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I never thought of myself as strange. I just loved the thought of submission. Some of my dates found me strange, some were excited, but amateurish. None gave me what I was looking for. Oh, a few tied me up, a few took oral and anal sex, but usually I was leading, if you know what I mean. "Why don't you do this, or that". When I was gagged, the ideas dried up. I was always left disappointed.

My problem was the computer. I was a supervisor in an office full of girls, and lived alone. So in the evnings I surfed. There were all these wonderful stories of slavery and torture. There were sites with pictures of girls tied up in what looked like extremely uncomfortable positions. Some. I thought , only posssible for Olympic gymnasts. I even found some very good sites with videos. I always identified with the victims, and I wanted some!

My family were shocked at what they saw as my easy virtue. I admit, I was anybody's if I thought they just might be dominant. I had moved away, and contact was limited to Christmas and Birthdays. Since I left my home town I had done all the things to send out the signals. My pussy was shaven, my nipples pierced, and I even had a tattoo on my shoulder, a very nice lizard that was meant to be a dragon.Apart from the office, which had a conservative dress code, I dressed in my version of a slut's uniform. High heels, miniskirts, transparent tops. Not enough to get me arrested, but I think I might have been thrown out of church. Surely some dominant would read the signs. Somebody with the time and money to try to find my limits.

I told myself I had no limits, but in  truth, there were some things that made me tingle, but also afraid. I had never been particularly brave where pain was concerned, and none of my contacts had ever done more than spank me. I sometimes asked for more, but was only told not to be silly. I needed to know if I could take a caning or a whipping. Some of the blogs made me cum just seeing pictures of floggings. Could I take that? And as for those stories of sex with animals. Often the victim was willing, or became accustomed. Could I do that? Not wishing to die was a limit I suppose I had. The gorier sites, some of which seemed so real, were an absolute turn off. I know I told myself to be careful, but quite how I wasn't sure. There was only trust.

Everyone told me I was intelligent. I did well at school.and could have gone to University if I had wished to. I thought deeply, and felt that my submissive desires were a true philosophy. When had the human race been closest to nature? Answer, in pre-history, and there weren't many feminist cave-girls. Why did women wear skirts? Answer, because in early times, before underwear, women were expected to be available to men. Men are stronger beings, fact, men penetrated and took possession of women, fact.  Females had been subservient to men for thousands of years, and a few hundred years of emancipation made no difference. In the traditional marriage service, women promised to obey, men promised to love and cherish.All of this made me feel that my submission was almost a religion, a return to the proper scheme of things. Add in Geisha girls and harem slaves, and I felt that the strange oned were those who, having got their man, proceeded to nag and take control. Not natural.

Some things I could do. I reguarly shaved my pussy, (it was always popular in the stories), I bought a ball gag, and some clamps. If you are wondering, yes, the clamps hurt more coming off. Looking at the positions attained by the models, I re-started my ballet work at the barre, after 7 years. The ballet mistress was most understanding, but not really interested. I was not going to earn her any glory by being accepted for the Royal Ballet, but I had done Ballet for ten years, so I knew how to work to rediscover the supple me. That hurt almost as much as the clamps! I also walked around at home naked, telling myself I was doing it under duress. My panties were discarded, I was available, as I should be..Small things, but I did derive some pleasure.

The next step was to try the contact sites. My details attracted a few replies, but nothing seemed quite right. Perhaps true dominants had no need of contact sites. I despaired of ever finding Mr Right. Then one evening, an email. It was different, in that there was no attempt to ingratiate, no please contact me, no promise of bondage and sex, no "what a wonderful guy I am". In fact he dared me. "You talk big, can you really handle it?  I don't think so, Therefore before you reply to me, think long and hard". There was an email address, but no expectation I would respond. Rather the opposite. I was assumed insultingly to be a fantasist who would run a mile if the real thing came along.

I wondered if he was right. Was it something which was great in dreams, but not in reality? Had I been kidding myself all along? Twenty four hours later, I knew the answer. My resolution returned. I emailed him back "Try me, please sir". From there a correspondence developed. Lots of questions from him, lots of answers from me. My age (23), my colouring (dark), my job and education, where did I live and did I live alone? I told him the town I lived in and that I lived alone in a  rented house. Experience of the scene? This required quite a long answer, which included an honest appraisal of the fairly amateurish scenarios I had played out. We also had an extensive chat about my life and tastes, ( not just sexual). How often did I go out to clubs, and who with?

Gtadually I realised that he knew a lot about me, and I knew nothing about him.Somehow a submissive interviewing a prospective dominant did not seem right. If he wanted to, he would tell me what I needed to know when he was ready. It was right and proper that I should feel that he would be doing me a favour, I was gratifying myself, he was being generous.

Finally, he proposed a meeting, at a restaurant near my home. I was told to dress smartly, and not to keep him waiting. In fact I was there ten minutes early. I was wearing my business clothes (as smart as I ever got), and I waited in the bar. It was a nicer restaurant than my usual haunts. He had the advantage of me, as I had sent him a photo. I was left to assess all the men apparently on their own, wondering which one he would be. Suddenly, I recognised him. Not his face, his aura, his carriage, his, oh, arrogance. He was about fifteen years or so older than me, fit-looking, as if he worked out, well dressed, and fully in control.He came over to me, and escorted me to a table in the corner of the restaurant.

