Amsterdamned

At what age it can be definitely classed as that, is for lawmakers and
judges to decide. UK law is clear but not always a realistic guide. For
reasons of shame or guilt many gay or trans youngsters have found that
casual sex with much older adults was the only discreet way of exploring
their own sexuality, before they felt ready to step into the more
familiar minefield of emotional relationships with people nearer their
own age.

An age-limit there must undoubtedly be, and obviously for the protection
of vulnerable young teenagers it has to be rather a blunt tool. But many
adults (and not all of them 'retro-fantasisers'!) have told me they were
co-erced by no-one at 13 and 14, 11 in the case of one friend, into acts
which the adults with them could clearly have been arrested for on
grounds of '***********'. But the men themselves, at least in the
stories recounted to me, were certainly guilty of little more than a
helping hand or providing a rudimentary sexual 'road-map', not the more
universally despised 'predatory ***********' the tabloids
- so gleefully! - miss no opportunity to describe...



My justifications for those parts of the novel where real paedophile
urges - of an absolutely unacceptable kind in any context other than
fiction - are 'voiced' are

A) that I know them to be far more common as fantasies than seems to be
recognised officially, from first-hand experience of the men I have
served over the years.

B) From the age of 12 onwards, as my transvestism took full hold, I
repeatedly had them myself, always as the 'victim' of such scenarios and
often visualising myself even younger than I was, to increase my
'helplessness' in the fantasy. Indeed my own real-life woodland
ramblings as a TV teen were intended to make them come true! The worst
thoughts some of my characters express were no worse than the nastiest
fate I dreamed of and longed for for myself - at 13 or 14.

C) I believe in my personal right to think any thought I choose, however
wicked others may find it and even to write it down for other adults to
read. I do not believe reading Mein Kampf 20 times could turn me into a
Nazi, nor do I believe reading my novel (or any other for that matter)
can turn someone into a paedophile...

Read on.



AMSTERDAM

A novel by Suki Slut



Chapter 1

I am a transvestite. I started wearing my mother's and sister's things
when I was 13. One day when I was 14 I went up to the woods that backed
onto our garden. About half a mile from our house I found a quiet spot
in the middle of a large clump
of rhododendron bushes and stripped off my jacket and jeans. Under them
I was wearing stockings, suspenders, bra and panties. The thrill of
knowing someone might catch me like that was indescribable.

Soon ISoon I was regularly slipping up there. The first time I took
some of my mother's high heels and wore them in the wood transformed the
excitement I felt. My body seemed to change, pushing out my bottom more,
forcing my hips to sway girlishly. The uneven forest ground and the high
heels meant that I could only take take small steps. The knowledge that
I could not possibly make a run for it, and escape if someone saw me,
actually positively encouraged me to leave my discarded boy's clothes
and walk around the woods. But I was still so nervous that I couldn't
bring myself to actually walk along the paths where I might have been
seen. Instead I stayed in the bushes and at the slightest sound I would
freeze with terror.

And yet I knew I wanted someone to catch me like that. I wanted a man to
**** me in fact. So I began to take belts and ties with me. I would find
a fallen tree-trunk, tie up my ankles and knees, lay down over it and
then tie my wrists as best I could. Lying there with my panties showing
under a short skirt of my sister's, knowing that it would take me
several minutes to free myself was the most heavenly feeling. If anyone
happened to spot me I would be quite helpless, and it would be instantly
obvious to them that I was begging for it. What else could they think of
a 'girl' in a wood, tied up over a tree-stump with her panties
invitingly displayed and waiting to be lowered.

At home in the bathroom I had experimented to find out what being ****d
would feel like. I often pushed things up my bottom while wearing
undies. I knew that it hurt, especially if it was done quickly, and yet
the strange 'full' sensation in my tummy when my bottom finally gaped
around a hairbrush handle or deodorant bottle was ecstasy to me. And if
something was stuffed in my mouth as well the twin feelings of helpless
openness at each end of my body made me really feel that my body was
nothing but a long double-ended cunt-tunnel. Penetrated and gagged like
that, it was easy to imagine I was a schoolgirl being abused and ****d
by stiff greedy cocks. But two things were missing from my '****':. I
had to move the things in the spaces inside me. A, and I was old enough
to know by now that when a man fucked a cunt, mouth or bottom the climax
of his pleasure was only reached when his balls tightened and sent jets
of hot milky sperm gushing into the person he fucked.

My imaginary ****s were always incomplete and unsatisfying because my
virgin schoolgirl 'quim' and mouth had not been left soiled and oozy
with sperm. I began to hunger for the real thing. One day I was in the
bathroom dressed in undies and high heels, my face made up and my hair
done in soft girlish curls. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, my
mouth gagged with some stained panties of my sister. The taste of her
vagina on the nylon made my mouth feel more like another cunt to be
fucked. The lacy nylon panties I wore were half-wayhalfway down my
thighs and my vaselined bottom was poised on the tip of a broom handle.
Suddenly I saw a bottle of my mother's face moisturiser on the shelf
beside me. It had a 'pump-action' top and the liquid inside the bottle
was a greyish-white creamy fluid. I grabbed the bottle and as I sank
onto the broom and felt it penetrate deeply into my belly from behind I
squirted the cream into my panties and over my stocking-tops. The
feeling inside me and the sight of the spunk-like splashes trickling
down my thighs made me come instantly with a shatteringly delicious
orgasm. I hadn't touched my cock and balls once during the entire
session.

After that I knew it was only a matter of time before I was fucked by a
mana man fucked me. In fact I began to feel guilty that I hadn't been
already. I would stare at my crimson lipstick-covered lips and cheeks
pink with blusher and whisper obscene dirty commands to myself.

"Come on, you dirty little slut-whore, get those panties down this
instant! Your mouth and cunt are there for men to ram their cocks into.
You are nothing but a little fuck-slut. You should be out somewhere that
men can lift your short skirt and bare your cheeky whore's bottom! Your
stupid tart's face should be full of a man's cockshaft until he shoots
his hot spunk-cream down your throat, bitch!! That is what your lips are
for."

By the time I was 15' I had realised clearly what I wanted more than
anything: to be enslaved by men. The thrills I had managed to give
myself until then had palled and become unexciting. I wanted - needed -
the thing I had simulated so often to really happen. I wanted men to
make me feel so used, soiled and dirtied that I would come to accept
that it was my function to be their sexual plaything, their cock-slave -
my only function. I wanted to be taken forcibly and gang-****d until I
was begging for more and the only thought in my head was to make my body
pleasing to them, the only urge I possessed was to feel my flesh
squeezing round their cock-shafts.

I knew where I had to go. One day I went to the local toilets. What I
saw written on the walls sent shivers of nervous anticipation and
excitement through the very centre of my body. There were long messages
from undie-slaves describing what they wore and what they were prepared
to do for 'Masters'. And there were detailed drawings of men fucking
boys clad in undies. I knew at once that I must put my name up on the
wall and offer myself to be trained as an obedient maid, like the
others.

I had never thought of it before but now realised that I needed
a name, a female identity. I wanted something that no-oneno one else
would pick. There were Wendys, Paulas, Jennys, Amandas, Tracys, Julies,
Samanthas. All the common - and 'common' names - were there: whores'
names. My sister's middle name was Susan, but there were two different
Susans, a Sue and a Susie. I wanted my name to sound like what I was
for, like sex itself. I liked the 's'; spunk, slut, slit, spurt, squirm,
suck...suck. Fuck. I was there to be fucked, there to suck.

Suki...

...Suki Slut. Suki Suckslut. Suki Spunkslut. Suki Sexmaid. It was
perfect; unusual enough not to find I had a rival by the same name and;
rather oriental - , like one of those submissive geisha girls;, like
perfect china-dolls, who actually exist for men to use, and whose
fragile c***dlike appearances belie the fact that they are trained to be
subservient sex-slaves, and whose slim white bodies may not refuse the
kinkiest or most perverted whim of the men they serve.

It conveyed precisely what I felt myself to be and how I looked: a
schoolgirl whose very innocence was itself part of her provocativeness
so that the pleasure of penetrating and spunking into her should be even
sharper and sweeter, a girl whose slender young pubescent body existed
to provide a juicy tender quimslit and fresh cherry-ripe lips. A c***d
men could abuse and **** like a slut without a qualm or scruple.

My fingers trembled so badly I could barely hold the pencil. In a thin
spidery scrawl I wrote a message offering to accept the role which the
messages scrawled over almost every inch of those toilets suggested was
my only permitted one in a toilet. 'Slim pretty 15-year-old undie-slut
needs strict Masters to **** her into submission, teach her that her
body is their property and train her to be an obedient sex-maidspunk-
slut for kinky toilet orgies. Suki.'

Though I did still occasionally go for walks in the woods after that to
re-experience the frisson of excitement at being a flirt out in the
open, I now spent more and more time at the toilets, where I felt even
more defenceless and frightened than hiding deep in some bushes. I would
go into a cubicle, lock the door, undress and then dress as a girl, all
the time hardly daring to breathe I was so quiet. Hearing men so close
by, at the urinals and in the cubicles on either side of me, even
catching glimpses of them wanking through holes in the partition- walls,
and knowing that they only had to look over the top to see me, created
whirlwind storms of butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

Terror churned through my veins as the cold breeze swept up my
stockinged legs and round flimsy red nylon-and-lace panties that clung
to my bottom. I saw messages under the one I had written and shrank
against the back wall with fright at the thought of the men who had
written them being the ones on either side of me.

"I'll teach you to worship my cock, Suki bitch. Be here at 8 pm next
Tuesday and I'll make your bum take all my 8 inches."..." ... ""Report
for duty on Sunday at 2-o-clock to begin your training, tart. You'll be
on your knees licking my balls and cock, begging me to spunk down your
throat, you impudent cheeky bitch!! Then you'll take down your panties
for another Master to ram his knob in your quimslit and we'll fill you
full of spunk from both ends at once. Sluts like you are only fit for
one thing: to be your Masters' cock-slave!!" "... ""This little fucking
tease never turned up! Where were you, whore? Be here next Sunday or
else!!" "...""Tina, genuine undie-slave, will be here if Suki doesn't
turn up, Master. Excellent O & A grades, and all kinky whims obeyed.""

I was so close to the moment of my initiation and yet still so far.
Notes came under the partition.

"Lovely shoes. Let's see your bum, slut. Stand opposite hole.' I grew
braver, but still, whenever I felt a shadow above my head, or after a
minute or two posing in front of a hole that I knew had a sex-hungry eye
glued to it on the other side, I fled terrified.

One day a few months after I had first written my message, just before
my *************, I was in the middle cubicle. I was usually shy of
going into it since I knew that the hole between it and the one to its
left was as large as someone's wrist. But it was the only one free and I
dashed into it, avoiding the interested gaze of two men at the urinals.
There was a piece of toilet paper stuck over it and I left it there as I
changed, trying not to make the smallest sound as I slipped my mother's
slinky black high heels on. With shaking fingers I put on eye-shadoweye
shadow, cheek blusher and the reddestsome deep crimson lipstick I had
found in my sister's make-up box. I ran my fingers through my hair until
it stood up in soft wavy curls, thenand then checked my face in the
little hand-mirror I always brought. I looked like a girl aged somewhere
between 14 and 17.

I bent and slipped a leather belt round my ankles and pulled the buckle
tight.

To my left I saw the gap between the wall on the left and the floor
darken. Then there was silence for a few minutes. I heard the men
outside whispering. Two stalls away from me I heard a door open, then
close, then a soft rhythmic sound and someone panting. The smell of sex
was all around me. On the floor at my feet there were several glistening
splashes whose cloudy grey colour told me they were sperm-drops from the
cocks of previous occupants.

I began to feel dreamy and strange in this dimly-litdimly lit temple of
male lust, its walls covered in graphic pictures and stories of of the
things that had taken place there. I felt like a sacrificial virgin
waiting for the priests to drag me to the altar where the crowd would
roar with delight as I was stripped, penetrated, and simultaneously felt
the High Priest's Cock enter me and saw a gleaming blade flash down and
sting my exposed neck. The highest honour - the one all the 'girls' of
this secret 'other' world were trained for, but only a select few, the
freshest, prettiest and most virginal were chosen for - to die upon the
High Priest's cock for the pleasure of the assembled watching crowd.

A piece of toilet-papertoilet paper floated under the left-hand wall.

"Get on your knees this instant and suck my cock, you teasing little
slut! That is an order, bitch." Suddenly the flimsy paper over the hole
in the wall was pushed away and a gleaming red stiff knob came through
the hole like a snake looking for its prey. As if hypnotised by it I
knelt facing it. Very slowly I leaned forwards and with a shock that
tingled through every nerve-end in my body, my lips touched the oozing
slit in the centre of the knob. It thrust against them as more of the
shaft slid through the hole. I seemed to have no strength to resist as .
Mmy lips parted and the hot flesh slidthat purple 'thing' slipped into
my mouth. The gag that filled my cheeks was no longer an inanimate pair
of my sister's soiled panties but the living throbbing flesh of a man's
excited sex.

The butterflies turned into liquid churning masses of snakes in my tummy
as I felt my cheeks glowing scarlet. Now at last I knew - truly knew -
what an utter little slut I must be with that overwhelmingly dirty thing
crammed tightly in my mouth. Shame raced through me from head to toe
like that dirty wall of pyroplastic smoke roiling towards the
Pompeiians' humdrum lives. Mine would be almost as transformed by the
next few minutes as theirs was that day.

The sex motor whirring in my brain for four and a half years was Shame,
from the moment of that first act. Now it had just discovered Nitro was
much more fun than the almost non-combustible parafin of my woodland
******* rambles. Shame had afterburners now. It could practically suck
up all the oxygen in that toilet so that there seemed no air to breathe,
only this enormous angry sex-monster to be obeyed by my meekly-
surrendering mouth because...

...because a boy perverted enough to keep turning himself into teenaged
girl and then actually flaunting her in a place where she knew men went
for sex deserved to be put to the dirtiest possible use. What other use
could there be for her?

As if I had been doing it all my life - as if it were the thing I had
been born to do - my lips began to slide softly up and down upon the
warm stiff flesh. My mouth was at last doing what it was meant for. I
knew which part of my own little willy was most sensitive and ran my
tongue up and down just under the head of this monstrously large thing
that made my cheeks swell. I was oblivious to everything except the
sensation of my own helpless thralldom. I was terrified of my reaction
if the knob suddenly began to erupt spunk into my face, yet I dared not
stop.

Suddenly the cock slid from my lips and was withdrawn. I stared at the
hole, eager for it to reappear and frightened that I had displeased it
in some way. The thought became a certainty in my head as I heard the
door of that cubicle being unlocked. After a few seconds it closed again
and I saw the cock reappear through the hole. But then I realised with a
shock that it was a different one! The head was larger, the shaft
thicker. Far from displeasing him, I had been offered by him to another
man so that he might enjoy me as well!

That was a shot in the arm of high grade uncut freshly-smuggled shame.
My entire body was trembling like a leaf in a stiff breeze. I couldn't
stop it - any more than I could stop my mouth.

I began to suck this new cock. I heard doors opening and closing nearby
but was too busy to take any notice. The slut was on her knees, doing
what she knew she had been made for, what she had known for nearly 2
years that she must do. I heard a soft tap-tap and then, just as
suddenly as the first cock had disappeared, the second one was
withdrawn. I stayed on my knees, obediently waiting for a third to
appear.

Instead a piece of paper was pushed through the hole. When I read what
was written on it my heart leapt into my throat and I whirled round and
gazed at the door of my cubicle. A silent scream of pure despair filled
my head; my street clothes had vanished from the door-hook. I looked
round and saw that even my shoes had disappeared. The note said:

'Unless you want to walk home dressed like you are now, you are going to
obey your orders, you teasing bitch. Write your name and answer these
questions:

How old are you?

Age when you first wore panties?

Have you sucked cocks before?

Have you been fucked yet?

Have you been tied up?

Whipped?

Other experiences?'

I stared at the note blankly, my mind frantically searching for some
avenue of escape from this trap. I could think of none though. I
scribbled the answers:

"Suki. 15. 11. Not before today. No. Sometimes I've tied myself up in
--- Woods. No. None.' Then I added 'Please please can I have my other
clothes back, Sir.' and slipped it under the wall. A minute or so later
another message was returned.

'I know why you're here dressed like a tart, Suki; I've seen the message
you wrote, you cheeky little slut. For a girl who's never sucked a cock
before today your juicy little mouth wrapped itself round my knob quick
enough! You are nothing but a cockteasing little FUCKING fucking WHORE.
You Little pansified tartsPansies like you are born to belong to your
Masters and it's high time you were properly trained as our submissive
undie-slave. I will tap my foot on the floor three times and i. If your
door is not unlocked by then you'll be in big troubleI'll leave with
your other clothes. You'll have to open it eventually and when you do
you'll be made to bend over, your panties taken down and your bare bum
whipped until you are begging for mercy. Leave that belt round your
ankles. When your door is unlocked, turn and face the back wall and when
you hear your door open, lift your skirt.'

The shiny black toe-captoecap of a man's shoe appeared under the
partition. I stared at it with my heart thumping crazily. Slowly the
toe-captoecap raised and then tapped the floor. There was a pause and
then it tapped again. Before it raised a third time I reached out and
grabbed the door-bolt. I saw the foot lift and began to slide the bolt
back. The noise it made seemed like a deafening screech in my ears but
the toe stopped, suspended an inch or two off the ground. Suddenly the
bolt was free. I stood there with my knees knocking and remembering my
instructions,instructions; I turned to face the back wall. I was glad of
that since I was sure if I had to watch my door being pushed open I
would have fainted to the floor.

The hinge of the door creaked and made me jump with fright at the sound.
I felt the breeze grow stronger as it blew against my legs through the
open doorway. I was acutely conscious that for the first time in my life
men's eyes were drinking in the sight of the whole of my scantily-
cladscantily clad body, rather than just the small anonymous scrap that
had been visible through the holes in the cubicle walls.

I stood awkwardly, the toes of my stiletto shoes pointed in. My fingers
fumbled to grip the hem of the short black flared skirt of my sister's
that I was wearing. Then I began to raise it. I heard a low breathy
'Ooooh!' of pleasure as my stocking-tops, suspenders and the bare white
backs of my thighs were exposed. I lifted the skirt higher and knew from
the sounds behind me that at least two men were now staring at my bottom
in the red lace panties I wore.

"Put your arms out behind your back and cross your wrists, slut." came a
whispered command. I dropped my skirt and obeyed. Hands gripped my own
and I felt a leather belt being wound round my wrists. Then it was
yanked tight and the buckle done up. The hands released mine, but now my
wrists were trapped behind my back. I felt something being slipped over
my left wrist and tightened. Then hands passed it round my right hip,
and across my front and round my back over my left hip. My right wrist
was pulled across nearer that side and then a loop was slid over that
wrist. Then that was tightened.

It was a tie and its effect was to ensure that my hands could not curl
back and somehow loosen the buckle of the belt that restrained me. My
arms were useless.

"Lift your skirt and show your Masters your panties again, you teasing
bitch, Suki!" came another command from a different voice. My fingers
scrabbled to catch at the material of my skirt.

"Come on, quickly, you fucking whore!" I managed to raise my skirt until
I had it gathered into my hands behind my back.

"Oooh, fucking gorgeous!! She's just like a fucking teasing schoolgirl,
with her cheeky little arse begging for it in those knickers."

"This teasing bitch has let me down twice by failing to show up when she
was told to report." A hand touched my bottom and made me squirm with
fright so I almost lost my balance. A third voice chimed in:

"Me too. And her note said she's never had a cock in that juicy little
bum before." The voice whispered in my ear, the man's mouth close enough
for me to smell the nicotine on his breath:

"Oooooh...you pretty little schoolgirl moppet slut!..." The words
sizzled in my brain as he hissed them to me. "...Never had it up your
fanny before, eh? Is that true, tart?" I shook my head. "Promise, slut?
Never had your panties slipped down and a man's stiff knob squeezed into
your quimslit?" I didn't think broom-handles or deodorant bottle counted
and anyway I was now terrified of the idea of a cock going into me
there. I didn't want the man to think I was ready for it. I shook my
head again.

"You're really a virgin then? Say it, Suki...Tell your Masters you're a
virgin and we may decide to be nice to you and let you go."

"P-please s-s-sirs," I stammered. "I...I've...never done it...with a
man...I'm still a virgin." The hand stroking my panties suddenly
squeezed harder until the nails dug through the nylon into my bum-cheek
and made me wince. Someone slipped passed me on the other side and I
found myself looking up into the unshaven face of a large man with a
beer-belly hanging over his waist-bandwaistband. Below it his stiff
cock-shaft poked through his flies. He stared at me with glittering
eyes, taking in my little padded 'breasts' and slender nylon-encased
legs. The voice continued in my ear.

"I reckon you're lying about your age. You don't look 15, more like 12
or 13 at the most. We don't like girls ********. They're too young to be
slaves. Tell us how old you really are."

I was terrified of those large coarse hands exploring the curves of my
bottom and desperate for them to let me go. I had only just begun to
reach puberty at 15 and my face was still quite hairless, elfin and
pretty like a girl's. I knew I looked much younger than other boys my
age and saw a glimmer of hope that they'd release me.

"I...I'm...I'm *******, please Sir...I'll be 14 next month." I said,
hoping the truth that it really was my birthday soon would cover the
hesitation in my voice as I lied about which one. The man facing me
grinned and his hand stroked his cock. Two pairs of hands were now
touching me from behind and the man in front of me smiled and touched my
thigh with his free hand, then slid it up the front of my skirt and
squeezed the little soft bulge my cock and balls made in my pantie-
crotch. He said:

"She feels more like 11 or ************ to me." His fingers closed on
the flesh of my scrotum through the nylon and squeezed it until he'd
forced my little balls up into my tummy. His thumb pushed my finger-
sized willy inwards as well. "Yes, that lovely little hairless quim-slit
doesn't feel more than ************ at the most." His grin spread wider
as his right hand continued to rub the huge thick shaft of pink flesh
sticking up from his flies. I realised then that they had no intention
of letting me go and had deliberately tricked me into saying I was
younger than I really was just to make the thrill of what they were
doing even sweeter.

"What's a naughty little moppet of 13 doing in a men's toilets wearing
stockings and suspenders... and flashing her cute little bum in red lace
panties - unless she wants to be fucked..." said the man on my left. I
shivered as fingers slid inside the waistband of my panties at the back
and began exploring my naked bottom. A voice behind my right shoulder
said:

"Yes. Cheeky little moppet's begging for it, wouldn't you say? Heard
about what the older girls at her school get up to and wants a taste of
cock up her tight ************* quim. Oooooh, feel that...her arse is as
smooth as silk. I bet she's flashed her tight-knickered bum at loads of
guys while playing on swings in the park...God, ************girls are
such cockteasers!"

"Yeah! I think she wants us to slip her panties down and try her little
virgin fuckslit round our cocks..." I felt my panties being slipped down
off my bumcheeks. I was shaking with terror and whispered:

"No...please... please Sirs!... Don't... please..."

"What's the matter, ***********? Scared of how your quimslit will feel
when it's gaping round my cock? Cheeky little bitch, saying 'don't' one
second and then 'please' the next..."

"11 or 1213 is just the perfect age for these cockteasing little
darlings to learn what their holes are for. Once they're older they
start getting ideas and keep their legs shut. But if you get a little
moppet young enough she can still learn that her fuck-slits are there to
please men any time we want her. Teasing moppets like you should all be
****d and filled with spunk, to teach you to please men not tease
them." Suddenly he whispered very softly and slowly into my ear: "And
we're going to **** you...right...now...you little sweetie."

Sweat trickled down my body as my panties were yanked half-wayhalfway
down my legs. At the same moment the brawny arm of the man towering over
me reached out. He grabbed the back of my neck and forced me to bend
over.

"Here's a lovely treat for you, baby. A nice big hot gobstopper for you
to suck, moppet. Get it right into your mouth and give it a lovely long
suck." He said as he pushed my mouth down onto his erect knob. I gave a
muffled moan of protest as I felt something being smeared in between my
bum-cheeks but the fingers instantly tightened on my neck and a voice
behind me whispered:

"If you make another sound before we've all finished with you, I'll cane
your arse till you're really squealing! You're our cock-slave now, girl,
understand. Your body belongs to us, your Masters. That means we don't
exactly whatever we want with you. And you fucking well take it and like
it, bitch. From now on the only time you open your stupid mouth is to
suck your Masters or to beg for the next cock!!" His hand suddenly
landed across my taut naked bottom with three stinging smacks. "Hold her
waist still while I get it in her."

Hands went round my waist and gripped me tightly as my mouth struggled
to take the large knob that thrust upwards into my face. I felt
something press against my anal hole and tried to clench my cheeks
together to prevent it entering me. But, bent over as I was, my cheeks
were splayed -and parted. And as the pressure against my bottom
increased the man just said with a cruel little laugh:

"Oooooh yesss baby!!! Nice and tight!! Let's feel that 1213-year-old
quim-slit squirming to try and stop itself being ****d..." He gripped my
hips tightly and then I felt a searing stab of pain in my bottom as he
pushed me open and his knob went inside me. My eyes were squeezed tight
shut yet I could see a fiery red blazing sunburst of pain in front of
them. I felt I was choking, my mouth crammed to the back of my tongue
with hot flesh.

"Feel that, bitch!! Your hole is gaping round my knob. It's time you
felt the whole of a man's cock up your vagina, baby. Feel it, eh bitch?
Feel my cock inside your cunt, little cockteaser? Feel it r****g you,
little schoolgirl-SLUT!!!" I gasped and moaned as a tong of ice seemed
to thrust its violent way up inside my belly. The pain redoubled as it
seemed to come from two places now: the gaping forced entrance into my
bottom and a second pain deep inside me somewhere up near my waist, at
my very centre. I was sure I was about to die since it felt as if he had
pushed a 12-inch-long spear into my tummy. I expected to feel my own
blood streaming down my legs and into my high heels. The man's hips
pressed against my bum and I realised that he had thrust himself quickly
and mercilessly to the hilt inside me.

Before I had recovered from the terrible nauseous shockwave of pain that
his inward thrust sent through me something warm started to gush down my
throat. I gulped instinctively to stop it going down the wrong hole and
choking me, and in the same moment realised from the grunts and moans of
ecstasy of the man whose hands squashed my face against his belly, that
I was swallowing his sperm to avoid drowning in it. I had no choice; his
knob was rammed into the back of my mouth, almost making me gag and the
jets of spunk were shooting straight down my throat. I hardly tasted it,
just felt warm slimy liquid sliding down into my tummy.

Meanwhile the man behind began to **** my bottom slowly, his hips
squashing my bumcheeks at the end of each inward stroke. For the first
20 or 30 seconds each stroke continued the agony as my clenched bottom
continued to try and force his cock-shaft out of me. But he was careful
to ensure that his knob always remained firmly planted in my bottom each
time he withdrew. Slowly the pain subsided and in its place there began
to be flickers of the pleasurable feelings I had got in the bathroom so
many times before. As I felt it I remembered how much less it hurt if I
relaxed and accepted the thing that was keeping my hole so unnaturally
permanently open. I forced myself to make the muscles in my tummy relax.
Suddenly my body seemed to go limp. The only things preventing me from
slipping to the floor was were the hands round my waist. I felt a warm
comforting sensation spreading through my crotch and thought it was part
of my body's reaction to him fucking me. Then I realised something was
trickling down my front. For a wild second of panic I thought it was
blood. Then to my utter shame I realised I was wetting myself and my
warm pee was drenching my stockings. I hadn't the strength left to
clench my tummy again to stem the flow, and had no desire to feel that
awful pain return if I did.

"Oooh!" said the man on my right, holding me up. "The filthy little
slut's pissing herself! Go on, tart, drench your fucking skirt and legs
with piss. Ooooh I love it when these *******s' vaginas lose control the
first time they're ****d and they piss themselves. I'm gonna cram your
steaming piss- soaked panties in your mouth and make you suck 'em dry
when I fuck your cunt, you little whore!"

The man r****g me quickened his thrusts as he heard the other one's
obscene intentions. I no longer cared so long as whatever they did
didn't hurt like the first few seconds had. In fact I was now slowly
becoming more and more excited each time the cock-shaft filled my belly.
Things I had said to my own reflection in the bathroom mirror began to
run through my head. '...little fuck-slut...there to be fucked...cheeky
whore's bottom...spunk-cream down your throat...' My bottom began to
tingle with delight at the sensation - the one I had craved: a man's
cock moving inside me while I stood there passively and was fucked by
it. The man who had just creamed into my mouth withdrew it from my face
and turned round. The one beside me holding me said to him:

"Are you going to take a piss?"

"Yes." was the reply.

"Hold on a moment. This dirty cow just soaked her stockings with her own
piss. Little tarts who wet themselves when they haven't been ordered to
by their Masters are naughty girls. They need to be punished...and the
punishment ought to fit the crime."

"Cor..." said the fat man, looking back at the speaker. "You really like
messing them up good and proper, don't you?"

"Why not? Look at the pretty little bitch: she's a natural, isn't she? -
So she better start learning to do as she's told. Look at that lovely
moppet-face of hers: don't you want to?" A wave of utter shock swept
over me as I began to have an inkling what he was suggesting, but the
thrills in my tummy were stronger than the revulsion at what I guessed
he was proposing.

"Yeah...'course. You know I like doing it in 'em...but...I just thought
maybe it was too soon on her first session-"

"No time like the present, eh?" said the man beside me. The big one
turned round again and the author of the idea said:

"Listen Suki, you little cock-slut, you wet yourself when we tell you
to, understand. Your punishment for disobedience is to swallow this
Master's piss. Every fucking drop, you hear?"

I stared with horror at the fat man's knob as he turned to face me
again. Even though I'd already half- guessed I was still stunned by the
disgustingness of what he wanted me to do. The cockshaft was only semi-
erect now and the slit in the centre of the purple-coloured knob, still
oozing a pearly drip of sperm, pointed straight at my mouth.

"Wait if you can." said the man r****g my bottom. "I'm going to shoot
any minute now. Hold off till you can really make it spurt down her
throat."

"O.K. I'll tell you when I'm about to."

A voice from above my head made me start.

"Cor!! What a gorgeous little slut! Oooh make 'er suck you!"

"She's just had my spunk. She's going to get my piss to drink in a
second while he creams up her arsehole."

"Ooooooh...ooh yeah!! Can I fuck her after you?"

"Yeah." said the man at my side. "I'm next but she can be sucking you to
get yours nice and stiff while I do her. Anyone else about out there
who'd fancy her? Tell 'em it's her first session." -

"No k**ding!?"

"Genuine. She was a virgin when she came in here today. We're training
her as our cock-slave so the more guys who spunk in her today the
better. We want her fucked into complete submission."

"Too right! Just what that lovely little bum of hers needs!"

It was clear now that my ****, which I thought would be over when these
three men had finished with me, was only just beginning.

"Get your mouth open, bitch. Any more disobedience and we'll finish off
this session with a caning, remember. Now say you're sorry for being a
naughty girl and wetting yourself without our permission, then beg this
Master to piss down your throat. Go on, whore, say it!" I felt weak-
kneed with humiliation as I began to whisper what he'd told me to.

"Louder, slave. So we can all hear you."

"Pl-please Sirs...I'm very sorry for being a naughty...girl and wetting
myself without my Masters' permission. Please, Master, piss down my
throat..."

The cock was almost grazing my lips now.

"It's...I'm...almost ready...yeah...it's coming...now. Oooh yeah!" A few
drops fell from the slit onto my tongue. Then suddenly a golden torrent
of it began to hit the roof of my mouth and the man instantly pressed
the tip of his knob between my lips. My bottom began to jerk as the cock
inside me started to thrust frantically. Then as I gulped and gulped the
warm floods of piss down my throat I heard the man fucking me gasping:

"Yes ooh yes oooh GOD I'm about to spunk in her *********** crack! OOOH!
AAAAHHH! UGH! UGH! UGH! AAAAAAAAH!!!" His cock was plunged as deep as it
would go in my belly and each spasm at the base of his cock-shaft
transmitted waves of delicious sensation to the tender sensitised nerves
in the part of me that gaped round it.

