A Slave’s Diary – Part 5
By Leslie McCormick
A female bodybuilder becomes a sex slave to a harsh mistress



The story thus far.  Leslie McCormick, an upcoming female bodybuilder has been 
suffering from bouts of severe depression.  She’s questioning her life choices, 
and becoming despondent over the move toward “fitness-oriented women” as opposed 
to true bodybuilders.  After a particularly crushing defeat at her most 
competition, she retires to Provincetown for a vacation.  There, she meets a 
photographer who is also a dominatrix.  The photographer convinces Leslie to 
shoot some pictures on speculation.  Leslie agrees, and is soon drawn in as a 
new slave.  Leslie discovers that she’s a true submissive who enjoys the pain 
and humiliation that is doled out to her.  She’s exhibited at a party, 
where her failure to act properly angers the dominatrix.  Leslie is about to be 
punished. 

Part Five

	I got hurriedly to my feet.  The hem of my dress was still bunched up 
around my waist, and the top had slipped below my breasts.  Absurdly, I tugged 
the material back into place.  I’d not yet gotten accustomed to being on 
display.
	“Margo.”
	Margo appeared as if she’d materialized out of thin air.  She’d never 
looked lovelier.  Her face was carefully made up, and her hair was arranged in a 
French braid that fell across her neck.  She wore a glistening black bodysuit 
that covered her from neck to ankles, and open-toed heeled mules.
	“Take her out on the patio, and secure her.”
	I was trembling violently now.  The thought of my impending punishment 
terrified me.  There was an empty, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, and 
my mouth was dry.  The underlying hum of conversation had ceased as the 
partygoers became interested in the unfolding drama.  As Margo led me 
outdoors, they followed along behind, drinks in hand.
	I hadn’t noticed before, but there was a raised cement block near the 
pool’s deep end.  Steel rings were set securely into the surface.  Margo led me 
over, and told me to stand on the block.
	Margo worked with swift efficiency.  Cuffs were attached to my wrists and 
ankles.  Chains were fastened from the rings on the restraints to the steel 
rings set into the cement.  It was an effective setup.  I could move within a 
certain prescribed limit, but I couldn’t raise my arms.  The high-heeled shoes I 
was wearing made balance uncertain.  I teetered from side to side.
	The partygoers had arranged themselves in a rough semi-circle facing me.  
Michael sat in a chair close by, one leg crossed over the other.  There was a 
sardonic smile on his face, and suddenly, I hated him, and his voyeuristic 
attitude.  He was looking at me as though he knew something about me, and that 
infuriated me.  The flash of anger helped dampen my apprehension.
	“Margo, the whip.”
	Margo went into the house, only to return minutes later with Susan’s cat 
o’nine tails.  There was a hushed buzz from the assembled crowd as Susan took 
the whip, and swished it through the air.  It made a soft, whistling sound.  
Involuntarily, I cringed.
	“You must learn discipline,” Susan said to me.  She spoke as though we 
were alone.  For her, the guests behind her had ceased to exist.  Her dark eyes 
were fixed on mine intently.  “Unless you do, you will never be successful.”
	The fear was on me like a blanket.  Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes, and 
my bladder let go.  I felt the urine spill down my legs and splatter on the 
ground at my feet.  I broke wind loudly.  My lips pulled back from my teeth in a 
rictus-like grin.
	“Discipline,” Susan whispered harshly, and ripped the bra from my body.  
My breasts bounced free, the nipples erecting.  I twisted futilely in my bonds.
	“Discipline,” she repeated, tearing the thong bikini from me, and tossing 
it aside.  “You must learn discipline.”
	The whipping was given slowly, almost lovingly.  Susan was an expert in 
the use of the cat o’nine tails.  The whip’s tails fell on my breasts and 
stomach with practiced skill.
	The whipping hurt, but the actual pain was less than I’d anticipated.  Either Susan wasn’t 
striking me as hard as she could, or she was holding back.  The whip lashed across my breasts.  Blood 
rushed to the surface, darkening the skin.  I jumped and twisted, crying aloud with each lash.  Susan 
delivered ten lashes to my tits, then turned her attention to my buttocks.
	Here the pain was different, though just as intense.  The lashing started a tingling in my 
pussy.  It reminded me of the spankings my stepfather used to administer; deliberate, paced blows 
that intensified the feelings coursing through my body.
