Bernadette's Initiation free porn video

Bernadette's Initiation



A shy, innocent t-girl dreams of domination by a man. She is persuaded into a day's adventure in this role and gets very much more than she bargained for, but gradually comes to understand her own desires. Contains scenes of bondage, non-consensual hardcore gay sex and breath control: if this will upset you, please look elsewhere.




I must have hesitated for a moment for a sharp jolt of electricity on my
nipples left me in no doubt that my immediate compliance was required.
So, heart in mouth, I obeyed the male voice in my earpiece and started to
walk slowly the entire length of the crowded station platform. It was
packed with others waiting for the train, mainly couples out shopping and
youngsters heading for a day in town, and I had to thread my way through
them while doing my best not to attract attention. With my shoulder
length curly blonde wig, flimsy floral summer minidress and white heels
this wasn't easy: the way I'd been made to dress and apply my makeup was
designed to attract attention and you didn't have to get too close to see
me for what I was. A man in a dress. One who'd taken trouble to look as
feminine as possible, and then ruined the effect by wearing entirely the
wrong clothes and accessories. Most people seemed not to notice me but as
I passed a group of teenage girls I heard whispering followed by loud
jeers and catcalls. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I found a
seat near the far end of the platform. Mercifully the voice in my
earpiece, which had issued regular instructions since I left my house,
fell silent.

At that moment it dawned on me that, far from being given the chance to
experience my own fantasy, I was playing the lead role in someone else's.
That of a man - or men - I hadn't even met. Alarmingly they had gone to
extraordinary lengths to set this up. So what did they expect in return?
One drunken evening with Mary I'd confessed that I dreamed of being
forced to comply with a man's wishes, being dressed as a girl and simply
having to do what I was told. She'd agreed to arrange it for me, telling
me she'd done it and loved the experience. First I'd be taught how to
dress and act like a woman. Then I'd have a day to remember, entirely
under a man's control. I'd emerge a changed girl. Beyond that, she gave
nothing away. My fantasies had been the t-girl classics of dressing and
acting the part of a French maid for a fundamentally nice guy who'd
pretend to be dominant and "make" me clean his house. I'd never really
explored what might happen next. My sexuality was somewhat moot: perhaps
owing to an education in a strict religious boarding school sex seemed
complex and hedged about with guilt. I'd always been more attracted to
men than to women but lacked the confidence or decisiveness to do more
than entertain vague romantic fantasies. My one joy and certainty was my
secret life as a girl, a shy creature called Bernadette.

My adventure started in the nicest possible way, with over a week living
as a girl under the regular tutelage of a friendly but domineering middle
aged woman called Janet. To this day I believe she didn't appreciate just
how extreme an experience lay in store for me; I certainly had no clue
until the very last. Though, with hindsight, her first visit offered a
hint when she promptly told me to strip off and locked me into a chastity
belt telling me I was to stay in chastity until the end of my adventure.
She pierced my ears fitting little gold studs. Then began the first of a
series of daily lessons. I learnt how to choose clothes and accessories
to pass as a woman. I learnt to walk in heels, and to move, sit and talk
like a girl. I had acting lessons playing roles like waitress, servant
and showgirl before an imagined audience. I learnt to do makeup in styles
ranging from subtle to street-hooker. I learnt to do my nails, pluck my
eyebrows and how to keep my body free of all trace of hair: my skin was
soon as smooth as a baby's. I loved the gradual transformation of my
appearance and manner and by the end of my lessons I felt confident
enough to go shopping as Bernadette, buying some lovely new outfits. On
Friday's final lesson she left strict instructions that I was to look my
very best when she returned next morning.

Waiting for her arrival I wondered, with growing anxiety, what the day
held in store for me. It was just as well I was clueless. I'd have run a
mile. By the time she turned up I was in such a state of arousal that all
thought of flight had passed. In any event, I reflected, if I didn't go
through with it how ever would I get out of this locked steel
contraption? She glued little pads to my nipples with what appeared to be
fine wires leading out. Over them fitted a pair of remarkably convincing
bust forms, also glued in place. She dressed me in a white bra and
panties, knee length pale blue cotton summer frock and a dark brown wig
in a "bob" style. She gave me a handbag containing no money, credit cards
or ID of any kind: only toiletries, a cinema ticket and a single train
ticket to an unfamiliar town some distance away. Not even my house key.
Then she led me out of the house - my house - locking the door behind us
telling me to walk to a nearby address.

