A Slave's Diary - Part 10
By Leslie McCormick
A female bodybuilder becomes a sex slave to a harsh mistress



Part Ten 


 My heart pounded against my ribs, and my mouth was dry and swollen.  
I'm no stranger to pain, but witnessing Margo's beating and humiliation 
made me think twice about the lifestyle I'd chosen.  I was going to be 
viciously beaten.  Susan was going to bind me in restraints so tight 
they'd cut off my circulation, and then she was going to physically 
abuse me to the limits of my endurance.  And, the most surprising part 
of this all was that I was a willing participant.  How often in my past 
life had I lamented the physically abusive men I'd hooked up with, and 
how often had I prayed for a good, kind, gentle man to find me.  Yet, 
here I was, offering myself up for the type of punishment you normally 
only found in porn films and books.  Was I completely out of my mind? 
 Susan untied me, and helped me to my feet.  She removed the ball gag 
from my mouth, and tossed it aside with a look of disdain.  It was 
covered with saliva.  I felt shame in having wet it, feeling that I 
should somehow have kept it dry and pristine.  I knew that that was 
physically impossible, yet still I burned with shame.  The last thing I 
wanted was to disappoint Susan and have her look down upon me. 
 Lydia returned.  Without waiting for instructions from Susan, she 
secured me into the space that had so recently held Margo.  Within a 
short time, I was as securely bound as Margo had been.  It may have been 
my imagination, but I thought that Lydia took particular pleasure in 
winding the rope around my neck.  She removed my slave collar and tossed 
it aside.  Without it around my neck, I felt naked, even though I'd been 
nude since early this morning.  It'd turned into my security blanket, 
and I felt lost and helpless without its confining presence about my 
neck. 
 The ropes cut into my breathing.  If I moved my head more than two or 
three inches in any direction, it pressed against my windpipe.  Like 
Margo before me, I had to keep my head up and my back arched. 
 "I'm going to blindfold you," Susan said, "but I won't gag you."  She 
smiled.  "That way, you can tell me to stop when it becomes too much for 
you to take." 
 The blindfold had two vertical strips that fit down over my eye 
sockets, and was attached to another piece that fit around my head, and 
was tied at the back of my head.  The darkness was total and complete.  
Not even the tiniest bit of light penetrated.  It was a disorienting 
feeling.  Two of my five senses had been taken away from me.  All that 
was left was taste, smell and hearing, and in this situation, taste and 
smell seemed superfluous. 
 I wouldn't have thought it possible, but despite my fear and 
trepidation, I was growing excited.  The inadvertent motion of my head 
caused the rope around my neck to cut off my breathing, but instead of 
this filling me with a sense of panic, I found the asphyxia to be 
exhilarating.  It was similar to the feeling I got when lifting weights 
for a long period of time.  The adrenaline rush was like an intoxicating 
drug. 
 In addition, being deprived of sight and touch heightened the 
sensation.  It forced me to concentrate, in a way that wouldn't have 
been possible before, on the various stimuli I was feeling.  Was this 
all part of Susan's plan, or was it merely an accidental by-product?  
Either way, I could feel that familiar tingling in my lower belly. 
 "She's ready," Lydia said.  Her hand slid down my back to my buttocks, 
where her palm delivered a stinging slap to my ass.  It was sudden and 
unexpected, and I squealed with surprise. 
 "Scream as loudly as you want," Susan's voice said, close to my ear.  
"No one can hear you except us." 
 Until you yourself are deprived of sight, you can't appreciate how 
disorienting being blind can be.  Everything is affected; your sense of 
balance, your sensory perceptions, and your internal emotions.  For 
reasons known only to subconscious, I was acutely aware of how the 
cement flooring felt on the soles of my bare feet.  My boobs and ass 
were tingling in anticipation of being lashed, and I imagined I could 
feel my skin crawling.  There was intense pressure in my bladder, as 
though I had to urgently pee, yet I knew this was illusory.  Beads of 
sweat ran from my scalp down the sides of my face, tickling me.  A draft 
of warm air wafted through the garage and across my body. 
 The first lash came whistling through the air.  I heard it seconds 
before it landed.  There was no time to dodge before it hit me.  The cat 
o'nine tails raked across my left breast, sending a flash of heat and 
pain racing through me.  I screamed at the top of my lungs. 
 Before the scream had died away, the whip descended on my right breast.  
