A Slave’s Diary – Part 6
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.  Her training as a slave continues. 

Part Six 

	Susan led us to an out-of-way bar located along one of the side streets.  
The pounding beat of the music could be heard even through its closed 
doors.  Same sex and mixed couples walked to and from the bar.  Everyone 
was in a party atmosphere, and there was a palpable sense of excitement 
in the air.  It was infectious, and I found myself getting caught up in 
the general feeling of exuberance.  Margo and I trailed Susan and Lydia.  
We walked hand-in-hand like lovers.  There was a funny, tingling feeling 
in the pit of my stomach, and it felt like there wasn’t enough air in 
the world to fill my lungs. 

	The club’s clientele was predominantly lesbian.  I was acutely aware of 
their eyes roaming over my body.  We were lucky enough to find an empty 
table in a dark corner of the room.  It was situated close enough to the 
dance floor to allow us to watch the dancers, yet far enough away so we 
wouldn’t be jostled by the overflow.  The mix of people was astonishing. 

	The women ranged in appearance from blond and willowy to dark and 
stocky.  The men were similar in appearance, but there was an effeminate 
air about them, as though in this mix, they were the weaker sex, and not 
the women. 

	There were a myriad variety of outfits.  The outside temperature was 
still warm.  Inside the club, with the crush of people, it was even 
hotter.  It was obvious that no one bothered to enforce even a nominal 
dress code.  The crowd had taken the opportunity to shed as much 
clothing as possible.  There was an abundance of bare skin in evidence, 
though no one had yet dared to bare breasts or buttocks or groin. 

	Susan and Lydia were well-known here.  Greetings floated our way from 
the people passing by, and every so often, a man or woman would stop to 
kiss Susan’s or Lydia’s cheek, and chat.  Margo and I weren’t 
acknowledged during these exchanges, though the passers-by were aware of 
our presence.  It was probably my imagination, but I thought I attracted 
an inordinate amount of attention.  Physically, I was bigger than the 
others, and in the skimpy dress I was wearing, my musculature was 
plainly evident.  Despite having been off my diet for more than a week, 
I was still in top shape at one hundred and fifty pounds.  In addition, 
I’m fairly well-known.  I don’t have the name or face recognition of a 
Cory Everson, but to those who follow the bodybuilding sport, I’m a 
known face.  Redheads are rare.  Redheaded bodybuilders are rarer still.  
And while I hadn’t yet been featured in a spotlight article, my picture 
has appeared in the bodybuilding magazines.  That worried me slightly.  
If word leaked out about my relationship with Susan, it could 
potentially damage my reputation in the sport.  The men who control 
bodybuilding are Puritans at heart, despite their unspoken 
acknowledgement that sex sells.  I decided to air my concerns to Susan 
when we were alone. 

	Lydia was drinking quite a bit, and as the evening wore on, she became 
inebriated.  The alcohol was loosening her already lax inhibitions.  She 
was wearing a black leather vest and skirt over leather undergarments.  
The outfit must have been unbearably hot.  She was sweating copiously.  
After we’d been in the club about an hour and a half, she declared that 
it was too hot to remain dressed.  She unbuttoned and removed her vest, 
and then slipped off her skirt.  The bra she wore was a half-bra that 
did nothing to cover her nipples.  They were nearly as long as mine.  
They were decorated with non-piercing clips that fit over the tops of 
her nipples and dangled below.  A short length of chain swung between 
her breasts, either end connected to the clips. 

	Her shorts were snug on her bottom, and exposed the bottoms of her ass 
cheeks.  The material between her legs seemed to disappear into her cunt 
opening.  Lydia’s abdomen was wet with perspiration.  She sat back down, 
and ordered another drink.  Her eyes were flushed, and the dagger tattoo 
on her face stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding whiteness of 
her face. 

	“Club’ll be closing in another half hour,” she said to Susan.  “Are you 
going to show her off tonight?” 

	“I already have,” Susan replied, glancing at me.  “The comments have 
been…interesting.” 

	“I want to fuck her,” Lydia said suddenly, and I suspected it was the 
alcohol talking.  She put a possessive hand on my arm.  “I’ll pay you a 
hundred dollars for one night.” 

