A Slave’s Diary – Part 4
By Leslie McCormick
A female bodybuilder becomes a sex slave to a harsh mistress


Part Four


	My training began in earnest the next day.  Susan insisted that I occupy 
the spare bedroom at the rear of her house.  It was a fairly large room with a 
private bath overlooking the beach.  A set of sliding glass doors led out to a 
fenced wooden deck.  Margo’s room was adjacent to mine, and could be accessed 
via a connecting door.
	I was staying in a rental, so I didn’t have much to move; just my clothes, 
and a few books.  By noon, I’d moved everything into my new surroundings.  Margo 
came into my room just after lunch.  She sat cross-legged on the bed, and went 
over the rules of the house.
	“You’ll wear the collar while you’re in training.  Susan’s the only one 
with the key, so she’s the only one who can take it off.”
	“What about when I take a shower, or go to the gym?”
	“You don’t have to wear it in the shower,” Margo said, “but she will make 
you wear it in public.  It’s part of the training.  It feels odd to you now, but 
you’ll get used to it very quickly.”
	I touched my hand to it.  I was ashamed to admit that although it had only 
been one day, I was already used to the feel of it around my neck.  At times, I 
even forgot that I was wearing it.  What did that say about me?
	“Do whatever Susan tells you to do,” Margo said.  “She’s the mistress of 
the house, and she demands immediate obedience.  If she tells you to do 
something, and it doesn’t get done, she’ll give you the whip.”
	“She really whips you?”  Every time Margo mentioned punishment, the floor 
of my stomach fell away.  I can endure pain as well as, if not better, than the 
next person, but the thought of being whipped frightened me.
	“Yes,” Margo answered.  “You’ll learn quickly.  It doesn’t take too many 
sessions with the whip to drive the lesson home.”
	“I don’t like that idea,” I said.
	Margo smiled.  “I didn’t either.  Don’t worry so much.  You’ll do fine.  
Just follow my lead.  I’ll show you what to do.”
	“Okay,” I said doubtfully.
	“Leslie, stop worrying,” Margo said.  She got down from the bed, and came 
over to embrace me.  “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.  You’re going to 
love it here.  Trust me.”
	I pulled away from Margo, and walked over to the glass doors.  In the 
distance, swimsuited bodies lay supine, as though felled by a chemical attack.  
Near the water’s edge, a mixed group of men and women were playing a vigorous 
game of volleyball.
	“Can I stop whenever I want?” I asked.
	“Whenever you want,” Margo said, coming up behind me.  She put her arms 
around my waist, clasping her hands together in front.  Her lips touched the 
skin at the nape of my neck, and I felt the warm tip of her tongue trace a path 
along my skin.  “But you won’t want to stop.”
	I twisted around until I was facing her.  Our faces were only inches 
apart.  Impulsively, I leaned forward and kissed her.  She was startled at 
first, then returned my kiss with ardor.  Her tongue muscled its way into my 
mouth as her hands pinched and pulled at the skin of my breasts.  The 
pinpricks of pain intensified my excitement.  I put my hands down the back of 
Margo’s sweat pants, and took her buttocks in my hands.
	She had a magnificent ass; full and round and solid.  While she continued 
to kiss me, I pulled her ass cheeks apart, and insinuated my right forefinger 
into the warm cleft.  Her asshole was a tight, puckered ring that flowered open 
when my finger touched it.  I slipped my middle finger into her, amazed at the 
way her asshole seemed to swallow my finger whole.  Without effort, my finger 
slipped in all the way to the third knuckle.  Margo’s arms tightened around me.  
Her voice in my ear was harsh with unfulfilled passion.
	“We’re not supposed to be doing this,” she whispered.  “Susan gave strict 
instructions.”
	“I want you,” I said, surprised at my admission.  I’d desired Margo ever 
since our first meeting.  There was a bond between us, and we both aware of it.
	“I want you too,” she said, “but we can’t.  At least not yet.”
	With a visible effort, she pulled away from me.  I tried to keep my finger 
buried in her ass, but she twisted her hips, and dislodged me.  She backed away 
to the door.
