Creator of Bondage Comics

Cover Page - Bound and pierced Slave girl in Ballerina Costume
Slave Nina: Fetish Ballerina by KinkDept (2019)
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Welcome to Planet XX

I saw white bandages just below my elbows, as my eyes began to tear from the bright sunlight. It looked like a hospital room. Did I have surgery? I must have. Blood rushed back into my brain. I finally must have had the courage to take the next step in my slave career— "Awake yet?" a dark-haired woman asked. "I didn't want to miss it when you wake up." I hadn't noticed Mistress, sitting beside me, nor her personal slave kneeling at her feet. Her deep-blue eyes penetrated me; she always had an aura of dominance around here. Intimidated, I quickly lowered my eyes. "Let me remove your bandages," she said. "You've slept for two days, so the nanites should have finished your healing process. Let's get you accustomed to your new situation." Once she had removed them from my arms, I still felt hazy. Perplexed, I tried to touch my arms, but there was no sensation, only a round end below my elbows. "How does it feel without arms?" she asked, when she touched them. I thought I just moved my fingers but I couldn't see them anymore. It was weird. A moan of surprise escaped me, or at least I thought it did, but no sound came over my lips. Instinctively I reached to my face, but when my stumps touched the rigid metal on my face it felt surreal. My useless arms gave me only a dull impression of the steel contraption locked around my head. The 'skull-harness' fits you very nicely," she said. "Ah yes, at first it's can be a bit uncomfortable around the mouth."
(Image placeholder—skull-harness up-close—available in PDF version)
So that was attached as well, I thought. My arms fumbled awkwardly around my face, trying to give me an accurate sense of my new circumstance. I knew my amputated helplessness was only for the duration of my slave contract, but the comprehension settling in just became a little too real for me. I began to further explore my grotesque predicament. With the dull end of my arms I tried to touch my mouth. It was rigidly spread wide open, and resisted all of my attempts at closing it again. Yet, nothing was inside it. Nothing that should prevent my overstretched jaw from closing again; still somehow, my skull-harness held my chin firmly in place and my mouth remained wide open. I tasted the emptiness of air on my tongue, as my reflex to moisten it was hindered. It felt completely immobilized and somehow fastened to my chin. My clumsy arms found no way of freeing it from its stretched misery. I only found more piercings penetrating my disabled tongue. It felt so useless now. Mistress's interest in my helpless state was evident, like a cat who had found a new toy, she stood over me. "I'll keep the key to your tongue close," she said, while touching her necklace, and I saw my golden key shimmering around her neck. My tongue couldn't explore the inside of my mouth anymore. I inadvertently sucked on the blunt ends of my arm, as I felt an emptiness, a void, and I realized my teeth were gone—as I had suspected. Only the soft wet sensation of my gums remained, reduced to a wet hole for Mistress's pleasure. "Since I can't have you drool all over the place, I have ordered an additional small procedure: they reduced your saliva secretion and transplanted a few glands from your vaginal wall into your soft mouth. From now on, whenever you get horny down there, you mouth will moisten too." It did sound reasonable—I hated drool on my chest. I didn't mind the small modifi— "Ah yes...there, can you taste it?" Mistress said with a jovial tone. Surprisingly, I had to admit—I did. But tasting my own horniness just made me hornier! The skull-harness reduced me to a silent pleasure hole. Hopefully I could show Mistress my gratitude soon. The steel harness on my head grabbed my whole skull like it was molded to it. No movement was possible between metal and skin. Even weirder was the sensation of my naked scalp. I was bald—my blond hair was gone. I must look awful! The nakedness created an even deeper sensation of my slave position. My whole body appeared perfectly smooth and hairless, even the blonde fuzz over my tummy and arms was gone. I knew I had to endure my embarrassing smoothness for a long time. My dehumanized body wasn't mine to rule anymore; it was now under Mistress's command. I tried to tell Mistress of my new-and-amazing sensations, but I couldn't manage to get a single sound out of my lips. "The injection in your vocal chords," Mistress said, as she saw my struggles, "will heighten your sense of helplessness and your complete devotion to me." It worked beyond my imagination, nor could I complain. My open mouth remained silent. An exhilarating helplessness washed over me, followed by a hopeless desperation creeping up in my belly. I didn't know what to think of it just yet. Yes, I craved complete ownership of my whole being, and I agreed voluntarily to my enslavement, but now that I'm actually stuck in this situation—I'm not 100%-so-sure anymore. It will be an enduring trial for my submissive soul, serving Her in this helpless form for the next two years. I guess I just stared absent-mindedly in the air, when Mistress removed my hospital blanket, revealing the rest of my altered body. Our eyes met, and her glaring blue eyes stared into my submissive soul. "Doesn't it look exhilarating?" she said. I marveled at my surgically reduced waist; its girth felt alarmingly delicate, as my useless arms tried to encompass my tiny waist. My groin was as bald as the rest; my outer lips pressed together like a little clam, when I noticed I couldn't quite reach it anymore. No more fingering, I thought to myself. But the soft touch of Mistress's hand made me aware of multiple shiny rings perforating my outer lips. When I shifted my legs in surprise, I noticed the weight of the golden piercings. Mistress held a hand mirror between my legs, when I spotted my new clit piercing. Gold, with a shiny red gem, it was absolutely beautiful. I tried to thank her with a faint smile, but even that, my skull-harness would not allow. Resigned, I tried to make due with a watery sparkle of affection in my eyes. Through blurry eyes, I stared at my well-toned legs, shiny and smooth, same as the rest of me. But I noticed I couldn't wiggle my toes anymore. They were gone—removed. From the middle of my foot downward, there was only an empty tingle. My foot's remaining shape was tapered down, forming a soft tip. I brushed my foot over the other, trying to get a sense of my new predicament—it felt utterly alien when the tip touched my leg. Before I agreed to the surgery, I was really worried about having to relearn all of my motions, my sense of balance, my graceful flow. Instantly I wanted to spin through the room again like a ballerina on a summer breeze. A few days ago, when I pressed my thumb on the scanner—sealing my slave contract—I was certain I'd evolve my dance career to the next level. But looking at the state of my feet now, I knew, I had a long, long road ahead of myself. Quickly, I banished my thoughts back to where they came from. No risk, no reward; no pain, no gain; whatever you like to call it, you've to take a risk, because nothing worthwhile ever comes easy. On the plus side, no more nail problems from my pointe workouts, I smirked at myself, as I found my old spirit and determination again. When I tried to touch one foot to the other it only granted me a reduced sensation, like wearing stiff boots. I guess that's how it always felt, it's just that the absence of my toes made me suddenly much more aware of the sensitive they once had. It would be really challenging to walk from now on. The thought sent a shiver down my naked body. More awkwardly, when I tried to flex my feet, they felt stiff, like stilts, completely overstretched and held down in a pointe position. I could barely bend them anymore. Even my ankles had a reduced range of motion. Hopefully they won't restrict my dancing. The tip of my foot was reinforced; that's where I was supposed to tip-toe around from now on. The smaller bones of my foot felt stiff, like anchored together, forming a pointe shoe in itself. I began to remember more details about it. I was expected to only walk en pointe from now on. Not really a choice anymore, was it? To learn the art of ultra ballet, only the heel and the midfoot is required. An exotic dance form that entertains on its elongated tips, demanding enormous training and a heightened sense of balance from its danseuses (ballet dancer). A position, in my Mistress's household, I was very enthusiastic to occupy, experienced as I already was as a seasoned ballerina. "Very good!" Mistress said, when she examined my reduced feet. "Your scars look healthy. Today you still have to use the wheelchair, but tomorrow we can start with the first steps of your radically new training." I bowed in obedient silence, eyes at her feet. "You will gradually receive your new improvements, so you can slowly adapt to your new circumstances, my pretty doll." I knew I would soon be faced with the rest of my dance gear. That part was inevitable. With the sophisticated slave collar around my neck I was helpless to get away from it now. "The orthopedic specialist should be here soon," Mistress said. "She'll cast molds of your limbs and you'll be able to wear your new prosthesis and boots in no time. "It shouldn't take more than an hour. I've sent for your servant girl and she'll bring you home afterwards. She's an experienced assistant and will take good care of you. I'll see you back at the mansion, my pretty slave." In my new helpless form, all I could do was keep my head bowed respectfully. The silence, imposed upon me, made it hard to show my well-bred devotion to my honored Mistress, as she strolled out of the room, closely pursued by her personal servant. Obedience, something that is dictated by law in the Empire. While I waited impatiently for the nurse, I continued to explore the harsh changes, while my mind began to wander, like a wooden ballerina, who's music box had been opened.

Born into captivity, I had the luxury of growing up with a kind mistress, and a good slave education. Which is rare in the Empire. Important things like the duties of a house servant, manners, posture, and proper behavior. Formalities like etiquette and decorum, and many more maid duties followed. Mistress, in her wise foresight, was adamant in supporting my love for the arts, and that's what gave me todays graceful and slender shape. She treated me more like her daughter, so I was fortunate enough to receive professional instructions in dance discipline, style, foundation, and rhythm. From the exotic arts—to seduce and arouse—to professional ballet. My pointe work became excellent. When I grew into a woman, she set me free; and I learned and yearned. As a free woman I found out that jobs were not made for my kind. I desired servitude and submission, a clear purpose in this world, the absence of choices; I wanted to be owned again and cared for. I didn't understand the other slave girls; what's not to like in this position? As a freedwoman I quickly sent myself back into servitude. Here on the planet you can offer yourself up as a contract slave: a voluntary slave who can set up her own limitations—and is well paid for it. But for years, I did not find satisfaction in any of my slave positions. Until one of these days, you know, you wake up in the morning and you suddenly have this unexpected clarity. You know what you have to do next, to fulfill your innermost desires. I always was a bit shy—and too cautious, and my doubts kept me a slave to my own fears. I had to swim towards deeper water.

Once again, I offered myself up for sale. But this time I was ready to get serious. This time I'd offer much more of myself; I craved total ownership. I went back into one of the major city hubs. Rich, clean, but stuffy, its white cityscape dazzled, and its tall towers dominated the common people below. Always pulsating with autonomous traffic, busy servants bustling past you, and birds chirping at the many green parks and plazas. My destination was the Department of Slavery, right next to the herculean Slave market: a prominent landmark, visible from all over the gleaming city. At that point in time, you better have your affairs in order, before you proceed. The hazy waiting room inside the Contract Department was busy with plenty of willing girls—slave meat, waiting to be called up, until they're fitted with their chains, eager to serve. I could smell the euphoria and anxiety in the room, as I sat down. The temptation of a quick buck and the hope of rising through the ranks of society was just too irresistible for some freedwomen. Attainable, yes, but only with the right character and wits about you. Some girls might indeed make it to a wealthy Mistress, with her own servant girls bustling at her heels. The next counter called me to the reinforced glass window. "Name and ID please," the clerk asked politely. "Slave Nina," I answered politely back, "of House Velia, ID SLAVE-00B221965104." She kindly helped me update all of my details, preferences, limits, and the prefered duration of my next slave contract. They're all very nice here in the Contract Department; they only have to work with volunteer slaves. She offered me a few promising and tempting employments, but one in particular stood out from the rest, a unique offer. Once I saw it, I knew. Maybe twice a year something like that would come up. The Honorable Mistress Octavia was searching for an experienced dancer. Minimum qualifications: at least 5 years in classical ballet, exceptional balance, graceful and slender figure, a devoted and unquestionable obedience, and at least 4 years of previous ownership in servitude. No field slaves!
notice: ***mandatory body modifications***
That's it, my qualifications met! She wanted to evolve her dancers, and train and mold them to the next level and into a radically new ultra ballerina. I always marveled at them; they were on a completely different skill level! I would have never dreamed that my qualifications would be sufficient to step on this exotic path—and it was prestigious as well! Surgery is not a big deal anymore here on the planet. Scar tissue can be grown rapidly with the help of nanites, and lost limbs can be cloned and reattached. The only catch: it's expensive, too expensive for slaves to afford it by themselves—once they were free. Mistresses usually offer to pay the reconstructive surgery once the contract has been completed. I marveled at the details of this Goddess, her huge estate, her slaves, and her unique offer. Still, leaving the reattachment of my hands or feet as collateral—the thought of being so utterly helpless and at the mercy of my captor—but try to tell that to my moistening slave pussy.
She was a ballet mistress and a collector of talent. Let's see what she's asking: o Agreement to limb removal, all regrowable... That was a tough nut, but I knew those ultra ballerinas had reduced feet under their shoes. o Removal of all body hair, including the scalp... I never was a bald slave—I love my blonde hair—and the thought was conflicting. o Waist-reduction and training... Already done that, and I'm super slim, so it should be bearable... o Numerous piercings on face, tongue, and labia... That's endurable. o Nipple stretching... Uggh, not cool! My large nips are too sensitive, was not a hard limit. What kind of slave would I be, if I scared so easily? o A surgically installed head-harness... To be honest, that sounded hot! I had to admit, I always loved the feeling of hard steel on my skin.
Well, the temporary surgery would be the most severe experience to date, and it would require some serious acclimation on my behalf. I'd have to endure my helpless ordeal for the whole two years of my enslavement. Becoming an Ultra Ballerina...the thought was more than exhilarating! I actually had the qualifications by now. They're revered by Mistresses and slaves alike—but I was always a bit shy about myself. One-year contracts are the legal minimum in the Empire. But any Mistress, looking through your history of ownership, will expect to find at least 2-year and longer contracts. Anything lower and they'll straight up doubt your submissive convictions. Having a good performance review from your previous Mistress is also mandatory for us contract slaves. I had my doubts, and yet my desires and hopes were simmering inside my poor slave soul for quite a while now. Mistress Octavia offered a slave-rank two grades above my last employment, and I'd receive a personal slave to take care of me 24/7, and I'd be employed as a full-time ballerina and would be exempt of any common slave work! Damn, her offer is really tempting. I always wanted my own little plaything to order around, and so I made up my mind and jumped into the deep water: "All right, sold!" I said to the clerk, and with the press of a thumb, my enslavement was sealed.

And things became serious—but I already knew that. When the gynoid guard came over I already knew the protocol—half human, half robot—their minds were supposedly controlled by an actual machine. They're here to keep the order in the Empire—and it helps if you're gifted with superhuman speed and strength. I don't ever want to mess with them. I had witnessed what they can do to a slave. "Slave, follow me," the synthetic voice said with an emotionless expression. Without a slave collar around my neck, the whole government machinery was leaning on the side of caution. That's why every new girl was accompanied by a watchful gynoid. In the next processing room I was ordered to strip naked; a command I followed without hesitation. I knew it would be a long time until I could enjoy normal clothing again. And down the rabbit hole we went, as the gynoid ordered me along. Guiding my naked body further down into the bowels of this vast government machinery; there was nothing easier for my slave mind than to follow. As we moved deeper into the system, we eventually queued up behind a long line of naked girls soon to be processed. Each standing in line with a guardian beside her. The line crept along in total silence. No last-minute 'change-of-hearts', from any volunteer—this time; I was a little disappointed. Some do it for the money, others out of masochism. You can tell, while I glanced at a pretty girl in front of me. If you sneak a look at her inner thigh you'll see; mine is telling as well. The line crept further along, until my guard pushed me towards a large machine, built into the wall, and my body was held in place. My neck felt the scraping sound of metal, some warmth, a mild electric shock, and it all was over. I heard the validating beep coming from my collar. I was now officially a slave. It appeared like nothing significant had happened at first glance, but only to an outsider or a novice slave. The steel posture collar, welded around my neck, has changed everything for me in society. Every Mistress and guard in the Empire will treat me from now on very differently. The slave police has free reign over me, and if I should ever be found walking in public without a permit, it won't end well for me. Fancy shops and restaurants will not allow me inside unaccompanied. To look at a Mistress in public is forbidden; my eyes have to be ever-gazing at her feet. It's strictly forbidden to use normal restrooms, only the filthy slave toilets are permitted for defecation. A signed permission is required, to wear shoes in public. Slave law needs to be known by heart and memory, and any police patrol can search and question me without cause. The slave police are a sub-branch of the gynoid caste, with specialized characteristics and enhancements. Any breach of slave law, violation of government rules or royal decrees—in public—and these cold-hearted brutes can severely punish me. In their inhuman eyes I'm only another piece of meat, someone's property, with very little rights remaining. I had to stop thinking about them; they had done some cruel things to my friends in the past. My journey had started, I couldn't stop it anymore. The ball had started rolling, and even if I wanted to, I couldn't make it stop. Everything was outside of 'my' control now. The slave police threw me in uncomfortable chains, and then into the prison van; together with the rest of the miserable bunch. My next destination was a private clinic at the outskirts of the city, when— —the nurse in my sunny hospital room dragged me out of my thoughts, and back into the present...

Finally, I thought to myself, my molds are about to be taken. When are hospitals—ever—not letting you wait? Soon after, my personal slave arrived, with an empty wheelchair in front of her. She was naked—and pretty. She had shimmering brunette hair, a petite body, and her kittens (boobs) were far bigger than mine; and well proportionate. Her face looked smooth and young. She was surely a few years younger than me. Then I noticed her piercings. A nose ring; two pretty, but thick nipple rings; a glimmer between her legs; steel cuffs around her limbs, and a standard posture collar. "Hello, I'm Slave Julie, nice to meet you! I'm your new personal slave, as Mistress commanded," and she bowed her pretty head, as was expected of her lower rank. "Let me help you on your wheels," she chatted. I still needed to get used to my inability to talk, as I couldn't give her any directions or orders, in my current state. "Ohh, you've a pretty body," she said, while helping me into the padded wheelchair, and I felt her warm breath on my neck. Soon I was strapped tightly in place, with restraints running all over my slender shape. 'Was that really necessary?' I wanted to ask. She seemed to very much like being in control—not at all how I'd imagined my situation a few days ago to be honest, but at the moment, I wasn't really in a position to complain successfully. She rushed me down the corridor as if we were late. I tried to gesture her to slow down—order her to stop—but the chair held my limbs efficiently in place, and my spread-open mouth remained silent. An autonomous car picked us up, with just the right wheelchair-slot at its back, and it chauffeured us to our new home, out into the countryside. Whilst we drove through the city, I couldn't get my new servant girl to shut up; she really had a lot to say. She looked very fond of me, as her eyes sparkled when she talked about my future training. An hour or so later, we had arrived, and I was gently unloaded. Elaborate golden doors opened and a maid greeted us. "Welcome to Mistress Octavia's residence!" while curtsying—and holding the hem of her skirt up, like a good maid. Promptly Julie, my slave, rolled me inside. It was a magnificent grand foyer, at least three stories high, with an arched glass ceiling, and some marvelous artwork hanging around. I gazed at her exotic slave collection. Hanging on various chains, were girls in bizarre, humiliating and scary outfits. Some even had worse done to their bodies. While rolling along, I'd imagine myself hanging there silently in the entrance hall, welcoming new visitors in a splendid display of prosperity. I wanted to serve my Mistress, become her instrument, and display her awe-inspiring collection of wealth and power. But don't ask me about the fine line between decadence, prestige, and pomp. My slave mind has difficulty understanding the immensely complex social intricacies of the mistress caste. I'm merely here to serve my remarkably new owner for the next two years—with body and soul! The welcoming house maid, wearing a costly ornate black-and-white maid uniform, was hobbling along, guiding us to our final destination with the tinkling of her cute bells; something between her legs was clearly distressing her. The sun was painting the hallways in a gentle orange and I realized I had completely lost track of time: it was evening already! On our way through the dizzying grandeur of endless floors and corridors, I spotted at least three gynoid guards. Standing silently like harmless statues, their alcoves looked integrated into the estate's walls. When I heard a disquieting sound from my collar. It was a clear warning bleep. "Looks like our slave collars," Julie said, "are now locked to the grounds of the estate again. Any attempt at leaving or doing house errands requires explicit permission from Mistress Octavia." So my slim collar was indeed fully functional and leashed into the estate's AI-System. I guess it was required by law, or the hospital wouldn't have had permission to remove my official posture collar and replace it with the skull-harness. I just felt like this place had just fastened another chain tightly around my neck. A slave-collar cannot kill, but it can discharge enough searing-hot pain, to hurl me into unconsciousness.

After our procession crept excruciatingly slow along the corridors—and I blame the maid for that—we arrived at a small room, with my name plate already affixed to the door:

'Slave Nina, Ultra Ballerina in Training'
A basic night slave quarter really, with dark polished wooden interior—well, not that much interior: a painted portrait of my mistress, a big wall closet as large as the room, and a slim bed placed in the middle—if you can call it a 'bed'. Again I tried to point out the growing discomfort in my bladder. If she wouldn't get it soon, I'd pee myself, right here, right now! "What are you trying to tell me, Nina?" Julie asked. "Do you have to pee? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" she asked naively. Finally, her dummy brain had received the message! I tried to signal my discomfort with a serious stare, since my head, firmly pressed against the chair's headrest, was unable to even nod. Due to my professional dance career, I was used to more discipline and professionalism around me; she had to learn fast! "You're not supposed to put any weight on your feet yet, Nina," Julie said, and began to place thick but comfortable cuffs, just above my elbows, fastened them, and only then released me from the chair's iron grip. A ceiling hoist raised me gently and effortlessly into the air, while my bare feet dangled below me. With the push of a button Julie conjured a toilet seat from within the wall. Once I had relieved myself, I had to wait for Julie to come back and wipe my damp pussy dry. When her naked skin touched mine, and her torso pressed against me, I couldn't hide my flushed face; more out of shame over my helpless situation really—really! I never felt so vulnerable and enslaved as of today. The realization gave me an exhilarating moment, my chest felt like exploding, and my heart raced. It touched all my submissive buttons at once! But shortly after, a small doubt crept into my mind, giving me a noticeable knot in my stomach.
Why is this story available for free you might ask? So more readers with similar minds can enjoy it—Read it—and if you like it, please show your appreciation! Support me so I can create more crazy kinkiness!

