Fantasy Zones

You crawl on all fours behind Sir, as his leash guides you, your body encased in tight aqua blue latex, your hair in pigtails, the latex displaying every curve, every slit, every orb, you are Sir's shiney bauble, his trophy, at this New Year's party.

There are smirks and smiles, and yet no one is shocked or surprised. Bemused at most.

You look up at the smartly dressed men and women, only able to communicate with your eyes due to the pink ball-gag stuffing and stretching your mouth.

"Happy New Year", they tell your Master. One of the classy looking women looks down at you, "aawww, such a cute little bitch", as she pats your head, her voice, smooth as velvet, coddling and mocking you.

You're certainly popular with the guys, many of whom leer at you, which your Master has no problem with. One of them slaps your wiggling ass, and you simply accept it, knowing that only Sir can object to you being groped, spanked, or anything else.

Sir steadily turns up the vibrator every couple of minutes, controlling your needy little cunt, and thus your brain, filtering out anything approaching independent thought.

As drool dribbles from your ball-gag and the crotch of your latex suit develops a darker shade of aqua blue, you fantasise about being fucked by all the men present.

Instantly you feel Sir's cane strike your shiney ass. Unfortuanately for you, Sir knows your thoughts, knows what a slut you are (because he made you into one). You cannot hide anything from him, your mind as spread wide open by him as your pussy. 

And as you crawl behind him, your bum swaying enticingly, he masterfully increases the intensity of the vibrator stuffed inside your slurping honeypot, increasing the pressure, and making you more desperate and dumber.

He parades you around as the New Year looms, and you recall being here last year, dressed in smart white pants dinner jacket, with red tie, looking like a classy girlboss.

That was before you met Master, who stripped away your pretence and revealed unto you your true self, now revealed to the NYE party goers.

As the clock ticked down, and the carefully, expertly calibrated buzzing in your crotch intensified, all you could think about was Sir and those around you railing you into the New Year.

As you knelt at his feet, you hoped that was what Sir had in mind as part of the celebrations, as the clock counted down, all you could think of was it being a countdown to cock.

Abigail, your intern, was suspended in the centre of the lounge, no longer dressed in her smart pants and blazer, instead encased in a luridly pink tight latex bodysuit that exposed every curve of her nubile young body. Her ankles either side of her shoulders, her arms bound behind her in a strappado, and her mouth stuffed by a large pink ball-gag from which she drooled, all she could do was hang their, like an ornamental piece of sexualized art.

He spun her around for you to examine, and you could not help but enjoy it, as he slapped her ass casually, then smiled at you, and handed you a small pink remote. 

"Try it", he said, his eyes warmly gazing upon you. You paused for a moment, then thought, "might as well try it", as you tapped the button.

Abigail squirmed and writhed helplessly, swinging about as she dangled like a sexual bauble. You could hear a soft vibrating sound emanating from her crotch. He again smacked Abugail's tight, peachy bottom, making her yelp through her pink ball-gag.

You could not help but grin at her pathetic moans and yelps, especially as she was one of those girls who put on a classy, cerebral demeanor, as if she was too good for cock.

You pushed the button again, increasing Abigail's pleasure-torment. She squirmed and wiggled, drool dribbling from her pink gag as you derived immense satosfaction from her defenestration.

As you enjoyed her humiliation, he discreetly fastened a collar around your neck, his hand gripping your neck delicately, yet powerfully. The  combination of Abigail squirming and drooling, and his touching and collaring of you, proved overwhelming.

Two weeks later.

Elizabeth arrived, grinning at the two bound and gagged, objectified sluts suspended in the centre of the lounge.

Abigail and you, suspended and drooling, dangled like helpless, dumb fucktoys, as Elizabeth, like you before her, used the same remote you once held, controlling Abigail's pussy and yours, and as she did so, he discreetly fastened a leather collar around her neck.

She would soon be joining you and Abigail in the toy collection.

He rings the bell and you come running, your high heels click clacking as you hastily arrive in the lounge.

He is, to your astonishment, accompanied by two of his female friends, who both smile at you in amusement at your outfit.

You are dressed in a pretty, cute French maid's outfit with a heaving cleavage,  and a tiny, slutty skirt that doesnt quite cover your little white panties, with your legs clad in tight white stockings. Sir loves this look, which he feels suits you perfectly.

