A Slave to Fashion · Part 2

A Slave to Fashion · Part 2 (2/3)
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nt first. That would mean that I would only have to endure one walk through the store instead of two. I stopped making a fuss and decided to just let this play out. What choice did I have, really?

I watched in silence as the Mistress forced the girl’s arms behind her back into a leather muff-style armbinder. The girls arms were folded so that her forearms ran parallel across her back. Even though the girl could never have escaped the tightly buckled muff, Madison added leather cuffs at each elbow, and connected them using a leather bicep binder. There was no slack in either the elbow binder or the muff. The poor girl’s arms were now secured from every direction. As if to psychologically abuse the girl, Mistress Madison added locks to every buckle. Now, the girl could not escape even if she had assistance.

Mistress Madison continued to work quickly. She buckled a basic leather collar tightly around the girl’s neck. Then, she wrapped the girl’s waist in a leather corset that she laced up tighter than I thought possible, and she added a pair of leather panties with a vibrating element in the crotch. When Madison knelt down to apply ankle cuffs, the girl instinctively moved her foot away. I could see Mistress Madison’s expression, and she was furious.

She calmly rose to her feet. She took the girl’s chin in her hand and whispered something through gritted teeth into the girl’s ear. I couldn’t hear what was said, but all of the blood drained from the girl’s face, and she provided no further resistance for the rest of the show. The Mistress finished putting on the girl’s ankle cuffs and locked a matching leather hobble belt between them. Finally, Mistress Madison moved up to replace the girl’s gag with the leather penis gag that matched the rest of her outfit. Before removing the gag, Madison gave the girl a stern look, and as soon as the gag was removed, the girl started pleading in a whisper.

“Please, Mistress Madison. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I promise I’ll be good. Don’t be mad at me…”

Her constant string of submissiveness was only silenced when Madison unceremoniously shoved the new gag into the girl’s mouth and buckled it tightly in place. The girl choked on it for a moment, but relaxed and accepted her fate in silence after that. Even though I was handcuffed and naked as I observed the girl through the bars of my holding cell, a sense of pride built within me. The girl looked exactly as I had imagined when I designed the outfit. Fortunately for me, it was the second most severe of the three outfits that we had brought to the show.

We arranged the presentation so that the most severe outfit would be shown last. That meant that I would have the good fortune of wearing the least severe outfit – one of Tara’s designs similar to the body harness that the other girl had worn into the shop. Frankly, Tara’s design was completely uninspired, but I wasn’t complaining.

There were still a couple of minutes before the show was to begin. With the slave girl’s outfit complete, Mistress Madison tied a leather leash to one of the bars across the top of the girl’s holding cell. She clipped the other end of the leash to the girl’s collar and turned on the vibrator in the girl’s panties.

The girl closed her eyes and moaned into her gag. She rubbed her thighs and moved her feet up and down as though she was prancing in place. The girl looked frustrated, confused and in ecstasy all at once. She tried to rub up against the bars, but the leash was too short. The shortened leash prevented her from sitting down on the bench, as well. She just rhythmically rocked her hips and moved her legs in a kind of pleasure dance.

While the girl was preoccupied by the vibrating panties, Mistress Madison added locks to the few buckles that were missing them. Finally, she removed a set of clover nipple clips from the bag that we had brought from the office. I packed that bag, and I didn’t remember putting them in there. Again, I thought that Tara must have gone through things when I wasn’t around.

The Mistress flicked the girl’s nipples several times until the ends became nicely pronounced. When she was satisfied, Mistress Madison attached the clips to the girl’s nipples, and let the connecting chain swing freely between them. The girl jumped and screamed into her gag, but continued her dance with a furled brow. Clearly, the nipple clips were painful, but they didn’t over power the effect of vibrator. I made a mental note of that for my future designs. When she was finished admiring her handiwork, Mistress Madison then turned her attention to me.

"Now it's your turn, pet", she said with a sinister grin.

"Your mistress told me you'll be wearing the strictest outfit," she confessed.

I looked at her with questioning eyes and began to shake my head slowly. No. That couldn’t have been right. The second outfit was supposed to be the least severe. Before we could continue, Tara and Mistress Brooke entered the back room. Tara called Mistress Madison over to join them near the door to make last minute preparations.

They talked softly. So, I couldn’t make out everything that was said. As I understood it, Madison was responsible for preparing the models, me and the other slave girl; Brooke was responsible for parading us around the shop floor; and Tara would be narrating the show, pointing out all of the interesting features of our creations. I thought I heard Tara ask Madison why I wasn’t dressed yet. Mistress Madison responded that she was working on it, and that I would be ready when the other girl was done modelling the first outfit.