	“Susan wants you in the parlor in five minutes,” she said, before bolting 
from the room.
	Although I’d settled down somewhat by the time I reached the parlor, I was 
still excited.  The feel of Margo’s lips and body were vivid in my mind.  The 
smell of her was strong in my nose.  The taste of her was still in my mouth.
	Susan sat on the sofa with a drink in her hand, her legs crossed at the 
knee.  She wore a white silk blouse and a flowing black leather skirt.  Ankle-
high suede boots covered her feet.
	“Sit down,” she said, pointing to the arm chair.
	I sat down, and waited.  I’d just come from the gym, and still wore my 
work-out clothes.
	“I don’t want to see you in gym clothes,” Susan said.  “Make sure you 
change before walking around the house.  Margo has explained my rules?”
	“Not all of them,” I admitted.
	“No matter.  You will learn as you go.  I’ve invited a group of friends 
over for drinks this evening.  I want them to see you.”
	“See me?”
	“Yes, my pet.  I want them to see you.  Certainly, you don’t object to 
that.”
	“No, except I’m fairly well-known.  I wouldn’t want it to get out…”
	“Don’t worry,” Susan said, cutting me off.  “They’re not the type to 
gossip.”  She glanced across at me.  “You’re still planning on competing?”
	“Of course,” I said, surprised at the question.  “It’s my livelihood.”
	“I can support you,” Susan answered.  “I have more money than I’ll ever 
need.”
	“What happens when you sell me?”
	“Who told you…”  Susan fell silent.  Her eyes left my face, and drifted to 
look down the hall toward Margo’s room.  A frown creased her brow.
	“Margo!”
	Margo appeared almost instantly.  She’d changed her sweat clothes in favor 
of a white, form-fitting Spandex suit.  It was cut low in front, and her ample 
bosom spilled out of the top, the tanned mounds of her tits contrasting with the 
bordering straps.
	“Bring me the whip.”
	Margo went to the hall closet, and returned with the cat o’nine tails.  
Susan got to her feet, and snatched the whip from Margo’s outstretched hand.  
Her face was dark with fury.
	“Assume the position,” she commanded.
	Margo knelt on the floor, and then leaned backward to grasp her ankles.  
The position arched her back, and made her boobs fall completely out of the suit 
she wore.  Instead of a stud, she wore double gold rings through her nipple.  
She closed her eyes.
	Susan administered five quick lashes to Margo’s unprotected breasts.  The 
whip’s tendrils cut through the air, and landed against her skin like a shot.  
The leather lashes left bright red welts in their wake, and by the time Susan 
had finished administering the punishment, Margo’s tits were crisscrossed with 
painful looking marks.
	Margo accepted the punishment stoically.  No sound escaped her lips, 
although I knew the beating must have hurt.  Where she’d gripped her ankles, 
she’d pressed so hard, she had left the imprint of her fingers on her skin.
	When Susan was finished, she flung the whip at Margo’s face.  It struck 
her nose before falling to the floor.  Without being told, Margo reversed 
position until her face touched the floor.  Her arms were extended, hands 
crossed in the age-old posture of servitude.
	“Get out,” Susan said.
	Margo got quickly to her feet and fled the room.  Susan resumed her seat 
on the couch.
	“That is the price of disobedience,” she said.  “If that frightens or 
shocks you, say the word ‘Stop’ now.”
	Again, I was being offered my freedom, and once more, I found myself 
hesitating.  Every rational instinct screamed at me to extricate myself before 
it was too late.  Normal people didn’t do this.  They didn’t willingly agree to 
become another person’s slave.  It wasn’t a choice people made for themselves.  
They were forced into slavery.  Given an alternative, people always chose 
freedom over being indentured.
	If that was the case, why my reluctance to leave?  Why did I find it so 
difficult to assert myself?  Why did I choose to stay in thrall to this woman?  
The answer lay buried deep in my unconscious, and now was neither the time nor 
the place to delve into it.  I only knew that my destiny lay with Susan.  Only 
under her tutelage would I find my true self.