With my new found confidence the walk to the house should have been easy
but the prospect of a day of utter powerlessness was turning my state of
mind from anticipation to a fear threatening to spiral out of control. I
brooded about my lack of phone, money or ID and especially about the
purpose of those pads on my nipples. So, by the time I arrived, my nerves
were jangling. The door was ajar. Timidly I knocked - a voice told me to
enter. I was greeted by two large, tough looking men who seemed amused by
me and by my situation. I quickly grasped that they were merely paid
hands, and that my task was simply to do as I was told.

By the time they sent me on my way to the station I was a quivering
wreck. I'd been stripped, fitted with a metal buttplug locked to my
chastity belt and dressed in a tight basque corset and sheer black
stockings. My wig had been discarded for the shoulder length curly blonde
one I was wearing now. I wore abundant cheap jewellery: big hoop
earrings, rings on my fingers and metal bangles which jangled whenever I
moved. And I was fitted with an earpiece and an array of electrical
devices including wires to the electrodes on my nipples, wires leading to
my cock and buttplug all powered (I assumed) from a slender unit attached
to the rear of my chastity belt. A shiny black patent choker round my
neck, adorned with a brooch at the front, was also wired up. At the time
its purpose eluded me. Finally they produced a pink floral dress which
they buttoned up from behind. It was sleeveless and tight fitting around
my slender corseted waist with a neckline revealing a little of my newly
acquired cleavage. Its flared skirt soared high above the knee. My image
in the mirror at once excited and alarmed me: the dress was too short to
wear with stockings and it would be all I could do to avoid showing my
stocking tops. The sheer dark stockings and shiny black choker looked
incongruous with the flimsy floral dress. My black shoes had heels too
high for easy walking and my musky perfume was too strong. The makeup I'd
been ordered to apply made me look a tart with rouged cheeks, heavy
eyeliner and deep red glossy lipstick. I figured that the whole aim was
to unsettle me. At that, they'd succeeded in spades: I was terrified.
"You get your orders through that earpiece. You'll find out what will
happen if you disobey." one of the guys explained, propelling me out of
the door.

My guess on this subject was to prove correct. As I headed towards the
station my earpiece burst into life with a stern male voice.
"I'm Mike, your controller. You're a little sissy slut called Amanda.
You'll do exactly what you're told immediately and without question.
There are other players in this game, but to add spice you won't know who
they are. You'll obey the players at all times and speak only when spoken
to. If a player asks you 'Do you like sucking cock?' you say 'Yes sir'.
Always 'sir'. And always 'yes' whatever they require. Any hesitation
following orders will be punished like this." A sharp jolt of electricity
hit my nipples. "And disobedience will get this." I squealed with pain as
my anus and penis received a bigger jolt. "And just to make clear, this
thing goes up to number ten. I've only given you number three."

Walking towards the station - far too close to my home dressed like this
- I felt utterly vulnerable. The insistent pressure of the butt plug, the
unfamiliar tightness of the corset crushing my waist, the height of my
heels and the flimsiness of my dress - not to mention the shocks -
constantly reminded me of my status as someone completely under another's
control. A feeling both frightening and arousing. As for the thought of
'sucking cock' I was aghast.

Waiting on my seat at the platform end I realised Mary had been the one
who led the conversation to ideas of domination and control. She'd set
this up from the start, for reasons of her own. I'd been mad to trust
her, after all I hadn't known her long. Had she really undergone it
herself or had these people simply paid her to supply a docile subject?
My worries were interrupted by another order.

"Stand up and turn to the other end of the platform. There's a man down
there who's hardly stopped staring at you since you passed him before.
He's middle aged, wearing a suit and carrying a raincoat. Walk slowly by,
passing in front of him as close as possible."