No hello, no were you waiting for me, no how are you. He knew who I was, and what I was there for. He ordered, without consulting me, and told me to tell him all about myself. I repeated much of what I had told him in emails, until the food arrived. At this point he said he really wanted to know my inner feelings, and why I had placed the profile on the contact site. So, between mouthfuls I laid bare my desires to be submissive to a man, and my views on the relative roles of men and women. I commented that men dressed for comfort, women dressed as bait, to attract and please men, as if they knew their place, but then as soon as a relationship began, wanted to switch roles and be in charge. I wanted to take the whole course. I had no desire to tell a man what to do, what to wear, when I was ready for sex, and what form it would take, as if I was doing him a favour by allowing him access.

There was never any point in our conversation where the possibility of my not accepting his domination arose. I was doing the pleading to be accepted.

By the time we were on the coffee, I was being asked if I was absolutely, truly ready if he granted my wishes. When I answered in the affirmative, he said we should adjourn to my house, and there I was, in his car, arriving at my little home, and being led inside, as if I was the visitor. In my lounge he sat himself in the most comfortable chair, and motioned me to stand in front of him.

"Strip". Just one word, no small talk, no introductory formalities. So I stripped. I wasted no time in folding my clothes, and in truth underneath my skirt and blouse I was wearing very little. When I was naked, he spun his fingers, and as if I was connected to them, I turned slowly round to fully display myself. He studied me carefully as if I were a painting or piece of property he was considering purchasing, The  next stage was spreading my legs as widely as I could. Fortunately, that was something I really could do. When I bent forward on command to place my hands on the floor, I had not very far to go, and my palms were flat on the floor. He got up, and walked round me, with my sexual organs, as they say, displayed in all their splendour.

The first smack with his hand almost caught me unawares, but I was sufficiently in control of myself to remain perfectly still. About another dozen followed, increasing in severity. My whole being was concentrated into remaining as if I was cast in stone. I certainly wasn't counting. If this was a test, and I thought it was, I was aiming for a distinction, not just a pass.

Eventually I was told to kneel, with my hands behind my head, and that was how I stayed while we had a discussion. Did I realise that my whole life would be his, IF he acepted me? I did. How long a notice period would I need to work to leave my job?Theoretically a month, but I had two weeks leave, and if I stopped tomorrow, as I had no need for a reference, there was not a great deal they could do about it. What about family and friends? I would write to my family to tell them I was 'going away', and my friends would soon forget I ever existed.

A long silence ensued, I suppose to build up my suspense, before he graciously accepted me. Two weeks would be fine, house and job were to be given up, and his solicitor would call on me during the next week, to tie up loose ends. I had this mad desire to cry out in joy, and throw my arms around him in gratitude, but I did neither, I just knelt there impassively, as I knew he expected me to. Then he got up and walked out. No goodbye, no you can get up and dress now. He had finished, so he went. I, poor fool, stayed kneeling naked for about fifteen minutes before I realised he had truly gone, and I could get up, and I could put some clothes on. In the next few days, I resigned from my job, and I informed the agent that I was terminating my tenancy, and paid the required amount to clear my obligation. I also set about disposing of my belongings, as I was fairly sure that I would not be allowed to take my jewellery or ornaments with me.

When the solicitor arrived, he had a form for me to sign, a sort of combined consent and acceptance of consequences screed. He confirmed that I would be collected on the Saturday morning, by which time my only possessions were to be the minimum of clothing which I was to be wearing. I also signed another form giving him control of my bank account, which he assured me would be used only where necessary, which should be never.

It is amazing what you collect in a few years, but every day I disposed of as much of my life ( in material terms), as I could. I asked, very politely, if I could have the last Friday as unpaid leave, which was granted, and I spent that day selling my car, and visiting charity shops with what was now mainly jewellery and clothing. Most other things had gone by then. That night I slept on a bare mattress, sensibly wearing a nightdress to give me some warmth, disposing of it in the bin when I woke.

I was dressed, ready and waiting by about seven, as no time had been specified. All I was wearing was a short summer dress,not even shoes. I would have been noticed if I had walked around town like that! I had left myself some food for breakfast, which I disposed of in a more normal fashion, I had nothing else to do, no radio, nothing to read, no phone to ring anyone for a last chat. My letters to the faamily had been posted. So, I waited.

Finally a car arrived, and a stranger came to the door, told me he had called for me, and took me out to the car, placing me in the rear seat. I saw from the car clock that it was just after eleven. I only just had time to see that, as he leant in to place a blindfold over my eyes, and made me lay down in the back. My hands were then handcuffed behind me. All a bit unnecessary as I was going of my own free will, but I supposed that I was being given a message.