I felt as if the rest of my body had disappeared and all I consisted of
was my swallowing throat and the tunnel between my legs. I was just a
thin quivering membrane of tingling skin wrapped round their two cocks
and in the centre of me was a boiling cocktail of my Masters' spunk-
cream and piss. At that moment I knew I truly did belong to them.
Everything in my body was theirs after all! Everything from my madly-
gulping pee-drenched gaping lips to the fluttering ring of flesh between
my legs was filled with their flesh and what spurted from it. I was
their slave! Suki Sexmaid, body and soul!

At some moments I thought that this must simply be a bizarre perverted
dream that I would wake from with a jolt. The place - and what was being
done to my body - just seemed too unreal to be true. Yet I knew that the
sour taste of the liquid that gushed down my throat was real enough, as
was the unstoppable flow of sperm into my bottom.

Could such men exist: men who could take such keen pleasure from r****g
a teenage boy whilst pretending, as I loved doing myself, that she was
actually a girl - and a 12-year-old at that? I had dreamed and
fantasised so often that men like these existed - and would do what they
were doing to me, yet I always secretly suspected that they lived only
in my imagination and that when it came to it, in real life, they would
disappoint me by being soft, giving in to pity and letting me go if I
asked them to.

Even though I knew in my soul that that was the last thing I actually
wanted.

To discover that men existed whose lusts were as strong as my weakness,
stronger even than my craving to be made to satisfy them was shockingly
exciting. I dared not let my mind picture the whims, kinks and
perversions they would force me to submit to until they made me adore
them. The thrill I had pursued for two years had finally crystallised
into this moment: nothing else existed but this place and these men. No
desire of my own was permitted to me, no will but their will. My whole
existence was reduced to this sense of my own helpless enslavement to
these men. They had made time stop by filling the hollow space I had
always felt inside me.

I didn't care who they were, nor what they looked like. After all, the
victim doesn't choose her r****t! She must just submit - and having
submitted once, her soiled and humiliated body can be made to submit
again, and again, and again - more easily each time as her burning wall
of shame is made to crumble, washed away by each new stranger's jet of
piss and spunk, her outrage dulling until all she is conscious of is the
physical sensations in her raw frenzied nerve-ends, continually
stimulated to unbearable shameful ecstasy by repeated ****.

"...all of it; I want her belly as tight as a drum when I fuck her so
the little bitch pisses herself helplessly all over my balls when I ram
my cock up her!" The man's words floated down to my ears, and as I made
sense of them my body **** with pleasure like a taut violin-string being
plucked. Yes! Yes please Sir! Make me do it! Make me jerk and squirm on
your ramrod-hard cock like a rag-doll! Make me wet myself!! The words
filled my head with a constant chant.

Suddenly there was a single small sharp pain in the entrance to my
bottom and then an empty feeling. My bottom was sore but I didn't mind:
I knew it should be and I had not the slightest right to complain. I
hadn't been able to keep up with the fountain-flood of piss from the
knob in my mouth and quite a lot had flowed over my chin and down my
shiny pink lycraLycra top till it was as drenched as my skirt. Steam
rose from my body and I knew that I had been naughty again.

"I'm sorry please Sir I'm sorry I couldn't swallow it it was too fast I
know I'm a dirty little slut please don't cane me Sir please don't cane
me-"

"Shut your face, bitch!" said the man at my side, cutting off my
babbling apology. He let go of my waist and I heard the door being
opened behind me. I could sense there were several more men gazing
through the doorway at me.

"Wiggle your arse for these men, whore. Show 'em your spunky little
hole's begging for more cocks."

I moved my hips from side to side. The fat man slid passed me and I
heard him say:

"I'm off now. How about Sunday afternoon?"

"Yeah. Definitely. We'll have a real fucking orgy!"

"Great. See you then."

"What a cute bum it's got on it. And those legs! I haven't seen a sexier
undie-slave that this one. She really does look like a schoolgirl..."

"...Come on, Suki, let's see that cunt really beg for it..."

I felt the buckle of the belt round my ankles being undone. My ankles
were released and then hands pulled my sopping panties down my calves.

"Lift your left foot, slut. Now your right." I stepped out of the knicks
and was grateful that it was now easier at least to keep my balance. Two
men came pastsed me on either side and stood each side of the toilet
bowl in front of me. The one on the left was the man who had held me
while the first man ****d me. In his hand were my red panties.

"Open your mouth, whore." He stuffed the ball of wet nylon firmly into
my mouth, then he walked out again and said

"Now wriggle that naked bum around just like a girl dancing at a
disco." I started to move my hips again, though even with my feet free I
still found it difficult bent over and with my hands still firmly
secured behind my back.

"I'll give her a sniff of this. That'll get her going." said the man who
had remained in front of me. His hand appeared below my face and his
fingers clutched a little brown glass bottle. I could smell a strange
sickly-sweet smell from the clear colourless liquid inside it and was
utterly terrified. I hadn't the faintest idea what it was, but it was
obviously some kind of d**g - a sex-d**g - and I was petrified of what
they would do to me while I was under its influence. Perhaps it would
make me pass out, or even worse: perhaps it would make me too drowsy and
weak to resist them while leaving me fully conscious of everything they
did. My panic-stricken imagination leapt with dizzying speed through the
awful kinky possibilities of what they might do to me.

The man grabbed me by the hair with his left hand and then brought the
neck of the bottle up against one of my nostrils. With his thumb he
pressed the other one shut. I tried not to breathe, but with my own
sodden panties still stuffed firmly in my mouth and my heart thumping
with fright, I soon had no choice but to inhale the fumes. At first
nothing happened. Then I felt my heart begin to race. Warmth suffused my
body. Then suddenly without warning tingling waves of heat swept through
every nerve in my body. And from nowhere I was suddenly on the verge of
orgasm. B, but not the localised little thrill from my willy whenever I
shot the few little drops of clear liquid that were still all I could
produce.

It seemed to have nothing to do with my willy or balls in fact. It was
like the sensation I had had that day in the bathroom when I came on the
broom handle as I squirted face-cream over my legs and panties. But
still as different from that as a racing car from a push-bikepushbike.

Suddenly I knew what it was like: the orgasms that I had read about in
sex-manuals that women have. The d**g made me feel like a girl! A girl
brought to the very edge of sexual climax. As wave after crackling wave
spread through me it was as if every nerve in my body was in the soft
walls of my vagina, making the surface of the skin ripple with hunger
and excitement. I felt like the randiest, most shameless nympho slut in
the whole world! I was aching for it, dying for it!

My naked bum began to wiggle as lewdly as I knew how. With my knees bent
I sent it squirming in up-and-down circles. I wanted that tight little
ring of flesh between my bumcheeks to look like the most provocative and
irresistible fuck-slit they'd ever seen. My body was empty - and I
couldn't bear it! Unbidden, I began to take little paces backwards as I
danced to bring my bare white bottom closer to the watching men. My hips
were past the doorway of my cubicle.

"Yeah, that's it bitch!" said a voice. "Come on, get right out here and
beg for it, you slut!" I needed little encouragement. The belt round my
wrists heightened the sensation. I was nothing but a cunt - a soft
helpless cunt, with a pair of shiny red lips that could suck at one end
and a circle of tight tender flesh at the other that could cling and
squeeze like a pre-pubescent girl's seam. I kept backing through the
door with my bottom still doing its wiggling dance of invitation to
their cocks. There were 6 of them round me and every one had his cock
out of his trousers. I bent to one at random and rubbed my face against
the knob. I swung my hips round until I felt another touch my bottom. I
moaned and rubbed my arse-slit hungrily up and down on his erection.

I was oblivious to all danger; I didn't care if someone else came in
now. They would see me and know what I was there for. I was conscious of
nothing except my burning desire to be impaled upon the thing I felt
against my squirming bottom. Slowly - far too quickly for me; I wanted
that feeling to go on and on forever! - the sensations caused by the
d**g began to recede. But before they disappeared altogether I turned to
look at the man standing in the cubicle doorway still holding the
bottle. The Master who had ordered me to drink piss said:

"Give her another snort. Someone keep an eye so we can take turns to
fuck her." The man with the magic bottle came and held it under my nose
again. I began to sniff it straight away this time. He held it there for
twice as long, under each nostril in turn as his thumb kept the other
shut.

"Take the pantie-gag out of her mouth." The feeling began to well up
inside me again. I was a girl! A girl with her skirt up, no panties on
and her hungry little body aching to be penetrated by any cock that
wanted it. And there was something more, something else at the very
centre of that hunger.

A few short minutes before I had been frightened of what the d**g might
allow them to do to me. I was half-right: I thought that it would make
me physically helpless. Now I knew - and was thrilled by the feeling -
that it was far more subtle: it made me want them to do the dirtiest
things they could dream up. I wanted all of them to fuck me without
mercy in the dirtiest possible ways. I wanted them to use my body
without limits to explore and satisfy their kinkiest fantasies. I wanted
them to know that there was no sex thrill, no matter how bizarre,
obscene or humiliating, that they could not enjoy. I was their sexmaid,
their spunkslut, their cockslave!!

I began to whisper rapidly:

"Please fuck me, Masters. I'm your property, please do anything you like
with me. I'm a naughty dirty girl, please won't you fill Suki's sweet
little bot and mouth with your lovely hot spunk, Oh! Oh! Please Sirs
anything you like! I'm here to obey you and please you. Do something
dirty to me, please Mast- OH! UHH!!"

In a single thrust someone's cock tore my bottom open and sank deep
inside me. Men crowded round my face and a knob slid into my mouth. I
was in Heaven!! Their alternating thrusts in either end of me set up a
rhythm that made me sway back and forth on my heels, tossing me from the
hot shaft of meat ramming into my mouth onto the other and driving that
deep in my belly, which then slammed my face back onto the first again.

"Piss yourself, bitch! Go on. In front of all your Masters. Show them
all what a dirty kinky slut you are, whore!!" said the man fucking my
bottom. The bottle was pushed under my nose a third time and I inhaled
the fumes eagerly and deeply. My body was in a feverish stew of ecstatic
thrilled delight and my brain was a whirling screaming jumble of voices
- all of them mine - 'Fuck me!! Fill me with spunk till it pours from
every hole in my body!! Oh God don't stop, never stop!! Do something
else to me! Something dirtier! Anything!! ANYTHING YOU WANT!!! Within a
few seconds sperm was fizzling down my throat again and pee was running
down my legs. I felt the man's hand reach round my waist and push my
willy backwards till its tip was against his balls and my pee drenched
them as well. The warm wetness spurting from my helpless belly over his
sex excited him to his ejaculation. His thrusts became a series of rapid
jerks with his cock buried in me. I heard his whispered grunts of
satisfaction as the stiff flesh within mine throbbed with each spurt:

"Oooh YES!! TAKE IT BITCH!! I'M SPUNKING RIGHT UP YOUR CUNT, YOU LITTLE
WHORE, RIGHT! UP! YOUR! TIGHT! LITTLE! QUIMSLIT! YOU SLUT!!!"

My mouth became free again and was taken prisoner at once by another
man. Then my head was pulled off him to suck a second. I could taste
traces of the man's pee on his knob and was thrilled to the core by it.
My bottom closed with instinctive relief as the cock withdrew. Out of
the corner of my eye I saw someone with an enormous-looking cock going
round behind me. I trembled and tried to relax but although by now my
hole was very slippery and soft, I felt twin spasms of my first agonies
returning as my bottom was violently forced open for its third r****g in
less than 20 minutes.

The two men in front of me wanted my lips to alternate between them so I
did, now sucking one, now the other, each for 15 or 20 seconds. The one
who wasn't in my mouth would wank himself furiously until it was his
X6 ™ÀW"ddenly the man to the left of my face, whose cock was in
his hand at the time, hissed:

"Quick, let me have her; I'm going to come." i

"Oooh yeah! Me too, shove yours in as well!" He pulled back until just
the tip of his knob was between my gaping lips. The other stood close to
him until their cock-knobs were touching. Then they roughly pulled my
face down and forced both knobs into my mouth simultaneously. Both were
panting hard and I felt a jet of spunk leap straight into the back of my
mouth from one of them and begin trickling down my throat. He gasped:

"I'm - coming!" And instantly both knobs began to pour the men's slimy
sperm-juice into my mouth until I had to swallow some to make room for
the jets that followed it. I didn't want to swallow it all straight
away; I wanted to keep it there and experience the dirty thrill of
feeling my cheeks bulging with my Masters' spunk. It was very warm, with
a strong salty taste unlike anything I'd ever tasted before, and seemed
to fizz on my tongue like sherbet. And the slimy slippery creaminess of
it seemed exactly what I'd deserved, what the 'teasing slut' had been
asking for in fact: the dirtiest, most disgusting way they could soil my
mouth.

I wanted to show them all how utterly I was theirs, how eager for more
and filthier games, what a thoroughly obedient slave I was. As the knobs
slid out of my face I closed my lips to let the sperm fill the space
their cocks had occupied. I gazed up at the men round me and opened my
mouth. Spunk immediately streamed from my lips, running quickly down my
chin and neck.

Someone stood in front of me, turned round and bent forwards. His hairy
white bumcheeks parted until I was staring straight at the brown ring of
flesh, the size of a 10-pence piece, of his anus.

"Get some of that spunk on my hole and then lick it all off! I want to
feel that 12-year-old schoolgirl tongue right up my arse and licking the
inside of it clean, tart!" I could see the brown mark in the crotch of
his pants, a few inches below my face, could smell the dirty unwashed
state of his body and the vile odour from the fluted skin of his hole.
The d**g had almost worn off completely by now and although I was still
excited by the cock in my belly I was revolted by the thing so close to
my lips. My face shrank in horror at my order.

"No more Amyl yet." said a voice. "Make her do it. It's time this slave
learnt she's here for our fun, not her own hungry little bitch-cunt
thrills."

Someone grabbed my hair and yanked my head back until my lips were
forced to part and my mouth was directly level with the folds of brown
skin. Then suddenly the man fucking me thrust himself into me hard,
forcing my body to sway forwards and burying my face in between the
curves of the parted buttocks.

"That's it, baby! Let's feel the spunk ooze out of your face onto my
hole!" I pushed the slime out of my face with my tongue, which instantly
recoiled with revulsion as the tip touched his skin. "OOOOH YESSS! OOOH
that's lovely!! Go on, slave, work it all round my hole with your
tongue. Get some up it, girl!" I paused, frozen with horror. A hand slid
round my waist and I felt the fingers close round my balls and willy,
squeezing hard till I moaned with pain.

"Get on with it this instant, you disobedient little bitch, or I'll tear
this useless fucking thing off and really make you into a schoolgirl!!"

I put my tongue out and began to lick the slimy sperm back and forth
over the man's anus. He bent over more and said:

"Yeah! Now work it up inside with your tongue." I began to push my
tongue-tip between the folds of skin, all the time becoming more and
more aware of the second filthy taste mingling with the taste of sperm
in my mouth.

"Yeah! Go on! Keep doing it! Deeper, bitch, deeper!!" My tongue was now
in the entrance of his passage and I could feel his muscles clenching
and unclenching, and hear him moaning softly with delight.

"Oooooooh! Oh yeah!! Oh that's fucking great. Her tongue's right in my
arse now! Oooooh, how d'you like the taste of it, eh moppet? A lovely
spunk-and-shit milkshake! Now start licking it off slowly and swallowing
it. And each time you swallow it just remember your mouth and bottom are
identical. They're just fuckslits, bitch. They both belong to us and we
can do anything we fucking well like with them any time we want! Get on
with your orders, dirty little whore!"

I thought I would surely die of shame and nausea then as my throat
gulped down the slimy mess that was already in my mouth. I felt my
stomach heave and thought I was about to be sick but somehow I managed
to close my mind to what it was sliding down my neck and the feeling
passed. I licked some more into my mouth and swallowed that.

"Not so quick, bitch. I want to feel you savouring the taste of it while
that cock up your fanny gets ready to shoot some more juice up your
spunk-filled slit! This is what we use undie-slaves for - that's what
you are from now on and don't you ever dare to forget it, Suki. Get a
good mouthful and don't swallow it."

I licked several times until I felt my tongue was swimming in it.

"Now, give her another sniff." The man stood up and I panted with relief
at being able to breathe properly once more. The bottle was put to my
nose and this time it was held there until the tingling swarms of
excitement were crawling all over my body again. The man was facing me
now.

"Swear on your cock-filled cunt and your spunk-and-shit filled mouth
that you are our property. And then open your mouth and let it slip
slowly down your throat. We want to see you taste every drop of it as it
goes down."

I suddenly found that the thought of swallowing the filthy slime in my
mouth was exciting me, because it was what the man wanted me to do. Even
the nastiness of the taste seemed to excite me, because it was the taste
of my humiliation and my submission to him. It wasn't enough just to
repeat a mantra that my holes belonged to them. He wanted me to
experience the truth of the words through one of my most acute senses,
that of taste. I let the sharp rancid juice swirl onto the back of my
tongue and my brain was dizzy with thrills of ecstatic surrender.

I said the words and then swallowed slowly as he'd told me to.

"Now promise on your worthless life, bitch, that as our undie-slave you
will come here and serve your Masters whenever you are told to. That'll
be at least twice a week from now on. We found your address in the
pocket of your jacket so we all know where you live, tart. If you don't
do as you're told maybe your parents will get a nice long letter with
those filthy panties in it, telling them where their randy little
'daughter' likes to go and how many men's spunk she has in her belly
when she comes home again. And swear that when you are here you'll obey
Your Masters' whims in every way or face whatever punishments we choose.
Swear it, slut!"

The d**g made my eyes stare crazily round the ring of cocks and trouser-
legs round me as my hips began to grind themselves against the hips of
the man behind me. I felt like I was suspended off the ground, my arms
and legs tied, with nothing supporting my body but a pole going into my
bottom. I swore the oath eagerly, panting for breath. I just wanted to
excite them with hearing me say the words, and yet a small sane part of
my brain knew that they were deadly serious and that I couldn't retract
my promise later.

At that moment I didn't want to; I meant what I promised them. Yet I
knew that perhaps tomorrow I would regret it, but they had made it very
clear to me that it was too late already. They were prepared to extract
my
submission to my initial **** that day.

"Now beg to lick my arse completely clean."

"Please let me lick your bottom clean, Master." He turned and once again
his glistening wet bottom thrust out and pressed against my face. I
began to lick, and this time as the d**g slowly wore off, I found that I
still wanted the awful flavour of that cream in my mouth to remind me of
my humiliation and servitude. I felt yet more sperm pumping into my
tummy from behind and then the gut-churning pain as he jerked his cock
from my body. Someone else took his place, but their cock was so much
smaller by contrast that I hardly felt a thing as he entered me. I
squeezed him with the muscles in my anal ring so that he wouldn't be
disappointed with me. Soon I had licked the last traces of spunk off the
other man's bottom and not long after that could only taste my own
saliva again. The man straightened up again, turned round and began to
wank his cock an inch or two from my mouth. I stared at the swollen
purple knob jiggling before my eyes and thought:

'This is my Master; this plum, so hot and full of juice waiting to spurt
from it, is what my body was born to serve. Anything they do to me that
makes this thing ripen and swell even more, that increases their
excitement and makes even more of their wonderful juice spill from it,
is their right.' At that moment I had no trouble believing that my body
had been created to belong to this thing, looming so obscenely large
before my face. Whether I knew it consciously or not at 15, every ounce
of my body knew that, for me, sex and enslavement were one and the same
thing, with no area of one that was not part of the other.

My own sexual urges were intended to help enslave me; my enslavement was
intended to make me the property of these men. As their property even my
own sexual feelings belonged to them, and were permissible only if they
served to satisfy my Masters' whims and pleasure. I knew that all the
endless hours of solitary thrills I had experienced in the previous 3 4
years were at an end. No more seeing myself in the bathroom mirror as a
girl, impaled on a broom-handle; from now on, whenever I was dressed as
a girl it must be for my Masters' pleasure. It would be for them to
decide who and what would impale me and how many times.

I guessed what the man intended and kept my lips parted in obedient
anticipation. He wanted me to see his sperm leaping from his cock into
my mouth, not just feel it. He wanted me to see it and understand even
more clearly my status as their slave, existing purely as orifices for
their spunk. The more I stared at the knob of flesh before my face the
more excited I became. Knowing that this man was enjoying his power over
me thrilled me. It was the only satisfaction I sought: to be and do
whatever was required of me to increase their pleasure. Simply to know
that my body was pretty enough in their eyes to cause this magical part
of them - so huge and unlike my own little willy as to seem like a
different sex altogether! - to swell, stiffen and then explode with
cream at the moment of their climaxes was satisfaction enough.

A stream of white juice leapt from his knob in an arc straight into my
open mouth. Another followed and then he pressed the bubbling flesh to
my lips so that none fell wasted to the floor. I tasted the warm clean
delicious milk once more and trembled with sluttish thrills of delight.

One more man wanted my mouth after that. While I sucked him I felt the
other cock climax and ejaculate into my body. The last cock erupted
cream into my mouth whichmouth, which I greedily swallowed, and then I
slumped to the floor. How many men had released their lust and sent
their semen rushing into me? Seven? Eight? I was no longer sure. As
sperm oozed out of my bottom onto the cold tiles beneath me, I knew I
had no more excuse for solitary games or pleasures; my Masters had
transformed me from a virgin into a whore. My hour-long ordeal of gang-
****gang **** had done exactly what they had intended it to do: fucked
me into submission and forced me to recognise that I had the soul of a
born slut.

I remembered my earlier display of cock-hungry nymphomania; I had no
right to refuse any man's lust now. I had put myself where I might be
used and then had begged them all to use me indiscriminately. If I had
been trapped at the start it was because I had walked into the trap a
willing victim.

The 'Piss-Master', who had stayed throughout, said:

"Your clothes are in there, slut." pointing to one of the cubicles.
"What time are you free to serve on Sunday?"

We didn't usually have a big Sunday lunch, just an ordinary meal around
1 and something light in the evening. I knew my parents wouldn't think
it odd if I said I was going to spend the afternoon and evening with a
friend.

"Any time from 2 in the afternoon, please Sir."

"Be in here dressed and ready for your next training session at 2.30
then, slave. If you are late you'll be punished. And if you fail to turn
up for any reason you'll be in big trouble. Perhaps your parents will
have to be told what a disobedient undie-slave you are..."

"I - I promise I'll be there, Sir. Just please don't tell my parents."

That night I woke with a start and found my sheets wet under me. At
first I thought I had wet the bed, then I realised that the wetness I
felt was slimy and oozy. It was spunk from my bottom. I fell asleep
again still gently rolling around in the comforting warmth of it.



Chapter 2

Surreptitiously washing out my things in the next few days felt strange,
knowing what had made the stains I rubbed out of the clothes, and
knowing that I was cleaning them only so they could be soiled by
strangers again on Sunday. I just prayed that my mother and sister
wouldn't notice the things that had disappeared.

Sunday finally came and with butterflies in my stomach I told my parents
I planned to see a school friend and that we might go to a film that
evening. Then I walked down to the high street and the toilets. There
were already 4 men at the urinals when I entered and 4 of the 5 cubicles
were engaged. I went into the empty one and changed. I was ready by 2.20
and then sat there nervously, my hands folded on my lap in a demure
simulation of shy virginal innocence.

At 2.30 exactly a note came under the wall instructing me to slide my
other clothes under the wall and then unlock my door. It began.

I was told to stand still as my wrists were bound. Straps were fastened
on my ankles connected by a length of chain a few inches long. Then a
black rubber hood was pulled over my head. It had two small holes for my
nostrils and a larger one for my mouth. When my bondage was complete I
felt thrills of nervous terror at my utter helplessness in the clammy
pitch-black rubber hood. I was ordered to open my mouth and felt a hard
rubber gag covered in nylon pushed into my cheeks and fastened behind my
head. On the nylon I could taste the sharp mingled flavours of male
sperm and a woman's vagina-juice.

I was told to bend over and hands gripped my head to hold me there. Then
I felt the cold breeze on my bare thighs above my stockings as my skirt
was lifted and laid over my back. Then my panties were slipped down to
the tops of my thighs. Suddenly I heard a rapid 'swish' and a gasp
escaped from my gagged mouth as a blazing slash of pain spread across my
bot. I could hear the soft murmurs of men making appreciative comments
about the marks on my bumcheeks.

"...beautiful!"

"...sexy arse..."

"...better than a cane...too hard..."

"...daughter's riding-crop...give her a taste of it one day...better
arse than hers..."

"...bright red! Give her some more..."

Swish-WHOP!! My whole body rippled in agony and I moaned involuntarily.
Someone directly above my head spoke:

"Not so hard. You'll have her screaming blue murder. Warm her up slowly.
Then when you've got her arse-cheeks really red you'll find she can take
much more."

My whipping continued with a string of lighter strokes, all of which
stung, but none badly enough to make me howl with pain again. The men's
remarks made it clear that the redder my bottom was being made the more
they liked it. After a few minutes something strange seemed to happen to
me. The strokes didn't seem to hurt any more. Instead it was more like
they were my bottom a series of small electric shocks that made my skin
tingle. I pushed my hips out, eager for more.

"She's ready. You can steam her arse up a bit now. But still don't get
too wild. It's a fine line...you've got to judge her right. She's still
a novice remember."

The strokes landed harder now, but even so each sting sent a little
shiver of pleasure through me.

"Take the gag out now. I reckon she's ready to suck someone while you
whip her. Who wants to try it." Several voices spoke, and I felt a
thrill at knowing how many men there wanted to try this sex-game with
their slave. Someone was elected and I felt the gag being undone.

"If your Master feels your teeth, bitch, then you'll feel that whip -
and I mean really feel it, understand?"

"Yes Master."

A cock went into my face and the whip began to land again. My bottom was
burning by now, but it was an exciting tingling heat that made me feel
randy and hungry for cocks. Each time I felt the sting my lips clamped
onto the stiff shaft in my mouth for relief, but I was careful to keep
my teeth well away from the flesh. I heard a voice behind:

"Ooh quick, stop a second. I want to come over her arse." And I felt
warmth splashing onto my hole and trickling down the insides of my
thighs. I trembled with glee, knowing what it was. A few strokes later
the same warmth filled my mouth.

That day they kept me hooded all afternoon. I was made to 'parade' round
the toilets. At one point I was ordered to kneel and then press my lips
to a wall. The smooth coolness of it told me that they were making me
lick the porcelain urinal. My mouth was directed to splashes of sperm on
it whichit, which I had to lick off and swallow. And all day men
casually thrust their cocks into either end of me. I soon lost count of
the number, but I could tell from the remarks of new arrivals that they
expected to find me there. It was a preplanned orgy, with myself as the
helpless fuck-slut.

At no time did anyone refer to me by any name other than 'bitch',
'slut', 'whore' or 'slave-'. No-oneNo one concerned themselves with the
slightest scruple of consideration when they penetrated me. Some thrust
into me quickly and brutally, others slowly and less painfully, but only
to please themselves because they preferred to do it that way, not
because it might hurt me.

After some time my stockings were soaked and my thighs felt slimy
whenever I was told to move to a different position. I could tell my
relaxed gaping bottom was swimming in sperm.

I was given sniffs from the Amyl bottle at regular intervals and
repeatedly made to swear that I was a slave and would obey any and all
my orders. They told me that I now belonged to all the men who regularly
came to those toilets and as such could be lent to other Masters by
them. They said that from time to time I would be taken to other toilets
for that purpose and must serve anyone I was ordered to.

I was in a continual state of nervous excitement all afternoon as I was
ordered around and fucked by a stream of anonymous cocks. Bound and
hooded, I was constantly aware of my own helplessness and vulnerability.
Yet I was never really scared until near the end, when I heard someone
arriving and talking to the man who had ****d me the very first time and
the Piss-Master.

"She's perfect...every bit as sexy as you said and then some. And this
is really only her second session?"

"Yeah, we ****d her the first time last week. She took to it like a duck
to water."

"But you didn't...ah...introduce her to..."

" Just some arse-licking; that's all."

"Good...umm...how far can I go with her?"

"How far would you like to...? We're training her up as a 'no limits'
cock-slave... so the sooner she starts to learn what that means the
better as far as we're concerned. Don't worry: she won't make a fuss." I
heard the Piss-Master chuckle.

"Hahaha...the little bitch knows she's in no position to. We know where
her parents live - and we've got a lovely little stack of Polaroids from
this afternoon. I expect we'll have some even dirtier ones ... hahaha
... when you've finished having your fun. She wouldn't like a few of
those turning up at home addressed to her Mum and Dad."

My heart sank like a stone. I had been aware of flashes of light
through the hood during the afternoon's orgy, but I had hardly noticed
it, thinking it was a faulty light bulb. "We want the little whore
trained up quick. I want to take her up to Freddie's place next week..."

"What, to try her in the hot-box? Already?"

"Yeah, why not? She really looks like a moppet with her hood off...11 or
12 at the most. The guys at his place will flip when they see her. I
want this slut like a cat in heat for anything they feel like."

"...I see..."

"We thought you'd like the fact that she's a novice."

"Oh yes, that's very appealing... a virgin..."

I wondered what he meant; I didn't feel like a virgin any more by any
definition.

"But don't let that cramp your style. It's up to you. Just remember
she's a slave: she's here to learn to do as she's told. And from what
we've already seen of her we reckon she's a natural for kinky fun. She's
one of those horny little tarts who get off on the shock of it."

"How old is she really?"

"13." I heard the man's lie and knew he was egging on the new arrival.

"Mmmm! Delicious...just barely pubescent..."

"Too right! Yet look at her!"

"...God, these little bitches can be such randy cock-sluts, can't
they?" I could hear the perverted thrill in his voice.

"Absolutely...especially if you put 'em in a pair of tight rubber
panties..."

Their conversation filled me with nervousness.Thenervousness. The voice
I recognised as that of the Piss-Master made me say for the hundredth
time that afternoon that I was Suki Sex-slave and was my Masters'
property. Then he said: "And you are going to learn that there is no
kind of kinky fun your Masters can't have with you. Remember that,
bitch. Anything we want to do with you you will learn to beg for. Your
real function as an undie-slave is to provide your Masters with kinky
sex-thrills...hot dirty fun of any kind they choose...and no fucking
moans or disobedience. Say it; say 'I'm a dirty slut and I exist for my
Masters hottest dirtiest kinkiest sex-fun.' Say it."

I repeated the words, stammering with fear now.

"Do whatever this Master tells you to, understand? Everything. She's all
yours; go to it."

My panties were lowered to my ankles and the chain connecting them was
unclipped. I was ordered to step out of them. Then I was told to lift my
feet again and I felt cool stretchy rubber being slid up my legs. Then I
had to step again and felt my own red lace panties going on again. The
rubber knicks were hauled up in place round my hips, then just the back
of them lowered again. I was led into one of the cubicles and turned
round so I was facing the door. Then a rubber gag was pushed into my
mouth. I could feel a hole in the middle of the gag.

"Bend over, bitch!" said the latest arrival. I felt his cock press into
my bottom. He didn't start fucking me like the previous men had done;
instead he just waited like that with his knob in my belly. Then I felt
a strange sensation in my tummy. It was as if he was coming and coming
into me, spurt after spurt until it was a continuous flood. Then I
realised he was filling my bottom with pee! The feeling in my tummy was
electrifying.

After 15 or 20 seconds I began to feel very full there and knew that
very soon I would have to go to the toilet to relieve the pressure.
Suddenly he pulled quickly out of me and tugged the rubber panties back
in place. Something was placed loosely over my head onto my shoulders.
His fingers began stroking my bottom and crotch through the rubber pants
and he began to speak very softly into my ear through the hood.