Heart in mouth I wended my way through the crowd, heels clicking loudly
on concrete, hem of dress flicking my thighs revealing - I feared - too
much. I felt as if everyone was staring at me, but in reality most were
wrapped up in their own affairs. But there was no denying that the guy in
the suit did keep furtively looking at me. I was shaking like a leaf yet
trying to appear unfazed. I quickened my pace.

"Too fast!" Mike ordered accompanied by an ominous tingle on my tits. It
struck me that Mike, wherever he was, could see what I could see, and
began to speculate about the choker, its wiring and its brooch.

"Walk very slowly and smile at him as you pass by."

I complied. The man stepped back to let me pass but I felt the intensity
of his gaze as I passed within inches of his face. Then he began to
follow me. Just as I was wondering where this would lead the train
arrived. I found a seat and was engaged in trying to arrange my dress so
my stocking tops weren't showing when he sat down opposite me.

"He so fancies you. Smile and wink at him."

This was too much. Surely Mike couldn't see what I was doing here on the
train. But a sudden jolt of pain in my arse told me otherwise. Was Mike
on the train too, watching the scene on his smartphone? I smiled and
winked. He averted his gaze.

"He's shy. You'll have to encourage him."

As the train gathered pace he arranged his raincoat over his knees and
slid his right hand under it. It didn't take a genius to guess what he
was doing as he kept taking surreptitious glances in my direction. The
thought that just looking at me was turning him on was intensely arousing
and spontaneously I smiled at him again. But it wasn't to end there. As
the train slowed for a station the woman on my right got up to leave.

"Smile at him, pat the seat, then slowly stroke your leg!"

To my alarm he responded, sitting next to me, rearranging his coat and
his right hand. Other people settled in seats opposite and the train
began to move off.

"He's enjoying this. Take his left hand and put it on your right knee."

Trembling I did as I was told. He started gently fondling my leg, as the
people opposite pretended not to watch.

"Snuggle up close to him. Slip your hand under his raincoat. Give him a
good time."

Gingerly I put my hand on his leg, under his raincoat. He took it, gave
it a little squeeze, and guided it into his open fly. I'd never felt
another man's cock before but it was rock hard so I clasped it and
started to wank him off while keeping my movements subtle in the hope
that the other passengers wouldn't notice. Doing this in public to a
complete stranger made me feel like the tarty girl I seemed to be
becoming. Ignoring the glances from the other passengers he continued to
fondle my leg, squeezing it as his excitement grew. Suddenly I felt him
cum, his cock pulsing in my hand. Moments later he walked away with a
brief backward leer treating me like the cheap slut I was. The train
slowed for my destination.

"You might like to know. He wasn't a player. Just a passer-by."



Outside on the street I took orders to walk to a nearby cinema and sit in
the back row of the stalls. The lights were up. The film was to be a
comedy, but evidently not a popular one so early in the afternoon as the
auditorium was almost empty. Obediently I sat in the back row, choosing
the seat next to the aisle. As I smoothed my dress a lone man in the
middle of the row glanced briefly across before looking back to the
screen.

"Get up and sit next to that guy!" Mike commanded.

This was too much. The man was large and heavily built, probably in his
late thirties, a tough looking customer in hooded top and jeans. I wasn't
at all sure he'd welcome a tranny sitting next to him. But my hesitation
earned me another warning shock big enough to make me wince. I stood up,
shuffled along the row, and sat down next to him. To my relief he moved
slightly to the far side of his seat. He just wanted to watch the movie.
I was in the clear this time. The lights went down.

I was just starting to get complacent, even ignoring the pressure of the
butt plug and beginning to enjoy the film, when the order came.

"Put your hand on his knee." This was going too far, I thought. It could
earn me a beating. I started to entertain thoughts of making a run for it
when another shock came. The guy surely must have noticed me flinch.
Screwing my eyes shut I put my hand on his knee, as gently as possible.
Still he ignored me.

"Slowly move your hand up his leg, turn to face him and smile." As I
complied my trembling was surely apparent.