	When Susan had finished, I was panting openly, and crying like a baby.  The tears streamed down 
my face.  My tits and ass were the sole focus of my concentration.  I was more aware of them than I’d 
ever been before.  They felt like strange appendages to my body, as though they’d been grafted on by 
an alien entity.  They stung, and were hot from the surge of blood.  I was nearly delirious.  I sank 
to my knees, and then laid my head down on the cement block.  The position elevated my rear end, and 
splayed my pussy apart, but I was beyond caring.  All I could think about was the pain emanating from 
my tortured tits and ass.
	One by one, the female partygoers drifted over to me.  They surrounded me, 
their murmuring voices a sympathetic wave that washed over my drained flesh.  
Slowly, they touched me, their cool, soft hands caressing the tender skin of my 
ass.  More hands stroked my back and neck.  Hands lifted me to a kneeling 
position, and other hands fondled my aching breasts.  I closed my eyes, and gave 
my body up to the ministration.
	At first, the hands only stroked me, seeking to ease the inflammation.  They were solicitous 
and tender, and stroked me with gentle insistence.  Before long, though, the hands began to move more 
aggressively.  Fingers pinched and pulled at my nipples, fingernails moved over the sensitive head of 
my clitoris, a moistened fingertip played at my anus.  Someone was stroking my face and neck in a 
rhythmic motion.  Fingers traced the contours of my mouth, and then a 
forefinger slipped between my lips, and into my mouth where it tickled the 
length of my tongue.
	I grew excited.  I sucked on the finger in my mouth as though it were a 
miniature cock.  I fantasized that it was growing in size as I fellated it to 
its inevitable climax.  The thought was erotic and thrilling.
	Multiple fingers were in my cunt and in my ass.  They moved in and out in tandem.  I could feel 
them through the thin membrane separating both apertures, and I moaned in ecstasy.  Someone was 
gently rubbing the erect nub of my clitoris.  I felt the beginnings of an orgasm begin to grow in my 
belly.
	Wet, warm lips fastened on my breasts.  The women suckled as though I were an Earth Mother 
whose breasts gave life-giving milk.  Teeth nipped gently at the raised flesh of my nipples.  Kisses 
traced along my neck and shoulders.  Hands stroked my exposed skin.
	The finger in my mouth was removed and replaced by a set of warm lips.  
The kiss was insistent, though gentle.  A tongue found its way into my mouth and it tickled my upper 
palate.  I captured it between my lips, and sucked on 
it, trying to draw it deeper into my mouth.  I still hadn’t opened my eyes.  My impending orgasm grew 
closer.
	I felt a pair of hands in my hair.  The spread fingers encircled my skull, 
and pulled my head back.  I opened my eyes, looking for the mouth that had been 
kissing me.  Lydia stared back at me, her tongue tracing the outline of her 
lips.
	“I want you to lick me,” she said.  She was nude from the waist down.
	There was no undue jostling or fighting among the women surrounding me.  
When Lydia moved into position, they adjusted their position without losing 
contact with me.  Their hands and fingers continued to pleasure me while Lydia 
squatted over my face, and lowered her vulva to my waiting and eager mouth.
	I drank from Lydia as though her pussy was nectar.  Her secretions were 
sweet, and flowed over my tongue and down my throat like liquid honey.  Her 
labium was like a Chinese puzzle box, with secret folds and gatherings.  It 
flowered open over my tongue, revealing the blood-engorged clitoris, and 
small, tight passage into her cunt.  Extending my tongue as far as I could, I 
tongue-fucked that tight passageway while using my upper lip and nose to stimulate her clitoris.
	All the pain of punishment had vanished, to be replaced by a spreading 
desire that threatened to overwhelm me.  The women stimulated me expertly, 
drawing me to the brink of climax, only to pause and let my passion subside.  
They repeated this procedure more times than I could count.  By the time 
Lydia shuddered into her own orgasm, my passion was at fever-pitch.  I was 
practically begging for release.
	“Discipline,” Susan said, and with a start I realized that it was her 
fingers inside my cunt and my ass, bringing me to climax.  “Open your mouth.”
	I did as she told me.  Lydia, who’d temporarily moved away from me, returned to squat over my 
upturned head.
	“Don’t move, and I’ll let you come,” Susan whispered in my ear.
	I nodded agreement.  I would have agreed to anything, would have endured 
any punishment, would have suffered any humiliation in order to achieve orgasm.  
