MIGHT BE YOU
Cold. So Italy was cold during that time of the year - the sky outside the
arrival lounge of the airport was dark grey, and she felt it was somehow
wrong. Wasn't it supposed to be "welcome to sunny Italy"? She was letting
the long metal treadmill move her slowly toward customs and passport
control, and staring out of the glass wall she suddenly noticed her own
reflection, still as a statue on the busy background of hangars and planes.
It was apparent that she was extremely tense, and not only for the lack of
sleep during the long flight. "Face it," she thought, "you don't really give
a damn about the weather. You're scared shitless, little girl, and there's
no way to back out now".
A woman in uniform at the end of the passport-checking queue asked her to
follow her into a booth just on the other side of the gate. "What's wrong?
What's wrong?" she screamed in her mind, while trying to look nonchalant.
The security guard motioned for her to hand over the single bag she was
carrying, and while browsing through its mundane contents asked her a few
routine questions.
"Business or tourist?"
"Tourist".
"How long are you staying?"
"A month".
"Have you got any other luggage?"
"Nope".
After a short pause, the bag was zipped closed again and given back: "Are
you O.K., miss?"
"What?"
"Do you feel well? You look shaken".
"Oh. Didn't sleep... Afraid of planes, you see". The guard smiled, and
waived her through to the main lounge.
For the hundredth time, the same thoughts ran through her mind. "Afraid of
planes, sure. You're stupid, little girl. You don't even know what he looks
like...even more, you don't even know if he exists. Nah. He does. He payed
for my ticket, didn't he? Yeah, and I flew over. I'm stupid, all right. If
I'm lucky he won't show up and I'll get back home immediately, first plane
out. If I'm lucky maybe I won't end up as a Jane Doe in some fucking Italian
morg--"
"You". The deep male voice startled her, and she turned round to see who had
called her. No, not called, she thought. Stated. He was different than she
expected: more attractive than her worst visions of fat, baldish, dirty old
men, yet also far more "normal" than some of the dream-hunks she'd imagined
during the last two months. The man was 29, athletic-looking but evidently
not a gym victim, about 1.75 tall and very Italian. Long black hair in
a ponytail, deep brown eyes, definitely European features, casual but
elegant attire. And he was looking right into her eyes, with a very stern
expression. She quickly avoided his stare and tried to say something, but he
had already started to speak again. "Care for some breakfast?" his
pronunciation was far better than many Italians she had heard or met in
college, yet somewhat strange - a mixture of British English, American
English and something else again.
"Y... Yes, please".
She followed him into a small bar, where he bought pineapple juice and
croissants for two, and when they sat down he finally broke an
increasingly-embarassing silence.
"So. You look acceptable: your description was correct and the medical
tests you faxed me say you're clean. When I'm through with my breakfast
I'm going to get my car and go home. This is your last chance to get back:
you can have your return ticket changed to an earlier date right here in the
airport and leave by this afternoon".
"Yesyesyes" she thought, so scared she was unable to eat a thing.
"Or--" he paused to drink some juice "--you can follow me to my home, and
make your lifelong dream and need a reality. You will be trained, used and
abused at my wish. You'll be spared no pain nor humiliation, and I guarantee
you that after this month of mutual trial, should we both decide to go on,
you'll eventually become the best slavegirl on Earth." He spoke clearly,
with no embarassment even though it was apparent that a few people around
them did hear and understand everything. "We both know that this is what
you've been looking for since your childhood, and that you'll never get
another chance like this. I suggest you not throw it away".
He calmly got back to his croissant, while the girl felt an icy grip seize
her stomach. "Shit, this is for real," she mumbled to herself, "What am I
doing here? Yet... a real sadistic master... No, wait! He could be a killer,
a criminal... It's gonna hurt... No escape... Shit, he's almost finished..."
"If you can't use your brain," he remarked looking her right in the eye,
"you might want to trust your cunt".
"Wha..." she was about to yell something at him when she noticed that yes,
she was aroused. Very aroused, actually. "He saw right through me," she
thought, "He knows what I feel... and need... but..."
The man cleaned his lips with a paper towel, got up and, without even
acknowledging her presence, walked toward the exit. She jumped up, almost
running after him, dragging her bag along. "It's only a month," she said to
herself, "it can't be too bad".
His car was, of course, an European one. Small, much smaller than the ones
she was used to, yet just right for the crowded and narrow streets of the
town. The sights were terribly interesting, yet she had something else to
think about. As soon as they entered the car he had her remove her coat,
handcuffed her hands behind her back and then put the coat back on, open but
so that she would have looked perfectly normal to any person looking into
the car. He fastened her safety belt and drove on, giving her his "welcome
speech".