"Come with me!" the man commanded, in an unpleasant voice. Grabbing my
hand he pulled me out of the cinema and into the street, thronged with
Saturday shoppers. Despite my heels he towered over me: I'm of slender
build and five foot seven. He was well over six foot and built like a
rugby forward. The grip on my hand was strong: not the gesture of
affection it appeared to onlookers but one of control by force. He led me
off the busy street and down a narrow deserted alley. Disused and
derelict mill buildings loomed above us and I was certain I was in for a
beating. Mike had been silent since this man took control and I wondered
if somehow he'd lost contact - the thought that nobody could see what was
happening to me scared me all the more. The alley emerged onto a canal
towpath. It struck me as remarkable how in many northern towns so short a
distance separated busy streets from deserted, eerie places like this
with dark stagnant water hemmed between towering Victorian factories, all
broken windows and graffiti. There was one solitary moored boat, a
narrowboat looking in urgent need of care and attention. Unlocking it led
led me aboard, sitting me on the vessel's narrow double bed.



Aside from his original terse order he hadn't said a word, or given the
slightest hint of what was in store for me. Following orders I stayed
mute, with head bowed while he took off his jacket revealing a tight
white teeshirt. To my astonishment he sat next to me, pulled me roughly
to him and kissed me hard forcing his tongue into my mouth. I'd never
kissed a guy before but the sense of his strong arms around me, his
stubble on my face and his tongue probing mine was intense: I felt like
the meek submissive girl I'd become. Surely this guy was a player and the
display of disinterest in the cinema was just a mind fuck. I guessed I
wasn't going to get a beating but I still feared what might be in store.
His hands were over me like a rash, one feeling my stocking tops and
chastity belt, the other fondling my body through the thin fabric of my
dress.

"You are a kinky wee girlie, aren't you?" he declared, "Bondage collar,
corset, chastity belt. What shall we do with you, I wonder? Do you like
bondage?"

"Yes, sir." I meekly replied, remembering Mike's orders, although the
thought of being even more helpless scared me silly. He led me into a
small cabin accessed through a sliding door. The walls were adorned with
various scary looking devices and the back of the sliding door comprised
a full length mirror. I noticed that the walls and thickly carpeted floor
boasted an assortment of steel hooks and rings.

"Kneel there facing the mirror. Spread your knees wide apart."

I watched as with skilful dexterity he tied my knees and ankles to the
steel rings, then bound each wrist tightly to rings set wide apart on the
ceiling: the ropes were so tight I could barely move my arms. He fitted a
metal collar around my neck and chained it to four hooks in the walls: my
neck was fixed in place so rigidly I could barely move my head. At most I
could turn my head and wriggle my body pointlessly. Then he made me open
my mouth and gagged me with a ring gag. The intensely arousing image
before me revealed a helplessly spread-eagled sissy girl with mouth open,
legs apart and fear in her eyes. Finally he removed my earpiece, fitting
earplugs and blindfolding me with a silk scarf. At this my panic level
went through the roof: if Mike gave me orders I'd be unable to hear them,
let alone carry them out. Not that there was much I could actually do in
this position. Was I about to experience extreme punishment? The feeling
of sensory deprivation was new and strange serving to heighten my sense
of helplessness.

He must have knelt down before me because he started kissing me again
through the ring gag. I couldn't help but feel thrilled by my
helplessness and reciprocated, loving the feeling of his tongue probing
my mouth. The boat seemed to rock and I heard the muffled sound of
footsteps: at least one person had boarded. As he withdrew I heard a
murmur of voices but I couldn't make out the words. Someone lifted my
skirt and started feeling my thighs and chastity belt. Once again a
tongue probed my mouth but his aftershave told me this was someone else.
Now I really was a tart I thought as I settled into enjoying the kiss.
But once again things were set to move up a notch: the kiss came to an
end and I guessed the first man was back. My nostrils were assailed with
the unmistakeable aroma of a cock. Then it was in my mouth, thrusting
towards my throat and making me gag. As he withdrew slightly I started to
lick it, teasing the tip with my tongue. If someone had told me a week
ago that I'd be sucking a stranger's cock and enjoying it I'd have
considered them mad but on this strange day new rules applied. I closed
my lips round its shaft and licked, sucked and teased for all I was
worth. At last he thrust hard against the back of my throat and came in a
seemingly endless series of hard thrusts. Feeling the sticky cum sliding
down my throat I now knew exactly what I'd become. And loved it.