"I expect you want to go to the toilet now, don't you, you cock-hungry
bitch. Now that your cunt's full of your Masters' spunk and piss you
want to let it all go to waste down a toilet-bowl, don't you?"

I was beginning to feel sweaty and slippery inside the hood and the
panties from the pressure in my tummy. His hands were exciting me as
well though. The rubber was like a second skin over my bum and crotch
and seemed to heighten the sensation from the touch of his fingers.

"***********s who let men take their panties down, spread their legs and
let them fill their smooth little vagina-slits with cream are very bad.
A moppet who lets grown men push their knobs up her naughty little
bottom and spunk into it deserves to be punished, doesn't she Suki? And
the worst of all are dirty little babies who then soil their panties
afterwards....squat down on your heels, girl. Let's see if you're a good
girl or a bad one."

I started to bend my knees, knowing that I couldn't hold on much longer.
His hand stayed underneath my bottom as I began to lower myself.
Suddenly I felt the mixture of piss and spunk come gushing from my hole
into the knicks. He thrust me down until I was squatting on my heels and
the flow into the panties kept coming until they were bulging out all
round my belly and between my legs. But none of it leaked out. Worst of
all, I could feel that it wasn't only what they had put inside me that
had come out. Squatting like that, with my feet apart I had been quite
unable to control my bottom at all.

"Oooh you dirty little moppet-bitch! Oooh you stinking little whore..."
His voice crooned with soft menace into my ear. "...with your panties
full of men's piss and spunk...and the dirty filth from your own
bottom...feel that, baby-slut, your tender little pink slit all messed
up and covered in your own dirty shit...what a wicked whore you are,
Suki Shit-panties...dirty ***********s who can't keep their legs closed
for men or their bottoms closed until they can go to the toilet properly
ought to be made to clean up their own mess..."

Feeling the warm squishy mess trapped inside my panties I felt his words
pierce my brain with their truth and I was terrified of his contempt-
filled voice. I felt his hand slide under my chin and lift my hooded
face. The Amyl bottle was pressed to my nose and I breathed it in with
grateful relief. I wanted to re-capture some feeling of pleasure in the
midst of my awful predicament.

What could I do about the mess I'd made? What would they make me do? The
thought of them standing there watching me somehow clean the knickers
out before their eyes was too awful to contemplate. My legs would be
soaked in filth before I could do a thing. As the fumes took hold of me
again, his hand continued to squeeze the rubber between my legs, slowly
turning what was inside into a thick soupy goo.

I felt my excitement mounting; it was true: I was a dirty wicked girl
who couldn't control herself. Already I was beginning to love that dirty
feeling between my legs - even though I knew what it was! And knew I
deserved to be punished for it. Pee began to spurt from my willy and,
unable to prevent it, I felt more filthy mess pour from my bottom. As
hot tingling spasms of ecstasy ran through my body once more the man
spoke again - and made my head spin:

"You love sucking men's knobs till they spunk down your throat, don't
you, you randy little cock-slut! Suck the knob in your mouth and you'll
get your Rubber Master's lovely hot spunk-cream down your throat. Quick,
bitch, suck it! Suck it hard, girl."

I was in a frenzy of excitement; the amyl bottle was still at my nose.
I hardly kKnew any longer where I was or what I was doing. I sucked on
the rubber ball-gag and after a few seconds I suddenly felt my mouth
fill up with thick slimy liquid. The shocking taste confirmed what I'd
already begun to guess: the rubber knickers I wore were connected by a
tube to the gag in my mouth! My cheeks bulged with it. I was dizzy with
nausea and excitement, thrilled at my absolute helplessness, sickened at
where it had led me. Suddenly something jerked tight round my neck. In
the blackness of my slave hood, dressed like a whore and with my hands
tied behind my back I knew I was lost: I was at their mercy - and they
had none!

"Swallow it, dirty bitch! Quick now, start swallowing it or I'll
strangle you with this right now! Yes!!! Keep sucking and swallowing!
Clean up the mess in your panties, ***********...Sstart sucking it out
of them! This this instant, you dirty little slut!. Suck your filthy
panties dry again, you filthy WHORE!!"

I forced the gooey filth down my throat without thinking, kept
swallowing, even though I knew that the unbearably filthy taste on my
tongue wasn't spunk, or even piss. I couldn't believe what he was making
me do - yet I was doing it! Even doing it eagerly to please him. I felt
my panties contracting each time I sucked on the gag and more of the
thick soupy filth flowed up the tube from my knickers and poured from
the hole in the gag.

I thought I must surely die of shame any second now. But a voice kept
saying 'Drink it, you dirty whore, keep swallowing every last bit of it!
You begged your Masters to spunk in your bottom until it was full of
that hot mixture of their spunk and piss and your own shit; you deserve
to have it fill your mouth and be made to swallow it until your slut's
body is full of it!'

...And the voice was my own inside my head.

"...What did I tell you? The dirty bitch loves it!..."

"That's it, baby...down your throat...hurry up and drink your soup and
you can have the rest of your supper."

"Oh wow!! Are you gonna...?"

"Oh god yes!! You're really sure she's a virgin?"

"No question. Last week was the first time she was even fucked."

"Perfect. She was born for this. I've never ****d a virgin before. That
makes her extra special. Ooh god, I'm going to love every moment of
this. Make sure you get plenty of pictures."

I felt my rubber knickers clinging tight to my body, and though I knew
they must be in an incredibly filthy state inside, I had sucked all the
liquid out of them. The gag was undone. Then the hood was pulled off my
head.

"Oooh what a little angel-face she is!" I gulped lungfuls of fresh air
and gazed up at a strange frightening figure. He was wearing a rubber
hood that showed his eyes glittering wickedly through slits in it and a
shiny black ankle-length rubber coat, open at the front. Under it he was
wearing a rubber vest, pants, suspender-beltsuspender belt and
stockings. One hand was holding a leather harness and the other slowly
stroked the shiny bulge of an enormous erection pushing through his
pants.

"Did you like your soup, ***********?" I nodded my head, knowing that
was what he wanted and frightened to displease him in any way. He walked
forward until he was standing astride me and my face was a few inches
from the huge bulge. "Here, take a couple of her now, why don't you?"
The Piss-Master appeared by his side holding a camera. The Rubber-clad
figure went on:

"Would you like something nice and thick like this in your mouth now,
tart?" I stared at the bulge and nodded again. "Lick it, baby...go on,
put your tongue out and lick it." I did so and the flash went off as the
other man took several picture of my face licking the rubber. The Rubber
Master spoke again:

"You'd love it, wouldn't you...something hot and thick in your
mouth...This keeps a slave's mouth open and ready at all times." I was
licking frantically till the front of his pants was all wet.

"This discipline harness will train you to keep your mouth open at all
times when you are serving your Masters. You'd like that, wouldn't you
girl?" I nodded eagerly again. "You'd probably like something to take
the taste of your Masters' spunk-piss soup away, wouldn't you? A nice
piece of chocolate perhaps."

The thought of his cock just under that thin membrane of latex and
something sweet like chocolate to take away the vile taste in my mouth
was heavenly. I was nodding and going 'Mmmm' as I licked him.

He bent and slipped the harness over my head. The part that went over my
mouth consisted of a short wide piece of stiff thick rubber tube, about
an inch long and 2 inches wide. He fitted it between my lips and then
did up the leather straps behind my head. When he had finished the tube
fitted tightly between my teeth, keeping my mouth gaping round it.

"Sit on the floor, girl. Lean back against the toilet-bowl." I slipped
from my squatting position onto my bottom and leant slightly until the
cool white porcelain was pressing between my shoulders.

"Anything to do up her legs with?" said the man.

"Yeah, 'course..." said the Piss Master. He grinned down at me.
"...Yeah...don't worry. We'll see she can't move an inch. Straighten
your legs, bitch."

"Good. I don't want her spoiling my fun by wriggling around."

The other two produced a leather belt each; the belts were wound round
my legs at the ankles and just above my knees, then pulled tight and the
buckles done up. When they'd finished the Rubber Master stepped forward
again until his feet were either side of my hips.

"Tilt your head back, slut."

From the pocket of his rubber coat he pulled out a bag of chocolate
drops. He took two from the bag and said:

"Here you are, Suki; would you like me to pop these into your mouth?"

I nodded, eager for the sugary chocolate to replace the awful taste
still clinging to the inside of my mouth.

"I love popping chocolate drops into ***********s' mouths...I know how
much schoolgirls like stuffing their pretty faces with chocolate." He
dropped them through the tube into my mouth. Because of the gag I
couldn't move my jaw to chew them, but I moved them round with my tongue
until they began to go gooey and dissolve. The taste was blissful relief
as it began to mask what I'd previously swallowed. He stood above me and
stared down the tube into my gaping mouth.

"Have some more." he said and dropped two more through the gag-tube.

"***********s are always being reminded to keep their mouths closed when
they eat. That's because their pretty little mouths are such a tempting
invitation to any man's cock. Practically every guy gets a hard-on at
the thought of sticking it into an 8 or 9-year-old moppet's face and
feeling her soft wet mouth suck his knob off. That's why girls who keep
their mouth open all the time are nothing but cock-teasing little tarts
just asking to have their mouths fucked...But the naughtiest moppets of
all are the ones who eat chocolate with their mouths open..."

He stared down the tube at the chocolate-coated inside of my mouth. His
eyes glittered cruelly as he spoke in a low murmur. Apart from the
queasiness I already felt from what they had made me suck out of my
knickers, my tummy began to feel jittery and nervous at his words and
the sadistic intent in his eyes.

"...Their mouths don't remind men of their creamy little pink juicy
fuckslits then. They look more like their dirty little bum-hole just
after they've been to the toilet. And girls who eat chocolate with their
mouths open are usually the same sort of naughty little sluts who don't
bother to wipe their botties properly before pulling up their panties
again, so they always have brown stains in their pantie-crotches and are
too lazy to remember to flush the toilet after they've been, so they
leave their mess for someone else to clean up. That's what you look like
to me: a dirty...lazy.... slut...and your mouth looks just like a toilet
after you've left your mess in it."

He took a belt from his pocket, bent and slipped it behind my neck. He
held the ends and said to the other two men:

"When I'm ready give me the ends of this. The other two men stood on
either side of me, and I began to be filled with dread at the utter
helplessness of my situation. The Rubber Master had the Amyl in his hand
and took several deep sniffs from it.

"Well, I know just how to toilet-train dirty little moppets with
chocolateychocolaty mouths and pooey panties...."

Suddenly he stepped back and turned round. Then he backed towards me
until my face was against the shiny folds of the bottom of his long
rubber coat. He pulled it up and flicked it back behind my head. I could
see something round sticking out of the back of his rubber pants. He
swept his coat further back and said:

"Grab the little bitch's hair and keep her head still till I've got it
in her gag, then hand me the straps."

He bent his knees and the curves of his black rubber-covered bumcheeks
began to descend towards my face. With a shock of stunned realisation I
saw what was protruding from the back of his pants: a short thick rubber
tube about 2 inches long, similar to the one that formed my gag but
slightly narrower. I guessed at once that it was meant to slot inside
the one that kept my mouth open. I moaned and tried to struggle free but
it was quite useless. The others had done as he suggested and each had a
handful of my hair. My ankles, knees and wrists were tightly restrained
by the leather belts and I couldn't even turn my head an inch. Slowly
the smooth curves of rubber were squashed down onto my face, forcing my
head to tilt right back until the porcelain edge of the toilet-bowl was
pressing into the back of my neck. I felt the end of the tube poking
into my cheeks and chin as he wiggled his hips round trying to find the
entrance to the harness. Suddenly he located it and with a little
satisfied 'Aaah!' he sank down and slotted his tube into my own.

I was quaking with terror now. Despite the string of different Masters'
bottoms I'd been made to kiss and lick already that afternoon - many of
them by no means clean - and even after the soupy mess they'd just made
me suck out of my own knickers I was still shocked with horror at the
idea of what I was now sure he was about to do to me.

The strap round the back of my neck went tight and I heard him do the
buckle. My hair was released but it made no difference now; the belt
running behind my head and up over his thighs kept my face pressed
firmly against his bottom. And the wicked little tube from his pants
that was nowfitting snugly fitted into the tube of the harness gag
prevented me from twisting my face away from him. He said:

"Now then, you cheeky little cockslut, since you're so fond of leaving
your mess for others to clean up and don't mind letting men see your
little chocolateychocolaty gob looking just like the toilet you've pooed
in, you can find out what it's like to clean up someone else's
p*o...with your mouth, baby..." I began to struggle but with my hands
and legs tied there was absolutely no way of getting my mouth free of
the hollow tube-gag.

"You can struggle all you want, moppet, but you're still going to get a
nice thick hot turd in your pretty face...and you're going to swallow
every fucking bit of it before I release you...Just think of it, little
baby, a nice big 'chocolate cock' to suck until your cheeks are bulging
with it..."

Suddenly I squealed with fright as something sharp prodded the crotch of
my panties. "That's a knife, little slut. I'm going to push it right
through your panties and down between the lips of your slimy little
schoolgirl fuckslit if you don't get your tongue inside my pants and
start french-kissing my hole at once..."

I stuck out my tongue at once and pushed it up the tube. It was short
enough for my tongue-tip to feel the ridges of soft flesh forming the
fissure in his bottom. I began to flick them with my tongue until his
skin was wet with my saliva.

"Mmmmm...yes...yesss! Good, get it inside, baby-slut...Mmmmm!...Ooooooh
yeah! Can you feel what's waiting in there for you to eat? Go on, push
your tongue right into it, baby..."

I could feel something firm pressing against my tongue just inside the
man's arse. My whole body was drenched in sweat and quaking with
terrified anticipation by now.

"Oooh quick! Give me the Amyl!" he said. I heard him snorting deeply at
the d**g and knew that if it had any kind of effect similar to the dirty
longings it had caused in me I was right on the verge of a task so vile
and humiliating that I couldn't have pictured it in my worst nightmare
before today.

"Ooooh, feel it, you pretty little moppet-slut, feel it coming! Oooh
God!! Oooh look at her lovely little panties squirming with fright!!
Ooooh YESSS!!!" Suddenly the pressure from the ring of flesh hugging my
tongue-tip vanished and was immediately replaced as the thing I could
feel against the end started to slide downwards.

My brain was a whirling daze of bright red lights as it tried not to
believe the horror of what was happening. The column forced its way out
of the man's bottom and down the tube, forcing my tongue back into my
mouth. I heard a distant grunt far above my head and quickly several
inches of the column of filth popped into my mouth. A voice inside my
head was praying 'Oh god, please let it be a dream, please let me wake
up now and find out it's just a dream.' But it wasn't. It continued to
squeeze through the tube until my tongue forced it to curl and squash
into my cheeks.

I felt his fingers curl round my neck and gently squeeze my throat.

"Come on, you hungry little slut, start swallowing it. We all know how
much you love chocolate. I want to feel mine going down your throat,
whore!"

The butterflies in my tummy were now doing a frenzied dance of panic.
With no Amyl to suppress my awareness of what I had been trapped into I
was almost fainting with revulsion and horror. I could just barely
breath through my nose past the rubber pants against my face, and was
terrified that even if I didn't immediately throw up and choke to death
inside the harness I would be suffocated soon by the man's rubber-
covered buttocks.

I had no choice if I was to stay alive, and the Rubber Master above me
who had emptied his bottom into my mouth knew it. I forced a little of
the squidgy vile-tasting filth down my throat, expecting any second that
my stomach would instantly force it back up again. To my surprise
nothing happened and I quickly realised that having the man's shit in my
tummy was infinitely preferable to having it in my mouth. I gulped more
of it down.

As it slid past the back of my tongue I felt my gorge begin to rise, but
I somehow managed to suppress the urge to throw up and carried on. I
could feel the man's hand sliding back and forth from the shaft of his
cock down onto my throat, so that he could feel it each time I
swallowed. He kept murmuring:

"That's it, ***********...eat your delicious treat...you're loving it,
aren't you girl...You're such a greedy little moppet, aren't you!...so
eager to feel stiff spunky cocks in your little schoolgirl fuckslit...so
hungry to suck your Masters' knobs and drink their spunk and piss...and
such a dirty kinky little slut you're even begging to eat your dinner
hot from your Masters' arses...ooooh you filthy little tart...don't you
ever dare to forget that this is where you belong!...whenever you aren't
in here you should be thinking of nothing else but how soon you can get
here and beg for your Masters' spunk, piss and shit...that's right,
swallow your Master's shit, you kinky slut...remember, you're our
property now; you report here whenever we say, you offer your mouth and
bum instantly to anyone you're told, you eat what you're told and if we
say so you piss or shit in your panties..."

I had almost forced all of it down my throat by now. My tummy was taut
and swollen with spunk, piss and shit and I wondered if I was going to
die later that night from what I'd been made to eat. Yet somehow I no
longer cared; if I died of it then it was no more than I deserved.

For 2 years now I'd longed to find out what it felt like to have my
helpless body soiled and abused by men. These Masters had done it all
that long Sunday afternoon and finally had even taken me through a door
at the very edge of my own wildest dirtiest fantasies into an unknown
world of slavery and submission I could never have dreamed of. I had
become a 'little schoolgirl' victim of the most inconceivably obscene
fantasy, and not once had the Rubber Master allowed his pleasure to be
interrupted by the smallest scruple of pity or mercy for me. From the
quivering oozy hole between my legs to my slimy brown-coated tongue, my
body was brimful of a stew created from men's most extreme lusts.

So ruthlessly had the Rubber Master used me - so complete and thorough
had been the humiliation of what I had done for him - that it finally
scrubbed away the last shred of innocence or pretence from my brain; I
had nowhere to hide now, no right to shame or modesty, no rights to
anything at all in fact. I had offered my soul and will to the Devil in
exchange for the thrill of feeling my body feminised and brutally ****d
into submission, and clad in shiny black rubber from head to foot the
Devil had sealed the bargain. How dare I complain if the terms of my
enslavement didn't suit me: what else did 'enslavement' if not giving up
the right to any likes or dislikes?

But though I had secretly wanted it and flaunted myself to attract it, I
had been coerced with blackmail from the very start. What kind of
enslavement could be meaningful if it was voluntary? To be enslaved was
to be forced, compelled, required, given no choice in the matter.

These men had seen me for what I was, and had taken what was theirs,
that was all. The taste in my mouth was simply the taste of slavery: why
should it be pleasant? I had no right to complain if it was the
opposite.

"As a reward for being a good little tart and eating up your dinner you
can have some lemonade to wash it down. Either of you feel like another
piss yet?"

"Yeah - I could do some more."

"Here, piss into the front of my knicks."

I heard the trickle and splash of pee falling into the man's pants. Then
I felt him lift slightly and tug at the front of them just above my
chin. Then warm salty pee began to flood down the tube into my mouth. It
was bliss; I felt like I'd never tasted anything so clean or refreshing
in my life and I was almost crying with gratitude as I let it wash my
tongue and cheeks clean. After a minute or so I had reduced the
floodwaters making the Rubber Master's pants bulge to a few little
trickles and felt a vacuum inside the tube when I sucked on it.

"Lick my hole and the inside of your gag clean, slut."

I put my tongue tentatively back up the tube and licked his bottom
again. I felt a few little bits of shit on the skin round his hole and
gently dislodged them with my tongue-tip. After what I had just gulped
down my throat I hardly minded them at all and swallowed them quickly
without thinking. After a few minutes I could barely taste anything but
my own saliva again.

The belt round my neck suddenly went tight, then I heard the 'clink' of
the buckle and the belt was undone. The man eased himself slowly up off
my face. Then he turned round. He pulled down the front of his pants and
I gazed at his bright red swollen cock- knob as he rubbed it above my
face. He held the Amyl bottle in his other hand and brought it down to
my nose. I sniffed at it.

"You know exactly what you are now, don't you, girl?" I nodded my head.
"You belong to us, don't you?" I nodded again. The d**g took hold and
once again I felt the warmth spread through my body and the same
incredible hunger of kinkiness in my head. "You're a moppet for your
Masters to spunk, piss and shit into any time we want, aren't you."

I nodded again.

"You belong in here, where you can serve us, don't you?" I nodded. "In
future any and all free time you have no longer belongs to you, but to
your Masters. You will spend it in here serving them, or wherever you
are taken, won't you?" I gazed into the eyes gleaming through the rubber
eye- holes. There was no sign of mercy or pity in them, only his
absolute determination to make me accept my new role without
qualification. I nodded, filled with excitement by the d**g at the
thought of my future as their slave-girl.

"You will now show your submission to your Masters." He undid the belts
round my knees and ankles, then he ordered me to get on my knees. With
difficulty, my hands still firmly trapped behind my back, I struggled
and twisted until I got my legs beneath me and got myself kneeling. He
then unfastened the harness and took it off. Freed at last from the
tube-gag my jaw ached with relief.

"You can lick that clean in a minute." he said and let it drop on the
floor beside me. I noticed that the outside of the tube was still sticky
and smeared with filth and shuddered a little.

"There's still a small treat left in my bum, moppet. When I turn round
I'll expect to hear you say that you're a naughty little moppet-slut and
you're dying to have another piece of chocolate to eat. Then I'll pull
down my pants and spread my bumcheeks. You know what I'll expect you to
do then. Don't disappoint me, slave."

He returned the bottle to my nose. I inhaled as many times as I could
before he took it away. He turned, gathered up the divided flaps of the
back of his coat and slowly began to slide the rubber knickers down from
his waist.

"Please Master..." I whispered. "I'm a naughty little moppet-slut.
Please Sir, I'm dying to eat some more chocolate." His naked bumcheeks
looked shockingly white as the black rubber rolled down off them. His
hands paused just as he was about to expose his hole to me.

"Oooh please Sir, please let me have some." I whispered, knowing he
wanted the thrill of hearing me beg for this. "I loved the taste of it
before, Sir. Please let me lick it straight from your bottom, Master.
Please won't you fill your moppet-girl's mouth? I promise I'll always do
anything you ever want me to, only please let me have your lovely hot
chocolate to eat, Sir..."

His hands abruptly pulled the pants down onto his thighs and then spread
his buttocks apart. I gazed at the little brown circle of serrated flesh
he'd exposed, as if he'd hypnotised me with it. I rocked forward and
softly pressed my lips against it. With nothing forcing me now, except
my desire to please him, I ran my tongue round it slowly. As if in
answer it spread and tautened as he leant his upper body forwards. My
tongue explored inside it - inside him.

At first I felt nothing but the tight circle of flesh, then suddenly
something moved and almost before I knew what had happened a small turd
about two inches long slid along my tongue into my mouth. This time I
felt a shocking thrill at the kinkiness of what my mouth was being used
for. I slid my tongue back and forth along it, feeling the warm texture
of the shit. Before, I had done all I could to avoid tasting what was in
my mouth. But this time my body was buzzing and tingling with dirty glee
at my sluttishness. I sucked on the oval-shaped lump and felt it soften
and mould itself to the contours of my mouth.

And this time I didn't try to keep the back of my tongue pressed to the
roof of my mouth to keep it away from my taste buds; I tasted it, fully,
letting the end of it lie almost in my throat. It still tasted as bitter
as before but now, instead of horror and revulsion, the foulness of it
sent shivers of perverted delight to every part of me. The taste was so
strong it almost blocked out all my other senses, and the one I was
still so sharply aware of felt as if it were being ****d by the
sensations that assaulted it. Every second it remained there was a kind
of surrender, a sign of my subservience and obedience to my Masters.

The Rubber Master straightened up and turned to face me. He could see
from my face that I still had the turd in my mouth. He bent down and
whispered softly into my ear:

"Good. Very good, Suki. Don't swallow it until you're given permission.
Now do exactly what I tell you: push your tongue very slowly right into
the middle of it." He wanked his cock quickly as he spoke, and pushed
the Amyl bottle to his nose and then my own several times. I kept
staring at the huge knob, purple with excitement a few inches from my
face. I was pleasing it by what I was doing. The more disgusting he
could make my task the more it excited his cock, that I knew.

"When you've got your tongue right in the middle of it start to move it
slowly round inside your cheeks with your tongue. Keep on sucking it
till it's completely soft. You won't be permitted to swallow it until
you've made it creamy enough to pour down your throat so you can taste
every single drop when it does. Open your mouth to show me when you've
made it as soft and runny as double cream, slut."

I did as he'd ordered and pushed my tongue-tip into the centre of the
still-warm ball of shit, forcing it between my teeth and lips, and
sideways into my cheeks. I began to move my tongue around and felt it
start to soften and break up into smaller lumps. I kept sucking on it,
still shocked by the unrelenting strength and vileness of the taste as
my saliva began to mingle with it, turning it into a thick cloying paste
that filled every part of my mouth. Soon I could work my tongue up and
down through it.

For two or three minutes I kept swirling it round with my tongue,
conscious throughout every second of that time that the filthy soupy
mixture I was creating I would shortly have to swallow. The Rubber
Master continued to wank himself in front of my face, and now the other
two Masters were doing the same on either side of him.

"Show me how your filthy shit-hole looks now, you dirty little bitch."
he said. I leaned my head back slightly so that none would spill out and
opened my mouth. "Almost ready. Keep sucking on it, slut." I carried on,
feeling the slimy brown stew soften more and more. After another minute
I looked up from his cock at his hooded face and opened my mouth again.
He held out the Amyl again.

"You can have some now, but that's the last you get. When it wears off
you'll still be expected to obey your orders to the letter, understand
slave?" I nodded slightly and began to sniff as much of the fumes as I
could. After 10 seconds he took the bottle away from me.

"Start to let it trickle down your throat, baby-whore. When we've all
finished spunking into your gooey little shit-filled cunt you can
swallow all the rest of it."

The three men all crowded in close to me until the knobs of their cocks
were all just above my open mouth. I let my tongue relax and the stuff
began to ooze over the back of it into my throat. I swallowed. The men
were all taking turns to inhale from the Amyl and each was panting
softly as his hand stroked his stiff cock-shaft. I swallowed again. Then
again. Suddenly white juice began to erupt from the cock on my left and
fell into my mouth. Before it had finished the Piss Master on the right
of me began to spunk as well.

Then with a deep groan of delight the Rubber Master's started to come as
well. His first jet shot straight over my mouth and splashed my hair and
forehead. He pointed his knob lower and the rest spurted over and in
between my lips.

I felt like a little schoolgirl, who'd already be stripped naked and her
aching bottom and cunt-slit repeatedly ****d for their fun, whom they
were 'finishing off' by soiling her mouth in the dirtiest way they could
think of. It was Heaven and Hell all at once. I adored it.



Chapter 3

From that day on I was theirs. I was sick later on that night, and as I
crouched in the bathroom at home and tasted the Rubber Master's bottom
in my mouth again I cried and prayed that I wouldn't have to go any
more. A few days later a letter came for me. Inside was a single picture
of me, bending over in the middle of a circle of men, sucking one cock
while someone else fucked my bottom. On the back was written: 'Friday
night, 8 p.m. sharp!'

That weekend from Friday to Sunday evening I spent almost 15 hours in
the toilet dressed as a girl serving Masters. My mouth and bottom opened
for countless cocks to spunk in me. Each day the sessions ended the same
way: I was put into rubber knickers, my gaping spunk-filled bottom peed
into by someone, then I was ordered to fill my knickers and suck them
dry. On the Saturday the Rubber Master ordered me to keep what was in my
bottom from spilling out into my knicks until I felt his turd slide into
my mouth. So as he squeezed a shit into my face the mess in my straining
sore bottom squirted out and filled my knicks. When I'd finished
swallowing his turds I had to suck them dry afterwards. Drinking spunk
or piss seemed the pleasantest and most natural thing in the world
compared to that.

On the Sunday evening the Rubber Master produced a rubber hood with a
cock-shaped sheath attached to the face at the mouth. I was made to hold
it open against his bottom as he sent a really long thick turd into the
sheath. Then he ordered me to put the hood on my head. The shit-filled
sheath dangled down over my chin from my mouth. He made me hold it out
straight and then guide his cock with my hand so that his knob slowly
pushed what was inside the sheath into my mouth, until the sheath was
finally reversed with his cock inside it, firmly stuck in my shit-
crammed cheeks. Like that his knob could actually feel my mouth through
the rubber as I swallowed some of his turd. The rest he made me suck and
soften until I could suck his rubber-covered cock through the slippery
mess. He got the obscene thrill of feeling me suck him, knowing my mouth
was as filthy as it was possible to be, while his cock remained
spotlessly clean.

Plenty more photographs were taken of me and I knew very well now that
the slightest sign of reluctance to come and serve when they wanted me
could result in my parents being sent a whole album of pictures of their
transvestite kinky son begging for cocks. One day one of the regular
Masters said to me:

"It won't do you any good to move away from home when you get older,
unless you don't mind your mum and dad seeing exactly what their darling
********** was getting up to whenever he wasn't at home.

Bitches like you often think they can get out of being slaves by
leaving home when they're 16 or 17. Well, don't waste your time thinking
about it, cause if you try it, your parents are going to get a nice big
bundle of pictures showing just what a dirty slut you are - and they'll
keep getting them every week for a long time I can tell you, cause
there's no shortage of them."

From his jacket he pulled out a Dutch gay-porn magazine and opened it. I
found myself staring at my own make-up covered face grinning at a cock
an inch away from my mouth that the camera had caught in mid-spunk.

"Once an undie-slut like you becomes a toilet-slave, she fucking well
stays one - for the rest of her life! Got it?"

I began to serve on several evenings during the week after school, as
well as most of the weekend. I couldn't dare tell any of my friends at
school, and I just came to be thought of as a 'loner'. If only they'd
known just how many men I was meeting every week!

Whenever I went out now I felt any man I passed was looking at me and
thinking about the attractive little slut dressed as a girl that he'd
fucked the previous night or weekend. Sometimes my Masters would take
take me to other toilets in the area and make me serve the men there.
And not once did anyone ever ask if I liked, or wanted, to do what I was
doing. It was simply irrelevant.

I would just be ordered to suck, or pull my panties down to be fucked.
I was quite amazed at how many men there were in the world who were
ready to fuck me, and even more at how many positively enjoyed their
power over me as a 'slave-girl', and could therefore experience the
thrill of 'r****g' me.

A few weeks after my first introduction I went to see a film at a cinema
a few miles away. A few minutes after the film started a man sat down
next to me. With no preamble he suddenly turned to me and said:

"Get on the floor between my legs and start sucking my cock, little
bitch." I stared at him, quite speechless, for a second or two.

"I know exactly who you are, Suki. I fucked your bum on Friday night and
your mouth on Sunday afternoon. Now get on with it, you dirty little
slut, or I'll have a cane with me the next time I see you in the
toilets." Fortunately I saw that our row was totally empty, so I slipped
out of my seat onto the carpet and opened his flies. He kept me like
that for the next hour and a half till he'd spunked into my throat four
times.

That kind of thing became more frequent and no less blatant. One day I
was out on a school run through the local woods. A man signalled me to
stop. I was puffing and panting and thought he wanted help of some kind.
Instead he said:

"Quickly, Suki, get in those bushes over there and strip naked. Hurry up
or I'll give this to the next boy that comes along." He flashed one of
the Polaroids of me in the toilets in my skirt, stockings and panties. I
turned off the path and headed into the bushes. As I did so I thought of
myself a year or so before and felt a deep thrill of shame and
excitement as I stripped off my vest and shorts. By the time he appeared
I was just wearing my socks and running-shoes.

"I said 'naked' and I meant it: every fucking stitch, you disobedient
little slut! Get those off at once. Now put these on." He handed me a
pair of black 'French knickers' with a large cream-coloured stain in the
crotch. I stepped into them and slid them up my cold trembling legs. He
told me to bend over a fallen tree-trunk a few feet away, then haul up
the knickers very tight and spread my legs.

