Suzanne's Slave

by Maid2serveher

 

When I regained consciousness, two masked maids at my side. They were releasing my bonds. First, off came the nipple clamps. Ow! Then they reached around my neck and slowly loosened my head bag. Ah-h-h, fresh air. I was breathing in and out like I had just finished running down the street. The maids ignored me.

They released me from the mattress and carried me into the bathroom, where they undid my body bag, my bonds and gag. My whole body ached at the freedom.

Then I saw Suzanne. She was in the same outfit as earlier, but minus the gag and bondage.

I looked at her. She was beautiful. Those dark, dancing eyes. Those pouty lips. She smelled of rubber and perfume. I wanted to kiss her right there and beg her to make me her rubber slave for life.

"You're quite cute in that outfit," she said. "Did you enjoy our little playtime last night?"

I dropped my eyes to the ground.

"Answer me or I will have you re-bound and gagged."

"Yes, mistress, I did."

"Good," she said. "Take a quick shower. You smell of sweat. And then your punishment will begin?"

Begin?

What had I just been through?

Suzanne turned and reached into a nearby closet while I went into the shower, guided firmly by the maids, who scrubbed me like a kitchen sink. While the maids toweled me off, Suzanne pulled the sack she had worn earlier out of the closet. She also got out a rubber white bra, ruffled pink rubber panties, her red miniskirt, a rubber corselet and black rubber stockings, and her 6-inch ballet boots.

"They stretch," she said. "Although they'll be more snug on you."

Me?

Although Suzanne was a good three inches taller than me, I was a good 30 pounds heavier than her, with a bigger butt and yes, a bigger chest. I knew where the squeeze would be.

Suzanne motioned me to re-dress. I did only after I looked in her eyes and saw the hostility I would face if I didn't. Everything fit tightly, very tightly, but the maids managed to tug and pull me into the panties, the bra, the stockings, the mimskirt and the laced-up boots.

I already felt restrained.

Then came the full-body sack, which was rolled up me slowly, with the maids and Suzanne all pushing and pulling and prodding and laughing at my groans. The sack fit so snugly that the lines of my interior garments sowed through clearly. Finally, the fingerless arms of the sack were filled with my flesh, and the sack was zipped up the back to the top of my neck, which made it hard to breath deeply.

Still, I exhaled, thinking it was all over.

It wasn't.

Suzanne held up another rubber sack, this one with stays in its sides from toes to neck, and laces in the back.

"Step inside," she said.

I did. I held the sides as it was laced up my legs. She swatted my thighs to move them even closer together. I was effectively hobbled into a standing bondage. She kept going, inserting my arms into long tubes that kept my arms pinned to my sides, my hands pointed straight down.. She laced me up to the top of my neck, then secured the stretch buckle at the back. She drew my elbows behind me with a four-inch rubber strap and pulled. I was cinched. My real bosom was crushed against the rubber, but this garment had a fake bosom, and it shot forward, arching my back upward. She patted my belly.

"Breath in," Suzanne said, "and hold it."

I did. Every lace was tightened again.

Finally, she let me exhale. I breathed out, but my bound form stayed rigid.

"We're having fun, right slave?"

"Slav...?" I started to ask, but she popped a blow-up gag into my mouth and fastened it behind. I moaned as if to say that this wasn't what she wore.

"I know, my gag was different, but I thought you should feel what it's like to have a penis in your mouth."

My eyes widened. I screamed into my gag as she squeezed the pump. She smiled back as she unraveled a clear plastic hood and pulled it over my head.

"You talk about a makeover," Submissive Slut Suzanne said. "Now you look like me."

I looked into the mirror and saw the image of a bald Submissive Slut Suzanne, with the red pouty lips, the deep brown eyes, the high cheeks, and staring back at me. I tried to scream.

"Good. Scream. This way I can tell if the pump is working."

I felt the pump inflate the inner gag in the shape of penis, swelling to the sides and roof of my mouth, but not enough to make me gag.

My screams were virtually mute by now. I sighed.

"Surrender already?" Submissive Slut Suzanne teased. "I expect more fight from my slave. Follow me."

I did. Slowly. Mincingly. I would guess I had a half-inch movement with every step. I couldn't really tell because the collar in my bondage sack kept my head up too high, and I could not bend over to see my boots. The maids helped me. Boy, did they help me. They pinched me here. They swatted me there. My journey to the next room took at least an hour.

But finally, we made it. It was a huge, black-rubber lined room with racks, bars and tables, and more constricting paraphernalia than you'd find in the dungeon of your average well-stocked Inquisitor. In the middle of the room stood a large, chunky blonde woman dressed in a rubber dress with armbands bearing a Nazi-like insignia.