"Oh, is this your new toy?" They ask Him, "Sure is", he says proudly, looking at you with his characteristically intense gaze. The women study you like you are an ornament or art exhibit. They smile 

"I...I didn't know you were going to invite them", you blurt out. He looks unimpressed. The women look furious, the tall, raven haired woman gets up and approaches you, her eyes already scolding you before any words had exited her red lipped mouth. "How rude! Are you questioning your Master's judgment?! So very fucking entitled!"

You protest, "all I did was as-OWWWW!!." you begin, only to be silenced by a harsh slap on your bum by the curvy, short blonde lady, "Hey!" You exclaim, "I didn't mea-mmmdgffghh!!" Before you can even make any vocal progress, a red ball gag is forced into your mouth and fastened tightly into place.

"Hmmmdfghh!!"

"Slaves speak only when granted permission", the raven woman explains, as she woman-handles you, pulling you onto her lap.

He looks at you, a sly smirk on his face as the two women hitch up your tiny skirt and lewdly comment on your ass and crotch.

"Nice ass...and I do like these tight little holes", the raven woman comments, studying you like an object.

"Doesn't she just drip "fuck me" energy?" The blonde asks rhetorically.

The raven woman smiles, "of course, she's got "fucked by the College Football Team" written all over her in fucking neon". The blonde woman laughs, then explains.

"Your Master said we could play with his Toy, which is what you fucking are".

Sir grabs you by your hair, and looks into your eyes, "You'll be a good little toy for these lovely ladies", he says, glaring at you.

Sir switches his attention to the "my apologies, ladies. She can be a bit of a stupid cunt sometimes."

The blonde reassurea Sir, "it's not your fault she has no manners", which is followed by a harsh slap on your ass from the firm palm of the raven woman that makes you yelp into your gag.

The raven haired woman grips your hair tightly, as you grunt into your gag. "I recommend a thorough correction applied with maximum imposition of humiliation", she stated with a calm, clinical detachment that would impress Dr. Spock.

Sir smiles, "that would be very welcome indeed. Do whatever you feel is appropriate...my bitch is yours to use", he tells the women.

The raven-haired woman gropes your ass aggressively. Sir looks into your eyes, you give a disapproving look, only to yelp into your gag, eyes like saucers, as you feel a vicious spank upon your bottom coutesy of the raven-haired woman, as if she sensed your very miniscule defiance.

Sir enjoys your reaction to the raven-haired woman's corrective spank, "Cassandra, Victoria...", he says, finally naming the two women, "I've been thinking of what would be the perfect gift for you two, and I know you have always had eyes on my little fucktoy. Do enjoy her."

"Oh, we will", Cassandra, the raven woman replies her voice dripping with relish, before adding that "but I think she's going to be better behaved once Victoria and I have finished with her".

Victoria grins as she brushes aside her blonde hair before placing a suitcase on the table and opening it, revealing a huge set of perverted toys within.

Sir laughs and Cassandra giggles, as Victoria begins by taking one of the toys out of the suitcase. You can't see it, but know from Sir and the women's reactions it is something nasty, a supposition that is confirmed as Cassandra grips your bum cheeks and forces them apart, as Victoria's high heels clack behind you.

You look up at Sir, "mhhmmppfff", is all you can say, gagged and helpless as the two ladies make you their bitch as well as his.

You're now getting thrice owned.

Your eyes widen and you grunt as Victoria bluntly inserts the object into your bottom, while Cassandra holds you in place.

"Adorable", your Master says.

Sir grins. The women laugh, as the pig's tail sways from your delightful, wiggling, and now very stuffed ass. Cassandra smacks your ass making your piggy tail wiggle.

"So nice of you to let us stay the whole weekend", Victoria cooed, as Cassandra precisely traced her finger up and down your wet slit.

Strapped down on the seat, unable to move, nude except for a leather collar, high heels, and a metal chastity belt.

Between your thighs is a huge dildo, cruelly placed millimetres away from your crotch to torment you with what you can't have, and in front of you is a TV screen playing a compliation of porn, of women getting what you are not getting this month. Your eyes are glued to the sights of other women getting the stuffing and pounding you so desperately ache for.

Your ears, adorned by headphones, are filled with the sounds of balls slapping, pussies squelching, and women moaning, as they get what you so desperately want.

There is nothing to distract you from contemplating sexual need, and frustration, as smut fills your brain and soaks the chastity belt. You squirm helplessly.

The women are getting fucked, while you, well...youre fucked in the opposite way.