"Let's put you in your night gown, shall we?" Julie said, "I've got other things to do." I'm the only 'thing' you're supposed to be occupied with, you useless little wench, I thought as my blood pressure was rising again. From the large wall cabinet, she retrieved a milky-white cotton corset, stiffly boned and decorated with straps and rings, as she began to fasten me into it. I suspected as much. My waist training was already starting; with my hourglass shape, I'm sure I'll have no problems wearing it. But Julie kept on fastening, pulling and tightening, until I felt like I was imploding, gasping for air. I wanted to curse at her eagerness—and to vent my discomfort—but I was kept silent. My face was unable to complain to her, while tiny gasps of air tried to escaped my crushed lungs. She used a measuring tape a few more times around my waist, then lacing it even tighter, until she looked satisfied with my silent gasps. "Sorry," she said, "but I really had to get you down to Mistress's specified measurements. How does it feel?" 'Very uncomfortable,' I tried to say with my eyes, but I guess she just looked for signs of improper alignment around my hip bones and ribs. She lowered me on my slave bed, which was a sort of raspberry red. It was more of a wide cushioned bench really, with the shape of a full-sized human body indented into the padded material. Once I lay comfortably, padded shapes—or pillars—extended out of the soft material. They surrounded my limbs at all the right places, to hinder any movement, as she began to fasten me into my bed with wide straps all over my body. I felt like a cyborg being placed into its customized sleeping compartment. Soon, I'd fear, she would produce some tubes or something. But she only fastened more thick straps through my corset's rings. It forced me even deeper into the beds shape until I felt my body was being held in its final tight embrace for the night. My head couldn't look left or right anymore and the stumpy ends of my arms were placed inside padded cylinders, keeping me from flexing my remaining arms at the elbow. Again, she came back from the closet and began lacing my feet into something. 'Bed shoes?' I wanted to ask, but once my feet were inside it, it felt more like a brace. Unsurprisingly, she fastened them to the bed as well, and began to turn an adjusting screw. My feet slowly began to overextend until I felt a slight ache—not too uncomfortable—but I couldn't move or even wiggle it in the slightest. They were efficiently immobilized, like in a cast, and I was surprised by its sophistication. Once Julie looked satisfied, she wrote down a number again. "Are you hungry yet?" Julie asked. "Since you can't really feed yourself any longer. . . or chew", and she revealed a big bottle filled with an unknown liquid. A long tube protruded from its end. "Open wide," she said, imitating my expression with an "Ahhhhh..." I couldn't stop her. At first, I tried to swallow with my spread-open mouth, but without the help of my tongue it was really challenging. Until Julie pushed the tube down my throat and I gagged—now I knew why she settled me in first. Unable to complain, my forced silence created the impression of agreeing to the whole retching ordeal. Julie had a lovely look on her face when she fed me. She sat just beside me on the bed, force-feeding me a slurry, and clearly enjoying the whole ordeal. Until now, I hadn't really thought about how I was supposed to eat during my whole enslavement. 'Would that be it?' I wondered. Once she'd emptied the bottle into me, she pressed a button at the side of the bed, and right between my thighs, a round ball started to emerge, with the flat side facing my keen orifices. "This will be your nightly alcove. I heard its very pleasant after a hard day's work," and I felt Julie's fingers attach chains to my pussy piercings, and pulling them taut. It created a constant sensation in my pussy; but more devilish was my clit piercing—I would have moaned if I still could—my arms desperately tried to touch my now hungry pussy—but it was no use. I couldn't do anything to ease the teasing. I felt a sizeable dildo penetrate me, extending deep inside my pussy, and then grew silent, with no further sensation. I felt Julie's loving fingers touch my pussy— "—Sorry, Mistress's orders", Julie said, and removed her warm fingers again. I was awfully wet! The magnitude of today's events had made me super horny. If I still had my hands, I'd have lost control—and my self-discipline—right here, right now! But it was outside of my power now. I had given up my freedom and offered it voluntarily to my new Mistress. I tried to give Julie an agonizing look, but she was already towering over me, her legs spread, and rubbing her shaved pussy on my locked tongue, tasting myself and her juice simultaneously. "Give me a good night kiss—Thanks!" she whispered, and left the room. What just happened? I was furious and aroused at the same time! I squirmed against my tight restraints, and her taste in my mouth, but to no avail. My arms were securely held in their padded cylinders, the corset gave zero wriggle room, and my legs felt bolted down. Worse, the dildo lodged inside my pussy was not doing anything, except it was successfully trying to drive me mad—and so did the chains stretching my new pussy piercings. I wanted to scream, 'It isn't fair!' with my gaping mouth. I was so subdued at this moment. I couldn't get any stimulation out of this, except for the slight pull on my rings and the stuffed pressure that penetrated me fully. My sweltering submissiveness must be dribbling out of my filled hole. The embrace of my slave bed was unyielding. My overpowering lust so close at hand, and yet...I soon began to feel the exhaustion of my surgery and my changed body as I gave up in silent resignation until my consciousness became hazy.

I woke up stiff after an uneasy sleep. Someone was near me, unfastening my restraints. My eyes slowly focused on Julie's joyful face, freeing me from my secure slave bed. "Good Morning, Nina", she whispered, and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. I just stared at her perplexed—still half asleep. Once Julie had liberated me from my prison with her sunny morning spirit, she presented me with my liquid breakfast bottle. Reluctantly, and after I choked, I began to swallow it down again. I held the bottle awkwardly in my useless stumps, and I felt like only my diaper was missing to complete my humiliation. It tasted very bland, maybe a bit fruity, but it was too far back in my throat that I could really tell what she was feeding me. My servant girl eyed my trained body, disciplined and toned as it was, and she began to run a finger up and down my modest breasts, trying to wake my sleeping nipples with some gentle strokes. I fought the unwelcome sensation, when my large pleasure knobs immediately hardened; to my embarrassment. My stomach gave a satisfied murmur. Yet my body remained stiff and frozen from its nightly imprisonment. That's when I saw for the first time my foot braces. They were in a similar milky-white fashion as my corset—with rings and all. Three broad reinforced splints were embracing my lower leg, left, right, and on top on my shins. Going from just below my knee all the way down towards the tip of my foot. But it stopped with a padded cuff just above the tip. Multiple cuffs really, going up and down my whole lower leg. The tip of my foot was free, which was the only comfortable part during the night. I guess my tips are one of the few parts of my body that can rest during the night.I didn't know it yet, but that night had been one of my most comfortable nights. Nimble fingers began to massage me. My whole body was 'in for a treat', from neck to foot; Julie even massaged my gums skilfully. Soon a warm feeling began to spread all over my worn soul. What a relaxing sensation. She was really good at it too. I would've fallen right back to sleep, if she hadn't started with some annoying and uncomfortable stretching exercises. 'Why?' I thought. Even though she had a petite frame, she worked my whole body thoroughly through, bringing me back my familiar flexibility. Until she attached the arm cuffs from the hoist again, and promptly, I was lifted back up like a full bag of potatoes—and back into my wheelchair. She had buckled me back into my chair, and by now I think she has a sadistic passion for excessively tight straps. "There, how do you feel now. . .better?" she asked, but I could only give her a timid look after that exemplary treatment of my cultivated body. As a final touch, she began to properly arrange my appearance before leaving. 'A slave has to take care of its appearance and must always be presentable.' Though make-up and painted nails are only allowed with explicit permission, they are often given as a reward, or reserved for higher slave ranks. I had to admit, a small freedom of femininity that I really enjoyed as a freedwoman. From her small assistant bag, she produced everything necessary. She's well-prepared, I wondered in amazement—and clear sarcasm. She applied on my face a black eyeliner, pink ballerina-esque blush, and a striking red lipstick around my gaping hole. This small notion was enough to make me blush, as I felt really absurd wearing all of that in my current state. But I knew that Mistress must have ordered my appearance, and so it was Julie's duty and obligation as my personal slave, to keep me presentable at all times. Since I couldn't do it, until I would receive my hand prosthesis. That's when I noticed for the first time her pretty bare feet. She had long slender toes that were very symmetrical—I had a bit of a foot fetish, I had to admit. Her feet were really small and fitting to her petite frame. She would look really sexy with some red nail polish or in high-heeled sandals—her slim toes sticking out. But I knew she wasn't allowed with her low rank. While she had her back to me, I noticed her well-shaped legs. They had a really good muscle tone; even though she was rather petite...with the right heels to elongate her legs...she would make a stunning impression. Her thick thighs transitioned into big peachy buttocks, well trained and muscular. I couldn't help but stare in awe at her remarkable ass for a short lifetime. She flicked through the digital wall panel—it looked like she was checking some— "Just give me a sec, Nina. . . I need to look at your weekly schedule." she said absent-mindedly. That really caught my curiosity and I tried to get a glimpse. But— —my wheelchair wasn't close enough! I tried to wiggle or move it closer but it held me helplessly like a baby doll. It looked like my schedule was really packed, as I tried to gulp down my building apprehension. Then I gave her thick buttocks another good visual examination. Once again, I began to roll through the corridors, while she remained oblivious to her allure. I could taste my own wetness in my mouth again, while it slowly began to drool down on my breasts. "You've got an 8 o'clock with Mistress at the infirmary and after that 'we' are scheduled in the gym," she said. 'No rest for the wicked slave,' I thought, though unable to smile at myself. A mental 'pat' on my own shoulders had to suffice, I thought with an inner smirk. "You know, I really love what you are doing, Nina," Julie said. "I'm a huge fan of Ultra Ballet; it's surreal, seeing them float through the air on impossible tiny tips." It was an honest comment, and it reassured me of my current helpless state.

A white medical room greeted us with the smell of antiseptic alcohol. Large enough to hold a whole medical practice, as it's bright-white lights were still blinding to my tired eyes. My anxiety built, as I was held so helplessly in the wheelchair. Mistress Octavia arrived shortly after, wearing an intimidating white latex outfit, with elbow-long gloves, shiny boots, and her face mask already over her face. "Make yourself comfortable," she said, while rummaging in one of the many white drawers near the wall. Her personal slave, a beautiful blonde slave girl, joined her in a naughty nurse uniform. A nasty feeling crept up on me. Julie and the Nurse lifted me on the cold surface of the examination chair, and strapped me down with heavily padded shackles. The restraints had medical efficiency written all over, and, as I expected, it gave me no wiggle room—the knot in my stomach grew larger; I felt like cattle on the butcher's bench. Faced towards the ceiling, I couldn't see what Mistress was up to. I felt a tightening of my head strap and the Nurse placed a blindfold over my eyes. I wond— Instant pain shot through my nose, but only a rush of air escaped me. Followed by two smaller punctures—I wanted to scream my lungs out from the sudden assault as my limbs spasmed against the chair, but the sterile room remained a quiet shuffling of medical tools, mumbling, and the soft clicks of heels on the linoleum. I felt a desperate helplessness from my enforced silence, as if my mind had been disconnected from my body. The same happened again to my ears, but much more tolerable, and I felt heat radiate on my skin and the smell of welded metal and chains touching my face. "Now your skull-harness is complete, my lovely ballerina," Mistress said. "Let's fix your plumbing as well, since we're already at it. . .shall we?" The hum of an electric motor began to slowly force my legs apart, while I tried in vain to produce words and questions, asking for more details—whatever Mistress had planned, I was helpless to stop it. Rubber hands spread my labia. A rustling of discarded packaging, the cold touch of alcohol, and something pushed agonizingly inside my urethra. Then it stopped. I could smell my urine in the air, and then a sudden burning pain made my whole abdomen spasm silently in the chair again. "Good girl, you've already survived the first half," Mistress said, and I could hear the enthusiasm in her voice. "Have you grown used to your silence yet, slave?" Trembling helplessly, I waited for the rhetorical answer. "I have high expectations of your dancing skills. You better not disappoint me, Nina," Mistress said. When Mistress spoke my name, I immediately felt another jolt, but this time touching my humble soul instead. I could never disappoint Mistress! But the current state of my body created a glimmer of doubt in my bold confidence. "Are you ready for some fun, slave?" Mistress said, and something wet touched my anus. I felt a gloved finger push itself inside, and my anus clenched distinctly from the unexpected sensation. Cold lubricant was glazing my bald butthole and soon I felt two and more fingers trying to enter, pushing and wriggling its way inside me. I felt humiliated like I was just a bag of meat, being touched and worked so casually. Mistress's hand tried to examine my anus's girth and its maximum capacity, as she began to push further against its tender resistance. My voice in the matter was utterly ignored, as her fist tried to stretch me further and further apart! And yet she was patient and seemed to know exactly where my anus's limit was. Followed by something big and cold, trying to push inside with ever-increasing strength—and apparently trying to split me apart! Soon my legs shook uncontrollably from the assault. I wanted to beg and plead with her, to make it stop, but my spread-open mouth remained quiet and obedient. "Has no one ever stretched your butthole before?" she asked, when she began to push harder. 'My petite little butt was not built for this...NoooOOO!!!' I wanted to scream. My only goal was Mistress's satisfaction, last anal training was...was at least a year ago..oOoh.., and I tried to relax my sphincter as much..aaas...possible. I knew she wouldn't stop until my aaa..ahhh..nus was ripped to pieces! The gigantic thing couldn't possiiiiibly....I had clear doubts it would ever fit into my tiny asshole! Then Mistress's lubricated rubber-fingers gently pulled and tugged at my clit ring. A sudden pulse shot through me. For the first time, since my surgery, I could fully experience its magical effects on me. In a few moments I was drenched and sweaty from her skilful assault. My tank of sexual energy was pretty topped up, and it started to build up further. One nimble finger slipped my clit ring on itself, and held it, while two others invaded me, wandering deeper into my contracting pussyhole. She tormented me with the ever-stretching anal plug for an eternity, while she kept my pussy really super-aroused, but she wouldn't push me over the edge yet. The invader drove me mad, I couldn't take any more in my poor asshole. But Mistress kept on going ever patiently, gently but with enough pressure, to stretch me slowly further apart. 'Oh, by the Goddess!' I screamed in my mind. Suddenly the anal intruder slid inside me, and it pushed me over the edge, as I exploded with blinding pleasure—it was paradise! I felt so stuffed in my ass, it felt horribly good for a second, as my knees quaked. But as soon as my orgasm detonated with uncontrollable contractions, the stimulation at my pussy stopped all of a sudden. I felt helplessly perplexed, frustrated—like a cheap throw-away toy. Stuffed to near bursting, my painful anus complained vocally in my mind about its continuous overstretching. This football inside my ass, was lodged tightly in place, and the whole ordeal began to dissolve my glorious orgasm into a sore anal ache. 'Please take it out now!' I wanted to plead. "Nurse, hand me the nanite composite," Mistress said, and I felt soft touches resonate through the plug and into my bowels. Tiny nerve sparks started to tingle inside my overstretched anus, like a numb limb coming back to life. Then Mistress gave a satisfied grunt. "And we're nearly done, my brave slave girl," she said, and something heavy docked on and into my buttplug. "Let's get you cleaned out. . .," and I felt water gush into me, gurgling and chortling in my abdomen. I instinctively clenched my anus shut, trying to stop the influx of cool water into my colon, but I knew it was futile. Unable to stop the inflow, the first cramp hit me, and I felt someone's warm hand caressing my swollen belly. A few minutes later, the device had run multiple deep-cleaning cycles through me. While sitting between my legs, Mistress gave Julie a few close-up instructions about my new plug. "All done. Let's get her to her training," Mistress said, without another word to me, and left the room. Still blindfolded I waited. The buttplug really started to irritate me, now that everything was over. "Wait just a second, Nina," Julie murmured, more to herself, while energetically working between my legs. "I still need to plug your hole. Let's see. . ." What did she mean? She pushed something back into my plug, and it was big! Slowly expanding, stretching my poor hole again, and my body shook again. She's surely ripping me apart. Blind as I still was, I wanted to shout at her to stop! My body jerked helplessly. What was she doing? My rectum was painfully stretching, bit by bit, and it was driving me mad. I felt something lodge itself in place, and my rectum was completely filled out. "There, all done, Nina!" Julie said. "Let's get you back into your wheelchair. You must be exhausted." First my arms were freed, and I explored my new facial jewelry first, while she began to unfasten the rest of my sweaty body. I felt a heavy ring in my nose's septum, and its weight gave a constant presence. So that's what had hurt so damn much! She had replaced my smaller nose ring with something much more prominent; and there was no real soreness, I guessed that nanite paste, although expensive, was standard in her household as well. My decorative ear-to-nose chains felt very fancy, from what little I could tell with my silly arms. The chains reminded me of my cute blonde hair brushing against my face. I missed its feminine presence already on my naked scalp. When Julie wanted to lift me back into my wheelchair, I gave her a deadly glare. Fully released, my useless arms couldn't reach the humongous plug in my ass, but I think she understood my panicked state. "The buttplug?" Julie asked. "That's going to stay for a while," and she began to help me back into the chair. Is she joking? I didn't like this at all. 'For how long!?' I wanted to scream, but when my butt hit the seat, I forgot my anger for a second. My eyes flew open in shock. Immediately I tried to lift myself back up again! My feet were peddling ridiculously against the chair, its smooth leg rests were already stretched out, and I tried in vain to get a footing with my pointe feet. My arms abandoned me with similar disappointment; they just couldn't get enough leverage on the arm rests to push myself up again, and the monstrous plug pushed itself deeper inside my ass. My gaping mouth remained grotesquely quiet as my eyes bulged in pain. Julie tried to calm me down a bit, before strapping me—with her usual fierceness—very tightly into the wheelchair again. My anal intruder kept me in a bad mood, while we rolled all the way over to the gym, as each tiny bump was felt a hundred times in my asshole. "How did that orgasm feel?" Julie said with a sarcastic undertone. "Were her fingers as experienced as they say?" I didn't listen; my mind was occupied with bigger issues. When she took the chance to take a little break. Apparently, my red lipstick was smudged, and while she reapplied it, she continued her nonchalant chatter. "Your new maintenance gear makes it really a lot easier for 'me' to clean you. I just have to plug the tubes into your new fecal valve and it empties itself. No more messy wiping and cleaning. I'm really glad Mistress installed that all today, don't you think?" while she continued walking again, rolling me through the corridors. But apparently nobody noticed my gloomy attitude, while she continued her gossiping; actually, that could've been one of the reasons that got her into trouble: Mistresses don't like chatty slaves. "Oh! We have to pick-up your daytime corsets from the slave quarters," she said, rushing back with me, before we finally arrived at our destination.

We arrived in a richly decorated gym room. Its ceiling was twice as high as the corridor—like a stage—with white arches decorating its bright rounded ceiling. I felt elevated by the prominence of my new workplace. With lots of equipment lying around, a fully mirrored wall with ballet barre (ballet bar), and chains hanging down from the ceiling. Then suddenly I saw myself in the large mirrored wall. I didn't recognize myself. When I tried to wink, nothing happened. The wheelchair held me firmly restrained. Worse, I saw my head harness for the first time, and my face looked humiliating! With the shaved head I didn't recognize myself, and with all the gleaming metal around my face, my expression remained alien to me. Any attempt to stretch my spread-open mouth remained hopelessly futile, as I stared at myself in shock. I looked horrible! My tongue was hanging out like I was a dog. I continued to stare in completely silenced at my gaping hole. My toothless mouth, with its wet gums, was clearly visible to everyone! The golden roses on my forehead looked pretty, until I saw the large tattoo above my forehead. In big clear letters they had inked "PROPERTY" into my bald skull. They must have done that while I had my surgery. My inner desires felt split in two. I felt suddenly deeply owned, but also blushed with a terrible shame, as it was so cruelly displayed right above my head. I would have to stare at that statement for a long time; whenever I would see myself in the gym mirror. When a bump on the wheelchair brought me back. Finally! Julie had kindly released me, and I was really glad to sit down on the cushioned floor, trying to find my inner composure, while she went away to find some refreshments. My servant girl was apparently well-briefed and trained in my therapy plan. Initially she didn't make a very competent impression at all! "Your daytime corsets are a lot prettier, look!" Julie said. "The finest custom-made slave handiwork, just for you." I gasped at the beauty of my new waist garment. "Compared to your sleep wear, this one's more heavily boned, and it should give you the needed waist stability. What do you think?" It was made out of a fine fabric, and at a closer look, displayed fine craftsmanship. Its violet shade was saturated by a knotted bouquet of white roses. On the one hand, I was dreading the moment when my waist training would get real, but on the other hand my reduced waist felt rather fragile and in dire need of some support. Ultra ballet is a radical transformation and my body will have to suffer considerably until I've achieved this ultimate goal of mine. When trying to remember the details of my contract-based waist-reduction, I couldn't recall anything as severe. I think my lower ribs are gone; my organs feel crushed, and my stomach non-existent. The delicate state, this modification has put me into, made me crave an outer shell, that would give me some stability. "I overheard Mistress," Julie started, "when she talked about hourglass shapes and tight lacing. Apparently, it would have been too dangerous to attempt your extreme reduction in this short amount of time. So, she opted for the much safer nano-surgery; Money isn't really an issue with her." I felt a bit conflicted. "And soon, when your figure becomes accustomed to the new tightness, Mistress will have another couple of them made, just for you, and a tiny bit smaller. "So, from now on it's going to be an ever-increasing tightness around your graceful waist—Mistress made me accountable of your progress!" I didn't like the sound of that—or her delighted tone and how she emphasized the word 'progress'. "Come on, I want to see your beautiful body in this!" she said. Sometimes she was such a flatterer! "First, your corset liner," she said, and put a very comfortable soft sleeve around my waist. "It will prevent any skin damage, once I start tight-lacing. . ." She began tightening my new carapace, pulling on my strings as I was lying flat on my stomach, and trying to ease my anal suffering. She couldn't hide her wicked smile when she began to yank on my laces, suddenly becoming strong as a lioness, her claws sank deep into my vulnerable back. Soon I was pounding on the floor, with my short silly arms, while her leg pressed firmly in my back. I was gasping for air, as I tried to get her to stop, feeling like the proverbial sausage at the end my laces. "Ok, I think it's tight enough!" she said, as I gasped and heard ominous clicks at the back of my corset. Carefully I tried to get up, safely guided by a firm hand—to the tips of my pointe feet. Surprisingly it pushed my tiny breasts out; Julie noticed it too, with a keen smile. Once standing, my torso was held awfully stiff in its new casing, and with an impatient attitude, I had to rediscover my sense of balance. Each careful step thrust my wicked buttplug around. In no time, I had beads of perspiration glimmering on my bald scalp, while fighting for air against the corsets strangling grip—but I was finally an upright, up standing, slave again! I also gave a moan—or at least mentally—when I saw, for the first time, the result of my midsection reflected in the mirrored wall; it was breath-taking, in both senses. I gasped for air from the fierce constriction, while I walked back and forth at the ballet barre, unable to look away from my bizarre Doppelganger. My waist looked unbelievably small, and it really fit like a glove. The custom-fit of my daytime corset embraced my hip bones and ribcage remarkably well. No pinching at all, only a uniform tightness pressing down on my stomach, hips, and chest. It tried to choke my spirit out of me. But it flattered me as well. My submissive self-esteem was intoxicated from being allowed to wear something so beautiful on my naked slave body from now on. Something besides my shackles of bondage, something pretty and feminine. I missed my manicured nails and my long hair; yet it revealed my submissive preference of having no say in the matter, just being owned, and my Mistress was in a position to dress me up however she pleased. "I'm ordered. . ." Julie began, "to keep you laced-up from now on, day and night. This way you can make good progress on your waist training, and to simultaneously get you used to the rigidness of your whole torso while dancing en pointe. I don't envy you, Nina. I much prefer my enforced nakedness, demeaning as it may be," she said, and helped me take more steps in front of the mirrored wall. Then I began with a good warm-up, followed by strength training for my foot and leg areas. I really had to be careful at the ballet barre, since I couldn't grip the barre anymore; but Julie was constantly my shadow dancer. The sensation of my altered feet was hard to put into words. It was very comfortable to stand on the tips, yet keeping the balance, was a lot harder than anticipated. I felt more like a gazelle on her long legs, tip-toeing around. The real reason, what made it so immensely difficult though, was my corset, my missing hands, and the cruel pulsating plug in my ass. The constant pressure of my monstrous invader, which felt at least football-sized, made it seriously hard to keep my balance and concentration in the game; and that miscreant kept me aroused too! All that movement made it hard to ignore, and was amplified by the corset's firm pressure. The memory of my explosive, yet silent orgasm, flashed back into my memory. Back there, in Mistress's able hands, I was a melted custard—not being able to tell her to stop or to continue—I had to endure whatever she had planned. In that moment she made me completely hers, to play with as she pleased. It made my heart pound. "Let's take a break, Nina," Julie said. "Don't overstrain yourself just yet." With her gently support, I managed to carefully sit down again. But my anal suffering made it difficult to sit still. Uncomfortably I moved back and forth on my sweaty buttocks. For the first time, I was glad to have Julie by my side. I wanted to ask her questions: Was she a contract slave? Why was she so low-ranking? How long did she serve in this household? Why was she not allowed any clothing; and what did she think of my choice to become an ultra ballerina? Was she envious or sympathetic? Exhausted and drenched as I was though, I could only stare at her, mouth gaping, and remain locked in my skull-harness. "I'll get you your lunch!" Julie said. "Any preferences?" and she left with an evil smile. Very funny. Was it noon yet? My feet ached already.

