Luck Be A Lady free porn video

Luck Be a Lady By Anonymous "Dealer showing three. Player showing eleven." The woman dealer was quite expressionless, as most casino employees were expected to be. It was obvious she didn't like me, particularly since I'd spent the last hour cursing her existence for the cards she was dealing me. I was down. Way down. Down to my last $20,000, half of which I had riding on this hand. I'm a professional gambler. Blackjack is my game. My luck has been less than spectacular the last six months. It had gotten so bad that I couldn't even show my face around the New Strip for all the debts I owed. But the Old Strip was still relatively newborn for me. And that's how I found myself at the Lady Luck Casino, down to the last gasp of a $200,000 loan from the House. But I couldn't let that get me down. The past is prologue and has absolutely no bearing on the next hand. Everyone knows that. I knew what had to be done. The dealer was showing a three. You assume she has a ten underneath, making for 13. Since she has to hit anything below 17, you assume she will hit, get a ten and bust. With my eleven, I should double down and pray for a ten. I had to dig myself out of this hole somehow. With as little emotion as possible, I threw my last $10,000 in chips in the betting circle asking for the double down. The dealer's hand seemed to move in slow motion as she reached for the card shoot and pulled out a card. She slapped it down in front of me. "Player gets a nine. Player showing twenty." Well, it wasn't a ten, but it felt pretty damn good anyway. I was in great shape to win this hand and climb back into it. The dealer turned over her other card. It was a Queen. She was in fact showing thirteen. She hit. Three. She was at sixteen. My muscles tensed. I knew she had to hit and would likely bust on the next card. The slow motion effect started up again as she reached to the card shoot for her next card. If it's possible for a smile to instantaneously deteriorate into a look of pure horror, that's exactly what happened to me. She put her card down and I could see my life flashing before my eyes. "Dealer gets a five. Dealer has twenty-one. Sorry, sir." The unthinkable has happened as she swept away the last of my chips. There was an audible groan from the mini-crowd of three or four people who had gathered behind me to watch the proceedings. I had to remind myself to breath. I waved off a cocktail waitress who had come by at that moment to offer me a drink. I somehow climbed out of my chair and blindly staggered toward the elevator banks to the rooms. In My Room My hand was shaking as I inserted the key card into the door to my room. I managed to get inside and collapse on the bed. I was now down 200 to this casino and a lot more with my friends on the new strip. How did this all happen? There was no way for me to repay it. I had no family or friends with that kind of cash. I had never really held a steady job. I had always made just enough gambling to get by. Now, this cold streak threatened to put me out of the business all together. At that moment, I resolved to get my life in order. There would be no more gambling. From that day forward, I would go straight. Find a steady job and settle down with my life. But first, there was the not so minor issue of getting the hell out of Vegas without paying off those debts with my life or vital organs. I quickly packed up my clothes and things from the room. At this point, it was almost four in the morning and I assumed that security around the place would be light, giving me the chance to slip out unnoticed. I was about to open my door, when I heard a knock. Trying not to panic, I checked the peephole. Shit! It was Madame Carmen. She ran the Lady Luck and was the one who extended me such a large House line of credit. My mind ran though my options. I was on the twentieth floor, so the front door was the only way out. I decided to pretend I wasn't there. Perhaps she would go away. Madame impatiently knocked again. "Mr. Chan! I know that you're in there. Our security cameras in the hall saw you go in. Now please open up. I promise I won't hurt you. I just want to talk." I knew I was fucked. My only option was to open the door. She looked very charming for an older woman, and she was dressed in a provocative set of leather pants and bustier. She was alone. She was carrying two glasses of what appeared to be scotch. She gestured for us both to sit on the bed. I must have still looked pretty shaken, for she handed me a glass and put her hand on my shoulder. "Here, I thought you could use this. To calm you down." I quickly drained the glass. "Listen, Sam, I know you're probably still in shock. We've all had strings of real bad luck. I just wanted you to know that no one here is gonna break your knee caps. We don't do that sort of thing at the Lady Luck. Don't worry. We'll work out something that is mutually beneficial to us both," Madame said. Perhaps it was her soothing tone, or the potency of the scotch, but at that moment I did feel much more relaxed. "That's very comforting, Ms. Carmen. Thank you." "Please, Samantha, from now on, I want you to call me Madame." I was feeling very woozy, so I wasn't sure if I had heard her correctly. Did she just call me Samantha? That couldn't be right. Last time I checked, I had a penis. Before I completely lost consciousness, I could feel Madame stroking my hair and speaking in her soothing voice, "We got you just in time, Samantha. We haven't had an Asian girl in so long." Then, I blacked out. Putting It Together When I regained consciousness, I was somehow standing upright. The first thing I noticed was that my mouth was distended and plugged by some king of ball gag, effectively muffling any sounds I made. Next, I saw that I was naked and in some sort of locker room type shower. My wrists were chained above my head to one of the shower heads, and that was holding me up. My ankles were meanwhile attached to some kind of spreader bar, which must have been attached to the wall, because I could not move my legs at all. A young, attractive woman came into view at that moment. "Good morning, Mr. Chan," she began in the tone of a stewardess, "my name is Tara and I will be overseeing your transformation this morning." Transformation? What the hell was she talking about? She could see the look of confusion and fear in my eyes. "I'm sure you have many questions, so what I thought we'd do first is show you the introductory video with Madame." With that, she wheeled into the shower a TV and a VCR on a rolling cart. She set up the screen right in front of me and hit play. The image of Madame came on the screen. She looked like she was doing some kind of corporate promotional video. "Welcome, Lady Luck gambler. I'm sure your head is just brimming full of questions at this point. Let me begin by saying that you should fell very special. It's not as if we take every single man who owes us large sums of money for this process. No, we are much more selective than that. We looked at your past and outside relations to see if anyone would miss you. We look at the likelihood that you will be able to raise the debt money quickly from other sources. And of course, we look you over for, shall we say, feminine potential," That last line really sent me into a panic. I struggled against my bonds, but only succeeding in cutting myself. "But enough with the word play. Let's get to the point. If you are chained up in our showers, it must mean that you owe us a tremendous amount of money and that no one will ever miss you if you disappeared. So let me be the first to welcome you to your involuntary employment at the Lady Luck." "Gaming is still out main business. However, we also run several successful side businesses. Showgirl entertainment. Escort service. The finest underground brothel in Vegas, where anything goes. The problem is not finding beautiful women to employ in these wonderful side businesses. Beautiful girls in Vegas are close to a dime a dozen. The problem is finding beautiful women who will do as I say and for next to no money," Madame paused to laugh, "But I'm not a woman, you say? Not yet. We have invested considerable resources in creating The Cocoon, a state-of-the-art laboratory and transformation center of which Tara is the director and overseer of all transformations." Tara came up behind the TV and waved to me. "We have the most cutting edge latex prosthetics in existence and the most powerful female hormones available. We are going to reshape your body into that of a very attractive woman. But nothing we do is permanent, which brings me to my next point. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. We don't want you as a permanent slave. We just look at this as repaying your debt, like washing dishes after a meal at a restaurant. Therefore, we have generously assigned you an annual salary of $75,000. Of course, you won't get any actual money. Wouldn't want you to waste it away. However, if you are very cooperative and productive, we have an incentive plan that can kick up to $200,000 a year. We find that granting an opportunity for earlier freedom really encourages our employees." My head was really spinning at this point. $75,000 a year meant I'd be in this hell for over two years. That was simply unacceptable. "I can anticipate your next thought. You're thinking there's no way I'll agree to do any of those things, whether I owe you people money or not. Well, first, we have some very elaborate electronic monitoring systems, that you will become all too familiar with, which ensure you cannot leave the premises of the Lady Luck. Secondly, there is a significant male clientele we have that actually pays a premium for controlled situations of sexual struggle. So the more you resist, actually the more valuable you are. Thirdly, even if you could somehow escape, where would you go? We are going to take away your identity. You may actually appreciate that. Chances are, if you owe money to us, you probably owe money to other casinos that would still be looking for you. If they had gotten to you first, you'd already be dead." I knew she was right. Tara had come up to me with rubber gloves and started rubbing a very nasty smelling lotion all over my body. "So, despite the shock of your present situation, try and enjoy yourself," Madame concluded, "you may surprise yourself. We had several 'girls' over the years who decided not to go back to their old lives and are still happily employed with us. I hope you will be one of those success stories. If not, remember, we can make your life a living hell. Bye, for now." The tape stopped. Tara wheeled the TV cart away. The lotion had started to foam up. The fumes were horrendous, and I could feel a tingling sensation all over my skin. "Okay, as I already mentioned, Sam, my name is Tara, and I'll be overseeing your transformation today. Now, I'm gonna take your gag out, and I don't want any noise. Let's not get off on the wrong foot." She unbuckled my gag, and I gasped a big breath of air. "Why are you doing this? I can get the money somehow." I pleaded. "I thought the tape was very clear, Sam. We determined that the likelihood of you collecting the debt money was slim to none. Plus, there is a real demand and shortage for Asian girls these days." "But you won't get away with this." "Boy, if I had a nickel for every time I've heard that over the years." She replied. She spread more lotion over my face and reached into a bag for some hair clippers. She proceeded to buzz all my hair off to within a quarter inch of my head. Then, after a few minutes, she checked her watch and started to run the shower. The water rinsed the lotion off me, and I was happy to be relieved of the tingling sensation all over me. But now I understood why it had been tingling. The little body hair I had was washed completely from my body and down the drain of the shower. Tara had set up a full length mirror on the other side of the shower area so that I could see what was being done to me. "That was a powerful depilatory cream," she began, "that should stunt any hair growth for at least six months." After I was thoroughly rinsed, she dried me off with a big towel. It was very odd to see a reflection of myself without any hair on my body, including my crotch area. I didn't have long to gawk, for Tara had moved on to preparing to administer a series of shots. The first went painfully into my Adam's apple. The next went even more painfully into the base of my penis. She finished up with three shots in my left arm. I waited for an explanation. "That first shot should raise your voice a few octaves and shrink your Adam's apple. The next one in your dick will make sure you don't get an erection. And the last three were various cocktails of female hormones that should help fill out your ass and tits." "I thought Madame said that this wasn't permanent." My voice cracked higher in mid-sentence. The drug was already working. Tara stifled a laugh, "The shots aren't permanent. But it can only be reversed with a special anecdote. Another way we ensure that you stick around." With that, she tugged my penis. It remained flaccid and looked like it had even gotten a little smaller, yet I could still fell some form of stimulation from the contact. "As for the hormones, they take longer to kick in, so in the meanwhile." Tara walked out of the shower and returned with another bag, no doubt full of other goodies for me. She pulled out two latex blobs with her two hands and lined them up to my chest. I looked closer and saw that they were two extremely realistic looking breasts. They even perfectly matched my slightly tanned skin tone. She had put her rubber gloves back on and used them to slather on some sort of adhesive across my chest. She applied the breasts to my chest and held them there for five minutes. When she let go, I could feel the weight of my new chest. Tara tested their resiliciency by grabbing my breasts and jiggling and pulling. It really hurt. "Ow! Stop it!" I screamed, sounding like my younger sister version of myself. "Sorry. This is a new test medical adhesive. Supposed to be the strongest stuff out there. Not even FDA approved yet. Oh, well, I'm sure it doesn't cause cancer." Tara reached into the bag and pulled out another instrument that looked like a caulking gun. She applied the tip to the seam between my chest and the breasts and proceeded to squirt some skin colored goo all around the edge of the boobs. Then, she took a make-up brush and started brushing the gooey area. To my amazement, the stuff dried and when I looked down, the seam between the fake breasts and my chest had disappeared. The tits looked absolutely real. "Now, shake your chest for me." Tara commanded. I complied. The pair jiggled up and down with my movements. "Great, now for my favorite part." She reached into the bag and pulled out what appeared to be a hairy flap of skin. Upon closer examination, I could see the thing had pussy lips. It didn't take long for me to put it together. "No! No way you're putting that thing on me! Help! Somebody help!" I screamed. "Shut up! No one can here you. We're deep in the bowels of the casino." Tara grew impatient as she grabbed the ball gag, shoved it into my mouth and buckled it shut. I looked down in amazement as she slathered adhesive on one side of the latex skin and slotted my penis through a small pocket built into the latex piece. She then flattened the glued side onto my crotch area and held it there for another five minutes. When she let go, I looked in the mirror and saw that I had a pussy. This made me struggle against my bonds. Tara calmly grabbed my new boobs and pulled until I settled down. "This requires no