We drove for some while before I felt the bumps, and the car slowed and stopped. I was hauled out of the car, and the blindfold removed. We were in a grove of trees, hidden from the road. My driver then produced a large pair of scissors, and my dress was cut to shreds. I was made to pick up the bits, hands still handcuffed behind me, and deposit them in a litter bin. he informed me that it was time for his payment, and I was pushed down onto my knees, his cock was forced into my mouth, and I sucked away with gusto. His pre-cum was alreadty apparent, I think he had been anticipating this with some pleasure, and he came in my mouth after a relatively short time. This was my first experience of the real thing. He wanted my mouth, he took my mouth. I was used to "please will you suck my cock", or even "can I suck your cock". I had never sucked cock kneeling, with my hands handcuffed behind my back. It was all I had ever imagined. He inspected my mouth to ensure that I had swallowed evey drop. While I continued to kneel, he produced a collar. A thick collar, with rings on both sides, and front and rear, which clicked shut with the sound of a lock. It was not about to come off. Soon I was back, between the seats, but now naked, with the hancuffs attached to the back of the collar, as we drove on.

I heard the sound of gravel eventually, and the car came to a stop. The door behind me opened, and I was hauled out, made to kneel on the gravel, my hands released and a leash attached to my collar. Looking around for my new master, I saw nobody. Obviously I did not rate a welcoming committee. The leash brought me back to more pressing matters, as I had to crawl on all fours behind my guide. Did I mention the gravel? It was only a short crawl to the door, but a long short crawl, if you see what I mean. I was not about to complain, but my knees were well pitted by the time we entered the house, and I was on carpet.

Down the corridor I crawled, into a room which had the air of a hospital. The first thing was a handful of tablets for me to swallow. This would be a regular routine. I never did find out what tablets they were, but I didn't become pregnant, and I never created a problem by having a period, so I imagine some of the pills accounted for this. There was a large table, and I was lifted by my neck and made to lie on it, face up, with my legs well spread, and strapped to each side. My wrists likewise spread to the top corners. A large strap round my middle ensured that I was going nowhere..I was suddenly alone. When someone eventually came in, he was wearing a white coat. He tested the piercings of my nipples, which were evidently satisfactory. He tugged at my cunt lips, told me to extend my tongue, and looked closely at my nose. He commenced his work. When he finished I had four more rings, tongue, septum, and each cunt lip. He swabbed each area with something (disinfectant, pain killer?), and to be fair, the pain was severe but I was not about to faint, except for the piercing of my septum. The pain here was extreme. But I had seen photos of all such piercings, so I was not the first, and I was the most submissive, wasn't I? Most, if not all of the models I had seen had volunteered for these piecings, I felt, though maybe not all at once.

When he had finished, I was left alone again for about half an hour, smarting, unable to rub the affected parts, or to wipe away the few tears I could not prevent. As I lay there, I was having naughty thoughts. I had accepted his domination, he had agreed to accept my submission, and he hadn't even bothered to see me arrive. I was new to this idea, and had yet to accept, as I did fairly quickly, that I had no right to expect anything, or to question the actions of anybody.

Another man came for me , and released me, placing me back on all fours, and leading me like a dog to a room where my master was sitting, writing. He finished, whilst I waited, and then spoke to me.

"I will now explain all the rules which will govern your life. Quite simply, you will obey all instructions , from whatever source, promply, enthusiastically, and totally. End of rules. The first instruction is that you will refrain from all speech, direct questions will always require a positive answer, and you will respond by nodding your head. Understood?"

Naturally I nodded my head. Then up on my feet again, bent over a bench, wrists threaded through and behind my knees and joined to my ankles, wide apart, legs tied to planks just above and below the knees, and a strap right round my body, forcing me to be bent down, arse in the air, and very effectively immobilised. Especially when my collar was clipped to the bar which ran across the bottom. Without my ballet training the position would have been painful, if not impossible.

"You will now be punished. Not for any misdeeds, but simply because I wish it. Remain absolutely still". This last instruction was totally unneccessary, as there was no way I could move. However, in my heightened state, it added to my feeling of helplessness, which I was enjoying hugely.

I was still feeling some pain, but he had the perfect antidote. A long pliant cane, with which he struck me across my buttocks. Two or three strokes, and that was all the pain I could feel. Most submissives, I am sure, fantasise about canings. Mty fantasies usually centred around begging for the cane, counting the strokes, and thanking the caner. This was different. I could neither move nor speak, and the blows were almost continuous. I did somehow remain quiet, but I could not hold the tears. Somehow as I had masturbated with closed eyes and dreamt of canings, crying was never even considered.

Goodness knows how many blows I received before he tired. Enough to make standing after being released unpleasant, and not putting my hands to my rear required an effort of will. But standing had to wait, my upturned arse, red as it was, presented the perfect oportunity, and at last I was taken by my master, in my arsehole, vigorously, without the benefit of any assistance from me, which I would gladly have given. The traditional method of fucking was obviously beneath his dignity, because my proffered cunt was rejected.

Back on my knees to hear the next lecture. "That was just a bit of fun, a real punishment will make you wish you had never been born, so I advise you to make certain that it is never necessary. You will now be shown your quarters. I operate what you might call a theme park, YourSexfantasyworld.. People come here to live out their most extreme fantasies, and you are the means by which they become real. Always remember your duty is to satisfy their desires completely. Failure to do so will be very unpleasant. Your limits will be tested, some fantasies are wildly extreme, but here they are realised. Whilst you are in your cell, you will make use of the equipment provided, and as you will be monitored by cctv, I do not expect you ever to be idle."