Never had I been so desperate for release.
	Lydia pissed in my mouth.  I kept my part of the bargain.  I didn’t move.  
I let the urine fill my mouth, and overflow my lips and stream down the sides of 
my face until she’d completely emptied her bladder.  I wanted to come.
	“Very good,” Susan said, and pinched my clitoris hard between her thumb and forefinger.
	My entire body tensed, poised at the precipice of the orgasm, and then I tumbled over the edge.  
The intensity of the orgasm was so strong that I thought I would snap the chains that still held me. 
Multiple orgasms rippled through me, each one seemingly stronger than the last.  I twisted and bucked 
and screamed my release to the skies, and then I fell forward in a dead faint.
	I awoke back in my own bedroom.  It was growing dark, and the bedside lamp 
had been turned on.  Beneath the coverlet, I was once again naked except for the 
slave collar around my neck.  My tits and ass were still sore from the whipping, 
but I felt relaxed and at peace.  I threw back the blanket, and sat up.
	Miraculously, there were no marks on either my boobs or my butt.  The skin 
was still flushed and red, but there were no welts or other markings.  Susan’s 
punishment had been skillful enough to inflict pain, but not harsh enough to mar 
the flawless beauty of my skin.
	Except for Lydia and Michael, the other guests had departed.  When I saw 
them sitting on the couch together, I paused, aware that I was nude.  Even 
though I was proud of my development and physique, I still harbored residual 
shame at parading around without clothing.  I was raised as an Irish Catholic, 
and my upbringing was one of chastity and sexual repression.  I started to 
retreat, but Lydia spotted me, and beckoned me forward.  Hesitantly, I approached.  Susan sat in the 
overstuffed leather chair, sipping a drink.  Margo knelt at her side like an obedient dog.  She was 
gagged and blindfolded.  Looped rope around her tits was drawn tight.  Gold nipple stretchers pulled 
at her tits.  I glanced at her, but said nothing.  Margo had told me about her periodic training 
session.  I assumed this was one of them.
	“Come here,” Susan said.
	I walked over to her.
	“You learn quickly,” she said.  “I’m pleased with your performance.”
	“Thank you, mistress.”
	“Are you hungry?  Thirsty?”
	“Yes,” I admitted.  It’d been hours since I’d last eaten, and my stomach was rumbling like a 
freight train.
	“In celebration of your coming out, we’ll take you to dinner.  You’ll find a lavender dress in 
your closet.  Wear that, and the matching pumps.  Don’t bother with underwear, but you can wear a 
garter and nylons.  Return when you’re ready.”
	After washing my face, and freshening my makeup, I found the garments Susan had instructed me 
to wear.  The garter gave me a little trouble.  I wasn’t used to wearing such feminine clothing.  
Eventually, I managed to latch the nylons to the holders.
	The dress was backless, and was made of a soft silken fabric that draped and flowed over my 
body.  The pumps were a matching suede with a square heel.  I turned to look at myself in the full-
length mirror.  The dress fit perfectly, and the only incongruous touch was the black leather collar 
around my neck.
	When I returned to the parlor, the others were ready to leave.
	We went to a restaurant where Susan was well-known.  The host greeted her effusively, and 
showed us to a semi-private room on the second level.  It was a medium-sized room with a window that 
overlooked one of the many harbors around the Cape.  There were three other tables in the room, but 
only one other was occupied.  A middle-aged man and woman were engaged in intimate conversation with 
each other.  They barely acknowledged us as we sat down.
	Michael ordered the wine.  It was a magnificent red with overtones of apple and peach, and it 
left a pleasing finish on the tongue.  I drank deeply, enjoying the subtle taste and texture.
	I sat between Lydia and Susan.  Margo sat on Susan’s right; Michael sat opposite me, his back 
to the room.  The busboy delivered water and bread and withdrew.  The waitress came over.  She was a 
short, busty redhead with a pierced lower lip.  A green ivy band tattoo circled her left bicep.  I 
knew without asking that she was a lesbian.  I could tell by the way she openly appraised Margo’s 
ethereal beauty.
	“What’s your name?” Susan asked the waitress.
“Anna.”
“She’s lovely, isn’t she, Anna?” Susan said.
	The waitress seemed confused.  “Beg pardon?”
	“My slave,” Susan said.  “She’s lovely, isn’t she?  I noticed you staring at her.”