explanation. Through I will say that your penis has been positioned so that you can still go to the bathroom, sitting down of course. Also, the false pussy is designed to take up to ten inches of salami if the need should arise. And, believe me, it will." She laughed. Here I was, being slowly transformed into a woman against my will. Tara put on the final touched to my new mound with the caulking gun, removing all traces that this stuff was glued on latex. She cleaned up and removed all the bags from the area. She returned with some kind of leather choker. She fastened it to my neck and locked it in the back. It fit quite snugly, though not uncomfortably. "Okay, I have to do your nails, hair and make-up. I'm gonna unlock you from the shower head. Let me warn you, trying to get away would be a very dumb thing, understand?" I shook my head. First, she unlocked my ankles from the spreader bar. She then reached up and unchained my wrists. I took a moment to massage the feeling back into my wrists. She looked away for a moment, and I made my move. I shoved Tara to the ground and ran like hell. I had no idea where I was or where to go, but I knew I had to try to escape. I ran out of the shower and down a long hall. I looked back for an instance, to see Tara slowly picking herself up. She wasn't giving chase. I about reached the end of the hall when I felt the most painful shock pierce through my entire body, knocking me to the ground and immobilizing me. I looked up and saw Tara calmly looking down at me. She was holding some sort of black remote device with a few buttons on it. "I told you not to run away. That choker you have on is part of the very sophisticated electronic enforcement system we have here. Any attempt to leave the confines of the Lady Luck Casino cuts off the signal which prevents the collar from going off and shocking you eventually to death. Any more questions?" Tara calmly helped me to my feet and walked me to a different room. This room was like a showgirl dressing room with several mirrors and make-up chair areas. She sat me down at one station. Another woman was there to strap me into the chair, with my ankles to protruding stirrups and wrists to the armrests. She also ran a line through my choker, ensuring my head did not move. Two more women came in and started immediate work on my hands and feet. I could not completely see what was going on, but I could see the hands woman had a jar of the medical adhesive from before. Tara occupied herself with staring at my face, as if she were studying a blank canvas. She looked ready to begin when she picked up what looked like a.tattoo gun. I panicked again and started to scream through my gag. She anticipated my concern as she unbuckled my gag. "Don't worry, hot stuff. This is a tattoo, but the pigments I'm using are like the kind used for temporary tattoos. The stuff fades away completely after a few months. Believe me, this is much more convenient than having to learn to put on make-up everyday." With that, Tara started with my lips, coloring them a deep shade of red with the gun. Next, she worked on my eye lids and cheeks, before coloring in permanent mascara around my eyes. She plucked my eyebrows very thin and reinforced the area with her tattoo gun. When she pulled away finally, I looked into the mirror and did not recognize myself. The make-up was not whorishly overdone, but it was obviously more feminine than I thought I'd ever look. At that point, Tara pulled out a long black wig, put some more adhesive in and pressed it firmly on top of my head. Another woman came in with some kind of gun-like tool. She calmly swabbed my earlobes and put the barrel of the gun there. I felt a twinge in my right ear, then my left. When she was done, I could feel a stud earring now adorning both my ears. The hands and feet people had finished up and Tara freed me from my constraints and even ungagged me. She led me to a full length mirror. I was too in shock to scream. The reflection staring back at me was not me. It was a beautiful woman with long raven hair and a great set of tits. I noticed that my hands now had perfectly manicured nails, with coats of polish on fingers and toes that matched the red shades of my lips. "Alright," Tara said, "time to get you dressed for work." Master of Puppets I would later find out that the "work" they had in mind was stranger than anything I could have imagined. Apparently, while male customers were waiting for their appointments in the basement brothel, the Lady Luck set up an adjoining theatre/cabaret area, full with tables and a main stage area. Men could sit and drink and watch girls dance on stage before they really got down to business. One of the biggest draws on the stage was a Showgirl review, but one unlike any other in Vegas. The theme was a completely mechanized line of girls, only the actual girls were real people. It didn't make much sense to me at first either. Tara led me to another dressing room and started to help me dress. First, she handed me a pair of sheer suntan pantyhose, like the sort worn by Hooters girls, except with some kind of shiny glitter throughout. Tara helped me get the pantyhose on. I noticed that she had the little black box that controlled my choker clipped conveniently to her belt. The next item was a shiny silver sleeveless leotard with a turtleneck collar and shimmering tassels all over. A typical showgirl outfit. I stepped into the leotard leg holes and realized that the back had a tight g-string. Tara helped me pull the rest of the garment up and zipped me up in the back. The zipper ran all the way to the turtleneck portion. She took a tiny padlock and connected the zipper to a D-ring at the top of the turtleneck, making it impossible to take off. Not that I was going anywhere anyway, but I guess the Lady Luck people were into taking precautions. Tara then tied my hair back into a bun and attached a huge flowing headpiece, shaped like half a disk and with more glimmering tassels. She touched up my face and the whole ensemble with brushed on silver glitter before having me step into the 3-inch silver t-strap pumps one foot at a time. I saw her add two more small padlocks to the straps of the shoes, making them a permanent fixture. She told me to walk around to acclimate myself to my new ensemble. It was a good idea. With the combination on the high heels and the twenty-pound headpiece, it took all my efforts not to land flat on my ass. I walked over to a mirror and saw a busty, Asian-showgirl version of myself. When it seemed like I got the hang of walking around, she brought me out to the stage area. The large curtain was drawn, and people seemed to be moving around, perhaps preparing for the next show. Then I came to the unfortunate realization that I was to be part of the next show. As we crossed to the center of the stage, I could see a large metal contraption that looked like a large jungle gym. Upon closer examination, it looked like five metal skeletons attached to a horizontal cross-bar which was attached to a perpendicular pole to the ground. But each limb of each skeleton consisted of one metal pole with a bend in the middle and shackles attached to the ends. Tara marched me right over to the skeleton on the right end of the procession. Up close, I noticed that the skeleton was anatomically correct. It had a rubber dildo jutting out as if in mid-erection. She pushed me back towards the skeleton. "You know what to do. There should be a slit in your pantyhose right over your asshole." Tara explained. I moved my g-string to one side and felt for the seam in the hose. Sure enough, the sewn hole seemed just large enough to fit the skeleton's intruder. I spread my cheeks and tried to sit onto the dildo. It was lubricated, but it hurt like a mother, and I tried to stand up. "Don't make me use this again," Tara warned, holding up the remote