For a while it seemed that I was left alone, but then the guy removed my
blindfold followed by the earplugs, chains and neck collar. My arms and
legs remained tightly bound, the whore in the mirror looking rather more
dishevelled than before but no less vulnerable. Somewhere on the boat an
electric generator hummed. Momentarily the mirror slid to one side and a
man in his mid thirties entered, one altogether less frightening than the
first. Of slender build, clean shaven and with long hair his face had a
kindly aspect. His aftershave was familiar: he was the other guy who'd
kissed me, a thought I found appealing. But the bulge in his chinos left
me in no doubt that he was turned on by the sight of the bound sissy
before him.

"So what's next for the lovely Amanda, Jake?" He asked the bondage
master.

"We're making a bagging vid for Mike. Get your camera, Steve." Steve left
for a moment returning with a professional looking movie camera. Flicking
a switch I was bathed in glaring light from lamps mounted around the
room. Jake produced a clear plastic bag from his pocket and began to
unfold it. My mind turned cartwheels: was I to star in my own snuff
video? Forcing myself to think clearly I recalled my swimming tuition and
started to take deep breaths to oxygenate my blood - all the time
terrified and shaking like a leaf.

"Come on, Jake, she's scared stupid. Can't we just let her go?" Steve
begged.

"Mike wouldn't like that one bit. Anyway Amanda likes being bagged, don't
you, darling?" he said, with a sneer.

Unable to reply I meekly nodded, thinking there was nothing I'd like
less. At that Steve shook his head sorrowfully but turned on his camera.
Jake pulled the bag over my head. As he started tying it off I took one
last huge gulp of air. The rope round my neck was tight and when I
exhaled the bag inflated hard, making my ears pop. The image in the
mirror, vivid through the clear plastic, was of a girl about to meet her
end. Once again I forced myself to think clearly. Perhaps if they got the
movie Mike wanted, they'd release me unharmed. I guessed they'd want to
see struggle and panic: I'd do my best to simulate both, all the time
staving off the latter. So I struggled against my bonds like a girl
possessed, moaning through my gag and breathing fast and hard. I can't
answer for Mike, but I found the image in the mirror an incredible turn
on as the bag inflated and deflated and I twisted and wriggled against my
bonds. But soon the image became indistinct as the bag started to steam
up and the air became stale and barely breathable. I fought a rising tide
of panic, knowing my life depended entirely on these two men. Gasping
lungfuls of useless air I shook my head and moaned loudly through my bag.
I started to swoon.

Suddenly Steve ripped open the bag.

"She's had enough, Jake. We've got Mike's vid. Time to let her go."

Jake nodded, leaving the room while Steve removed the bag and gag, fitted
my (mercifully quiet) earpiece and set to work releasing my bonds while I
gasped lungfuls of lovely fresh air. My face in the mirror was a mess,
lipstick smeared and makeup wrecked by sweat and condensation. As I stood
up every part of my body ached from my prolonged spell in bondage. Steve
led me to the bathroom bidding me take as long as needed to clean up and
fix my face, making it clear Mike would expect my makeup to look the same
as before. I puzzled over everyone's apparent fear of Mike, and wondered
at the source of his power. Leading me off the boat and back towards the
town centre Steve explained that my experience was far from over and that
this was merely a short break before Mike resumed control. But Steve let
me talk to him - the first conversation I'd had all day - and I felt
myself starting to like and trust him and guessing that maybe he liked me
too. Gently holding my hand he led me to a café with outdoor tables and
invited me to order a meal. We chatted until the food arrived, which he
paid for before explaining that Mike's orders meant he had to go. As he
left he gave me a few pounds, telling me I'd need it shortly. I ate
slowly, watching the crowds passing by. Once again most ignored me aside
from the occasional glance or male leer. A group of passing youngsters
gave me the only trouble which mercifully went no further than sarcastic
comments. Comments which served to remind me - as if I could forget -
about the state of my appearance and my utter lack of free will. I
started as the earpiece burst into life.

