envelope, postmarked London, had a British stamp on it, with Airmail written
across the top left corner by hand instead of the usual blue stick-on tag, and
it had taken four days to reach Australia. As the busy editor of a proudly
pro-feminist magazine, Kelly of course didn't have time to read all the mail
that came in, but this one had been addressed to her personally, not to the
magazine or The Editor.
contained a short handwritten note and a half dozen quite disgusting Polaroids.
The handwriting was familiar though, recognition coming when she got to the
signature, Jo, signed with a big swoop off the J. Joanne was a freelance
journalist and friend who occasionally wrote features for the mag., though she
preferred to chase current news stories.
onto the story of the century. See attached disk, Jo.'
looked in the envelope again just to make sure. No disk.
a grimace of distaste, she spread out the photographs. The pictures were all of
the same naked girl, a clearly limber young blonde, not overweight, but with a
hint of one too many chocolates about her. The girl's hair was a gorgeous thick
golden mane, while her breasts could charitably be described as exceptionally
large. She was bound, her head in a tight black form-fitting rubber hood that
left the only the mouth free, in all the shots.
one photograph the blonde was tightly hog-tied, lying on the centre of a dining
table, in another her breasts were tightly bound, with weighted clamps hanging
from her nipples. Another showed the girl seated, her wrists in handcuffs in
front of her, pushing a huge dildo into herself, the cameraman making her hold
her head up with the tip of a long whip under her chin. In the fourth she was
bent over a chair, displaying whip marked buttocks.
cameraman must have taken the fifth shot down his own body, lying on his back,
the hooded girl with a mouth full of cock. The final photograph showed the
hooded blonde on her knees, mouth held open wide, saliva and semen dripping off
her held-out tongue.
shuffled the photographs back together. The really strange thing was that at
first, just for a second, she'd thought she was looking at pictures of Joanne
herself, face hidden under a hood, cruelly bound, humiliated and violated.
wondered what on Earth had made her think that? Even with her face covered by
the tight black rubber, at a glance, the full figured girl in the photographs
was clearly younger than Joanne, with much, much bigger breasts! If anything,
Joanne, who worked off her excess energy in the gym, was a bit skinny. And the
curvy girl in the photographs was not only top-heavy, but clearly - if
amazingly - naturally big breasted, not the recipient of a boob job. Silicon
just didn't squeeze like that.
a disgusted sigh, she swept the lot into the bin. At least this pile of filth
hadn't come with the usual half legible scrawl.
like to do this to you, you lesbo bitch, you ruined my marriage. My wife was
perfectly obedient until she started reading your rag, etc, etc...' was pretty
on Earth was Joanne doing sending her this degrading smut? She very much
doubted it was a new sexual direction for Joanne. The two of them went back a
long time, to university together. They shared, respected and preferred to
report the same uncompromisingly feminist point of view, but while Kelly was
now blissfully happy with her chosen life partner, poor Joanne had the bad luck
to be heterosexual. And as a decent man was practically impossible to find, her
love life was of course a series of disasters. But Jo into SM? Not a chance!
The last Kelly had heard of her she'd been in Africa, doing a corruption piece
on some dictator!
looked in the empty envelope one last time, then tucked Joanne's note into a
drawer. No disk and no mention of England or Polaroids. Clearly someone had got
to Joanne's letter and pulled a switch. Hopefully just a cruel joke, not done
with malicious intent, but somehow Kelly doubted it. Those pictures looked
awfully real! Joanne was smart and fearless, but unfortunately, she also had a
rather large character flaw. She just would not, could not, let go of a really
good story. No matter where it took her.
a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, told Kelly there was more, that her
friend might be in trouble, but she eventually decided there really wasn't any
point in going to the local police, never mind trying to get in touch with the
British police through the embassy. All she had was some DIY porn and a
feeling. She wasn't even sure Joanne was in Britain!
thought a moment more. Perhaps there were a couple of people she could talk to
without turning the whole media pack loose on what could be a very embarrassing
wild goose chase. A certain type of reporter, while always interested in the
mysterious disappearance of a journalist, could also be counted on to be
secretive and discreet as well. Conspiracy nuts had their uses!
at the edge of the stage to make her entrance, Joanne shivered helplessly.