Once she had left, I realized I couldn't quite stand up on my own again, so I squirmed, slid, rolled, and crawled around like a little pet. Once close to the mirror, I could catch a better look at my backside. Multiple golden locks were decorating my corset, embedded into the material, and clamping both halves together. It's not like I was in any condition to free myself from its embrace, but with discomfort I looked at the locks and they drove their point sharply home. My attention was called back to my restless anal intruder, so I began to explore—undisturbed—what Mistress had done to me. My stubby arms couldn't reach it, not while I was wearing the corset—no matter how hard I tried. After a good struggle I barely managed to reach my clit ring—but...better...not! What if Mistress has surveillance in the room? My last Mistress taught me a cruel lesson—and conditioned me. I don't want to get through that horror again; I hated my chastity belt. Instead I tried to expel my new fecal valve, but it felt firmly cemented in place. Was it nano-bonded? No matter how hard I pressed, trying to expel that bastard, it would not dislodge. Resigned I gave up, just lying exhausted on the floor, and gasping for air. I wondered how long I had to further endure it. Julie returned, and after another dull liquid lunch, and some retching, I had to study dance sheets: my first Solo Dance. My strength slowly returned and I began to channel that energy straight into my studies. Only constant diligence would keep my career on track. It came with little surprise, to see Julie take a nap in the corner—that lazy sucker—she definitely worked smart, not hard. After another forced snack and rehydration through a tube, it was time for my afternoon practice. Other girls joined us. Obviously dancers, I thought, by their slender looks. They had the usual well-trained figure, and when the gym bustled with the noise of chatty girls and workout routines, I had to start practicing my previously studied theory sheets on my bare pointe feet. Confidently, I noticed that most of the other dancers were less experienced than me, as I began my movements and routines. Julie assisted me well with the movement sheets in hand. But I could barely accomplish anything in my current state. Sweaty and with tendons aching in my feet, it was time for a break. However, it was already time for my late afternoon '6 o'clock with Mistress'; my one-on-one session with her, that would happen from now on three times a week! The gym began to empty, when my Mistress stepped inside, with the usual dominant demeanor of a wealthy Mistress. Wearing comfortable skin-tight leggings and yoga socks, she could clearly show off her well-defined physique, and I couldn't help but notice her beautifully painted toes on the naked gym mats. Thats when I noticed—with a wince—the sturdy cane in her hands. Me and Julie quickly stood up, our heads in bowed obedience. "Good Evening, Nina," she said, while stopping in front of us. "Let's get you started, shall we? I'm eager to see your performance." And Julie was instructed to clip a loose chain to the top ring of my skull-harness. And so, my two-hour instructions began under Mistress's observant eyes. She used a seasoned cane on my poor butt, whenever she felt like driving home a point. It had a serious sting! Serious enough to leave a mark, I was sure. Having the honor of her undivided attention was, to say the least, exhilarating and fulfilling for my hungry slave soul! However, it was tough to please her rigorous stance, and her strict and constant demand for excellence. I had serious trouble keeping up—to the dismay of my swollen butt cheeks. The safety chain was held by Julie through a pulley—and that—was the real reason that kept me on my 'tiptoes'. My stamina was nearly exhausted as she kept on pushing my dance steps and constantly trying to refine my technique. I had to completely relearn my steps, as I was permanently standing en pointe, and that, required an intense sense of balance. My waist was seriously restricting my refined talent and my confident flow. Consequently, with all the things that had been done to me, once it was over, I nose-dived straight into bed!

But that—was a mistake. Immediately my rectum returned its fight against anal oppression, battling its anal enemy-of-the-state. My poor anus strained against the corset's unrelenting tightness as it was trying to defend my anal freedom. How can I possibly sleep, while—this beast—is kept sealed inside me? But Julie just shrugged her shoulders, found nothing wrong with me, and the usual spiel began again, as she lowered the spreader bar from the ceiling. Once my arms were securely locked above my head, and with the help of the built-in ceiling hoist system, she lifted my limp body up into the air. Once unlaced and ready to breathe again, I moved along a ceiling track and found myself enter a whole shower-room at the back of my modest quarters. Pre-heated and bathed in warm light, she washed my sticky body methodically—from scalp to stump—clean. For a second I thought 'don't get the hair wet!'—until I realized my silly error, blushed, and felt slightly stupid. Julie softly talked to me during the whole gentle ordeal; she even cleaned my vagina thoroughly with her fingers, as I hung uneasy from my coat hanger. A good rinse over my now ever-clean butthole, and I was done. Sadly, she made no attempt at freeing me from my horrible rectal valve. Was I expected to wear it over the night too? But I couldn't talk back anymore, with my silent throat. Dried down, and smelling of a flowery fragrance, she began to dress me in my nightly slave gown. The ceiling bar worked simultaneously as a lacing bar, and soon, I was firmly stuck in another fresh night-corset, but slightly more comfortable than the prettier daytime one. My feet were held down again by the stiff embrace of my night braces, holding my ankles straight and downwards in an overstretched ache. The rooms dark interior felt comforting before bedtime, when I spotted a black furry presence staring at me. A small cat was sitting on the counter, observing the room with her curious feline gaze. I stared back in silence, Julie busy at my back, as I hung there helplessly. It was an odd bedfellow: black as a panther, and shaped like a miniature tiger. I would've had some obvious questions for Julie right now, but she remained oblivious to my nods, as she continued unbroken with her nightly momentum. Soon, I was, once again, securely fastened to my bed. "My room is just beside yours," Julie said, when she noticed the nightly visitor jump on my bed. "Oh, hello Buttercups!" she said, and gave the tiny tiger a good cuddle. "That's our nightly guardian, she keeps the estate free of mice and we all like to give her a good rub when she visits us." "Call me, if you need anything during the night," and with a sadistic wink she left through the adjoining side door. Buttercup still purring, she rubbed herself against my immobile head, and soon I drifted off to sleep. Until something brought me back to life, and I noticed my clitoris was being provoked. 'Not now,' I wanted to complain, 'I'm wasted,' but my inner pleas did not make it stop. The sizeable dildo, lodged inside me, had awoken and it involuntary hastened my pulse from the growing sucking and buzzing onslaught on my tired, yet soaked pussy. Soon it forced me from one spastic orgasm to the next, while I had to taste my own wetness in my sorry mouth. I wanted to cry out in pleasure, but any sound remained stuck in my throat. I was forced to endure the arousal in silent obedience. With the monstrous buttplug still locked in my ass, the pussy invader had an easy job—until the assault became merciless! At first it started just with soft thrusts, and then it worked itself up into a violent pounding, attempting to drill itself deep into my submissive consciousness. I spotted the black feline shadow again, observing me curiously from the cupboard, as I writhed in silence. In that timelessness perpetuity, I pleaded silently to the Goddess to make it stop! I was past exhaustion. I called for Julie with all my strength, but no sound escaped my lips. All my struggling did not loosen any of my straps. I was still bound resolutely to my nightly prison. My restraints wouldn't budge. Julie did a horribly efficient job! Orgasm after orgasm was forced upon me throughout the night. In that sorry state I broke down, from all that had been done to me so far. I wanted to get out from all of it, I wanted to cancel my contract, now! Not my proudest moment, but here I was, sobbing regretfully in my unyielding bonds. I wanted to escape, from my bed, from the mansion, and from my tight collar. The huge buttplug was just too much! It was stuck in my butthole, stretching me violently. My arm stumps struggled feeble inside their padded cylinders, as they tried to move, somehow unfastening the tight straps over them. But it was no use. Eventually I woke up, Julie's face near mine gain, unfastening me from my slave bed. "How was your night?" Julie asked, unclipping the chains from my pussy rings. I could only look at her in silent horror. What horniness had remained, was gone! I felt brutalized and drained, physically, mentally, and sexually. The tiniest movement inside my abdomen awoke my rectal valve again. I was surprised I even slept with that monster inside me. I felt Julie's hands at my valve, and the nasty fullness dissipated—slightly. Still, it left me with an overstretched and grumpy anus. She hit a button, on the side of my bed, and another enema began to cleanse me from top to bottom. "See? It's much handier," Julie said, while being in an obvious good mood this morning. The watery solution shot inside me, flushing my colon with cool water, and pumping me full. Slight cramps followed the involuntary stream, when the opposite cycle started and it began to drain out my waste. Sometimes I could feel it deeper inside me, sometimes further out, and I wondered if it extended a tube into me as well. In the meantime, the breakfast tube hit my gag reflex. There I lay, filled with tubes, while I had to wait for my stomach to fill—and my bottle to empty. She pressed another button on the side panel and my urine suddenly flowed out of me—as if I had lost control over my sphincter. My bladder began to empty itself. Panicked, I tried to clench it! But I couldn't feel anything wet on my thighs. What just happened? Did I get incontinent? Unable to ask, I tested it, and gently pressed, then harder and harder—nothing happened. I can't pee anymore. Then I remembered yesterday's procedure. I think, unless my servant plugs me into something, I can't pee at all anymore by myself. Surprisingly though, I hadn't noticed it yesterday night. What do I tell...her...if I've to pee!? When her warm hands began to massage me again, heating my stiff joints and muscles from its nightly sleep, and I forgot all my worries for a while. Once I had survived another painful stretching, I was allowed to sit up, and she placed a clean outfit beside me on the bed. "Look what just had arrived this morning," Julie said with a smile, pointing at the bed, until I noticed the two hand prostheses lying there on top of my daytime corset.

Overwhelmed with joy, I immediately tried to grab them. But soon, I had to admit, that I was unable to handle the tricky task alone. My stumps lacked the fine motor skills and I couldn't make use of my new skin-colored replacements. Julie watched me for a while, clearly amused by the struggle, but ultimately—after like, hours—she helped me put them on. My disfigured stumps fit perfectly inside the hollow shells, as they firmly grabbed the oval ends of my arms. Once the golden cuffs clicked shut, just above my elbows, I beamed at my new hands. They felt like hard plastic, when they rested on my bare thighs. The fingers were posed like a dancing ballerina, and at the wrists were already sturdy golden cuffs locked in place. What was really eerie about them: they were my old hands, like exactly. They must have made a cast, just before they amputated them. Cheered up by the prospect of having my autonomy back—but more out of a lifelong habit really—I tried to touch my hands. And I felt...nothing. Only the same void as before, though now I could see them—inanimate—like the wooden hands of a doll. I moved my arms and bend my elbows, and my hands moved as well, but not like I had anticipated; they were only solid plastic copies. No matter how much I tried to flex my fingers, nothing happened. Perplexed I kept on trying, but soon the cold realization crept up on me, that this would be my new nightmare. My fingers still stood off in a bizarre display of gracefulness. I let my plastic hands fall back on my thighs. I seriously had expected to have functional synthetic arm replacements, at least occasionally during my enslavement, but...but this? This squeezed the last breath out of me—and my constricted waist. "Oh, I'm sorry dear," Julie said, "but you will not receive any synthetics from what I heard," clearly seeing what it had done to me, and she gave me a sincere long hug, while I teared up. "I know, I know," she said, consoling me, hands padding my head, That's when I knew she didn't play that cruel joke on me. I knew it was Mistress's doing. A lesson in subjugation and servility, telling me that I'm hers to play with as she pleases. It all became too much. I wanted to get out of it—out from all of it! Out of this horrible corset, out of this skull-harness, my hands whole again, and my anus closed! But Julie brought me back, gently caressing me, and calming me down with a soft tenderness. Worse, my sexual arousal was completely drained from me, by yesterday's cruel abuse, while I still had to endure all of my slave gear. Grudgingly I managed to pull myself together again. As a slave, I didn't want to suffer the consequences of an additional mistake, and my duties were a cornerstone of my being—nor could I endure another disciplining in my current hopeless state. For the rest of the day I felt devastated from having to stare at my fake hands. The amputation was finally getting to me. The prosthetics played tricks on my mind, a fake sense of feeling whole again, whenever I saw my restored limbs in front of me. On the other hand, I tried to grab objects with my useless plastic appendages. Only to notice too late that I can't do that anymore. I craved the touch of my hands again, and the freedom that came with them; a rare turn of events in my submissive adventure; but only for a short moment. 'Lazy slaves get no pity,' one of my former head mistresses used to say. So I just tried to keep on going. What else was I supposed to do?

My strict daily schedule went along tediously, until the sun began to hide again behind the evening horizon. The pleasure program, to my horror, started once again. Overnight, my plastic hands would be detached, and lay in my wall-closet. I wasn't in the mood for sex at all—but my alcove thought otherwise. I was pounded and stroked, for what seemed like endless hours throughout the night. But this time it became painful, and worked me into a silent frenzy of tossing and trashing. I cried in silence as the assault on my body continued, compelling me, driving me from one orgasm to another, as my pleasure zones were in overdrive, and overstimulated me for ages. It was a cruel night, but another day came, and passed. It was Wednesday and I had my One-on-One with Mistress, barely improving, when it became once again night-time. Julie wanted to strap me back into my slave bed—but this time I couldn't take it anymore, this time I started to resist—vehemently! Even though she had become gentler, and more attentive to my care, since my 'break down'—we both knew—that I was just about to break a rule of the house. "Stop your stupid struggling, Nina!" she screamed at me, while trying to pull me back towards the bed. "If you don't stop, I have to tell Mistress!" she said threateningly. And that quickly settled the matter. I surrendered in hopelessness. Once again, I lay securely restrained in my bed, smelling of shower and fresh clothes. Julie kneeled close to me, and gave me a long curious stare. "How does the pleasure program feel?" she asked, while she began to play with one of my nipples, twirling it between her fingers, as I fought the unwelcome sensation. I tried to tell her of my terrors, but my face was held in expressionless silence. I tried to tell her with an unmistakable look, that it was driving— "Oh, that good, huh? You deserve it," she said with a sparkle of envy. And once again the alcove between my thighs sprung back to life, while Julie watched, as I was trying to fight against the cursed assault anew. But she kept on playing with my hardened nipples, as my body's pleasure fought against my mind. She left with another warm good-night kiss on my cheek. Why did she say 'deserved'? I did not understand, but the sudden assault on my engorged clit made it really difficult to concentrate. Why would she say that I deserve it, when the experience was so horrible? It kept bugging me for what seemed like hours, trying to think, to concentrate, to ignore the painful buzzing overstimulation in my whole pussy, when at last, I had my sexual epiphany: What if it's performance dependent? I daily performance. Sweat was drenching my forehead and my naked scalp, as I felt dizzy and completely uncertain about the logical soundness of my current reasoning... But the more the dildo rammed into me, the more certain I became. 'Maybe someone could have told me, anyone!?' I tried to scream out, while the program continued its relentless cycle of pleasure & punishment on my weak body. It sent me into another hysterical struggle. As it turned out—I was right. The next day I gave everything; I applied myself above and beyond and pushed it to the limit. Literally...everything! Dead-tired, my body lay strapped down and back in my bed. Tense with anticipation, the dreaded program started all over again. A gentle sucking worked me rhythmically in and out of consciousness, as it grew with loving care, showing me the most tender affection I thought it incapable of. I learned that my machine was in fact extremely capable of showing me a profound warmth and love—real physical love! And it grew into a divine experience, a sacramental adventure of pure pleasure, like the goddess herself had touched me, melting my consciousness in her celestial bosom. It became a mind-altering experience, changing the state of my brain, growing, and bringing me closer to the Holy Goddess herself. When I remembered it the next morning, it was like pleasure in paradise, like I had actually been in celestial eternity. But who could I tell? I felt uncertain. Maybe I was just machine-fucked, and that was all? I felt unbelievably refreshed after that momentous night. While my servant took care of me, I realized the huge chasm opening up in front of me—but not of divine power—but of mundane panic: of becoming a meaningless slave, lazy and abandoned by its keeper; my worst fears actually! If my performance grew weak from constant exhaustion, I'd slowly slip down the slave ranks, chasing my tail until it was too late, every time being punished and demoted; gradually becoming vermin. Each year my enslavement would be extended, due to breach of contract, and each year I'd slip further down the drain of worthlessness, becoming despicable slave scum. Even unworthy to lick Mistress's boots! Until one day I'd be seriously fucked, even beneath dog girls. The further you're down on the pyramid of power, the firmer you are cemented into place—unable to ever rise up again. I only knew, because of my lucky education. 'To each it's place' they say...but only when you're on top. We have many temples and chapels in our Empire, where slaves and Mistresses alike, can worship the many sacred Goddesses of Old. The predominant religion in our Empire is the Worship of the Goddess, while our Holy Empress, Inaria the V., is believed to be descended of the divine Goddess herself. When I felt Julie's hands stretch my stiff body, I snapped out of it. Either way, I wasn't escaping my next bedtime anytime soon... And the week went along and my balance slowly improved.

Then Sunday arrived and I was allowed the day off. Usually an uncomfortable day for me, boring and without structure—but not this time; the week had demanded so much of me, I felt like I had been through a meat grinder. I was glad to catch a break, and get some breathing room. Though not for my waist; my corset remained tightly locked in place. Julie was always by my side, taking care of me even on Sundays; someone with her rank was required to—to my delight. There wasn't much to do though. My room wasn't furnished for 'lazy idleness', so we only had ourselves to entertain. Our collars even received permission to enter the estate's gardens. Early morning as it was, we 'escaped' the mansion and a sunny sky greeted us. The crisp air of the countryside was refreshing to my constricted lungs, while we enjoyed the smooth grass under our feet—though playing ball with Julie was a silly idea. As it was getting hotter, we found some relief under the shade of an old tree. Chatting about this and that, but mostly on her part, while two maids were running around the estate's grounds like giggling teenage girls. Julie didn't mind having a good listener, and we grew a little closer on our time-off. I saw quite a few new faces. Mistress must own at least twenty slaves—on this estate alone! From chambermaids, to housemaids and kitchen maids; field slaves and gamekeepers; pleasure toys and beautiful dancers—and an ever-vigilant Head maid, patrolling the white gravel roads with a stern look. In the afternoon I visited the estate's chapel. I don't know why, but I felt the need to sort my head for a while, as I knelt in front of the large, woman-sized, marble statue of the Holy Goddess; trying to find strength for the future. To worship, serve, and to obey my Honorable Mistress. The relaxed Sunday helped me digest the lessons I had endured, and the experiences learned. Mistress had not told me all of her intentions, and I had to become tenacious—toughen up—or break, like a plastic toy. I didn't like the notion that I might have to endure a perma-plug, in my petite little butt, for the next 2 years. I didn't agree to this in my contract, when I signed it with my thumb; although, I didn't specifically disagree. So, I simply had to obey and endure, as long as this slave collar was locked around my neck. Julie took my hands and pulled me along. It seemed like we were going back to the gym—of all the places. I couldn't ask her, but she appeared relaxed and playful. The artificial lights came on, as it was getting dark outside. When she pulled some chains and cuffs out of her assistant bag. "Look, how about we play a lil' game. . ." she said, in a playful tone. I knew it was one of those fun games, we slaves liked to play, if we had some time off; there's usually a bet involved. "I tie you up, and if you manage to free yourself again... I will suck your pussy for the rest of the night." She began to pull out 4 heavily padded leather-cuffs, medical restraints, but very comfortable by the looks of it, and two small gold chains. Both had no locks and were simply hand-fastened. I winced in anticipation. I knew it would be fun, and not anything serious really. I gave her a deliberate look, while I contemplated my chances. I couldn't hide an inner smile, while I thought it through. Then I gave her a questioning look to 'please continue...' "If you fail, you have to get up to the slave quarters all chained up. All 3 stories of stairs, and I get to pull you on your leash. Playfully, I touched the cuffs with my stiff plastic hands, when I agreed with a nod. Quickly, she unfastened my prosthesis cuffs and revealed my stumps again. It gave me an uncomfortable reminder of my situation, as I tried to wriggle my invisible fingers. She buckled the soft medical cuffs tightly above my elbows, and connected them with a small chain; just clipped together, without any locks. I knew this would be tough, but the reward was too juicy not to roll the dice. The arm chain, above my elbows, was a foot long and tense across my chest. Then she began to fasten my leg cuffs as well, and finalized it with a very short hobble chain. I stood, bound and ready to begin, when Julie gave me the 'Go' signal. She sat down, cross-legged, and grinned at me, as I began my struggles; I felt like a TV that just had been turned on. First, I tested the firmness of my bondage, then quickly sat down to get to work. It felt like just the right comfortable bondage for a lazy Sunday. Fiddling and fidgeting, I first tried my luck with the arm cuffs. They were tight, but the strap was loose in its buckle. At first I tried to unfastened it with the round ends of my arms, constantly flexing my invisible fingers uselessly. My struggles remained fruitless, so far, as my corset and anal valve kept things difficult. I only managed to rub my nipples with my arm stumps to an angry red. Instead I began to use my mouth to loosen the buckle. My tongue fought against its restraints, as I tried to gnaw around my cuffs. Without any teeth left though, I only managed to slobber all over my arms with drool and my involuntary pussy juice coming out of my mouth. I was stunned at how useless my mouth was. My tongue just dripped occasionally, while my soft gums remained glistening and visible to the whole world. My jaw remained a solid piece like the rest of my skull. "Come on, you can do it!" Julie said, cheering me on. It was odd, seeing my hands lay on the floor there, just beside her, while I was confronted with my helpless situation here. Resigned, I took a short break, while contemplating my options for escape. It was such a simple bondage. How could I not get out of this? I felt puzzled. There weren't even locks, only buckles and tiny clasps, that could be easily opened with just two fingers. Instead, I tried to use my feet, flexible as I was, but my corset reminded me again of my tight-laced situation. Gasping, my bare feet barely reached my arm cuffs, trying to wriggle the strap free of its clasp. My feet were stiff and making it difficult as I wiggled my imaginary toes around the buckle. I was bewildered by the round featureless smoothness of my feet; so unusual small and stiff. I was used to another kind of freedom over my whole life. It really made me miss my painted toes, and the sensation of walking barefoot on my soles again. My toes were small, petite, and a bit worn from my many years of professional ballet. Julie was wholeheartedly amused. She was already playing with my leash in hand, her fingers excited with anticipation. When she suddenly tickled me. I writhed in uncontrollable laughter as she attacked my tender spots. Only faint restricted gasps of air hinted at my spastic agony. My mouth remained spread-open and the gym as quiet as ever, when she tormented me with her evil fingers. She needed to stop, it wasn't fair! Helplessly I tried to get her to stop, but it took me a few more hot minutes of convulsive convincing, before she let go again of my smooth shape. She clearly couldn't tell how immensely ticklish I was, as I remained silent and without any audible feedback. Once she had finally stopped, I lay gasping on the floor. Her face was close to mine, and she gave me a tender kiss on the cheek. I blushed from the sudden affection. She wasn't supposed to make out with me—duty always comes first for servant slaves—but today was our day off, so I allowed it to continue. If she wanted to rise up in the ranks again, or if she ever wanted to be free, she had to be careful—but today surely had some room for leniency. When I realized: She always had a thing for me since we met. She hardly could keep her fingers off of me, always touching and staring at my slender body. We kept on kissing—or tried to. My tongue fought against its thick piercing plug, keeping it efficiently stuck to my chin, while I tried to give some soft affections back. Only a wet brush on her cheeks was possible, as I 'licked' her face. My lips couldn't do anything with hers. But she was taking it lightly and giggled around, clearly entertained by my restraints. My fingers were dearly missed now: She lay half on top on me, and my stumps had real trouble squeezing her juicy ass, so close to me, as I began to taste my own juice. When out of the blue, she suddenly switched back to tease mode, sat up and slid back to her spot. She then continued to watch my desperate struggle for freedom at a distance. "Come on, you can do it, Nina!" she said, with a wicked smile. Mildly annoyed and also fired up, I began once again to try and unlock my silly restraints. I desperately wanted to feel her tongue on my horny pussy tonight! My featureless limbs clearly struggled with the situation. I was sure I could get it done... After another 10 minutes of sweating and struggling, I attempted a frustrated moan, and then my body slumped on the floor in silent exhaustion! I was so close at getting one of the arm cuffs off! But without the help of my tongue it remained extremely challenging. "Do you give up yet?" she teased. I felt even more horny from the struggling. My corset's firm grip, and the movement of my giant buttplug, did their dutiful part. They increased my sexual appetite even further and successfully drove me nuts! Clearly exhausted, I gave up. With a silly gesture of submission, I playfully rolled onto my knees, stretched out my useless arms in in front of her, and bowed. She laughed hysterically with triumph, as she attached a golden chain to the front ring of my collar. Then she fastened my arms behind my back, as to not get any stupid ideas of resistance on my way up. She pulled me firmly up on my feet, and along behind her. Both of my hand prosthesis dangled at her side. My golden collar made its presence uncomfortably known: it had a fierce custom-fit around my neck and gave me an inevitable tight sensation; a permanent reminder of my enslavement. When Julie pulled on it, I slightly gagged. Surprised and shocked how efficiency it was, I had to follow her diligently. Julie obviously loved her new position of power, and was intent on enjoying every single second of playing 'the mistress'. She liked to look back, and gaze at my helpless state, as I balanced like a chained ballerina on my exotic foot tips. Does she have a thing for ballerinas, I wondered? My ankle chain was too short though, I could barely follow her. She teased and pulled me along, ever further up the stair. Only one tiny step after another was possible, as I strained against the corset. And with each step, the buttplug moved naturally around, forcefully stimulating my overstretched anus. I really had to focus, as I was balancing on the tips of my bare feet. The soft carpet underneath them was a welcome distraction. I had to follow, as she kept on tugging on my tight slave collar, dragging me along behind her, all the way up the stairs, to the third floor. It was seriously hard work, standing on my tips, keeping the balance, with my much too short ankle chain. Once we had arrived on top, I was clearly regretting my gamble; Julie was in the best of moods. Once we were inside my slave quarters, she began to prep me for a relaxing evening shower. Her dominant side was new to me, and she could be quite the little brat. Safely tucked in my bed again—and before she left—she gave me a deep hot tongue kiss, licking up and down my helpless mouth. And then she was gone. With conflicting apprehension, I lay again in my dark slave quarters, as I began to crave the start of my pleasure program. My alcove did, however, not come back to life. Only my pussy chains and anal valve made themselves clearly present—and me mildly annoyed. Within minutes I remained cruelly aroused, and I began to struggle with a furious frenzy against my restraints! My desires were once again completely ignored and what I wanted didn't matter. Exhausted, sweating, and gasping weakly for air, I had to lay quiet for a minute... My nose piercing began to itch, and the uncomfortable sensation slowly travelled up my nose. I knew it was no use. I couldn't touch it until tomorrow morning, and it took all of my remaining self-control not to fall into another horny frenzy of wild trashing. And so I had survived my first week at my new home and Monday was already creeping up. My anal suffering had somewhat lessened during the last week—but only ever so slightly. It might just be a mental adjustment in my submissive brain, as I began to accept the constant penetration in my sorry asshole?