	“We’ll see,” Susan said smugly.  “You should think about putting your 
vest back on.  There are some dykes here who’d like nothing more than to 
get you alone in the ladies’ room.” 

	Lydia looked around drunkenly.  A group of lesbians at the bar was 
looking in our direction.  As we watched, one of them pointed in our 
direction, and said something to her friends.  There was a loud burst of 
laughter. 

	“What’s so damned funny?” Lydia asked, growing belligerent.  “Are they 
laughing at my tits?  They better not be.  I’ve got a better pair than 
any one of them.  Hell, any two of them put together.” 

	“Of course you have, my dear,” Susan said soothingly.  She reached 
across, and tenderly stroked the bare upper skin of Lydia’s left breast.  
Susan’s touched calmed Lydia.  She turned to me. 

	“You liked licking my twat, didn’t you?” 

	It was astonishing to me how easily I’d slipped into the slave’s role.  
I knew enough to look at Susan for permission to speak.  When I received 
it, I turned my attention back to Lydia. 

	“Yes, I did.” 

	“Did you like it when I pissed in your mouth?” 

	“It was strange to me,” I said. 

	“But did you like it?” 

	I had to admit that I did.  Once again, my confession surprised me.  I’d 
expected Lydia’s urine to taste harsh and pungent.  It hadn’t been like 
that at all.  Her urine was salty, but it had none of the bitter, acrid 
taste that I’d been expecting.  It’d tasted fresh and clean.  Was this 
normal behavior?  It certainly wasn’t what I’d been raised to believe.  
Where did this dark well of lust emanate from?  What kind of sexual 
pervert was I? 

	“Come with me,” Susan said. 

	Margo and I rose, and followed Susan.  She led us through the club to a 
closed door in the back wall.  Reaching it, she took a key from her 
purse, unlocked it, and let us proceed her through. 

	The room on the other side was about thirty feet square.  Several easy 
chairs were scattered around low-standing wooden tables.  There was a 
smaller version of the bar against the right-hand wall.  Metal hooks 
were set randomly in the floor and ceiling. 

	Susan closed the door behind us, and walked around until she was facing 
me.  Standing as close as she was, I could smell the combined sweat and 
perfume on her body.  Her eyeliner was smudged in one corner, and her 
lipstick needed freshening.  There was a flake of tobacco on her front 
tooth.  Her eyes were dark and opaque. 

	“How much do you think you can take?” she asked.  Lazily, as though it 
had a life of its own, her hand reached out to cup my breast through the 
material of my dress.  Her fingers found and pinched the nipple.  It 
sent sympathetic waves down my belly into my pussy. 

	“I don’t know, Mistress,” I said honestly. 

	The door opened, and Lydia entered.  She’d put on the previously 
discarded vest.  She carried the leather skirt in one hand.  A cigarette 
burned between the fingers of her free hand. 

	“I’ve got to pee,” she said, eyeing me with a  vicious glint in her eye. 

	“Not now, Lydia,” Susan said.  “I’ve got something else planned for 
her.” 

	Lydia muttered a curse under her breath, but said nothing else.  She 
left, presumably to visit the toilet.  Behind me, I could feel Margo’s 
hands on my back and buttocks.  She was running her hands up and down my 
backside, pausing to cup the cheeks of my ass.  Her touch was warm and 
sensuous, and I found myself beginning to grow excited. 

	“This will be a measure of how much you trust me,” Susan said.  
“Remember that you can always tell us to stop.  In this case, if you say 
‘Stop’, I won’t hold it against you.  Do you understand?” 

	“I understand,” I said. 

	“Margo, get the restraints.” 

	“How are you feeling?” Susan asked once Margo had left the room. 

	“Very light-headed, Mistress,” I said.  “Like I’m floating on a cloud.” 

	“That’s the drug I had Margo give you,” Susan replied.  “Combined with 
the alcohol, it’s designed to loosen your inhibitions.” 

	“What are you going to do to me?” 

	Instead of replying, Susan leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.  
Her tongue was a feather-touch across my mouth.  Her fingers tightened 
on my nipple, and pulled it hard.  I sucked in my breath as my clitoris 
twitched in reaction. 