Behind the curtain, a baying crowd roared enthusiasm as the next contestant was
a feminist, Joanne was of course opposed to beauty contests in principle, as
well as being personally rather offended by the idea of attractive young women
parading themselves like cattle for the edification of the male chauvinist pigs
who ran, organised and watched such events. Beauty contests were no more than
pet shows for two legged poodles, and the women who defended them were
brainless fluff, seeking fame at any price and too stupid to see how much
damage they did the cause of women's rights.
the normal course of events she would never have even considered actually
attending an event so degrading to women, except as part of a protest, or if
she was following a really good story. Sometimes a reporter had to make
sacrifices, but even for a Pulitzer prize, the idea of ever entering a beauty
contest herself, was just laughable.
jerk on her collar, her lead held by a young English girl called Annette, a
full eight years her junior, reminded Joanne to put her ankles together, and
hold her head up, standing neatly to attention in her bonds; as she'd been
trained to. She was completely naked, the girl holding her lead wearing a smart
charcoal-grey two-piece suit with a burgundy blouse. Reluctantly admiring the
top-heavy Barbie on the end of Annette's lead in the floor-length mirror set up
opposite them, just off-stage, Joanne had momentarily forgotten to display
herself properly! Her bound and gagged reflection had a huge cherry red
ball-gag filling her mouth, straps tight across her cheeks and under her chin,
giving her an appealing look of innocent, doe-eyed, submission.
entering a Beauty Contest of her own free will was flatly impossible, and being
entered into a Pet Show for sex-slaves by a master the stuff of her darkest
nightmares, Joanne had of course never even considered the possibility that she
might make a truly beautiful sex-slave.
feminists were usually disinclined to parade themselves naked in stiletto heels
in front of mirrors - body fascists being another enemy of women - Joanne had
for the most part always been satisfied with her appearance. She'd kept herself
fit, lean, and she'd always thought she had rather good legs.
in five inch stiletto heeled sandals, in silhouette or looked on direct, the
sex-slave looking back at her from the mirror had superb legs! They went on
forever - the eye starting at the hip on a naked slave in heels, not the
hem-line as Joanne was used to - before trailing right down to the toe, her
feet forced into an uncomfortable but pretty arch! Her thighs were firm, calves
a delicate sculpture of muscle, her buttocks, marked with a half dozen
decorative whip-stripes, also plumply firm.
broad polished steel belt, a cruel and breathless eighteen inches, fastened
with a padlock in the small of her back, cut deep into her flesh. From it, a
chain digging into the firm swell of her belly and pulled up in between her
sex-lips, ran down her front and under her, to emerge pulled up taut between her
buttocks behind her. A built-in chain turned her stiletto sandals into
manacles, and steel bands padlocked together around her wrists and upper arms
kept her arms neatly together down her back, elbows touching. A thin tight
collar was buckled snug around her neck, a pet's name-tag hanging at her
throat, and her master had of course had her nipples pierced, a decorative
chain swinging between the rings.
was well aware that by local standards she was a walking wet dream, not a
feminist's nightmare, but she'd never imagined she could be brought so low as
to actually admire herself; like this! As a chauvinist male might! But after
only four weeks on a planet where slavery was legal and commonplace, her
perspective, her sense of what was attractive and any ideal of feminine beauty
she had ever had, were under constant and sustained attack. It didn't help that
her jailers and sexual abusers were constantly telling her, and each other, how
gorgeous she was!
longer allowed the lean, smoothly muscular figure she had long maintained, her
diet and exercise now controlled by her self-proclaimed owner, and force-fed
when she didn't lick her bowl clean, Joanne's figure now inclined more towards
the lushly curvaceous. She hated the very idea that she was more attractive
ball-gag was making her drool, and already the first trickle of saliva was
running down one of her breasts. Joanne was well aware she was now in the hands
of people who found a helpless slave-girl slavering down her own naked body amusing
and arousing. And also, that they liked their tits big!
enlarged breasts were the worst aspect of her new figure, but now that she
found herself living in a male fantasy, she wasn't entirely surprised. Her
master, the British ambassador to this awful Slaveworld, had injected her with
a growth hormone - several times! - to make her boobs grow larger and then
larger still. The full globes were both now quite huge, a firm but heavy
should have hated what they had done to her; she had at first. Being in the
control of someone with power to turn her into a top-heavy, sexual plaything.