"Your lovely video has gone online. You did well, but things are about to
hot up. Go to the pub across the road, sit on a stool at the bar and buy
a drink."



Despite its high street location the pub was a down-market place with
beer stained carpet and was in dire need of redecoration. The few
customers were mainly men having a drink on their way home from a
Saturday shift. On building sites from the look of some of them: none
looked especially LGBT friendly. Affecting a confidence I certainly
didn't feel I walked to the bar, sat on a stool and ordered a drink. The
hard stool increased the pressure from my butt plug compounding my sense
of feminine vulnerability.

"A man will appear. He's very dominant. Keep your head bowed, look meek
and submissive at all times way and obey him absolutely."

I felt impossibly exposed on the high stool in full view of the punters
and kept tugging the hem of my dress to keep my stocking tops from view.
I could see the builders at one table glancing in my direction and
sharing murmured comments and sniggers. I started to feel very uneasy
indeed when a lone man at another table got up and walked directly
towards me. In a dark suit and tie he was tall, clean shaven and muscular
with close cropped hair looking rather like a doorman at some dodgy club.
Which turned out to be exactly what he was. I guessed his age to be in
his late twenties. Ordering me to go with him, he set off towards the
door. With head bowed I accompanied him.

"That was an easy pick up. I Hope you don't get any surprises, mate."
jeered one of the builders, but a glare from my companion silenced him.
Outside the crowds were thinning as afternoon gave way to evening. He
walked briskly and I did my best to keep up at his side, keeping my head
bowed. Soon we reached a doorway to a gay club with a burly doorman
attending. As we approached the bouncer lifted my chin and gave me a
thorough appraisal.

"Mike's sent a nice one this time and no mistake. She'll be popular." My
companion merely nodded as he led the way down the stairs into the
basement club. It evidently wasn't yet open: the tables were unoccupied,
the dance floor was empty, the stage deserted. The place was large and, I
thought, distinctly down market. The walls bore photos of men, some clad
in leather or PVC, some nude with oiled musculature. Other pictures,
disturbingly, revealed pretty t-girls some bound and being abused by
dominant men. He led me to a side room and told me the girls would
prepare me.



Within were half a dozen t-girls - one of whom was Mary - in various
stages of dressing in waitress uniforms. These comprised tight fitting,
long sleeved, very short black satin dresses worn over petticoats making
their hems stand out wide. Necklines were low and the girls showed ample
cleavages. The dresses were adorned with little satin aprons and they
wore little lace caps in their hair. Lipstick was glossy, makeup
signalled ready availability and the aroma of cheap scent filled the air.
Introducing herself as Annette one of the girls started to help me
change.

"Hey, Mike's got you all wired up. You're a first timer aren't you,
dear," she said. I nodded mutely.

"I'm told you get to wear the flower tonight. Aren't you the lucky
girlie!" She declared with a knowing chuckle. My pleas to elucidate were
met with a finger across sealed lips. A little plastic daffodil was
pinned to my chest and she took me to the mirror. The image of a pretty
but tarty waitress gazed back at me. The satin dress clung to my breasts
and tightly corseted waist, my curly blonde wig cascaded to the shoulder.
I could smell the strong musky perfume Annette had applied; my cheap
jewellery only added to my appearance as a sexy, sluttish waitress. My
shiny black shoes had higher heels than any I'd worn before. The meaning
of the innocent looking little flower continued to trouble me but my
thoughts were interrupted when a man put his head round the door.

"Time to earn your keep, girls. As for you, Amanda, obey orders from the
staff. Don't go off with the punters or let them get away with too much.
And enjoy what's in store for you. Little flower."