"Maid Mindy," said Submissive Slut Suzanne, "I brought a playmate for your bride, Lady B, tonight."

"Very well," said the blonde woman, motioning to a metal collar hanging to her left. "Hang her there."

Soon I was collared with a large metal collar. Maid Mindy strode toward a huge, high missle-shaped cylinder across the room, and waved off Suzanne like a parent would a child. Suzanne exited as Maid Mindy staring into a glass porthole in the middle of the cylinder, she said:

"How is your sauna coming, bitch?"

I could hear a muzzled voice coming from inside the porthole, and finally recognized that Lady B was inside, shackled and contrite. She, too, was a rubberized lesbian bondage freak. By choice.

"Time to turn up the heat," said Maid Mindy as she reached for a switch on the side. Lady B. cried.

Maid Mindy headed in my direction and released the chain from my collar, but not the collar itself. She attached a leash and led me over to a little carpeted corner.

"You must learn to walk in your bondage," she said. "I want you to make your way along the edge of this carpet.

Every time you pass the far corner, and electric eye will trip a counter. When you get to 10 complete trips, you may stop.

But if you try to take a short cut, you must start over and your lap number will double. But first I must re-secure your bonds as tightly as possible."

More walking?

I moaned behind my gag.

"Oh," said Maid Mindy, "does it sound too easy?"

M-m-m-p-h-h-h, I moaned.

"Okay. We'll fix that. How about a steel helmet for you, and a posture collar so you can keep that head up higher."

By the time Maid Mindy was through, I had learned not to moan ever again. My eyed were fixed on the ceiling by a combination of the posture collar and the helmet and the adjustable rods affixed between them. Over it all, Maid Mindy wrapped a thick plastic bag with a small tube, about a quarter-inch in diameter and about six inches long, as the only passage for fresh air. My journey was going to be a lot harder than I thought. And I only had myself to blame.

The eighth trip around the room, I had to stop and lean against a wall. I had to close my eyes and rest.

"Sleeping on the punishment tour?" Maid Mindy asked, her voice jolting me wide awake. "You are clearly out of shape.

Follow me."

We ended up in front of an exercise machine. Maid Mindy clapped her hands and the two maids appeared, removing my helmet, posture collar, and the two sacks. I was down to more "normal attire" -- the red minidress. I was still wearing the ballet boots, and was still gagged. My hands were tied into rubber, elbow-length mittens.

"Have a seat," said Maid Mindy, motioning me to straddle myself on the seat of the exercise machine, which worked like a stationary bike. "Now I'll secure you before I cover you with this rubber blanket for the night and switch on your preprogrammed exercise program."

I was soon re-shackled with my arms restrained in cuffs on long metal pools, and my booted feet shackled into the stirrups. My neck was fastened into a plastic collar like one they use on whiplash patients, except this one had a chin bar and straps. I was strapped into the chin bar and a O-ring attached to the straps at the top of my head was clipped to a pulley behind me. My head was pulled up and back, so that I was again looking at the ceiling.

Maid Mindy was not through.

I felt her playing through my bra, making my nipples hard, one at a time. Then she attached nipple clamps, this time with two-pound, pear-shaped weights attached to them. I wanted to moan. But I knew better.

Then Maid Mindy pulled a heavy rubber tarp over my body and zipped it closed around the edge of my frame. I immediately felt as if there was little oxygen. And the darkness was extremely hot. I heard a motor scream on, and my body was involuntarily convulsing up, down, to the sides, and everywhere, my rubber cocoon stretching to shape the movement.

Whenever my body would be stretched to expose my butt, a huge paddle would strike it from the rear, from outside the tarp. My body would pull forward, and the paddle would strike. I was now slave to a machine. The only way I could stop getting hit hard enough to hurt was to tense my butt when I knew the paddle would strike.

"After three hours, the machine will stop," I heard Maid Mindy say. "You will be left frozen in your position at that point for four hours. But at least you will be able to sleep."

Yes, the machine finally stopped.

And yes, I finally slept.

And yes, the machine went on again four hours later, the WHACK of the paddle jarred me back to consciousness.

"One more hour of punishment as a wake-me-up," I heard Maid Mindy say, "and then you'll meet Melba."

Finally, it all stopped. The maids came and unzipped my rubber prison. I was exhausted. They strapped me to a rubber-covered gurney and carted me off to a bright, white room. I was wheeled to the middle of the room, still fettered, and still gagged. A tall, heavy-set woman in a white latex nurse's uniform hovered over me.

