildo shoved up my asshole and locked in place. Written on a sign on the wall above me is "This is Stephanie the Slut. She loves to suck cock. Please use her with our compliments". Most men shove their cocks in my mouth. Some piss in it or even use me as an ashtray. Madame Roget will come in about every 30 minutes or so to refresh my lipstick and make sure I am performing properly. I will be available for use for about three hours at a typical function. I did go to a women's meeting once. The sign was changed to "suck cunt", and my cock was visible. The chain from the cockring was attached to the one from my nipples. The women quickly discovered that jerking on it was an effective way to make me more enthusiastic in my performance. There was a longer line than usual for the ladies room at that party.

I haven't seen “Carol the Cunt” in a long time. There have been two other slaves collected by the Roget's in the past four months. I never saw either of them before. Their initial training and conditioning took place in Mistress Susan's apartment. When they were broken, and accepted their new slave status, they were sent somewhere else. One was male the other female.

It has now been over seven months since my branding. I feel special because I am still here and used as a personal slave while the others have moved on. I no longer think of Mistress Susan as fat or Madame Roget as old. They are simply my owners. I am in awe of them. The Rogets are molding me physically to their specifications. They control my thoughts and I think what they want me to. I don't even hear the audio tapes at night anymore; I am so used to them. I have been feeling the need to be constantly fucked. I need a dildo or cock in my asshole, my whorehole. I need to work for my owners sucking cock and cunt and being fucked. That is what they want. That is what I need.