"Now you're my slave. Remember it. You are to do whatever I say without
questioning, and you won't do anything else. Every initiative will be
punished, but it will be easy for you not to make mistakes. Remember that
there are only two things you are allowed to do. First, you can ask me for
permission to go to the toilet; secondly, you can and must inform me if any
punishment or torture isn't giving you enough pain. Be warned, I will test
you on this and I won't tolerate any cheating. This is all." She was
incredibly excited: she had let herself "fall into role", and she finally
was at peace with the world. Yes, she was a slave, as she had always
dreamed. A slave. He won't have any mercy. A slave. She would be tortured. A
slave. She was in a foreign land, unable to speak a word of the local
language, totally helpless. A slave. A slave a slave a slave. She was almost
close to orgasm.
"About your days with me." Her master (master? Yes, he was her master! Oh,
joy!) went on, as always not accepting any discussion, "I won't do anything
really dangerous for your health, nor I will trespass the limits you
described in your emails, but you won't be spared anything else. Remember,
this is not a game of make-believe like those you were used to: from now on
you are not a person anymore, but an item, an asset for my pleasure. There
are not going to be any pauses, safewords or truces. I expect to be obeyed,
and if you won't I will do whatever is needed to make you beg to obey that
order. Is that clear?".
"Yes, Master". God, that was exactly what she had always desired!
"You will sleep, you will eat and you will drink. That's it. You're not here
for your pleasure, but for mine only - if you're half the masochist slut you
said in your messages you're probably going to enjoy your stay, but that's
none of my business. You will usually be given half an hour a day to groom
yourself, but then it's your responsability to be always clean and
attractive for my enjoyment. You'll have to find the time for that during
your duties - and I won't tolerate seeing my slave not groomed, nor any task
unproperly done". The smell of her dripping sex was embarassingly evident in
the car.
"There is another thing you'll have to find the time for. I want you to keep
a diary of your training, which I suggest you compile at night, just before
going to sleep. You will record everything exactly, especially your
feelings. Maybe I'll read it, maybe I won't, but I want you to record what
hurt you more, what gave you more pleasure, what you felt from every single
thing. Is it clear?".
"Yes."
He grinned. "You'll be punished for that. You know you must address me as
"master"".
"Yes, Master". Oops. She did it. It was bound to happen, yet in that very
moment she realized that her dreams of punishments and tortures were going
to become as real as the handcuffs holding her wrists together.
The car stopped and turned at an electronically-opened gate, entering a
small underground parking garage under a large house that looked ancient,
although she could not estimate how old it might be. The man parked in a
reserved zone and got out, going over to her door to let her out. He took
her bag and walked briskly to an elevator, paying no atention to his slave
as always. She quietly followed him and entered the elevator, where the
silence got to her stomach again. It was unnerving: this man's fierce gaze
looked at her as if she were an animal, and she did not know what to do,
say, or think. When they finally reached the uppermost story, she was
quickly shown in.
"Kneel here," he said, and she immediately obliged while he went about his
business, listening to uncomprehensible messages on the answering machine
and changing clothes. The house was warm and dark, apparently the home of
a quite rich and busy man - there were nice furnishings around, lots of books
and magazines and at the least a couple of computers. She knew he was a
freelance journalist working mostly from home, so this was his office as well.
"Get up," he barked, coming up from nowhere behind her and startling her.
She did, and he removed the handcuffs. "Undress".
"This is easy," she thought with a bit of exhibitionism. She loved to expose
herself, and she removed her clothes quite quickly - then her watch, ring
and necklace, until she was perfectly naked, down to the completely shaved
body. The man didn't look impressed, though.
"Come kneel here in front of me, hands behind your head," he simply ordered,
and his nonchalance excited her even more. That was a man used to having
nude women at his feet.
"Every household item has different parts," the master addressed her, "and
each part has a function. Now we'll quickly go through your parts so that it
will be clear to you what their functions are". His eyes were piercing her
very soul. Her heart was racing like hell, yet all she could think of was
his calm. She had already been in similar situations during her former
experiences in her country, but all those men had been different from him.
By the time she was naked in front of them they were drooling, flushed, only
looking for a slightly weird way of fucking her - her new master was totally
blase instead: he really was looking at her as if all she was a coffee table
or a rug. She couldn't even tell if he was pleased with her.