After my usual morning ritual, I was again made presentable. Freshly showered, laced-up, and wearing my usual make-up. I was in my typical daytime attire, and we walked down the corridor... "No, not the gym, we have an appointment in the infirmary," she said, suddenly changing directions... Horrified I thought, 'Nonono...Not again, please!' Reluctantly I followed Julie's steps, while staring miserably at the polished floor, trying in vain to distract myself, while my disciplined feet kept me dragging along. The knot in my stomach was back, pressing stronger than ever, as it squeezed itself between my crushed waist and my rectal valve. A white familiar door was suddenly in front of me, and I froze. What has she planned this time? I had to submit, I had to! There was no room for hesitation as a collared slave. "I think you'll get your nipple stretchers today," Julie said. "A few days ago, I heard Mistress talk about your weekly schedule." My inner conflict grew worse, as she opened the door. Reluctantly, I crept along behind her, my head bowed in— "Have a seat, slave," Mistress Octavia said, hands on hips, towering prominently in the middle of the room. My stomach dropped. Intimidated by her presence, and as if the last straw had just broken my back, I tried to bring distance between me and my next horrible ordeal! 'No, I can't take it anymore, not my nipples, please!' I wanted to beg, but instead I found myself slumped to the floor, and in excruciating pain. My slave collar had sent me into a burning agony, sizzling around my neck, while I choked in silent terror. "Stop punishment", Mistress said to the omnipresent AI assistant, while waiting silently for my complete surrender. Shocked by my own appalling behavior, I frantically rushed over. Crawling on all fours through the room and to my Mistress, attempting to lick her heels with instant remorse—pretty disastrously—while her personal slave, kneeling beside her, gave me a cold stare. "Ohhhhh does your Honor think she's getting away with this?" Mistress said. After an eternity, she finally stuck the tip of her boot further into my mouth—in absolution—I hoped. "You disappoint me, slave. You're supposed to be of good breeding stock. Slurp, slurp, slurp; her boots smelled rugged and worn. "You've to do some penance for that, you know that, don't you? Slurpslurpslurp!!! "You spineless weekend slave! We don't need that trash here. . ." The complete power she had over me was eerie, while I groveled and worshipped, begging silently at her heels, trying to ease my punishment, as I knew deep down, I had broken a rule of the house. "How about 8 hours of foyer duty?" she said, while I kept on begging her boots. My knees were aching from the floor, while my tongue tried desperately to plead for forgiveness. "Now go get into the exam chair, you worthless boot-licking disappointment" she said, and gave me a hard kick in the butt. It hit me right in the spot; my buttplug! My abdomen cramped up in sudden pain, my body jerked, and my plastic hands tried to instinctively clasp my quivering bottom. But it was no use, my useless hands completely failed to ease the throbbing pain in my ass, as I climbed with great difficulty, once again, onto the cold chair. I dreaded what was coming next. My tiny titties were never much to look at, and yet, my large and lengthy nipples made very much up for the deficit—by being overly sensitive to pretty much...anything! Once buckled tightly into the chair, I was lifted up to a standing position. My bare feet were dangling off the ground helplessly, as the whole room became the 'calm before the storm'. Julie was instructed to assist, but I could see it in her eyes, that she didn't wish it upon me. "What size would you like to get, slave?" Mistress asked casually, while slowly turning the gauge setting on a gun-shaped device. "Just say stop. . ." In a panicked rage I tried to tell her. From my nose escaped a feeble draft of air, while my constricted lungs were struggling against the corset's tightness. My eyes widened in an onset of hysteria as she kept on turning the gauge setting, higher and higher. I wanted her to stop, I wanted to make her stop! There! I spotted the melting ice cubes, on a tray, just beside her. But Mistress placed the medical gun on my trembling breast, cold on my engorged nipple, and she shot it through. Tears of pain were streaming down my rigid face, when—my eyes realized—that she was about to pierce it again. Another piercing cry remained forever stuck in my throat, as the stamp punched another hole in my hypersensitive nipple. Mistress had an icy sadistic air around her, while she worked on my frightened form. The exam chair's stability was thoroughly tested by my maddening seizures, when she placed the scary bolt gun on my other pointy knob, and shot two more holes through; one horizontal, the other vertical, forming a cross. She was intent on causing me pain! Teaching me a clear lesson in unquestionable obedience and humility. I sobbed uncontrollably—which wasn't noticeable on my silenced face. The piercing gun must have healed my holes instantly with scar tissue—I couldn't see any blood. Nanite-assisted? I wondered. Cold sweat was glistening on my bald forehead. Was it over yet? To my relief, Mistress put the gun away, back on a tray, as she picked up my shiny jewelry. The devices looked ominous. Mistress inserted thick golden piercing rods in my new nipple holes, while Julie installed them on my other aching breast. First, she placed a long straight bar vertically through my punctured flesh, followed by two side bolts and specialized pliers pressed them all together, until it clicked noticeably in place. The same anchoring was used for the round end beads. More sharp clicks vibrated through my pierced nipple. The pain had subsided to a barely noticeable throb, and came more from the inside. Then she picked up a wide gold disk, and placed it over my areolas until my erect nipple poked through. Julie installed a complex cylinder onto the disc, and under Mistress's strict instructions. It clicked again firmly in place. Then a large nipple ball was affixed on top, forming the new round tip of my golden steel orbs. A few more pinches and tugs and they were finished. The hard steel, going through my punctured flesh, felt sinister. Uncomfortably, and slightly stretched, but it wasn't too bad, I thought. Had I survived the ordeal? "You have such beautiful nipples, so thick and long." Mistress said. "I wanted to stretch them the first time I saw you. They fit perfectly into my desires for your future." Mistress produced a tiny screwdriver from the tray, and began to slowly elongate my long golden globes—ever so slightly. The cylinder slowly grew, with my fleshy nipple held firmly inside, as it raised the golden ball away from my tender breast. Soon the aching started. I knew it! 'No No NO NOOOO!!' I screamed in my mind, while my mouth remained completely quiet. An aura of sadistic malevolence gleamed darkly around my Mistress, and with a merciless look, she began to screw my nipples right off my chest! Julie looked in pitiful horror at me. Unable to stop societal structure, working delightfully in front of her eyes, as she was helpless to do anything against this superior and century-old caste of woman, dominating the rest of the planet. Mistress began to elongate my nipple from a mild aching into a fierce burning. My eyes begged her to stop, as she continued to rip them right off! "The beauty," Mistress said, "about these golden nipple stretchers, is the slave's inability to loosen or remove them again. "Whatever length I adjust it to, the slave has to endure it." "Your large nipples are really tender to the touch, aren't they? I need to be careful not to break you into pieces, my delicate doll." The current torment on my chest was unbearably. No distraction worked, as Mistress had me cornered: between the hammer and the anvil, between my masochism and my devotion, to worship and to submit. I shivered in pain. My body was sweaty from the futile attempt of escaping the chair's grasp. My feet were dangling helplessly over the floor; my mouth open in silence; my arms struggled in vain to reach my horrible steel skewers, as they held my pierced flesh painfully stretched. "Should I leave it like that for tonight?" she asked, while she watched me suffer silently. My body trembled in the chair. That's when I noticed the heavy gauge ring in her hand, and she placed it in another specialized torture apparatus. She docked it to my golden cylinder. It already had pre-made holes near the base, as my stretched-out nipples were waiting inside for the inevitable, and she shot it straight through. I couldn't take it anymore, I felt dizzy. Then the other side was shot through as well, any my other breast received its sister ring. I think I fainted for a second, because I felt Mistress's hand smack my cheek. Half-dazed, I thought the gold sparkled beautifully on my chest. A heavy chain was already connecting my collar with my nipple rings. When Julie protected my eyes, and more welding was done. Sparks sputtered around and stung my naked skin. The smell of metallic smolder was piercing my nose, as smoke rose from my shiny nipples. Silently, I begged her to stop with fresh slave tears. My body shook from the brutal treatment, while I began to taste my own involuntary wetness. Again, she pulled out the screwdriver... "If I left you like that, you would just crumble in a corner and cry your eyes out. I can do with you as I please, don't ever forget that, slave." And after a pause—that was far too long—she said, "Let's ease them a bit, shall we? A good stretch was just required for the installation. They hold your nipples in place, nice and pointy, don't you think, slave?" Mistress released the horrible strain on my poor aching knobs. Bit by bit, it became slightly bearable again. I tried to express my gratitude and I gave her my best devoted look. With my tongue, stretched out and bolted to my chin, I must look really silly, and for a split second, I felt a humiliating shame come over me and my hopeless situation. Until I noticed a luscious wetness drop down on my pointy tits. "Once your golden orbs are fully elongated, over the coming weeks, the rings will hold them against the force from the tip. I will stretch them longer than you could ever imagine, Beautiful, aren't they?" It crushed any of my remaining hope of getting them off any time soon. Resigned, my body slumped into resignation, though barely noticeable in its rigid restraints. My thigh felt wet. How could this be? I was perplexed by my own filthiness. Had my nipple torture really aroused me that much? I had trouble admitting that to myself. Sure, I loved the usual nipple pinch, just to get me over the edge, but I'm not a filthy pain pig who gets off on her punishments. "What have we here. . ." Mistress said, as she noticed it too. "Did you get aroused from your nipple stretching?" she asked. When two of her fingers slid, without resistance, into my drenched pussyhole— "You dirty little pain slut!" My face flushed. It turning another shade of red, as she embarrassed me so casually in front of the others. She played mercilessly with me—and my masochistic self-doubts! Her two fingers, wriggling inside my wet hole, was the last drop in the barrel—when she quickly pulled out—and that was the last clear memory I had—before things became hazy. After everything that my slave body had to endure, it made my dam burst with pleasure. My body shook uncontrollably in its restraints, holding me rigidly in place. With a perverted smile Mistress watched. Then gave my nipple chain a small tug, and my body shook with masochistic pleasure. My face, with its gaping hole, still staring in expressionless silence, while the whole room watched my spectacle. "That's how I like it." "Obedient silence." Tiny gasps rushed out of my nose as I fought for air. The delirious intensity of my sensations became too much and my thighs shook from the sudden release. My body had betrayed me. The massive buttplug in my ass was enough pressure to shake my whole abdomen in uncontrollable quivers. My body went through the whole orgasmic cycle, as my vagina spasmed ecstatically without any additional touch. If not for the catheter, plugging up my bladder, I would have left a messy puddle of piss on the infirmary floor. "Your body betrayed you there, didn't it?" Mistress said in a matter of fact voice, as she played with my nipple chains. My poor knobs must be hard as a rock, underneath the steel, as I felt the chain's playful tugs. A tiny bell softly tingled on my center chain, hanging on my tender rings, now connecting both of my steel nipples. I couldn't feel the touch of her fingers on my sensitive knobs anymore. The chain made me instantly follow any command and direction—if the chair had allowed it. My emotions were in a chaotic disarray, when she gently touched my face with affection, and continued to play with my controlling chains. "Maybe I pay you a visit tonight, slave," she whispered into my ear, while pulling on my golden nipples. You better be ready, when I come play with you." Vehemently I told myself that it was just from the nightly orgasm program, or the massive buttplug keeping me constantly spread-apart, or simply because of my nipple's hypersensitivity to touch. My mind was in turmoil and the taste of my own juice kept me agitated. "Unbuckle her," she said in her casually commanding tone, and the two other girls quickly released me. My legs had not strength left, and, like a bag of meat, I quickly slumped painfully onto the floor. My steel nipples hit the floor hard—a loud metallic clank—and my plastic hands jerked, more in shock than pain, towards my poor metal orbs. I saw Mistress point with a stern finger towards her slaves, and then at her feet. Immediately, the other two girls fell on their knees as well, noses pressed on the hospital floor. A common gesture, demanding immediate submission from her collared subjects. Until she allowed us, in turn, to lick her white boots clean. I was at a terrible loss. How could I show my dedication and affection to her? I tried my best to obey her command, to worship her in complete devotion. Until with heard the click-clack of her sparkling boots leave us again, her personal slave closely behind and at her heels. Our naked bodies were pressed to the floor in total submission. Until the doors closed, and Julie turned her head towards me with an odd smile, her face clearly flushed. If I didn't know it any better, I would've guessed that she clearly enjoyed the whole worship ordeal at her Mistress's feet. She helped me up again, as we both marveled at my new shiny jewelry. "Uh, that was hot! How does it feel?" she asked rhetorically, and I gave her a clear look of 'don't ever get it done to yours'. It was still Monday morning and I was reminded that my schedule was still packed with duty, training and study. During the day I had to learn, somehow, to get used to the new sensation of my metal nipples, in particular to the dangling chains pulling on my large nipple rings. When my hands tried to touch them with their stiff plastic: it felt like poking myself with a stick—like nothing more than an extension of my arm. When sitting idle, only a dull ache was perceptible from the four rods going through my poor lovely knobs. The jewelry's weight was pulling ever so slightly down, making themselves known, as they held my impaled nipples mildly stretched out. When walking or training, it got a lot worse. The heavy chains were always jingling, forcing me to walk differently, more gently, while the faint tingle of my bell made me feel like someone's pet. Julie's fingers explored them. It was no better. Her soft touch was clearly felt on my breasts, but once she reached my steel nipples, any remaining pleasure felt locked away from me. A certain someone started pulling playfully on my pierced knobs, and the already stretched ache grew into a nasty pain—super-sensitive as they always were. I didn't like it at all—or so I told myself. We were back in my room, and Julie began to prepare me for the night. "They are sooo pretty!" Julie proclaimed in awe, while holding them in her hands, more gently this time, she'd learned. "I haven't seen any other slave girl wear something so pretty on her tits. But even I can't remove them...I don't see a way. Mistress only instructed me with the stretching process, and all my own tool can do, is to stretch them further, but not ease them back down again. "Do you think each turn of the screw is permanent?" Julie chattered, once again, unstoppable. Mistress's new modification had removed my ability to feel pleasure on my nipples, and it had left me with the only remaining devotion: pain. But I was unable to complain anymore, changed as I was by her desires.

My training went along, as I had to get used to all of the new sensations on, and inside, my devoted body. Each night I was exhausted, then firmly tied into my bed and cruelly stimulated into hysterical fits—or pure pleasure—depending on my performance. And, to my surprise, the week slowly passed along. The constant awareness of my enslavement took its toll on me, while it also expanded my lust for devotion. My body ached, but my submissive soul was craving for more. The next week arrived, another Monday—the third week of my slave contract—and it became evening. Julie was just unlacing my petite waist from its corset. The stiffness from my waist training had become slightly more endurable. "You still have to do your penance, I reckon." she said. That's when I started listening again, and with her unnecessary remark, gave me an anxious mood. My punishment still loomed over me. I didn't know 'when' it would happen, or 'what' would happen to me. What was 'Foyer Duty'? But I couldn't ask. Instead I wanted to scream at someone, just to hear my voice again! Today's performance had been weak, and that gave me an 'abdominal' apprehension, as I looked towards my slave bed. My groin became anxious—or excited—I couldn't tell at first. To my astonishment, I began to taste my own horniness. Had I been conditioned already? My upcoming pleasure program was looming over me with no escape in sight! I didn't want it. My self-doubt rose, and instead I grew angry with myself, 'I should have done more' and 'that's what you get for your laziness'. My aching steel orbs kept on distracting me, during today's training, as the nipple chains would regularly make themselves present, dangling and tinkling and shifting around in front of me. Ever so slightly pulling on my breasts, and to my dismay, its unwelcome sensation kept me—on a subliminal level—aroused. Even though I could reach towards them, I couldn't in any way ease the aching sensation. Holding my chains towards my chest wasn't exactly a viable option during my lessons, and I knew, I had to grow—somehow—used to the new aching on my breasts. Another moist kiss touched my cheek and the obnoxious pleasure program started without mercy. In no time my body was writhing in enthusiastic ecstasy from the sudden onslaught. My pussy exploded within a minute, as I fought the futile fight against the machine, and my own orgasms. If it could just be on a lower setting, I would've been all game! However, my body's modifications and gear were, on its own, a good deal enough to drive me totally nuts. The program was pushing far too hard on my submissive cravings, as it kicked me into my pussy. The unending torment of today's laziness was never-ending, as I tried hard, not to fall into another silent frenzy from the aggressive invasion. When I noticed black satin in front of my face. It was the fine lingerie of my Mistress, as she was standing over me. Her short nightgown was touching my face, when I caught a whiff of her perfume mixed with a lusty aroma between her thighs. "Go on, show me your devotion," she whispered, and her tender pussy came down on my shocked face. Now I knew why my bed had lowered seat cushions near my head. They were perfect for someone to kneel comfortably over me. Her moist pussy was firmly pressed against my rigid face, when her whole weight came down on me. Looking up, I could barely see past her soft mound, her breasts were slightly heaving underneath the transparent lace, as her face's silhouette came back into view. The pleasure program continued its onslaught without even the slightest pause. Pressed between her loins, my inability to do anything made me feel terrible. My tongue tried to wiggle around hopelessly, when I spotted a gleaming golden key, dangling on a fine necklace around her neck. "What's the matter, slave, where is your loving devotion?" she said, as my dildo gave me another violent pounding. "Oh, you spotted your key," she said, with a wicked smile, that made me shiver in my bones. She inserted it into my lock, a soft click, and my tongue was free. For three whole weeks I had had no control over my pierced tongue, and now it was finally free again. I tried to move it towards my Mistress's tender pussy, yet it remained feeble and paralyzed. Shocked—but not from the sudden surge of fresh suction on my clitoris—but from my inability to pleasure my Honorable Mistress. Desperately, I tried to lick her rose lips with my elongated tongue, but it remained a flabby attempt; a disgraceful failure. My Mistress looked with disappointment down at me. Her fingers started to play with her own pussy, moving up and down her reddening lips, spreading and massaging them, up and down, slowly becoming aroused and wet. Her other hand began to play with my floppy slave-tongue, which was already soaking wet since the start of my pleasure program. "Slave, that's not going well. What's the matter?" she said, as her eyes stared into me. I could only look back in silent desperation, as my body shook helplessly against its restraints; another orgasm was forced upon me and I exploded in convulsions; the whole humiliation and helplessness had been too much for my poor slave soul! Being firmly stuck between my Mistress's loving thighs had its own intoxicating effect on my devoted mind, as my body exploded with submissive pleasure. Unable to guess what was going on behind her pondering face, she placed a small metal object on my chin, and it clicked firmly in place. Then Mistress's fingers grabbed my useless tongue and placed its tongue-hole back over its thick piercing rod. Another click and my rubbery snake was held back in place. I felt more clicks vibrate through my jaw, when my tongue began to slowly tighten. I realized, she was elongating it—the tightness grew uncomfortable...and then painful! As she turned further on the internal cogwheel; I could only watch, as she worked on me, until it remained a painful ache—I must look really silly, I thought. Suddenly she stood up, turned around on the spot, and sat down again. Her beautiful, round butt cheeks came down on me, as she snuggled her sweet pussy into my silent face. She began to ride my pierced pleasure hole with forceful determination. My bed's restraints held my head firmly in place against the powerful momentum of her thrusts. Her warm slit moved up and down my helpless tongue, as she was grinding me like a fuck cushion. Her flawless rosebud rubbed deep into my nose, as I felt her hands hold onto my corset, balancing herself on my constricted waist. I felt outright used, but at the same time, filled with a deep satisfaction, a purpose, as she was grinding away at my face. My machine's aggressive stimulation continued throughout the whole ordeal, while my Mistress's tempo quickened. She moaned with sudden unrestrained pleasure, as her grinding slowed—then quickened again—as she kept on riding my face. My poor slave mind was seriously conflicted by the event. I couldn't do anything with my useless tongue, as I felt her, and my natural lubricant smeared all over my puffy face. Her appetite was ferocious and ceaseless for a long time, as I lay there uselessly like a sack of meat. When she finally turned around she gave me a tender kiss just above my skull-harness—on my bare scalp where 'her' tattoo was. Perplexed, I saw my Mistress taste her own lips, positively enjoying the mixed potent flavor of us both. And that's what I could still remember from last night... Julie was in her busy morning mood again. Waking me up while doing stuff, when I felt sudden goose bumps rise, and I remembered, as Mistress was grinding my face. The faint smell of her ass was still lingering on, and in, my nose. I wanted to please her so badly with my tongue, to show her my complete devotion. But I couldn't, not with my locked tongue. I wanted to sigh—but I couldn't do that either. Instead, my stretched tongue ached from yesterday's wild events.