transmitter. I tried again and was able to wiggle my ass onto the dildo. I thought I might vomit from my first anal penetration, but was able to suppress the gag reflex while Tara proceeded to strap me to the skeleton. She strapped my chest above and below my breasts to the "torso" of the skeleton. Then she put trapped my neck in the large shackle at the head of the skeleton and did the same to my wrists, ankles, knees and elbows. Now my body effectively mimicked the stance of the skeleton. I was still very confused as to what exactly was going on. Then, I saw four other women/men, dressed exactly as I was, being led out to the other skeletons by four other women. Some of them were crying and being promptly disciplined. They followed the same procedure as me until we were a line of five showgirl dancers, strapped into these metal skeletons. "Okay, everyone, listen up. Now I want each of you to show me your best showgirl smile with lots of teeth. And hold it until I tell otherwise." Tara commanded as another woman handed her some unmarked aerosol can. We all complied. Tara wanted to see more teeth, more Miss America. I showed more teeth. Tara then went down the line of girls and sprayed the contents of the can all over the lower parts of our faces. It did not take me long to realize that I could not move the lower part of my face at all. My expression was locked into the toothy, showgirl smile that I assumed my mates on the dancing line shared. The spray had also deadened my tongue, making it almost impossible for me to make any sound at all. Tara signaled over to some woman on the side of the stage, who was busy working at a laptop computer. "Okay, the girls are in place. Let's runs through the routine one time." said Tara. The laptop lady typed some more and suddenly the bright stage lights from above came to life. I heard some music start to play. Frank Sinatra, "Luck Be a Lady." How ironic. Then, the metal contraption we were strapped to sprung alive. Next thing I know, the five sets of limbs on the separate skeletons are moving in unison. They're dancing. And consequently, each of us showgirls strapped to the skeletons is dancing. In fact, we look a bit like the cheesy animatronic shows at a Chuck E. Cheese pizza parlor or Disneyland. But we dance in a line in time with the music, our feet swaying and arms waving. Tara orders the program cut off before the song finishes. The lights and music stop, as do we, in mid-motion, the row of five of us trapped with arms up in the air and legs in mid tap. "So, you girls should understand what's happening. You don't have to do anything but sit there. When you get more skilled, we'll have you doing more substantial work. For now, just sit back and enjoy the show. You'll be on in about fifteen minutes." Tara concluded as she walked off the stage. We sat there until the show began. I could not even turn my head to look at the other "girls." Occasionally, I would hear the faint moan from someone down the line, which I completely understood. We were trapped in a fairly uncomfortable position. Finally, the show began. You could hear a boisterous crowd of men gathering on the other side of the curtain. "Gentlemen, welcome to the Lady Luck Underground. To get you warmed up, we thought we'd bring you our world reknown revue of mechanized showgirls. So without further ado, take it away, ladies!" a woman's voice intoned over the sound system. With that, the curtain came up, and I looked out at a crowd of at least one hundred men, who were already rowdily catcalling and whooping. The stage lights flashed on and Frank kicked in with his song. We were forced into our programmed dance routine by the metal frame. As the song went on, the entire frame moved us closer to the edge of the stage. I got nervous as we were close enough for any moron to run onto the stage and start fondling away. A couple of men did come to the edge of the stage and try and slip dollars into our leotards. Fortunately, they could not reach. At the sound of Frank's climatic finish, we girls launched into a line of high kicks that would have rivaled the Rockettes and that nearly ripped my legs out of my sockets. But our nylon-clad legs had little choice but to follow the programmed motions of the metal skeletons as they nearly kicked up to our chests. This incited the men in the audience even more. All the while, we had those ridiculous smiles plastered to our faces. I shuddered to think that this was not the most humiliating moment of my life, but rather there were many more to come in the near future. I would not have to wait long to find out. Suck Me, Beautiful After the curtain fell to thunderous applause and the showgirls were unstrapped from our prisons, I was brought back to the dressing room by Tara. She sprayed another can on my lower face, and sensation returned to my mouth. She was very complimentary. "You guys were great out there! That wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked innocently. "I can't believe that. I've never felt so humiliated." I replied indignantly, as I tried to massage my jaw. This chipmunk voice would take some getting used to. "Well, Samantha, the night is still very young. And we already have an appointment lined up for you. Now, strip." I gladly took off the headpiece and had Tara unlock the shoes and leotard. Soon I was completely naked again. Tara checked my breasts and saw they were still fastened solidly. She also probed my false pussy with her finger and reached into it. My flaccid penis was getting somewhat aroused by the contact, a fact that scared the shit out of me. "Still a little tender down there," she observed, "looks like tonight we'll have to stick to your other two holes." She tossed me a pair of silk g-string panties and a matching bra. Then, came a pair of shiny sheer to waist black pantyhose. I knew what to do this time. She then handed me a very short and tight satin French maid outfit, shiny black with white crinoline apron and petticoats jutting out. I climbed into the skimpy garment, and Tara gave me the zip up and lock treatment. We also repeated the procedure into a pair of black patent pumps with the familiar locking ankle straps. I donned a pair of long black opera gloves. Tara led me out of the room and down the hallway. We ended up in a different, private room. The way I saw it, I was trying to get my bearings as to how this underground portion of the casino was laid out in terms of rooms and security. Once I gathered all that information, I would plan some form of escape. By then, I didn't even really care about living in the world with the changes that had been made to my body. I just wanted my freedom back. The private room was decorated as if in Victorian times. It was nicely carpeted and had antique furniture all along the sides, but there was no bed and a large open space in the middle. Tara had some women come in with a large flat wooden board. The board probably only came up to a person's waist and had a large padded hole near the top. The women moved the board into the middle of the room and somehow slotted the board into some groove in the carpeted floor. The board now stood upright with the holed end on top. As Tara commanded me to kneel down behind the board, I realized that the hole was going to serve as a stock for my head. "No way," I refused, "I can handle another burlesque show. But not this." "I don't think you understand," she began as she pushed another button on the remote transmitter. I fell to the ground, writhing in pain as the shocks convulsed through my entire body. Tara picked me up by my hair, opened the board's head stock and placed my head through it. She closed the top over my neck, entrapping my head before finally switching off the shocks. "See, you were doing real well, Samantha. Now I don't want anymore arguments tonight." Tara then went behind me with coils