"...oooooh you teasing little bitch...get your bumcheeks higher for my
whip, you fucking little whore..." He produced a thin black riding-crop
from his coat and began to whip me with it, sometimes less painfully
when it landed on the nylon of the knickers, but more often agonisingly
as it slashed the bare skin of my naked cheeks. And all the time I was
forced to bite my lip and make not a sound since we were just yards from
where other boys from my school were running past. Then he pulled the
crotch of the knickers to one side, and without bothering to lubricate
my hole in any way, roughly spread my stinging burning cheeks and thrust
his cock into my bottom. He came almost at once and said as he pulled
out of me:

"There! that's what you were asking for, running around these woods
half-naked, wasn't it, you teasing little whore!" Then he yanked the
knickers off my legs and simply turned and walked away into the woods
without another word. The rest of the run was distinctly uncomfortable
for me and I was terrified my whip-marks would be visible below my
shorts when I got back to the school changing-rooms.

It seemed I could be had anywhere, any time, by anyone, no matter what I
was intending, or supposed, to be doing. Once I was stopped walking down
the High Street by a man in a car. He told me to get in, drove in to the
Tesco's car park, and then ordered me to suck him off in broad daylight
while shoppers arrived and droive off all around us.

* * * * *

One Sunday evening, after I had been serving already for three hours, I
was told to walk out dressed just as I was and get into someone's car.
Though it was already dark my knees were knocking with fright as I
walked out of the toilets and up the path to the pavement. A car's
headlights flashed twice about 30 yards up the road. I walked up to it
and the passenger door was opened for me. The man drove me to another
toilet a few miles away where I'd already served once before. Once I'd
scuttled inside and into a cubicle the man who'd brought me there
offered me to several men who came in in the next two hours. All of them
were struck by my appearance and I soon ended up bending over with two
cocks in me. While I was in that position the man said:

"You'll find your things round the back of the other toilets. Make your
own way there." And before I could utter a word of protest he had gone.
One of the men who was fucking me laughed and said:

"Lovely. We've got this little undie-slut trapped here in her skirt and
panties. Go on, you bitch, get more of my cock in your mouth."

Five more men came in while I was being fucked, and each new arrival was
told by the others how I had been left there by a Master. They all stood
round in the open doorway of the cubicle, wanking each other and waiting
for one of my holes to become free. I begged for one of them to drive me
back after I'd finished serving them all, but one of the new arrivals
said:

"Not a chance, slut. There'll be loads of guys coming in here when the
pubs shut. You can stay right here so they can have their turns." He was
right. Within half an hour there were 9 or 10 men in there. By the time
most of them left my jaw was aching, my bottom was sore and the back and
front of my panties was drenched with spunk. At last there were just two
men left. I tried again and begged one of them to drive me to the other
toilets. One finally agreed. When I'd sucked the other to orgasm and he
left, the man said:

"I don't think I want you anyway, so we'll go straight away."

He made me crouch in the back of his car on the floor because he said he
didn't want me getting spunk on his car-seatscar seats. Ten minutes
later we stopped. He got out, opened the back door and said:

"Get out. I've changed my mind. I think you can serve me after all." I
saw that he had parked at the end of a 'no-through-road' I recognised.
In front of us was a wood that ran from where we were to just behind the
High street where my own toilets were. He ordered me to walk into the
wood and I began to feel absolutely terrified that he was going to kill
me or something. I stumbled unsteadily into the dark on my high heels,
hearing the rustle of his feet behind me. After we'd gone about 50 yards
he ordered me to stop and lift my skirt. He slapped my bottom several
times and said:

"You fucking whoring slut! Pull your knickers down, girl." As I did so
he put one arm round my neck. Then he held out his other hand in front
of me and in the gloom I saw he was holding an enormous dildo, much
bigger than any of the cocks I'd been fucked by.

"Look at it, bitch. I bet you're dying to feel it up your fanny, aren't
you? Bet you can't wait to have it rammed up your hot little slit, eh?
Ask me to shove it up you."

"Pl-please sir," I whispered, almost choking with fright, "please push
it up my fanny. Please, ram- uh!" Suddenly he pushed the tip of it into
me. I felt as if my hole was being torn wide open. Then he grunted and
quickly pushed some more inside me.

"Love it, don't you, girl? Don't you!?" he hissed in my ear.

"Uh!!...Oh! Y-y-yes-sis, sir!" I said, my teeth chattering with pain and
cold.

"Well, there's still three or four more inches to go up your cunt,
bitch." He pushed more inside me and the pain became agony. I moaned and
began to struggle, but his suffocating arm just tightened round my
throat and he began to ram the huge thing back and forth in my body.
Each inward thrust made me feel physically sick. Suddenly, as painfully
as it had started, he yanked it out of me. Then he threw me onto the
ground. He dragged me over until I was face up, then he knelt down above
my head facing my feet. He pulled his trousers off his hips and squashed
his bare bottom hard down onto my face. I felt him begin to wank himself
furiously and he hissed:

"Get your tongue inside my arse, slut!"

I was praying he would come quickly as I was starting to suffocate with
my face buried between his buttocks. After a few seconds I began to
panic. My hips started to jerk and twist as I tried in vain to wriggle
out from under him.

"Ooooh yeah! Do your sex-show for my cock, you fucking dirty slut! Show
me how your cock-hungry cunt begs all those guys to fuck it!!"

I began to thrash around wildly in panic, frantically trying to get air
into my lungs, but he just pressed harder onto my face.

"Oooh yes!! Squeal for it, baby!! Beg for it-...Aaaaggh! I'M SPUNKING ON
YOU, BITCH!!!"

Suddenly he rolled off me and I lay there panting and sucking in huge
mouthfuls of air. I was too faint to notice him pull up his trousers and
stumble away into the night.

As I walked through the silent wood back to the the other toilets I
began to realise the full meaning of my undie-slave status; I had no
control over my fate any more. More than that: even my life itself could
be gambled with to satisfy my Masters' thrills. For the first 10 minutes
or so I cursed my stupidity and the cravings that had led me to the trap
I was now so tightly held in. But as I walked on, getting nearer and
nearer to the toilets and my other clothes something happened.

The stillness of the wood, the cool breeze blowing up my skirt and round
the crotch of my clinging sperm-soaked panties, the soft chafing of my
nylon-covered thighs as I walked, all conspired to spark small fresh
thrills in my body. The first time I had stripped in a public place had
been in this wood at night.

It was the very risk of discovery, exposure and humiliation that had
thrilled me so deeply that first time. I knew that something inside me
longed for that feeling of excitement and danger, wanted that unbearably
stomach-tightening nervous thrill of being in someone else's power, the
thrill that sent a sexual charge coursing through my veins like
electricity until every ounce of my body seemed to exist for one
purpose, to satisfy my Masters' wildest lusts.

Each new humiliation was intended to make me more docile and submissive
until I was ready to obey any order unthinkingly without question. And
it worked. Soon I was hurrying down to the toilets whenever I could. I
would dress in my girls' clothes before leaving home, covering them with
as little as possible, usually just a zip-up jacket and trousers.
Sometimes I even put on the basis of my make-up as well, so within
minutes of arriving I would be ready in my high heels, stockings and
miniskirt, my lips scarlet with lipstick, my cheeks glowing pink with
blusher and my eye-lidseyelids darkened with eye shadow.

They didn't need to take my other clothes away any more. I would put
them in a plastic bag as soon as I undressed. The first few times they
would take the bag away, but after a few weeks they stopped. bothering,
knowing that I would make no move to touch it until I was given
permission to leave at the end of my serving-session.

Of course I wasn't always feeling in the mood to have some stranger's
soft sticky drooling cock thrust in my mouth but I found a way of
signalling my reluctance to my Masters, so that they understood that my
half-hearted subservience needed reinforcing. I always took three
leather belts and a tie with me. And on the evenings or afternoons when
I felt I was merely going through the motions out of obedience to them,
I would tie up my ankles and knees myself before unlocking my door. Then
the regular Masters who knew me well would always bind my wrists behind
my back straight away in the manner they had done the first time: the
tie, looped at each end, with one loop round my left wrist, going from
that round my right hip, across the front of my tummy and then back
round my left hip and the other end looped over my right wrist; then the
belt wound several times round my crossed wrists and done up. The simple
fact of being so helpless usually aroused my interest enough to start
butterflies in my tummy. And on those occasions my Masters always went
to greater lengths to make me perform even more servile tasks than usual
so that I couldn't remain indifferent to what they did to me.

At the start of such days I often managed to convince myself that though
they might still find new tasks for me to perform, at least they
couldn't shock or humiliate me any more than they already had. Yet no
matter how unexcited or absent I was feeling, time after time they
succeeded in proving me wrong with some new depraved game in which I was
the victim.

One Sunday after several hours of cock-serving the Rubber Master
arrived. Several more men came in after that but none of them seemed to
want to fuck me. When I'd served all the other men present and they had
left, the Rubber Master said to the four other men still in there:

"Right. She's all yours now." The four of them eyed me with obvious
excitement and I could tell that something special was in all four men's
minds. One cleared his throat and said in a low voice:

"Is she...is there anything...?"

"Absolutely not. She's a slave and she knows it. She belongs to us. No
limits; you can do anything you like with her, I promise you. Tell your
Masters you're a kinky little shit-doll, Suki, and beg them to do
whatever they like." I watched their eyes light up with unconcealed glee
as I whispered the words.

"Sit on the floor in front of the toilet, shit-doll." said one of the
men "Now pull up your top and take out whatever you've got in your
bra." I did so, removing the balled-up stockings I used to fill my bra-
cups with to give my body the appearance of 'breasts'. Then two of the
men turned, bared their bottoms and thrust them towards me.

"Catch our shit in your bra, slave."

Until that moment I had never actually seen someone shit or the way
their bottom looked afterwards; I had felt it sliding into my mouth
quite a few times by then, but always when my lips were already pressed
against the man's bottom or my head was hooded so that I couldn't see a
thing. Although the sensation was humiliating and the taste awful,
somehow it didn't seem quite so real. It was possible for me to
disconnect my mind from what they were actually doing whenever some
Master used my mouth as his toilet.

But actually watching their turds sliding from their bottoms and falling
against my freshly-bathed skin made me feel sick at the depths of
slavery to which I had so quickly sunk. I watched as their holes
swelled, opened and slowly pushed out long brown snakes of shit. I held
my bra-cups outstretched and leant forward slightly so that they fell
where he had directed. The brown sausage-shaped turds had coiled and
nestled warmly against my nipples inside the nylon bra-cups.

"Pull your top back down over your bra again. Now, while you're licking
our holes clean, squeeze your bra till you've got a pair of nice little
titties showing through your top."

They both thrust their bums back further, nearer to my face. I looked at
the shit-smeared flesh between their parted cheeks and began to shake a
little at the sight. I had had Amyl several times already that afternoon
and was feeling in a generally excited and sexualised state, but no-
oneno one offered me any now.

"Come on, bitch, start licking us clean; we're not going to wait all
night...and see you get your tongue right inside our arses and do a
thorough job of it, girl."

I bent forwards until my lips grazed the brown filthy hole of the man on
my left. As soon as he felt me touch him he pushed himself back hard
against my mouth.

"That's it, moppet, a nice slow lick till my hole is spotlessly clean!"

I set to work. Meanwhile I began to squeeze what filled my bra, moulding
the warm stuff against my skin until I had formed two rounded 'breasts'
with it. I leant back from the left hand bottom, satisfied that he could
have no complaints about the cleanliness of it, and turned to the parted
cheeks on the right. Both men were clearly enjoying the attentions of my
tongue and I could feel their balls rubbing against my chin occasionally
as they wanked themselves while I licked them. But neither man came yet.

"Stand up." said the third of the group. "Pull your panties down an inch
or so. That's enough. Now sit on the toilet. Spread your legs. Lift your
skirt. Now pull out the waistband of your knickers and hold them open."

He was taking off his trousers and pants as he issued his orders. Then
he walked forwards until he was standing astride my waist, with his
knees bent and his feet on either side of the base of the toilet bowl.
He put his hands on my shoulders to balance himself, smiled at me and
said:

"Get your mouth round my knob so I can piss down your throat as I shit
into your knickers, tart." I bent forwards and could just get his cock-
knob in my mouth. Pee began to gush from it and I swallowed as fast as I
could. I could see his fat white hairy belly straining as he squeezed.
Then I felt something warm and heavy fall into the crotch of my out-
stretched panties, slithering past my own little soft cock and balls and
settling in the loose folds of nylon beneath. He emptied a string of
thick turds between my thighs, and when he had finished peeing he
straightened up and turned himself round so his back was to me.

"Lick my hole clean."

When he bent forwards, to make his cheeks part and expose his hole for
my tongue, the task I was confronted with appalled me. He had not
managed to free the remainder of his final turd, with the result that
when he had stood up to turn round he had squashed what was left between
his cheeks. I recoiled in horror at a brown circle on the man's tautly
spread white bumcheeks that was almost as large as an orange.

"Come on, you fuckin' dog, hurry up an' lick it all off!"

From the hole itself I could plainly see quite a sizable lump still
sticking out of the man. Gingerly I skirted round it, licking off the
smaller brown smears with my tongue. But finally there was nothing for
it; I parted my lips wide, let them settle against the clean flesh
around the hole, and then pushed my tongue under the turd and just
inside the man's bottom. Then I began to suck hard and slowly squeezed
my lips together as the lump slid free of his hole into my mouth.

"Ooooh yeah!...Ooooooh FUCK! Innit great when you feel a little moppet-
slag suckin' the shit right out yer arse 'ole!
Christ, I wish she was a little fuckin' schoolgirl, 'bout 8 or 9 year
old!"

I knew I couldn't finish cleaning his hole unless I swallowed what was
in my mouth first. The vision of what it was and where it had come from
was seared into my brain, and despite having swallowed much larger
quantities previously I had to really force it down my throat and for
several seconds was quite sure that I was going to be violently sick all
over the back of the man's thighs. But somehow I managed to control my
tummy. The rest of the task was much easier. After a couple more minutes
he straightened up again and walked away.

"Stand up and kneel on the floor with your knees apart." said the fourth
man. "Now pull your pants up good and tight. Smooth them out and make a
pair of cunt-lips with what's inside them."

I squeezed my bulging nylon pantie-crotch until the shit had formed a
smooth thick layer over my crotch and up between my bumcheeks. Then I
ran my little finger down the centre of the strip of nylon between my
thighs several times until I had created a crease that resembled a
girl's vagina lips.

"Will you fill the hood?" Said the last man to the Rubber Master.

"Sure, if you want." He took the familiar hood with its attached cock-
sheath from his pocket.

"You know what to do, Suki." I took it and turned it inside out, but
left the sheath as it was. The Rubber Master had turned round by now,
and revealed that the pants he wore beneath his shiny coat had a large
hole at the back, so he didn't even have to lower them. I held the
rubber hood to his bottom so that the entrance to the sheath was against
his hole. After a few seconds I felt a long turd slide between my hands
into the sheath. Then when I was sure he had finished and all six inches
or so of the sheath was filled with shit I took it from his bottom and
carefully turned the hood the right way out again. Naturally I then had
to lick the Rubber Master as well.

"Perfect. I think our little shit-doll's almost ready now." As the
fourth man spoke there were footsteps on the path leading to the
toilets. Immediately the Rubber Master and the fourth man, who had his
trousers off by now, slipped into the cubicle and closed the door, while
the other three, who had dressed again, scuttled out into the area by
the urinals. The footsteps stopped inside the toilets. Then there was a
tap on the cubicle door. The Rubber Master opened it.

"Ah, Jack. We thought perhaps you'd decided not to come."

"No way." said the new arrival, a large man with a huge beer-gut. "I
wouldn't have missed this for anything. I just got held up a bit."

"Feel her tits and knickers, Jack." said one of the two men who'd filled
my bra. The newcomer bent over and gave the front of my pink lycraLycra
top a gentle squeeze.

"Oh lovely!" he said, and then slid his hand down my tummy and up my
skirt. "Oooh, what a fucking kinky little whore!! Has that hood got what
I think it has in it?"

"Yeah, 'ee just done it while she 'eld it for 'im."

"I'm just about to do her mouth."

"Lovely. I'm glad I didn't miss that; that's the best bit!"

"Right, girl, look up and get your mouth open." The others all gathered
round to watch as he turned and stood with his legs bent. He positioned
himself until his bottom was directly above my up-turned face. I waited
for him to bend his knees enough to bring his hole down onto my lips,
but then I saw the skin of his hole begin to contract and squeeze and
realised that he wanted the others to watch his turds come out and fall
into my open mouth. I clutched at my crotch instinctively to make my
body respond with some small flicker of excitement at this awful
prospect, but instead I felt only the sensationless little slit in my
panties formed by the warm thick filth inside them.

I kept silently repeating in my head: 'You are a slave; you belong to
your Masters; you do as they command; your function is to obey their
orders and please them...' as I stared at the pale brown ring of flesh.
It began to swell and push outwards until it had formed an obscene pout,
as if it were inviting a kiss from my lips. Then the dark brown tip of a
turd appeared in the middle, like a coffee-stained tongue pointing
rudely at my face. The pout became a gape as the tongue grew longer,
longer, impossibly long. Slowly it kept sliding out and down until 5 or
6 inches of it hung suspended above my face. The tip was between my
gaping lips now. Then with a little breathless 'Aaaah!' of pleasure and
relief, the man pushed the last of it out of himself and it fell into my
mouth.

He stood up and turned round immediately to see the result of his
efforts. I had four inches of his turd in my mouth and almost as much
again still poking up above my open lips. Above my head six pairs of
eyes glittered with evident delight and very close to my face a ring of
six engorged knobs jiggled around, moved by the hands on the shafts
below them. The newest arrival spoke:

"Doesn't she look just perfect like that; this is much more fun than
that rubber doll of yours, Mick."

"Oooh yeah! Look at the fuckin' shock on her face!"

"Very slowly, suck the rest of it into your mouth." Said the man who had
done it to me. I began to suck and my cheeks hollowed and clung to what
was already in my mouth. A couple more inches of the warm cock-like
thing slipped slowly past my lips. There was still and inch or so
protruding from my face though, and without chewing the rest I could get
no more to go in. The man with the beer-belly pulled something from his
trouser-pocket.

"I thought these might come in handy tonight." From his hand dangled a
pair of flimsy black transparent lace briefs. "I got these out of the
laundry-basket at my brother's house this afternoon. They belong to his
14-year-old daughter; she's a gorgeous little cock-teaser and I reckon
she wore 'em on Saturday night when she was out at a disco."

"Cor, let's have a sniff, Jack."

The men all passed them round, each inspecting the inside of the crotch
closely and smelling the aroma of the girl's body still fresh in it. As
I knelt there between them, with the end of a turd still poking from my
lips, I knew each was picturing this young girl in his mind and
imagining it was her kneeling there at their feet, wearing nothing but
the immodest little scrap of nylon that they smelt, licked and rubbed
over the oozy knobs of their swollen stiff cocks.

"Oooooh, next time you're round there, try and sneak into her bedroom
and get a clean pair like these so I can spunk in 'em. Then you can slip
'em back her drawer, and then some night she'll be out dancing somewhere
and getting herself all sweaty with my spunk all over her fanny-lips."

"God, that's a fuckin' brill idea! Christ, I'd love to be there to watch
her. Pity we wouldn't know which night she'd pick to wear 'em though."

"Give them to me." said the man who had brought them. "I'll show you
what I'd like to do with them - and her. " He took them and held them
open at the waistband, with his fingers curled round through the leg-
holes. The broadest part of the flower-patterned black lace, where they
had covered her 14-year-old bottom was towards him. He stood behind me
and brought the waistband down over my head, so that the back of them
was now stretched in front of my face. Then he pulled them tight behind
my head and the tension of the nylon forced the rest of the turd into my
mouth. He grabbed them with one hand and pulled them very tight. Then he
****ted them at the back with something. One of the others suddenly
said:

"Ooh god, I can't - Uh! Oh! Aaaaah!!" As he gasped he quickly stepped in
front of me, pushed my head back slightly and let his knob erupt onto
the strip of lace covering the upper part of my face. The effect on the
others of seeing the white sperm trickling down from the very spot on
her panties that they had all been visualising filled and stained by the
schoolgirl's wet 14-year-old pussy was electric. It was quite apparent
from the stiffness and excited purple colour of the flesh between their
stroking fingers where each of them would have liked it to be at that
moment.

"Oooh!...woss your niece's name, Jack?" said one hoarsely.

"Alana."

"I'd like ter shove 'er teasin' little knicks right up 'er cunt wiv my
knob."

"From the state of them I reckon that's what some boy did on Saturday
night. Hold your hood out in front of you, you spunk-filled little
cockteaser." Said the man called Jack. He quickly took down his trousers
and turned his back to me. "Hold the neck of it against my arse, girl."
I did as I was told, dreading what was to come by now. I felt him empty
a long thick turd into the inside of the hood from his bottom. "Wipe my
arse with the inside of it, bitch." I did that. Then he turned round and
said: "Now hold the neck of it shut. Pinch the nose with your other
hand."

He took hold of it in his hands and began squeezing the lump inside
until he had squashed it flat.

"Now, you cheeky little bitch, we're going to teach your randy cock-
teasing pussy a lesson. Bend over and put that hood on." Even though I
had known it was building to this moment I could still hardly believe my
ears. I knew why the sheath had been filled, but I hadn't been expecting
what he had just done and the thought of what the inside of the hood was
now like horrified me. "Do it this instant, slut or there'll be a caning
on those plump little arse-cheeks of yours as well once you've got it
on."

I bent my head and began to pull the rubber neck of the hood open. The
creamy filth inside meant there was no friction from the rubber as the
hood slid easily in place over my head. I could feel the stuff against
my cheeks and pressing down into my hair.

"Lie on the floor with your knees up and your legs apart." I did so,
feeling faint and disorientated; with the smooth curves of my nylon
panties bulging with it, my mouth crammed full of it, the warm
'breasts' in my bra-cups formed of it and my head trapped inside a
clammy pitch-black hood full of it, I really did feel like a sex-doll
whose smooth rubber curves were filled from head to toe with shit, so
that the latex holes of her mouth, vagina and bottom would feel warm,
tight and yieldingly life-like when entered.

I had become their 'shit-doll'. My only consolation in the midst of this
utter humiliation was that at least I could breath easily through the
unobstructed nose-holes in the rubber. I was grateful to the man called
Jack for remembering to tell me to pinch them before he spread the filth
around inside the hood.

I felt men kneeling round me. Hands began to stroke my thighs, my bra
and my crotch. Someone lifted my head up and I felt the neck of an Amyl
bottle against my nose. Guessing what was coming next I inhaled as
deeply as possible. Soon the familiar dirty feelings were racing through
my body, and suddenly I was ecstatic at the thought of the soft squishy
'slit' in my shit-filled panties. I thrust my hips up off the floor and
squirmed an obscene invitation to their cocks.

My body felt as if it was actually trapped upside-down inside one of
these men, with my head trapped inside his bottom, my lips pressed
against the inside of his anal hole. A weird sensation filled me, as if
someone's turds were being forced to pass through my body the wrong way,
from my bottom up through my belly and out of my mouth, but his bottom
stayed firmly closed so the shit was forced back over my head inside his
rectum. The image of the soft shit-filled rubber sex-doll came more
strongly into my head. I felt someone's hand pick up the sheath so that
it was vertical above my face and heard a distant voice saying:

"I want to ram the teasing little bitch's panties into her crack with
big thick cock..." A voice very close to my head hissed:

"Get your 'ole ready for this big juicy cock, you fuckin' whore! Go on,
get what's between yer cheeks down yer fuckin' throat right now,
slag..."

I was thrilled at the thought of what was inside the sheath forcing the
young girl's soiled pantie-nylon into my mouth and began to squeeze
lumps of shit down my throat. As soon as my mouth was no longer
completely filled I felt the lace mesh pushing between my lips,
propelled by the thick turd inside the sheath. I gulped as fast as I
could, feeling the slimy mess coating the back of my tongue and my
throat. The lace kept pressing into my mouth, becoming more and more
taut.

The sensation in my mouth was like it was being slowly and
comprehensively ****d by a very large, semi-stiff cock that was getting
bigger and bigger with every passing second. I ran my tongue tip
hungrily back and forth over the tight straining lace and felt the turd
oozing through the tiny holes. I sucked and sucked, and finally squeezed
my lips together slowly as I pressed upwards against the lace with my
tongue, forcing the stuff to come through the flimsy mesh faster. And
with each squeeze I licked off the thick creamy shit oozing through the
girl's panties and swallowed it as eagerly as chocolate. My head was
spinning with a mixture of incredulous horror and hot uncontrollable
delight at what I was doing, but I didn't care. All I wanted was for the
men who crowded round me to see the half-naked 14-year-old harlot
writhing around in a frenzied stew of nymphomanicnymphomaniac hunger,
almost u*********s with ecstasy at her soiled body's repeated
penetrations.

I heard and felt a shower of spattering drops as the group began to
spray my squirming body with spunk. I heard their groans and 'Aaaah!'s
of delight at their climaxes and was shaken to my very core with a
thrill of pure delight so strong and so complete that I wanted the
moment to last for ever and ever. This feeling inside was my destiny;
nothing in the world could possibly feel more thrilling; there was no
task or function in the world more important than this. I was made for
it, created for this moment and these men's pleasure from the day I was
born

It was my sixteenth birthday. And there was no part of me, not even the
smallest corner of my mind, that didn't exist to serve as a sex-slave.



Chapter 4

Over the next few months I was fucked by dozens of men every week. The
sessions always left my repeatedly sodomised bottom aching and tender.
But I didn't mind; the sensation the following day just reminded me
constantly how much I had satisfied my Masters and how completely I had
surrendered my body to them. With each passing week I felt less and less
like a schoolboy with a shameful secret sex-life, more and more like a
feminine slave who was reluctantly forced to spend part of her time
still pretending to be a schoolboy.

Whenever I went anywhere within 5 or 6 miles of my home now I almost
always spotted one or two Masters who had had me, and because my mouth
was usually intent on serving my Masters' cocks or bottoms, rather than
looking at their faces, I had no doubt that many more probably
recognised me as well.

Apart from the days when we had games or PT at school I wore undies
practically every day by now. One afternoon the PT master got angry with
me and ordered me to stay behind after PT ended. He often punished boys
that way, by making them stay late and clear up the equipment. When the
others had left and the place was deserted he he locked the door and
then said:

"Take off your shoes and socks." I wondered what rotten punishment he
had in mind today, but did as I was told.

"Now take off your vest and shorts..." I looked startled and he said:
"Go on, Suki, strip...Oh yes, I know all about you from a friend of
mine."

I stood there naked while he gazed at my body.

"Have you any of your proper clothes with you in your bag?"

I nodded, blushing. That lunchtime I slipped off to the school toilets
and changed out of the panties, bra, suspenders and stockings that I'd
been wearing all morning.

"Go and put them on, then come down to the box-room."

That was one of the basement rooms under the Gym where games equipment
was stored. Five minutes later I crept down the stairs, along the
poorly-lit underground corridor and pushed open the green metal door of
the box-room. The games-master was standing there in a black studded
leather corset whichcorset that left him naked from the waist down. He
was holding an old worn gym slipper in one hand.

"Come in. Go and stand over there with your hands behind your back and
look at the floor." He gestured to a 'wooden horse' with several of the
lower sections removed, so it was only about 3 feet high. He came across
and stared at me. Then he walked slowly round behind me.

"It's such a shame that they took away our right to slipper boys for
disobedience." I flinched as he squeezed my left bumcheek through the
panties. "It was such fun seeing a boy's nicely spread young bottom
waiting for the first stroke after he'd had to hitch up his shorts
really tight and bend over...There's always one or two cockteasing
little fairy-boys in every year. They're easy to spot...the ones who
always seem to buy gym-shorts a couple of sizes too small1. They were
also always the ones who never complained when I slipped their shorts
down first, so I could slipper their cheeky little naked bums.

Well, I've heard all about what you've been up to...cavorting about in
girls' undies and begging for every man there to fuck you...It's
disgraceful behaviour! Acting like a girl and letting strangers in
toilets use you like one. Since that's how you like to be treated,
that's how you ought to be punished, isn't it? Any girl who takes her
panties down as often and as eagerly as you is nothing but a slut and a
whore. What are you, Suki?"

"Please Sir, I'm a slut and a whore." I whispered.

"You need a good slippering on your randy little bottom with your
panties down, don't you? Well...what do you say?"

"Please Sir, I need a good slippering on my randy little bottom with my
panties down."

"Bend over the box; now pull your knickers down and bare your whoring
arse for the slipper. Now place your hands, palms flat, on the floor
over on the other side, and don't you dare move them! Spread your feet
apart a bit."

The slipper landed with a resounding SLAP! across my taut bumcheeks.
Then it fell again. Then again. By the sixth time my cheeks were burning
hot. The eighth made me squirm and cry out. The tenth made me raise one
leg and twist my body round in pain. I looked by over my shoulder, my
face begging him to have mercy.

"Get your feet back on the floor and keep them there. You'll get as many
as I think you deserve, and if I hear one peep out of you before I've
finished I may be forced to let the Headmaster know what I've heard
about you...From now on, after each stroke you'll stick your teasing
little arse out so it's begging for the next. And if you don't do it
quick enough I'll add a few more than I've planned, understand slut?
Understand!?"

"Yes...please Sir."

I straightened my legs and thrust my bottom up into the air to meet the
stroke.

WHOP!...WHOP!...WHOP!...I clenched my teeth in a welter of agony and
pushed out my bottom again.

"You...(WHOP!)...little...(WHOP!)...whoring...(WHOP!!)...slut!!...
(WHOP!). What are you, Suki?"

"Please S-s-sir...(WHOP!)...I'm a lu-lu-little...(WHOP!)...uh-uh-
whoring...(HHOP!)...s-s-s-slut-(WHOP!!)."

Tears began to stream down my cheeks and my bottom felt as if a red-hot
frying pan had been slapped against it. At last he stopped and I lay
there, shaking uncontrollably and sobbing.

"Now, you cockteasing bitch, take that!" Suddenly he pushed his knob
between my burning cheeks, against my tightly-clenched hole and began to
force his dry unlubricated cockshaft into me. I screamed with pain, but
he just said:

"You can squeal all you like, you fucking tart; no-one will hear you
down here."

He rammed his cockshaft deep inside me and began to fuck me. Although it
took him barely two minutes before he began to groan with orgasm it was
the most painful fuck I'd experienced since the day I was first ****d 9
months before. When it was over he pulled out of me and said:

"Next week see that you bring all your other clothes with you to PT.
Slip down here and change at the end of the class. I'll expect you to be
standing here dressed and ready for me, Suki. Now get out!"

After that I became his regular Wednesday afternoon exercise. I took to
squirting a little K-Y into myself, when I was changing beforehand, but
nothing could minimise the pain of the slipperings. He quickly built up
his own private album of Polaroids of my reddened glowing bottom. But he
never came to any of the toilets to join in the group orgies I was used
for. He preferred to have me to himself, calling me his 'wicked naughty
neiceniece', and saying it was his job to punish my behaviour.
Unfortunately he spent almost as much time encouraging it, by fucking
me, as he did supposedly correcting it, by whipping me.

* * * * *

Only one thing still hindered me from shedding the last traces of the
boy I had been a year before: the fact that I was still at school, and
still living at home. I could hardly wait for the end of the summer
term. The small circle of my original Masters asked me if I was leaving
then and I told them that I would if there was some way that I could
become their full-time slave.

At the beginning of a Sunday afternoon session a few weeks later they
took me to a shop a few miles away. The man who owned it unlocked the
shuttered door and as I stepped inside I entered Aladdin's Cave. It was
a sex shop, full of pretty dresses and costumes of satin, rubber and
other materials. The owner ushered me through the stockroom behind the
main shop. At the far end was a door leading into a narrow hallway with
the back door to the premises right next to it and stairs going up to
the first floor.

