Knowing only what I had read about BDSM, I was intrigued enough to join several websites dedicated to the subject. Not entirely sure what I was looking for, I created a profile online listing myself as a straight 'switch', but giving few other details. I enjoyed browsing the profiles of women online, but never plucked up enough courage to open a dialog with one.

Suddenly, one day he received a notification that he had a message waiting. Clicking the link, he saw that young Domme from New York was asking him "do u ahve webcam slave?". Beyond her stunning photograph, age and location, that was all the information available. At the time, he had no webcam, and wasn't sure this was what he wanted, so he quickly sent back "I'm afraid not." Although the site told him this reply was read just two minutes later, the Domme said nothing more, presumably turning her attention to more promising candidates for her use.

This brief exchange lingered in his mind, however, and over time, the notion of serving and submitting to such a beautiful Domme grew on him. Clearly his earlier one-liner had not made a good impression: a more subservient approach was called for, and obtaining a webcam would probably help - even if She had no further interest, many other Dommes seemed interested in their use, and they were extremely cheap to buy these days.

Thinking through what he had read of such relationships, it became clear that he had managed to pack at least four transgressions into that simple sentence. First, the Mistress had addressed him as 'slave', but in his response he had not directly address Her at all, let alone with an appropriate tone or level of respect. Moreover, he had referred to himself as 'I' - an inappropriate use of a capital pronoun for a slave, an honor which is reserved for people, and use of the first person, where a slave must always refer to itself in the third person: 'this slave' or 'it'. Finally, of course, the message itself was wrong: any 'request' from a Mistress to a slave is really an order - the only permitted response was for the slave to confirm that it was in the process of obeying Her.

After reflecting on this for more than two days, with the idea of becoming this Mistress's cam plaything growing on him all the time, he began drafting a more appropriate response to Her. First, of course, it had to avoid the previous mistakes, addressing Her correctly as 'Mistress', referring to itself as 'this slave' or 'it', and indicating its belated obediance of Her orders.

In addition, this had to repair the damage done in its previous missive. Long ago, he - 'this slave', it corrected itself - remembered reading a long erotic story by 'Mr Ed' entitled 'Rebecca Mine', in which the title character is brutally enslaved by her mother. The story itself was too extreme, in many parts, even to form a fantasy, let alone appeal to anyone sane, but early in the story the mother educates her new slave in a proper slave apology, which has four parts. First, self deprecation: the slave is not worthy of receiving anything from its owner, much less forgiveness, which is a concept reserved for people, not slaves. Secondly, sincere regret: a slave must genuinely regret doing anything which displeased its Mistress. Thirdly, an expression of how superior its Mistress is to the slave. Finally, gratitude for its punishment: since the punishment is intended to make the slave a better plaything for its owner, gratitude is essential.

In this case, gratitude for punishment would be inappropriate - there hadn't been one yet. It seemed sensible, however, for the slave to substitute heartfelt begging for its Mistress to be kind enough to punish it properly; in the mean time, perhaps the slave should attempt to punish itself.

So, with clamps on its nipples, a heavy weight partly hanging from the clamps, partly resting on the floor - heavy enough that if the slave sat up fully, the clamps would be brutally torn off - and an old shoelace tightly constricting its balls and cock, the slave started typing a letter of apology, begging for Her to permit the slave to punish itself for this transgression, and to be permitted a second chance at serving Her. Unsure what response - if any - to expect, the slave gritted its teeth, slowly got to its feet - almost enjoying the agony as the clips slid from its nipples under the weight, pretending that it had been ordered to do so, and whispering 'thank You, Mistress' to itself - went to bed, then spent the night dreaming of being used and punished by its beautiful yet enigmatic would-be Mistress.

After a few more e-mails, my online Mistress was growing increasingly irritated by my failure to buy a webcam for her to use with me. Having little confidence in my own appearance - Mistress was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and I felt sure she would not be impressed with me - I delayed, making excuses. Little did I know where that would lead me!