But in unguarded moments, as now when she'd looked in the mirror, when once she
should have felt nothing but horror, humiliation, or defiance; increasingly,
her feelings about slavery were..... disturbingly ambiguous!
problem was, if she looked at her own naked, gagged and humiliatingly bound
reflection with Slaveworld eyes, then she was undeniably, quite stunningly
beautiful, where on her own Earth she'd been rather ordinary! Compensating for
the 'mousy' label she'd had as a child with interest.
question that puzzled her was, since when did she want to be beautiful, much
less a beautiful slave? A central tenet of feminism was that you did not judge
a woman by her appearance! Even while Joanne silently rebuked herself, she
couldn't deny that when Annette had brought her to heel with a jerk of the lead
clipped to her collar, she had been turning herself back and forth, admiring
her own reflection in the mirror. To find any naked, gagged woman in chains
attractive was a betrayal of her life's beliefs. And when she was looking at
swinging chain linking her ringed nipples drew attention to the slightest
movement of her newly enlarged breasts, the way the full globes rose and fell
with every waist-cinched breath, the eye also drawn to the swell of her stomach
against unyielding steel. Joanne was still surprised at how delightfully a
wasp-waist emphasised the flare of her hips and made her now hugely overlarge
breasts seem positively enormous. The cuffs touching her elbows together behind
her back also squared her shoulders and forced her to thrust out the ring and
chain decorated melons just that little humiliating bit extra.
She was every feministís nightmare. A creature who existed purely for the
sexual pleasure of others.
least she didn't have to blame herself for being horny; an aphrodisiac
surgically implanted under the skin, slowly dissolving into her bloodstream,
kept her helplessly hot and wet. Trying to distract herself, Joanne tried to
imagine how a free woman of Earth, her best friend Kelly for example, might see
her. No one would believe her enormous slave-sized boobs were real until they'd
given her a silicon-free squeeze, and to Earth eyes, a cinched waist added to
the already generous flare of her hips made her appear a little heavy around
the hindquarters; while her bound, forced to attention, posture, also made her
shoulders look a little too broad, too powerful.
that was Earth; another world. Joanne had been here long enough to know that by
Slaveworld standards, she was the perfect carriage pony. Without the stamina
and pace of a pure bred country pony-girl, the carriage pony was a city slave.
She was first and foremost a docile, well trained, masochistic, bedroom
sex-toy, but she was also regularly used to pull a carriage as a part of a pair
or 4-team over short city distances.
carriage pony had first been recognised as a distinct breed some 200 years ago;
owners cross-breeding the powerful, athletic, country hacking pony with the
more lush, top-heavy, pillow-slave: a pure sex-toy. The original carriage pony
had still been a lean, spirited animal, but over the years owners had bred for
a more placid, sexy slave. Today the breed was known for big full breasts and
docile sex, a mature example considered by many the perfect first ride for a
young lord or lady on his or her eighteenth birthday. A good specimen could
sometimes fetch poodle prices at auction.
sometimes wondered if the peasants and workers of this world knew their lords
and ladies looked on municipal and village birth and death records as stock
books! Pedigrees! Her own master had had her appraised by several slave
dealers. She'd stood in her bonds while strange hands had stroked and probed
over a dozen times now.
first thing the experienced owner looked for when buying a carriage pony was
firm, powerful haunches. Big breasts were a must of course, and the ability to
take good whip. The new purchase also had to be docile, obedient and aroused by
degrading, sadistic sex. A cosmetic surgeon could add a pretty face if
necessary. The carriage pony was not required to be intelligent or have any
opinions! Some might never be allowed to speak throughout their years of
felt her nipples stiffen slightly, lust swelling her breasts, her clitoris an
itch her restraints would not let her scratch as she mentally described
herself; not just a pleasure toy! A pony-girl of all things!