	“I’ll stay,” I said.
	“Take off your clothes,” Susan said.  “I hate the sight of you in those 
clothes.  I’d rather you be naked.”
	I stripped to my bare skin.  Susan watched me while I undressed, shaking 
her head approvingly.
	“You have excellent lines,” she commented.  “Very proportional.  You’re a 
good specimen.  Sit down.”
	I did as she instructed.
	“Now tell me,” Susan said, leaning forward.  “What won’t you do?”
	“Beg pardon?”
	“There are certain things that people will not do,” Susan said.  “Everyone 
has their limits.  With Margo, it’s having sex with a black man or woman.  No 
amount of punishment can change her mind.  What won’t you do?”
	I didn’t know how to reply, because I didn’t know the answer.  I was sure 
I had limits, but I didn’t know what they were.  I’d never explored them.  
Although I’d been promiscuous, it had been fairly straight-forward sex.  I’d 
never engaged in group orgies, or in sex with animals, or in deviant sex of any 
kind.  I said as much to Susan.
	She leaned back against the cushions, and arched an eyebrow.  “So,” she 
said speculatively.  “This should be interesting.  We’ll learn your limits 
together.  That’ll be all.  Tell Margo to prepare you for tonight.”
	The rest of the day was a blur.  I accompanied Margo into town, where she 
purchased several outfits for me to wear.  After that, we stopped at a salon 
where I had my hair cut and styled, and had a manicure and pedicure.  Lastly, we 
stopped at an upscale boutique where a woman examined my face under a variety of 
light settings, and then assembled a collection of makeup.
	When we returned to the house, Margo took me into the bathroom.  She 
undressed us both, and then got into the shower with me where she thoroughly 
scrubbed my body.  The lesson with the whip was still fresh in her mind.  She 
was coldly professional when she washed me, and made no attempt to arouse me.  
Despite this, I found that her treating me as an object was even more exciting 
than if she’d showed ardor to me.
	After rinsing me off, she toweled me dry, and then took me to an outside 
Jacuzzi.  It was on the beach side of the house, though a row of artfully 
arranged hedges hid it from public view.  She told me to soak for half an hour.  
By the time she came to retrieve me, I was thoroughly and completely relaxed.
	Back in my bedroom, she gave me half a marijuana cigarette to smoke.  When 
I was done with that, she handed me a small red-and-white pill with a glass of 
water, and told me to swallow it.
	“What is it?” I asked.
	“Just do what you’re told,” she said curtly.
	I was somewhat put out by her attitude, but did as she said.  I looked at 
the beside clock.  It was six forty-five.  The cocktail party was scheduled to 
begin at seven p.m.
	Margo did my makeup.  When she was finished, I examined my face in the 
mirror.  I was pleasantly surprised by the results.
	I’m realistic about my looks.  I’m attractive, but I’m no beauty.  My body 
is my source of pride, not my face.  The make-over had worked wonders, though.  
For the first time in my life, I looked pretty.
	“Oh, my,” I said.  “Look at me.”
	“You’re beautiful,” Margo said, her voice softening.  “Absolutely 
beautiful.  Come on, it’s time to get dressed.”
	Margo had laid out a white bandeau brassiere and a pair of white thong 
bikini panties.  I put them on.
	“Here’s your dress,” Margo said.
	It was a yellow knit dress that couldn’t have been more than twenty inches 
in length.  When I 
put it on, it reached from the tops of my breasts to just below my ass.  It was 
a size and a half too 
small for my proportions, so that the dress hugged me like a glove.  It was 
tighter than anything I’d 
ever worn before.
	“This is your big debut,” Margo said.  She glanced toward the door, then 
leaned forward and 
kissed my lips.  “Just do whatever Susan says, and you’ll be fine.”
	She snapped a long leash onto the front of my collar, and led me to the 
living room.
	The guests had already arrived when I made my entrance.  The hum of 
conversation paused as Margo took me over to Susan.  She took hold of my leash, 
and tugged on it.  I followed her lead, leaning in so she could kiss me.  I was 
aware of the eyes watching me, and I burned with shame.