I followed him upstairs and he showed me the flat above the shop. It was
spartan but quite roomy. The owner said:

"When you leave school you will come and live here. I've been wanting
someone to live on the premises for security reasons for a while. You'll
work in the shop as a sales-girl, showing my TV customers how they could
look. You'd always be dressed as a girl when you were working in the
shop. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh yes Sir!"

"The money you earn will pay for your clothes, your rent to live here,
and the time and trouble we've already taken training you as a slave.
You will be given a small amount of pocket money out of it - not a wage
of course; you are a slave, remember, not an employee. Is that
understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Now follow me."

He led me downstairs to the back hallway again. At the inner end was a
door leading to the cellar. I noticed it was thickly padded on the
inside. At the bottom of the steps was another heavy wooden door. Beyond
it was a room with mirrored walls and ceiling. , in the middle of which
was a structure like a low vaulting box padded with black leather. The
legs were angled out and had leather cuffs attached to their bases. It
was secured to the floor with heavy steel bolts.

It took no imagination to guess what the function of the room was.

"You will also be expected to provide quite a few of the customers with
your personal services as a slave down here. You'll be offered to those
men as a prostitute: they will have paid your Masters for your obedience
as a sex-slave. So you will see to it that you never forget that fact
and always provide them with the fullest satisfaction of their wants,
whatever they may happen to be."

He went to one wall and pushed open a panel in it, which led to another
smaller room with cream tiled walls, but a mirrored ceiling like the
first. In one corner was a shower and a washbasin. There was a toilet of
sorts next to them. There was no cistern or bowl, just a seat resting on
an open wooden base about 9 inches high. Set into the floor tiles in the
middle of the room was a square metal grill leading to a drain.

"You'll be responsible for keeping these rooms tidy at all times.
Especially this one. It must be spotless for any Master who wants to use
you in here.

That's agreed then, Suki? You move in as soon as you leave school at the
end of this term?"

"Yes, thank you Master." I said, not daring to hesitate or pause to
think, since that was clearly what the five men in the room expected of
me.

"Good. You can tell your parents whatever you like when you move from
home. I expect they'll find out the truth soon enough, but whatever
their attitude is, we don't expect it to make any difference whatsoever
to your obedience or the performance of your slave-tasks." I nodded to
show my acceptance.

"You will not need to bring anything except one raincoat, one pair of
trousers and one pair of ordinary shoes. Once you've moved here you will
dress as a girl all the time, and generally when you go out to toilets
or parties to serve, you will go already dressed. So you will have no
further need of any clothes not appropriate to your function. But you
will sometimes be permitted to conceal your true nature and status under
the things I've said you can bring with you, when sent out on errands or
occasionally allowed out for your own recreation. Any questions, slave?"

"No, please Sir." I was still too astounded by the neat simplicity of
the plan they'd devised to take over and control every aspect of my
waking life.

"Remember, once you come here to live, you will be our slave 24 hours a
day. You may be called upon to serve at any time of day or night. There
is a back entrance to the flat from the kitchen. When I shut the shop at
night I shall lock this door -" He indicated the door that led from the
living-room downstairs to the shop. "and keep the keys, so that no-one
up here can interfere with the stock. But anyone may arrive at the back
door, and no matter what time of night it is, if they tell you a
password that shows they have been sent by one of us, you will let them
in and serve them. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

It all seemed so easy, and also so unavoidable. I was about to be 'taken
into service' like a nineteenth Fifteenth Century teenage girl taken
from her village hut up to the noble Manner House. No pay, just a few
pence a week for neccessitiesnecessities, and the loss of all further
claim to any form of freedom. The prospect made me shiver with fear and
secret delight at the same time. Even though it was quite clear to me
that this was the logical next stage that the last few months of my life
had been leading me to, and knew that I couldn't go back or escape from
these men if I'd wanted to, I still felt frightened of the commitment
they now required of me - to offer every part of me, all day long and
every day, in service as their slave.

But all along they had known what I at first hadn't recognised about
myself: that that was what I was, that deep inside I had no wish to have
a will of my own, and that the one ruling instinct in my life - the only
complete pleasure I was capable of - was my delight in the when sexual
pleasure my body was being used for sexual pleasure could provide for
othersby men and the accompanying feeling that it was their property.
There was no 'me' at such times, just my 'fuckslits' and they had no
purpose or function unconnected with the sex-thrills they could offer.

Three weeks later I moved in. The man who owned the shop was not by
nature a harsh or unpleasant Master. Sometimes we would sit over mid-
morning coffee or an afternoon mug of tea, and he would chat to me
exactly as if I were an employed shop-girl. I would talk of c***dhood
holidays, early memories, family gossip and he did the same.

But when certain customers came in his tone would become harsh and
strict. For their benefit he would find an excuse to be angry with me,
so he could tell them what a lazy good-for-nothing slut I was, and what
a good spanking I deserved.

More often than not I would find myself down in the
basement, my wrists and ankles strapped to the lower corners of a
purpose-built oblong upholstered 'box-horse', my panties lowered and my
mouth firmly gagged to muffle my squeals, begging to be forgiven as the
customers in question laid a riding-crop across my bared bottom.

Although there may have been some prior arrangement with the man
upstairs who sold me to them, there never seemed to be any limits these
men observed as far as I myself was concerned. I could scream till my
tear-soaked face was purple with agony, but it made no difference to the
number of strokes I received. The only determining factor appeared to be
the number it took to inflame their cocks sufficiently for them to want
to stop and fuck me instead.

The only thing that made the whippings tolerable to me was I could
usually see my scarlet bumcheeks writhing in agony in the room's
mirrored walls, and could thereby share the sexual excitement of the men
abusing me.

Most were naturally reluctant to exploit my helplessness to the full; a
few were nightmares of sadistic viciousness, vividly enjoying extracting
every last ounce of terror and pain from my writhing body. I soon
learned to dread the appearance of their faces in the shop-doorway.
There was one man in particular who could actually induce me to wet my
panties with fright at the very sight of him in the shop. And, of
course, the first time he discovered it, as he laid my skirt up over my
back in the little mirror-walled sex-chamber downstairs, he made it the
pretext for the severity and cruelty of his subsequent whippings.

He would stand idly chatting with the owner, while I would be made to
climb up the little step-ladder to fetch things from various boxes -
less because he was interested in any of the articles than because it
allowed him to stare casually and blatantly up my short skirt and
inspect my suspendered thighs and what panties I wore that day. And
always after a few minutes he would begin to drum his fingers on the
counter. That 'signal' was invariably the prelude to an order from the
proprietor for me to go and wait downstairs. My knees would start to
tremble and knock as I fought not to lose my balance on the step- ladder
platform three feet off the ground. And the man would suddenly say in an
ice-cold voice:

"I wonder if that ungrateful slut has made a mess of the pretty little
panties she's given to wear. I don't know how you can tolerate her
behaviour; you're kind enough to supply her with nice clean knickers to
put on in the morning and whenever I come in the dirty little whore has
usually wet them."

Then, if no-one else was in the shop, and occasionally, to complete my
humiliation, even when there was, the owner would order me to lift my
skirt as I stood on the ladder, and show them the state of my undies.
One day I had managed to control my frightened urge to pee, but when
they told me to lift my skirt I actually began to wet myself there and
then, while they watched the stain spreading quickly from my crotch
until pee was streaming down the insides of my legs.

It wasn't something I did on purpose for the man's pleasure either; I
simply could not stop myself, knowing what was to come next. But even
so, I still never dared offer any resistance when ordered downstairs to
the soundproofed sex-chamber, nor when told to lie passively over the
box while my ankles and wrists were secured. Like the other customers
who used me, the man had paid, and paid well. And having been sold to
him, I was then his to use until the reflection of his sweating groaning
face above my back in the mirror opposite us proclaimed that he had
finally sated his sadistic urge in my sobbing body.

He undoubtedly could only really enjoy sex fully when it felt like ****
for his victim. His cock only became stiff and eager to penetrate me
once his protracted whipping had left me so tense and contorted with
pain that the inevitable tightness of my bottom caused me even greater
distress as he forced it to open.

The meaning of 'all day and every day' quickly came home to me as well.
I still served in toilets, and for considerably longer than I had
previously. One of my Masters would drop me off at the flat and I would
climb up the iron fire-escape stairs with my wet sticky panties clinging
to my bottom, my thighs and calves tired from so many hours standing
bent over in high heeled shoes while men fucked each end of me. I would
fall into bed, as often as not still wearing the undies I had come home
in. And then, perhaps hours after I had fallen asleep, the doorbell
would waken me in the small hours of the night and a man would be
standing on the metal landing outside the kitchen door:

"Your Masters have sold you to me...Cockslut-bitch." The password having
been given, I would have to reply:

"I am your property, Sir. Please may I serve you?" and silently open the
door and lead the man to my bedroom.

That was the hardest part of my slavery of all. I always felt most
excited and most comfortable in the toilets, where I had first learned
my function. My tiny flat, with the few small possessions around it that
announced it was my home, was the one remaining island of privacy where
there were still times when I continued to have an existence independent
of my Masters' desires. And every time I had to lead some man I had
never seen until that minute through to my little bedroom and then
meekly offer him my body, it drove home - more forcibly than anything
else I was required to do - that there was no space, no part of me that
wasn't at my owners' disposal.

Often I was hardly able to keep my eyes open with exhaustion, and far
too tired to find any pleasure in it myself. Total strangers would stand
at my door, and having slurred or spat the words 'Cockslut-bitch' in my
face, would then exercise their right to my prostituted body, *******
and fumbling me, making me lick their flaccid cocks or squashing their
dirty unwashed bottoms down onto my mouth. At those times my flat became
my prison cell and I saw with terrible clarity how complete and
inescapable my sentence was.

Sometimes I would lie, dazed, on the bed just as they had left me, with
their sperm splattered all over my face, while they hurriedly dressed
and departed without a word or backward glance. And frequently I awoke
the next morning after such nights to find myself still in the same
position, the sperm dried to white streaks across my cheeks, chin and
neck, my undies stiff and glued to my skin. And as I showered until the
jets of water slowly peeled the flimsy nylon from my body, I knew that I
must dress and make up my face once again as attractively as possible
for the customers who would come into the shop that day. My sense of how
thoroughly I had been moulded and transformed into a prostitute would
crowd in on me until I would have to wipe the wet streaks of mascara
from my cheeks and start on my make-up again.

What satisfaction could I gain from such a life? The truth was that the
occasional few minutes I spent at my dressing-table in dawn's chill
light with tears rolling down my cheeks, wallowing in self-pity, were
far outweighed by the hours every day when my prostitution was both my
pride and my pleasure. And the very fact that my Masters kept whatever
money was made from my body increased my satisfaction, confirming as it
did just how absolutely they owned me. I had longed to be used by men
for their pleasure in the way that a girl can be used. It was that
longing that had led me to the toilets in the first place. That longing
had driven me to resemble a girl in manner and dress in the most
provocative place there could be. It was no surprise then that I had
been trapped and enslaved there. And no greater surprise that the
Slavemasters responsible for it would ultimately permit me nothing that
didn't serve my function for them. I had wanted to be entrapped as a
girl; I was now entrapped by being required to be a girl, 24 hours a
day.

I inhabited a twilight world of dimly-lit toilets, and basement rooms. I
rarely went out of the shop during the day and its lighting too was
subdued. My horizons shrank to the four walls of the places to which I
was taken to serve. The only pride or ambition I was permitted was to
dress and make up my face to create as attractive a vision as possible
to the men who used me. And by the end of every day my make-up would be
smeared and ruined by the masculine cream it had been applied to
encourage, my nylons and panties damp and streaked with signs of the
juice they had been worn to provoke.

There were times when I laughed though, giggling in the changing-rooms
at the back of the shop with young men as they too tried on bras and
skirts. But often they would suddenly let their voices sink to a
conspirator's whisper and ask:

"How can you!? How can you live as a whore while the men who sell you to
other guys don't even give you any of the money? How can you live, never
having a day when you can just please yourself?"

And I would smile and say softly:

"But I do. I please myself every day, each time I feel a man's balls
tighten beneath my chin and empty themselves into me. Even when they
make me scream for mercy I experience the pleasure they get in doing so.
And it's only possible if they know I'm theirs - not just loaning myself
to them for a while and then taking myself back again - but theirs
absolutely, their property. Men's cocks are selfish, and most men are
secretly fascinated by the idea of someone they can use any way they
want. They can only really do that with someone like me. With me they
can let the wildest dirtiest fantasies in their imaginations run riot,
and when I feel them experiencing the highest peak of ecstasy their
cocks can experience I know I'm living for the only reason that matters
to me. That's all there is."

And these nervous 'boy-girls' or proud drag-queens would shake their
heads, mystified. For though most of them were glad to kneel for men's
cocks from time to time, for the pleasure they themselves got from it,
none could conceive of the life that required me to stay kneeling until
every man present had had his share, and done whatever else he felt like
doing as well.

But they did not understand the mystery at the heart of my hunger: it
wasn't sex I needed, but the signs of the sexual pleasure my Masters
took in me. I was a slave to their pleasure, not because they had
physically or and mentally trapped me into a life devoted to it, but
because I was a slave to my need to my need for their continual
satisfaction and approvalsee and feel the proof that my body had truly
given them ecstasy. A form of deep-rooted vanity in fact. I constantly
needed reminders of how much they desired me. And I was ever-curious to
discover every new way they could choose to express that desire.

The thrill that I felt had nothing to do with the part of me between my
legs; my Masters had long since bred that response out of me. It was
deep inside my body, yet not even a girl's thrill of orgasm either -
since, like a man's thrill of ejaculating, even that was a selfish and
private form of excitement. My thrill had to be purely and exclusively
dependent upon theirs, not independent of it. Unlike the feelings I had
experienced in my earliest sessions, my excitement was no longer aroused
by what they did to me, but only by the pleasure I could see or feel
them taking in it. Only when I experienced the fullest possible
surrender to that did I find my own satisfaect| ion and ecstasy glowing
inside me like a furnace. And it was their constant invasion of every
part of my existence that re-fuelled the furnace every day, and every
ddy XXay at some point stoked it to a roaring white headt that told me I
was truly alive.

ThaXXt was the oddest thing of all: the more aXX creature of their
desires and whims I became the: more alive I felt. Whenever I was not
serving them timXXe dragged slowly past with aXX dream-like unreality.
They had drummed into me from the start that my only value to them lay
in my body, my prettiness XXndand youthfulness. Everything else about me
must either subordinate itself to that or cease to exist. And in the end
I saw myself as they wished me to: I was my body - and nothing else. The
things that normal people considered the core of their individuality and
freedom - their m0inds, emotions, chaeracter - were either schooled to
respond in ways XXappropriate to my function, or slowly stripped away
from me, like layers of an onion. Of course they could never have
succeeded had I not been willing and naturally inclined to become what
they wanted. But I was. And every day I lived through my body, and
experienced all the heightened physical sensations to which it was
subjected as the most intense form of living.



Chapter 5

Apart from frequent trips to other toilets so I could be 'lent' to the
local Masters, I began to be taken to orgies at private houses where I
served as a waitress, dressed in a maid's uniform. Of course, once I had
taken people's coats and served their drinks I was then required to
serve in my sex-slave capacity, performing whatever tasks the guests
required of me. I wasn't the only maid at these parties, though I was
clearly one of the youngest, and vain enough to think myself one of the
prettiest too.

At the first such gathering I was required to do little that I would not
have done in the toilets: I was made to crawl round under the dinner
table while the guests passed comment on how well I sucked their cocks.
Later that evening everyone descended to a large basement room, where
two of the other 'girls' performed a 'lesbian' sex-show for the guests.
Then one was strapped to a large wooden rack leaning against one wall
and guests took turns to whip her. As I listened to her muffled cries
and squeals of pain I wondered if I would cope any better in her place
after my regular Wednesday 'discipline' sessions with the games-master.

On the third party evening, when everyone went downstairs I was ordered
to spreadeaglespread-eagle myself against the frame. As I was strapped
into it I was shaking and wet with perspiration. But instead of being
whipped, as the guests gathered round and watched my stripped bound
body, a tattooist put the words COCKSLUT SLAVE on my shaved crotch, and
then SPUNK WHORE SUKI SLAVE CUNTCOCK SLUT on the cheeks of my bottom. As
the electric needle buzzed its way painfully across my flesh the
onlookers fondled and touched each other, making lewd comments about my
useful functions. I was now marked for life.

No thought of protest entered my head as it was done though: I welcomed
it. Since they always required me to keep my pubic area waxed and
hairless, I would never again be able to undress to take a bath or
shower, or even just to go to bed at night, without seeing this visible
and permanent reminder of my status and function. But as well as its
private message to me it also had a powerful practical purpose: I could
never again take my panties or pants off in front of another person,
male or female, without them instantly seeing proof of my nature and
guessing at once the uses to which I had been put. The tattoos ensured
that I could never escape into a normal life with someone else by
concealing my previous slavery; the words were too blunt and
unambiguous.

The tattoos had a third and more immediate practical consequence. The
men at my toilet slavery sessions behaved differently towards me. Though
there always seemed to be plenty of men ready to use and fuck me
whenever I served in toilets, and plenty who enjoyed the obvious
provocativeness of my girlish clothes, there were in fact not that many
who actively enjoyed my slave-status as well as my body. Though I was
equally submissive to all, there were few Masters, in the sense of the
small group who had originally made it their business to train me to
total obedience and submission, whose satisfaction derived as much from
their 'ownership' of me as from their use of me sexually.

But now, when I lowered my panties and bared my bottom for a toilet full
of randy men, the sight of the words plainly tattooed on each cheek
seemed to excite an additional atmosphere of sadism and ruthlessness
towards me. Much more often now, the men I knelt down to or parted my
legs for seemed to find extra stimulation and excitement from the dirty
names they called me, the brusqueness with which they issued their
commands, and the control they exercised over me while reaching their
climaxes. Whenever I served now, there was a heightened sense of '****'
in the air; and - as is often true of it - the more men there were
present the more they seeemedseemed to egg each other on.

The tattoos made it crystal clear now that my consent was not required.
I was simply there to be fucked, indiscriminately and without any
consideration, like the cheapest street corner prostitute. The mere fact
of my being there, dressed in the way I was, gave all who saw me the
right to treat me as casually and kinkily as they would a blow-up sex-
doll. But an inanimate rubber doll has no feelings or thoughts; the
'group' pleasure now lay as much in its delight at keeping me constantly
aware that I was nothing but a spunking-machine for its cocks,
constantly reminded of my own helplessness and inability to avoid the
endless penetration of my body.

Every session seemed more like a gang-**** now, with the gang's
spectators urging the active participants on to greater lust, while the
whole gang revelled in the humiliation and total surrender of its victim
- in seeing her face betray how clearly she had been forced to recognise
that she was merely a thing any and all of them could slip round their
cocks and squirt their climactic juice into. And I played up to their
expectations, somehow continuing to preserve an air of violated
innocence at each session. In truth, though I secretly adored this
additional element in the way I was used, there was also still a part of
me that remained, and continued to be, shocked and ashamed at what was
done to me.

It had no power over me - only they did now - but it was there
nevertheless. Some remnant of conscience, some hangover scrap of
c***dhood innocence. And even that was put to their service, exploited
for its perversion-value. Because I knew that it was central to what
they found exciting about me. From observing the other 'girls' at the
parties, I knew that it was what distinguished me from other TV slaves.

It wasn't just my youth compared to them, but my youthful innocence and
lack of cynicism. I was not some screaming drag queen parody of a woman,
but still continued to resemble the blushing nervous shyness of
girlhood. I didn't try and ape a girl in my voice or manner, or become
particularly 'sissyish' - and because of that I seemed to display even
more true innocence without trying. It was that which they found so
deliciously provocative - that which they took such extreme delight in
r****g and abusing so thoroughly.

At the beginning of each session I was still mentally a virgin; by the
end of each, the most depraved cock-hungry whore. That was the perverted
magic their cocks wrought on me each time; that invitation to ravish my
innocence was the magic with which I stiffened their cocks into the hard
truncheons they thrust so brutally into me.

I was 161 and my face wXXas still fresh, pretty and girlish. But I began
to notice with alarm that a soft downy fuzz was beginning to appear on
my cheeks. At first I waxed them off, just as I regularly waxed my legs,
arms and pubic region. But one morning the owner of the shop noticed and
remarked on it. He told me not to worry about it as he had some pills
that would stop it.

I began taking the hormone pills he gave me, and within a short time the
facial down stopped appearing. I also noticed that I didn't seem to need
to wax the rest of my body as often either. But after a couple of months
I began to notice that the pills were having another startling side-
effect which delighted me. The skin around my nipples began to soften
and swell; IT was developing real breasts.

The horromones were actually changing my body into a girl's, in a
process I studied closely in the mirror every morning. Until then I had
never really contemplated the thought of a sex-change. But now I turned
the idea over in my mind. The conclusion I came to was that I didn't
want one, odd though that might seem. It was true that a central
ingredient of my delight and satisfaction at being a slave lay in being
dressed and used like a girl by my Masters. But I also recognised that a
paert of their pleasure lay in the fact that they had used that very
fact about me to entrap and enslave meit was a sissy transvestite boy
they had trapped and enslaved, to the point where they had been able to
force me to live and behave as a girl all the time for their
convenience. They had made me into a girl already by how they treated
me. If I actual}ly became one physically they would lose most of their
power over me: I would be no different from any other girl and would
then be able live as I pleased, free and unfettered, in the sex of a
girl.

But my Masters had trained me well over the previous year; I was now as
in love with my slavery as I was with my girlishness. I thought of what
my Masters would want and the answer was obvious: as long as I continued
to remain physically a boy my little budding schoolgirlish breasts
coiled the chains of my slavery aeven more tightly around me.

I had still managed to conceal from my parents and the rest of my family
how I lived, what I did and how I was always dressed for it. So my
Masters still had the power to expose me to unbearable shame by
revealing the depths of my perverted sexual existence and voluntary
humiliation. With no prospect of a complete sex-change, the daily growth
of my breasts placed me even more under my Masters' control. I was
turning into a strange half-maleboy, half-female girl transsexual whose
appearance instantly betrayed his/her primary obsession - someone whom
most people must surely despise, apart from those men who found her body
attractive.

The swellings were now becoming big enough to fill a Teenform A-cup bra,
and they completed my body's transformation. Where else could I possibly
work now other than a sex-shop? Who else could I mix with except the men
who wentedwanted my obscenely tattooed hermaphrodite body?

When I went out on errands to the other shops in the peradeparade I
could see the curiosity in other people's eyes, and feel their intrigued
part-horrified stares as they appraised the soft shapes that my raincoat
could no longer disguise. At first I felt the most acute embarrassment
whenever the shop-owner sent me out for milk or coffee. But I slowly
overcame my shyness, convincing myself that most of the other shop-
keepers must have guessed by now what my function and sexual role was
anyway.

And of course the same was true of the men in the toilets I was taken
to, the instant they saw me now. I was now regularly taken to toilets
already dressed and made-up as a girl, wearing only my rain-coat over my
other clothes for the car journey. The moment I walked up the path to
the toilets with my high heels clicking on the cement and my stockings
showing below the hem of my coat, the men standing at the urinals would
know at once that I was there for sex. I would have to go and stand
beside them, open my coat and let them examine my clingy top and lift
the little black skirt I wore to fondle my lace panties.

My breasts altered the way l felt about undressing. In the past I had
always been allowed to remain dressed in my girl's clothes, apart from
lowering my panties. But now I was sometimes made to do a complete
striptease for the watching men. Before I would have been crippled with
embarrassment at being forced to reveal myself as a boy for them. I
needed my clothes and my girlishness as an integral part of my slavery.

Now my smoothly-waxed skin, the tattoos and , my small pert breasts and
the increased curve of my bottom made it so apparent what a thoroughly
feminised slut I was that the only shame I felt was entirely the kind my
Masters wanted me to experience. I would see the looks on the men's
faces as I unclipped my bra and let my breasts appear. Then I would turn
and slip my panties slowly and enticingly down off my bottom, exposing
my girlish bum-cheeks and the words 'SPUNK SLAVE' and 'WHORE CUNT'COCK
SLUT tattooed on them. Then at last I would turn so they could see
'COCKSLUT SUKISLAVE' on my crotch and my small soft willy beneath it.

As I stood motionless before their gaze in just a frilly suspender belt,
stockings and high heels, I no longer felt the embarrassment I would
previously have suffered at having my boyhood revealed beneath my
deceptively feminine appearance. Instead I felt like a sex-doll, whose
ambiguous gender was a deliberate part of her allure, simultaneously boy
and girl. But since my tattoos, breasts and smooth pubic area made it
unthinkable that I could be of sexual interest to any woman, and quite
obvious that my function was to be a passive sexual slave to men, it
meant that even when I was semi-naked I still felt more girl than boy.

The sensation I felt inside as curious hands explored my newly-budding
breasts would make me run my tongue-tip over my parted lips and thrust
out my bottom, to show them how quickly tthbey could arouse my hunger to
be penetrated. My nakedness became as much the symbol of my slavery as
my girl's clothes had previously.

The stark contrast between my own defenceless nakedness and the ease
with which they could simply slip their cocks back into their trousers
and abandon me to my fate at the slightest hint of danger re-enforced my
sense of enslavement and sluttishness. At the slightest sound of
footsteps my Masters could always melt into the safety of the cubicles,
or just leave the toilets, while I was trapped there and could do
nothing but pray that the sight of my pale naked stocking-clad body
would arouse, rather than disgust, whoever the approaching foot-steps
belonged to.

Almost every man who walked in on those occasions was glad to join in,
and to my surprise, even those who did not nearly always simply ignored
me. The plain fact was that practically all the men who ever went into
the toilets I served in came there for one reason only - and it wasn't
the reason the toilets had been built for. After dark especially, the
places were purely clubs for sex-games. The men in them always arrived
with hard cocks and spunk-filled balls. and left happy after finding
their satisfaction.

And the part that I played, night after night, in providing so many of
them with the means to it was my one fulfilling pleasure. All the dreams
and fantasies I had imagined when I was 13 and 14 I now acted out almost
every day, and I wanted nothing else, They had feminised me completely,
and every time the juice leapt into my mouth or I felt a cock reach its
throbbing climax thrust between the cheeks of my bottom I felt nothing
but gratitude to them.

And the dirtier or more painful uses they put me to continually re-
emphasised the difference between me and the men who used me, Their
dominant games sprang from their maleness; my meek passivity as I
submitted to them flowed from my complete lack of it. I looked like a
tart, performed as a whore, and adored both with the abaendon of a born
slut,

That was why the dirty things I was made to do by the Rubber Master and
his friends were not only bearable but actually began to excite me more
and more each time. I regularly served the same group of men that had
squeezed their brown creamy filth into my panties, bra and mouth the
night they made me their 'shit-doll'. The strange sick thrill of queasy
horror in the pit of my stomach remained as potent as it hedhad been the
first time the Rubber Master filled my mouth through the harness gag. No
matter how many times they did it to me I still could not completely
prepare myself for the shock and humiliation. Familiarity had not made
the taste nor thick cloying feel of it in my mouth any less aswful.

But what had changed was my response. Like all the other tasks my
Masters made me perform for their pleasure, the repetition of this one
had conditioned me to become excited by it. B8ut it was more than that.
Serving these Masters in particular always produced the strongest and
most thrilling sense of my enslavement. I had recognised something that
was central to my nature; the kinkier and more humiliating my tasks
were, the more they proved my Masters' ownership of me. And the most
disgusting tasks of all combined several different thrills for me

Firstly, the fectfact that they had the right to make me do such things
demonstrated that I did not exist independently as a person. My
willingness to perform such uniquely disgusting and humiliating tasks on
command showed my recognition that I had surrendered any right to all
normal human limits and inhibitions, and proved that my mind was utterly
in the service of my body - and my body was utterly in the service of my
Masters.

There was another satisfaction for me as well. l knew that my
pearformance of such obscene tasks made m
standards of other TVY maids. So the dirtier or more bizaerrely I was
used the more I demonstrated proof of both my value as a slave and the
completeness of my obedience. I was now so conditioned by, and addicted
to, my slavery that I was always excited the most by the prospect of my
Masters finding fresh avenues of exploration and kinkier degradations.

And I hedhad slowly reelisedrealised that that was precisely what the
Rubber Master and his friends found so exciting too. Underlying the
immediate physical thrill they experienced when turds slid from their
bottoms into my mouth lay their much deeper delight in experiencing such
total power over someone else that they could freely break even the most
instinctive, natural and sacrosanct taboos in the pursuit of their
sexual satisfaction. What they regularly enjoyed and made me do was just
the outward expression of that desire - the desire to make their victim
aware that they felt constrained by no 'limits' on the pleasures they
might choose to explore.

It was precisely that awareness in me that alwavsalways kept me
trembling like a leaf with ecstasy and terror whenever I served them.
Though the occasions were not all that frequent, I could expect to be
subjected to their dirty games about once a month.

They usually liked me tied up thoroughly, though I would have obeyed
them anyway. Apart from their general preference for rubber clothing,
vhichwhich indicated the direction of their tastes, what distinguished
them from most of my other Masters was not just the kinkiness of their
games but the humiliation they could induce in me in the process.

Unlike most other Masters, who were usually quite satisfied to use me in
the same fashion night after night, week after week, with only minor
variations dependent upon which hole they chose to enter, the Rubber
Master's circle constantly sought to devise fresh and unexpected ways to
use me. Their pleasure lay in my reaction as much as in what they
actually did. So they were constantly seeking new avenues of perversion
to explore, so that I could never become accustomed to my tasks or
assume that there were any I could not be required to perform for them.



Chapter 6

One Sunday evening the Rubber Master came to collect me. He ignored the
extensive wardrobe that the shop-owner had provided for me and produced
the things I was to wear. He helped me to put on
aon a tight black PVC corset that pushed up my small schoolgirlish
breasts but left them exposed. When he had cinched the half dozen straps
at the back of it he locked them all with small padlocks.

The corset covered and flattened my crotch at the front, but divided
into two straps down between my legs that ran under the creases beneath
my buttocks and up the sides of them, attaching to the waist of the
corset again just behind my hips. He padlocked those straps as well.

The effect was to leave my bottom completely naked. Four suspenders on
the bottom edge of the corset kept the up thin black rubber stockings.

Then he handed me a tiny pink rubber skirt with an integral canvas-
backed belt of scarlet PVC and ordered me to cinch the belt as tight as
it would go. I was used to that by then and did the belt up on the
tightest hole, pulling my waist in to a slender 21 inches so that the
flare of the skirt accentuated the feminine curve of my hips. The skirt
was only 12 or so inches from waist to hem. The effect of pulling the
belt so tight was that the soft folds of pink rubber fell far short of
concealing my bared bottom.

Next he handed me black patent leather high heeledhigh-heeled shoes,
with broad ankle straps that buckled behind the heel. He put padlocks on
the buckles, having first slipped the ends of a 12-inch length of thin
steel chain into the padlock loops. When I was dressed to his
satisfaction he looked me up and down.

"Re-do your make-up; darker eye shadow, more blusher on your cheeks,
something brighter on your lips. You are to look like a street-whore
tonight, not some innocent little schoolgirl primping herself up on her
first date..."

His words sent tremors of excitement through me as I guessed something
out of the ordinary was being planned for that evening. Gazing at myself
in the wardrobe mirror I understood what he wanted of me: my face must
look like that of a painted porcelain doll: pretty, but bright and
unreal. The effect of the clothes was unmistakable: I was to be a
slender white-skinned mannequin locked inside an outfit that was a
blatant invitation to perversion and abuse, not even a slave, just a
sadist's dream doll.

When I had finished my eyes shone glassily out of a white gaudily
painted face I hardly recognisedrecognized. He looked satisfied and then
held out his hand. In the palm of it were two small pink pills.

"Swallow them."