Joanne's feminist days kinky had equalled degrading to women, and she'd never
been sexually adventurous. She'd never even heard of a pony-girl before her
enslavement, and she'd been shocked to the core when she'd first been
introduced to harness, bridle and pony-trap. Now, prancing down city streets,
pulling her little carriage and driver, she sometimes almost felt exhilaration!
It was as much freedom as this world would allow her.
reflection's eyes were wide, a startling bright baby blue, slightly glazed, her
hair a thick shiny blonde mane, and - to hell with feminist principles! - she
looked damn good in a ball-gag! Joanne blinked away shamed tears. Perhaps one
day she would even learn to like herself with huge, firm, udders, not just
naked in chains! The three went very much went together on this strange, cruel
uniformed man looked around the curtain. "You're next, My Lord," he
told the young Lordling before Annette. "Two minutes!"
nineteen year old English girl took a deep breath through her nose and squared
her shoulders, preparing herself for the crowd. She patted Joanne on the
backside, her hand lingering to stroke and squeeze.
next," she whispered.
free hand stroked Joanne's belly, fingernails trailing lightly to either side
of Joanne's tight crotch chain, her touch familiar, blatantly sexual and also a
confirmation of her total power. Joanne stayed neatly to attention as a hand
stroked up her body, one of her slave-size breasts hefted, bounced in the young
girl's palm, the heavy globe spilling out of her grip even with fingers
splayed. The girl was not only reminding Joanne that she was a helplessly bound
slave, but of the power Annette had over her; reminding her that sex at whim,
and all manner of cruel, humiliating, sadistic punishments† - punishments against which Joanne had no
appeal - were just a moment away.
to be a good girl?"
nodded obediently, already looking beyond her keeper, trying to see the arena
around the curtain. Annette slapped her face!
at me when I'm talking to you, you top-heavy slut!"
sweet looking girl, just nineteen years old, scooped up her breasts, twisting
and squeezing, fingernails sinking deep. Joanne's helpless moan of lust was
soon punctuated by whimpers of pain as fingernails twisting deep into her lust
swollen breasts were used to punish her. Cuffed hands clenched into tight fists
behind her, biting hard into her ball-gag, Joanne of course remained neatly at
attention as Annette squeezed and twisted her huge boobs harder still,
relenting only when the first tear ran down her victim's cheek.
around her mouth-filling gag, Annette just gently kneading her breasts now, the
heavy globes bruised and throbbing but still aching with lust, and oh so
sensitive, Joanne could feel her tear pool against the cheek strap of her
ball-gag. She gasped in delight as her nipples were tugged.
not a reporter any more, you're just a fuck-toy; a beautiful, top-heavy
vibrator on legs. You exist only to please, you should have no other thoughts
in your head, so I do not expect to see you looking around like a tourist when
I'm displaying you! Understood?"
nodded obediently, and submissively lowered her eyes. She'd forgotten herself.
She was allowed to look at a person speaking to her, or directly ahead when
standing to attention on a collar and lead, nothing else! The English girl
nodded approval, gave her a pat on the hip and then planted a light kiss on
each of the heavily enlarged breasts she'd just so casually punished. The once
confident career woman inside Joanne raged at the docile pleasure slave she'd
become, but her nipples stood out even harder.
next contestant in line, a young lord leading another naked, gagged and
helplessly bound girl stepped forward. His carriage pony was a lovely
green-eyed brunette, with breasts that would have been described as large and
heavy except in comparison to Joanne, her height, weight and figure otherwise a
close match. Perhaps a little bit more power around the haunches and thighs, her
buttocks a little firmer; but then not so spankable. The judges looked for
I intrude a moment my Lady?" he asked.