	Susan wore a loose-fitting blouse with a pronounced décolletage.  The 
shirt was held together by laces down the front of it, and Susan had only 
tightened the bottom row.  When she moved, her breasts were alternately exposed 
and hidden.  Below that, she wore a flowing black suede skirt that was slit up 
one side.  She wore low-heeled sandals.  I noticed that her toenails were 
painted the same color as her lips.
	“This is Leslie,” Susan announced to the crowd.  “My new slave.”
	My entire body tingled at the sound of the word ‘slave’.  I stood beside 
Susan as Margo had taught me, with my hands clasped lightly behind my back, and 
my head slightly lowered.
	“She looks incredibly strong,” a female voice said.  The speaker was a 
tall, elegant-looking woman with a tumbling mound of snow-white hair.  She had a 
tattoo on her face, the black representation of a dagger.  It gave the illusion 
of having been plunged into her brow above her right eye, the point protruding 
below the lower eyelid.  She approached me, and touched my deltoids and biceps.  
“She’s as hard as a rock.”
	“She’s a world-class bodybuilder,” Susan said.  “You should see her in the 
nude.  It would take your breath away.”
	“Have her disrobe,” a male voice said.
	“Not yet, Michael,” Susan said.  “Let the pill take effect first.”
	Michael was a dark-haired, urbane-looking gentleman in casual, though 
obviously expensive clothing.  He had eyes the color of pale spit, and looking 
at him made my stomach flutter.  He looked as darkly dangerous as did Susan.
	There were approximately a dozen guests.  There were more women than men.  
With one exception, the women were lithe, willowy creatures with exquisite looks 
and bearing.  All of them were expensively dressed and coifed.  The one 
exception was a woman of medium height with a shaved head.  I wasn’t supposed to 
stare at the guests, but I was intrigued by this woman’s looks, and so I kept 
stealing glances at her when Susan’s attention was diverted.
	Her head was shaved, and only dark fuzz remained of her hair.  The top of 
her skull was adorned with tattoos.  Small, decorative rings pierced her 
eyebrows, ears and nose, and lower lip.  There was a silver stud through her 
tongue.  She was nude except for a harness of straps and belts that 
crisscrossed her body in an elaborate arrangement.  Both her nipples were 
pierced, with a short length of silver chain connecting the rings.  More rings 
cut into her clitoris and labia.  She wore spike heeled ankle boots.  She didn’t 
mingle with the other guests, but stood off by herself near the bar, and watched 
the others.  She drank bourbon straight, with no ice or mixer.
	I was beginning to feel lightheaded and carefree.  It was as though I were 
floating on a cloud.  The nervousness that I’d felt earlier melted away, and I 
began to feel sexy and uninhibited, probably the result of the pill Margo had 
given me.
	Every now and then, one of the men or women in attendance would come up to 
me, and touch my body.  The women seemed especially interested in my 
muscularity, and they probed and kneaded my arms and shoulders and thighs.  The 
feel of their hands was beginning to excite me, though no one had yet 
touched my breasts or buttocks, and when they drew near, I found myself arching 
my back in hopes that someone would fondle me.  My pussy was flowing freely, and 
the insides of my thighs were slick with juice.
	The woman with the snow-white hair came over to me.  She put the tips of 
her fingers under my chin and lifted my head until we were eye-to-eye.  She 
wasn’t as old as I’d thought originally.  Up close, I could tell that her hair 
was prematurely white.  She looked to be no more than thirty years 
old.
	“I am Lydia,” she said.  “You compete in bodybuilding contests?”
	“Yes.”
	“When you’re onstage, how does it make you feel?”
	I looked at Susan.  She gave a slight nod of her head, indicating that I 
was to reply.
	“Excited,” I admitted.
	“You like having people look at you?”
	“Yes.”
	“And do you like looking at the other women backstage?” Lydia asked.
	“Yes.”
	“Have you ever let anyone watch while you’re having sex?”