	Anna blushed.  She looked from one to the other of us, uncertain how she should answer.
	“It’s okay to say so,” Susan said quietly.  “It’s always proper to appreciate beauty.”
	“Yes,” Anna said.  “She’s beautiful.”
	“Yes, she is,” Susan agreed.  “And she has a body to match.  Would you like to see?”
	“Excuse me?”
	“I asked if you’d like to see my slave’s body.  I know you’re interested.  I saw the way you 
were looking at her.”
	“Look,” Anna stammered.  “I think you have the wrong idea.  I didn’t…”
	“But it’s perfectly all right,” Susan interrupted.  “I understand.  As a woman who appreciates 
other women, I understand.  I’m just trying to be helpful.  Haven’t you ever seen an attractive 
person and wondered what they looked like in the nude?”
	Anna was silent.  I watched her closely, trying to guess what thoughts were going through her 
mind.  It was obvious she found Margo attractive.  That was evident in the way she’d looked at her.  
It was the same yearning look children give to a forbidden treat.  But Susan’s straightforward offer 
confused and puzzled her.  She was trying to determine if Susan was serious, or was simply playing 
some elaborate practical joke.  This wasn’t something she normally encountered, and she didn’t know 
how to handle it.  She was on the verge of fleeing.  I could see it in her eyes.
	“Stand up, and take off your dress,” Susan said to Margo.
	Margo was wearing a red polka-dot dress with big white buttons down the front.  She stood up, 
unbuttoned the dress, and dropped it to the floor.  She stood clad only in a pair of white bikini 
panties.  Her imposing breasts sat high on her chest, the ring through her nipple glinting in the dim 
light.
	Anna was transfixed, as was the middle-aged couple at the next table.  I saw the woman nudge 
the man, and point in our direction.  They stared openly.
	“Magnificent, isn’t she?” Susan said.  Idly, she reached out a hand and gently slapped the side 
of Margo’s breast.  It set both boobs jiggling like agitated bowls of Jell-O.  “Doesn’t it make you 
wish you could have her?”
	Anna still said nothing.  She couldn’t take her eyes from Margo’s chest.  Susan smiled, and 
touched Margo’s arm.
	“Put your dress back on, and sit down.”
	When she was seated, Susan looked at Anna.  “We’d like to order now,” she said.  “What are 
tonight’s specials?”

	After dinner, while we had our coffee and brandy, Susan turned to me.
	“Michael has been begging me to let him fuck you.  Does that idea excite you?”
	I risked a glance in Margo’s direction.  She studiously avoided my gaze.  I had the choice of 
whether to lie or to be honest.  I decided on honesty.
	“No, Mistress.”
	Lydia barked laughter.  “I told you she didn’t like you, Michael.  I could see it in the way 
she looked at you.”
	“That’s terribly brazen of you,” Susan said mildly.  “Aren’t you afraid of displeasing me?”
	“If I were to lie to you, that would be an insult to you, Mistress,” I answered.  “I would 
displease you only if I refused you a request.”
	“My God,” Lydia said admiringly.  “You’d think she’d been doing this her entire life.  Let me 
buy her from you.”
	Susan frowned Lydia into silence.  She sipped her brandy, her eyes watchful over the rim of the 
glass.
	“Michael, take out your cock.”
	The restaurant had filled up since we first entered.  The middle-aged couple had gone, replaced 
by two young women.  A group of men sat at the second table, and a pair of mixed couples ate dinner 
at the remaining table.  They paid us no particular attention, but we were in plain view of them.  
They were bound to notice whatever went on at our table, but this didn’t seem to bother Susan.  She 
was intent upon only one thing.
	“Here?” Michael asked.
	“Do it,” Susan snapped at him.  “Or you’ll never set foot in my home again.”
	I didn’t understand the significance behind the threat, but I saw the fleeting look of panic on 
Michael’s face.  He glanced around at the other diners, and then did as Susan had requested.
	“Get under the table and suck him off,” Susan told me.
	Once again, that blind, unreasoning feeling of panic swept over me.  I felt threatened and 
intimidated by Michael.  His dark appearance and masculine bravado made me feel helpless and girlish 
in ways I haven’t since I took up bodybuilding.  He reminded me of the other Leslie, the frightened, 
confused and promiscuous teenager who’d looked for love in all the wrong places.  He was so much like 
the men I used to sleep with; the arrogant, unthinking, unfeeling brutes who wanted only to use you 
for their own sexual ends.  I didn’t want anything to do with him.