of rope. She tied my waist off and fastened me around the board. Then she tied my knees together and also fastened them to the board. Next, she did my wrists and elbows tightly, forcing me to thrust out my breasts even more. Finally, she tied my ankles together and brought the rope up to the waist rope, lifting my ankles off the ground and forcing all my weight onto my knees. The coup de grace was a ring gag she forced into my mouth on the other side of the board. It strapped around my head. The ring part seemed to have some grooves which locked into my teeth and kept my mouth open by at least two or three inches. "Pwease, wet me go," I pleaded. "Now listen, Sam. The object is to get through as many guys as possible. The all-time record for one night is 53 men. I don't expect that out of you. After all, this is your first night. But a good showing here could make a favorable first impression with Madame. One tip, don't waste time. Just get to business." Tara was about to leave, but remembered something. She pulled a small binaca shaped thing out of her pocket. "I almost forgot," she said as she sprayed the contents into my jacked open mouth. I could feel myself already salivating immensely. "This should keep the opening moist all night. Oh, and remember, we're watching via video camera. Struggling is good, the men like it. But too much screaming or any biting attempts will be punished instantaneously, understand?" Just to emphasize the point, Tara grabbed the transmitter from her belt. She waved goodbye and walked out the room. "Okay, start sending them in." I heard her say. I immediately started struggling against my bonds, but it was useless. I was securely fastened to the board. Drool was starting to fall out of my mouth, and I could not control it. I panicked as the first patron came though the door and shut it behind him. "Hi, there, honey," he said and immediately pulled his pants down. I guess these men must have been paying by the minute. "I requested an Asian girl special. I had a girlfriend back in 'Nam. She actually looked a lot like you. She was a great cocksucker. Let's see if it's a racial skill." At this point, I was trying to scream. "Em a man! Em a man!" came out very muffled. "I know you want a man, darling. That's why I'm here." With that, he jammed his ten inches into my open and helpless mouth and just started pumping. I thought I was going to gag to death for sure or vomit, but neither happened. I desperately tried to bite his dick or spit it out, but the ring gag prevented both. In fact, my efforts to close my mouth only exceeded in creating friction between my lips and his shaft, further stimulating him. He was obviously into it, as he tried to reach around the board and fondle my tits. When he could not get a decent grip on those, he reached down and massaged my ass. I tried to move away, but the head stock and restraints were doing their job. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spurted down my throat. I had no choice but to swallow. He seemed pleased with the results as he zipped his pants back up. "Thank you, kindly, honey. I'm definitely gonna recommend you to all my friends," he concluded as he gave me a kiss on the forehead and sauntered out of the room. I desperately tried to spit out the remaining cum, but was unable to do so. And that's basically how it went all night. I ended up with 35 men. Not a bad start, but just enough to make me want any one of those men to put a bullet through my head. When a night shift was finished, each girl was taken back to their room (we were given individual rooms), changed into teddies and trussed up for the night. I tried all night to rip the latex breasts and pussy off my body, but it was as if they were the skin on my body. I was slowed in the process by the fact that they handcuffed one wrist to the bedpost. Lady Luck was not into taking any chances. During the day, because there were not really many customers, many of the girls were put to work cleaning the private rooms or the stage area. The more advanced girls who had gained the casino's trust were even allowed to work in the actual casino, as escorts and waitresses. They still wore the shock choker at all times of course. So I cleaned up some of the rooms during the next day and dreaded to find out what my next assignment would be. Learning to Fly Tara fetched me from another performance of the showgirl revue on the main stage. I shuddered to think about the next grueling assignment. "What do I have to do tonight?" I asked, almost passively. "Tonight, we've got a real kicker. We're gonna use two holes." Tara responded. The prospects of the situation and my future were frightening. I became emotionally overwhelmed, and I immediately started to cry. She was actually comforting. "Don't cry, honey. That's just the hormones kicking in. I promise it won't be that bad." I guess we had differing opinions as to what constituted "that bad." Because here I was, in another private room for the night. This one was made up to look like the inside of a commercial airliner, with actual airline seats lining both sides of the room and an area down the middle that represented the aisle of a plane, only much wider than in reality. In the aisle was me, strapped to a version of one of those food and beverage service carts. I was dressed as a stewardess, if Playboy owned an airline. The dress was navy and zipped up snugly in the back, with a short flared skirt and short sleeves. Clipped to my chest was a set of wings and a nametag that read "Samantha." A matching scarf was tied off around my neck, hiding my choker. My hair and make-up looked like a typical stewardess might. My legs were clad in sheer to waist taupe pantyhose, and my feet forced into matching navy pumps with locking straps. I was positioned over the cart, which consisted of the tabletop and another middle shelf. My torso was tied to the top, chest down, and my legs tied to the two back legs of the cart in multiple places. My arms got the same treatment on the front two legs. A line was attached from my choker to the bottom of the cart, effectively immobilizing my head. The cart's wheels were locked, preventing me from scooting around. At this point, I could not see what Tara was doing to my backside, but I could feel the skirt being lifted up and pinned to stay up. Then, my pantyhose and panties were pulled down slightly, exposing my bare ass. She sprayed something into my asshole and commented how the hormones were already starting to fill me out nicely as she rubbed the spray in more deeply. I futilely tugged at my bonds as I knew how my new predicament would end. Tara came back to my front and shoved a ring gag in my mouth that was similar to the one from the night before. She was right. I was now two holes open for business. I desperately tried making eye contact with her during my muffled pleas. She could not be serious about leaving me here like this. There was no telling what those animals would do to me. She had her usual encouraging words as she exited the room. "Remember, the goal is to get through as many mile high members as you can." My first two customers came into the room, all smiles. I immediately recognized one of them as my first customer from last night's blowjob parade. He immediately came to me and started stroking the hair out of my face. "Hello, again, not sure you remember me. I was your first customer last night. Remember how I said I'd recommend you to my friends? Well, here's one now," he began, "Billy, which side you want to start with?" "I don't know, Gus. Why don't we flip for it?" I thought I was going to be sick right there. The thought of these two bastards flipping a coin to see which of my orifices they would each be violating first. Sure enough, they flipped a coin, and Gus the First ended up with my mouth while his friend got the back. They wasted