Another uncomfortable enema, and my day was ready to start. Except, Julie tried to screw around on my golden steel nipples... "Now don't be such a pussy. Just a few turns. . ." she said, while I was fussing and squirming around like a little girl. Reluctantly I allowed her to tighten them, until the familiar pain was back, and it made me flush; when I remembered Julie's stupid comment about my jewelry's permanent effect. I tried to grab my aching knobs through the metal, but it was a useless attempt; I wondered if they would stay that way now. I gave Julie's ample breasts another envious stare. Her nipples were decorated with heavy-looking rings since the very beginning; they looked uncomfortably large, as they slightly pulled on her round orbs. I knew, she was just following Mistress's orders, but my solid nipples were still a sore pinch in my transformation. "I really like your golden boobknobs, you know? They enhance your exotic character!" she said. I silently appreciated the honest flatter—and gave her a tired, but appreciative look. "I see Mistress has installed your tongue stretcher," she said, as her fingers played with my stretched-out muscle, prodding and probing its firmness... "Yeah...I think it's stretched out far enough, let's leave it for now." She became better at reading my immobile facial features, and while closely observing my gaping face, she said, "I heard Mistress's visit last night. . ." I flushed with sudden shame—unable to hide it. But shame from being so powerless to please my esteemed Mistress; my useless tongue had forsaken me. I hung on the lacing bar again, my arms spread, and my nipples aching. "There should be some slack left around your waist by now." she said, as she began to tighten my day corset. One strong knee was firmly pressed in my back, as she began to tight-lace me with her usual fierce spirit. I had to admit, the few minutes I remained unlaced during my change of clothes, felt uncomfortable. I missed the familiar tightness around me already. The safety of the rigid brace around my waist felt somehow reassuring. I gasped as she laced me down to suddenly unfamiliar grounds, and the enjoyable comfort vanished: it became tighter than ever. She kept on lacing and pulling and tightening; I could barely breathe anymore. 'Please, no more! I can't breathe!' I wanted to whisper, but even my usual faint gasps were squeezed out of me. The familiar pain in my waist was back, while I hung helplessly, gasping for air. It pressed all over my torso, as I it crushed me! The extra pressure from my fierce corset made my anal valve ache again. It could have suddenly popped right out of my ass—like a cork! I wouldn't have minded. I had a perverted curiosity growing, as I wanted to know how big my ass valve really was; I'd never seen it. My feet just kept on dangling below me, as Julie clicked the golden locks of my corset shut, and I felt sealed in again into my submissive existence. "Let's have a look at your schedule," she said quite out of breath. Though—not as bad as me! I just hung there limply in the room from my lacing bar. Still struggling against the corset's new tightness. Seeing her from behind, I took my chances, and gave her thick ass another good visual examination. I could scrutinize its roundness all I wanted, but she either did some recreational running in her past, or had been a field slave once—doing heavy slave labor. When she started to giggle uncontrollably, her eyes still affixed to the display. Bewildered, when I pressed her, she wouldn't budge. Ok...I gave her my best 'please tell me' look, begging her with my soft eyes, but she wouldn't say any more about the matter. What a little shit, I thought, she's supposed to be 'my' slave!

As I did my regular warm-up routines and foot stretching, something that also helped me clear my mind before a session, Julie returned with something in her hands. My new boots! They looked magnificent! But...I would never be able to walk in them, would I? They looked otherworldly. She carried them in one hand, clipped together with a practical handle on top. They were bright and shimmering, like being glazed in glass. The tips were absurdly tiny—too tiny, I thought. "What do you think?" she said, as she held them towards my gaping face. I continued to marvel at all the locking clasps at the side. Definitely not made for my silly hands, I murmured.
(Image placeholder—ultra-ballet boots—available in PDF version)
"There are some safety rules in place when you wear them, Nina. Mistress does not expect too much, since you're still at the beginning of your crazy training. "It will probably take you months until you can manage to balance yourself perfectly—and fully free-style—like a real Ultra Ballerina." A funny feeling tingled inside me, and immediately, I wanted to slip into them and wear them. Julie saw my ecstatic gesturing, and I was soon locked inside these absurd pointy pointe shoes. Rigid as expected, they had a firm grip on my leg. My bare feet were held down in an overstretched pose, securely held in place by its custom fit. Now I knew why I had to wear my bed boots at night. They were so snug! My ankles were held straight, and I realized, it was impossible for me to stand up again. Julie attached the leash—as I liked to call it—to the top of my head, and soon I was standing on the tiniest of stilts, tiptoeing around in front of the mirror in absolute amazement! I was floating through the room in graceful pirouettes, as I tried to express my delight over the advancement of my training. The ceiling chain was essentially the only reason that kept me on my 'toes'. With all my experience in ballet and my years of pointe work, this was a completely new adventure. My ankles were unable to counterbalance my weight, and I had great difficulty, as my poise, my equilibrium, was very much out of touch. And so my morning training passed, and afternoon soon arrived. It was Tuesday, I think? I wasn't sure anymore. Nobody told me anything, and I couldn't ask either. Instead I had to listen. When other slaves or maids chattered in the hallway or the gym, I tried to eavesdrop in and get a sense of the day. I was really happy to finally train in my new boots though. In my afternoon practice I had more barefoot training to work on, but in my evening training, with Mistress, I was already instructed in my new ballet boots; with a nice white tutu, around my waist, extra make-up, and all the bells and whistles of a ballerina on stage. Then straight off to bed, while feeling proud and exhausted from my progress and efforts. Another tedious week had quickly passed. As my waist training went along. It took a few days to get accustomed to the new intense tightness around my thin waist. My golden nipples required a similar amount of patience to stop their constant pain; a pain I couldn't escape with my arm stumps and due to my jewelry's cruel design. Awfully ashamed of myself, I thought about escape again. But more as a casual mind game, when the discomfort and pain just became too much, thinking about it here and there. With the metal slave collar locked tightly around my neck, I would probably get as far as the entrance door, close to the grand foyer. Then as soon as I had stepped over the doors threshold I would receive the most excruciating pain in my neck until I fell into unconsciousness. The, by now, alarmed gynoid guards would have welcomed me back and dragged my sorry ass straight up to Mistress. A runaway attempt is a serious offence for a slave, and the repercussions would be cruel; she could even prolong my contract. But it was more of a mind game really. I think I would never dare and actually do it. And the tedious week went along, until one morning, when I was still asleep: I had a humiliating dream, as I tasted the rugged flavor of Mistress's boots in my mouth...; when Julie woke me up! Her usual morning chatter was so cruel. "Do you remember your foyer duty on Saturday?" Julie asked. "Today's Saturday!" 'Shit! I completely forgot about that,' I thought. "I sucks!" she said, clearly reading my facial expression of shock and fear.

I learned that I was to wear my pretty boots whenever I had training with Mistress—and when on foyer duty. At ten in the morning we had to be down in the grand foyer. It was impressive as ever. Its floor was covered in polished black marble, and its glass ceiling was large enough to easily fit a few tree's inside; large enough for a pompous gala even. I was always speechless, when I saw the grandiose display of wealth by the noble caste, until I remembered my current state as a slave ballerina. Two dancers were already strung up on chains. They remained lifeless statues, when we walked past. Each dancer had a small pedestal beside them with a shiny name plate. It displayed various embarrassing information about them. Like what gear they were trained in, and the duration of their contracts. Various achievements in endurance tests—while on stage, and in training. Raw statistics like 'total buttplug time' and 'orgasm denial records', and similar humiliating slave facts. Besides the two girls, and while gaping in amazement at her wealth, I spotted at least 6 more empty pedestals. Until we arrived at 'my' pedestal—with name plate and all. I felt a shiver run through me, but my anal valve wouldn't allow it to escape. Though more out of anticipation and apprehension, of what might be done to me. I realized that I was already prepped for display. My plastic arms had their golden shackles, my bald head its metal harness, and Julie carrying my boots and tutu beside her. We had to wait dutifully at my spot, right next to my humiliating pedestal. When Mistress finally arrived, with a small entourage right behind her. They talked cheerfully while slowly strolling towards us. Yet, the sounds didn't echo as I would've expected; the acoustics were marvelous. When I barely noticed hovering above me in threatening suspense, the many tiny winches, chains, and metal bars; I was already standing onstage. With our heads obediently bowed, we greeted our Mistress. I glimpsed many faces, as I snuck a peek at the group. Mistress wore a lavish white dress, lightly transparent and glimmering, it reached all the way down to her sexy heels. She wore glittery heeled sandals, as I gazed at her lovely feet. Beside here, to the right, was another woman—dressed as well—but with a collar around her neck. Very odd. 'She must be her companion?' I reckoned. She had light chestnut hair that flowed over her dark ornate dress. Her rich nipple jewelry was clearly poking through the fine fabric. A companion slave holds the highest slave rank in the household; she must be Mistress's lucky lover!? On her left, Mistress was accompanied by a familiar servant; pretty blonde hair and butt-naked as always, except for her piercings, slave collar, and shackles. Two more slave girls were behind her, cruelly locked in heavy chains. When I spotted thin gold chains emerge between their legs, and ending at Mistress's golden bracelet. Now I understood why they moved in complete unison behind Her. Their slavish faces were clearly distressed by the whole ordeal. That's when I spotted the robot; a gynoid guard was following behind Mistress's entourage. Mistress gave a quick hand signal to the two slave girls, and they quickly provided her with a human chair. One was kneeling down on all fours, and the other provided a backrest with her body and hands. Once in position, they both remained motionless. Mistress comfortably sat down on her slave meat. She had taken up residence right in front of me, and apparently ready for the 'show'. She stared at my slender, but well-toned body for a long time, while everyone remained completely silent. "Let's get this show started!" she said, and she clapped twice. Quickly, Julie and the other servant began to lock me in chains. I allowed the whole intimidating ordeal to take its course, without resistance, while I kept my eyes pinned to the floor. I knew, I deserved disciplining for my reprehensible blunder. A heavy gold chain was locked to each of my prosthesis's hand-shackles, followed by a third, on top of my head, and a noticeable click resonated through my skull-harness. I swallowed hard, as my pulse began to fasten; it had started. The chains lifted me up in the air. My neck lengthened painfully, as a motor began to pull me effortlessly up into the air. My legs dangled uselessly below me, while my hands were stretched painfully apart. The upper arm cuffs, locking my prosthesis to my stumps, were very ergonomically and comfortable; now I knew why, as my plastic arms held me securely suspended. What was really painful though, was the angle. My arms were too far apart, which caused my own weight to pull with a serious aching against my shoulder joints. I moaned in painful silence. Her personal servant and Julie dressed me up. Julie placed garters at hidden latches on my corset, while the servant girl placed my feet in white silken stockings; they felt immensely smooth on my naked legs! Then a familiar pink tutu and my pointy boots followed. The elegant stockings felt curious on my feet, as I usually wore my pointe boots barefoot. The buckles snapped shut, locking my feet in place, with its familiar tightness. My whole outer appearance was meticulously checked, until they deemed me presentable. Mistress gave more instructions... Her servant girl returned with uncomfortable looking devices in hand. I could see a tiny chain, a steel bar and a whip as she fastens them straight onto me. I hung from my chains like a limp doll, when the servant girl spit on the metal pole and began to push it inside my confused vagina. The steel was cold, ice-cold! I felt so vulnerable. I tried to hold still as not to offend Mistress, while she rammed the thick shaft deep inside me. I was not ready for that stretch, and my vagina ached painfully against the hard steel. It stopped deep inside me, and keeping me awfully spread. Distressed, I realized that her servant girl was a real cold-blooded bitch! She moved my legs together until I felt more locking mechanism close around my ankles. My legs were held in place, while it moved my evil steel rod around inside me. I froze in shock, and to avoid any further pain to my tormented vagina. I felt hands again. This time tugging between my legs as 'the Bitch' fumbled around with my tender...clit ring! My restrained legs couldn't do anything to stop her harsh fingers from poking around. She stepped back, and a monstrous tug pulled my clit ring nearly out! My whole body spasmed in pain, and with a sting, a weight bounced against my thighs. My legs, twitching in pain, moved my buttplug and steel rod deep inside me! I couldn't do anything to relieve my painful abdomen, as I hung there in suffering silence. The weight on my clit ring was too heavy! A constant ache pulled my piercing cruelly out, and the slightest movement of my body made it twitch horribly. Mistress stood up from her warm seat, as she grabbed the leathery whip. It had a single leather strand, with a few knots at the end. She snapped it playfully in the air—a loud sudden crack—and I flinched in imaginary pain. I knew, I couldn't escape the fierce bite that I would soon feel on my skin. She disappeared behind me, and a smack bit into my butt cheeks. I flinched from the sudden shock; it had a fierce sting! The dildo pole in my pussy prevented any movement though. The helplessness from this device made me feel terribly vulnerable. "I wouldn't pull on that dildo bar if I were you." she said with an amusing note. "Twenty lashes to start with," she said, "as a reminder for your insolence...for breaking the rules of my house." My eyes jumped left and right, as the tight chain on my harness prevented my head from seeing her. Smack! A soft rush of air escaped my nose. I screamed in my mind from the sudden excruciating pain on my butt cheeks; I realized in silent horror that the previous lash was just a test! Fierce lashes began to struck my tender flesh. The pain was terrible! She whipped me with full force, lash after lash! She wouldn't ease down. My clit-weight below, tumbled painfully around on my thighs. I twisted in agony from the whip's fiery sting, as my Mistress lashed out at me, over and over, until she reached her final goal on my swollen skin.
(Image placeholder—full-body head-to-toe—available in PDF version)
She came closer, and I felt her hands on my whipped butt cheeks, rubbing them cruelly; the pain was terrible! I cried silently, as I hung in my golden chains. She came very close from behind, as I felt her body press against mine. "You need to learn your lesson, slave," she whispered, with her lips close to my ear. My legs couldn't do anything as I hung there. One hand pressed the crude end of her whip between my ass cheeks, searching cynically for my stuffed holes. Her other hand was probing my crotch, slowly meandering down my corset, until she had found my clit ring. Her fingers rubbed my aching knob painfully, while I felt her warm breath in my neck. She kissed me, just below my golden collar, as I felt goose bumps rise quickly over my whole body. I melted into a sorry puddle of devotedness—I was hers—in this superior display of authority. "Do you still remember how long you have to stay here for your atonement, slave?" she asked, as I shivered in her sadistic embrace. I slightly twitched in my bondage, trying to ease my suffering. I wasn't getting out of my restraints any time soon. There was no escape from Mistress's grip. The other girls just watched my suffering, some locked at me impartial, others with pity at my ruthless ordeal. I wondered if she expected an answer...when I felt her fingers on my golden nipples, and the ache began. She was turning my screws! The mild soreness in my four nipple holes began to grow very slowly to a nasty aching, as she elongated my fleshy knobs, and slowly but certainly, they grew in length and pain-intensity. "Let's give them another turn. I'm sure they can take a little more by now?" My real hands would be clenched fists by now, and yet, my plastic fingers remained gracefully apart in balletic pose. "Look how long they've already grown, slave," she said. When she stopped screwing at my painful nipples, it remained a painful throb. They both felt terribly stretched, and they must look awful underneath, I was sure. I jerked in my chains from the cruel dildo, but it was more of a small quiver, as my own body weight kept me stretched down in painful suspension. As if foretold by divine prophecy, my tongue began to drip shamelessly. A delighted Mistress played with my dripping serpent, while it remained helplessly stuck to my chin. "And finally, your tongue. . ." she said, A delighted Mistress played with my anchored tongue, while a small ratchet clicked ominously, moving it further down my chin. It ached fiercely from the tight strain—but—she didn't stop. I jerked. Any other slave could've moaned in pain by now, making her Mistress aware of the severity, but my restrained body only gave a feeble quiver in its chains. Finally, she stopped screwing, when my tongue felt like it was stretched to its absolute limit. "That should help you deliberate," she said. My legs were, like long pencils, held straight down, unable to move, as I dared not to agitate the cold steel inside me any further. The chain on my head forced me to look obediently ahead, gaping, as if nothing was the matter. Once she was done playing with me, I slightly shock from the severe discomfort. Everything ached, from my poor chest to my tongue, to my two spread holes. "Now you are all set for your foyer duty," she said, and, with a simple hand signal, I was gently lowered down again, until the tiny tips of my boots could just barely tap on the marble floor. Relief shot through my joints, as I balanced my whole weight on the tiny area of my pointe boots. At the same time, the dildo impaled me, as my body weight pressed down on the steel rod. A visceral pain shot through my abdomen, as I tried to find my balance. The chain on my skull-harness remained shorter than on my arms, and it soon gave me a painful reminder not to go off balance again. My tongue kept on dripping, as my horniness went down my chest with embarrassment. My steel nipples continued its relentless torture, and held my fleshy nipples firmly elongated. I couldn't do anything against my tongue's wet embarrassment, as my golden orbs stretched my poor knobs fiercely off my small breasts. Pitifully I looked at Mistress. 'This wasn't much better,' I wanted to beg. My legs were rigidly held together by the impaling steel bar. I had difficulty balancing myself—my legs wouldn't comply—as I stood there frantically on my tiny tips. I had to obey and endure, and so I hung there in discomfort. "Julie, empty her bladder. Then you can go back to your quarters—but check on Nina every hour." Even though I was suffering sincerely, I felt comforted when my Mistress spoke my name. "Yes Mistress!" Julie replied quickly. "She will only receive water during her punishment. No food. You can drain her bladder in 4 hours again, but only once. "When her 8 hours are over, you have to pick her up with the wheelchair. After that, she's excused for the weekend." "Yes, Mistress!" Julie said, and politely bowed with terrible respect. "Let's have a walk in the garden, shall we?" Mistress said casually, as she looked back at the other dressed woman. Just when Mistress was about to leave, she noticed the whip still in her hands. "Guard. You whip this slave every hour with 10 lashes on her stubborn slave ass, 30 percent strength, and no blood—Understood? She needs to stay presentable." "Yes, Mistress," the gynoid guard said, in a synthetic, yet feminine voice. The robot disappeared behind me, with the whip in hand. Frantically, I tried to turn my head, but it couldn't look far enough to keep the thing in my field of view; my head chain forbids it, cruelly. The others just stared at me, like I was some pretty ballerina on stage. To my relief, someone lifted my clit-weight, as I felt my full bladder suddenly empty itself. Red with shame, I flinched, and tried to hide my face. Julie fingered between my legs, as I tiptoed around, ashamed, irritated and in pain, as I peed myself casually in front of the whole group—I knew, I couldn't do anything against it. I had lost my bladder control quite a while ago and I didn't even bother to clench my bladder sphincter; I just knew, the tube inside my bladder was pointless to fight. Then Julie pushed a tube routinely down my throat and gave me a drink; water I assumed, as I couldn't see the pee bottle. My mind was playing tricks on me already, I thought; not that I could tell its taste. Lucky for me, the whole entourage began to leave, and the sound of heels on the dark marble grew fainter. Julie finished her care with a quick and final kiss, before she left as well. Everything ached; on, and inside me.