The same man now led his little doggy back along the corridor. The word cell had excited me, but I was unprepared for the sight when I was led into a large room. Inside were three cells, each separated from the others. Two were occupied by naked girls, who paid no attention to the new arrival being placed in the empty cell at the far end.

Once inside the cell, I took stock of my surroundings. Each cell was placed against a wall, with the other three sides consisting of bars.Ther was one chair, with a large, very large dildo on the seat. I quickly noticed that both of the others were seated on their dildos. In one corner was a toilet, at floor level, and a washbasin. On the floor were two bowls, one for food and one for water. My cell had one extra, a barre running the length of the side away from the other cells. Scattered on the floor were a number of dildos and vibrators. A bed , without blankets, was set against the other wall. Overhead was a camera, obviously videoing all activity.

What I had not noticed, but had my attention drawn to, was a sliding panel in the back wall. This was operated from a corridor behind the cells. I was instructed in a system of bells used when the glory hole, which is what it was, was opened. One bell, and I was to kneel in front of the hole, and suck the penis inserted. Two, I had to turn my back to the hole, and insert the penis in my cunt. Three rings, and I had to position my body to enable the penis to enter my anus. All, and he repeated all, these holes were to be stretched by assidious use of the dildos. I was also to use the barre to make it possible to place myself in exotic positions, this would be my speciality. Having explained all this, he removed the leash from my collar, placed me on my back on the floor, pulled my legs up and back, and gave me a long and violent fucking. I know I was not meant to enjoy it, but this was the stuff my dreams were made of, so enjoy it I did. When he had withdrawn his cock, inserting it into my mouth to  deposit his load, he left, locking the door behind him.I made a great show, for the cameras, of ensuring that every drop, including that which was on my face, was swallowed.

I suddenly realised that it was mid-afternoon. So much had happened to me, but I had not eaten or drunk (except for a mouthful to swallow the pills), or had a piss, since breakfast. There was food and drink on the floor, so i had my first experience of eating from a bowl. The food was a mixture of fruit, nuts and cereal, and I soon got the hang of ensuring that most of it went in my mouth. Then I sqatted over what was not much more than a hole in the floor, facing the camera, of course, and had a good piss.

My next step was to 'use the equipment'. I thought I had better start well, so I inserted two vibrators, front and rear, and with them buzzing away inside me, I did my exercises at the barre, one leg parallel to the floor on the barre, whilst bending my body down to the foot on the floor, on tiptoe. Then squats with my knees spread, and a few splits.

Someone came in and led the farthest girl out, on all fours, then another came in to start my training. He began by dressing me, in bells! I had bells attached to my breast rings and my cunt rings. Not huge, but not tiny, and as I discovered when I moved, fairly noisy. Then the glory hole. A bell rang once, and i was led to the hole, and knelt in front of it. This was no ordinaery glory hole. I think the word is complex. There was a strange dildo to one side, with levers on both sides. Placed under my cunt, and the levers moved out, two things happened. One, the dildo rose into my cunt, well into my cunt, two, the levers themselves had curved handles which fitted into my thighs, forcing my legs apart. Under the main hole were two others, which opened from inside. I had to open them and push my breasts through. I was concious of the fact that my breasts were not huge, and it was easy to insert them. I always knew what was about to happen, (I had read the books), my breast rings were to be joined by a chain. Except, as usual I was mistaken. In fact some adhesive tape was wound tightly round the base of my breasts, in a figure of eight. Not only were they locked in place, but they were distended. My tongue was to be put out, and the ring clipped to a small clip below the mouth hole, and my nose ring similarly to a clip above the hole.

I was immobile, face pressed aagainst the aperture which now opened. An extremely large cock, which I couldn't actually see, entered my mouth, and I was face fucked violently. All I could do was use my cheeks to caress the cock moving in and out. I was used to oral sex being proactive, with me sucking and caressing the cock. Here I was just being used. When he came, it was into the back of my throat. Then the cock was withdrawn, and I was free to release myself.

Two bells, and I positioned myself bent double, legs apart, with my cunt in place at the hole. When it came in, it was tricky, but possible, to guide it into my cunt. This time I was able to take part, ocking to and fro to ensure an exciting fuck. Three bells , very similar, just a little bit up, positioned as before.

I confess to feeling excited. How submissive could I be. I had serviced, I think, three cocks, without seeing not only the faces of the men involved, but even the cocks which had entered me.

Somewhere on the edge of my conciousness I was aware of the other girl leaving. It was always strange, we were a team, living together in a room, always naked, and yet we never knew each other. We never spoke, we never knew each other's names, or where they came from, or why and how. No matter how little you knew your neighbours, you still nodded, or said good morning. We studiously ignored each other.

There were two odd dildos, with a threaded handle. I was shown how to insert into my arse or cunt, or even both, and turn the thread. With each turn, they opened inside me, stretching my holes until I thought I would split. It was made clear to me that I was to use these often, and to the limit. It would have been difficult having this done to me, but I had to be the one who did it.