little time. Gus shoved into my mouth with very little fanfare. My head pulled away in reflex, but the chain held me in place. He grabbed my hair for leverage and started pumping away. His friend was more methodical. If I didn't have something right in front of my face to contend with, I would have reacted much more strongly to the sensation I felt at my asshole. His prick was already parting my cheeks and working its way into me. The spray was acting like a powerful lubricant. Pretty soon, he was pumping away as well. I could not help moan loudly in absolute pain, sounds which seemed to spur them on. "Wait a minute," Gus's friend started, "I got an idea." They both stopped humping for a moment. I heard him step on some kind of pedal at the wheel level of the cart. The cart was now able to roll. They just stood there as they used the wheels to rock me back and forth. A thrust out on one end and a thrust in on the other. This went on for a few minutes until I thought I was going to die. They let me have a breather before switching sides. If only they knew that I was really a man, trapped in this situation and this body against my will. Then again, the thought occurred to me that these sickos did know all that and somehow got off on it. I tried not to linger on that possibility. When they were finally through, they talked about it like it was a great steak dinner they had just finished. "Well, that was great." "I told you she was fantastic." "Are we coming back tomorrow?" "Hell, yes." By the end of the night, I felt like I had gone through an entire 747 worth of passengers. Some girls freed me and led me to my room. I was too exhausted to put up any form of struggle as I was undressed and chained to bed. I fell asleep instantly and prayed for no nightmares. Summer of '69 I was on cleaning duty the next day in the private rooms yet again when Tara entered. "Samantha, got an afternoon assignment for you." She led me to another room. This room seemed different, with big wall mirrors on three sides and thick shag carpeting. "This is one of the video rooms." Tara explained. "What happens in here?" I asked, dreading the answer. "Well, among the Lady Luck's side businesses is a very successful mail order video operation. We custom make videos for aficionados out there." "What are you gonna force me to do now?" At that moment, Madame entered the room. It was the first time I'd seen her since the night she drugged me. "Hello, Samantha, I must say you've turned out even better than I anticipated. And based on your volumes over the past two nights, you could be out of here sooner than expected." "Great," I muttered sarcastically, barely even able to look at her. Madame didn't really care either way. "We got an interesting video request. Someone wants to see two women in a forced 69 position." My mind starting spinning. Tara helped me undress completely. She pulled out a head harness with an attached double penis gag. She shoved one end of the gag into my mouth, leaving the bigger end protruding, before strapping the harness part around my head securely. At that point another "girl" entered the room with her version of Tara. She looked very frightened as she was stripped and given the same head harness treatment. "Girls, it's quite simple. We're gonna tie you two together in a 69. Whichever girl gets the other girl to come first, wins. I know what you're thinking. Madame, how will we come with the false pussies over our dicks? Well, the pussies are designed for penetration. And your flaccid little men have been positioned within there to be stimulated by any penetration. Though you cannot get an erection, with a lot of humping, you can eventually come. A little. Just like a real girl would. So, why don't you take your marks." Madame concluded. We were forced to lay on our sides on the carpet, with my feet facing her head and vice versa. We were forced together, with my penis/mouth at his vagina. They tied both are wrists behind us and attached them to our waists. Then, they attached are torsos together so that we could not pull away from each other. My head was placed between his thighs, and Tara tied two leather straps around his thighs and attached them to my head harness. My opponent got the same treatment. This meant that our heads were effectively trapped in the other's crotch area. Ropes went around our ankles and got attached as a long hogtie to our respective wrists. They sprayed lubricant onto our dildos. The final insult was a long strap that went from the top of my head harness, through his legs and bound wrists and ended at my tied thighs. He got the same treatment on me. Once Tara helped us initially penetrate each other, the long strap made it impossible for either of us to pull the dildos out enough to get away. At most, the tension in the strap allowed for us to make a full thrust before pulling us back into each other's false pussies. The first few thrusts were very odd. Madame was right. I could feel slight stimulation in my crotch, growing steadily with each successive thrust. The Lady Luck people all left the room, including Madame, leaving us in our awkward situation. We were both moaning slightly as the thrusting continued. Then, I heard a voice over the speaker system in the room. "One more thing, girls. As an added incentive, the first one to make the other come gets the night off tonight. And the loser has to work a double shift." Madame intoned. This caused both of us to start pumping each other harder. I was feeling sick, with my face buried in this other man's fake area, my eyes locked on this forced penetration with the dildo. But I could not stand the thought of a double shift. I got some sort of rhythmic pace going, though I could feel my opponent doing the same thing. At that point, animal instincts took over as I tried to slow him down by squeezing my thighs around his neck. He responded in kind to my neck. So there the two of us laid, fucking each other with our mouths and getting filmed the entire time. Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, I saw some extra fluid come out of his pussy, simultaneous with a deep gasp. We both paused, as Tara came in to judge the contest. I was declared the winner, as we were both untied and returned to our respective rooms. I felt very sorry for the man, but better him than me. Man's Best Friend That's basically how it went for a few months. It was easy to lose track of time, as the days and nights blended together. As an objective bystander, I suppose I had to appreciate the endlessly creative variations of themes within the private rooms of the Lady Luck Underground. I played everything from Medieval maidens to primitive cavewomen. But as an unwilling participant, my perspective was quite different. Not much else happened over that time period. Two of the other girls did try to escape the confines of the casino at different times. I know that one was captured and brought back. They gathered us other girls together to watch her be punished, the way I imagined slaves were punished in public view as a deterrent to the others. They had her spreadeagled to a cross, and Madame personally gave her twenty lashes each on her backside and ass. As for the other girl, no one knew quite what happened to her. We didn't hear anything for a couple of weeks. Then, one day, while I was cleaning the tables in the theatre area, I found the front page of a newspaper, probably deliberately left by Madame. The headline read, "Local Cocktail Waitress Found Dead Outside Casino." The article went on to talk about how Emily Johns, a transsexual cocktail waitress at the Lady Luck Casino had been discovered dead about twenty feet outside the front door of the casino, apparent victim of a massive heart attack. Eyewitnesses had seen her running out of the front doors before suddenly falling over and dying. Madame's scare tactics