Sir explains to you that this will be your daily routine for the entirety of October, 3 hours a night sat watching and listening to smut, but getting no rekease.

No cock. No masturbation. No release.

Your Locktober has just begun.

Bound to His bench, squirming with zero chance of escape, you mewl and drool, mouth encompassed and stretched by His spherical gag, while baby oil is smeared all over your body, making you resemble a shiney, glistening new toy.

Meanwhile another new toy hums it's tormenting hymn inside your helpless pussy, setting off bomblets in your twat, shooting sharp shards of pleasure shrapnel atraight up into your brain.

His bench is at an angle, the incline lowering your head and raising your peachy buttocks upwards, but your posture is not to Master's liking. He wants you to be more attentive and more aesthetically pleasing.

He knows how to achieve that.

Gripping your hair he ties it to rope, then to the other end of the rope he ties a metal hook, it's metallic sheen glistening in the dim light.

Master takes his time, donning wine red latex gloves, then prying opening your rear end and slowly applying lube to your bumhole, as you squirm and whimper pathetically.

You know what's coming, yet you still grunt loudly into the gag and writhe in your bonds, as Master inserts the hook into your tightest little slot, making the stuffing feel slowly innevitable, yet far from easy.

The hook once stuffed inside, is wedged in deeper by tightening the rope, forcing you to arch your back and present your ass and pussy lewdly. Absolutely delightful. Your posture is now attentive and expressive, head down, with arched back into upraised buttocks.

You whimper as you comply with the hook's simple demands.

Then you hear the door open behind you, and it left open, exposing a view of your submission to any who traverse the corridor of this hotel.

Master caresses your ass, as you feel a mixture of humiliation and excitement, as your depraved imaginings are made real.

The slap upon your ass doesn't wake you, nor does the draft from the open door upon your wet pussy. You are not in a dream anymore, this is your reality.

And you fucking love it.

You are still.

Stood on a white cuboid platform.

Your feet planted far apart, ankles in bold red fuck me heels, thighs open, adorned by white stockings.

Your back is arched, presenting your cleavage forward, in a white basque, with pink bow at the front, likewise your bum cheeks are presented, framed by tight red thong panties. Tits and Ass are thus displayed.

Your neck is adorned by a thick white leather collar, a short, chained leash dangles from it, the handle resting upon your tits.

Your hands are upon your head, your digits enclosed in pink fingerless mittens, completing the pose. Your eyes look ahead, and your mouth is stretched forcefully around a big red ball, as drool dribbles from your vocal orifice.

You are Sir's work of art, his object, his still life. A work of objectified sexual art, standing before him, feeling his gaze upon your perfectly posed form, feeling pleased to please, to be enjoyed by Sir.

You are still.

She'd been sat on the "High Chair" for 3 hours and 31 minutes, and was still aching to cum, drool dribbling from her ball-gag, as Sir masterfully tailored the vibrator's settings to extrude maximum teasing and total denial of release, keeping her perched upon the threshold of pleasure.

Sir was calm and in control, and, much to her frustration, showed little interest in fucking her. She was hoping he'd let cum, hoping he'd fuck her, it was all she could think of, as wave after wave of pleasure took her to the precipice then dropped her every time.

The High Chair was Sir's perverted creation, a tall wooden chair, in which her thighs were parted and bound to the chair legs, which tapered outwards, accentuating the space between her ankles, which were tightly strapped. It's seating was comfortable, with a cushion supporting her bottom, with two holes providing Sir with complete access.

Her wrists were strapped onto the arm rests, preventing any attempt at diddling herself was thus out of the question. Sir knew she was a "frantic little wanker", and had firmly dealt with her lack of self-control, having caught her masturbating herself while thinking of him.

Sir had an abundance of what she so sorely lacked, even when presented with her nude body on a platter, he was resolutely un-teasable. Sir, via the "wand" fastened between her legs, inescapable and unstoppable, it sent another wave into her voracious twat, making her squirm on cue, like a musical instrument.

His musical instrument.

As she squirmed, mewled, dribbled and drooled (from her mouth and pussy), eyes wide, hips bucking and gyrating involuntarily, Sir quietly observed her, a soft smile crossing his face, his demeanor the diametrical opposite of hers. He was in control, she was not.

He calmly sipped a cup of tea, sitting down on a couch at the other end of the room, almost motionless in contrast to her squirming and writhing as the vibrator bombarded her with stimulation.