The foyer grew silent, as I hung there in my bizarre costume, trying to balance myself, and occasionally twitching in pain. It became a very slow torture! There wasn't any clock visible, as I began to dread the upcoming lashes from the silently robot behind me. After a short while, I heard the clicks of heels on the marble again, coming closer. It was my Mistress. She was watching me with a sadistic smile as she walked determined through the grand foyer, evidently busy with important Mistress stuff. Soon I even lost my gallows humor, as the strain began to take its toll. It was as bad as I feared, when the whip cracked; my flesh burst on fire! Worse, I jumped from the sudden lashes, and it made my whole body writhe in pain once again. Forty lashes later, I merely hung in my chains, like a stuffed doll. The AI Assistant, I reckoned, kept my chains always taut. The penny-sized tips of my boots just barely touched the floor; even the miniscule lengthening of my tendons must have been taken into account by its cruel machine mind. I must be a wonderful doll to look at, I mused. My body felt stretched, so stretched! Even my own weight became heavy on my trained feet. Though my pointe boot's ergonomic design was outstanding, my tendons said otherwise, as they ached gradually more. The whole ordeal had put me in a trance-like state, slightly out of touch with reality, as my submissive beliefs continued their pilgrimage of suffering. It felt like my spiritual journey finally solidified itself somehow, metaphysically, as I felt a small relief escape my tortured existence. When I noticed Julie was draining my bladder. I hung there in desperation, while my ass was burning on fire. "Here have some water, Nina," she said, while checking my state of mind once more. "Four more hours, just hang in there," she said, as she left with another kiss, clearly suffering with me. I hung a long while alone again, until footsteps approached. It sounded like a small group of people, murmuring and jabbering unintelligible words. They crept slowly into my vision. Two very mature-looking Mistresses, and their entourage of slaves, gradually came closer, and in no particular hurry it seemed; one was even a bit grey-haired. They inspected the small pedestals where the other two slave girls hung. They were in a good mood, making jokes, and clearly being entertained, as they poked and prodded the poor girls. One of the two immobile dancers was closer to me, and I could see some of her slave gear—not her face tough—but her natural thighs already ended half-way, prematurely, as two crude peg legs extended from her leg stumps. Her arms were folded on her back in a sturdy leather armbinder. I think her hands poked out on top, and folded brutally at her shoulder blades. That poor thing! Her face wasn't visible and I couldn't tell her state of mind. She wore a sort of full steel mask, and it looked crude and brutal at the same time. It hid her natural face completely under the cold steel. She kept looking straight up. There appeared to be a small chain clipped to a thick nose ring, and it forced her to balance herself perfectly still on her crude stilts. Sometimes I could hear a sharp breath or a sobbing, but I wasn't quite sure from where. The visiting Mistresses gave witness to her horrible fate, as they crept along the slave exhibition. Heels gently clicked through the hall as they gradually came closer. One of the estate's maids guided the guests politely along the exhibits with miniscule steps. My leg's calf cramped up again, and I gave another shiver. The tiny bell on my nipple chain gave a faint tingle as I hung limply in my chains. The group was soon in front of me, gasping and staring right in my face; pointing and oohing, like I was some sort of chained zoo animal, put on display. One of the Mistresses, the older one, stuck a finger in my spread-open mouth, touching and exploring my wet gum. I remained frozen—I had to show perfect manners to guests! Until she indifferently shoved her fingers down my throat, apparently testing my gag reflex. Silently, I gagged and retched, struggling feebly in my restraints. Even though my gag reflex is mild, the sensation is worsened by my stretched-out tongue. I couldn't do anything against the retching, until the Mistress felt satisfied with her inspection. I had to uphold the household's courtesy and present good manners while I was in the presence of guests, or else tarnish the honor and reputation of 'my' household. My face violently flushed from the horrible gagging and the cruel treatment I was put under—out of the blue. The other Mistress pulled on my nipple and clit chains, like I was some pretty toy doll. Yet she was clearly impressed by the detailed gold decoration, adorning my hairless, porcelain-like skin. I grew a deep shade of red under my make-up, as these women poked and inspected me so casually. The younger one walked behind me, wondering about my tight-laced corset, when I felt both her hands firmly embrace my tiny waist with ease. "Oh that poor thing, look," the younger said with clear sarcasm in her voice, "her corset is locked in her back." "Not that she could ever get out of it. Look at her arm stumps!" the older said. "They must have been amputated. She can't unlace anything." They both chuckle at my predicament. My plastic hands remained frozen and in graceful posture. "What a filthy thing—that she would agree to all of this. . ." the younger said, while poking and tugging casually at my rectal valve. "It says here, she's a contract slave," the other said, while touching my display sign. "Lady Octavia must have found another willing victim for her pet project," the older said, while she firmly grabbed my steel pole and gave it a hard-upward jerk. My body twitched, as I was made so brutally aware of my vulnerability. "Why isn't she moaning?" the younger wondered, when she pulled cruelly at my steel nipple. My pierced fleshy nipple inside, was firmly resisting the attempt, as my chest burned in pain. "I want to hear her moan," the younger insisted. Suddenly she slapped me across the face, and my cheek burned. I could only stare at her with painful eyes. I would've gladly given her a scream, if I could. I wanted to tell her, but my gaping mouth remained quiet as a mouse since my procedure. The younger one walked behind me and spanked me on my swollen ass cheeks. My body trembled quietly in its restraints. "Look," the older said, in a tone that she was clearly proud of her age. "It says her throat was silenced—she can't speak anymore." When the younger Mistress came around again, visibly disappointed, as she looked in my teary eyes, and realized my condition, and the dilemma I was in. "I guess no one can hear your screams anymore," the younger said to me, as she pulled, but this time more gently, on my large nose ring. "C'mon, let's move along, Our Ladyship will be waiting," the other said, and with a final slap on my poor tit, they both giggled and chuckled along again. The maid devotedly guided them, with what seemed like an infinite amount of patience and courtesy, to her guests. That's when I spotted the maid's expression. Even though she had an impeccable aura of perfect mannerism about her, the very moment our eyes crossed, and she saw the suffering in my eyes, her mask broke for a split second, revealing a look of complete terror. She gazed at my transformed body, as she began to notice all the cruel little kinks of my slave attire, and the bizarre appliances I wore. She quickly managed to hide her expression once again under the usual empty mask of professionalism. I felt even worse after that encounter, as I hung alone, and in complete silence again. Time crept by very slowly. Only the instant shock of ten lashes, hitting my burning ass over and over, reignited my sense of time—catapulting me right back in the painful present! I desperately wanted to touch my poor butt cheeks; they burned vibrantly behind me with vicious discipline, as a reminder of my sins. The gynoid's precision was shocking; each impact hit with the exact same force and tempo. I didn't know if it made it worse or not, but it felt like machine gun fire each time it hit me! My tongue felt like it had been pulled out of my mouth, while the occasional wet drip landed on my petite chest. Two more visitors came through the grand foyer, while I silently pondered over my own stupid disobedience. Both were free woman; the first delivered a package, and was evidently fond of her freedom—once she saw me—a hand was quickly reassuring her own bare neck; I bet she was a slave once. The other wore a professional business suit, dark nylons with heels, and a suitcase in hand—probably sales—as she walked past, barely noticing me. That's when I understood what 'Foyer Duty' meant, as the whole weight of my role began to settle in. Towards the end of my punishment, I was in a bad state. I didn't know how much suffering my poor body could take—before breaking apart—while this ordeal pushed my limits further than I could've ever imagined. Any strength had left me. I had stopped trying to balance myself, my full weight just hung, and the dildo was fully impaling me. Fresh lashes cut into my skin, as I noticed faint footsteps—bare feet—accompanied by the gentle rolling of a wheelchair on the dark marble. I was wrecked. Julie carefully removed my gear, then gently lowered my hurt body in the wheelchair. That day, Mistress had given me a brutal lesson in complete and total obedience. I felt drained—but also absolved—as Julie strapped me into the chair. I needed the whole Sunday to relax and get my strength back. My muscles ached; my whole body was wrecked, and my ass hurt considerably longer! Julie took wonderful care of me. Her loving massages were wonderful, while she pampered me with lotions and oils, remoistening my skin, as she tended my delicate butt with warm devotion. On Monday, things went back to 'normal', if you can call it that around here. My calling, my vocation, kept me on a unique path throughout my submissive journey. Still, the muscle ache remained for days in my legs and shoulders; but that was nothing new. It's a dancer's curse really. A sense of relief alleviated my worn body. Relief and exoneration from my wrongdoing—from my own imperfection. The week moved along, and my butt-hurt lessened—in particular—when sitting down. I wouldn't have believed it, but I grew—very slowly—used to my surreal situation. My waist remained constricted day and night, and without—any chance—to unfasten my corset, I 'gained' considerable improvements, as my waist shrank down alarmingly fast to my Mistress's desire. Julie really made up for my missing hands. With her at my side, I didn't have to worry much. What I had hated most at first, was my enforced silence. My inability to scream out my pain and pleasure, to moan, and to beg! It took its toll as a restraint—it went much deeper than the powerful shock collar locked around my neck. But even more than my enforced silence, I hated my golden nipple stretchers, and my rectal valve. They both created a forced and constant stimulation, as they scooped out my remaining submissive thirst, deeper than I had ever hoped—or sometimes—even wished. Whenever Mistress, or Julie, lengthened my nipples, I couldn't stop but feel aroused, in a masochistic kind of way—all day—and my tongue kept on dripping for the whole rest of the day; but not exactly on a voluntary level. More of a reservation of sorts, of things that I would have never done to myself, and now I grew gently fond of my accomplishments and my slave endurance. Serving my Mistress and giving her all of my devotion gives me the greatest joy. I'm a slave of her household now. An impressive estate with a powerful and authoritarian Mistress, who keeps me firmly in her grasps—I love it! Like a wicked spider she has caught me in her net, and sometimes giving me more than I can chew; always pushing my timid nature, stretching—or constricting—my capabilities a little further. I love my pointe work; it gradually improved while training three times a week with Mistress—she knows her stuff! Her experience and patience is astounding. I feel certain now about my changed feet. They were the right choice, and in the right direction, I'm sure. Though I can't say the same thing about my waist, or my helpless arm stumps. It was in the early morning, and we had just arrived at the gym—I think it was Thursday? When Julie went to the wall panel and quickly came back. "You are summoned," she said, and hastily began to rummage in her assistant bag, and produced a golden chain. I looked at her with disbelief. Hurry up, don't let our Mistress wait," she said, as she placed my arms behind my back, then clicked something in place, and pulled them higher up, until it clicked again. A chain on my plastic hands pressed into my skin. My arm stumps were held uncomfortably high, and pulled, from behind, at my slave collar. She had rummaged again in her bag until she produced a spiked weight on a golden chain. I flinched slightly with my legs, when I saw that evil thing. "Spread your legs, come on, Nina. Don't let Mistress wait!" she said obediently, while working herself in a commotion. She knelt in front of me, as if emptying my bladder, but instead I felt an intimate touch, a click on my clit ring, and a pressure pulled at my poor knob. It kept my clit painfully pulled out of its hiding place—and harshly stretched—as something dangled between my legs. Julie stood up again as I looked at her—perplexed. What was Mistress asking? When I saw a leash in her hand, a gold chain that was beautifully decorated. Instinctively, I tried to move a step back—but Julie was to quick—she had already grabbed me by my chains! A painful tug on my breasts stopped my silly struggles in its tracks. "Where should I clip this," she asked, contemplating her choices. I looked at her with pity. "Mistress ordered me to bring you to her bed chambers, and since we need to be quick. . ." She clipped the leash to my nipple chain—right in the middle, the one that's welded with both of my large nipple rings! My tiny bell gave a merry jingle, as Julie tugged on my cruel leash. There was no time to resist or wonder—she simply walked off—and I had to hurriedly follow along to relieve the sudden pain in my chest—my poor nipples! 'Ok, I'm coming, I'm coming,' I wanted to say, instantly surrendering to my servant girl. My nipples were still a sore spot, and no laughing matter! They always made me feel so vulnerable, as my chains dangled in front of me. She began to pull me along behind her...
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But the single large step I had just made was ill-advised—my clit winced in pain, as my spiked weight suddenly bounced against my lower thigh. Instantly I clenched my legs in pain. I tried to make the tiniest of steps, as I tippytapped behind Julie's swift tempo. It looked more like I was running over hot coal on my barefoot tips. I tried to protect my pussy from more pain, as my legs clutched defensively together; instantly a sharp pain bit all over my inner thighs! The weight's chain must be spiked as well I realized in shock; I wouldn't be able to hold it between my thighs. My arms were held uselessly behind my back, as they pulled uncomfortable on my steel collar, making me slightly gag, as soon as I tried to struggle. I felt so helpless as I was hobbling along behind my servant girl. The spiky weight continued to give me a sharp sting here and there. Either tugging at my poor clit, or its sharp spikes pierced my thigh's tender flesh. I wondered what Mistress wanted from me on a late morning? Was my daily performance not good enough? Would she lock another cruel device on me? My scared mind came up with all sorts of good scenarios. I wanted to be a good slave girl, but the uncertainty made me truly squirm in my collar. Julie seemed a bit worried, but more about herself than me, as she firmly pulled me along my nipple leash. My piercings humiliated me cruelly, as they controlled me so effortlessly. We walked—for what seemed like at least ten minutes—before arriving in a completely new environment. The hallways were more richly decorated with flowers and white drapes, as we passed by another pair of gynoid guards. They were always waiting silently in their wall alcoves, ever watchful—giving me an eerie tingle as we passed them. The air felt a bit fresher up here. A maid was already waiting outside at two large hallway doors. Julie pulled me closer. We were at least on the 3rd or 4th story, as my buttplug painfully reminded me. The maid knocked—and promptly led us inside. It wasn't just a bedroom, it was truly a noble bed chamber. Rich white drapes hung all over the room, as a slight breeze from the open balcony made them curl. I could smell the warm countryside outside, where, by the looks of it, it became another lush summer day in our empire. The white stone floor tiles underneath my foot's tips were comfortably heated. They held the whole bed chamber in a bright sunny warmth with its polished smoothness. It was flawlessly clean and blind at the entrance doors. Timidly I creeped along behind Julie, following obediently on my nipple leash. That's when I saw Her. My Mistress. She was at least 50 feet away (15meters), standing naked in the room, like a goddess. Her lush breasts stood firmly in place, and her vulva had a thin strip of bush hinting at her entrance. Two maids tended to her; one was arranging her dark hair, while the other presented her with a silver tray of shiny jewelry. The huge chamber was long and rectangular. At the right side were many doors, wide open, and flooding the room in warm sunlight, as they lead out to a balcony. While on the other side, close to the wall, were richly decorated shelves and antique furniture. Expensive-looking rarities stacked neatly on many shelves and tables, each in its own respectable place. Some looked kinky and very ancient. I suddenly spotted, right behind Mistress, a colossal four poster bed, draped in white silk, and built at least three times too big for any normal person. Through its soft transparent drapes I could see somebody, another woman. A chain was running from one bed post to her. It might be her companion, judging from the shape of her pretty body, but I wasn't sure. A tiny motion made me aware of the pillar, right between Mistress and the left wall panel. A body shivered slightly. Held rigidly in place by steel shackles. There was a slave chained to it, and butt-naked. Her hands were shackled overhead. Tense, strained, and in clear discomfort. She was beautiful. Her feminine curves were marvelous, her skin gleamed pristine, but her pretty head was shaved clean, and the slave collar around her neck made her position clear. Mistress gestured us to come closer, and we timidly crept towards our object of desire; our heads were bowed in fearful submission. The poor girl at the pillar was trembling. "Bring me my bullwhip, girl," she said to one of her maids. "I like to have a good slave-whipping in the morning. . ." That's when I spotted the small pile of clothes on the floor beside the slave girl. She must be a maid as well, I realized. The first crack shot through the room like a gunshot. It hit her straight on her naked back. She cried out in pain and tears, but remained composed. She did not dare to beg, or even speak a word. She seemed not to have permission to speak; I pitied her! Seeing my Mistress so powerful in action—her arms tense from the cruel exercise—it made me shiver in delicious devotion. I felt proud to wear her collar on my neck. But that shiver gave my spiked clit-weight another faint jiggle, as it pulled again on my engorged clitoris. I carefully tested my chains, as I had to watch and wait. It's hard not to flinch as slave when you hear a whip crack. Mistress was evidently doing her morning workout, as her well-toned body began to gleam from perspiration. The poor girl's back was already painted with many red strokes—at times even breaking into dark specks of blood, as she hung in her shackles. I wondered what wicked things she must have done, as I flinched from another fierce lash on the poor girl's back. "Julie, how is Nina's stretching and waist-reduction coming along?" Mistress asked casually, while continuing to whip the poor thing as it shivered in pain. Julie looked distressed. "She's nearly down to the required measurement for this week, Ma'am," she said flustered. "Nearly?" Mistress asked, while giving the poor maid a few more lashes. She had her strict tone again. The one I knew from my personal training sessions—and I knew—she wasn't having any of it! "Y..Yes, Ma'am," Julie stammered. The whipping stopped, and Mistress gestured to me to come over. I tiptoed gracefully over to her, keeping my balance, while my corset held me in straight composure; I could barely breath as it was, from the constant tightness around me. As Mistress touched me, she inspected the corset's fabric and fit. Then she gently pulled on my golden nipples, and I flushed. Then I could feel her firm hands embrace my minuscule waist, clasping it tightly, as she scrutinized her property. She raised a waiting hand—and a maid quickly provided a measuring tape. I felt so naked in front of her, as she examined my progress. My left thigh was stroked by leather, as her coiled up bullwhip gently brushed against me; Mistress was still holding casually by her side. She inspected me like cattle: first my nipples, and then my tongue's painful lengthening; my hands were helplessly held behind my back, as my collar pressed against my throat again. "She's 1/4 of an inch (6mm) short on her waist," Mistress said. My nipples remained rock-hard underneath its steel domes, while I quietly admired Mistress's naked body up-close. With the stiff end of the whip she playfully made my clit-weight sway, as my hands twitched uselessly against my tight collar's unpleasantness. "Did you miss me, slave?" Mistress said. "I felt like having a good look at you." I stared at her in silent obedience; I didn't think she expected an answer. "Whenever I feel like summoning you, slave, you'll wear this pretty chain between your legs. Isn't it marvelous?" she said. I didn't dare to grumble and remained tame. She appeared in a gentle mood towards me—and I knew—I didn't have to worry about my cute butt. "You may kiss my feet," Mistress said. I quickly dropped to my knees as I felt a rush of submissive excitement shoot greedily through my body. She smelled freshly bathed, as I touched her pretty toes with my immobile tongue. It was an honor, as I tasted her feet's aroma. A mixture of fresh sweat, skin, and the bedroom's floor was in my mouth. I worshipped her towering presence over me vigorously, as the metal of my chains, and my golden nipples, and my clit-weight chafed over the hard bedroom floor. My ass was up high, as I presented everyone with my awful rectal valve, while my clit-weight lay idly between my legs. I felt exhilarated for being allowed to worship her delicate feet, and I wanted to display to her my complete devotion. A painful tug on my nipple chain made me realized that she still held my leash. Apprehensively, I had to conquer my reluctance to raise my head, as I finally marveled at my Mistress from below. She gestured at her tender pussylips, already wet from something, as I quickly tried to raise my head up to her luscious slit. But without any hands in front, I had to make a real effort to follow her command swiftly. Mistress scent was excitement to my senses, as my tongue tried to plunge into her vulva. I worshipped her devotedly. Her pussy had a musky scent, mixed with a distinct lemony taste. I wondered what she had eaten; what do Mistresses eat? Her strong scent hypnotized me, as I began to taste her full aroma all over my wet mouth. "You're doing well with your training, Nina. Your effort and passion did not go unnoticed," she said, while my face was stuffed devotedly between her legs. Suddenly I felt an intense joy, as my Mistress praised my exertions and struggles so affectionately, as I continued to lick her with a slave's passion. But she wouldn't unlock my tongue; I felt not much use, as my enthusiasm was locked firmly to my chin. Still, I desperately tried to please her with blind devotion. I was hers, and she could do with me as she pleased. I wanted to be of service in any way possible! But she pulled me up on my leash again, walked with me a few steps to the side of the room, and then positioned me below a hanging chain. She locked it to my nipple chain, and pulled it taut. I had to balanced carefully underneath it—en pointe—on my naked feet. The chain pulled fiercely on my nipple rings. I quickly found the right position and froze in place like a good ballerina. It held me efficiently in place, as I watched my Mistress with apprehension. She inspected the sobbing girl on the pillar, whose back looked really red and swollen—I mean really bad! She gave the maids a signal. They unshackled her, and she promptly collapsed to the floor, completely drained from her brutal punishment. They carried her silently out of the chambers. Julie quickly stepped forward—apparently Mistress had signaled her to come. "'Nearly' is not good enough in my household." Mistress said, in her strict manner. She snapped her fingers, and a maid held a silver tray at the ready. This time with marble-sized steel balls. Julie's eyes glanced at the silver tray apprehensively, while her head remained bowed in obedience. She already had large nipple rings decorating her ample breasts. I stared at them quite often—the breasts. From our close interactions I knew, they had no seams; she couldn't remove them by herself. Julie didn't dare make a peep, as she stood in a submissive posture. Mistress interlocked the silvery steel balls with her pretty rings. Then she gave them a malicious nudge, and they dangled excitedly. Though Julie's face told another story. The extra weight distended her copious breasts, and her pointy ends hung slightly lower. Julie's hands flinched, as she tried not to reach towards her hurt nipples. The poor thing, I felt for her. And all of it because of me! "Wearing them for one week should remind you about the importance of strict attention to detail," Mistress said, while she exchanged the bullwhip for a well-seasoned cane—my cane, I noticed; I knew it's sting by now. "Bend over, girl," she said, in her usual calm and definitive tone. I was glad Julie kept her mouth shut; begging does a slave barely any good after a transgression, except fire Mistress up more. Julie bent submissively over, as she presented her exquisitely thick ass. Her hard nipples swayed dangerously from the heavy weight. Then a smack, as she received five hard lashes from the cane. A few sobs came out of her sorry mouth, but she bravely kept her posture, and thus prevented further punishment; it felt like the whole setup was intended to test her obedience—or fail, and receive more pain from the cane. Mistress went back to the huge four-poster bed, where her companion wriggled sluggishly, stretching and yawning behind the silken curtains. Mistress gave the sobbing Julie the 'you are dismissed' hand motion and she quickly came to free me from my nipple predicament—her new nipple balls swayed disturbingly. To my complete surprise, she kept my hands locked in my back, and simply pulled on my leash. 'You can't be serious?' I thought. 'All the way back!?' My clit weight gave another jolt as my leg hit hard against the spiked devil. Silently—but in agony—I was pulled along, as I balanced gracefully on the tips of my bare feet. It was a long way back, and Julie wouldn't say a word, as she dragged me painfully on my leash. My nipples were seriously sore, but I couldn't beg her with my useless throat. And so I was dragged along, like an unwanted puppy. Mistress must have had a busy morning, punishing, and keeping up the order in her household. I wondered if they had sex right now, while I was being pulled through the corridors on my nipple reins. First, Julie brought me back to my quarters, where she quickly fixed her mistake. To my discomfort, she gave the corset another good tug. But after that I gave her a good hug and consoled her, even though it felt pretty weird with my plastic hands; we had to be really careful with our aching boobknobs. And that was my weird Thursday. I had not been anywhere near Mistress's bed chambers before, and it had filled me with amazement, to see her so intimately in her private quarters. On the other hand, having me so casually summoned, just to check on me, made me feel used and humiliated in my current predicament. As the days went along, Julie held no grudge. The opposite really: after a good cool-off period, she confessed that she was angry at herself. From that day on, she stuck painfully to my exact measurements. At times, when working, she clenched both of her nipple balls in pain, when they had gotten in the way. But holding them wasn't really an option for most parts throughout her week of punishment.

I had survived my first month in Mistress Octavia's employment. And yet, I still felt not adapted to my altered situation. I looked back at that moment, when I had signed my contract with just the press of a thumb. Early in my slave life, I had learned: if you're in a tough situation, just give fully in—embrace it. Otherwise there's only more pain and suffering waiting for you. If a situation has no alternatives, it's an easy choice, and an easy mental processes; to obey and to endure. In two more months of training, I would have to show my first performance. I knew, because I trained for it since the start of my employment. It was a dinner gala with friends, and my duty as a ballerina would simply be to entertain the guests. Most of my training was back-to-basics though. Dancing with my hourglass corset was a horror at first. I barely could get enough air in my lungs, and the enforced straightness of my torso was throwing me off-balance. By now I could easily balance myself through the hallways like a ballerina, on my short barefoot stilts; just as I was used to from my many years of pointe work. Besides training for the dinner gala, I also had to do foyer duty. Whenever visitors were expected, I had to appear beside my pedestal. Without dildo pole or whipping though, it was much more tolerable. Sometimes I had morning duty, where I simply had to stand there, dressed, and chained up. Other times I only had to dance for an hour, while my head chain supported me in my ultra boots. My duty was to dance and to entertain guests as an enslaved ballerina; a role I was very familiar with. It was another Wednesday afternoon, the fifth week of my enslavement, and I had my barefoot practice again. Julie gave me more to drink, as I was sweating all over. Her body language was by now so familiar to me, that I noticed the slight difference in her expression—and I knew—something was off. "Computer," Julie said, with a note of regret in her voice, "keep Slave Nina in the gym room for 30 minutes." "Understood, Slave Julie. Counter started," a synthetic voice answered. She had permission to talk with the Assistant? In surprise I gaped at her. Fully confused, I looked at the digital gym clock, and another counter had appeared. Counting down from 30:00 minutes... "Sorry Nina! Our Mistress ordered me to give you extra lessons in character improvement. She has given me permission over your movement profile, and, twice a week, you'll received 'extra lessons' from now on. "I'm really sorry!" she said. I was still perplexed by her apologizing attitude. "Initially just 30 minutes," she said, "but the duration will gradually increase, I'm sorry. If you get close to the door, your slave collar will begin to punish you. Please don't step outside, until the time is up, please?" Julie was evidently as conflicted by the events as I was. Character improvement? Can't she be less cryptic? Still, I have to improve—in the upcoming lesson and for my whole future. Mistress has her reasons, and she knows what's best for us—in this household, she's the law. Unable to stop—whatever it was, that was coming—I continued, with increased agitation, in trying to distract myself. Practice, practice, practice! And I continued with my dance lesson at the barre. Ten to twenty minutes into it, it hit me! An ever-increasing pressure was building inside my intestines. But not just in my tummy, my bladder was swelling up as well. I tried to ignore the growing pressure, as much as possible, underneath my rigid corset.