His stagy clothing revealed him as the club compîre but his voice was
that of Mike, apparent club owner and controller of the inhabitants of
the strange rabbit-hole down which I'd fallen. I followed Annette and the
others into the club fast filling with punters. The place evidently
catered for B&D freaks. Many wore leather. A few had subs on dog collar
and lead - one even dressed as a leather dog - and in a corner I spotted
a little cluster of t-girls sipping cocktails and looking adrift in the
testosterone fuelled aura pervading the place. An aura at once
threatening and off-putting. Annette quickly explained what was expected
of me and I set to work taking orders and waiting on tables as Janet had
instructed.

The punters evidently hadn't majored in etiquette: they thought nothing
of fondling my body or lifting my skirt and examining my knickers and
chastity belt. Being casually groped and subjected to lewd comments by
these unpleasant looking leather clad men wasn't my idea of fun yet it
accentuated my thrilling sense of girlish vulnerability. The air throbbed
to the sound of house music. On the dance floor men kissed and brazenly
felt each other up. From time to time Mike made announcements,
occasionally referring to the pending slave auction and "try before you
buy" session; announcements greeted with cheers from the audience. As the
evening progressed - and my feet tired from the extended period in these
heels - I began to notice that I was coming in for far more unwelcome
attention than the other waitresses. Some lewd comments bore elliptical
references to my yellow daffodil. Naively I guessed it merely signified
my status as a new girl. How wrong I was.



Late in the evening the doorman led me through a side door into a bondage
chamber equipped with a low table and various hooks and rings in the
walls, ceiling and floor. Unceremoniously he pulled down my panties and
made me kneel with body across the table, legs spread apart and arms
pressed to the table legs. Soon I was expertly bound: arms to table legs,
knees and ankles to floor rings. Strategically placed mirrors echoed the
images on the club walls: a helpless sissygirl ripe for abuse. Producing
a key from his pocket he lifted my skirt, undid the padlock and removed
my butt plug. The feeling as it was withdrawn was of delicious relief.

"The try before you buy is now open. Usual rules. Serious bidders only,"
Mike announced to his audience. Belated realisation dawned. The slave to
be auctioned was me, doubtless signified by the daffodil, and I was about
to lose my cherry to one or more of these leather clad punters; a
terrifying thought. Even scarier was the idea of being "sold" to one of
them as a slave. How long did one remain enslaved to a likely unpleasant
or even dangerous man?

The door admitted several punters who proceeded to poke and prod me like
a b**st at auction. A big guy unzipped his leather trousers. The doorman
handed him some lube and a condom which he unrolled over his erect cock
before lubing it thoroughly. The others started to follow suit.

"Do you want cock, Sissy?" he demanded.

"Yes, Sir." I meekly replied, eyes filling with tears. The thought of
gang **** by these men horrified me but in moments he was on me,
thrusting his cock into my open pussy. Despite my day in a butt plug it
hurt as he forced himself in, thrusting hard without regard for my
feelings and using me like a girl. Eventually with final, painful,
thrusts he came. As I watched through my tears they took it in turns to
screw me, encouraged by laughs and jeers from the others. As the men made
to leave I felt utterly used and defiled. The doorman untied me and
handed me the buttplug to fit. It slid in easily now with such a lovely
feeling that I suddenly realised that, with a loving partner, being taken
like that might be the perfect girly experience. Locking the buttplug in
place he sent me to the staff toilet and then to the dressing room where,
he explained, I'd be prepared for sale.

In the dressing room Annette slipped me out of my waitress uniform,
helped me fix my makeup and showed me what I was to wear. A gorgeous
sleeveless cocktail dress in black taffeta, tight fitting with a low
revealing neckline and calf length frilled skirt. It looked fabulous. She
led me through a back door and down a corridor, the dress rustling
delightfully as I walked. Finally she propelled me onto the stage and
into the spotlights' glare.

"Here we have our one lot for tonight's slave auction. Amanda, a girl
who'll make you a wife for life. If that's what you want." A cheer went
up. "Today she's proved her submissiveness. With a little of my, er,
encouragement!" another cheer from the audience "She'll gladly do
anything for you. Or for your mates. Won't you, Amanda?"

