A Slave's Diary
By Leslie McCormick
A female bodybuilder becomes a sex slave to a harsh and demanding mistress

Part One


It was five days before my thirtieth birthday, and I was so depressed I 
wanted to cry.  Five long grueling months of training had resulted in a 
fifth place finish at the Ms. Massachusetts Bay Bodybuilding Contest.  
Although I was more defined and striated than the women who finished 
higher than me, I was being punished for being too muscular.  The sport 
was moving toward a more "feminine" look, and overly muscular women were 
placing lower and lower in the standings.  It wasn't something I was 
happy about, but I couldn't do anything to change it.  Unless, of 
course, I wanted to look more like one of the fitness models. 

I hated that look.  I felt it was demeaning.  The women were uniformly 
beautiful, with magnificent bodies, but they weren't bodybuilders.  
Instead of ripped, defined muscle, they showed off silicon-augmented 
boobs, and ass.  They had a certain athletic appeal, but nothing to 
compete with me.  I turned to look at my nude reflection in the full-
length mirror. 

My body was perfectly developed. 

Even without flexing, every muscle was perfectly defined.  My deltoids 
were like bowling bowls.  The pectorals were thick and solid, melding 
seamlessly into the ridged muscles of my abdomen.  My quadriceps were 
wide and out swept, a mirror image of the wide flare of the lattimus 
dorsi muscles of my upper back.  My buttocks were as solid as two 
stones.  The only deficiency I could see was my tits.  They jutted out 
from my body like oversized water balloons.  No amount of diet or 
exercise seemed able to deflate their prodigious girth.  I couldn't hide 
them.  Even in baggy clothing, they were noticeable, and in tight 
clothing, it was even worse.  Then, in addition to their heft and swell, 
the nipples stuck out like miniature thumbs.  They were each an inch in 
length, and they were always hard.  I hated my tits.  Many times, I'd 
considered reduction surgery, and only the prohibitive cost had deterred 
me.  I slapped at them, watching in satisfaction as the spot where I'd 
struck them turned red, and began to burn. 

I turned away and went to the bed.  The new bathing suit lay atop the 
coverlet.  I'd seen it in a catalog about three weeks ago, and had 
ordered it on impulse.  It was indecently brief.  It had two strips that 
descended from the neck that were designed to hide my boobs, but it left 
the rest of my chest and abdomen bare.  It connected to a suit bottom 
that fit low on my hips, covering the mound of my pussy, but leaving the 
cheeks of my ass bare.  I looked at myself, front and back, in the 
mirror.  It was more provocative than if I'd gone nude.  The only 
downside was that my pussy hair showed out the top and sides of the suit 
bottom.  I stripped the suit off, and went into the bathroom, where I 
shaved my pussy bare. I liked the way my pussy felt and looked.  It was 
as sleek and clean as a new-born baby's.  I put the bathing suit back 
on.  It fit much better now, the material clearly outlining my pudenda.  
I threw on a bathrobe, stuffed a towel, suntan lotion, my wallet, and 
the house keys into a tote bag, and left the bungalow. 

The beach was nearly deserted.  It was still early in the season, and 
the tourists hadn't yet arrived in force.  Still, to be on the safe 
side, I walked down the beach a fair distance before spreading out my 
blanket.  I shucked off my bathrobe, and walked down to the water's 
edge. 

As a professional bodybuilder, I'm accustomed to wearing almost no 
clothing at all, but this suit was different.  It exposed nearly every 
available inch of skin.  Only a small portion of my tits, and my pussy 
were covered.  If not for those miniscule pieces of cloth, I would be 
entirely naked, and the thought was stimulating.  I felt my nipples 
harden, and my pussy grow wet. 

The water wasn't warm enough for bathing, so I returned to the blanket, 
and applied a liberal amount of suntan lotion.  I'm a natural redhead, 
and therefore, have to be cautious in the sunlight.  I burn easily, and 
even though I had a good base tan, I didn't want to be careless.  This 
was my first real vacation in years, and I didn't want to spend it in 
bed with sun poisoning.  I put on sunglasses, and lay down on my back.  
Within minutes, I was hovering in that limbo between wakefulness and 
sleep. 