Agitated, I snuck a peek at the clock. Still ten minutes left! I looked back at the door, as I tried to grasp my invisible restraints; a wireless signal was keeping me inside here. The toilet is just outside across the corridor, as another lurch ripped through my abdomen. My fake hands clasped at my front and back—suddenly I was really worried to soil myself right in front of everybody. But I continued my movement practice, carefully, though my head was not in the game anymore. Another cramp hit me, and I started to run in tiny circles, trying to walk it off very casually. But it was no use; I had already received odd looks from the other dancers. Julie seemed distracted by my agitation, while she sat quietly in the corner. My bowels wanted to burst free. She looked at me with pity, as I clasped my asshole silently. It became worse. My bladder was seriously full, and my plastic hands pressed tightly against my smooth groin. Desperately I tried to keep it inside—just for a little while longer. Distract, distract! My bladder was never very strong. Sex always worried me...I had made some 'bed fountains' before... My last Mistress had a lot of fun with my squirting pussy. I inched closer to the gym door. Two more girls gave me odd looks, while I paced in circles. The clock? It still showed five minutes to go. It was too much! I crouched down, skilfully, while balancing on my bare pointe feet. An accomplishment I had no time to appreciate, as my corset fought against my bloated belly. Crouching made it just worse. I quickly lay down sideways. My hands tried to grasp my naked feet, to distract from the throbbing pain in my gut. It became even worse. I needed to get to the toilet, like now! I stood up, wobbly and sweaty. I crept closer to the door. Lurking ever closer, while my neck winced with foreboding; the shocks must be imminent, I reckoned! I crept closer and closer. I had found the invisible fence; light jolts started to warn me threateningly, but the fear couldn't hold me back anymore. It started with pulse after pulse of really bad neck pain! But nothing close to yesterday's shocks. I crept closer. More painful throbs. My neck was paralyzed with pain. By now I would've shrieked in pain, but since the procedure, my throat remained quiet. I fled back to safety. Soon I felt like a charged particle, playing ping-pong between the electric poles. My bowel pressure was through the roof! I tried again to get closer. A shock made me spasm, as I stumbled to the floor. I was in serious distress now. Shocks and cramping bowels tormented me while I lay in agony! I was past the point of caring. I just let go of my cramped muscles...but nothing happened...I pressed...nothing came out! In horror I twisted on the floor; my own body was against me. My stiff fingers were desperately trying to claw the rectal valve out of me, to get it open somehow, screw it loose—it needed to come off! But nothing happened. I remained twitching on the gym floor. Weakly, I tried to creep back to safety. Away from the shocks. In silent horror I stared over at Julie, my ever-faithful servant, and back at the clock again. Drenched in sweat, I saw that I had two more minutes to go. I was in agony! My bladder was more than full. It felt like it would burst anytime, and pop like a balloon! My valve was stuck in me, loyal as ever to my misery. Unwilling to expel even the tiniest droplet of my liquid suffering. My bald scalp felt cold and wet. And I wasn't sure I could stand up—I would burst like a bubble! Pretty bare feet were standing beside me. Julie tried to get me up again. Another visceral pain shot through my belly. "There, there..." she said, "its nearly over, Nina. Just a little longer." She helped me up on my wobbly feet. The jolts in my neck stopped, and suddenly I knew, I was free! I bolted down the corridor and towards the toilets; it didn't look elegant! The invisible swarm of hornets nearly chased me down, as I fled towards the toilets. The familiar alcove, with its retracted tubes, was right in front of me. It was a stand-in toilet, with a tall central block between my legs, high as my upper thighs. I stepped into it, until it held my legs in comfortable cylinders. I felt like a robot, docked inside its maintenance bay. And now what? I couldn't endure the swollen agony even a second longer! I fumbled on the interface, between my legs. I gestured, pushed, raged, hammered. Nothing happened. Hysterically I looked at my useless plumbing. I tried to scream for Julie, but I couldn't even make a hoot. My mouth remained silent, gasping like a fish out of its water, except my tongue and mouth were held in place by solid steel. I remained the obedient little slave that I was, since my procedure. Tiny gasps of air rushed in and out of my nose. My lungs burned from the frantic struggle, as the corset reminded me of my limitations. By now, I would've shit myself in a unpleasant way, if it wasn't for my artificial plumbing! 'How wasn't any of it bursting free yet? How was it possible to keep me so contained, so controlled?' I thought. I had no control over my body. Half-blind from my inner pain and rage—I just froze—like a cog in my machine brain had just broken. Julie's bare feet came chasing down the naked floor. I was helpless. My doll hands were useless by themselves. "Sorry, but...I...," she panted, when she saw my look of complete terror, still standing paralyzed in my alcove, bursting at the seams of my own prison. With a few easy clicks she had connected me with the alcove, and I began to empty orgasmic relief overcame me! I slumped down. It was blissful. Julie just stared at me, pity and guilt still in her eyes. It began to suck on my anal valve. A powerful suction started to pull me deeper onto the central block. It felt like my corset was being deflated! I could feel the vacuum inside me, emptying me violently, as I could only watch the whole automated process, exhausted as I was. But compared to my last thirty minutes, the discomfort was bearable. It took me at least five minutes of just standing there, held up by the alcove, before I could even think about moving again. Julie used, casually beside me, a 'normal' toilet. I felt exhausted to the bones. It took a while, before I felt completely empty, and Julie was able to get me back on my feet. She carefully guided me along, both hands were tightly on my arm, as we slowly walked back to the gym. My lower valve still felt like it was wide open. Yet nothing came out. I must be imagining things... Back at the gym, I could only lay on the gym floor in complete exhaustion, as Julie tended to me. She kept a keen eye on my exhausted slave body, as she gently rehydrated me. I think she looked worried over my poor state. The gym had emptied by now, and our Mistress had just entered. In shock, I noticed it was already 6 o'clock: it was time for our one-on-one! "Are you ready for your evening session, slave?" Mistress asked. "Today we can further improve your effort, your equilibrium, and your poise. I hope you are excited?" Mistress asked. Incapable of answering, and with great effort, all I could do was roll onto my knees and crumble into a worship position. Julie knelt beside me as well, as if feeling responsible; she wasn't required to. "Mistress Octavia," Julie said in the humblest tone, as she began to speak on my behalf. "I fear Slave Nina isn't well." "What's the matter, Slave? Speak up!" Mistress said. "Slave Nina had just finished her scheduled enema," and after a pause added, "today she had her extra character building. . ." "Oh!" Mistress said, in surprise. "I nearly forgot about that one. Was that today, was it. . ." "Well, how did it go, Nina?" Mistress said. Julie remained silent. I could feel Mistress's gaze; her eyes must be starring in the back of my naked skull. Submissively, I raised my nose from the floor and looked at her feet, and presenting my drained face. "You look pitiful!" Mistress said. After a while of pondering, she inched one of her bare feet towards me; a gesture that gave a slave permission to kiss her. I dragged myself forward, until I could clearly smell her skin; I could see her long beautiful toes up-close. She wore two silver toe-rings, slender and elegantly decorated. Her long nails were painted in black, with a flowery pattern; they looked perfectly manicured. Her maids must be of excellent quality. For a split second—I marveled at her gorgeous feet. My nose touched her foot, and I could smell her recent shower—and the unique note of her skin. My tongue kissed her bare toes in humble obedience; but 'kissing' would be an exaggeration. My tongue merely touched her bare feet with a craving for forgiveness, as I groveled submissively in front of my Mistress. I was expected to continue, until she would inch her foot back again. I could taste her foot's own aroma by now. It's what you would expect: a slight sourness of her toe's skin, mixed with the taste of the gym floor. A deep sense of devotion permeated through my body, as I kissed her delicate toes. Glorifying her powerful presence over me made me not just sense the weight of my locked collar, but it made me feel deeply owned, as I embraced the floor in front of her. The terrible enema had drained any remaining resistance out of my thick skull, as she dominated over me. "That's a good girl," she said. She gently raised my chin with her toes, and gazed into my eyes. "Let's half the content of her laxative and diuretic for the next time," she said, clearly addressing Julie. "And let's do my one-on-one on Mon/Wed/Fri, while the character building can be done on Tue/Thu. Understood?" Julie still in humble and bowed silence, quickly sprung up into duty mode, as she typed the changes quickly in the wall terminal. Julie was swift at realizing when she was addressed; Mistresses don't like delays when they hand out orders. My ass was raised high in the air, in humble submission, and my tongue was still begging her delicate feet. I could undeniably feel my huge buttplug again, as it made itself known from my worship position. The sensation of being so bald—so naked—all over my body: from my skull, down to my bald slit. My nakedness had raised my sense of ownership fundamentally. After a whole month, I also knew: my hair wouldn't grow back. I would remain smooth and naked all over my body. It held my naked skin in stark contrast against my pierced flesh, as it gleamed with gold. My implanted jewelry would remain; there was no opening mechanism on any of it. Mistress removed her beautiful foot again from my useless tongue. "Ok, let's call it a night." Mistress said. "Julie, get her back to bed." Gratefully I remained with my head pressed on the floor. I groveled some more in humble submission, praising her forgiving character, until she had long left. By now, I had learned to show my gratitude in silence. I felt exhausted. I wasn't sure if could get back to my room again. Lucky for me, Julie came back with my wheelchair, tenderly put me in, and the straight off to bed. My program started again—and it became quickly cruel. It clearly punished me for today's laziness—I assumed. When my clit received, besides the forceful pleasure, jolts of pain mixed into the involuntary sexual build-up. My face gaped silently in pain and horror, as I lay helplessly restrained in my slave bed. My pleasure program reminded me not to slack off! It hammered me like a sack of meat. My body just lay motionless, and any tension was soon gone. The occasional orgasm made my body shudder uncontrollably, while I witnessed the event in apathy. I felt broken. Disoriented, a weird gurgling in my colon awoke me. Julie was already preparing my daytime corset—and my breakfast bottle. When my liquified waste was forcefully pumped out of me again. Cleaning cycle after cleaning cycle pumped through me, as I still lay tired.

It would've been a good time to moan and complain, and take the day off with sick leave. As a slave though, I'm not asked about my opinion, or my nightly preferences. I wanted to be a slave, so here I was. But reality wasn't kind to me. The controlling environment around me left me no choice, as I hung again from my lacing bar. My morning training went along, and eventually I lay on the gym mat, while taking another well-deserved break. Sweaty and gasping again against my corset's fierce grip—I wasn't escaping any of it! My plastic hands clasped my lower valves in dread, as if trying to make sure that they haven't spontaneously disappeared. I feared already the next 'character improvement' session. I hated the enemas since the very first day I had to wear my horrible rectal valve. It spread my anus permanently open, and I hated everything about it. It remained another uneventful day in my enslavement, except, when it became night. Strapped back into my bed, I always checked my bonds: I ripped violently against them, until I was assured by the sturdiness of my prison—and I relaxed into submission. But instead of a kiss on the cheek, Julie began to crawl over my face like a wannabe Mistress! What was she thinking? If Mistress found— "Guess what, Nina," she said with a keen smile, which told me everything. She dangled the key to my tongue in front of my face. She had given her my keys!? I stared at her slightly spread womanhood, because at the moment, I had a really good view of her aroused pussy. She was shaved and pierced, same as me, except only one clit ring, as it was common for slave girls; the temptation to leash us there was just too tempting. I was angry—at first. Being given away like that, like a worthless toy, lent out to another slave girl. I felt humiliated. I'm sure she didn't have permission to my tongue before—and now—she paraded it in front of my gaping face. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction, but I knew, it was an empty threat. To my slave mind, and from the many years of servitude, the symbolism was clear: whoever had your keys, had permission to use you. She pulled playfully at my golden nipple, and an ache shot through my poor flesh. My overstretched foot tried to twitch in pain inside its bracers. But it remained completely rigid, and I was again reminded of my totally helpless situation. "Mistress mentioned in your schedule," she said, "that your cunnilingus skills were lacking." With one finger, she poked around in my tender mouth. "Isn't it odd to have no teeth?" she said, casually. Of course it's a horribly feeling, but I was unable to do anything against my vulnerability—and also against her teasing. My head was firmly held by heavy straps, and interlocked with my skull-harness. I was helpless. My mouth remained immobile and far open. My throat didn't do as I asked it to, and I remained in my compulsory quiet obedience. I stared silently at her smooth pussy. She was evidently already warmed up for the event, as I saw her milky moisture seep out already, like white honey. She inserted the key in my padlock, and my tongue was free. It hung out of my mouth and ached from the constant stretching. There wasn't much else I could do at the moment, except it felt like rubber. "It's like a dead snake! That's not much use. . ." Julie said, as her fingers flopped it around. "I always have to stare at your long slender legs, and how gracefully you can walk, you know?" she said, as she touched and marveled at my restrained body. Suddenly she jumped up, and came quickly back with a hand mirror. Then she lodged herself back in place: her hungry pussy right back over my gaping mouth hole. She showed me my tongue stretching device: in the mirror's reflection I saw a flat golden metal sheet, very smooth and organically looking, as it reached just below my chin. She placed my rubbery tongue back over its thick piercing rod, and locked it in place. Then the ratchet clicked very noticeable through my jaw bone, as she elongated my tongue back to its original length. There was a rail underneath, that moved out of its sheath, as Julie gave it another turn; I wondered how far this hellish device could come out. With an uneasiness, I thought, 'There wasn't anything in my contract about tongue stretching. . .' "We don't need that now," she said, quickly loosening my dead snake again from its torture rack. She massaged my worn tongue gently. It took a while for her magic fingers to get it back to life. Close as I was between her moist lips, I saw that she did it for all the wrong reasons. She grew so horny, her warm juice already dripped down on my slave collar. As she massaged my snake, it had the odd side-effect of making it wet as well, and so I had the pleasure of tasting my own juiciness. Julie loomed over me, with my head intimately between her muscular thighs. Julie saw my tongue's juiciness too, as she began to suck on her own wet fingers. She clearly enjoyed today's work schedule. "Do you still remember, when one morning, I cackled like mad?" she asked, with a wicked smile on her face. Of course I remembered. So, she knew about it for weeks? I flushed from the whole situation. Telling it to me, with her pussy strapped over my face—the pun was kind of funny though. She nodded to me with big grin, as she saw the realization in my eyes... "Eehheehe, yep!!!" she said, barely able to contain herself. Though my mouth failed horribly at the attempted of smiling, and it remained affixed in its usual big O-shape. "Mistress ordered me to improve your oral game, and I feel very honored to be entrusted with such an important task! Don't you think?" She quickly unlocked my tongue's padlock. Her hands suddenly shook, as she couldn't contain herself any longer. Uncontrollably she humped my face. Her juice had a sweet taste to it, but what really got me excited, was the musky taste of her pussy, and I had lost any remaining reservations—she was intoxicating! My rubber snake came slowly back to life, as I flicked it weakly around. Slowly I managed to lick her bright-red inner lips. Without my own lips to grab her pussy, she was soon sitting with her whole weight on me. Her spread orifice was pressed deep into my mouth. My gaping lips were firmly docked with her wet pussy. Her intense fragrance began to intoxicate me further, as her pussy juice saturated my whole inner mouth. Once or twice I accidentally flicked over her hypersensitive clit—with great regret; my many tongue piercings at the base, were intense, and each time she would immediately jump up in pain. Though, she didn't mean to, she just liked to hold onto my golden nipples whenever she had a chance. Her hands were always clasping for something—either my head or my tits—and my golden boobknobs were too good of a treat to ignore, apparently. Immediately I jumped in my restraints, as she had automatically pulled as well on my golden nipples, causing me to shriek in silence. That feedback-loop quickly told me about her favored preferences. "Shall..we...aaahh..start?" she said, already moaning with pleasure. She pressed a button on my bed's side panel, and immediately it felt like she had stopped time. The familiar large dildo inside me, began to inch with ultra slow-motion in and out of me; the 'tempo' was maddeningly slow. All around my pussylips, a barely noticeable sensation came to life. It tickled and teased gently, but never too close to my hungry clit. It became annoying and distracted me massively from my pussy service. An annoyed Julie pulled painfully on my tender steel nipple. Immediately my tongue jumped back into action to continue licking her aching wet pussy. "Your slave bed is now in tease mode—my poor pussy slave. . ." she said. "Only when I'm completely satisfied with your services will I switch back to your 'normal' night-mode. Soon I became really horny, desperately horny! She didn't lie when she said 'pussy slave'. I tried wholeheartedly to please her desires with my pierced and elongate tongue. I kept up the slight vacuum around her pussy, by gently sucking her pussy meat into my mouth. My gaping hole seemed to fit perfectly over her swollen lips. Once I found out what made her moan, I kept on doing just that. If she desired a touch on her tender clit, she just had to press herself further into my mouth, as my tongue was just waiting behind. Like eating a juice fruit, I pampered her wet pussy with a maddening desire—and my thirst grew! My slave bed was playing with me ingeniously. It's as if it had learned my weak spots over the previous weeks. It never allowed me to get close to my big orgasmic release! By now I would've moaned with Julie in duet, from the devilish sensation. I struggled silently against my bonds. Her wet pussy was firmly stuffed into my gaping mouth—further silencing me with her wet meat. Julie had many orgasms inside my helpless mouth, while my alcove kept me skilfully dissatisfied and in dire need of a big, long overdue orgasmic release. I didn't know how much time had passed, but soon I was begging with desperation—in my mind. At any previous night, I had been so violently pounded and driven from one orgasm into the next. But now my bed had the brazenness to keep me desperately hungry! I had to have a word with it, once this was over. When another interval worked me closer to a gigantic build-up—but then stopped cold—again! I trashed wildly in my restraints. But from outside, very little was noticeable of my madness. Julie let out another orgasmic scream of pleasure. Her body tensed, her pussy clenched, and she began to ride me once again to the next delightful deliverance. My pussy became grumpy. Each time the vibration, and gentle penetration, worked me up to another orgasm, it stopped—and played dead on me. Followed by wild trashing on my part. Then another torturous build-up would follow, teasing and denying me over and over. It seemed to know my sexual responses intimately well. What if it measured my heart rate? My pussy's moisture? My contractions? Or even my whole lower nerve center? I sagged down and gave up. When another tantalizing cycle started to torment my pussy with a powerful tickle. I had to swallow, to get Julie's juice out of my mouth again. She clenched my head, firmly pressing it deep into her quivering loins. She exploded with a sudden wetness in my mouth. Her juice shot deep into the back of my throat. Half-gagging, I quickly had to swallow, until she released her fierce grip on my head again. It took her a while to find her bearings after this one. Mildly ashamed, I noticed the taste: urine. A steaming Julie thanked me with caressing hands, as she saw my tormented face. She peeked at the clock, and quickly reached over to my console. Immediately the dildo rammed deep into me with full force! Instantly I exploded with a shattering orgasm, blinding me with my own pleasure. Julie's hands were embracing my orgasmic face. Her warm knees were still pressed on my wet cheeks, as I shook from the sudden, mind-blowing release, I was finally permitted to have. "Thanks, Nina!" she said, and gave me a wet kiss on the forehead. But my orgasm wasn't over, at least not by my machine standards! I was fucked harder and harder, as it made me brutally aware of my insignificant state. I was far past the tenderness of my orgasm that the program had disregarded on purpose, and continuously pounded me. I shook violently as the program kept ignoring my restrained quivers. The machine had no interest in my needs. Julie wiped my smeared face clean, while my torturous overstimulation continued. What was odd, was the unusual sensation in my mouth; Julie had placed something in it, as it massaged the inside of my mouth. A black tube came from the side of my bed, and she had stuck it inside my helpless mouthhole. A suction immediately grabbed my tongue, sucked it in, and massaged it gently. More straps were tugged in place and soon it was held firmly in place, and pressed unyielding against my mouth; I found no way to expel it. It was pretty comfortable, though. It sucked my tongue further out and inside its tube. Small involuntary contractions began to make my tongue twitch. Soon my whole mouth was filled out with something inflatable, massaging my gums, well, my whole smooth mouth really. Then she left me like that. My dildo made me feel like a fuckdoll, as it kept pounding against my desires—straight up spoiling my orgasms! If my daytime performance wasn't perfect, the program would try to break me into a devotional surrender. It didn't matter what I wanted. It only asked for idle obedience, as its dildo rammed into me. A few times during the night I woke up, with back pain and a tongue ache. I struggled weakly in my bonds, unable to stop any of my new modifications. My body...I...had to get used to the new situation. The cleaning enema awoke me. It was early, too early.

I'm sorry about it all. . . yesterday," Julie stammered, "but Mistress ordered me to train your tongue for a full hour—and my horniness. . ." as she broke off. "I just find your body so hot. Ever since the first time I saw you. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you. . ." My stretched tongue ached. I wasn't sure how I felt about it all. I was tired, fucked, and grumpy. She was always so lively and noisy in the morning, yuck! My tongue was unplugged with a 'flomp', as it slid out of its nightly suction tube. It felt much better now. "Put your tongue out," Julie said, "further. . ." At first I struggled with the idea of having my tongue locked back in place, and painfully stretched. But I was too wasted, and honestly, too fucked by the machine, to give much of a resistance. I put my tongue far out, and slid it back in place over its thick piercing rod. She quickly padlocked it shut, and began to painfully stretch it out again. After my shower, she gave me a real good massage, oiled up and all. It felt blissful, as her warm hands took care of my body—nearly as good as a tender orgasm. Luckily, she understood that I was sexually drained from my nightly program, and so kept away from my sore parts. Once she had me all dressed up again, I was let down on my feet. Smelling freshly showered, and in another clean corset, my tongue remained locked to my chin. My lovely servant had a real crush on me. It could be worse. Or did I feel some sort of affection for her as well? She was cute and all, and her care for me was heart-warming, but she was just my servant; she had to do these things. It was expected of her. I felt conflicted so early in the morning. It was Thursday. Soon it was afternoon, and with cold dread, I awaited already my next enema training, and to 'improve' my character. Thankfully it was much more bearable, with only half the laxative—thank the Goddess! It was mixed into my drinking bottle, when I did my workout. It required a lot more concentration, as it distracted me with a visceral stress. It asked a lot more mental discipline in my practice. But it definitely built something inside me, as I grew with resilience. While servicing Julie's needs three times a week, I felt a hungry craving. The submissive despair the tease program inflicted upon me, drove me nearly insane. My needs became unimportant during that time, as it tried to condition me to give everything, and ask nothing. By now the nightly Cunnilingus training with Julie, and my tongue-trainer, had returned my tongue to its familiar competence. It was back in pristine shape, and ready for use: Reporting for pussy duty, Ma'am! Mistress didn't wait for long: a few times a week, at night, she would come and visit me for her entertainment. I was delighted to please her, and I felt unique that she chose me from all of her slaves. My tongue was by now so long, my Mistress specifically asked me to tongue fuck her—as deep as I could—while she rode me. Each time, to my horror, I was put back in tease mode. I had to endure and pleasure my owner for as long as she desired. I couldn't complain; nor would I have dared to. It just remained a timid voice in the back of my head. Another month of my slave training was soon over, as time quickly moved along. My slave bed had trained me to give an unconditional performance; there was no room left for mediocrity. When it became night, I felt a growing arousal, even before bed time. I felt I was at the mercy of my program...programming. My pointe work in my exotic ballet boots steadily improved under the guiding supervision of my experienced Mistress. She knew it takes anywhere from half a year to a full year, before I would ever be able to free-style, and dance without chains. Even though she was very strict, she showed a lot of patience and endurance for my transformation. She evidently was in for the long run—and so was I! Over the coming weeks, the screws—I felt I was in—were ever tightening on my body. My hourglass waist was still constraining me terribly when I trained in the gym; my tongue was painfully elongated below my chin, and my poor nipples were stretched so far out, there came another cylinder out of the first one. By now, I dearly missed the touch on my real nipples; how it felt before—before there was only submissive pain. Before—when I could still touch my petite breasts with my real fingers. While the weeks went along I could barely endure my rigorous training—and yet I had prevailed—and continuously improved in my ordeal. The training was really tough on my mental endurance, as it pushed me further and further down on a selfless submissive path. Three months nearly had been completed, since my enslavement—things, I thought I would have never survived. But here I am, more refined than ever before, in my life. I felt a weird proudness grow in me over my bizarre achievements. Soon I will have beaten the first stage of my enslavement and become a valuable novice ultra ballerina to my Mistress's household. I had been refined with surgery, slave devices, and hard work. Transformed into a presentable pearl for my Mistress, and soon to be adored and admired by my audiences. When it wasn't required of me to entertain with my ballet artistry, I would be displayed as an exhibition piece for my Mistress's honorable guests. I just didn't know yet...if I could make it past the novice stage. Things will get a lot more demanding I had heard, and I can barely keep up with my strict training schedule as is. Presently, the small dinner gala was upon me, and I felt a building nervousness—as is expected—even though I felt ready and stringently prepared; I underwent a level of refinement only slaves can be trained in—forcefully. My Honorable Mistress wanted to show me off to her acquaintances and friends: her newest novice ultra ballerina—so the pressure was on! I had to present myself from my most wonderful side, or suffer a 'slave's consequence'.