were working. There weren't any escape attempts after those two incidents. For one thing, we now knew that Lady Luck had gone so far as to secure false identifications and back stories for each of us, in case we met an untimely demise. Shortly after those incidents, I experienced the worst scenario of an already horrendous situation. Tara was still handling most of my preparations for the theme rooms, and she seemed extra chipper that day. "I'm really excited, Samantha," she began ominously, "tonight we're gonna try something we've never tried before." "That doesn't sound good." Next thing I knew, I was in a room that looked like the average living room in any American home. There was a working fireplace with a rug in front of it, pictures of someone's family on the wall, and a nice reclining armchair. I was stripped from my maid's uniform, and handed off some kind of furry bodysuit. After a few months, Tara had removed the false breasts glued to my chest, as the hormones had caused me to sprout my own C-cups. I thought having fake breasts was a strange sensation, but it was nothing compared to having your own breasts, tender to the touch. The hair on the bodysuit was reminiscent of the coat on a Benji-type dog. I was immediately a little panicked. But I stepped into the suit, which came all the way down to the top part of my thighs and went all the way up to a turtleneck collar, again covering my choker. There were also two holes in the chest area, allowing my nipples to poke out amid the fur. Tara zipped me up the back and locked me in. I noticed there were openings at both holes in my crotch area, something I had come to expect. She took out a huge roll of white medical tape and started to tape my hands up into balls. She also taped my feet into a pointed toe position, like a ballerina, another theme I had unpleasantly experienced within the last month. If nothing else, this whole experience had made me more limber than I thought possible. Tara then took my right-balled hand and forced it against my right shoulder. She proceeded to tape my forearm and biceps together until my right arm was one half-sized unit. She repeated the procedure with my left arm. Next came my legs. She forced my right ankle up to my right ass cheek and taped my entire leg up into one unit. The lower part of my leg was connected to my thigh and held there by circumference after circumference of white tape. The procedure was repeated with my left leg. Now, if I wanted to move around, it would have to be on knees and elbows. But Tara was not finished. Tara got out some more furry pieces, similar to my bodysuit. Upon closer examination, they actually looked like furry slip covers, shaped like a dog's appendages, with a paw formed at the bottom of each. She started with my legs, slipping the furry covers over them and essentially giving me hind legs. She even had little furry footsies to cover my taped feet. The front legs went over my taped arms, only it felt like there was some plastic in place at the bottom of these. My elbows came to rest on some padding, and I saw that the plastic served to even out the length of my "legs," since my arms would have been shorter than my legs. At this point, I was resting on my knees and elevated elbows, and it was actually not entirely uncomfortable. I looked at a mirror on the side of the room, and I did look a bit like a dog, except for the head. Tara remedied that very shortly. She got out a mask shaped like a dog's head, with furry ears and a slightly elongated snout. The mask at least had eye holes, and I noticed some kind of motor or something in the snout portion. The mask was lowered over my head. It had a built in pump gag that was forced between my teeth and pumped up until my cheeks were ready to explode. The mask also locked onto the neck portion of the bodysuit, ensuring it would not accidentally come off in mid-scene. I looked at the mirror again. I now was a dog. "Now, let's try out the special features," Tara said, "try and make some noise." With my mouth distended by the gag, the best I could muster was a barely audible moan. But the sound of the moan was drowned out by a loud growling bark. "Great, it works. The machinery in the snout of the mask is designed to translate any sounds you make into..well, you heard," she giggled. She was about to leave, but as was her custom, she remembered a few minor details. "Almost forgot," she said pulling out a strange butt plug. One end looked like a normal butt plug, the other was shaped like a furry tail. "Your tail." She eased the butt plug into my asshole, and I could feel her turn it into some latch built into the bodysuit. There was an audible click, and I knew my tail was locked into place. She then put a dog collar around my neck and attached a leash. She led me over to a corner of the room where my food dish sat. It was a double bowl, with dog food in one dish and water in the other. I would have pointed out that it was impossible for me to eat with the gag, but I assumed this prop was more for the mood. Then again, the mask could probably remove the gag so that I really could eat with it, but I really did not want to get ahead of myself. She really was going to leave this time, but for one thing. She took out a binaca shaped container and gave a couple of sprays to both my exposed nipples and my pussy. Now, I was ready for the evening. She left me in the room. I crawled around, getting accustomed to my new legs. Then, my first and perhaps only customer for the night entered the room. He was dressed like the average American dad from a 50's sitcom, with a robe and slippers on and pip in mouth. He sat down calmly in the armchair, with a fire roaring and gave me my first command. "Okay, bitch, go get me my paper," he commanded. I looked over to another corner of the room and saw the paper. I awkwardly walked over there and realized that I did not know how to pick the thing up. Finally, I figured a way to lodge the paper into my mask/snout and started to walk back to my master. Unfortunately, the paper fell out in mid-trip, and it took me a few minutes to get the thing back in. When I finally got to the master, he seemed very displeased. "You stupid bitch, getting the paper should not take that long. You'll have to be severely punished. But first, doesn't mama want to see her pups?" Pups? What the hell did that mean? The master clapped his hands and the door to the room opened. Three real puppies came running in, making a beeline for me. I tried to get away, but to no avail. The pups immediately started tearing at my exposed nipples. They bit and sucked. I tried to tear them off, but they were obviously starving, and whatever Tara had sprayed on me was driving them insane. I was screaming in pain through my gag, but this only activated the barking snout, which incited the puppies even more. When they were through with my nipples, they went to work of my crotch and licked it clean. I became so exhausted, I had no choice but to lay down on my side and let them do their worst. Finally, the master clapped his hands again, and someone came into the room and took the puppies out. "Now, I'm gonna teach you some tricks, bitch." The master pulled my leash over to where he was sitting in the armchair. I noticed with great alarm that in one hand he held a remote transmitter very similar looking to the one Tara had. "First, I want you to sit." He commanded. I refused. Even after all the humiliations I had suffered, enough was enough. I was dressed as a dog. I wasn't doing his stupid tricks. "I said, sit!" He sounded angry, but I didn't budge. He hit a button on the transmitter, and I felt a charge race through my body, knocking me on my side. My muffled moans of pain sounded like moans from the dog snout. The transmitter must have also been hooked into the mechanized snout. The master finally released the