	“God, no,” I said, appalled.  Yet beneath my shock, the idea of having an 
audience while engaged in sex was terribly exciting to me.  My legs began to 
tremble.
	“You have a magnificent body,” Lydia said, and she reached out and cupped 
my breast.  Her fingers were strong, and they dug into my flesh like the teeth 
of a lamprey eel.  I gasped aloud, more in passion than in pain.  Lydia smiled, 
showing small, sharp-looking teeth.
	“A true submissive,” she said.  “You’ve chosen well, Susan.”
	“Thank you, Lydia,” Susan replied.  “I knew from the moment I saw her.  
She has the look.”
	“She does, at that,” Lydia said musingly.  “May I?”
	Susan handed over the leash.  “Be my guest.”
	“Get on your hands and knees,” Lydia said.
	I did as she said, then followed her across the room while the other 
guests watched me.  The hem of the dress rode up to expose my crotch.  Even 
though I wore panties, they barely covered my pussy.  I knew that my ass and 
pudenda could be seen.  I felt shame at having my wet pussy exposed, but at the 
same time, it fueled my passion.  I was being subtly humiliated, yet instead of 
outrage, I was finding sexual satisfaction in the act.  What kind of person was 
I?
	Lydia led me over to the tattooed woman.  She’d moved to a straight-backed 
chair, and she sat with her legs spread wide, with no hint of shame at having 
her shaven and pierced pussy on public display.  Her clitoris was long and 
thick, and protruded from the folds of her labia like a mouse peeking from its 
hole.
	“Lick her,” Lydia said.
	I never hesitated.  Instead, I plunged my head forward, and fastened my 
mouth on the proffered vagina.  The woman was already wet, and the salty taste 
of her excretions was strong on my tongue.  She took my head between her hands, 
and guided my head in the way that was most favorable to her.  She moved my head 
from side to side as she ground her clitoris against my mouth and chin.  Behind 
me, Lydia’s hands slid up my thighs to my waist.  She took hold of my panties 
and forcibly ripped them from my body.
	I don’t have the words to adequately describe the rush of emotion that 
swept over me when she did that.  It was though I’d died and gone to Heaven.  
I’d always fantasized about being taken like some rutting animal, and now, 
reality was merging into fantasy.  I moved my legs apart, luxuriating in the 
feel of the cool air as it hit my pussy and ass.  I was so hot, I would have 
fucked an army of men.
	The tattooed woman came in my mouth.  She pressed my head hard against her 
crotch, and came with a body-shuddering moan.  I continued to lick her until she 
pulled my face away.  Then, still holding my head, she pissed in my face.  The urine splashed against 
my nose and upper lip, and splashed into my mouth.  I wasn’t prepared for that.  With a violent 
movement, I wrenched my head free, and spit on the floor, trying to rid my mouth of that strange, 
salty taste.  My stomach heaved, and for a brief second, I thought I’d vomit, but I managed to hold 
my gorge.
	“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Lydia said disapprovingly.  “You wet the floor.”
	There was a yellow stain on the white carpeting.  The tattooed woman was on her feet, reaching 
for a bar rag.  She used it to wipe herself, then flung it at me.
	Susan walked over.  There was a stern look on her face.
	“I just had this carpet cleaned,” she said in a low voice.
	“It wasn’t my fault,” I protested.
	Susan’s hand lashed out and struck me across the mouth.  “Shut up,” she said.  “Speak only when 
spoken to.  You know the rules.”
	I said nothing more.  The tattooed woman stepped up to my side, and put her hand on the top of 
my head.  Her fingers stroked my brow.  It was a funny, tickling feeling, and it took all of my will 
power not to pull away from her.  The randy smell of her cunt was overpowering.
	“She licked me like a pro,” she said to Susan.  “She has potential.”
	“That may be true, Sylvia,” Susan said, ‘but I can’t let her actions go unpunished.”
	Sylvia clicked her tongue.  “So sorry, Leslie,” she said to me.  “I tried.”
	“Get up,” Susan commanded.  “You’ll have to be punished.”

End of Part Four