"Yes, sir." I meekly replied into his outstretched microphone, to the
accompaniment of loud cheering.

"And, like every auction lot, she's sold in what she's wearing with a top
of the range chastity belt and, for times when you let her out alone, a
remote control." He brandished a tablet computer and pressed the screen.
I yelped with pain, provoking howls of laughter from the audience.

"Amanda hates pain, so please use it sparingly."

"But we like giving it!" someone heckled, to cheers and applause.

"Do a twirl, Amanda, and show 'em what you've got." Under the spotlights
I twirled before the audience, the dress rustling and swirling around me.

"Look how meek and compliant she is. The sub of your dreams. Let's see a
nice curtsey."

"Yes, Sir." I replied, complying, the audience responding volubly.

"Lift your dress and show 'em what you've got!"

To whoops and cheers I bent down and lifted the hem of my dress to reveal
stocking tops, panties and chastity belt. Could this humiliation get any
worse? For the benefit of the audience he groped my body lecherously
while they continued to cheer enthusiastically. With his arm round my
waist he started the bidding.

"What am I bid for this gorgeous slave? The equipment she's wearing is
worth a grand of anyone's money. We'll start silly. A hundred pounds
anyone?"

Several hands went up. The bidding rapidly escalated, a hundred at a
time. He had me twirl and dance before them. As I did so I saw to my
alarm that the bagging movie was showing on a screen behind me. At 3500
the bidding slowed, just three muscular leather men near the stage
competing hard for me. I didn't like the look of any of them but it
seemed inevitable that one would win. With bids of that magnitude their
expectations would surely match. I thought I'd signed up for a day. How
long did servitude to one of these a****ls last? Suddenly a voice from
the back yelled "Five thousand!" The audience erupted into wild cheering.

"Going once... Going twice..." The leather men shook their heads "...Sold
to the man at the back for five thousand pounds. Come and collect!"

In the glare of the spotlights I couldn't see my new owner but his voice
seemed familiar. Moments later Steve appeared, handing Mike a wad of cash
and taking keys and tablet from the table. To cheers from the audience he
took my hand and led me backstage. I was so relieved he was my buyer I
momentarily forgot I remained an owned woman with a future not of my own
choosing.



When we reached his house he bade me sit on the sofa and sat beside me.
Taking my hand he explained my role.

"You'll live here as my wife and be in chastity except when I choose to
give you pleasure. We'll get to know each other, hopefully get on well.
But if after six months I'm unhappy I'll release you from slavery; you'll
never see me again. You'll be free to resume your old life. But my hope
is that you'll agree to be my obedient slave and wife forever. We might
marry for real. But I require complete compliance and will enforce it.
The electronics on your body? My design. I supply Mike with sets for all
his slaves. Surveillance is my speciality and I was watching you months
before you met our Mary. I know your timid little online life as
Bernadette and how you write stories for a living. The other girls were
just jobs for Mike but in time I became obsessed with your looks,
submissiveness and shy innocence. The longer I watched, the more I longed
to own you."

He paused briefly, but I simply sat meekly looking down to the floor. He
put an arm round my shoulders, drawing me close.

"Treat me as your husband. Shop, cook and clean for me. Wash my clothes.
Talk to me as wife to husband. Write in your free time. But displease me
and Mike's rules apply for as long as I require: then you'll call me
'sir', speak only when spoken to and submit to punishment. Remember my
specialism; leave the house without permission, try to contact anyone
behind my back, and I will know. And don't even think of running away:
Mike doesn't take kindly to reports of disobedience from girls he's sold
and punishes it very severely. Make no mistake you're mine, for six
months at least. You'll give me sex when I want it and submit to
punishment and bondage when required. I might lend you to my friends for
sex. I know you very well indeed, Bernadette. I believe I know your
secret desires better than you yourself. You are the perfect sissy wife
and I'll teach you to enjoy your role immensely. Soon you'll come to
acknowledge it's what you were born for. What do you think, love?"

At that precise moment it seemed the very sweetest thing.

"It sounds lovely, darling." I raised my bowed head, turning my face to
his. He kissed me deeply.