It was late afternoon, and already Julie began to prep me for tonight's gala. We were back in my slave quarters, and my servant girl had me in the shower on my lacing bar. Julie scrubbed me down with something like sandpaper. As if trying to polish my waxen porcelain skin with a pearly luster. No spot was spared. I desperately hoped that all that scrubbing might have removed the horrible tattoo on my skull, but sadly the large mirror in the bathroom told me otherwise. I still had, in clear thick letters, the word "PROPERTY" inked in my bald skull. And for all the guests to see. There wasn't anything I could do to get out of tonight's ordeal—sorry, I meant 'gala'! Mistress's grip of power over me was absolute, and I dreaded the proverbial whip on my slave's butt. Once I hung on my lacing bar, I always relaxed, and Julie could do her thing. I guess it took away the temptation, on my part, to resist the refastening of my ever-tightening corset. Helpless as I hung in the shower, Julie gave my vagina some extra-good care; she could've teased a moan out of me, with her vigorous fingers. Except, I saw the water drip out of my steel nipples; there were tiny holes in them that allowed them to be washed; if hygiene was planned in, how long would they be locked away? Wet and slightly horny, Julie began to dry, remoisten, and oil my soft skin, until I was a glistening jewel of a slave ballerina. After she was finished with my whole body, my bald slave head shone as well. Once we were back outside in my room, she picked a corset Mistress had requested for tonight. It was in rose-white, with bright red roses; the same I wore during my punishment! I swallowed hard. Though I felt more uncomfortable without a corset, and I wanted to be tightly laced back in again; something I thought unimaginable 3 months ago. In no time Julie had efficiently tight-laced me back to my familiar hourglass shape, as I gasped while I hung helplessly on my lacing bar. Then she plugged me on my tubes—as I liked to call it. The enema tube was soon pumping me clean again as my anal valve gurgled. My bladder automatically emptied itself, and in the meantime, I received my liquid food—even before the dinner party. The feeding tube down my throat was an acquired taste, as I hung there, and the tubes forced their content in, or out, of me. In the meantime Julie polished all of my golden slave jewelry. From my chains, to my shackles, to my rings. Everything had to look perfect for tonight. Soon my elaborate make-up was meticulously applied: thick black eye liner and pink rouge greeted me back in the mirror. I stared silently at my distorted face—I looked so absurd! My polished skull-harness gripped my bald skull with its usual permanence, while my mouth gapped in open silence. Then my silly tongue was stretched out as far as my chin; I looked like a dog. My scalp displayed—in the most humiliating way—my status of ownership, inked into my skull, and for the whole world to see! Once Julie was done with me, and what felt like hours, I shone like a chandelier, ready to be put on display. Afterwards she fixed herself up as well, until she looked like an exemplary servant by my side, all sweet and shiny. Then she massaged my well-toned legs and did the warm-up for my pointe feet, until it was time to descend down to the entrance. She only told me what I needed to know for tonight's schedule, and that I was on 'welcoming duty' from 5.30pm - 6.30pm. Julie retrieved my familiar golden chain from her assistant bag. With my ballerina hands fastened behind my back, she clipped the leash on my nipple chain, and we descended down to the entrance hallway. The maids seemed visibly flustered with tonight's extra work, as they rushed past us. Everything looked as pristine as always in my humble opinion, when we arrived at the entrance doors. Julie led me forward, when the ever-watchful head maid gave us stern instructions on where to stand. We had to position ourselves at 'Spot 3', which was at the sides of the long corridor that lead into the grand foyer. On each side three ranks of slaves were positioned as a welcoming committee; Mistresses like to show off some contrast when they display their goods. First, two maids stood dutifully by the door. Then two punished slaves, and then me—and opposite of me—another dancer. She was more of the exotic type, a seductive slave dancer—not quite as good as me, I was sure. One of the punished slave girls, was the same 'iron-mask' girl with the crude stilts. I already 'knew' her from my foyer duty. Dehumanized and silent as always. Though now I could see her full predicament up-close: her green eyes stared blankly out of its prison; her torso was locked in a brutal metal corset—it wasn't laced, but bolted—and it went further down between her legs, forming, what looked like a solid chastity belt. Between her legs, a thick anal pole came out. Its end was chained to a ring in the wall behind her; she wouldn't go anywhere. She must have done something awful—I wondered—if she deserved that kind of fate. Had she been released from her belt since the last time I saw her? Had she been held chaste for so long; her slave-gear looked awfully long-term. The other punished girl was an immobile doll. Her face, and even her limbs, appeared motionless and fake, as her empty eyes looked blankly ahead. She wore, similar to me, an extreme hourglass corset, but hers was beige and shiny, like the rest of her skin. She appeared to be more of a plastic mannequin than a human being. She had a naked servant girl dutifully by her side, same as my Julie, I noticed. With bowed heads, we stood in humble obedience. Julie was standing dutifully at my side, holding my nipple leash. When I realized, I had never been so close to my escape—the door was so near! But I knew what the consequences would be, as I twiddled on my leg tips. There wasn't really a way to escape. That option only remained as a warm fantasy in the back of my mind. Mistress came by and checked if everything was in order, and ready for tonight's neighborly gala. She was dressed even more elegantly than usual. Each one of us received a stern look from Her, as she carefully examined our appearances. The two punished slave girls received extra attention, as she seemed to positively marvel at their hardship. And then the first guests arrived. The maids served them some expensive looking bubbly juice, as they gently guided them alongside us. They wore extraordinary dresses. Clearly cut from another cloth—another breed of people—as they came closer. Every guest came with a small contingent of slaves behind them. They all marveled at one or the other girl in our 'slave committee', as they passed us. Some simply liked to look, while others had the urgent desire to touch us sloppily to their hearts content. Soon one after another mistress arrived, as we stood there, like immobile welcoming statues. It wasn't exactly hard labour, and my slave mind began to wander. Occasionally a guest would stop in front of me, and just touch my tits or pussy rings; I felt like cattle. Some visitors had strange looking slaves by their side. One wicked Mistress had pretty twins, but chained cruelly together. Another came with two exotic looking cat girls by her heel, and to my surprise, the cats looked really happy! Each Mistress had at least one servant accompany them, and from what I could tell, only Mistresses were on the guest list; no surprise there. Each of them had a certain arrogance and attitude about them that screamed 'Mistress' in my slave mind; after a life of slavery, I could tell. To my frustration, the two older Mistresses arrived as well! I tried to make myself as invisible a possible, while I stood there sparkling on my leash. "Just tightly bind their feet to the post and—" the younger said. "No no, you need to stretch out their soles, and soak the cane in vinegar, before your cane their fe—" the older said. "Just stretch their toes in a special steel contraption, and. . ." the younger said. The two hags didn't seem to notice me! They walked by, with their entourage of servants, and soon I couldn't hear them anymore. One of their slaves was clearly limping in pain behind them. Come to think of it, none of their slaves looked really happy. At least 30 guests had arrived so far, and a cheerful murmur emerged from the grand foyer, as we slaves quietly remained here in the hallway. I felt like a sculpture; someone's expensive trophy. Soon I would have my performance, I realized. Even though I was still 'with' my safety chain, there were plenty of things that could go wrong. After a while, our Mistress returned, with her pretty companion slave in hand, and tightly intertwined like a fresh love couple. Her companion, out of the blue, presented Julie with a special toy: an egg-shaped dildo, thick and long, and at its base were four holes. Its dark surface glistened obscurely in her hand. "Insert this egg in her pussy," the companion slave said to Julie, who quickly followed her command. I felt Julies swift fingers spread my pussy lips, when she spit on it really quick, and began to push it inside. It was large. I tried to keep my obedient composure as good as I could. My face flushed with humiliation, as my eyes bored themselves even deeper into the floor. I felt like I had been reduced to a play toy. Julie slowly pushed it inside my vagina, and I felt the familiar fullness—quite satisfying—like three fingers thick, it pressed itself deep inside. It wouldn't remain in place though. Then Julie locked my four thick pussy-rings, from my outer lips, with the dildo's base, and it remained firmly stuck, when she stepped back into position. "This will be your dance egg," Mistress said. "Keep it save and warm, and it will guide you through your performance." In training, my Mistress never used a dildo before, and now I was supposed to perform with one—inside me!? The doors opened again and a maid announced another guest. "The Honorable Lady, the Duchess of Noon!" A marvelous procession entered. A noble woman in a shimmering light-blue dress entered, or should I say, hovered inside. She looked mature, and sat on an ornate throne, while four naked slave girls, decorated with rich slave jewelry, carried the Duchess inside. I had never seen a noble woman from the royal imperial court before—Oh my Goddess! She had an immediate aura of nobility around her. As she came closer, I felt a light contraction in my pussy, as I stood there motionless in the hallway. My eyes were firmly pinned to my Mistress's heels, as she turned around to welcome her. The chains at my back gave a small twitch, as my stiff plastic hands tried to reach towards the egg. But they could only reach my anal valve, and uselessly press against it. My hand prostheses couldn't reach my humming pussy. The egg tenderly vibrated inside me. Once Julie saw my hands restlessness, she gave a small—but very noticeable—tug on my nipple leash, and I quickly stopped my nonsense! The Duchess procession came closer, as my Mistress greeted her on very friendly terms; apparently she was an acquaintance of hers. Soon they came closer, and it looked preposterous what I saw. The Duchess's hands and feet were completely helpless. Her hands were held in gloves of shimmering, pure gold. Rigid metal encased the ends of her extremities. It made her completely dependent on her army of slaves. I had heard stories of the courts nobility, and it seemed to be absolutely true. If she wanted something, she just had to—she didn't even have to raise a finger! It was a true display of nobility and power. For every wish, a slave was by her side—and she could afford plenty of the finest slave stock. I counted at least fifteen pristine-looking slave girls. All of which had thick and expensive-looking gold collars, jewelry, piercings, and royal tattoos. One of those slaves alone was probably worth more than all six of us put together. Royal slaves were pretty much the supermodels of the slave world. Most voluntary slaves dreamed about ending up in the royal court—one day. Her feet were also enshrined: she wore boots of pure gold. High heels with open toes, but without any 'heels' on her heel. I swallowed. Immediately I knew why her toes were visible: so everyone could kiss and worship her magnificence; kissing a closed boot just wasn't the same as touching the naked toes with your lips. Her feet were distinctly presented in front of her, on an imperial red cushion. Her beautifully painted and decorated toes stood out, and gently rested on her golden soles. It publicly displayed her freedom of royal privilege. She would be perfectly cared for, for the rest of her noble life. No wish or desire unanswered; now I understood. I think the royal symbolism came from an ancient tradition. A Princess of Old could barely walk by herself. But it was also unnecessary for her. Instead she could display a whole royal suite, constantly by her side—day and night. Old traditions die hard, I remembered. One poor girl was even her toilet slave! I just spotted the symbol on her slave collar. If that would be my sole purpose, all day, to swallow all of her waste? No, I wouldn't even want to be a royal slave for that sorry life. But the Duchess was more of a queen in my humble slave mind, as she hovered past in her shiny procession, and casually in conversation with my esteemed Mistress. 'Duchess'...I had learned that; where was that on the royal hierarchy? Empress, Archduchess, Grand...Princess? Then Princess, Duchess—ah yes—and then below: Marchioness, Countess, Viscountess, Baroness, and...Dame—I think? I became quite moist from my egg, as it buzzed gently along inside me. My piercings did an excellent job at keeping it firmly lodged in place. Soon the royal show was over, and we remained again alone in the entrance hallway. It took a while, before the head maid showed up, and she instructed us to form a nice slave parade. The guests looked entertained, as we entered the grand foyer. They were gossiping, each with a drink in their hand, as each of us was placed beside 'our' corresponding pedestal, and chained in place. I was locked on my skull-harness, and slightly lifted in the air. Julie fastened my tiny feet in my pointe boots, and then I was lowered down again on my tiny tips. Finally, she freed my plastic hands from its chains. Suddenly the egg in my vagina made me dance. It was an intuitive sensation. The egg could contract my vagina in all four directions—and in a very pleasurable way! I was soon gasping with tiny breaths against my constricted waist. Some guests came by, in casual conversation, and read my nameplate. My slave information was nonchalantly displayed on my pedestal. They openly talked and wondered about my extreme arrangement. When my egg stopped, I stopped. And I remained a frozen doll on my chain. "I heard that Ultra Ballerinas have a really high rate of failure during their training. The wear and tear is just too much. . ." one Mistress said, barely audible from where I stood idly. "Really? There doesn't seem to be much about it. I mean, they just dance on their pointe shoes. . ." another Mistress said. They both stood a few steps away, over at the buffet table, and stared at my helpless body. Openly chatting about me, as if I wasn't really mentally present. Only because I was mute, didn't mean I was deaf as well! My egg made me dance again. This time it gave me intense contractions, as I tried to keep my concentration. I felt like my enema training had helped immensely, as it took off the edge, and made me focus on what was important. Another idle pause, while Julie gave me some water. I mildly gagged again, but I was glad for the refreshment. Soon all the guests moved towards the stage. It was raised a few feet from the ground, with many chairs standing in front. The center seats were prominently reserved for the guests of honor and the host. A classical sextet began to play on its string instruments, and I was lifted off the ground. I floated high in the air, and over to the darkened stage. My shock quickly subsided, as I had to bite into the pain; my whole weight dangled on my skull-harness. The guest attention began to focus on me, as I came floating down from above. Pink light reflected off my ballerina tutu, as I gracefully landed on my ultra-high tips. It's as if I was floating along the stage. My hard-earned poise was perfectly between ease and effort, as I glided along on my long slender legs. I was at my finest point of balance, as I displayed a wonderful show. A magical presence captured the audience, as the string music filled the hall with wonder. I moved rhythmically with the elegant melody as my small bells jingled with my motions. The vaginal egg, deep inside me, pulsed in harmony with the rhythm of the music, growing stronger, guiding me, as I had to follow the intimate notions. Ten minutes into the play, and I was in real trouble: a powerful orgasm was building up between my loins. I couldn't explode on stage; not with everybody looking! I lost my gracefulness a few times, as I concentrated on my tension instead of the musical flow. A painful shock in my whole pussy stopped me from coming too close to my orgasmic release, as my legs twitched. I knew this controlling presence—it was the same I had to endure every night in my slave bed! I concentrated hard on my movements, as my tiny feet danced nimbly over the stage floor on their thin stilettos. My nipple chains kept me deliberately agitated and aroused, as they swayed with my movement. Another double pirouette, and I was gasping for even more air; my slender waist must look surreal to the audience, as I was trapped inside this constricting shell. I entered the final stage of my solo dance—my sexual arousal began to spill over into my performance. My leg muscles ached already from the constant tension to balance, as I made a difficult vertical split, and my leg rose charmingly towards my nose. Since I wasn't allowed to wear any underwear, I presented everyone with my naked pussy. Stuffed as I was, my anal valve must be clearly visible to everyone by now, and a shameless wetness dripped down my thighs. My final jump—straight up—and I landed in a devoted curtsy, as the spotlight shone brightly on my pink tutu. The audience clapped in amazement, as I stood up again, bowing, and gasping for air. When my heinous egg pushed me over the edge. My whole body began to quiver in shameful pleasure—right in front of everybody! My mouth remained casually in its gaping position, as my abdomen shook absurdly. My chain held me upright, and my throat remained obediently silent. It kept my moans of pleasure stuck in my throat—lucky me—or I would've screamed involuntarily. My hand prosthesis clasped my throbbing pussy, as a gush of warm liquid shot out of my bladder. Violently, it spilled all over my pointe boots and gushed on the stage floor. I couldn't stop it! My hands tried to avoid the disaster in my groin, but my pussy was out of control, and I shamefully shook in my chain. The heinous egg, locked inside me, just kept on violently buzzing and contracting my helpless pussy. A few Mistresses shouted 'bravos', as my body quivered in the bright spotlight. I could've melted with humiliation, as everybody clapped and laughed at my performance. My thighs were all soiled and wet. My bladder valve had betrayed me for the first time. I would've wanted to run away, but I knew it was no use. Not with the boots locked on my feet and the taut head chain. So I kept on standing on stage in front of everybody! A few hungry slave girls had to be held back on their leashes, as they looked thirstily at my mess. It was the longest minute in my life. I simply had to wait there, until the audience had finished its humiliating applause. The crazed slave girls were let loose. They dove at my wet boots, as they eagerly licked up my sexual disaster. All the Mistresses looked positively entertained. And so was my Mistress and the Duchess, sitting amused in the front row. The thirsty slave tongues were vacuuming the messy floor, feverishly cleaning up my wet mishap. Their wet tongues began to crawl up my soiled legs. Instinctively I tried to protect my buzzing pussy from their fierce tongues, as I tried to keep them away with my silly plastic hands. Their licking and sucking tongues were tingling my skin, as they crept closer to my vulnerable slit. They weren't just enthusiastic, they looked seriously mad with lust. They must have been deeply conditioned—when I saw the whip marks on their backs—old and new ones, decorating their backs. They looked desperate to please, as their hungry tongues came closer to my moist pussy! My vaginal egg was still happily buzzing along with unstoppable ferocity, forcibly and against my will. Contracting my dripping hole relentlessly! The broken slave girls held my hands away with ease, as their mad tongues plunged into my vulva. Warm mouths were soon licking all over my pussy. My thick anal valve wasn't spared, as hungry tongues explored my sweaty ass-crack with an unwavering devotion. By now, some Mistresses had their servants ordered between their legs, as they watched my spectacle with great pleasure. Soon my whole groin was wet with hungry tongues. Their slave spit was smeared all over my legs and groin, as they looked eagerly for more. A hungry mouth was latched onto my stuffed pussy, trying to entice more juice out of my wet hole. Her tongue stimulated my clit, as it was playing cruelly with my ring. Soon, I couldn't contain myself any longer. Against all odds, I exploded again! I shook with another wild orgasm as wet tongues were sliding all over my drenched thighs. My legs and groin were drenched in slave drool, as more liquid ran down my trembling legs. They all sucked and licked it all up with a maddening appetite. Back at my asshole, I felt more slave tongues trying to sneak past my rectal valve, and into my anus, as they massaged my overstretched hole with a blind passion. My hands were helpless against the many slaves—broken or demented as they were—and I winced in humiliation as they coated me with their slobber, polishing my skin and boots sparkling clean again. When a few loud claps echoed, and they looked up with immanent fear in their eyes. Suddenly they all run hastily back on all fours to their Mistresses. I was drenched in sweat and spit, as I hung there. My legs were still weak and shivering from a few final contractions. I was lifted back through the air. My pink tutu gleamed, and the drool all over my legs began to quickly dry, as I felt a draft of cool air flow over my smooth legs. Julie was already waiting at my pedestal, and positively gleaming with pride. "That was a great performance, Nina!" she said. I was still very confused from everything that just happened, and also very high on endorphins. Julie clicked the overhead-chains to my wrists, and I was soon helplessly floating on my toes again. My arms were held high in the air by the chains. When I saw my Mistress. She came up close and grabbed my pussy fiercely, pushing my egg deep inside me. My moan remained stuck in my throat, as I looked at her with silent dread! "That was a lovely performance, slave," she said. "It's a bit of a tradition in my household, to finish an act with a good splash. I didn't want to spoil the fun for you." I knew there was something fishy with my bladder valve. The humiliation—in front of everybody—it had been cruel! "You've earned your novice title as my Ultra Ballerina," Mistress said. Any remaining confusion and shame melted suddenly away, as I heard her say those words. I had trained terribly hard, and with great sacrifices, to take this next pointe step in my life. Relieved, I simply hung from my chains in exhaustion. Random guests came by and inspected my body up-close, as my open mouth gaped at them in obedient silence. My head was effectively held high, showing everybody my humiliating state, as my tongue still drooled from its lingering horniness. The slave tattoo, on top of my bald skull, was clearly visible to everyone—but I felt horribly relieved as I hung there on my chains, and throughout the evening, until the gala was over. A feeling of confidence permeated throughout my tired slave body, as I had survived the first stage of my sizzling crucible.

(Image placeholder—BEFORE/AFTER—available in PDF version)
And as it goes with a slave's journey, it's just another chapter in a long series of events.

Slave Nina: Fetish Ballerina
by KinkDept (2019)
Hopefully I could satisfy some desires and reveal a few new ones. When I wrote this kinky story I felt an unusual, but immense freedom, and a sense of relaxation. Lets just throw everything overboard and go with whatever comes to mind, right? At first, I just created the artwork, and afterwards came the rough idea for the story—and it grew and grew... A mild and sunny spring was outside, and the whole ballet research, with its classical setting, made me dive into the european 18th and 19th century. Hearing the peacocks mating call, as I live near a castle (Greetings from the Old World), and listening to a whole lot of classical music (which I usually don't) allowed me to immerse myself in another era. It gave me the right naughty atmosphere for Planet XX's society of castes, nobles, and devoted slaves. My first ever written story—yay—and english isn't even my first language—high-five to myself! The titles are spoiler-free riddles. You'll understand them, once you've read the chapter. CLASSICAL PLAYLIST The stuff I listened to while I wrote it. Pretty happy stuff: Beethoven op.73 Piano Sonata No.5 Beethoven op.113 The Ruins of Athens Beethoven op.56 Tripelkonzert Beethoven op.80 Choral Fantasy Beethoven op.97 Archduke Johann Strauss - Vienna Blood Johann Strauss - Emperor Waltz Johann Strauss - The Blue Danube Johann Strauss - Tritsch-Tratsch Polka


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