Mistress Brooke confirmed that the other girl would be modelling the first and third outfits, which gave me some comfort, but then I heard Tara say something about me. I only picked up bits and pieces, but I began to have serious concerns.

“… Are you sure that you should keep her out there during the third presentation? That might be longer than she can handle,” warned Mistress Brooke.

“Don’t be silly,” Tara said dismissively. “She has made my life a living hell for the past six months. I think that she can put up with twenty minutes of discomfort.”

“With all due respect, Mistress Tara, it won’t just be twenty minutes. It will be more like an hour. At least 10 minutes back here waiting to go out; twenty minutes for her presentation; twenty minutes waiting for the last presentation to finish; plus whatever time you want to let the customers examine her,” Brooke said, defending her earlier warning.

“Enough!” Tara said impatiently.

“It’s my show. Do it my way,” Tara commanded, and she went out to start the fashion show.

Brooke hung back long enough to tell Madison that she had serious reservations about Tara’s decision, but Madison didn’t seem to care.

“I say the bitch gets what she deserves. If somebody stole my designs, I’d torture them for more than just an hour,” Madison spat.

“I guess,” answered Brooke as she took the other girl out of her cell and waited for the cue from Tara to come out.

I knew I had been totally deceived. Mistress Brooke was in on this scheme, as well, and they both think that these are Tara’s designs. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! I didn’t steal any of Tara’s designs. Her designs were horrible. I would have been embarrassed to call any of her work my own. If anybody had stolen someone’s work, it was Tara. After all, I was locked into two accessories that she brazenly stole from my office.

I had to let Madison know that Tara was lying to them. I began to grunt loudly into my gag, stomp my foot and frantically motion toward my hood with my cuffed hands. I must have looked like a mental patient. I’m sure that the hood accentuated the frenzied emotion in my eyes. Unlike before, Madison didn’t ignore my protests. She walked over to me and twisted my left nipple so hard I thought it would come off.

“Listen here you stupid bitch!” she hissed. “Like I told Mistress Brooke, I think you’re just going to get what’s coming to you.”

Even though my nipple still stung, I grunted “uh-uh” and shook my head “no” with a vengeance.

The Mistress turned around to get the rest of my outfit out of the bag. One by one, she pulled out articles that I designed but had decided not to unveil until after the show. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Some of the items were stolen from my office – prototypes that I had the fabrication department make for me. But there were other items that I had designed for which I had not gotten around to requesting prototypes. That could only mean that Tara had been on my work computer! She must have provided the plans to the fabrication department herself.

During the twenty minutes that the other slave girl was modelling the first outfit, I was forced into black leather ballet high-heels. The shoes were locked onto my feet using two padlocks each, making it impossible for me to remove them without the key. Next, Mistress Madison applied a black single glove for my arms. I could see in the mirror that the fabrication department had followed my design exactly, including the red trim that tied all of the pieces together. She cinched it tight and removed the handcuffs once my upper arms were painfully pinned against each other.

Then came the corset. It was a ribbed red leather corset with black trim to compliment the armbinder. She strapped it tightly around my waist, but thankfully I could still breathe without too much pain. My naked breasts were then adorned with nipple clamps. Unlike the nipple clamps worn by the other slave girl, these had sharp barbs that could puncture the skin with the slightest pressure. I almost passed out when she put these on me.

Finally, to top it all off, she produced a set of dildoed panties that I designed. I never requested a prototype for the panties because I had decided the design was too severe. I was thankful to see that Tara didn’t stick to my original design – probably because the fabrication group wouldn’t let her.

The panties I designed included two 8-inch dildos. The ones I had to wear included only a 6-inch dildo for my pussy and a 3-inch anal plug. Thank God for small favors! Madison lubricated both insertables using a jar from the bag. She forced me to to step into the panties, and she slowly pulled them up, forcing me to take in both dildos. They were a little stimulating at first because of the lubricant and the fact that I was forced into them against my will, but after a short while, they were just uncomfortable.

Once I was dressed, Mistress Madison locked my ballet high-heels together using an 18” leather hobble, and she led me to the door at the back of the store to wait for Mistress Brooke. I had only been standing there a few minutes and my feet were in agony. I couldn’t wait for Mistress Brooke to return with the other model and present me to the audience. The sooner I this was over with, the better.

As we stood there waiting, I could hear Tara’s presentation, and it wasn’t the same as the script that she had given me the day before. It seemed as though she had brought other accessories with her to demonstrate in front of the audience. At one point, she invited two men from the audience to participate in the demonstration. That girl must have been mortified.