"Starting from the top," he continued, patting her head as one does with a
dog, "we have your head. Contrary to what you might know, this is not used
to think. Its sole function is to hear my orders and make the rest of the
body obey. Trust me: I will break your will anyway, so it is far better if
you switch that useless brain off as soon as possible. Your existance will
be much more pleasant that way". His words were terrible, yet inside her she
felt that this was exactly what she had been looking for all the time.
No problems, decisions to make or roles to fit: she knew well how happy she
was when she let herself go and let somebody else take control of her life, and
that was exactly what her master wanted.
"In the head there are also your eyes and mouth. Since you are not a person
but a slave, from now on you will never raise your eyes unless ordered, or
unless it is required by your duties". The girl immediately looked down,
somehow happy not to have to stand her master's stare anymore. "When
somebody talks to you, be it me or anybody else, you will look at his sex,
even if it is covered, for that is what you are serving. Remember, you are
not serving me: there are skilled and respectable professionals for that.
You are serving my sex, and those of the people I will choose
to share you with". She shuddered, scared and excited at the same time. In her
sluttiest fantasies she had often dreamed of being dominated and fucked by
many people at once, and in his email messages her master had specifically
stated that in the advanced phases of her training she would.
"Your mouth is quite a different story altogether. First of all, immediately
part your lips and let the jaw drop slightly open. Slightly, I said". She
obeyed, feeling a little foolish-looking. "This is because your mouth, just
like any other hole of yours, must always be accessible. 'Always' means
during your duties, while you're being punished or tortured, while you're
being fucked and so on. If I catch you with your mouth shut the punishment
will be as hard as any." She gulped: she knew that forming this habit would
be difficult. "Oh, of course you won't use it to speak except in the cases I
mentioned before. You can use it to scream when you're in pain, since I
enjoy that, unless I order you not to. Begging is, of course, useless and
will be punished. The mouth is also your primary sex tool, because women
make love with their bodies, but slaves simply service their masters in this
humblest, and more enjoyable, way. I hope you're good at that, because
you're going to give a lot of head, and you don't want to disappoint me".
If she wasn't so terribly tense she'd have smiled - she loved the feeling of
a hard cock between her lips, her tongue slowly making it grow larger and
larger until... "By the way, you'll obviously swallow everything, then clean
it all up with your tongue. Which brings us to another point. As you'll
shortly see from my documents, I'm perfectly healthy - healthier than most,
actually, since I don't drink, smoke or use any drug. All of my friends are,
too, so you don't have to fear a thing. I don't have any use for a
nonfunctional slave, so I'll protect you from diseases and harm, but you
will be ordered to swallow more... unpleasant stuff. This is because I enjoy
that, and because toilet training is the ultimate form of humiliation, and I
want you to be good at that - even begging for it". She was scared. Recently
a guy pissed on her and she enjoyed the feeling and the humiliation, but
'toilet training'... Another slavegirl, befriended at a party, once
described how she loved to drink her master's piss and sometime to eat some
of his shit: it only takes practice, she said, but then you really feel like
the slave you are.
"Then we have your tits. Their function is simply to offer a large sensitive
area to be punished. It's as simple as that. If we decide to go on with your
training after this month I will take the necessary steps to enlarge your
uselessly small tits." Just what she had always thought, actually.
"Your hands". The master went on with the tone of somebody explaining very
obvious things to a retarded child. "They are not, I repeat, not, to cover
yourself, to resist your master, or to eat - at least generally speaking. In
fact, you'll eat like the bitch you are, with your mouth directly in your
bowl. Of course you're forbidden to touch yourself unless ordered to. You
will use your hands to execute the tasks given, then you'll cross your arms
behind your back - that is their normal position, giving me full access to
your body. No," he stopped her, "right now you are to continue keeping them
behind your head". That was slowly becoming painful. How long would the
lesson last?
"Your bottom is similar to your tits, as it is used only to give you pain. I
will make sure it is always bright red or otherwise marked, to remind you of
what you are and to show people your role". The girl loved the burning feel
of a good spanking or whipping - she had even gotten an orgasm under the
paddle a couple of times - yet she asked herself if she would be able to
stand a whole month of beatings.
"About your asshole. That is your second sexual organ, meaning that it will
be fucked high and wide. I also enjoy using it as a source of pain - after
all, the dilation needed to easily accept a cock or a hand must be achieved
through a nice excruciating training. If you'll remain in my service I'll
probably dilate it so much that you won't be able to keep it closed without
wearing a butt plug: that should be rightly humiliating for you, and I'd be
proud of owning the most opened up slavegirl in the world. Wouldn't you?"