	Yet, if I refused, I would be shutting a door on Susan’s world.  In the short time I’d known 
her, and lived according to her rules, I’d experienced a depth of feeling I had only dreamed about.  
Even though I was subject to her whims and moods, I had a sense of power and liberation.  I stayed 
with her because I chose to stay, and not because I had to.  I was as curious as she was about my 
sexual limits.  Under her tutelage, I could explore facets of my sexuality that would be otherwise 
closed off to me.  She would act as my guide and mentor.  Without her, I wouldn’t have the courage to 
undertake the journey myself.
	Without drawing attention to myself, I slid under the table, and crawled over to Michael.
	He was already to become erect in anticipation.  His cock was a thick, fat tube with a purple 
head.  Blue-tinged veins ran down its sides, making it resemble a hastily drawn road map.  It was 
average-sized, but it made up in width what it lacked in length.
	I took him into my hand, and moved it up and down.  It twitched like a thing alive, and came to 
full erection.  A drop of pre-come fluid seeped from the slit at the top.  I used my thumb to rub it 
into the surrounding skin, and had the satisfaction of watching his legs twitch spasmodically.
	Lydia had slipped off her shoes, and was feeling around with her feet for my body.  I didn’t 
know what she had in mind, but I maneuvered around so she could touch me.  Above me, I could hear her 
and Lydia engaged in idle conversation, as though nothing untoward was happening.
	I moved my head forward, and took Michael’s cock into my mouth.  The skin of his penis was 
velvety soft.  I ran my tongue along the underside of his penis, then used the tip of my tongue to 
try and burrow into the slit.  He jumped so violently, his knee crashed against the underside of the 
table.  There was a momentary lull in the surrounding background noise.
	Meanwhile, Lydia had succeeded in maneuvering her foot under my skirt.  Her toes traveled along 
the flat plane of my lower belly, brushed against the shaven mound of my twat, and then moved into 
the cleft of my buttocks.  I could feel her big toe poke against the puckered ring of my asshole.  I 
spread my legs slightly, and relaxed my sphincter muscle while pressing backward.  Yet, no matter how 
hard we worked, Lydia couldn’t get her toe into my ass.  Her foot moved reluctantly down to my pussy.  
Here, it was easier.  My juices were already flowing freely, and she had no trouble getting her toe 
into my cunt.  She jiggled her foot in an effort to stimulate the fucking motion.
	I tried to assist, but by this time, I was concentrating fully on Michael’s cock.  The entire 
length of his turgid member was slick with saliva.  My sister taught me how to suck cock, and her 
method involved a lot of spit.  She claimed that it was the ingredient many women neglected.
	“The secret to successful cocksucking,” she said to me during our late night sessions in our 
joint bedroom, “is to use a lot of spit, and get that cock down your throat as far as possible.  The 
boys love it when you do that.”
	I couldn’t fault her methodology.  The boys in the neighborhood depleted their allowances on 
Mary Ellen’s cocksucking services.  Michael seemed to like it as well.
	I took him as deep as I could.  It was easy to get him all the way into my mouth because his 
cock wasn’t that long.  I relaxed my throat muscles on the down stroke, and felt him go into my 
throat.  It was the first time I’d ever successfully deep-throated a man.  It made me feel good in a 
smutty sort of way.
	It didn’t take Michael long to blow his load.  He reached below the table, and grabbed my head 
with his hands.  With an inarticulate groan, he pulled me into his crotch, and spurt his come into my 
mouth.  I almost gagged on it.  His grabbing my head had disrupted my rhythm and I wasn’t ready to 
swallow his seed.  It hit the back of my throat.  I coughed violently, spitting out his cock and the 
load of come he’d deposited into my mouth.  I backed away, hacking and spitting.  I was dimly aware 
that aside from my sounds of distress, the restaurant was deathly quiet.
	I crawled out from under the table.  Everyone was watching me.  I was dishelved.  My boobs had 
popped free of the dress, and were visible to everyone.  There was wetness on my lips and chin, and 
when I wiped it off, I discovered it was sperm.
	“Well, Michael,” Susan said clearly into the silence.  “You didn’t get to fuck her, but you’ve 
had a memorable evening notwithstanding.  You can pick up the check.”
	She stood up.  “Ladies, would you like to go next door for a nightcap?”

End of Part Five