Tara concluded the demonstration and announced that Mistress Brooke was going to retrieve “our second lucky model.” Mistress Brooke appeared at the door and exchanged the slave girl’s leash for mine.

As she began to lead me out. She glanced behind to ensure that I was following along when she suddenly stopped short.

“This won’t do at all,” she said almost to herself as she reached into her pocket and retrieved a 12 inch chain with a clip at either end. “Anyone looking at you can see that you aren’t a real slave girl. You hold your head up too proudly – as though you are our equal,” she muttered in disgust.

Then she clipped one end of the chain to a D-ring at the top of my hood. She pushed my face as far downward as she could until I was staring at my high-heeled ballet shoes, and she clipped the other end of the chain to the chain connecting the clover clamps biting into my nipples. The result was that I was forced to maintain a submissive posture. I couldn’t raise my head without suffering a painful bite into my tender nipples.

While Mistress Brooke was attending to that last minute preparation detail, Tara was working up the audience. She asked if they liked what they had seen so far, and the audience erupted into a rousing round of applause. It sounded like there were a hundred people or more attending the show. As the audience became quiet again, Tara gushed “Thank you so much. I am so glad you like my design. Here’s another one that I designed for the most experienced players.”

I was fuming! Tara didn’t design either of these outfits. As I shuffled out next to Tara, I couldn’t help trying to raise my head to glare at her, but I never came close to achieving eye contact. The tug on the chain pulled on the clover clips which, in turn, bit into my tender flesh. I yelped into my gag and forced my gaze downward.

Tara lowered the microphone and leaned in close to my ear.

“Who’s in charge now, Bitch?” she whispered with a smile.

There was no denying it. She was. I was devastated, broken and under her complete control. There was nothing I could do. Tara had taken my body, taken my dignity, and taken my credit. I desperately wanted to get back everything that Tara had taken from me, but I couldn’t see how I could do it. I decided to just focus on getting through the night. For the next twenty minutes, Tara used me like a sex toy. She rearranged the accessories in various configurations to demonstrate the many ways that the equipment could be used. At one point, she removed my hobble and directed me to spread my legs so that she could explain the benefits of my leather panties.

I was humiliated, but I reluctantly spread my legs about shoulder length apart. Of course, that wasn’t wide enough for Tara. She slapped the inside of my thighs with a riding crop, one the many unpleasant surprises that she included in our gear bags, until my legs were spread to her satisfaction. All the while, she made jokes about how hard it was to find a good slave, and the audience laughed along with her.

As I stood there in front of God knows how many people, mostly men, Tara slowly described the six inch dildo that was presently inside of me. I blushed beneath my hood. I blushed from embarrassment, but to be honest, I also blushed from sexual excitement. At various times throughout my ordeal, I found myself excited to be used and controlled, and I hated myself for it. To my surprise, she pulled out her smart phone.

“Here’s a feature you won’t find on our competitor’s products,” she announced as she tapped the screen a few times.

Suddenly, the dildo within my sex began vibrating. I screamed in surprise and excitement. To the crowd’s delight, Tara used her phone to adjust the frequency of the vibrations. With every change in speed, my body would betray me, and I couldn’t control myself. With a flick of her index finger, she could make me pant, mew, hum, tremble, sweat or scream. Tara played with me like a puppet, and I was powerless to make her stop.

Toward the end of the presentation, she turned my back to the audience. She locked a spreader bar between my ankles, and pulled my leash down until my ass was on full display. She then clipped one end of the small chain to a ring in the center of the spreader bar, and the other to the nipple clamp chain. Just when I thought that Tara couldn’t do anything more humiliating to me, she would one up herself. Maintaining my position was excrutiating. My thighs and abs burned, but it was better than having my tits ripped off.

While I was in that prone position, Tara took her time explaining how my ass was filled with a three inch butt plug. Without warning, she turned on the pussy vibrator, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The audience giggled at that, but they roared when she surprised me by activating the vibrating butt plug.

I shrieked. I lost my balance, and I fell. My nipple clamps gouged my skin and were forcibly ripped off from the impact. I was just lucky that there was an astute BDSM gentleman nearby to catch me before I hit the ground. Thankfully, he not only cushioned my fall, but he removed the spreader bar and helped me to my feet.

The audience clapped and whistled, and my twenty minute demonstration was over. I was glad to be rid of the spreader bar and the nipple clamps. I breathed a mental sigh of relief even though I knew that Tara was going to make me stay on stage during the other slave’s second presentation. Of course, I figured that it couldn’t be as bad as the previous 20 minutes, but what did I know?