Annette said brightly.
couldn't help but notice your entrant's pedigree when I signed in,
and...." he waved an uncertain hand.
Annette's name, accent, dress and behaviour, marked her down as a foreigner,
Joanne mentally filled in.
was just wondering if your slave was a British girl?"
the young aristocrat sighed. "May I?"
my guest," Annette said with a grin.
guest! Of course no one thought to ask the bound and gagged slave if she wanted
a complete stranger hefting her breasts, pulling and twisting her nipples,
squeezing a thigh and then patting a buttock while he stroked his fingers down
her crotch-chain between the folds of her pussy-lips. Joanne tried to keep her
sighs soft and her moans down as she was examined.
was actually an Australian citizen, but any girl kidnapped from her own Earth,
the real Earth, and brought to this awful planet was referred to as a British
slave here. British slaves were expensive, rare and, as the locals had quickly
discovered, made absolutely superb pleasure slaves!
she for sale?"
was the third time she'd heard those words now, a hundred times in her dreams,
and each time was more terrifying than the last.
don't think so, but you can pass an offer on to her owner if you want to. I'm
just showing her."
young lord was about twenty years old, far too young for her in an Earth relationship,
but not here. Joanne, still savouring the cool strong warmth of his hands on
her naked body, was desperately trying to tell herself she didn't find him
attractive. He fished out a tiny personal computer doing double duty as the fob
on a key ring, and hooked his finger through the ring set through her left
nipple. Her breast was pulled up, nipple painfully stretched, the bar code and
serial number tattooed on the underside of the heavy mound revealed. The
aristocrat's microcomputer beeped cheerfully as it scanned the bar code,
downloading Joanne's pedigree from the central net. An offer to buy her would
automatically be sent to her owner, the ambassador, by e-mail.
was called, leading his green-eyed beauty on without a backwards glance, and
then Joanne and Annette were at the front of the queue. The young English
graduate, snatched out of university by British Intelligence and given a post
on Britain's secret offworld embassy to the Slaveworld's English Kingdom, and a
27 year old former Australian reporter, here, a legally owned sexual plaything.
Both of them on a world they had not been born to, and both of them fitting in
far better than they should have. Annette amused herself teasing her charge,
flicking Joanne's nipples with her fingernails and plucking away a couple of
stray pubic hairs.
it was her turn! Trembling with fear, eager humiliated lust and clinging to a
faint remnant of feminist indignation, Joanne was led into the brightly lit
stiletto sandalsí built in hobble-chain made her take small, neat, steps,
ensuring she walked with a fuck-me sway in her stride, her big breasts
unsupported by harness or bra, jiggling, bobbing and swaying enticingly. She so
desperately wished they didn't have to be quite so big, but she'd stopped
sobbing herself to sleep at night after just her first week. And to her lasting
shame, sex with the huge melons in clamps, tight bondage or simply slapped a
burning scarlet during foreplay, was just fantastic. Listening to the
enthusiastic hoots and whistles of the crowd and their calls, she was forcibly
reminded once more that enormous boobs made her a very attractive, desirable
and expensive slave-girl indeed.
dildo mounted on her crotch-chain was also uncomfortably large, not just a
teaser, a real pussy stretcher, making her gasp softly in helpless distressed
lust with each step. Within moments of hitting the bright lights before a live
audience of over 600 and a TV audience perhaps into the hundred thousands, her
juices were running down her inner thighs. With every step she was forced to
take, following Annette's lead, the big invader thrust, twisted and flexed
inside her body!
being paraded past the crowd twice - the mostly male audience not just admiring
her bound nudity, but actually placing bets on which of the entered sex-slaves
would win - she was led before the eight judges. Before the Slaveworld, Joanne
had never once doubted that an enslaved girl would be anything other than the
victim of male abuse. But to her continuing bafflement, male sex slaves were
also entered into competitions like this. And given the chance just as many
women like Annette seemed to enjoy abusing her as did men. Incredibly, she had
finally discovered true equality, as a sex-slave!