Time then for walkies. Leash attached, on all fours, down the corridor to a large room. There were about ten men in there, including the man I thought of as my master, although in truth they were all my masters. The centre of the room was clear, and I was hauled to my feet, and informed that they wished to see some ballet. I had to think what to do. I figured that swan Lake was not required, and I remenbered an Acrobatic dance I had performed. First up on my toes, a few pirouettes, lots of musical accompaniment from my bells, then a backward bend, on toes and fingers, with my body arched, displaying my sex which I reckoned was the object of this dance. I continued with some forward rolls, into the splits, then maintaining the splits as I raised my legs from the floor. When I had done the dance before, in costume, I had always thought of it as erotic, with my feeling for submission. I hoped performing nude would make it erotic for my audience. The dance lasted about three minutes, there was obviously no music, and it really consisted of my showing as much of myself as I could.

Nobody commented, nobody applauded, I was just put back on the leash, and led back to my cell. I was put inside and left. There did not appear to be a set time for meals, the bowls were kept full, and I was now hungry, so I ate. Neither of the others had returned, so I did some barre work, with the vibrators, and tried out various dildos, including the dreaded expanders. The camera always seemed to be moving, so I guessed that I was being monitored, and I really wanted to do well. This was my dream, maybe not the actual scenes I had imagined, but I was an object for male pleasure, which was my destiny.

When the others returned, and lay down, I succumbed to my tiredness, and lay down on the bed to sleep. The room was not cold, and in spite of having no covering, I was able to fall into slumber. My first day had ended.

Next morning I was woken by the lights, which had evidently been off, being switched back on, and a burst of activity in the other cells. I washed myself in the tepid water from the tap, used the toilet, then copied the others in using the dildos, as well as exercising, keeping myself fit and supple, which I realised was considered my specialiy. Someone came and freshened up the bowls, so I ate and drank. Sitting around waiting was not, it seemed,  an option, so I also used the stretching dildos, and carried out some barre exercises.

The next person through the door was accompanied by someone who was evidently a guest, if that is the right word. I saw the others drop to their knees, hands behind their head, as they walked in as if it was the female house at the local zoo. I had followed their lead, but when they reached me I heard the head keeper for the day explain that I was undergoing training, and was not available.The one next to me was chosen, her door opened, her leash attached, and she crawled out behind them.

I was surprised to be the next to be led out. My further training was obviously to take place elsewhere. In fact, it was outside, as my knees discovered. I was led across to a barn, taken inside, and told to stand. I had never been a horsey type of child, but I recognised a tack room, not least from the ponygirl websites. The first piece of pony wear was my boots. they were designed to kep me literally on my toes. I was used to being 'en pointes', so I was better able to cope with this than most. Under my toes were horseshoes, so as I walked outside later I left horseprints behind. Then my bridle and bit, which incorporated a headband with another bell at the front. I was becoming a one girl band. Blinkers at the side of my head kept me looking forward. A thick band round my waist, to which my wrists were strapped, and finally reins clipped to my breast rings.

I found the whole experience incredibly arousing. My amateur fumblings in the past had never included anything which matched the control I was now under. Strangely, I felt no humiliation at being turned into an animal, I was actually rather proud of my finery. I was then walked out into the yard behind the tack room, where I spent some time walking up and down, with my handler holding the reins. Naturally, I received no praise or acknowledgement for the rapidity with which I mastered the art of walking in the extraordinary boots, but I sensed the surprise.

The carriage which I was to pull was brought out. It was basically two large wheels, with shafts, and a seat suspended between them. The nasty bit was that there were three shafts. One on each side, to which my arms were attached, so that they were now secured to my waist and the handkes, and a third which was in the middle, passing between my legs, and incorporating a small dildo which fitted inside me. So I was pulling the cart with my arms, my waist, and unless I was very careful, my cunt.

After half an hour of walking, learning to steer from the reins attached to my nipple rings, the ante was upped, and I had to learn to trot. I thought I was doing rather well, until I was made to lift my knees with every stride so that my thighs were horizontal. The whip was used constantly, to start me walking, to change to trotting, to go faster, and sometimes I think, just for fun, as I was already going as fast as I was able. Stopping and slowing down were signalled by a third rein clipped to the back of my belt. It was the least obvious signal, but was usually accompanied by a verbal command, such as whoa, or walk on.

In the middle of the morning the third girl appeared with a guest, and they trotted off into the grounds. I thought how very professional she seemed as her bells jangled, and they set off at a good pace. I wondered how many hours she had done as a pony.

About midday, it was felt that I had done enough, and I was unharnessed, rubbed down first with a sponge, then a blanket, and taken home. I floated, not feeling the gravel on my knees, wondering what lay ahead, eagerly anticipating.

I knew that the purpose of this theme park was to realise the dreams of men with fantasies. My secret, (or was it a secret?), was that my dreams were also being realised. Not in the way I had imagined, with a strong master who controlled my life, but even more exciting. I had many masters, and would have many more, all of whom had complete control. Yes, I was a pleasure machine, but a pleasure machine in constant ecstacy.

My bowls had been re-filled, and there was a sort of meat stew which I managed to eat. I was alone for about an hour, and used the time performing for the cameras. I say for the cameras, because whether anyone was watching I had no idea. THe hardest thing to take was the spreading dildos, so naturally they were the things I inserted in myself most frequently.

A new master arrived, and spent an hour or therabouts improving my glory hole technique, for the benefit of whom I had no idea. Then I was led out again, this time to another room, laid out as a dungeon, dark and stark. There were ropes and chains everywhere, hanging down or attached to walls and floor. A heaven for sadists, (and masochists). On one wall was a large cross, there was a spanking stool in the centre, and a long bench. None of which was to give me pleasure that afternoon.