Just as I expected, Mistress Brooke left me alone on the left side of the presentation area and brought the slave in for her encore performance. Meanwhile, Tara tapped furiously on her smart phone, and I felt both vibrators spring to life. But it wasn’t like before. This time, they were on a slow hum. Just enough stimulation to get me hot and bothered, but not enough to carry me over the edge. It was frustrating as hell!

While Tara described the slave girl’s outfit, all I could think about was finding a way to pleasure myself. I felt like a total slut, but I didn’t care. I needed to have my satisfaction. I looked for something, anything, to rub up against. Finally, I lost all of my good sense, and I wandered into the audience. For twenty minutes, I moved from one person to the next – rubbing and grinding up against them. In the distance, I could hear Tara taking credit for yet another of my designs, but I couldn’t focus on that. I wanted and needed to have my sexual release.

My shoulders burned. My hands were numb. But none of that mattered. At that moment, my life’s ambition was to achieve an orgasm. Nobody was watching the demonstration anymore. Everyone was focused on me, and I was focused on me, too. I worked my way through the audience like a cheap whore, and at the end of the twenty minutes, Tara smiled and turned up the vibrators to give me an eruption of pleasure. Again, I found myself screaming into my gag, but I didn’t care. I did it. I did it.

I can’t remember much of what happened immediately after the show. I remember being thankful that I was allowed to sit on a stool. I remember countless people examining my bindings. It seemed as though everyone there had their hands on me somehow. Some caressed me. Some tweaked me. Some slapped me. My next significant memory is being locked back in the cell across from the slave girl. Mistress Brooke positioned me so that I was sitting on the bench. I watched Mistress Madison changing her slave back into the full body harness that she arrived in earlier in the evening.

I looked up at the clock, and it was midnight. I had been there under Tara’s control for three hours. Everyone from the audience had gone home. Only the shop owner and the sow participants remained. Without the background noise of the shop, I could hear Tara talking with the shop owner just beyond the door to the dressing area. He raved about the designs, and he told Tara that he sold more gear during this show than he sold all of last month.

“Your designs were nothing short of brilliant,” Dave said.

Tara giggled.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the bondage fashion designers,” she joked.

“Too bad that your co-worker had to run off, but it didn’t matter. This show was all yours,” he said.

“Well, just put in a good word for me with my boss when you talk to him,” she suggested.

He didn’t even recognize her shameless self-promotion. Dave just told her that he’d give her glowing review, and he apologized for needing to leave. He explained that he needed to get home for his kid. The babysitter would have a fit since it was after midnight. Finally, he asked Tara to leave out the back door since it would automatically lock behind her.

A few seconds later, I heard the front door close and lock.

I turned back to Mistress Brooke who was sitting beside me. She reached into a gear bag, removed an orange water bottle, and offered it to me.

“Here. Drink this. You need to rehydrate yourself, and this has electrolytes,” she said.

I drank from the bottle. It tasted like a poorly flavored sports drink, but it was just what I needed. Only then did I realize that I was no longer restrained, although I was still wearing the hood and collar. I was too weak to care; too weak to move; and too weak to talk. I just drank.

Mistress Madison asked Tara whether she needed any help cleaning up, and Tara politely declined. They said goodbye, and Madison and her slave headed out the back door without speaking to me or Mistress Brooke.

Tara came back to the dressing area and told Brooke that she could leave, too.

“I’ve got this handled,” she said.

“Are you going to be okay driving home with her?” Mistress Brooke asked motioning her head in my direction.

“We’ll be fine,” Tara said.

“It’s all water under the bridge, now,” she added.

Brooke picked up her belongings and leaned through the cell door to say goodbye to me.

“You drink that up. You’ll be feeling better before you get home,” she offered.

“But honestly, you should be ashamed of yourself. You can’t just go around taking credit for other people’s work,” she added.

“Well, I hope she’s learned her lesson,” Brooke remarked to Tara on her way out.

I tried to sit up and tell my side of the story, but my head was spinning and my mouth wasn’t able to form the words to defend myself.

Once Brooke had left, Tara and I were the only ones left. Tara silently took all of the bags of gear out to her car and packed them into the trunk.

On her last trip out to the car, she helped me up. The room was rocking back and forth. She almost carried me out to the car. She helped me get in, and I promptly passed out. I didn’t wake up until we were pulling up to her house around 4:00 am.

“What an awful night!” I thought as my temple rested against the window of the passenger door.

The sun hadn’t broken over the horizon yet, but I could see a faint glow that would become sunrise within the hour. I closed my eyes to gather my scattered thoughts and remember the night before. It came back in pieces – mostly in reverse order.

A Slave to Fashion · Part 2 (2/3)
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