Returning home from work one Friday evening, I found the standard 'we tried to deliver...' note waiting. I thought nothing of it - small parcels would often arrive unexpectedly - until I checked my email, finding a message notification: Mistress had sent me something! With my heart racing, I clicked the link - half-expecting to find Mistress finally dispensing with me entirely, or at least reminding me that I had promised to have a webcam for her by now. Instead, a simple note: 'slave. the parcel is from me. collect and open now.' Unlike a regular e-mail, now I had opened the message, Mistress would see the exact time of opening. Rather than risk further delays, I rushed to the courier firm's depot, arriving minutes before it closed for the night. Having been sent to Scotland from New York, the large and heavy parcel bore a Customs declaration sticker, describing the contents as 'Personal electronic equipment' - a more accurate description than I would have guessed at the time.

One last order from Mistress to obey: 'open it'. I rushed to do so. The first item revealed was a black box, about half the size of a VCR, with a series of sockets on the back, one for a computer network, another for power, the rest identical USB ports, delivering both data and power through a single cable. Next to this, a small webcam, with a USB plug.

Clearly, rather than give up on me entirely, Mistress had simply taken matters into her own hands: if I was too stupid or disobedient to install a webcam for her, Mistress would ensure that it happened anyway. As I was to learn later, I had only two options when it came to Her orders: obey now, or be made to obey later. Knowing I had no alternative, I began preparing for a session of online submission to Her, connecting the box and camera.

Obviously, Mistress required me to install or use all the contents of the box, in the order in which they were packed; next out came a strange pair of skimpy, thong-like leather shorts and a sort of leather sports bra, both much more bulky than would be expected. The shorts also had an integral butt-plug and some sort of sheath, obviously intended to capture the slave's cock; the bra was more conventional, aside from cutouts for the nipples. Seeing the plug already had a thin coating of some sort of lubricant, this seemed the obvious place to start, so I cautiously pushed it into place, then inserted my cock and balls into their prisons in the other part of the 'shorts'. Picking up the bra, I reflected to myself that if the worst Mistress inflicted was wearing some kinky underwear, this should be a fun evening - a thought I was soon to regret!

Next came the bra - more like the conventional variety than the 'shorts', resembling a well-padded leather peephole bra except for the posture collar joining the shoulder straps together, with a pair of handcuffs dangling from the collar on long chains, and that on the back where a regular bra would have a clasp, this one had some sort of control box with another pair of handcuffs and a lead dangling down to reach the shorts. Fastening it into place and connecting the lead, I received what would turn out to be the first of many nasty shocks of the weekend: as soon as the final connection was made, the collar, bra and shorts all tightened cruelly, while the butt plug inflated to painful dimensions. As the bra cups inflated, a series of tiny spikes emerged on the inside, impaling my breasts - and, although I didn't immediately realize this, injecting a slow-acting venom which would cause swelling and further pain in that area. The burning sensation in my ass was not all the result of the expansion, either: the 'lubricant' had been designed for the entertainment of a watching sadist, rather than the comfort of the slave forced to use it.

Overwhelmed for a moment by the shock and pain, I clawed frantically at the bra cups with one hand and the butt plug with the other - but after a few moments, realized I had no choice: there was no way to remove any of my costume without outside help! As I calmed down, however, and became more accustomed to the pain, I glanced in the mirror, and realized that Mistress might well accept the bound, punished slave I saw looking back at me.

Cheered a little by that thought, and trusting that Mistress would release me unharmed - give or take a little pain, which I was sure Her slave should be able to handle for Her - after having some online fun, I turned my attentions back to Her crate. Only a few items remained now: some very strange metal 'shoes' with a rigid bar joining them together, a ballgag with a long hose attached, three large plastic bags filled with a clear fluid, a hood, and a long cable. After a moment's hesitation, I decided the slave in the mirror should be fitted with the cable first, joining the 'torture shorts' to the control box with the camera. As I did so, an idea struck the slave: perhaps it could escape by disconnecting the box from the Internet! As soon as it reached for the network cable, however, a brutal series of shocks rippled through its bra cups and crotch, leaving it gasping for breath and whimpering on the floor.