I hadn't the faintest idea what they were but I obeyed him without
question. Then he ordered me to hold out my hands. On each one he put
thick black rubber 'mittens' with no fingers that came almost up to my
elbows and then fastened leather cuffs round my wrists and padlocked
them together behind my back. Finally he slipped my mac over my
shoulders for the walk from the flat to his car. I felt jittery and
nervous, but also excited as we left. My helplessness was absolute.

As soon as were safely in the car he pulled the mac off my shoulders and
tossed it onto the back seat. He drove out of London for about 20
minutes in complete silence. At several traffic lights men in other cars
stared open-mouthed at the strange semi-naked creature they saw in the
car stopped next to them. I gazed expressionlessly back at them as their
eyes lingered on my breasts, while we waited for the green.

At first I felt no effect from the pills but as the journey continued I
began to feel oddly dis-orientated. The street-lamps sparkled with
strange brightness and unnatural colours. My body was hot and clammy
inside the PVC corset. But it was an exciting sexual feeling. The d**g
was like a slow continuously-growingcontinuously growing version of the
sudden thrill that Amyl always caused me. My limbs felt as light as a
feather.

At last he turned into a lane that had a cricket pitch on the right side
of it and woods on the left. After a hundred yards he turned left into
an unlit car park on the wooded side. There were several other cars
s**ttered around in the gloom. He stopped and reversed into a space next
to the pavement, so that the car was facing across the car park to the
woods.

At the far edge of the tarmac I could see a light shining dimly through
the doorway of a small toilet. The Rubber Master leaned over and opened
my door. I wondered how many of the other cars there belonged to men who
were already waiting inside the little brick building in the distance
ahead of us. The only relief for me was that it was rapidly getting
dark.

"Get out and come round to my side of the car."

I knew where I would be ordered to go. I looked across the car park to
the toilet and shivered as the cold wind blew over my naked bottom and
thighs. I had got used to being seen dressed normally as a girl in the
street near the shop, and no longer felt the slightest shame at being in
a toilet dressed in the most wanton fashion for whichever men might see
me. But the thought of crossing that expanse of tarmac dressed as I was
now still made my skin tingle with shame.

Of course that was what the Rubber Master wanted. I would be seen for
what I was without concealment, perhaps even by courting couples in some
of the parked cars, who would stare with amazement at this vision of
perversion. It was only 50 yards or so but the the foot-long chain
hobbling my ankles effectively made the distance three times further. I
would be forced to choose between a teasingly slow amble orand quick
little mincing steps that would make my naked buttocks jiggle like
beacons below the hem of that tiny skirt.

When I reached his window the Rubber Master ordered me to face him,
which meant my back was visible to anyone driving from the direction in
which we had come. I froze as I heard a car come racing along the road
and felt its headlights illuminate me. Its engine slowed but then it
sped on past and left me cocooned once more in the gloom of the falling
night as the Rubber Master began to speak.

"You've got an appointment in there with some men who've paid your
Masters a lot of money for some special fun and games with a kinky
little whore that no-one's likely to miss."

My blood turned to icy water in my veins and the warm flutter of excited
anticipation in my tummy became a hard little **** of terror. Even in my
strange d**g-elated state I understood the implication in his words. He
went on softly:

"You are a slave, Suki. We have trained you very thoroughly for an
evening such as this. I could easily drag you over there, but I won't.
You will walk in there by yourself, because I order you to. The men
waiting for you know that you will have been told what may happen
tonight. And one of the reasons why they have paid so well for you is
that they've been promised that you will still walk in there
voluntarily, knowing that you may perhaps never walk out again. I say
'perhaps'... Don't assume anything;. I don't know yet. Probably they
don't either. But if you don't come out, your Masters won't mind. The
fee is sufficient to buy the men waiting for you any pleasure they wish
to take from you. Do you understand?

I stood there feeling the d**g course ever more strongly inside me as I
listened to him speak. My initial rush of blind terror was being
converted into something else; a suspicion that had crossed my mind
months ago and had grown in secret had now been confirmed. There was
only one possible limit on my service as their slave, and aownow as I
stood on trembling legs in the lonely isolated car-parkcar park I knew
that even that could be crossed at will. There wasn't a trace of mercy
or pity in the Rubber Master's voice and I knew there was hardly the
remotest chance of any innocent casual stranger being around this
deserted spot at night-time to come to my aid.

The odd lightness I had experienced during the car-ride returned more
powerfully now. IrresistableIrresistible waves of exciting warmth spread
out from my crotch and bottom. I wondered vaguely if I had wet myself
inside the clinging PYC and realisedrealised thtthat in my present state
I would hardly be able to tell.

"...Do you understand, slut?... Say it."

''Yesss..." I whispered softly as I gazed at the toilet through
unnaturally widened eyes.

Say you are your Masters' slave and will do whatever pleases them...to
the last breath in your body."

I repeated the words and my exciteentexcitement grew with every second.
The misty night air in the space ahead of me seemed to solidify into a
barrier that held me where I was. But the little incandescent glow of
pale-gold light in the distance was beckoning me like a moth more
strongly every second. If I fluttered and danced in its light till I
died what difference did it make? I simply went to the same fate as
millions of moths suffered every night.

Now walk slowly across and go in."

My feet began to move. After 10 or 15 yards I realisedrealised the man
was not following me. I heard his car-door open and close. I wondered if
he was now going to drive off and abandon me, having delivered me to
this rendezvous. I began to feel very vulnerable. My mind refused to
dwell on the terrifying prospect ahead and instead concerned itself with
the more mundane but imXXediateimmediate risk of exposure and
humiliation I now faced: having to cross this public carparkcar park
dressed so provocatively. I wanted the comfort of the Rubber Master's
stern unyielding presence to guide my feet. At the back of my mind there
also lurked the unacknowledged thought that I did not want to die for
the pleasure of some total strangers without at least one of my original
Masters present to witness my final proof of submission.

But I knew this was a preparatory part of my abasement to the will of
the waiting Masters: that I should have to walk alone, half-naked, un-
aided, unguided and uncompelled, across this expanse of public space
first, with the cold wind reminding me all the time of the nakedness of
my breasts and bottom.

My eyes flicked round at the other parked cars and I realisedrealised
that there were shadowy figures inside sonesome of them. I could see the
white blur of their faces through the misted car windows, and understood
that my humiliation was being publicly witnessed and enjoyed. My high
heels clacked loudly across the tarmac, their height making my white
breasts jiggle around in the half-cups of the corset bra and my bared
buttocks sway beneath the flouncing folds of the immoderately short pink
rubber skirt.

Il was slightly less than half-wayhalfway across when suddenly the
toilet and the woods behind it were lit up in the dazzle of a car's
headlights. I stumbled and felt a hot flush of panic fill -my face as I
realisedrealised why the Master had not come with me, and had parked so
carefully. For a second or two as panic gripped my body I considered
turning aside into the beckoning safety of the shadows. As if to confirm
the hopelessness of escape, from the darkness on either side of me two
more sets of car headlights came on, lighting up the tarmac for 50 yards
all around me.

I was trapped squarely in the centre of the three intersecting sets of
beams, knowing everyone in the parked cars could now see me as clearly
as if it were mid-day. In the distance ahead of me I could see several
figures outlined in the doorway of the toilet block. I had no choice:
with my wrists secured behind my back I could do nothing about the chain
restricting my ankles. Its shortness confined me to the erotic mincing
amble of a catwalk model showing off the only important fact about her
existence under the glare of arc-lightsarc lights and the leering gaze
of a hundred telephoto lenses.

There was no possibility of escape; just like such models - whose
ostensible function was to show off their clothes, but whose real
function was to give what they wore a sexual excitement and glamour that
the items themselves did not truly possess by associating them with the
slender thighs, luscious bottoms, barely covered cunts and perfectly-
shaped bobbing breasts beneath them - I too was on a runway, to be
stared at, inspected and compared with some mythic ideal of flawless
femininity. And in my case even the thin pretence of the catwalk was
stripped away: the whore was exposed to her audience of voyeurs, and the
little that she wore was there purely to heighten the enticing sexual
invitation of her appealing body, not the other way round.

This show had been carefully pre-arranged; they had always intended to
trap me and force me into parading myself blatantly and publicly on the
walk to my destination. I regained my balance and began to walk on,
concentrating on straightening my legs with each step, and letting my
hips rise and fall naturally in rhythm with my high heels.

The Rubber Master had promised them this and I did not want to faill him
by disappointing his friends. And with every mincing swaying step I
took, I knew the thrill of watching me was made ten times sharper by
their awareness that the whore providing this shamelessly wanton display
had been told beforehand of the dreadful fate to which her steps were
leading her.

The eager-eyed crowd held its breath end waited for the climax of the
spectacle: when the whore would mount the steps of the gallows and they
could drink in the sight of her almost-naked limbs performing, with apt
and perfect irony, an obscene parody of sexual frenzy, as she paid for
her lasciviousness with her life.

I heard car-doors softly open and close in the darkness on either side
of me. After what felt like an eternity, but was perhaps no more than 20
or 30 seconds, I reached the short concrete path leading into the gents.
I paused momentarily to take a breath and clear my head a little. I
wanted to fight off the increasingly seductive effects of the d**g long
enough to experience with absolute clarity what I was about to do.

Through the doorway I could see shadows on the wall behind it, and knew
there were several men already waiting in there for me. I imagined their
cocks stiffening with excitement as they heard my approaching footsteps,
and thought of the frisson they would experience when they finally saw
me. I saw my life - the strange compulsion central to my existence that
had led me to this doorway. What would I - could I - have changed?

Nothing.

And in that moment I knew without a doubt that it no longer mattered
whether I lived another 30 years or 30 minutes, but how completely I
experienced the life that had been given to me unasked. I was what I
was; no matter how many years I lived I knew that I could not change
that. But as I grew older and less pretty with every passing day, the
function that I had sought unprompted, and embraced so willingly when
others spotted it, would slowly become less and less desired by them as
I became less and less desirable to them. The longer I lived the less I
would experience the person I was each day. not the more.

I knew now that every cell in me existed - like the unalterable truth of
a mathematical equation - to be a function of the pleasure my Masters
could take in me. If I shied away from what they wanted of me now I
would truly be nothing, because I would have been turning my back on
everything I was and trying to wipe out the facts about who I was. If I
turned aside now, who would I be afterwards? Even less than a slave,
less substantial than a shadow, a cyphercipher. I might look alive to
others but in reality I would already be dead anyway - with nothing, no
memory to mark my passing.

No; if my Masters were to have everything, experience every possibility
my body could offer, they should have it now, while I was still young
and pretty enough to make the thrill of it as sweet as possible. My mind
was clear. I wanted only one thing: to walk into the waiting shadows and
imprint their experience of me into the deepest pleasure -centres of
their brains with unforgettable ecstasy, until I spilt the last drop of
life in my body into the electric air around us. I walked up the path to
the doorway and went in.



Chapter 7

I opened my eyes and saw white all round me. I was surprised. First,
that Heaven looked exactly like the picture-book illustrations. Several
angels shimmered nearby and further off I could even see God with a
flowing silver beard - though it was shorter and rather more neatly
trimmed than I would have expected. Second, I was mildly surprised that
my eyeballs were not being scorched by crackling flames and my ears
assailed by the deep-throated laughter of the Devil, e. Especially as I
slowly became aware of a general feeling of pain.

"He's conscious." God came over and peered down at me.

"Can you hear me?" asked God as two of His angels disappeared into the
haze. The question seemed strange coming from the Deity. I blinked in
answer, that apparently being the only movement I was capable of.
Suddenly everything became clear: I was in a hospital and God was a
doctor.

"Don't try to move." Out of the corner of my eye I noticed various tubes
looping down towards where I lay. "I'll come back and see you later when
you've had something to eat and are feeling a bit stronger."

After he left I lay there vaguely trying to remember how I had come to
be where I now was. But after a few minutes I fell asleep again. Some
hours later I was woken by a nurse who fed me some soup. A few minutes
later the doctor re-appeared. He looked at the chart clipped to the end
of my bed and then stared at several machines with flickering screens on
a table beside me. After satisfying himself he spoke.

"You should be dead, you know. By the time the ambulance got to youthere
you had lost almost 4 pints of blood. That's nearly half of all you
have. You've been u*********s for three days." I was fully awake now. My
hands were lying on the bed-cover and I noticed dark blue bruise-marks
on my wrists. I seemed to hurt all over from head to foot, and wondered
if perhaps I had been hit by a car.

"Thank you..." I croaked, and once again felt the same
agonisingagonizing soreness in my throat that I had when the nurse had
spoonfedspoon-fed me.

"Don't thank me. I just do whatever I have to with any patient who's
brought here. You should probably thank the man who found you and phoned
the hospital...Though I doubt if you'll ever find him; he'd gone by the
time the ambulance turned up...To be frank I'm not sure I'd have been
bothered if I'd been him..."

I stared blankly at him. He seemed to be saying that I had been as good
as dead and if he had found me he wouldn't have thought I could be
saved. But...there seemed to be something more in his words.

"...You don't remember what happened to you?...From what the ambulance
people told me, they think you might have been...partly responsible. And
judging by where you were found, the way you were dressed, what
condition you were in, and...some of the things that were brought in
with you...I'm inclined to believe them."

Memories of the previous year and a half of my life began to flood back
- the orgies I had been the willing victim of, the Masters I had served,
my small flat above the sex-shop, my wardrobe full of women's clothes.
And with a jolt, the memory of the last time I left the flat in the
company of the Rubber Master.

The car park. Me standing in the middle of the tarmac lit up like a
fairground ride. The doctor registered my face's reaction to my
returning memories.

"My job is to save people...whoever they may happen to be...Privately, I
think there are some people worth saving...and others who aren't."

"I...I can understand that..." I whispered. "I don't...blame
you...But...I can't help...being who I am either."

He looked at me strangely for half a minute, saying nothing, as if he
was trying to understand something.

"They didn't take you there by force, did they...You...wanted to be
there...didn't you?"

I nodded faintly.

"You...knew...what could happen to you..."

"Com...pletely."

"Including...?" I nodded again.

"They...wanted it...so you wanted them to do it." He stared at me
watching my reaction closely. "I see. Well, from the way you were
dressed when you arrived at Emergency, I'd say you got your wish in one
respect."

I looked blankly at him.

"You like being taken for a girl...Well...that'll be easier from now
on." I was still mystified. "Your..friends..left you a good deal closer
to being one than you were before." Comprehension dawned and I stared
down the bed at myself. "In fact you're now as close as you're ever
going to get. The...ah...'amateur surgery' they performed was fairly
crude. The Ambulance driver found a length of cheesewire nearby. I hope
for your sake you weren't intending to have a full sex-change one day?"
I was feeling weak and dizzy at the knowledge of what he had told me,
but I managed to flutter my eyelids and shake my head very slightly.

"Good. Only that takes surgery of a different kind that we're geared up
to perform. And it requires an intact... - and attached - ..set of male
genitals to form a vagina out of the skin...All we could do was sew up
the wound."

He saw the question in my face.

"I doubt if we could have re-grafted what was...ahem...removed. Surgical
technique isn't that advanced yet; it's a very delicate area of the
body. Very complex. And that is assuming one has the .. missing parts.
They weren't found, when you were. The police looked for them after you
were brought here. I think someone probably kept them, as a trophy of
the evening's..entertainment." His face almost broke into a smile at his
own joke. The sight of it made me smile as well, though tears were also
rolling down my cheeks.

"They tried to kill you, you know. I mean really. They damn nearly
succeeded too... And you were ready to let them. I - I don't understand
it; I want to...but I can't..."

"It's...it's my life. I...I...live for them. It made me...happy." I
shrugged, realisingrealising the impossibility of making him see.

"I don't know..." He smiled again and this time, though it revealed his
own confusion - like a man staring at a mystery - there was genuine
warmth in his face. "...I see all sorts of assorted oddballs- ...oh,
sorry, tactless of me...the whole spectrum of humanity passes through
here at some time or other. But you...this!...I mean...you are still a
c***d practically. How can you say you wanted it? Volunteered for it.
It...it...must have been what they did to you before. We found d**gs in
you."

"People - c***dren - hang themselves over exams...do it out of
misery...at least I...did it for..."

"Pleasure? Don't say that. That's the part I can't..."

"But you...you cut people up...for pleasure. You enjoy..." My voice
trailed off into an exhausted croak.

"It's not the same...it's not the same! I save people's lives. Yours!
Yes, I enjoy my work. But that's because I'm helping people get well.
Your 'friends' just sliced you up...for what? For kicks. A nasty sick
thrill!"

"But how could you...could you do what you.. do...unless you actually
enjoy doing it? Enjoy the cutting...the blood...the mess of..people's
insides?"

He looked puzzled and stared at me again, still trying to fathom some
sense out of it. I could see I had forced a long-hidden dilemma to the
forefront of his mind.

"What will you do? Would you go back to them?" I shrugged, meaning I
didn't know. "To let them finish the job? I might as well not have
bothered..."

"Would you say that to a mountain-climber, or a pot-holer?"

"Damn you!...Damn you!!"

"...probably..." I smiled up at his angry bearded face. For a few
seconds the rage of frustration and confusion boiled in his eyes. Then
he suddenly laughed.

"Yesss...probably all of us...and who knows, maybe me too in the end -
for all that 'cutting and slicing' as you call it ...They've arrested
your landlord, by the way. And several other people."

"I..I don't...want to go back to my parents...not now. Couldn't..."

"I can understand that." he said, meditatively. "We haven't given them
any details so far. Just said you'd been involved in some kind of
assault. Of course they'll have to know in the end. There's going to be
a trial after all...But I think they've kind of guessed a little of the
truth already anyway. The nurses didn't say anything but I think your
parents noticed your...your breasts."

"I won't testify. That would be... like ... saying they were guilty and..
I wasn't. It...it wasn't like that. I wanted it, everything they
did...I... wanted..."

"Don't get excited. You're still very weak. Get some sleep now. I'll be
back tomorrow...You're a puzzle to me, young man - sorry, but even with
all the changes that's what you are...to me. And I think you're wrong -
very wrong. But you're interesting. Not stupid at any rate ..-.. Well
yes, very stupid..dangerously stupid in one way. But not...not a c***d,
I'll give you that. Though what exactly you are now, after the other
night, is hard to say!...Rest now."

With that he turned and left.

I spent the next three weeks in the hospital recovering. Doctor Gold
came to see me regularly and we talked a lot. He didn't want any real
details, but yet he seemed reluctantly facsinatedfascinated by who, and
what, I was. He told me about all the different cultures in which men
who dressed and acted like women were accepted and even revered.

But he still could not grasp the nature of my willingness to embrace
abject slavery as a part of my adopted identity. He believed too
strongly in his own will and ambitions to comprehend someone who could
surrender theirs so utterly to others', simply for their pleasure.

The police also visited me, and they were far less pleasant. I told them
what they already knew: where I had lived, what I had done for the men
who used me. But I flatly refused to give evidence at any trial of the
men they had arrested. It was clear from what they said that they had
several of my original Masters in jail, and I could not - would not -
bring myself to sit in a witness box and help imprison them for
something that had been the inevitable result of all the things I had so
badly wanted them to do to me. Something I had even been told could
happen, and still walked willingly to it.

The detectives ranted and made their disgust for me very plain. They
even threatened me, telling me they would show my parents all the
photographs and Dutch magazines I had appeared in. At that I smiled
thinly at them and said.

"If you do, then you're no different from the men you've locked up."

"What d'you mean? They blackmailed you, did they? Showed you those
pictures and said they'd tell your parents if you didn't do what they
wanted? That would fit with what we know."

"Did I say that? But you're certainly trying to blackmail me, aren't
you? Look at me. Look at these." I pulled down the bed-covers and
exposed my breasts to them. I noticed the young junior detective staring
shyly with unconcealed interest. "Do you think my parents don't know
about these by now? Do you want to see the rest of me?...Do you really
think you can threaten me with anything so shocking that I'll do what
you want to avoid it?"

The senior detective called me few choice names and left, shaking his
head.

Dealing with my parents was much harder. I knew that they could never
even begin to comprehend how I had become what I was. And if they did
they would be unable to contemplate it without feeling some kind of
guilt themselves - though as far as I could work out they were guilty of
nothing.

I knew very well that they were to blame for no awful secret in my
c***dhood that would have explained my character. I simply was what I
was. And lying in the hospital I had had plenty of time to remember
right back to my earliest c***dhood. I now recognisedrecognized little
signs and indications of the future in it, trivial inconsequential games
and preferences. But nothing they would really have noticed, or have
been able to do much about even if they had questioned it.

Fortunately my father stopped coming to visit me after the first few
times. I think the police visited him and - had they only known it - had
done me an unwitting favour. When he began to understand the true nature
of the men I had served, and the scope of his son's 'perversion' I
became so alien in his eyes that he could no longer bear to come and see
me.

My mother continued to though, but she would sit there keeping up banal
conversations with me as if none of it had ever happened. She couldn't
bring herself to cut herself off from me completely, but she simply
refused to acknowledge who I was or what I had done. She just wiped it
out of her mind.

My older sister was different: she openly confessed that she was
appalled and sickened when she thought about the things I had done. But
one day, after she had got me to admit that I had frequently worn her
clothes when I was younger, she said:

"I suppose in an odd way I can see why you liked it. I mean, I've always
liked wearing the things I bought - and I know I used to shock Mother
with how outrageous some of them were. I mean I liked looking sexy. And
I can see...now...that you're quite...pretty-looking, for a boy. I never
thought about it before. I suppose you used to like making yourself look
like me."

"Kind of..though I didn't imagine being you...if you know what I
mean...I didn't... not for the men-..."

"Thanks for that. Ugh!" She shivered. "I wouldn't like to have found out
they were all pretending it was really me all that time...Not with the
things you were doing for them."

"No. That's what I meant. I didn't, I promise." I wasn't entirely sure
that I was telling the truth, but I knew she didn't want to think about
the possibility of it.

"So you..used to dress up and...what? Pretend you were a sexy-looking
girl for them?"

"Yes. Though I decided I didn't want to become one."

"Why not? Isn't that what all..boys like you want ultimately?"

"No. They wouldn't have liked me so much then."

"Your...Masters, you mean? That's what you called them, isn't it?"

"Yes...No, then I would have been like you; d'you see? Like any girl I
suppose. Not quite, but almost. Hardly distinguishable. But I wasn't
like any girl. I was a boy and they always knew it...that was what they
liked. That I was ready to be anything they wanted, just to please them.
Anything - including being a girl, even though I wasn't one. It's-..I
can't explain it properly- "

"It's alright. I...I think I understand: being with them...going with
them...made you a girl..and that was enough."

"Yes. Yes! That's it. But it also made me special - someone they
couldn't find elsewhere. I mean, I wasn't a girl, but I was ready to be
one for them. And, well..I did things..I was willing to do things...
things you'd never dream of doing, s*s."

"Don't be so sure of that; I'm not as pure as the driven snow, you
know!"

"I mean things most women wouldn't do for any man. Alright, sometimes
they made me do them. But I wanted them to. I was willing to do whatever
they liked, but I wanted them to make me do it as well."

"You're a right little masochist, aren't you?...You really are!"

"...I suppose I must be, s*s."

"God! A transvestite masochist fairy for a brother! How did I get so
lucky?" We both laughed.

I was frightened of the day when the bandages between my legs were
finally removed. Despite my curiosity I hadn't been able see anything
each time they were changed. I couldn't bear to watch when Doctor Gold
removed the stitches. But at last they decided that my skin was
sufficiently healed for the bandages to be no longer
neccessarynecessary.

I gazed down at myself after he and the nurse had finished. I no longer
had anything between my legs to spoil the outline of a pair of panties.
All that remained was a small raised ridge of flesh, with a barely
visible slit at the top through which I could pee. The result was that
the still-sore and livid ridge of sewn-up skin looked not unlike the
lips at the entrance of a woman's vagina. But of course there was no
entrance there between my legs. I was not displeased when I thought how
that would look to a man when it was covered by some lacy nylon.

As the thought struck me so did a very strange sensation: I became a
little aroused and began to blush scarlet with embarrassment for making
such a display of myself in front of this young nurse. Then I realised
with a jolting shock, that there was nothing there to be aroused. Yet I
could still feel my non- existent willy getting stiff. I noticed Doctor
Gold was gazing at me, studying my face.

"Well that answers one question. Don't be surprised; I expect you're
experiencing the 'shadow-limb syndrome'. It's quite common. Amputees
frequently continue to feel the missing limb just like it was still
there. The remaining nerves still send signals to the brain you see.
Nurse, what do we do about patients who get inappropriate erections?"
She smiled, quite unperturbed.

"A swift cold shower I should think, Doctor."

"Quite right, nurse! So be warned." He smiled at me. "Seriously. Try not
to encourage that sensation for a while. The skin is still very tender
and that particular reaction sends a lot of unneccessaryunnecessary
blood rushing to the area.

Still, I suppose it's quite an advantage when you think about it. You'll
be the only person I happen to know who'll be able to have an erection
any time they like without anyone else realising it."

I smiled and the feeling slowly evaporated again. But I was re-assured
by it. I had been afraid that I would be left with no feeling at all,
and the thought of a life with no sexual pleasure in it was a bleak one
to me. The nurse left on an errand and Gold suddenly said:

"Do you want to continue the hormone treatment they were giving you?"
The question took me by surprise. I thought for a second or two, and
then said:

"Yes. I will live as a woman when I get out of here. What else could I
do?"

"I thought so. Come and see me at my private surgery office after we
discharge you. I suspect it may still not be strictly legal because of
your age. Mind you I'm not condoning some of the things you've done -
you know that - but I'm not condemning transsexualism either. That's a
perfectly-well recognised fact of life these days - at least in my
profession, if not by the world at large yet. And given your breasts,
which wouldn't altogether disappear now, even if you did stop the
hormone treatment - and now your lack of male genitals, I think I'd have
to agree.

Short of joining a circus I don't think you do have much choice if
you're to live in the world outside. You might as well go as far towards
female now as d**gs can help you to go. At least you won't be a
permanent source of shock to people that way."

"Thank you." He took a business-card from his pocket and handed it to
me.

"Do you think you could change? Find a normal relationship - well, as
normal as is possible in your circumstances?"

"I...I don't know..." I said slowly. "I've never tried, have I?"

"Perhaps you should. You may not agree with me, but I think it would be
a pity if you just walked back into the lions' den again...and did die
this time. You may be strange - stranger than most people could possibly
accept - but maybe that strangeness is still precious. Or at least worth
preserving. Certainly not worth throwing away as a gift to some evil men
for a few minutes twisted pleasure."

I started to speak but he cut me off.

"I know, I know. They weren't evil; it just happened to be the gift they
wanted from you, and you wanted to give it, so you're with them, the
same as them...But you're not, you know. You chose to be the victim.
There are plenty of those in this world, believe me. And you sided with
them, not the predators. Perhaps that's what makes you different. Maybe
there's something people could learn from your story. What I'm not sure
of exactly. But something...And if you die tomorrow, or next week or
next month they'll never get a chance to hear it. Think about
that...Suki."

He had never called me that before, but of course it had been visible on
my crotch every time my bandages were changed.



Chapter 8

A few months later, after living in a bedsit while I got my strength
back, I left for Amsterdam and I never saw Doctor Gold again. As he had
promised, he gave me the hormone pills. Several times over those months
I sat in his waiting-room demurely dressed as a girl and exciting no
interest from the other patients, male or female, waiting their turns.

I made no effort to return to any of the toilets I had served in. After
a few weeks, when my scars were almost completely healed, I began to
wonder why - and realised that not all my scars were visible ones. But
like the ones that showed, they also began to heal. And as they did, the
thought of what I would do with the rest of my life, and how I would
spend it, began to fill my thoughts.

At last I made my decision. England had no place for someone like me. I
didn't 'fit'. To drive that message home I had several more visits from
the Police. On the first they voiced their disgust with me and my
failure to give evidence at the trial loudly enough for my shocked
landlady to give me notice to quit.

I complained and they were more tactful - or at least more circumspect -
on their subsequent visits. But the message was clear. For the first
time I was frightened of the Authorities. Before, that fear had only
provided an extra frisson of excitement to some of the things I was made
to do by my Masters. But now I realised just how contemptuously the
'System' would treat me if it found the opportunity. Finally I left.

I now work in a bar - 'The Candy Club' - in one the back-streets of
Amsterdam, along with several other TV prostitutes. Like most of the
other 'girls' I live in one of the little rooms upstairs provided by the
owner. There are closed wooden cabins at the back of the bar, and as
long as the owner is paid his cut he does not care what we do for the
customers when we take them there.

Though there are a few complete transsexuals, most of the rest are pre-
op and many have regular boyfriends, and are only working there to get
enough money saved to pay for surgery. That means that there is quite a
lot of bitchiness and rivalry, especially among the prettiest South
American ones. But there is a generally accepted code that the customers
make their choice and one girl does not try to poach another's clients.

But there is a small 'inner circle' - called the Wild Girls by the
others - who have no boyfriends and for whom the money is largely
incidental. I quickly found myself one of them. We are the ones who
place no limits or restrictions on what we will do for our customers,
since our chosen identities are inseperableinseparable from our urge to
submit and serve. The Wild Girls are my only friends now.

In the small hours of the morning, after the bar has closed we sit
around in our little cubicle-bedrooms doing each others' hair or
painting our finger-nails and swap stories of the things we have done
for men. Like all the other girls who work there, some of the Wild Girls
are post-op, some pre-op and some are happy simply to remain TV. What
binds them as friends is not the state of their bodies, but their shared
nature. But my body was a surprise even to them.

When they first saw me naked they were intrigued by my tattoos and my
'sexless' body. As I had hoped, the line of scar-tissue between my legs
had healed nicely into a soft pink ridge of flesh that looked and felt
convincingly like vagina-lips through a pair of silky panties. But we
are not shy in each others' presence, so they soon saw the truth that
lay beneath the little strip of nylon between my legs.

They all touched me softly there to find out what it felt like. And when
I explained how it had happened, and all the circumstances surrounding
that last orgy, I saw silent amazement and a strange respect in their
eyes: my body was proof that I had been willing to go further than even
the wildest of the Wild Girls in my quest for submission and
enslavement. To the very edge and beyond it. I frightened them: I had
shown them where our natures should ultimately drive us to - the final
act of submission.

And I shocked even them by some of the things I was prepared to do for
the customers. Like me, a few of the men who frequented the club still
found the greatest thrill when having sex in a toilet. Though the owner
did not really approve they were prepared to pay more to take a girl
down the corridor at the back of the bar and into one of the graffiti-
covered cubicles of the dimly-lit Gents, to have her there. Most girls
would not do it, since they knew they were less safe there; the cabins
were at least adjacent to the main bar itself and the doorways to them
were only partitioned by a heavy black curtain. But the toilets were 25
yards away, round at the back of the building and no sound carried from
them to the bar.

One evening I let two men take me to the toilets. When they finally left
one of the other Wild Girls came to look for me after a few minutes. She
found me kneeling slumped over the toilet, my ankles and wrists tied
with rope, my panties tied over my face keeping one of my stockings -
which the men had filled with their shit - in my mouth as a gag, and
whip-marks and cigarette-burns all over the back of my thighs and
bottom.

The other girls looked after me as I lay in my bedroom recovering over
the next few days. But they also told me that I was making things more
dangerous for them, since some customers would start to think they could
do that sort of thing to any of the girls. Despite the pain from the
weeping lacerated flesh below my waist I told them that I could never
refuse to ,atisfysatisfy a customer's whims since that was what I
existed for. Indeed it was the reason I had left England. I said that if
any other girl didn't trust the man, or men she was with she could
always offer me to them instead and I would give her a fair percentage
of their fee.