Just one tap on his phone could send her into a wet frenzy, he could make her cum easily, but why would Sir want to make it easy? The entertainment came in stripping away her control, and illustrating to her just why she should surrender to him.

Her undignified mewling, dribbling, writhing, contrasted with Sir's calm, logical demeanor.

Who should be in charge? A total no brainer.

Her pussy ached and throbbed, as she squirmed in Sir's High Chair, the vibrations surging up from her spooling twat up into her melting brain.

Sir being firmly in control made her surrender easier, as she gave into her primal lusts.

With a tap of his finger on his remote, he could play her like a fiddle, dictate the octaves of her moans.

Sir approached her, turning up the vibe as he literally came closer, and she figuratively came closer. As she moaned and drooled from her gag, looking delightfully dumb, he pointed out to her that if he freed her and left her uncontrolled, she would promptly masturbate herself frantically and wank herself silly, and that that would be far inferior to what she would experience under his skilled ministration.

Sir patted her head, "good girl", he said, then kissed her forehead tenderly, then traced his fingers around her chin, gently gripping and squeezing it as drool dribbled from her gag, then his index finger traced down to her neck, tracing down the side, and gently tugging the leather collar that felt so good on her. She quivered as he found her tits and nipples, pinching each erect nipple slowly, his patience far beyond hers, as she squirmed in the High Chair. Eyes wide and fully attentive to her situation, she felt his hand move down to her tummy, slapping it, causing her to grunt loudly and dribble from her gag. Then onward and downward to her core, whereupon she instinctively thrusted her hips towards him, pledging her sexual fealty, her feral need expressed fully, dignity be damned.

Because Sir was in control, she could be an unrestrained, wanton slut. His slut.

Stroking his fingers over her soaking wet pussy, he smiled again, as her breath  quickened. Each tiny moment of physical friction set her alight, feeling her needs and his control, her fantasy made real.

Stroking her wetness, he didn't say a word, as she mewled and groaned through her gag.

Patting her head, he then effortlessly tapped his remote.

The sound of buzzing emanated from her crotch, her slurpy, sodden, honeypot again lifted up to the precipice of orgasm, as she helplessly begged, muffled sounds coming from her ball-gag.

Sir could not be swayed by pleading. "No", he calmly told her, "accept your place, surrender to your neediness,  and trust your Master", he reminded her, his words sounding firm but his tone gentle and drenched in authority.

"Accept", he said, "Submit", and "Trust", he added finally, again kissing her forehead tenderly.

He then sat down in his chair, facing the High Chair upon which his plaything was bound to, and enjoyed the entertaining sights and sounds of surrender to pleasure and submission to control.

As she moaned and drooled from both ends, she knew Sir was just getting started, and that he had meticulously mapped out her pleasure like an expert cartographer.

He tucked the key in his pocket. Her eyes followed it as it disappeared into that crevice.

"You're going to have to earn it from now on", he told her, his voice calm and yet solidly  uncompromising.

She wasn't the one teasing anymore, she wasn't the one stringing him along. Now she was the one who had to chase. She would have to please, and she would be teased.

Locked in his tight, T-shaped chastity belt, her pussy caged, she had no sexual cards to play.

The rules of the game had changed; she couldn't fuck, she couldn't even diddle herself.

And yet, she felt a drive, an ambition to earn it, to prove herself to him by pleasing him.

As he traced his finger over her encased, imprisoned crotch, she bit her lips, and felt a wanton neediness sugared with a sense of purpose.

The rules had changed, but she could adadapt.

She smiled. She could earn it, and then some.

Every day, looking upon herself, in black blazer and casual pants with a wvite blouse and stylish tie, the epitome of the professional woman.

But today is different, she sees herself, reflected in the mirror, she gazes upon this new version of herself, taken aback by what Master has orchestrated.

She stands in cyan blue high heels, "fuck me" heels, to be precise, accompanied by pink stockings that ride up to her upper thighs.

Tight pink panties and a cyan blue corset with yellow detail, the corset presents her cleavage, displaying her boobs.

Finally, her neck is adorned by a pink collar and a large O ring.

Her face was decorated with red lipstick upon her lips, which were stretched around a large pink ball-gag, completing the ensemble. Her wrists were bound behind her back by cuffs.

As she stared into her own eyes, as she gazed upon her reflection, she accepted it, embraced it. She saw her true self, saw a beautiful collared doll, and felt a spark inside her crotch, up unto her brain.

She felt excitement and desire. She felt and saw her truth in what Master had reflected.