'Foolish', I thought, glaring at the agonized figure in the mirror. 'Mistress wouldn't let Her slave escape that easily! Stupid slave deserves to suffer for that.' I forced it to its feet and staggered back to Her crate, grabbing the bags of fluid. Simple enough: each had a single locking connector which matched one of the control boxes on the 'underwear'. Just three items now: the gag, the hood and the shoes. Clearly the hood had to go last, but doing the shoes would impede movement - the gag had to come next. With a little pain and pressure, the slave managed to force the gag into its mouth and fasten the strap, feeling a sense of accomplishment as the strap locked into place. The hose was a mystery, however: where did it go? After a few seconds, it hit the slave: the screw cap a foot from the end matched the tip of the cock sheath - leaving only one place the extra foot of hose could be put...

Thankfully, the hose was already lubricated, so it slid into place with relatively little extra pain until it latched into the cap on the sheath. Unlike the plug, the lubricant was not designed to inflict pain of its own - it was, however, conductive to electricity, which is why the hose had fine metal strips either side, as the slave would soon discover.

"Almost done... for now" it thought to itself, picking up the 'shoes'. Each consisted of a flat metal disk, obviously intended to sit on the floor, with a narrow slightly curved metal strip emerging almost at right angles to the disk. At the floor end, a metal cup would capture the slave's toes, while the spikes lining the metal strip provided yet another reminder that the slave was there to suffer for the enjoyment of its Mistress. A cuff could be slid up or down the metal strip, then locked in place around the victim's ankle, ensuring the shoe could not be removed without some sort of key.

Just in case the spiked, locking ballet shoes weren't cruel enough, they were joined with a foot long spreader bar, which had two fine steel chains connected, each with two clips. The first attached to the front of the torture shorts, just long enough to allow the slave to remain standing, just short enough that trying to stand fully upright crushed and stretched the slave's balls mercilessly - while the shoes prevented it from sitting or kneeling. The remaining length of chain connected, through a long spring, to the cruellest nipple clamp the slave had ever seen - unlike the clover clamps it knew, which simply grew tighter as their chain was pulled, the inner spiked clamp would dig in cruelly whatever happened with the chain. The outer portion, on the other hand, would both tighten and pull away from the other, crushing and stretching the already tortured nipple even further.

Of course, the slave had little time to consider the engineering details if it wanted to avoid further punishment for delaying; tugging hard against the spring to get enough slack, it positioned one nipple between the jaws of pain, then slowly closed them. By hunching over as far as possible, it could minimise the extra pain, and quickly repeated the process on the other side.

At last, the hood - the only part of the slave's punishment costume not designed to hurt it in some way, as far as it could see. Although tight, it slid on quite easily, immediately blocking out all sight, but causing only a moment's panic for the slave as two rubber plugs forced themselves into its nostrils, presumably intended to ensure the hood didn't interfere with its breathing.

A cable on the back connected to the torture bra's control box; as soon as it was plugged in, the plugs filling the slave's eyes came to life, and Mistress's words emerged: 'Good - almost ready. Grab the rope on your hood and pull until you hear a beep.'

Reaching that point took both hands behind its back, a very awkward position to stand in anyway, but when forced to hunch forwards by the nipple chains and held in a half crouch by the hobble chain, almost impossible - but not quite: very little is truly impossible when the slave's only alternative is electrical agony until it complies.

Finally, the cuffs: the lower pair fastened just above the elbows, pulling them back just enough to hurt, then the pair hanging from the posture collar around the wrists, pulling boths arms into a loose reverse prayer position. Never having tried this before, even a 'loose' reverse prayer was agony enough!

"Good slave; I thought you could probably manage it once you had no choice in the matter! Of course, because you failed to provide this yourself, it cost me a great deal of money to set all this up. Don't worry, though, I'm going to let you earn it all back! That's the great thing about the Internet... you can buy or sell almost anything..."