Finally they agreed on a plan. A few weeks later the same men returned
to the bar, and of course picked me without hesitation. Once they had me
tied up in the toilet, with a huge dildo strapped into my bottom and my
mouth filled with shit, and were ready to begin torturing me, several of
the other girls slipped away from the bar. They came in with knives in
their hands and cornered the two men. They told the men they could still
do whatever they liked with me, but they must pay an extra 500 Guilders
for the time I would be off work. And the girls would not let them leave
the club until one of them had been in to check that I was alive and not
cut-up badly. The men agreed and paid up. Then the girls left me to
them.

But of course the men were quite angry at being trapped and forced to
pay more money like that. For the next hour they made me scream and
whimper in pure agony as they made me dance on the end of a rope tied to
a cistern-pipe above my head. When they finally left me, I was sitting
on the floor, trembling with shock, my excrement-smeared head lolling
back on the edge of the toilet and my face and hair dripping with their
sperm. A minute or so later one of the girls came in to check on me.

I saw the dismay and horror in her eyes slowly changing to fury, but I
shook my head weakly. She bent down and I whispered:

"I'm alright. Let them go." She stared at me for a second and then
shrugged and left. A couple of minutes later she returned with two of
the others and they carefully unbound me. They slowly helped me to my
feet and supported me while I washed my face as best I could in the
dirty little basin in the corner of the Gents. A man came in to use the
toilet while they stood guard over me and one of the girls screamed at
him to get out. He stumbled back out of the door, looking stunned at
what he had seen.

I took over two weeks to recover that time, but the bar-owner didn't
care; he had done better out of that one night than I normally gave him
in a month. The other girls, even the Wild Girls, were too alarmed
though. They told me a few days later that they had warned the men never
to show their faces in the bar again. The strange thing was that a few
days after that night a large bunch of flowers arrived for me at the bar
with no card. All the other girls denied having sent them and we could
only conclude that they were from one of the two men.

Our suspicions were proved correct a couple of months later. One of the
men returned. At first he was very nervous and sheepish, since he was
obviously frightened of the girls. But I told them it was alright and
took him into one of the ordinary cabins with me. There he confessed
that he had been just as shocked by the other man's capacity for sadism,
and he suspected from hints the man dropped that he had actually killed
someone in the past. He said he had stopped seeing him after that second
night in the bar, but he wanted to go on seeing me.

He became one of my regulars after that. He still liked taking me into
the toilets and abusing me, but he didn't burn me with cigarettes and
though he could still make me scream with pain he never kept me that way
for more than a few minutes at a time. And he never left me in the state
the girls had found me in that second time. I began to look on him in
the same way as I used to regard my English Masters. He had to pay of
course, but I never charged him much more than the bar-owner's
commission, so he knew that in effect I was his slave.

I have been at the bar for 5 years now and, like all the girls, I now
have a 'core' of regular clients. Unlike the other girls', most of my
customers like to indulge in the more way-out and bizarre sex- games,
since what attracts most of them to me is their secret fascination with
my mutilated body and the circumstances which caused it. It seems to be
a magnet for all the most sado-masochistic men who come in.

For a while that was something of a problem for me, because some of the
men wanted me to be dominant, which I found impossible: it just goes too
strongly against the grain of my nature and original training. But I
discovered a solution. One of the other Wild Girls, a very pretty
blonde-haired French girl with a petite body and an impossibly innocent
elfin face, actually loves whipping men.

Her mother died when she was 6, and from then on her father made her
dress as a girl and fucked, whipped and abused her for the next 8 years.
She finally killed him, and after 3 years in a juvenile institution she
came to Holland. Although she had loathed her father's cruelty to her,
she had come to accept and love the role he trained her to play, and
finally had a full sex-change.

She usually wore skintight black leather jeans and jacket and looked
like a rock star. And the two of us would usually manage to satisfy the
men whose sadism found its perfect expression in the things they did to
me, yet whose masochism demanded that they be made to suffer for that
wicked pleasure at Nathalie's hands. We often found working together
like that more profitable than taking customers alone.

One of our first 'joint' customers wanted us to go into the toilets with
him. Nathalie didn't mind since she also often took customers there -
though in her case it was usually to stuff some panties into their
mouths and whip them until they screamed for mercy. Once we were in
there he asked Nathalie to stand on the toilet seat with her back to us
and her legs apart, so that I could bury my mouth between her thighs and
lick her vagina while the man squeezed and pinched the tender flesh
between my legs, and then began to whip me.

As the leather thongs started to sting my bottom I thought of Nathalie's
father and all the things he had done to her for so many years; I found
my hands between my legs, clutching involuntarily at the clitoris-like
swelling next to the slit that was all that remained of my willy. I felt
my imaginary penis stiffening with excitement.

After a few minutes like that the man asked Nathalie to choose my
humiliations. She looked at me questioningly, and I just gazed at the
floor in demure submission. But it wasn't neccessarynecessary: Nathalie
already knew enough about me - my history and what I was ready to do for
my customers - to know that I would submit without question to anything
that this man might enjoy watching. She got down from the toilet and
ordered me to bend down so my hands could grip the back edge of the
seat.

"Would you like to fuck me from behind...while I whip 'er?" She
whispered in her attractively French- accented English. "The 'arder you
fuck me, the 'arder I whip Suki's bottom."

"Oh yes!!" whispered the man.

"Alright. Each time you mek me moan wiz pleasure...I'll mek 'er moan wiz
pain."

He went behind her and as he sank himself into her belly she began to
sting my cheeks with the cat-o-nine-tails. Each time his thighs slapped
against the backs of hers on his inward-stroke she lashed out with the
whip. Within a few minutes he was grunting and panting with pleasure and
Nathalie and I were moaning in different ways. Yet each painful stinging
stroke was sweet as well.

The fact that this fragile creature, both considerably smaller and
lighter than myself, now had me in her power, and was clearly enjoying
the combination of the pleasure she was receiving from behind and the
pain she was inflicting in front of her, thrilled me more than any
previous whippings I'd suffered. My pain was a direct consequence of the
sexual pleasure the man was giving her, and in direct proportion to the
amount of it. And his enjoyment of her was sharpened by that fact, as he
watched my cheeks reddening over her shoulder.

Each time he thrust deep inside her c***dlike body and made her moan
with delight, he was immediately rewarded with the sight of my naked
bottom erotically squirming and wriggling in pain - as if it was his
cock that was wielding the whip and my response was one of pleasure, not
agony.

I wanted to hear him make Nathalie come, so that her squeals of delight
would mingle with my own. But she had other ideas. It soon became
obvious that she was no longer interested in separating the customer
from his money as speedily as possible and sending him on his way. She
was excited too, and wanted to make it last. She stopped whipping me and
said:

"Kneel on the floor facing us, Suki." She slipped herself off the man's
stiff cock. Then she stepped over me and turned round so she could sit
on the toilet. From her leather jacket she produced the wicked- looking
dildo she sometimes used on submiss -ive customers. It was made of black
rubber and about 10 inches from its tip to the realistic rubber balls at
its base. The man looked at her inquiringly.

"I want to see 'er really 'umiliated. You understand, oui?" He nodded
eagerly. "I caught zis dirty bitch doin' it wiz my boyfriend last week."

We both knew it was a complete lie - she had no boyfriend and wouldn't
have wanted one - but it had the desired effect on the man, and I
admired Nathalie's inventiveness.

"Make pee-pee in 'er mouth."

He stepped forward and put his knob between my lips.

"You swallow all of eet, you 'ear Suki! Or we wheep you so 'ard you sink
you die!"

He had obviously had quite a lot to drink earlier and the warm liquid
kept gushing down my throat until my stomach was swollen and as tight as
a drum. At last he finished.

"Now you- " she pointed at him "You turn round. Mek 'er lick you
be'tind." He did as she ordered. As I began to lick his hole she leant
forward above my head and began to whisper in his ear. She showed him
the dildo and he nodded excitedly. Then he shook his head. She whispered
louder and I could hear her stern tone.

"You do eet! I want eet! You do as I say. I want you mek 'er take eet.
She deserve eet, dirty biche!!..You like zat, yes? Feel zat leetle
tongue right in your 'ole? Is nice, oui?" She had her free hand round in
front of him and was obviously rubbing his cock now. He murmured with
pleasure. "You push 'er down on zis just when you do it. And I will sit
on yours zen. You come in me zen. Zat's good, uh?"

"O.K." he said. Nathalie leaned back and then bent down beside me. I
felt her slide the dildo beneath me.

"Now, you get zis where it can go up you, you dirty boyfriend-stealin'
putain. Zen we see 'ow much you like fuck wiz real big one up you!!"

I was becoming wild with excitement. I gripped the base of the thing
between my heels and sank gently until I felt the tip settle between my
burning-hot bumcheeks. Nathalie slipped round in front of the man.

"You like zees? You want me slip myself down your cock?"

"Mmmm...Ugh! Yes! Yes!!"

"Do eet zen! Now! DO EET!!"

I felt the man's anal ring begin to form a pout round my tongue and knew
what Nathalie had told him to do.

"Now! Oh yes, push 'er down on zat cock! Go on, force eet right up
inside 'er an' fill 'er mouth as well. I want her dirty!! You
understand!? I want zat bitch cryin' and filthy! Do it NOW!!"

I could hear the excitement in Nathalie's voice, the hunger to feel me
reduced to a sobbing humiliated heap on the floor as she reached her
climax. So could the man: he was panting and crying 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' and
then I heard Nathalie give a long soft wail of pleasure. Her extra
weight on his lap pushed his hips down and forced me to sink onto the
dildo. I gasped as I felt it opening me and rising inside me. Then
suddenly the flesh pressed against my lips parted and a long thick warm
turd slid into my face.

Nathalie began bouncing up and down on the man's lap shrieking with
delight and her motion made his bottom squash my cheeks and forced me to
swallow some of what was in my mouth. I gasped with pain as the rest of
the rubber column sank between my cheeks but in my head I was also
shrieking with ecstasy. I could feel pee begin to trickle and then gush
from my slit over my calves and ankles. And suddenly I was swept by
uncontrollable orgasmic waves of pleasure, made even sweeter by the
groans and squeals of climax coming from above me.

At last they were still and Nathalie got off his lap. She asked him if
he wanted me to lick him clean but he said no and stumbled out into the
next cubicle. As we heard him cleaning himself up Nathalie stood facing
me. She smiled down at my dirty face and whispered:

"Swallow eet...I 'eard you come...now you pay for eet, eh Suki?" I knelt
there, painfully conscioJsconscious now of the size of the thing plugged
in my belly, the taste in my mouth and the wetness of my stockings. I
was no longer aroused sexually. The smooth flawless skin of her flat
tummy gleamed a few inches from my face; as she rubbed the man's juice
back and forth between her legs. I could have got up and left; after all
we were simply partners in a business transaction, both just prostitutes
for the customers. But suddenly I wanted to see Nathalie's face wreathed
in pleasure again. I wanted to please her. I remained where I was and
forced myself to obey her.

She did not come again, but instead I saw her face filling with a deeper
kind of pleasure, something secret and more important to her. When I had
finished she stroked my lips and cheeks softly, gently smearing the
man's juice over my face.

After that we became very close friends, and I enjoyed the things she
made me do for the customers as much as she enjoyed getting me to do
them. Each time she would dream up a different reason why I deserved the
humiliations she encouraged the men to heap upon me, and we would often
collapse with laughter later on in our bedrooms as we elaborated on the
details of my latest 'crime' against her. They often involved her 'make
believe' boyfriend.

She would never have dreamed of wanting one in reality though: the
unforgivable memory of her father meant that she would never have
tolerated the impositions and compromises of such a relationship with a
man. For her the games we played with the customers always involved some
measure of their own humiliation as well as mine. The pleasure she took
always depended on them serving her in some way.

I found myself drawn to her more and more. The surgery between her legs
had been a masterpiece of artistry; the smallness and perfection of her
body was a source of envy to me - envy and worship. She combined the
firm slender body of a c***d-woman of 13 with the rapacious sexual
appetite of the most jaded nymphomaniac, and reminded me powerfully of
the fantasies that had first awoken me to the nature of my own needs. I
loved being an essential ingredient of her pleasure as she let men
penetrate that delicate body of hers.

She would not suck them, nor let them enter her bottom, as both these
acts reminded her too strongly of those years of subjection and
submission she had unwillingly offered her father. She once told me that
one of the reasons for her sex-changesex change was to create an opening
in herself that her father had never entered and now of course never
could. She confessed to me that each time a man came in her vagina she
experienced an elating thrill of revenge on her father. But her
restrictions on what the customers could do with her meant that I was
still required to serve their cocks in the two ways I adored whenever we
worked together.

For her part she found my body exciting as well, for two reasons. Her
transition from boy to girl was complete: both mental and physical.
Despite my breasts and the emptiness between my legs I still had signs
of the boy visible in me.

She liked that, since - unlike her convincing and beautifully formed
vagina - the scar between my legs was proof that I, a male, had been
subjected to the most extreme and sadistic form of humiliation of all -
castration - which appealed to her innate desire to dominate. And yet I
also reminded her of what had been done to her; it was as if she could
re-enact her c***dhood, only this time with me as her and her as her
father. Of course my own submissiveness meant that I found as much
pleasure in her commands as she did.

One night, as we were lying on my mattress whispering the secrets of our
pasts to each other, she leant over and kissed me. Not harshly or
greedily but with a slow lingering eroticism. I felt a stinging behind
my eyes and a feeling throughout my body as if I were growing wings and
soaring up to the sky. I sensed a mystery unfolding inside me.

I felt - forgiven...



Chapter 9

To our own and the other girls' amazement we became a couple. There were
several other 'lesbian' relationships among the girls. They were as
common among our circle of transvestite and transsexual prostitutes as
they were between female ones, though there was frequently an
undercurrent of crude sexual conquest and exploitation in several of
them. They were less common among the Wild Girls though, with our more
obvious need for the sexuality of men to satisfy us. And both Nathalie
and I were considered the most unlikely partners in such a relationship:
in the past we had both made our feelings clear with flat rejections of
the the overtures of other girls.

Yet there we were exchanging the secret language of love in our glances
as we sat in the bar with the others, waiting for customers to pick us
out for company. Perhaps what made us different was that our new
feelings changed nothing between us outwardly. There was no jealousy
between us: neither of us changed her manner toward the other.

Wwe knew that neither of us could satisfy the other sexually on our own,
so the only sex we shared was that which we provided for our clients.

There were only two exceptions to that: the few minutes after a client
had left, when Nathalie would sometimes prolong her own pleasure and my
humiliation. But though we often touched each other in the most intimate
ways for a customer's enjoyment, we seldom if ever touched after the
man, or men, had finished and left us alone.

The other exception - and only time we ever truly touched each other as
lovers - was the occasional long lingering kisses in my or her bedroom
very late at night. Neither of us ever wished or asked for more - those
kisses by themselves seemed sufficient to bear both of us up on a flood
of feeling, to a peak of happiness neither of us had ever known in our
lives before. We made no attempt to excite or arouse each other at those
times. We had no need to: the electricity flowed freely back and forth
between our bodies unbidden.

We demanded nothing of each other socially either, each having her own
preferred circle of friends among the other girls who worked there.
Everyone knew that our convenient 'business' partnership had subtly
changed into something more, and a few of the sillier girls made coarse
remarks about us at first. But the more serious ones, and especially the
few whose similar relationships were central to their existences and the
saving grace of their lives, told them to shut up. Sometimes we did not
even share the same intimate friends at night after closing time. But it
made no difference: the bond between us was unspoken, seldom
demonstrated, but quite unshakable.

Yet that never prevented Nathalie from taking me into the toilets
back of the bar with two men, tying me up thoroughly, perhaps even
suspending me in my high heels with a noose round my neck attached to
the overhead cistern, whipping me for their pleasure until my face was
wet with tears, and then handing them the dildo-whip and saying:

"Do as you like wiz 'er. Mek 'er do anysing zat you want. She mek ze
other gilsgirls angry because she is a teasin' bitch 'oo don't always
satisfy 'er customers properly. She need a good lesson, oui?"

Then she would leave me to the mercy of the lust she had aroused, and
could sit happily chatting with the other girls or customers in the bar,
knowing that just a few yards away I would be screaming for mercy,
pleading for my whipping to stop, or begging them not to ram the last
few inches of the penis- shaped whiphandlewhip handle up into my
twisting agonised body.

Likewise, she might be a few feet away from me in one of the cabins,
close enough for me to hear her moans of ecstasy coming from behind the
curtain, as she experienced peak after peak of pleasure transferring her
slit back and forth between the cocks of two men - and I would feel
nothing but joy that my lover, my love, was enjoying her own body so
thoroughly.

But in all the ways that now mattered to us - the ways of our hearts -
we made each other complete. That did not make us ambitious for a
different way of life: we had both made our separate choices long ago,
and neither of us wanted to be anywhere other than the bar, doing
anything other than what we did for our living. But now the secret
loneliness which all the girls at one time or another suffered from -
caused in large part by the choice we had all made to be what we had
discovered ourselves to be - and which a few of the girls would never
manage to escape from, had vanished from Nathalie's and my life.

One day she was killed, apparently in a hit-and-run car accident. Later
we began to hear rumours that the police thought the driver was someone
who knew her, and other rumours that there were more marks on her body
than a simple road accident would account for. My life went black.

I felt it should have been me that died, not her. She had known
happiness for so few years of her life, and in my worst moments of
despair I doubted whether she had even found it with me. At first I
could not work, always seeing the face of the driver of the car in the
faces of all the customers who came in. I was sure that if someone had
killed her deliberately it must be someone we had seen previously in the
bar.

The other girls were very kind to me, giving the owner money for my rent
and something towards the commission I wasn't earning. But in the end
the owner insisted that he would have to let my room to another girl
unless I started earning my full share again.

One or two of the girls tried to cheer me up by offering to take
Nathalie's place, but I rejected them - both as partners for the
customers and privately. I don't believe any other girl could take her
place. I knew her and that is enough. But in the long days that
followed, the hours I sat in my room silently weeping, I slowly realised
that of all the men who have had me, even including my original Masters,
none had ever really owned me fully.

Only Nathalie - small beautiful delicate Nathalie with her wild blonde
lion's mane of hair and laughing mocking eyes - had achieved that,
without even trying. Because she had been the Mistress of my heart and
soul as well as my body. That is why I cannot bear to work with another
girl. The men I do not mind any more: as usual I become their plaything,
their robot-slave. But to touch another girl in any of the ways that
Nathalie and I touched each other would be to betray her.



Chapter 10

That was a year ago. I know what my future will be now. The bar-owner
makes all the girls test regularly for Aids and we all know anyone who
tests positive must stop working in the bar. Most of the girls are very
careful to take precautions, more to protect themselves than their
clients. But all my instincts and training conditioned me to believe my
body exists for men to empty their sperm into me, I know how much it
diminishes their pleasure to have to use condoms, and how much greater
their thrill of dominance is when they feel their spunk pumping down a
slave's throat or deep inside her bottom.

I long ago resigned myself to the inevitable and anyway, I have no
desire to see my own prettiness and youthful figure fade until I become
a parody of what I am now. I have seen plenty of older TV's sitting in
their windows in Amsterdam still plying for trade: grotesques with
thickening waistlines and too much make-up. I dread that.

I have just had my last test result back and have already made my plans.
I gently wormed more information out of my regular Dutch Master - the
one who who came back, so guilty and embarrassed, after that night I had
been abused and burned in the toilets at the back of the bar. I could
tell from his manner whenever I questioned him that he was scared to
tell me more, since he obviously had his own suspicions about how
Nathalie had died. But at last he gave me the number I wanted.

I telephoned the other man, the real sadist, and told him I wanted to
come and see him. He was very suspicious and told me to meet him in a
cafe at first. When we met I could see from his penetrating stare that
he felt he knew me, but couldn't remember where from. That didn't
surprise me: I was sure he had probably made lots of TV and girl
prostitutes suffer in the past. To him we were all just slaves, pretty
bodies, nothing more.

Without letting him know which bar I worked at, I said that friends of
mine had told me he liked rather more extreme games than most brothel-
girls would allow. I told him that I was naturally very submissive
indeed and had been looking for someone like him for a long time. He
began to show more interest, but still treated me cautiously. We were
sitting in a cool dark corner at the back of the cafe. I
exposxRgxthexhiXXxkxiacoxtopsxofxmyxXXt crossed my legs and let my short
silk skirt lay where it had fallen up my thighs, exposing the black lace
tops of my stockings and my scarlet suspender-beltsuspender belt.

He glanced down and took in my slender white bared thighs. Then his eyes
narrowed and he said:

"What are you? In this city it isn't always easy to tell."

"I am a prostitute - of course. A...transsexual..."

"You've had the operation then?"

"...Not exactly but I am...effectively a girl..."

Seeing the curious look on his face, I slowly uncrossed my legs and let
my knees remain open. After a swift look around him to check he wasn't
being observed, he took the invitation. His hand snaked up my skirt
between my parted thighs and he squeezed my pantie-crotch hard. Keeping
his hand still thrust between my legs as if he already owned me he said:

"You're post-op..what do you mean?"

"We can't talk properly here. Take me back to your place and I'll
explain fully."

"And how much will this 'explanation' cost me...whore?"

"You don't understand, Sir. Not a penny. My original English Masters
trained me as a slave first, and as a prostitute later. And they only
did so to make me accept even more completely that they could do
precisely as they wished with me, including selling me to other men when
they chose to. I am only a prostitute now so that I can continue to
serve...real Masters...when I come across them - Masters who know what
genuine well-trained slaves like me are for..."

I eased my weight off the seat slightly and thrust my hips forward
against his hand, inviting it to explore deeper in my crotch beneath my
buttocks. Through the lace of my panties his thumb was rubbing the
little grooved slit just below my pubic bulge that Dr. Gold's surgery
had created for me to pee from. I suppressed a wince of pain as he
suddenly pressed his nail hard into my flesh there. Simultaneous -ly his
fingers slid downwards, seeking the entrance to my bottom.

"My customers pay of course, but they aren't Masters, just men wanting
relief, or diversion from their wives. But I never forget what I really
am. And...ahbh!..when ever I meet a real Master I do not expect him to
pay a penny, since I know he will recogniserecognize me for what I am -
a born slave by instinct and training...ahhh!!..." His fingernails dug
cruelly into the flesh around my hole. "...and a slave is not paid. A
slave is a slave...she must obey...and serve."

His curiosity was aroused by what his hand could feel between my thighs.

"So..how did this happen..slave?" His hand was like a claw in my loins
by now.

"I can't tell you properly here. Take me back to your place and I will
tell you every detail of how it happened. When you have heard it I think
that will convince you that I could be very...sweet to play with..."

After a few seconds, during which he studied my face carefully, his
manner suddenly changed and became brisk and decisive.

"O.K. Remain exactly as you are now." He withdrew his hand, sat back and
lit a cigarette.

"We'll go when I've finished my coffee."

I remained absolutely motionless, with my skirt rucked up a little and
my knees still parted as they had been when his hand was between my
thighs. I noticed out of the corner of my eye two men sitting at a table
by the far wall beginning to take a mildly curious interest in me. My
chair was almost facing them. I was sure he had noticed them too. In a
natural way, as if he just wanted to stretch his legs, he pushed his
chair back. They now had a clear view of me.

"Close your legs, whore." he hissed softly, smiling as if we were simply
making polite conversation. "Put your hands on your skirt. Now slide it
up a little. Don't look down...Higher, slut...Higher."

From where my hands were resting on my thighs I could guess that the
scarlet 'vee' of my panties must be visible to the two watching men
across the room. He turned and grinned at them. Then he turned back and
calmly stretched out the hand in which he held his cigarette. The was
now about an inch of ash on the end. He held it a few inches above where
my thighs met my crotch and tapped it lightly. The ash dropped between
my thighs. I felt the heat sting me briefly, but did not move. Then he
lowered his hand until the glowing red tip of the cigarette was almost
touching my skin an inch from the red nylon. I sat there, pushing my
fingernails harder and harder into the sides of my thighs as the little
circle of burning heat in my crotch quickly increased. The cigarette-end
dipped briefly and my left thigh twitched at the intensity of the brief
moment of shocking pain.

"I told you not to move, slut. Smile at me." I turned my head and smiled
sweetly

"Take the cigarette, blow the ash off the end and then hand it back to
me. Keep smiling." I did as he had ordered. Once again he brought the
end down between my legs and belly. The warmth turned to stinging heat
again. Then the same agony shot through my right thigh for a second. I
sat there trembling.

"Pull your skirt down, whore. That's what you get for showing yourself
to strangers in cafes."

He paid for our coffees and we walked out, leaving the two men open-
mouthed at what they had witnessed.

He ushered me into the living-roomliving room of his smart modern flat
near the centre of the town. Apart from an aL obvious taste for leather
furniture there was no hint about his apartment of his private
inclinations. -

"So..what's this story you want to tell me?" He said.

I walked to the middle of the room and began to recount the
deatilsdetails of that final wild night in England 5 years earlier. As I
spoke I slowly put my hands up my skirt and slid my panties down to my
knees. And as I got nearer to the end of what I could remember from that
evening I lifted my skirt up round my waist so that he could see the
scar between my legs. During the 20 or so minutes it took to tell I
could see his eyes beginning to sparkle with unconcealed excitement as I
spoke of the men who were waiting for me when I entered the toilet, and
all the things they did to me before I finally lost consciousness.

When I finished he was staring at me, breathing hard. I went on.

"If it appeals to you to...'arrange' me...the way those English Masters
did, then in the next few weeks - a month at the most - I will ring you
to tell you I am ready to come and be your slave on any night you choose
during the following week.

And on the night you order me to come to you, I will become your
property...absolutely your property...to do whatever you like with..."
My fingers caressed the little ridge of redder flesh running up my
belly. "...for the rest of that night. You can take me anywhere you
wish...use my body any way you like..." While continuing to stroke
myself, with my free hand I began to unbutton the front of my neatly
pressed cream blouse until I could pull it open and reveal the red lace
bra beneath it that matched my panties. As I went on speaking I gently
pulled down the cups and exposed my small white hormone-induced breasts.
"...All night long if you choose..."

I could see from his trousers that he was already deeply aroused at the
prospect.

"There is one...condition however." His eyes instantly narrowed to
crafty slits of suspicion again. I could tell at once he was expecting
me to impose some carefully-thought-out pre-condition that would assure
my eventual safety while at his mercy, and knew he was already preparing
to agree to whatever it was, knowing he would not keep his word.

"..that you will promise me - and swear it now before I leave - that
once you have 'arranged' me the same way those other men did, you
will..do....what they failed to..."

His eyes widened with surprise. Had he understood?

"Promise that before daybreak...I will die like that serving
you...Sir..."

His face froze for a few seconds as what I had said slowly sank in. My
almost whispered final words floated in the silence between us; for a
few seconds I thought I had misjudged him and wondered if he was about
to throw me out. But then the corners of his mouth turned up into a thin
smile and he said with slow emphasis:

"Do you mean that...or is it just one of the lies you use to turn on
your customers...whore?"

I gave him a small sexy smile in return, although I wasn't feeling
anything at that moment - I was much too busy studying his reaction to
my proposal - and moved my fingers up and down the little raised ridge
of flesh in my crotch.

"Doesn't this prove how serious I am? Perhaps you think I was lying
about how it happened? Surely you don't think a doctor did this?..."

"No..." he said. "But..you could have been taken there by force...tied
up so you had no choice..."

"I told you: I was tied up. When I walked across that car-park my wrists
were fastened behind my back...like this." I said in a soft whisper, and
slipped my hands behind me, letting my skirt fall down again. "And my
ankles were chained together so that I could only take little
steps...like this." I walked across the room towards him. "Right across
that car-park...at the age of 17...with all those headlights on me...all
those men watching me walk into those toilets...And when I was told to,
I begged them...to turn me into a girl. The night I become your property
you can make me beg you..to do whatever you want...And if you maker me
the promise I've asked, then we'll both know that you have no reason to
hold back from enjoying any..personal whims..you may have... before
keeping it." I whispered, feigning excitement in my voice.

I could see his desire to believe me was overcoming his suspicion.

"That's what my first Masters trained me to believe from when I was
14...that if I was truly a slave, and my Master was truly a Master, I
had a duty to give him everything I had to give... everything ...and he
had the right to take it..."

He asked if I minded anyone else being present. I said it was up to him:
I would be his property and he could share me with anyone he chose. But
I warned him that inviting more than one or two others to be present
might spoil the outcome of the evening, since I was sure that one of the
men who had been there the night I was castrated had been responsible
for calling the ambulance and saving my life. If he chose anyone else he
should be sure that they wouldn't spoil, or try to interfere with his
plans for the final part of the night.

When he heard that, I could see that at last he was convinced I was
genuine about what I was inviting him to do.

He reached out and closed a thumb and finger over one of my nipples. His
other hand lifted my skirt and slid between my thighs. I shivered
slightly as a thumb and finger closed on that little ridge of flesh and
began to squeeze there. He started to speak, and as he did he confirmed
his ex-friend's suspicions about how far he could go.

"So...you really want to be my property...my slave...Well, you're pretty
enough.. .and your body interests me..." Between my legs his finger and
thumb squeezed harder until my hips began to quiver. "I've had boy-
slaves and girl-slaves before. I've made boy-slaves behave like
girls...and made girl- slaves tremble till they wet their panties with
fright...like a *********** does when she's being ****d...But I like
TV's. Boys who know they ought to be girls. Because they know what sluts
they really are. They know they deserve whatever they get. Isn't that
true, whore?"

I nodded gently.

"Yes. I know exactly what you bitches are like...and what you need. I
know just how randy you boy- whores can get when you're tied up good and
tight. You love it, don't you? When you're totally helpless and and know
you can't escape. When you don't know what will happen to you, but know
you'll have to take whatever you get..whether you like it or not. You
wet yourselves and even mess your panties with fright...but you love it
all the same, don't you?" His fingernails were like knifepointsknife
points now, stabbing at my nipple and in my crotch.

"Don't you!?"

"Y-y-yes-sis-sis-sis..." I gasped through chattering teeth.

"Sluts like you were born for men like me to enjoy. Most of the men who
go to boys like you...boys in panties and high heels...don't realise
what you're for. They haven't the faintest idea what they could really
do with you. They don't understand what utter sluts you are right down
to the soles of your high- heeled shoes, do they?

But I do. I like to make you sluts give me everything you've got. You're
going to burn up just like a firework round my cock..when that rope is
round your neck. And you'll be begging for it, I promise you...begging
me to empty my balls into you while the rope is strangling you and you
know you've only got a few more seconds to live. You'll use the last
breath in your body to beg for my spunk to shoot inside you. . . "

Despite the pain rippling through my body my expression remained one of
panting open-mouthed eagerness.

"Do you know how I know that, slut?...You're not the first boy-whore
who's asked for it. I've made three other bitches like you cream
themselves to death on my cock. Like you, two of them asked for it. But
all of them were begging for it in the end. Even the one who didn't know
beforehand that that was what I wanted her for...even she finally begged
me to keep her swinging from the rope with my cock stuffed up her arse
and feel the little bitch twitching herself to death on it. And you will
too...that's all you kinky little tarts are fit for, isn't it? It's the
only thing you're good for, isn't it?"

As his cruel eyes stared into mine and I began to let him see the pain
and fear inside me, the image of Nathalie floated into my mind. I
wondered about the third victim he had mentioned - the one who hadn't
known beforehand that she was gopinggoing to die to satisfy his sadistic
lust. More than anything I wanted to ask him if he had been responsible
for what had happened to her, but I was frightened that that would scare
him off. And from the things he had said - I had no more doubt now that
he was telling the truth, just as he had none about the reality of my
offer - I felt sure I already knew the answer.

He was cruel enough to have tortured and killed her in revenge for his
humiliation that evening in the bar, as well as for his own pleasure.
But why give myself to the very man who had taken Nathalie from me? I
could imagine all too easily the nightmare horror of her last hour as
the memory of her hated father had returned, re-embodied, to terrorise
the last moments of her life. And I knew, if the third victim was
Nathalie, that he had lied about one thing. She was not like me: she
would have fought and struggled for life like a cornered hell-
cathellcat.