The ends of the whip fell across my areola and nipple, and it was as 
though I had been hooked up to an electrical charge.  The blow made me 
jump and writhe.  I tried to hunch my shoulders to protect my tits, but 
the encircling rope cut into my windpipe.  Gagging, I pulled my head 
back, exposing my breasts.  The whip fell again and again.  My boobs 
felt as though they were on fire.  They stung and burned, and I twisted 
and flailed helplessly.  Everything else was forgotten.  My breasts were 
the center of attention, my sole focus. 
 As a competitive bodybuilder, I've had a love/hate relationship with my 
boobs.  At times, I admired the weight and feel of them, and enjoyed the 
way they looked and felt.  They're extremely sensitive, and I've derived 
a lot of enjoyment by caressing them.  I touch them as much as my clit 
when I masturbate. 
 At other times, I hated them.  They were so big they often got in my 
way when working out.  No amount of dieting seemed able to reduce their 
size, and when I was posing on-stage, I was constantly aware of them.  I 
had to insure they didn't pop out of my bathing suit top.  It inhibited 
my posing routine, and I've often found myself wishing they were smaller 
like some of the other women.  
 The whipping was agony, yet beneath the pain, there was ecstasy.  My 
tits were both my joy and my burden.  It seemed fitting that, of all the 
parts of my body, they should be brutalized.  I wanted to touch myself, 
but was restrained by the ropes. 
 A strange thing happened.  In the aftermath of each lash, there was a 
brief rush of intense pleasure.  My nipples were as hard as stones.  My 
clitoris began to swell and expand, and my pussy was dripping wet.  I 
could even feel my asshole flower open and closed.  It pulsated like it 
was alive and had a mind of its own.  The rope around my neck 
intermittently cut off my breathing. The asphyxia was heightening the 
sexual sensations, concentrating them to a fever pitch.  It was hard to 
believe that I was being punished for disobeying Susan's orders.  This 
felt more like a reward.  I was moments away from the most intense 
orgasm of my life.  My entire body was vibrating like a tuning fork.  My 
hands were pulling on the rope, and I was up on my toes.  My entire body 
was tensed with anticipation.  Another lash or two would send me over 
the edge. 
 And then Susan stopped. 
 For several incomprehensible seconds, I hung in thrall, waiting for the 
sting of the whip.  When I finally realized it was being withheld, I 
howled in frustration. 
 "No," I screamed.  "Don't stop.  I'm so close." 
 "Yes," Susan's calm voice said.  "I know.  Lydia, give her ten minutes 
to calm down, and then untie her and bring her inside." 
 I was enraged.  I screamed obscenities at the top of my lungs.  I 
pulled at the ropes holding me until my arms ached.  I was desperate to 
come.  Yet, I was destined to be frustrated.  Bound as I was, I could do 
nothing to stimulate myself, and neither Lydia nor Susan would help me 
achieve climax.  I burst into tears, and cried until I could weep no 
more. 
 After a while, Lydia released me.  I was physically and mentally 
exhausted.  The light hurt my eyes, and my body was aching and sore.  My 
tits were red and swollen, and there was still the dampened fire in my 
belly that bespoke of an unfulfilled orgasm.  When Lydia untied my arms 
and legs, I fell to the ground, and curled myself into a fetal ball.  
Lydia knelt beside me, but she didn't touch me.  Instead, she crooned a 
nameless tune until I slipped into sleep. 
 I woke hours later in my own bed.  I was dressed in T-shirts and 
shorts.  The slave collar was back around my neck.  Wide leather cuffs 
were locked around my wrists and ankles.  The beside clock read eight 
twenty-two. 
 I rose and went into the bathroom to urinate.  I washed my face and 
hands.  As I raised my head, I caught sight of my own reflection in the 
medicine cabinet mirror.  Outwardly, I looked the same, but I knew that 
was only an illusion.  I was different.  I could see it in my eyes.  
Something fundamental within me had been radically and permanently 
altered.  I was no longer Leslie McCormick, budding bodybuilding star.  
I was Leslie McCormick, sexual slave.  I'd given myself over completely 
to Susan Donati.  She was my mistress, and I was her slave.  To think 
otherwise was to delude myself. 
 I could still feel the residual horniness of my missed orgasm.  I 
wanted to masturbate myself to completion, but was hesitant.  Would 
doing so violate one of Susan's rules?  I didn't want to take the 
chance.  I wanted to come, but I wanted Susan's permission.  I was 
afraid of being punished again. I went back into my bedroom, and lay 
down on the bed, intending to fall back to sleep.  My mind was restless, 
though, and sleep eluded me.  I kept examining my reasons for adopting 
this lifestyle.  I'd always thought of myself as a strong, independent 
woman, but I had to face the fact that I was mistaken in that regard.  