Sell!? The slave suspected it was in far over its head: here it stood in its own bedroom, hobbled, clamped, blindfolded and shackled, with Mistress talking of selling ... the slave itself?! Surely not! Just the slight straightening of its back at this shock cost it dearly, however, as the clamps bit cruelly into its nipples, the hobble chain yanked its balls down and the shifting weight impaled its feet harder on the 'shoes'.

Almost as if she could see the slave's shock and fear through the mask and restraints, Mistress gave a musical, feminine laugh. "Don't worry - I don't mean selling *you*, silly! Not yet, anyway - just selling some of your suffering, to online sadists who will pay handsomely to play with my new paintoy."

Chapter 2: Entertaining visitors

Despite standing in the comfort of its own bedroom, in the virtual company of a beautiful young woman, slave js207 was not enjoying its evening at all. At first glance, you might suspect this was the fault of the large butt plug, the hobbled spiked ballet boots forcing it onto tiptoes, the nipple clamps on short chains forcing it to hunch over in an effort to reduce the tension and the discomfort of having its hands chained in a reverse prayer position, but that would only scratch the surface of the slave's present predicament.

Looking more closely would show further problems for the slave: the ball gag beneath the tight leather hood was bad enough in itself, but to make matters worse, it had a hose running to the slave's catheter - forcing it to 'recycle' its own urine constantly. Meanwhile, although the inflated butt plug with its irritant lubricant hadn't been used to deliver another electric shock to the slave since it finished dressing, it was now inflicting another unwelcome surprise, pumping a large volume of soapy water into the slave. Perhaps to appeal to a sadistic sense of symmetry, the matching bra was forcing irritant-laced saline into the victim's breasts, already painful and swollen from the venom injected when the rows of tiny spikes on the inside of the cups first made their presence felt, now giving the slave a chest most female slaves would be proud of - or regret deeply, if the unfortunate slavegirl had them forced into such tight, spiked leather cups as this slave wore!

The worst part of this poor slave's predicament at present, however, was not physical - rather, it was the fact Mistress had referred to 'selling' the slave's suffering on the Internet! The details would soon become all too clear, however...

Once again, the slave heard the voice of the Mistress who ordered it into this situation. This time, however, She was not addressing it, but an unseen audience, in some sort of sales pitch. She explained to Her listeners that the slave's torture would be auctioned off: each torture had a set price, and members of the audience could bid towards their favorite. As soon as a reserve was reached, that torture would take place, and its counter would be reset.

As Mistress explained this, the LCD units which took the place of eyeholes in the slave's hood changed. Now they showed the webcam's view of the slave, and, by extension, the view its Mistress and Her guests would be getting, whoever they - They, the slave instinctively corrected itself: as Mistress's guests, of course They were superior to the slave - might be. Slave js207 was shocked to find itself aroused by this thought - could this really be the same person who listed himself as a 'switch', being unsure about his interest in submission, and was too shy to upload a photograph to his profile, who now crouched, nipples clamped, butt plugged, before a Mistress it had first spoken to a week earlier and Her unknown guests, and actually found the situation arousing?

Not many seconds later, however, the slave was shocked in a more literal sense, as the text 'anal shock - $50' flashed across the screen! Unprepared, the slave jerked forwards and upward, tugging hard on the chains enslaving its nipples and balls, forcing waves of agony through its body - but, as cruelly shackled as it was, the sadistic observers had only a stiffening of the body and an anguished but muffled whine into the ball gag to show for their investment.

After a few seconds, the slave managed to stand still again, slackening the nipple chain enough to reduce the pain to bearable levels once more. Worse was to come, however; the next message to flash up on screen read 'breath control (30s) - $250'. The slave's instinctive gasp was shut off part way, leaving it flailing and jerking frantically for the longest 30 seconds of its life, until it was finally permitted to take another breath of air into its cruelly tortured lungs.

"Mmmm... another 39 like that, and your debt would be paid!" came a seductive purr from Mistress. "Don't worry - your body goes to the highest bidder of the minute, but your mind is all mine in here: just the two of us. I always thought slaves should be seen and not heard - not words, anyway, except perhaps begging..."