Two rings, as used by gymnasts, and about four feet apart, were pulled down, to the floor. I was sat down, and my wrists and ankles were attached to them both. I sat, spread out on the floor, until they were raised halfway up to the ceiling. There I hung, head hanging down, my mouth, cunt and arse readily available for whatever was required. What was required first was a caning, followed by a flogging, which ranged all over my body. Inside my thighs, on my breasts, even on the back of my legs. It was impossible to remain still, much as I wished to, and I writhed and wriggled, even after he had finished.

I was lowered slightly, and pleasure returned, as his cock moved into my cunt, and he swung me back and forth onto it. My mouth was next, and I was able to suck him properly, using my tongue and cheeks to service him as I should. When I felt fluid in my mouth, I quickly realised that it was not cum, but piss. A steady stream, some of which I managed to swallow, some of which cascaded onto my body. Then came the final act of possession, as he turned and began to shit into my mouth. I had anticipated being used as a urinal, but this was out of my orbit. But so strong was my surrender, that I actually managed to eat most of it without gagging. As I hung there, totally debased, he first wiped his arse on my hair, then hosed me down for several minutes, cleaniong my body and hair, but still leaving me hanging, soaked, upside down in the air.

Any thoughts that I had entertained about all that being a climax of the afternoon were soon dashed, as my wrists were released, only to be clipped to the back of my collar, and the rings were raised. Now I was upside down. I was flogged mercilessly on the underside of my breasts, which now of course were facing up, enabling him to flog downwards with easy access. I confess I was becoming a fidget, there was no way I could remain as still as I thought I should. Not only my breasts, but my body down to my waist, all was turning red.

Again I was fooled when I was eventually released. I had thought the punishment was over. Infact, a chain was pulled down and attached to my breast rings, forcing me again up on to tiptoe. Now I was given another taste of the cane, on my back, far more painful than my buttocks, as there was no padding to soften the blows.

Message received. I would suffer pain, I would perform whatever act was required of me, I was freely available to everyone who wished to use me. Message understood, I was now truly a slave. This was reinforced by subjecting me to a number of bondage positions. My breast piercings were not new, so they were used to keep me on my toes, literally. Much use of spreader bars, but always the bondage was not an end in itself, but a method of immobilising me to make me available for sex of one sort or another.

It was with a great sense of relief that I then crawled back to my cell. I heroically, (well I thought it was heroic), refrained from touching my tender skin, and just kept my hands on the floor, like a good doggy. Both the other cells were empty, and when my latest master left the room, I realised I had sole billing on the video show, and carried out some acrobatics and barre work. I liked the pose where I bentover backwards, arched on fingers and toes, with my legs spread. I felt it showed my best features off to best advantage. Nobody ever confirmed my views, but nobody complained either.

I used my hole, or toilet, for a piss, and was just thinking about eating when I heard the bell. This was my first real thing, with nobody standing there telling me what was expected. My mind was racing, I had to do things in the right order. squat over the dildo, press down on the handles, thighs apart, dildo well up inside me. Slide doors, insert tits. Clips on tongue and nose. Then hands behind head. Reasonably quickly, I felt, and no mistakes.

The door slid open and a very thick cock pushed deep intp my mouth, filling it completely. Not much scope to do other than accept the pumping. Whoever it was had great self-control. I suppose having his cock slide in and out of my mouth might not have excited him. Whichever, he kept going for quite a long time, before his cum hit the back of my throat, and he withdrew, allowing me to swallow. I remained in position, for effect. It was my signal that I accepted my role. It was one of my conceits that I was always sending out signals. Whether they were ever understood, I never knew. Also i never knew whether that was my first public performance, or just a staff perk. 

When I was collected again, it was to be taken to Doctor Master, as I mentally tagged him. I was strapped to his table, arms and legs wide, and he started off my treatment by inserting the whole of his hand in my cunt. Deep inside. I had no idea what it was curing me of, but who cared. The whole of my inside was invaded, and his hand wandered round my inside, almost driving me to delirium. When he was satisfied there was nothing hidden in there, or for some other reason, he withdrew. If I could have prevented the withdrawal I would have.

The real purpose of this visit was soon apparent. Patches were applied all over my body, and some sort of electric wand thing used to create a tingling sensation. I was to realise later that all hair growth on my legs, cunt and arms was being permanently ended. The sensation was neither pleasant or unpleasant, but it went on for a considerable time.

Then my reward, which was in two parts. I was made to kneel doggy style on the table, and the fisting repeated, in my anus this time. If confirmation was needed that the stretching exercises were working, this was it. I cold hardly believe the ease with which I took his clenched fist inside me.

I had already have given some indication of my favourite action. I felt more under control, or at the service of the male sex, when I had a cock in my mouth, with my hands free to caress it, and his balls, than at any other time. I loved showing how much I wanted to please him, I loved sucking and licking as if my whole being depended on it, even more than a traditional fucking.  I wanted to make him cum, and I didn't want him to cum and end my service, with equal passion. As I serviced him, I knew I had found my vocation, no doubts, I was where I belonged, and all I wanted to do was please, in any way I was told. If an overwhelming deaire to make someone happy was love, I was in love with every man I would meet, staff or guests.