button. "Now, let's try again. Sit!" I quickly got back on my legs and sat on the hind part. "Very good, now, roll over." With the threat of more shocks, I quickly rolled over as if I'd been doing it my entire life. In due turn, I also played dead, spoke, shook hands with my elbow and begged at his command. When he seemed satisfied with all that, he told me to stay with my ass to him. He grabbed my tail and pulled me closer to the armchair. He started to finger my fake pussy and get me a little moist. I heard him unzip his pants and pull out his hardened cock. Oh, God, I thought. This whole stupid fantasy so that he could take me doggy style. What a clich?. But that's exactly what he did until he spurted deep into me. Over the weeks, I had learned to suppress the gag reflex, though it was difficult each time. I had also learned to stop crying. Crying only served to stop up my nasal passages, and it was critical to keep them clear, since I was usually gagged. When he was done, he still wanted to wrestle with me, laying me on my back and rubbing my belly while playing with my nipples. I just obliged him until the night was thankfully over. I Was Working as a Waitress in a Cocktail Bar After a few more weeks, Madame and Tara seemed to develop some trust in me. I was actually allowed to be a cocktail waitress in the main casino area. I suppose it was a welcome diversion from being a complete sex slave for months. It did have psychological drawbacks. It was painful to be able to see the exit doors of my freedom so close, yet so far away. I knew they would be watching my every move up there, making escape impossible. I never really knew what the theme of the Lady Luck Casino. It was not like casinos on the New Strip, with definitive themes like tropical or the Renaissance. The cocktail uniforms at the Lady Luck were interesting. They consisted of a bright red bustier/bodysuit that forced the wearer's breasts outward. Over that, there was a red top coat with tails. Sheer suntan hose and red suede pumps with lots of cross straps over the top of the foot completed the ensemble. My outfit was slightly modified from the regular waitresses, with a few strategic padlocks ensuring that nothing came off before Madame wanted. My hair was up in a bun, and my tattooed make-up enhanced with even brighter colors. Tara had to train me in basic waitressing skills, like how to carry a tray full of drinks, how to take orders from players and how to respond to heavy flirting. All this was made even harder in high heels. With all my time spent in stilts, I had not really walked around all that much. Waitressing required a great deal of movement. I was also nervous about the interaction aspect. I never had to speak to customers as a woman before, and I was warned that people had their eyes and ears on my every move. I was forced to wear a small microphone on the lapel of my coat and a small earpiece so that security could converse with me. Of course, the extensive video system of the casino floor was enough to keep visual tabs on me. I took a deep breath as a walked out onto the floor for the first time with tray and order tablet in hand. I approached my first blackjack table. High stakes. Here was the very location of my downfall. "Can I get anyone a cocktail?" I inquired as cheerily as possible. "I'll have a vodka tonic." responded one man. I took one look at the man and recognized him immediately. It was one of my old gambling buddies, Don Lester. I tried to keep the appearance of composure, but I knew he might be my last and only chance of escaping this hell. "What was that again, sir?" I desperately tried to make eye contact with him. He must have been losing, because he refused to look up from his chips. "I said, fucking vodka tonic! How fucking hard is that?!" I went back to the bar to get his drink and regroup. There had to be a way for me to communicate with him without setting off the alarm bells of the Lady Luck underground. I excused myself to go to the bathroom before bringing his drink back out. When I came out, I had a plan formulated. I brought Don his drink. He still didn't look up. When he finally picked up the glass to take a drink, he noticed some writing on the napkin coaster. He casually picked it up and read it. He tried to hold his expression as he pocketed the few remaining chips he had and headed towards the men's room. Just as I suspected. I knew the fastest way to Don's heart. On the napkin I had scribbled: "I want you very bad. If you want a blowjob or more, head for the last stall of the men's room ASAP. - Your cocktail waitress." When I entered the men's room (I told the bartender that someone complained about puke in the men's room and knew he would send me to clean it up), there was someone in the last stall. I quickly knocked on the stall door. It swung open, and there was Don, with his pants pulled down to his ankles and with an awaiting erection. "Let's get started, shall we?" "Not so fast, big boy," I replied, "there's something I need to tell you." Then, I launched into a sixty second explanation of my predicament over the past few months. He paused for a moment, looked me over head to toe, and then let out a sustained and hearty laugh. I don't suppose I could blame him. Hearing this story, it sounded too ludicrous to be true. But I grabbed by the lapel, he took one deep look in my eyes, and he knew it was all true. "Oh, my God," he said, "what did they do to you?" "I don't have time, Don. You have to help me." "Alright, make sure you're here at the same time tomorrow. I'll meet you at this stall." I let him leave the restroom first. After a few minutes, I left, and for the first time in many weeks, I actually felt some glimmer of hope. The next night, I was able to get myself assigned to another night shift passing out cocktails. These red suede pumps were particularly tight and painful on my feet. But I could barely breathe, in anticipation for the time I would be able to meet with Don and hopefully take the first steps towards freedom. I made up another vomit excuse for getting into the restroom at the appointed time. But when I went to the last stall, there was no one there. I stayed in there for a solid fifteen minutes, and not a soul entered. When I realized that I could not excuse myself from the bar any longer, I headed back, thoroughly dejected. I could not understand what happened. Don would not hesitate to cheat a casino or a dealer, but I knew he would never welsh on a promise with me. Not unless something else happened. Another two weeks passed uneventfully. I was a quick study at waitressing, and Madame and Tara allowed me to continue serving cocktails at night shifts for most nights. Then, it happened. I showed up for another waitressing shift in costume. The bartender told me that I was to train a new waitress. I went up to this new waitress, who was facing away from me. She was dressed exactly as I was, except she was a blonde. She had nice legs. Despite everything, I was still a sexual animal, capable of noticing such things. I tapped this new waitress on the shoulder. She turned but would not make eye contact. "Hi, I'm Sam. Guess I'm supposed to show you the ropes." "I'm...Donna." She still refused to look up. I finally looked down to try and get a decent look at her face. I almost passed out. It was Don. A feminine version of him. "Sam, I'm sorry. They got to me the day after I talked to you. I owed them some money..." he sputtered in his new bimbo voice. We finally looked at each other directly. Tears started welling into each of our eyes, as the finality of our predicaments fully sunk in. We were both permanently stuck and at the whim of the Lady Luck Casino. Someone came up behind us and put her arms around both our shoulders. It was Madame. "Now, girls, you know we don't bring personal problems to work with us. If this continues to beco