But I was not like her. Perhaps if I had died instead of her she would
have grieved for a while and then forgotten me; I did not mind that, but
I couldn't feel like that. Without her I felt my life was already over.

And with luck I would take my revenge on her murderer. Even if he was
not, it was obvious that he could easily have been. But I would give him
what he wanted from me first. My years of training were too deeply-
ingraineddeeply ingrained for me to deny him that. And what he had said
about 'boy-whores' was no less than the truth about me at least:
something inside me had been waiting for someone like him - the same
urge that had made me walk across that car-park in England towards my
fate on that night years before.

But I hoped I would have my revenge for Nathalie's death after my own: a
slow lingering wasting illness that finally sapped his strength and left
him gasping useless curses that he had ever set eyes on either of us.
The few minutes or hours of torture and horror she had suffered would be
repaid a hundred-fold as he was forced to watch his own life slowly
shrivel and shrink.

But first he would have the thrill I knew he wanted my body to provide.
The thrill that we both knew my body could be made hungry enough to
offer and even beg for. He understood perfectly why I had told him about
that night in England; he himself would have been happy to have been one
of the men waiting in that toilet for me. And he knew that I could never
forget the butterfly-swarms of excitement and terror inside me as I
walked through the paly-lit doorway of that remote isolated toilet and
found myself surrounded by half a dozen rubber-clad men



Last Chapter

..., hooded like Medieval executioners.

Nor the ecstasy of panic and surrender I felt as they forced my d**gged
stumbling feet to walk into the unlit rear part of the block, where the
cubicles were, and saw, illuminated by the eerie light of the moon
streaming through the high narrow windows, the noose dangling from a
beam above the toilet-bowl of the middle one.

My knees turned to jelly as I saw that a small wooden box'step' had
already been placed in front of the toilet so that I could be made to
step up onto the seat without any need to lengthen the chain between my
ankles, denying me even a remote possibility of turning tail and fleeing
into the night. Out of the corner of my eyes cocks were visible all
round me. Sensing them as I stared up at the noose, I felt it drawing me
towards it like a magnet.

The imminent prospect of that rope around my neck was what had stirred
the blood in these anonymous men's veins and stiffened their cocks in
anticipation. I should have been squealing and begging them to release
me, yet I did not. Instead I stood there, trembling but silent.

The Rubber Master and his friends had long ago trained me to accept that
I was a 'no limits' slave - that I must submit without question to the
whims of whoever I was serving. But more than that: tThey had made it
clear that I existed as a slave specifically for Masters who wanted to
explore the furthest reaches of the kinkiest perversions of all, a. And
submission alone was not enough: it was my duty to encourage them to
abuse me as fully as they wished.

In other words, if I sensed that anyone I had been ordered to servewas
serving felt any inhibitions or qualms about what they wanted to do to
me, it was my duty to use any mixture submissiveness, provocativeness
and even impudence I thought was appropriate, to dispel those feelings
and to overcome any their scruples they might have about abusing me. I
existed for my Masters to seek and experience the summit of their own
possible pleasure; if anything in my manner put them off reaching that
goal then I had failed in my duty as a slave.

The Rubber Master had made it clear what could happen to me tonight. I
knew what where my submissiveness- ion training was now taking me closer
toleading, with every passing second. But even my previous 3 years of
humiliation and slavery might not have kept me from begging for mercy
now, were it not for the hunger to serve these men that was filling my
bodye with buzzing adrenalin. It wasn't just the effect of the d**g
still flowing round my veins either. As Dr. Gold subsequently told me,
thait was nothing more than a moderately strong sexual stimulant, on its
own incapable of making me want to suppress the most natural and
fundamental human instinct of all - selfpreservationself-preservation.

The terror I felt in the pit of my stomach at the shocking thing I knew
they were preparing me for was real enough. .

But it was that very shockingness - the sheer utter depravity of the
perverse thrill they wanted from my body - which now also thrilled me
more deeply than anything I'd ever experienced before, a sexual thrill
so powerful and intense I was almost in a faint.

From the moment I took those first frightened steps through the woods
behind my parents' home - a half- naked boy dressed in nothing but high
heels, stockings and undies, flitting nervously along the forest paths -
something inside me was waiting for strangers' hands to grab my
reluctant virgin body and hold it down to be ****d. That same urge led
me to the toilets where it finally happened. I had been ****d many times
since then, ****d until it no longer was ****. But that inner hunger to
feel the shock of my own violation was still as strong as ever. By now
though I had already been abused by hundreds of Masters in every
conceivable way, and subjected to every kind of perversion and
humiliation their imaginations could devise. What fresh violation
remained? What avenue of submission was still unexplored?

There was only one possible answer: the most shocking violation of all,
the most comprehensive **** of all - to feel my very life being
orgasmically jerked out of existence, simply to satisfy the urgent
momentary sex-thrill some strangers' cocks would get from the act; to be
used and then disposed of as casually as a rubber sex-doll. It would be
the final, unarguable proof that I belonged to them utterly, the surest
demonstration that I existed for one sole function: to make their cocks
shoot.

In the past I had avoided dwelling for long on the logical possible
consequences of my enslavement, and now I recognised why. On some
instinctive level I had always been aware of, but preferred not to
acknowledge, I had always known this day must inevitably come. A The
thoroughness of ll my previous slave-trainingslave-training had all been
a preparation for it. But aAs long as I lived my Masters would
constantly need to find new ways of confirming my submission and testing
the completeness of my acceptance that I was their property. Even if I
didn't wake up with the thought at the forefront of my mind every
morning, I knew deep down that a night would eventually come when I
would be required to prove that my subservience submission to their
sexual appetitesm was so absolute that I would do anything to satisfy
them - literallyeven die to please them.

This evening, in that lonely country toilet-block, - sufficiently remote
and isolated for them to feel completely confident that there would be
no unwelcome interruption - as these hooded men explored the most taboo
sexual fantasy of all and experienced the exquisite thrill of their own
unfettered power over their victim, my body would slowly fill with
terror as I came face to face with the true meaning of my own slavery.

On occasions in the past I had felt some fraction of what I was now
experiencing, when I thought that Masters who were abusing me might get
carried away and go too far. But this time it was different: the outcome
was not merely ato be an possible accidental by-product, but deliberate,
intended, and certain. Indeed, their desire to watch me dying was the
centre and focus of the sexual tension I could feel emanating from all
sides. The death of this slut 'girl' standing before them was the reason
they had come, the thing they had been promised, and the reason they had
come. Tthe silly little randy bitchwhore knew it too - knew she must die
to trigger off their orgasms - and was already wetting herself with
excitement at the prospect.

The cool breeze around us buzzed with the electricity of anticipation.
Butterflies of fear swarmed through my body with such intensity I felt I
might melt at any moment. Despite the chilly night air my body was
glowing with strange warmth. Glancing down, I saw - rather than felt -
pee streaming down my inner thighs and calves. A weird ecstasy of terror
filled me as the steam rose from my legs and the pungent smell of my
helpless fright and loss of control wafted through the space. My terror
did not spring purely from what I was now sure they were going to do
with me, but equally also because a part of me - the major part -I knew
I wanted to be their victim of this final violation as muchkeenly as
they wanted one as the men around me needed one for it.

During the teasing eternity of seconds they made me stand in the
cubicle-doorway and stare at the noose dangling from on high, I
envisaged how I would soon look to them, jerking and wriggling on the
end of that rope.; I could picture their excitement mounting as they
watched my pink rubber skirt begin to fly up round my waist and reveal
my naked bottom performing an obscene dance as my shiny black-
corsettedcorseted body began to twist and turn in frenzy. I could guess
at the erotic charge they would get from seeing the silver moonbeams
shimmering on my drenched stockings, contrasting so dramatically with
the pale white skin of my bare thighs above, as my slender bound legs
twitched and trembled in a parody of the throes of orgasm.

And I could imagine their thrills increasing moment by moment to an
orgiastic peak of ecstasy as their pretty little slut-victim's helpless
struggling body reached an frenzy of terror, until the strangling
tightness of the noose summoned forth an answering tightness in their
own balls, brought them to fever-pitch and sent jets of sperm flying
from all directions. And if I was lucky, I knew that the last thing I
would ever see was that pulsating ring of erect cocks erupting in
climax, splatter -ing my legs and body and pelting it with creamy white
rain.

That thought was like a finger hypnotically and irresistably beckoning
me on to my fate. The part of me that naturally wanted to live to see
the sun rise again was a weak distant piping voice - : that of a
stranger I no longer was and barely remember -ed. Far louder and
stronger was the voice of the slave I had slowly and voluntarily become
since I was ************, telling me through every tingling nerve in my
body that I was filled with hunger longing to see those eyes glittering
with excitement and wild abandon through the holes in their hoods, and .
She wanted them to become so aroused that desire drove out every other
thought until the need to satisfy their lust became unstoppable. I She
wanted to share thXXethe thrill of their power and the heat of their
orgasms in the only way that I she could, the way I had been trained
for: as its victim!

I wanted to know, before they began, that there was no escape, no going
back, and so that nothing else remained now but for me to beg them to do
it. I wanted to know I was going to die for their orgasms; and I wanted
them to know that I knew. No misplaced feelings of mercy must spoil
their coming pleasure. They must know that I understood what they wanted
me for, and had accepted that it was natural and right for me to submit
to it: their desire was the only justification neccessarynecessary.

I felt as if I were in a dream-worlddream world: I was nothing but a
pretty little fantasy, a scantily-cladscantily clad faun conjured up by
their imaginations. The clothes hugging my body were apt signs of
submissive perversion: a bizarre androgynous ******* in shining black
PVC and a pink rubber micro-skirt, like a glassy-eyed mannequin doll in
a sex shop window inviting men to entertain the most lurid secret
thoughts in their heads. When their mutual appetites had been sated then
I would disappear like a puff of smoke. Like some esoteric mathematical
formula for conjuring magic, I had become simply a function of the
excitement pulsating in the veins of these cocks; my existence would
last no longer than the erections all round me.

Just Exactly as I had once glimpsed briefly in my imagination years
before, I now stood before the altar as the priests prepared their
blades for a ritual as old as the mysteries of the human psyche: the
urge to be like gods. To kill a victim for no other reason than their
own whim. The more deliberate and terrifying they could make the ritual
for their victim - the more he or she accepted the inevitability of the
coming nothingness - the more powerfully would beat their own life-
force. They wanted to conjure up the most awesome force in all Nature -
the inescapable power of Death itself - and feel it brush their sleeves,
yet leave them untouched. They would witness the final firestorm - the
heat-death of the Universe itself - and yet still escape. They would
still be alive afterwards, when death had reduced their victim to a
simple conjuctionconjunction of slowly cooling atoms.

In that recognition of their motives, I understood something else with
blinding clarity: they needed me, more than any Masters I had ever
previously served. Any one of them might leave and not change the
outcome. None of them was individually neccessarynecessary for the
experience that all of them sought, but I was.

There at the very centre of my own slavery was the only satisfaction I
sought or wanted. It had been the satisfaction driving me to submit to
all the cruelties and perversions my Masters had inflicted, the thing
that had drawn me to the Rubber Master like a moth to a candle: the more
extreme and unpleasant his friends' use of me became the more I
fulfilled my own urgent craving to be needed in ways that only I alone
could satisfy. And now, when there was no future left for me but the
remaining hours of this single night, that desire returned with
overwhelming strength: there was nothing left to think about but how to
make my deathXXasdeath as erotic as possible, so that each of them would
remember me forever as the most perfectly subservientexciting slave they
had ever ownedused.

That was what made me shake with terror now: not the noose above me, but
the shocking knowledge within me of my own desire to embrace and connive
atonspire in my own death. From my own slave's perspective, tThe
prospect of it excited me as much as it did them! The thought of how
keen their pleasure would be at the moment of my death was sending
almost unbearably exciting signals to every nerve in my body. Tonight my
Masters would lead me - willingly or not - to the very edge of a
precipice marked 'submission', and finally push me off into an abyss of
terror, a tumbling free-fall into eternal slavery.

TrXXeirheir low voices around me brought me out of my own private
thoughts, back to the reality of what was happening. As they casually
appraised my clothes and figure it was clear where their inclinations
lay.

"...skinny little moppet looks so sexy..."

"...little schoolgirl-slut..."

"...nice legs on it, like an 11 or 12-year-old..."

"...all wearing rubber and PVC at 10 and 11 these days. Cheeky little
cockteasers..."

"...teach their tight young pussies a fucking lesson they won't
forget!..."

A bottle of Amyl was held under my nose. After a few seconds its effect
combined with the d**g I already had flowing round my body. I could
sense the nervous anticipation in the air around me, and even in my own
aroused state I could detect in their eyes glimmers of unsureness about
the strength of tiXXirheir determination to take things as far as they
clearly wanted to.

Behind my head someone began to speak in a soft low voice, filled with
passion and sadism:

"You cockteasing little schoolgirls are all the same, aren't you? Under
your squeaky-clean school uniforms you're really nothing but mischievous
little whores, all of you, with your tight pink fannies begging to be
fucked and filled to the brim with spunk! We've all seen cheeky moppets
like you before..on swings in park play-groundsplaygrounds, flashing
your panties at men for the fun of it. And you all think it's such a
game opening your legs coming down the slide so we can see right up your
dresses..getting us all steamed up seeing the way the cotton strains
round your little bulging cracks...Well, it's time you were made to show
off your randy little schoolgirl bum and wiggle that fuck-slit bulge in
your knickers between your legs to our satisfaction for a change - "

The moment had arrived: I knew my reaction now might sway them one way
or the other, either sealing my fate or perhaps making them feel guilty
and shame-faced at the enormity of what they had been intending to do. I
gazed round at them and moved my hips very slightly in a slow
provocative wiggle.

"I can tease who I like. All the girls in my class like love to flash
their knickers in the park at men like youand tease dirty old wankers
like you. We love seeing how hot and flustered you get just before we
run away and leave you with that thing in your trousers poking through
the front of them. It makes us laugh when we see how hot and flustered
you get dirty old men like you slink off red-faced, trying to pretend
your cocks aren't hard from looking up our dresses and you weren't
watching us in the play-ground.... We all know you're too scared to do
what you'd like to. I've even gone into the bushes, knowing a man would
follow me and spy on me, while I lifted my skirt right up round my waist
and touched my fanny-lips through my panties..Once, when I knew two
dirty wankers were watching me just a few feet away, I even slipped my
knicks right down round my anklesto my knees and , squatted down with my
back to them and did a pee with my feet apart so they could see
everything between my legs. I knew they could see everything between my
legs cos I could hear them rustling in the bushes and whispering. Then I
whipped my panties up again quick and left them there with sore cocks
and aching balls while Iand ran off to tell all my
girifriendsgirlfriends about them. We all waited for them to come out of
the bushes, and we stood around giggling and pointing at them. They
looked like they'd never been so embarrassed in all their lives.

You're just like them. I'll show you what I show them...And I bet you
don't dare lay a finger on me, any more than they ever do..Men are so
stupid. I'm not afraid of you!"

Then I bent forward and really wiggled my bot."

As if the noose, the cuffs on my wrists and the chain on my ankles
didn't exist, I skipped onto the step and then up onto the toilet-seat.
My back to the men, I stood with one foot balanced on each side of the
seat, bent forwards and wiggled my bottom enough to make the hem of my
rubber skirt flick back and forth.

"See it, did you!?...Get a good look at my 12-year-old crack, you dirty
old perverts!?...That's all you deserve...and all you're going to get
from me!!" I straightened up and turned round, with a defiant look on my
face. Instantly the atmosphere changed: my words had had exactly the
effect I expected. The half - dozen pairs of eyes were now staring at me
with a new and vicious intensity. Hands gripped my ankles and voices
came from all sides.

"We'll see about that, you little fucking cock-teaser..."

"..You insolent little tart!.."

"...God! What a little fucking whore! Quick! Get the straps round her
knees and ankles. We'll teach this cock-teasing moppet what her fucking
quimslit is there for!...

"...That cheeky little bum is just beggin' for it! This time you're not
going to run away just when we're ready to jerk that cute little moppet-
bot onto our tools, darling..."

I was made to stand balancing on the front edge of the toilet-seat and
the belts went snaking round my ankles and knees. The helplessness I
felt as they were being cinched tight was an aphrodisiac to me. My
bottom began to squirm with dread and excitement.

"...Yeah! hil All these little cutie schoolgirls think they can get away
with flashing their arses at guys and skip off when they feel like it.
And this little teasing tart sounds like the worst of the lot..Think
you're so precious no one can touch your baby-smooth muff, your little
fuck-slit, your tight little juicy untried cock-tunnel, girl!!? You're
going to change your tune in a minute or two. Look at my cock, you
fucking whore!! In a few minutes time you're going to wiggle your bum
and slit for as long as we feel like it..." His eyes sparkled with
malevolent lust as he went on. "...and when your striptease has got our
cocks good and hard we're all going to **** your tightXXlittletight
little 12-year-old hole and fuck you silly till your belly's swimming in
spunk, you insolent little fuck-slut BITCH!!..." His voice dropped to a
whispering hiss of unrestrained glee. "...You're not going to get the
chance to cock-tease any more men after tonight, baby-slut...because
when your belly's full of our spunk-cream and your dirty little gang-
fucked vagina is red-raw and dripping with it, one of us is going to ram
his cock up your aching hole one more time...and keep you dangling on
that rope with your quim-slit clinging to his shaft until you cream
yourself to dbeath on it...What do you think of that, bitch? Get her
ready for it.."

Hands gripped me from both sides and lifted me into the air. Someone
standing behind me on the back of the toilet slid the rope round my
neck. Then I was lowered again and felt the noose-**** slipping until
the rope became a gentle pressure round my throat as my feet found their
balance again.

"Now let's see how well you can tease our cocks, moppet-whore! Show us
all how much you're begging to have someone's cock drill your cheeky
little schoolgirl arse till you're squealing for mercy, bitch!...Go on,
make the cock-teasing tart dance for us!"

Panic and dread began to rise inside me, choking the breath in my
throat, as I felt hands grip my hips from behind and start to pul1pull
them backwards. The more I bent at the waist the tighter the noose
became round my neck and the harder it got to keep my balance on the
shiny plastic toilet-seat in my high heels.

Suddenly my feet slipped from under me and dangled over the toilet-bowl.
My bottom began to flutter with involuntary terror as the rope went taut
round my neck and cut off the air to my lungs. For a few seconds I just
hung there, my body refusing to give them what they wanted while my mind
fought to control the urge to struggle. My lungs began to burst as the
oxygen in them became exhausted. Then in an instant my will snapped and
my body began to twist and thrash in an effort to get another breath. I
was overwhelmed with fright at what was happening to me - I was going to
die and I wasn't ready to!!

All around me there were leering eyes, hands rapidly rubbing cocks and
gasps of delight as my feet struggled to find the edge of the toilet-
seat again. I was dimly conscious that my hips were jerking back and
forth obscenely, making my rubber skirt fly up round my waist, and saw
my tormentors hands quicken their wanking strokes in excited response.

I was aware that the harder I struggled the more aroused they were
becoming at the sight, and desperately wanted to stop, but couldn't
fight my own instinctive desire to survive. Everything began to go black
before my tear-filled eyes.

For a second or so I thought I must now be dead. But then my vision
cleared as I returned to consciousness and, with icy fingers of terror
squeezing my thumping heart, I realised I was standing on the seat once
again, still surrounded by these rubber-hooded sadists. Hands were
holding my slumped body and someone had loosened the rope a little.
Their voices floated up to me, as if from a great distance.

"...Fuckin' wonderful!!.."

"...sexiest sight I've ever seen..." "...almost shot my load when the
little slut nearly snuffed it..."

"Fuck yeah! Kinkiest fuckin' thrill I've ever 'ad..."

"...on my cock next time she's jumping about like that..."

Hands were stroking my thighs and bottom and squeezing between my legs.
A voice behind me rasped out:

"You're going to swing again in a minute, little bitch-doll. And if you
beg me nicely then I'll stick my cock up your arse and fuck your belly.
If you squeeze it tight enough with your fanny it may stop you from
being strangled until after I've finished spunking up your hole, slut."

His hands began to drag me backwards off-balance once again. I thrust
out my bottom, desperately seeking his erection. I felt his flesh press
between my cheeks. With a quick jerk he pulled my bottom onto his knob
and at the same instant the tightness round my neck and in my bottom
increased as my body-weight pulled the rope taut and the rest of the
man's shaft immediately slid into me to the hilt. For a few seconds I
dangled there, my body singing with terror and ecstasy as I felt the
sharp pain from the tip of the man's cock buried deep inside my stomach.
Then once again my body began its instinctive fight for air. My bottom
began alternating rapidly between clinging to the cock thrust inside me
- literally clinging for dear life and support - and fluttering wide-
openness as all normal muscle-control, all my deepest c***dhood
conditioning, was swept away by the impossible task of somehow freeing
my neck from the noose that was slowly strangling me. In this ultimate
sexual game they had managed to devise a way of making my hole by turns
as soft and yielding as the wettest and most elastic vagina, and then
making it suck as tightly as the hungriest mouth.

Distantly I heard the man behind me begin to moan and felt the jerking
inside me become frenzied. Then I found myself standing on the toilet-
seat again and my bottom was sore and empty once more. I had satisfied
one Master but all the others still remained, and the atmosphere of
depraved excitement at what they had just witnessed was tangible all
around.

Time after time I was made to re?eatrepeat the process, then revived
again, choking and gasping, only to discover that a different man had
taken the place of the previous one. And each time I was ordered to
thrust my hips back until I lost my balance again, I did so without
struggling to avoid my fate, knowing all the while that the more men who
came in me, the less there were left before the final one...

The rope-burns round my throat, the flame in my bursting lungs, the
sickening ache deep inside my belly caused by the longer cock-shafts and
the rawness of the gaping bruised hole between my legs had all coalesced
into a welter of pain that filled my whole body. I heard a faint sobbing
sound and dimly realised that it was coming from me. I was longing for
them to finish me off so that the pain would stop. But instead they now
kept me steady on the toilet-seat for several minutes. Slowly the worst
of the agony began to subside until my quivering knees were at last able
to support my own weight once more.

My heart sank like a stone dropped into a pond as the man who seemed to
be in charge of the spectacle got up onto the seat behind me. His was
the biggest cock there and I could feel the tip of it brushing against
the backs of my stockinged thighs without him needing to pull my hips
backwards at all.

"Now then, little bitch, are you sorry for all the men you cock-
teased?...Well?"

"Y-y-yessir..." I whispered.

I thought I detected a small gleam of hope that they would be satisfied
with what they.had done and would release me. I had been brought to the
verge of death five or six times by then. But now that the worst of the
agony I had been feeling a few minutes before had worn off I couldn't
suppress my relief at still being alive. My feelings were mixed though:
they had made me want to die, but now that feeling had ebbed away and I
felt a bitter pang knowing that a small but important part of my own
will still remained independent of my Masters' wishes.

"Tell them what the cunts of little moppet-schoolgirls like yourself are
for."

"...F-for..m-m-men to...f-f-fuck and f-fill t-t-t-to the brim with...s-
s-s-spunk sir..." I croaked, through chattering teeth. I felt his hands
slide round my hips and his fingers ease themselves under the tight
black PVC of my corset. I hated the sensation as his hands began to
fiddle with exactly the part of me that all my training had taught me to
forget existed. For at least two years now I had thought of my body in
my own mind as being that of a girl. The fantasy-role I had been playing
this evening was one I was now so familiar with that I often sucked my
thumb in bed at night, and my room in the small flat above the sex-shop
was filled with dolls, cuddly toys and other indications of a pubescent
schoolgirl's presence.

I felt something cold between my legs and then a sudden tightness there:
he had arranged a loop of thin metal wire round my willy and balls and
then yanked it taut.

"I like little schoolgirls, tart. They make my cock go as stiff as iron
when I think about pushing it slowly up their sweet ************* slits.
I like to feel an 8 or 9-year-old moppet really flipping her lid and
going wild when her cute little skinny belly is as tight as a drum round
my shaft and she can feel my knob right up inside the middle of her body
filling her with my spunk. What's so lovely about ***********s is that
the more they squirm and wriggle to try and get off your cock, the nicer
it feels and the harder you want to **** them..."

Listening to his deadly calm emotionless voice close to my ear, I
suddenly knew with icy certainty that this man was going to be the last.
He was the one who intended to to feel me 'creaming myself to death' on
his cock. There was no hint of shame or conscience in his voice as he
continued: he really seemed to believed that young girls and boys
existed purely for the thrills their bodies could provide him with.

"...I've made seven little tarts like you jerk their lovely little
hairless cunts and bums to death round my cock already, four girls and
three boys..it's the best thrill by far in the whole fucking world!!
When you're r****g a moppet's quim girl or some kinky ********** who
really wants to be on=, e, and they know they're about to be strangled,
their holes gets so fucking hot and tight...it's the sexiest feeling
round your cock..nothing else even comes close to it!!"

Freezing tentacles of dread wrapped themselves around my wildly thumping
"heart; I was certain now that I had only a few more minutes to live. My
throat was dry and choking on a desperate urge to scream and beg them to
let me go, but I was shaking with fear so badly that I couldn't make a
sound: I was literally dumb with terror.

All my desire to co-operate had vanished utterly. I looked down and saw
his hand wrapped round a leather coveredleather-covered bar at my waist
- the handle attached to the wire. That cruel line of pain in my crotch
was just an inch or so from turning me into the thing I had longed to be
since I was ************: a girl. But the thought of it happening like
this - the shocking pain which I knew would become ten times worse - and
the fact that I would barely live long enough to even be aware that I
had finally achieved my secret desire were so horrifying that I thought
I must be having a nightmare and would wake up in a minute.

Still keeping the tension in the loop of wire between my legs, with his
free hand he brought an Amyl bottle to my nose.

"You want to be my little moppet-spunkslut, don't you, girl?...I need a
little schoolgirl's bum wriggling on my rod...a real schoolgirl...not a
pretend one. You want to be a real *********** for me, so I can ram my
prick up your juicy little 9-year-old hole...don't you, moppet?"

I felt dizzy and sick with horror, but the bottle stayed at my nose and
I inhaled gratefully again and again. My skin began to crawl with
buzzing tingles of unnatural excitement as my body grew hotter and
hotter. The leaden bar of dread in the pit of my stomach dissolved into
butterfly-thrills of erotic terror. The painful loop of wire cutting
into the tender flesh in my pantie-crotch became cruel pinching fingers
making my clitoris burn. I knew with every nerve in my helpless tightly-
boundtightly bound limbs that I was powerless to prevent or even delay
what the man was about to do to me, and every nerve sent its jangling
message of vulnerability to my neck and between my legs. XX

I was 13 again, in the woods, dangerously courting the attention of some
stranger. Then as now, I wanted more than just the private pleasure of
looking like a girl; I needed someone to see me and take me for a girl.
Even that was not enough: I desperately wanted someone to confirm my
girlishness in the most concrete way imaginable - and make me feel like
a girl inside. There was only one proof I could think of, but I was too
scared to offer myself willingly.: Wwhat 13-year-old girl would offer
her virginity to the first stranger she saw?

There was only one possible solution: I needed to be compelled, taken by
force. However scared of the outcome I might have been, I knew very well
the kind of man I secretly hoped might catch me: someone who found
pretty ************girls so unbearably arousing that he would not pass
up any ready-made opportunity to strip and explore their fragile
graceful bodies; someone who would see my slight short- skirted figure
flitting through a silent empty forest as a perfect victim to satisfy
his fantasies; a ruthless utterly selfish r****t who took no account of
anything but his own desires.

And why shouldn't he? What else was I there for, wandering about the
woods dressed in my sister's things, if not that? What should a stranger
think of a young girl who purposely placed herself in circumstances
where her virginity was most at risk?' Wasn't any man entitled to make
me experience the nightmare-thrills of terror as my skirt was yanked up,
my panties ripped off and my bare legs forcibly spread, leaving me naked
and vulnerable from the waist down? Eeven if that meant being trapped
and treated like a whore for as long as his fantasy required it.

He wouldn't take a scrap of notice of my squeaky high-pitched pleas for
mercy or my subsequent pain, but would go on and on until he left my
pretty clothes in tatters and my pretty body limp, soiled and spent,
like a heap of discarded sperm-soaked rags on the forest path. After
all, didn't I deserve that fate? I was a cockteaser, and cockteasers
deserved whatever they got! Young girls weren't supposed to wander
around the woods flashing their slim white legs, displaying the nipples
of their just-budding breasts and the rounded curves of their small firm
bottoms in provocatively thin summer dresses, with such deliberate -
such irresistableirresistible - invitingness!

Girls who behaved like that knew the risks they ran; their parents
warned them often enough! Cheeky little moppets who flaunted the
sexiness of their pubescent bodies out of vanity so publicly had no
right to complain if the buttons went flying as the front of their
school dresses were torn open, their navy knicks pulled down their
struggling legs, and their naked charms exposed to some stranger's
aching flesh! Naughty little minxes who deIiberatelydeliberately ignored
all the dangers they'd been warned of and ran around lonely woods
letting their skirt-hems fly up and expose their delicious knicker-
covered rumps and the crease in the front where the cotton clung to
their juicy virgin quimslits, had no-one but themselves to blame if they
ended up in the bushes with their naked mud-streaked bodies
spreadeagledspread-eagled on the damp ground, their own oh-so-teasing
pee-drenched panties stuffed into their mouths to stop their squeals,
and some man's hard angry sex remorselessly jerking up and down in their
taut pain- filled bellies.

Newspaper headlines also frequently warned them how they could finish up
as well: they deserved no sympathy if they were left with their
pointless AM -cup bras no longer covering their breasts, but instead
wrapped tightly round their long slender necks while fresh sperm slowly
oozed from the still- warm slit between their motionless out-spread
legs.

Little whores like that were just asking for it!

Little tarts like that were just begging for it!

***********s like that got exactly what was coming to them!

Girls like me...

The d**g-induced sensations in each end of my body had become so
overwhelmingly exciting that the rest of me seemed to melt away, XXuntil
all that remained was a single long vagina-tunnel, throbbing and
pulsating with hunger. But the ends were the wrong way round! The upper,
inner end was open and needed to be squeezed shut, to form a hbot soft
envelope of flesh around the man's swollen spurting knob; the e
lower end, the tunnel's entrance, should be a pair of delicious ripe
lips, stretched into an obscenely - thrilling 'O' of pleasure around the
broadest part of his shaft, the very base of it!

The past and future no longer existed: I was aware of nothing but this
moment. My identity had been reduced to nothing but this nameless
trembling vagina, hungrily waiting for the flesh that would mould it
into the shape it should be, and leave it forever transformed!

"Please don't fuck my little slit...please, I'm too young.. it's too
small... pleease don't put your thing inside me.. please I promise I'll
never tease anyone ever again Sir...Pleeeease!!! NO! PLEEEEASE!!!..."

"Oh, you fucking whore!! You little fucking cock-teasing moppet!!
Begging for cocks one minute, and then just when you've had a taste of
it telling me not to stick mine up your tight little spunk-filled 12-
year-old cunt! You'll take my cock and like it, you cock-teasing SLUT!!
I'M GOING TO FUCK YOUR CREAMY LITTLE SLIT TO DEATH, BABY!!!"

His forearms pulled my hips back and as I lost my balance I felt three
simultaneous sensations: the rope jerked taut round my throat; his
monstrous shaft forced my hole wide open; and a split-second later a
pain shot through me so fierce it seemed like the blade of a knife had
just been thrust into my belly.

I was a wriggling red spark of pure pain. The moment had finally come.
In a few seconds I would be dead, but those seconds would last a
lifetime, an eternity. And in that eternity everything about me would be
reduced to that hot wall of pain clinging hungrily to the life-force
jerking away within it. When the juice finally spilled into me my reason
for existing would be fulfilled and it would be over..