The sun was baking my tensions away, and as it did so, it put me in a 
sultry and erotic mood.  Since my divorce nearly three years ago, I'd 
not had sex with another human being.  I masturbated when tensions 
became too great to work out through exercise, but aside from that, I'd 
remained celibate.  I'm not sure why, although I probably didn't want to 
get involved, even in a one-night stand.  My ex-husband had hurt me too 
deeply. 

The result, though, was that lately I suffered from almost constant sex 
fantasies.  They'd crop up most frequently at night, just before I fell 
asleep, but they could occur at any time.  At my last two competitions, 
I found myself fantasizing while I was posing on-stage, wondering how 
the audience would react if I were to strip naked and masturbate 
publicly.  I never acted on any of my fantasies, but they were with me 
all the same. 

Now, as I lay dozing, I thought of those fantasies, recalling them to 
mind with a clarity that heightened my sexual tension.  I saw myself in 
a lesbian bar, dressed in a revealing and provocative outfit.  It was 
designed to display my muscularity, while also exposing the maximum 
amount of skin possible.  In my fantasy, I was being forced to submit to 
a tattooed bull dyke.  She had me bent over a table, my skirt raised to 
my waist.  My bare ass was visible for the other patrons to see, and 
they applauded as the dyke spanked my bottom for breaking one of her 
rules.  There was nothing preventing me from resisting, but in my 
fantasy, the thought didn't occur to me.  I simply lay there and 
accepted the punishment.  I could see the other lesbians crowding 
around, wanting a chance to swat my bottom, and the thought filled me 
with a perverse pleasure. 

"Excuse me." 

The voice startled me awake.  I opened my eyes to see two women standing 
nearby.  The sun was behind them, so at first, they appeared to be 
nothing more than dark shillouettes.  I had the disconcerting sense 
they'd materialized from my fantasy.  Then they moved closer, and the 
illusion was dispelled. 

The taller of the two was a dark-haired, exotic beauty.  She had a thick 
mass of jet-black hair that tumbled about her head like a dark storm.  
Sunglasses covered her eyes, and there was white silica on her nose.  
Her body was thin and lithe, with lots of well-defined muscle showing in 
her arms and legs.  She wore a one-piece black bathing suit that did 
nothing to conceal her assets.  Her legs were long and slender.  Over 
one shoulder, she carried a straw tote bag. 

Her companion was brunette as well, but she had fawn-colored hair.  She 
had a full, ripe mouth that gave her a pouty, slutty look that made my 
stomach flutter.  Her body was absolutely magnificent.  There wasn't an 
ounce of excess fat on her body.  Her breasts were as round and firm as 
ripe cantaloupes.  Her waist couldn't have been more than twenty inches 
around.  Her hips were wide and full.  She wore a bathing suit that made 
mine look decorous.  The bra was two inch-wide strips of material that 
were glued over her areola and nipples.  The suit bottom was barely wide 
enough to cover the mound of her pussy.  The whole thing was held 
together with an elaborate arrangement of strings so thin, it was 
miracle the whole thing hadn't yet fallen apart. 

"You're Leslie McCormick, aren't you?" she said. 

For a second, I debated saying no, and if I hadn't been so depressed by 
my recent poor showing, I might have denied my identity.  Instead, I sat 
up, and acknowledged that I was, indeed, Leslie Ann McCormick. 

"My name's Margo O'Hara," the woman said.  "This is Susan Donati." 

"The photographer?" 

The raven-haired woman smiled.  "You've heard of me?" 

"Yes.  I saw the photo shoot you did for Cory Everson.  It was 
magnificent." 

"Thank you.  Do you mind if we sit down for a minute?" 

I made room for them at the edge of the blanket.  Susan seated herself 
with a smooth, fluid motion, folding her legs beneath her.  Margo knelt 
on her legs, with her weight resting on her heels.  Now that she was at 
eye level, I could see that her bathing suit was transparent.  Her 
areola and nipples were plainly visible.  They were nearly as long as 
mine, and they were both pierced with studs. 

"I thought I recognized you," Margo said.  "I'm your biggest fan.  I've 
been following your career ever since your first competition." 

"Thank you.  I'm flattered." 