"I am Melba, your guide and lordess for the weekend," she said. "Welcome to my dungeon. I’ve read all your books, so I know how you think. I know how to humble you, and I know that it will drive you mad knowing that your new humiliatrix is really a boy, just like you!"

I shook my head from side to side. But Melba just ignored me. She spoke:

"If you agree to my complete commands for the weekend, blink once. This will be your implied contract of slavery. If you do not agree, you will put back in a cocoon and left for the weekend."

I must have blinked once without knowing -- likely at the thought of being punished by this chubby, homely looking drag dom.

"Good slave," Melba said. "We’ll have fun this weekend!"

I hastily blinked twice, trying to signal Melba that the first blink was a mistake. She ignored me. Our deal had been sealed with my blink.

The two maids released my bonds and subsequently all of my attire, even my panties. I felt school-boy shy. But Melba never seemed to size me up. She ordered me to shower. After I dried off, she wasted no time fitting a clear gum rubber blow-up gag in my mouth and around my head.

She inflated it until my mouth felt swollen. Looking in the mirror, I could tell it had painted purple pouty lips. She unscrewed the pump. She then took a clear plastic cap and placed it on my head. It fit almost like a bathing cap, except that it came over my eyes and down to the bridge of my nose.

I could still see, but when I looked in the mirror, the areas around my eyes looked like they had been painted over with garish green eye shadow and light-brown eyeliner. Over all this, she attached a form-fitting clear gum rubber hood on my head. It had two breathing holes. It also had one hole at the mouth area, and Melba pulled the pump gag inflation stem through it and started to pump my gag up until my cheeks popped out like a little girl with the mumps.

Melba then took a long, page-boy styled red wig off the dresser. She matched up the Velcro tabs in it to those on my hood and stood back. We both looked in the mirror. I looked like a red-headed, fat-cheeked Betty Page. Melba patted my bound butt.

"Good start," she said. "I want to see how excited you get as we proceed. I think you'll have a growing interest in our little game."

Melba then reached into a drawer and pulled out a flesh-colored gum rubber bra. She hooked it together at the back and then separated each cup area, pressing against the soft plastic inner lining that pressed against my nipples. She reached into a pocket of her leather dress and pulled out two long, large electrical clamps. She squeezed the area around each nipple and pushed as much flesh between the open clamp as she could, then let go. I winced each time, but the teeth did not hurt as much as I expected. I could feel the pain, but I was not consumed by it. I did notice that each clamp had small round transmitter attached to its end. Without talking, Melba inflated the bra with the pump, using the stems under each nipple. I must have looked like I had 48DD breasts. Still, my nipples hurt but didn't ache.

Melba reached for a small radio-controlled device on her belt.

"This will fix you'" she said, pressing a button and holding it.

I felt electrical jolts on the clamps. It HURT. I knew I could do nothing but wiggle and squirm and moan. I started panting beneath my muzzled head bondage.

"Good," said Melba.

Melba grabbed a long-waisted canary yellow rubber corselet out of the dresser and wrapped it around me. It cinched up the back and ran from my neck down to the top of my pubic hair and around to the below the bottom of my butt. On my butt were two inflatable pads that Melba pumped up to give me the appearance of having a huge butt. The corselet had eight short garters. She next pulled a lime green plastic bondage maiden uniform off the bed. The outfit had white plastic piping and lace around the skirt and around the high-collared neck. It zipped up the back. I felt my being forced backward by the metal collar lining. Melba locked the neck clasp with a 6-inch lock that was clearly overkill. I found myself staring almost straight up again.

What is it with these collars, I wondered?

I felt a draft in front, which told me that the flared little skirt did not hide my sex. Next Melba laced me into a heavy-duty, lime-green, plastic-lined single glove. She attached small gold chains from the wrist area and the top of the glove to clasp at my neck and pulled so that the device was stiff and elevated behind me, pulling my bound hands away from my dress and allowing complete access to anyone who wanted to paddle my padded rear.

Next came heavy, stiff, mesh lime-green rubber stockings. I could bend my knees, and even sit, but the stockings pinched and grabbed and let me know that they were designed for my discomfort. Then Melba fitted me into a pair of high-top, lace-up, 8-inch white opera heels. When I stood up, the heels forced my body forward, and I had to learn to balance this forward thrust against the backwards arch of my neck. Melba forced me to practice walking around the room. I kept bumping into objects I could not see. I was panting behind my hood again when Melba finally let me sit back down.

"What am I going to do with your little girl thing?" she asked. "I could leave you exposed down there, or strap you into a pussy harness and lead you around by a leash. Or I could cover it up with some nice frilly pantaloons."

She thought for a minute and said: "I know."

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Maid2serveher. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.