	Margo returned, followed by Lydia.  She carried a satchel in one hand.  
Inside, were wrist and ankle restraints.  Susan led me over to a spot on 
the floor where there were a profusion of embedded hooks.  Margo 
fastened the restraints in place, then took chains from the satchel, and 
ran them from the rings on the restraints to the looped hooks in the 
floor.  When she was finished, I found that I could move in a short, 
prescribed circle, but that I couldn’t pull my thighs together.  I was 
forced to stand with my legs approximately shoulder-width apart.  
Similarly, I could move my arms, but I couldn’t raise my hands above 
waist level. 

	“I don’t want to take the chance of anyone recognizing you,” Susan said.  
“In there, it was dark, and it was hard to see your face.  In here, the 
lights are bright.  I have to put a mask on you.” 

	I felt a rush of gratitude and affection for Susan.  She knew my inner 
fears without having to ask.  Was any mistress more solicitous? 

	The leather hood was the type that fit completely over my head.  It had 
openings for eyes, nose and mouth, but aside from that, it covered my 
skull completely.  It was a touch too small for me, but Margo and Lydia 
managed to tug it into place.  It felt strange and exciting against my 
skin.  Margo secured it with a small lock to the ring in my collar. 

	“She’s still dressed,” Lydia said. 

	“That’s easily taken care of,” Susan replied.  Taking the collar of my 
dress in both hands, she ripped the material from my body. 

	Being taken by force has always been a secret fantasy of mine.  It’s the 
most pervasive of all my imaginings.  It never fails to excite me, and 
if I concentrate hard, I can bring myself to orgasm simply by imagining 
being helplessly bound and raped.  To have it done in reality was 
ecstasy.  My nipples hardened, and my clitoris expanded in anticipation. 

	“Bring them in,” Susan told Margo. 

	I couldn’t turn around to see the door.  I had to stand there and wait 
until they came into view.  When they did, I sucked in my breath. 

	There were three of them.  One was Anna.  The other two were strangers 
to me, but they were similar in appearance to Anna.  In addition to 
being shaved and tattooed, they were pierced in more places than I could 
count.  Steel rings and studs glinted in the light.  Their nude bodies 
were ornamented with exotic leather and steel outfits.  They wore well-
worn black combat boots on their feet.  One of them had a whip in her 
hands; the other had a riding crop. 

	“If she tells you to stop,” Susan said, “stop immediately.  Otherwise, 
you may do as you wish.” 

	Susan, Margo and Lydia walked over to one of the tables.  Susan and 
Lydia sat close together, with Margo kneeling on a cushion between them.  
Margo had removed her dress, and was nude except for panties and shoes.  
A male waiter, dressed in tuxedo shirt and codpiece, came over to take 
their drink orders.  A bartender had slipped behind the bar without my 
noticing. 

	“Goddamn,” one of the women said.  “Look at the body on her.  She’s as 
big as a man.” 

	“Didn’t I say so?” Anna said.  There was a note of pride in her voice, 
as though she alone had been responsible for my discovery. 

	“Enough talk,” the third woman said.  “Give me the rope.” 

	She took the length of rope Anna handed her, and quickly bound my 
breasts.  She was adept at the task, and expertly captured my boobs in 
the ready-made nooses before she tightened the loops.  She wound the 
excess slack around my torso, and fastened it tightly.  I could feel my 
tits expand with constricted blood.  I looked down at them.  They were 
about twice their normal size, and the nipples looked like miniature 
thumbs, they were so prominent.  A second length of rope was tied around 
my waist, and up between my legs.  It dug into the mound of my pussy, 
and into the crack of my ass.  It felt like I was being lifted into the 
air by my crotch.  My pussy was a swamp of sexual excitement.   Although 
I tried hard to contain it, I couldn’t stop myself from loosing a stream 
of urine.  It trickled down my leg, wetting the nylons I still wore, and 
seeping into my shoes.  My feet felt damp and uncomfortable. 

	Anna came close to me, and kissed me.  She bit at my lips with her 
teeth, pulling my lower lip out uncomfortably.  I tried to shake myself 
free, but she held on tightly.  I took a deep breath of air in through 
my nose, and forced myself to relax.  I concentrated on the feel of her 
mouth on my own, and after a moment, she released her hold on me. 