"I saw you last week in Boston," she said.  "You got robbed." 

I shrugged, though the memory still rankled.  "They're going for a 
different look.  The judges want someone who isn't so muscular.  They 
want to appeal to middle America." 

"That's so unfair." 

"That's life," I replied. 

"Have you ever been photographed?" Susan asked. 

"By a professional?  No.  Just some amateur shots." 

"You've got a magnificent body," Susan said.  "It should be captured on 
film." 

"I can't afford it," I said. 

"You shouldn't let that stop you." 

Susan's scrutiny of my body made me slightly uncomfortable.  She looked 
at me dispassionately, like a horse trader assessing an expensive 
animal.  I don't know why, but the way she looked at me made excited.  I 
had the feeling that if she wanted to take me, she would do so, and damn 
the consequences.  Even with the sunglasses covering her eyes, I could 
feel the intensity of her gaze. 

"You look so strong," Margo said.  "Can I feel your muscle?" 

I flexed a bicep.  Margo's fingers touched it, the tips trying to dent 
the perfect peaks.  Of course she failed.  Pound for pound, I'm probably 
the strongest female bodybuilder in the world.  During the last strength 
event, I successfully bench pressed three times my own body weight for 
fifteen repetitions. 

"I love your suit," Susan said.  "You're very daring to wear it." 

"It's a form of protest," I said.  "I wanted to show the world what 
they're missing." 

"You've got wonderful breasts," Susan said.  She reached out, and cupped 
my breast in her hand.  The casualness of the act shocked me.  I slapped 
her hand away. 

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded. 

"I'm sorry," Susan said, although there was no atonement in her voice.  
"It's just that I appreciate beauty." 

For some reason, I found myself apologizing.  "I'm sorry.  It's just 
that you surprised me.  I didn't expect." 

Susan interrupted me.  "Don't be foolish.  I shouldn't have taken 
liberties."  She paused, then said, "Margo and I don't want to intrude.  
We wouldn't have stopped at all, except that Margo admires you so.  She 
insisted we meet you." 

"No apologies necessary," I said.  "It was a pleasure meeting the both 
of you." 

"I would love to photograph you," Susan said.  "I'd be willing to shoot 
a few rolls of film for free.  Would you be interested?" 

I'd seen Susan Donati's work, and I would have had to be crazy to turn 
down the opportunity.  She was the premier bodybuilding photographer in 
the world.  Her work appeared in every major muscle magazine.  I said 
that I would be very interested.  Susan took a business card from the 
tote bag, and wrote an address on the back.  She handed it to me. 

"Come by tomorrow at ten o'clock.  You don't have to bring anything 
except one or two of your posing suits.  We'll be waiting for you." 

They rose to go.  I looked up at Margo, and surprised myself by asking, 
"Why are you pierced?" 

Susan answered.  "Margo's my slave," she said.  "I had her pierced for 
my pleasure." 

"Your slave?"  The thought made me feel light-headed.  I had trouble 
catching my breath.  A fresh surge of sexual excitement raced through 
me. 

"Yes," Susan said calmly.  "She'll do anything I say." 

"Anything?" 

"Yes," Susan said, and her voice was as smooth as glass.  "Would you 
like a demonstration?" 

I nodded, afraid to trust my voice.  My heart was pounding like a drum.  
A small smile touched Susan's lips, and then was quickly gone. 

"Margo, put a finger up your ass." 

Without hesitation, Margo stripped off the scanty suit bottom, turned 
her back to me and bent over.  She wet her middle finger with a liberal 
amount of saliva, then inserted it up to the knuckle into her ass.  I 
had a rush of emotion so strong, that I nearly fainted.  My pussy 
twitched like it was alive. Margo remained in that position until Susan 
told her to stand.  Margo removed her finger, and turned to face me.  
She didn't bother to put her suit bottom back on.  I saw that her 
clitoris was pierced through with a small golden ring.  Two companion 
rings pierced her left labia. 

"I hope we'll see you tomorrow," Susan said. 

She turned and walked away.  Margo gave a wave of her hand, and followed 
Susan up the beach, her bathing suit bottom dangling from one hand.  I 
watched her naked buttocks until she disappeared from sight. 

End of Part One