I'd come to rely on Susan, on her approval and validation, and it had 
happened in almost no time at all.  I'd always thought that training of 
this nature took a great deal of time.  But I'd accepted my slave status 
almost immediately.  Was it something in my past that'd led me to this?  
I cast about in my memories, searching for some key event, and then I 
remembered my sister Mary Ellen's party. 

 I was sixteen, Mary Ellen nineteen.  Uncle Mickey had left home months 
earlier.  Shamed by his seduction by Mary Ellen, and unable to accept 
her domination over his wife, he fled to Ireland, there to build a new 
life away from the three woman who'd ruined his life. We were thrilled 
at the development.  Mary Ellen despised Uncle Mickey's drinking and his 
emotional and mental weakness.  Aunt Jennifer, in thrall to Mary Ellen, 
no longer needed or wanted him in her life.  She had a new mistress, and 
though Mary Ellen periodically abused her, she was happy in her new 
life.  Aunt Jennifer had always wanted someone strong to dominate her.  
It made no difference to her whether the person was a man or a woman.  
Mary Ellen was the first person to recognize her inherent 
submissiveness, and once she established dominion over her, Aunt 
Jennifer acquiesced willingly. I was indifferent toward Uncle Mickey.  
He seldom noticed me, and only paid attention to me when I addressed him 
directly.  If not for those rare occasions, we wouldn't have exchanged 
two words of conversation.  So his departure didn't affect me at all. 
The house was paid for, so there was no mortgage to worry about.  We 
three women lived alone, with Mary Ellen as undisputed queen.  I was 
second in the pecking order, but only because Aunt Jennifer was 
completely under Mary Ellen's thumb.  She'd stopped thinking and acting 
for herself, and did only what Mary Ellen told her to do. It was the 
perfect situation for Mary Ellen.  She reveled in the sense of power and 
control.  Before he discovered the secrets within his own home, Uncle 
Mickey had gotten a new job that required extensive travel, and so his 
absences from the house became longer and more frequent.  It gave Mary 
Ellen plenty of time to thoroughly train and dominate Aunt Jennifer.  
Mary Ellen solicited my assistance every now and then, but for the most 
part, she was in charge. 
 It was early autumn, and Mary Ellen decided to throw an impromptu 
party.  She told me and Aunt Jennifer how things were to be arranged, 
and threatened us with severe punishment if we deviated from her 
instructions.  At the suggestion of one of her friends, she began 
watching her diet, and took up weight training.  She was as big and 
strong as a man.  She was six feet, three inches tall, and weighed an 
incredible one hundred seventy-five pounds, all of it dense, hard 
muscle.  Aunt Jennifer and I were both terrified of her, and so we set 
up things exactly as she wanted. 
 Her guests were close friends who shared her perverted interests.  
Since dropping out of high school, Mary Ellen had become immersed in 
Boston's sexual underground.  This was a shadowy world inhabited by 
outwardly respectable people whose only goal was fulfillment of their 
deviant sexual fantasies. Mary Ellen was a legendary figure in those 
circles.  She was completely uninhibited, and totally without shame.  
She was known as a woman who would do absolutely anything in pursuit of 
sexual satisfaction.  The more deviant and perverted the act, the more 
she gloried in it.  Training Aunt Jennifer had pushed her from 
heterosexuality to bisexuality.  It no longer mattered whether her 
partner was a man or woman, it only mattered that they get her off. 
 For the party, Mary Ellen hired two video photographers to film the 
night's activities.  She wanted a record of the night's events.  They 
arrived early to check on lighting, and to scout out possible camera 
angles.  It was a man/woman team.  The woman was small and slight, with 
mouse-colored hair who dressed in plain, dark-colored clothing.  She 
wore the flat, flexible shoes favored by artists, and wore woolen socks.  
I hated her from the minute I laid eyes on her. The man was tall and 
rugged-looking, with an incredible build, and the tightest ass I'd ever 
seen.  He had dark curly hair and a thick mustache, and from the moment 
I laid eyes on him, I knew that I would fuck him before the night was 
over.  I tried to insinuate myself into his good graces by offering to 
help, but he brushed aside my assistance.  I was crushed. 