The next day was to confuse me a great deal, and for many differing reasons. It started when we had all eaten from our bowls, and all three of us were led out, and crawled down the corridor to yet another new room. Here we had our hands handcuffed behind us, and were made to stand with our backs to the wall. Nooses were then lowered, and placed round each of our necks. They were tight enough to ensure that our heels were not lowered. Then we were left. My imagination was running riot, but , of course, nobody spoke.

After about ten minutes, the door opened. One of the black masters entered, in Arab costume, followed by a guest. They then discussed the goods on display, us, and the guest was subjected to a sales patter for each of us. He was invited to examine the goods, which he did, intimately. As I have said, the nooses were tight, all of us on the tips of our toes, and it was a strain to have our legs opened, and our cunts and arses probed. All of the identical piercings were pointed out, and they started to haggle. The first price offered was rejected, as was the first price demanded. More fondling, with particular emphasis on our mouths and breasts. Then a price was agreed for one of the others, who was freed from her noose, and led out by her purchaser.

How did I feel? Relief that I had not been sold. fearful that next time I might be, coupled, and this is daft, if you please, jealousy that she had been chosen ahead of me. During the rest of the day this scene was never far from my mind, in fact until late, when I was in my cell, and she was led back in. Confusion redoubled. It was only when the scene was played out again a few days later that I realised that this particular guest had fantasised about purchasing a slave girl from her Arab master, and having her as a plaything for the day. He was not alone either, so I presumed that this was, as they say, 'on the menu'.

Not that I didn't have my own problems. When I was led out again, it was towards the pony farm. I was amazed, and further confused, to see a number of clothed girls, walking into the tack room of their own volition. I was hitched to a post, still kneeling, when they emerged as fully fitted ponygirls, utilising all the available carriages. Of course, females had fantasies too, and they obviously enjoyed being ponies. Remember, I was kneeling in the dirt, with nothing to do but think. Half of me envied them, doing something they enjoyed, and going home at the end of the day. Half of me despised them, submissives with no commitment. Ask them and they would claim the title, but how many would volunteer, as I had, to surrender completely. And the other half grudgingly admired them, for they were good. Possibly years of practice, so I watched and learned. There was a lot of filming activity, and one ponygirl in particular seemed to be directing her film. A submissive in control. Hmmm.

With all the carriages gone from the yard, what was I doing there. Well, first I was laced into some boots, then walked round the corner to a cart. Not a big cart, but big enough. No fancy harness, just a belt around my middle, linked by chains on both sides to the cart, and shafts with hand grips. For the rest of the morning I worked. I carted hay from a barn to the stables, I carted vegetables from the garden to the house, I carted manure to the garden, and I carted tea urns for the staff from the house to the yard. I sweated profusely, and I was whipped for the slightest of reasons, or for no reason at all. By lunch time I was exhausted. I say lunch time, not that I was fed, but work stopped so that the human beings could eat.

My stint of manual work was over for the day, but it was to become a regular event if I was unoccupied. and they obviously had no intention of the devil finding work fore idle slaves., I was released, and put back on my knees. One of my masters led me across to an uncultivated patch of ground at the side of the yard, full of stinging nettles. I was ordered to pick the largest specimens and lay them on the path. Gloves, ah yes, of course I was given gloves, and if you believe that.... I tried to pick carefully at the bottom, avoiding the leaves, but I was still stung severely. When I had about twenty, the stalks were tied together, and I was led again to the side of the stable block.

There was a pillory. Holes for my head and hands, at waist height, a bar to keep my rear end up, and fittings to spread my legs very wide indeed. Another master joined us, and I was fucked hard, one in front and one behind, using all my holes, Movement was restricted to my head and hands, but nobody minded if I was not very active. Then came the whipping, with my carefully picked nettles. One can't whip hard with flowers or plants, no blood was drawn, but the pain was terrible. I have said I was proud of my ability to fight back tears, well there was nothing to be proud of here. And I was left when they tired, bent over, in agony, waiting for the pain to subside.

When the ponygirls returned and had dressed, they were brought round to see my predicament. The wetness between my legs caused absolute hilarity. They obviously held me in contempt because of my complete submissiveness, and several of them spanked my proferred arse. I took their use of me as further submission to the masters present, not to them.

That day was the apex of my training. Training never stopped, and new skills had to be learned almost every day, but now I was part of the team. The glory hole was in frequent use, and the next sale saw me being led away.

This particular guest preferred his domination to be obvious. He tried a few bondage positions, most exceedingly uncomfortable, and he had been primed as to my supple body, because he found positions he probably had never used before. Whwnever he found a pose he considered appropriate, I would be whipped, or caned, or flogged. Flogging was his favourite, possibly because it was more of a slave girl thing. It was unusual to be gagged so often, with a variety of ball gags, penis gags, or just cloths. Most, including the masters, liked the feeling that I could cry out, but surrendered in silence. Right at the beginning I was made to kneel and suck his cock, a big one I had to admit, and here he was happy to use my mouth with my full cooperation. After some while, he had recovered enough to fuck me in a more conventional way, with me restrained totally, bent double over a bench as I was taken doggy style. His final act was to fuck my anus. Like many of my sessions it was all filmed. Some of the films were, I think, for the private pleasure of the guest, some  for sale. ASnd no doubt some for both.