She was speechless, and it was good that it was only a rethorical question:
of course she had been butt-fucked, but... 'opened up' like that... she'd
become a sex freak! It was sick, yet a part of her relished the idea: "the
largest asshole in the world"...
"Same goes for your cunt. First of all, spread your legs a little. Yes, like
that. From now on you are forbidden to cross your legs, and to close them.
You must always hold them so that anybody interested could touch your cunt
with ease, or look at it well". Oh, how she'd love that. She did go to a
restaurant with a very short skirt and no panties once, and she was terribly
turned on by the idea that anybody could have looked under her table to see
her wet sex. "The cunt is, surprisingly enough, not a sex organ. That is
true for women, but not for slaves. You'll continue taking your
contrapcective pills anyway, but you'll learn that your cunt basically
exists because it is extremely sensitive, and thus fun for me to punish.
You'll be amazed at seeing how much abuse it can take without damage". The
more he spoke, the more she felt he was the man she longed for all her life.
The other 'masters' she met were always sort of afraid of her vagina, using
it at most to fuck her hard.
"The legs are used when something is too high to reach. That is it. As a
slave you will always be kneeling and you'll move around on all fours. To
help you in this, I have a little present for you. What's your shoe size
again?" She answered, and from a bag behind his chair, her master took out a
couple of incredible stiletto shoes. They were black, extremely simple, but
they had the tallest heel she'd ever seen. She was ordered to put them on,
and she immediately found that to walk with those shoes she literally had to
tiptoe, her foot lined up with her lower leg. A small leather strap went
around her ankle and was locked up with a tiny lock, so that she was unable
to take them off. "Later I'll show you where this key is kept. You'll be
allowed to remove them when you take your shower and during the night, but
otherwise you'll keep them on. They give your legs a nice shape when you
stand, but most of all you'll soon discover that in order not to destroy
your feet you'll want to crawl on all fours as much as possible. Which is,
after all, what I want".
"Here's the rest of your gear," he said, taking out of the bag a few black
leather items. "These are your wrist and ankle straps, which you'll keep on
all the time except when you're washing yourself. They must be tight
enough... like this... but not too tight". His hands were quickly fitting
the straps around her arms, making her feel a little strange. "Their metal
rings are used to attach you where I want you to stay. You'll find I don't
use rope too much, and these are so much quicker and more comfortable... for
me, of course. And this is your collar." She felt slightly choked by the
leather band, but the sensation of wearing it was incredibly exciting. "Now
that you are ready, let's go and see your new home". The master took hold of
the leash attached to the collar, and paying no attention to his slave moved
toward the first room, forcing her to scramble after him.
They went through a few rooms, often stopping as he remarked on where
essential items were kept. The girl was afraid she wouldn't be able to
remember the exact locations of every single one of them, and her mind was
distracted by something else. Crawling through the house she had seen
antique toys, a piano, even a billiard table, yet none of what she expected.
She was actually getting angry: "where is it?" she thought, "this is the
last room: could he have lied to me in his messages?". She was about to try
and stand up, remove her leash and yell her disappointment to him, when the
man casually pointed to a bookcase, elegant and useful, just like the others in
the room. "But you'll spend most of your time here," he said with a slightly
evil
grin, scaring her. Grabbing one side of the furniture, he effortlessly moved it
just like a door - it was hinged, moving on hidden wheels.
"It is a tad dramatic, yet incredibly useful when I don't want people
getting in... or out," he remarked in a self-ironic way. Behind the library
there was a second, regular door which he opened onto a pitch black room. He
strode in, pulling the surprised girl behind him on a floor tiled with black
smooth rubber tiles. "Welcome to your home, darling," he greeted her as he
switched on the light.
The girl gulped and shuddered. It was Disneyland for perverts. The warm
room was large, yet filled with menacing and exciting-looking implements:
racks, crosses, a pole, shelves full of ominous leather, rubber and metal
things, a few chains, even a full-size cage. Shiny metal rings were attached
to the floor and the walls, and darting her eyes around the room she spotted
a few instruments she was familiar with - a paddle, an old-fashioned enema
bottle, a tall vase from which a number of canes and rods were protruding.