Just as the numbers sank in - the 'breath control' had earned Mistress $250, so another 39 meant She was expecting Her slave to suffer $10,000 worth of torture - three selections came up in quick succession: enema (low volume), catheter (mid volume), recycle. As the first choice left the slave sweating and moaning around its ballgag, it was having serious doubts about Mistress's use of the phrase "low volume" - right up until the saline started being forced into its bladder until it became convinced something would burst, even straightening up against the nipple chains so the crushing pressure and extra tension would provide at least a little distraction from the agony. Finally, relief came, leaving the slave stunned to realize it was actually grateful for being permitted to drink its own piss through a ballgag - something which would have been utterly unthinkable just an hour earlier!

Over the next hour, the slave whimpered, screamed and suffered through a demonstration of dozens of ways for pain to cross the Internet, depositing money in Mistress's wallet as it did so. Short of a motor to pull the slave's hair, it was certain that not one inch of its body had been left untortured, from the pain of being forced to stand on tiptoe, through the spiked 'sole' of the hobbled shoes, to the outsize catheter-ballgag, breath control nostril plugs and the crushing hood containing them. Along the way, it had learned that standing half-crouched for an hour is extremely painful, but less so than putting your weight on razor-sharp spikes lining your shoes for any more than the briefest period, that even an agonizing "max volume" enema with cramping irritants is made worse when the slave jerks from electric shocks to the nipple clamps which hold it in a properly submissive hunched position. By this time, the stream of urine into its gag was almost constant, with the entire saline bag having been emptied into either the slave's bowels, producing the appearance of an advanced pregnancy, or bladder, and on into the slave's intestines - which, of course, quickly returned the fluid, completing the cycle.

At last, however, Mistress's wallet had had enough of its pain, for one session at least, and Her voice came through the earplugs once more.

"All gone, little painslut, and they certainly seem to have enjoyed you! Now, just a few more minutes, and you can get some sleep: we have a busy weekend ahead of us."

Through all the pain, the slave had instinctively straightened up at hearing Mistress's voice, earning yet another reminder just how cruel the nipple clamps were. As Mistress said that, agony shot through the slave's arms - this time, not yet another mechanism for remote Users to torture the slave, almost the reverse: Mistress had released the tension which had, over the course of the last hour, forced the slave's arms into a progressively more brutal reverse prayer position, and the sudden restoration of movement came as a shock to the tightly bound limbs.

As that pain faded, Mistress released the cuffs themselves, and offered the slave a choice: straight to bed to recover, or going to its PC first, so Mistress could talk to it 'in person' - finally allowing the slave more than just the beautiful photograph it had worshipped since first talking to Her.

Of course, as soon as it pulled its feet free from the spiked ballet shoes, the slave rushed to the keyboard - not even pausing to unclip the chain which linked the shoes to the shorts and nipple clamps, just carrying the torture implement with it - after all, what kind of slave would keep its Mistress waiting even a minute for a detail like that?

Mistress smiled to herself at this sight: her ball-gagged slave, no doubt still in great pain and desperate to empty its bladder properly, choosing to extend the torment rather than forgo even one minute of Her presence or disappoint its Mistress!

The slave was ecstatic to see its Mistress at last, particularly as She said how proud and happy She was of its performance for Her guests. Without going into much detail, though, she ended the conversation quickly, hinting at plans for the rest of the weekend - plans for which, ominously, the slave would needs its strength. Almost as an afterthought, she gave it permission to remove the nipple clamps - but the bra, shorts and ballgag were to remain in place.

Never thinking to question Her orders, a weary and well-used slave limped to bed at last, and quickly fell asleep, spending most of the night dreaming that he'd been kidnapped by a beautiful brunette, chained up, tortured and used as her human toilet.

During the night, one final cruelty of the 'torture shorts' became apparent: the confining cock sheath was tight enough to force a constant erection, reinforced by a gentle vibration - but thanks to the sensors and the electric shock function, the control unit was quite capable of keeping the poor slave aroused yet frustrated throughout the night - an image which lingered in Mistress's mind as she drifted off to sleep, her fingers still touching Her own unencumbered clit after one last orgasm.