I also became an expert ponygirl. I had natural grace, I was better able than most to wear the boots without strain, and I was fast. It was a great pleasure to be pitted against other ponies and see the pleasure on my master's faces when they won. Thanks, of course to their skill as drivers. I was even taken to outside events to advertise the facilities available. Here I was an object of interest. Almost all the other ponies were volunteers, whereas I was a volunteer for domination, and had no say in my becoming a ponygirl. When the day was  over, some, but not all, dressed and spoke of how much they had enjoyed the day. Some kept up the role play until they arrived home. Maybe some of them were forced into ponyplay as I was, but of course I couldn't ask them. My cart was unique, as far as I could see, in having a third shaft, which caused a lot of comment. I wondered if some of the other ponygirls might find their carts modified. my cart was really a racing cart, and there were other types, more stately, and a number pulled by two ponygirls. Whatever, I was so proud and happy to demonstrate publicly my complete acceptance of domination.

There were days when I did have moments. I would see a female guest laugh or smile, and walk normally, and realise that I never did any of those things. Even where I loved what I was doing, and was driven to multiple orgasms, it was part of the facade that I was to be a slave, giving not receiving pleasure. I had now become entirely used to eating from bowls. It was the natural thing to do, didn't everyone.

There were other moments. Wonderful moments. I think because I was so supple that I was chosen to be the prop when an expert at rope bondage came to train the masters in the intricasies of his art. First I was made to sit crosslegged on a bench. He explained that bondage could be minimalist, and demonstrated using only two pieces of twine. He started, by crossing my arms behind my back, and using the first piece to tie just a thumb. The twine was then pulled up, through the ring on the back of my collar, and down to my other thumb. It was not a long piece of twine, and my arms were drawn up, almost, but not quite, too tight. My shoulders hurt, but were not damaged.

The other, longer piece started off on my left big toe. From there, through my cunt ring, up to my breast ring, to my tongue and nose rings, which were touching, and back down thwe other side to my right big toe. I was now a ball, everything under his control. He was able to roll me onto my back, and invite them all to use my very exposed sex holes, which they did with relish, and general murmurs of approval. I just lay there, driven to ecstacy, but unable to do anything but be used. Which, of course is what I was for.

He then demonstrated the more intricate arts of rope bondage. My arms were covered from wrists to elbows in loops of rope, forcing my elbows together behind my back. My legs were next, ankles up to thighs, and then came the hogtie, which included a number of loops around my waist. I was suspended face up and face down. I had to be raised at the head to allow access to my cunt, made all the more pleasurable for the participants because my hole was now tight. The easiest access was to my mouth, and I swallowed a goodly amount of cum. On being released from the suspension, he wrapped the rope around my hair, so well that he could suspend me by my hair. in which position I was caned by several of the trainees/masters.

When everyone had taken turns in copying the expert, he declared them ready to assist the guests with a penchant for bondage to achieve the greatest delight, with bindage positions they had never experienced before. I was spent, but so happy, yes that is the word, at being chosen and used in this way.

Every few days I was examined, very thoroughly, by doctor master. Here was a man who loved his work. I realised that the examinations served three purposes. Firstly to ensure I was undamaged, secondly that I was healthy and had no sexual disease, and most importantly, to provide doctor master with his kicks.

Some things I enjoyed so much that the day was almost a holiday. The pony rides, the glory hole, the bondage, especially with forced sex. They were all part of my humiliation and subordination. Some I enjoyed less, mainly those which involved pain. I didn't mind being caned, like a naughty schoolgirl, but being suspended , sometimes by my wrists, and sometimes by my body rings, to be flogged or whipped, was the price I had to pay for the fun days. Mine not to reason why.

One thing I dreaded, and was known to dread, so it was something which happened regularly. I was made to crawl to the nettles, and having picked a bunch, use tape to make a handle so that they could be wielded safely, and then crawl back with my new whip in my mouth, to whoever wished to use it. It must be acknowledged, however, that being made to do things I hated was part of the whole scene.

The guests were paying to indulge their fantasies, I was living mine, twenty-four hours a day, every day, for nothing.

My masters were not averse to using me if no guest wished to. I preferred this, as they knew what to do to arouse me. In particular, being driven by a skilled driver in a pony cart was something which, if you have never experienced, you cannot understand. Some of the guests had clear ideas of what they wanted, some were guided and assisted by one of my masters, but sometimes a guest would be too proud to be guided, and, not to put too fine a point on it, would be somewhat amateurish. In those circumstances, it was a matter of pride to ensure that they were led by me, but still felt that they were in full charge.

I hope you enjoyed the thoughts and training of one of our slaves. We have six, all equally skilled, to ensure that your fantasies are made flesh. All of our staff are on hand to give you any assistance required, and the whole experience is videoed, and a copy of the video is given to you on departure.

Overnight accommodation is available, and half and single day visits are also possible.

Female guests, dominant or submissive, are also welcome.

All our slaves are medically examined regularly for your safety.

For details, and travel arrangements, visit our website on

                                                                          Yoursexualfantasiesworld. com

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