	The other two women stood on either side of me.  The taller one, on my 
right, was using the riding crop to lightly strike my legs between the 
crotch and knee.  It didn’t hurt, but I found myself beginning to 
anticipate the blows, and found that I was tensing the muscle before the 
crop landed.  Once again, I focused my attention on the sensation, and 
succeeded in letting the crop hit me without any involuntary reaction.  
After a short while, the feeling turned pleasurable, and each blow of 
the crop set off a vibratory reaction in my pussy and ass. 

	The shorter woman to my left was attaching nipple clamps to my breasts.  
They were the type where increasing pressure was applied via a turn 
screw.  She pulled at my nipple until it couldn’t be stretched any 
further, then captured the turgid piece of flesh between the clamp’s 
teeth.  She slowly applied pressure until the nipple was squeezed 
between the clamp’s jaws. 

	Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined the incredible 
sensations that rocketed through my body.  When she applied the clamp to 
the other nipple, and tightened it down, my pussy twitched as though a 
live electrical wire had been touched to it, and I had an orgasm.  It 
was one of those orgasms that seemed to last forever.  Wave upon wave of 
pleasure coursed through me.  I lost control of every bodily function I 
had.  To my considerable embarrassment, I broke wind loudly, and fell to 
my knees.  My bladder let loose, emptying on the floor beneath me.  Spit 
fell from my mouth. 

	The woman with the whip began lashing my bowed back.  The whip end was 
broad and flat, so it didn’t break the skin.  Instead, it started what 
felt like a fire from the nape of my neck to the small of my back.  The 
sensations excited me even more as I gave myself over to the punishment.  
Each succeeding lash heightened my pleasure until I finally exploded in 
another orgasm. 

	I writhed on the floor.  My breasts, hyper-sensitive because of the 
binding ropes and nipple clamps, rubbed against the wooden floor.  I 
tried to push my pussy against the floor, but the ankle restraints 
stopped me.  I managed to get my hand to my pussy where my fingers 
pinched and pulled at the enlarged node of my clitoris.  Despite the 
rope, I managed to shove two fingers into my cunt.  The friction caused 
the rope to rub against my asshole, further heightening my pleasure.  I 
was wild with passion, my inhibitions totally destroyed. 

	“Fuck me,” I moaned.  “Fuck me.  Somebody please fuck me.” 

	I felt a cold hardness at my rectum.  Anna had strapped on a dildo 
harness, and was trying to penetrate my ass with it.  I pushed backward 
against her, my hands braced against the floor.  I was yelling like a 
madwoman. 

	“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” 

	Anna finally managed to get the dildo into me.  She poised, with the tip 
inside my sphincter muscle, then jerked her hips forward, burying the 
length of it into my ass.  I felt as though I were being split in two.  
Yet, even amidst the pain and searing agony, the sexual excitement 
continued to build in my belly.  I bucked like a wild bronco, rattling 
the chains that held my wrists and ankles. 

	“Fuck me.  Fuck my ass,” I yelled. 

	Anna did as I requested.  She pounded into me as though frenzied.  With 
each thrust, my asshole flowered open a little more, until it felt big 
enough to take a fist.  By now, I had lost whatever dignity and self-
respect that I might have had.  I was a slut.  I knew that about myself 
now.  Who else but a slut would willingly submit to being a sex slave?  
Who else would allow herself to be exhibited as though she were a 
mindless animal?  Who else would allow strangers to piss on her and whip 
her?  Who else would welcome the complete and total degradation I was 
undergoing?  Only a slut. 

	My stepfather had been right all those years ago.  I was a tramp; an 
amoral whore; a shameless libertine. 

	The other women were standing over me.  I could see their feet and legs 
as Anna continued to fuck my ass.  The whipping had ceased.  My back was 
a flaming sea of discomfort, yet I was disappointed.  I was coming to 
enjoy the whipping. 

	“What do you want?”  It was Susan’s voice.  I couldn’t see her, but I 
could hear her clearly. 

	“Oh, God,” I said.  “Oh, my God.” 

	“What do you want, Leslie?  Tell me.” 

	I knew what I wanted the women to do to me, but I hesitated. 

	“Tell me,” Susan said, and her voice was soft and persuasive.  “I’ll 
still love you.” 

	That convinced me.  “Piss on me,” I said.  “It’s what I deserve.” 

	The two women were more than happy to oblige. 


End of Part Six