 I'd filled out somewhat, but I was still scrawny and awkward.  My only 
attractive feature was my boobs.  I measured a full thirty-seven inches, 
and my nipples were as round and prominent as miniature cylinders and 
nearly a half inch long in length.  They received a lot of attention 
from boys my own age, but this man, who was twice my age, seemed 
impervious to them.  I'd counted on their being able to draw his notice, 
but that didn't seem to be the case.  I hid my disappointment, and 
continued to get things ready. 
 Mary Ellen had spared no expense.  The liquor cabinet was well-stocked, 
and there was food enough for twice the number of invited guests.  In 
addition, she had marijuana and cocaine in readiness for later in the 
evening.  About a half an hour before the first guests were scheduled to 
arrive, Mary Ellen called me upstairs to the master bedroom suite. 
 Mary Ellen was dressed in the most bizarre and outlandish costume I'd 
ever seen.  At that point, I was aware that she was into an alternative 
lifestyle, but I'd not be directly exposed to it.  I helped in Aunt 
Jennifer's training, but that was different somehow.  Her lifestyle was 
being brought into our home, and I remember feeling, on a subliminal 
level, that things were about to change radically. 
 Mary Ellen wore makeup that made her look like a slut.  Her eyes and 
mouth were heavily burnished with dark colors that contrasted sharply 
with the fairness of her skin.  She wore a spiked dog collar around her 
neck.  Tiny nooses were drawn tightly around each nipple, and were 
attached to one another by a piece of silver string.  Her pussy had been 
shaved bare of hair, and her prominent mound was clearly visible between 
her legs.  Black thigh-high stockings covered her legs.  Her feet were 
shoved into black patent leather shoes with spiked heels.  In one hand, 
she held a red and black corset. 
 "Help me on with this, pipsqueak," she said, holding the corset out to 
me. 
 I took it from her, and fit it around her torso, and pulled the draw 
strings tight.  She exhaled mightily as the boned corset dug deep into 
her ribs. 
 "Tighter," she said. 
 I pulled the strings tighter.  The pressure of it forced air from her 
intestines, causing her to break wind loudly.  She found that amusing, 
and barked laughter. 
 "Better now than later," she said.  "Tighter, pipsqueak.  Use those 
puny Goddamned muscles of yours." 
 I put my knee into her back, and tugged at the strings with all my 
strength. 
 "It won't go any further," I told her. 
 "Tie me off, then.  This'll do." 
 The corset had bra cups that were designed to cradle the breasts, but 
I'd drawn it so tightly about her middle that Mary Ellen's tits bulged 
obscenely from the top of the corset.  She examined her reflection in 
the full-length floor mirror, twisting and turning this way and that in 
order to see herself from every possible angle. 
 "How does my ass look in this thing?" she asked, turning her backside 
to me. 
 "It looks good," I said.  In fact, it looked more than good.  The 
corset made her waist seem tiny in comparison to the bounty above and 
below it. 
 She turned back to face me.  "Are you on birth control?" 
 The question caught me off-guard.  I answered honestly.  "No." 
 "I have a diaphragm in my dresser.  It may be too big for you, but you 
can use it if it fits.  If not, make sure the guys wear condoms.  If 
they don't want to, then don't let them have sex with you.  I don't want 
you getting pregnant." 
 Her concern, however roughly it was communicated, touched me.  Aside 
from Aunt Jennifer, I was the only relative Mary Ellen was close to.  We 
hadn't shared many moments together in the past couple of years, but we 
still felt affection for one another.  Or at least I did for her. 
 "I've got to get Jennifer ready," Mary Ellen said.  "That stupid slut 
can't follow the simplest directions." 
 Without warning, Mary Ellen took me into her arms, and hugged me 
tightly.  Her body was hot, radiating heat as though she'd been 
sunbathing all day.  She wore a heavy fragrance that tickled my nose, 
and made me want to sneeze. 
 "I love you, pipsqueak," she whispered hoarsely in my ear.  Then she 
kissed my mouth. 
 I returned her kiss, losing myself in the warm and soft expanse of her 
lips and mouth.  It'd been ages since we'd practiced kissing together, 
and I'd forgotten how pleasurable it was. 
 Mary Ellen left to get Aunt Jennifer, and I went back downstairs.  The 
DJ was already set up, and loud rock music blared through the house.  
The cameramen had finished staging their equipment, and were doing some 
last minute lighting checks.  In addition to the cameras on tripods, 
they each had a hand-held unit that they carried around with them.  Mary 
Ellen was taking no chances on missing any of the night’s activities.  I 
mixed myself a strong drink, and sat down on the sofa to await the first 
guests. 

End of Part Ten