The master timed his speech in order to keep her amazed and awed. "This room
is totally soundproofed. Unfortunately the windows had to go, but you won't
get bored, trust me. This bookcase," he said, tugging her
toward it, "is full of S/M erotica from around the world. Novels, magazines,
portfolios... from the soft to the extreme. That will be your sole
entertainment - from it you will get inspiration and culture: you'll learn
what I want you to do and what your future will be. You can experience the
treatments in there sooner, as punishments, or later, as part of your
training, but I won't tolerate the knowledge of another slavegirl doing
anything you don't". She was still trying to make out a title when the leash
pulled her somewhere else. "This is, of course, your bathroom," said the
man, showing her a very small room with a mirror, an empty shelf, a glass
shower, a squatting toilet, a bidet and a basin. "The sliding door is there
for the guests only, because you are not allowed any privacy. You are also
forbidden to use the basin, as I want you to wash and drink in the bidet,
like the bitch you are". His cruel attentions for the details was making her
wet again. "And you're lucky," he added, "that an American-style toilet, the
type always full of water, wasn't available, or I would have you use that
for drinking and washing". He pulled her suddenly toward a table in the main
room: "and now let's get down to business".
The girl was ordered to sit on the edge of the table, spreading her legs in
order to expose her sex. The master took a strange instrument from a shelf
and, after making her hold her hands behind her head, began to fix it on her
chest using thight leather straps. "I need to know your resistance in order
to use you in the right way," he explained, roughly pulling her tits on top
of a little wood support, "so now we'll test your pain threshold". She was
scared: she loved being treated like that, but the fear hit her implacably.
"I also want to check your real submission," continued the man pulling a
second wood board over her tits, and joining the two with two long metal
screws, "You seem docile, and it will be fun. Do you know this instrument?"
The girl was shaking: "N... no, Master".
"Very simple," he smiled pulling a chair from the wall and sitting right in
front of his slave, "You turn the screws, the tits get crushed". Now she was
sure he was enjoying himself. "I want you to squeeze your useless tits as
much as you can". She looked at him with a stupid, taken aback expression,
and met his ice-cold eyes. "Now".
The girl took a deep breath, and put her fingers on the metal wings on top
of the screws. The first few turns weren't anything special, until her flesh
began to get compressed. In a few more turns the pain grew from light to
severe, seemingly transforming her whole chest in a pulsating mass of
torment, hurting her more at each breath. Yet she was determined to please
her master - wasn't she the girl so proud that she'd never once disobeyed
her former masters?
She turned the screws more slowly now: the tips of her breasts, peeking from
the front of the planks, were turning purple, and soon she was unable to
hold back the tears nor the wailing scream. She only managed to give another
quarter turn, then she slowly removed her hands from the screws, sobbing in
pain, and crossed them behind her back.
After a few moments she saw through her tear-filled eyes the man getting up
close to her to touch her left breast. His very touch, albeit light,
transmitted a piercing pain to the whole chest. He squeezed the planks
together, making her jump and let go of a shriek: "You can give it another
turn," he softly said, his deep voice calm as always, "do it now or I will
give them two".
The girl was shocked, but even through the pain she immediately knew that
he wasn't joking. Moving as slowly as possible, trying to gain at least a few
instants more to deal with the fire that she felt in her tits, she reached again
for the screws, hands trembling. That final turn took her at least a couple of
minutes, each second more and more painful. She now felt the grip of the
torture instrument even on her shoulders and neck, as if it was ripping the skin
from her body. "Is it painful?" her master asked her, serious as hell.
"Oh, yes, yes, Master. It is," she sobbed, unable to control herself like a
little child. "Very good. You see? Your limit was much more than you thought.
Actually I think we could give it some more pressure, but for this time only
I want to reward your submission: you have been good. Now remove that".
She did it quickly, and the feeling of the blood freely flowing in her breasts
again was, for the first few moments, even more terrible than the torture. She
was happy with herself, though, and as soon as she relaxed a little she felt
her excitement mount again, wetting her sex.
After the breast squeezer the master put her through many other trials, all of
them excruciatingly painful. She had to add weights to clamps attached to her
inner and outer lips to stretch them, then to her nipples; an inflatable plug
was shoved up her ass and she had to make it as large as possible; she had to
compress her clitoris with a gauged metal clamp; she had to spread her sex with
a large gynecologist's speculum, and finally she was made to ask as many hits
as possible with a paddle applied to her ass, tits and sex. Every time she was
taken very close to her resistance limit, and every time she found herself more
and more turned on by all that pain, the humiliation of having to inflict pain
on herself in front of her master, and his "professional" ways, like a medieval
inquisitor or a latin american secret police torturer.
When he finally ordered her to kneel in front of him and suck his cock, about
three hours since she'd entered the torture room, she was hurting all over but
incredibly grateful, determined to give the owner of her body and soul the best
blowjob in his life.
