Chapter 1


I came round slowly at first, my scrambled brain still so numb from whatever that syringe had contained that it did not recognise any urge to regain consciousness. Eventually, though, some pinprick of intelligence penetrated the fog and I struggled to open my eyes. It took several seconds for me to focus, but when I did it was several seconds longer again before I realised that the picture on the ceiling above me wasn't a picture at all, but a huge mirror and that the bizarre figure it showed was me!

I gasped out loud and tried to sit up, but even if my muscles had regained sufficient strength for the manoeuvre the sturdy leather restraints prevented almost any movement at all. The breath whistled between my clenched teeth and I lay limply again, staring upwards and trying to make out what they had done to me.

I saw my head and the only way I could identify it as my head was because it moved when I moved it, but any chance of another party identifying me had been totally removed, for apart from narrow slit openings for my eyes, small round openings below my nostrils and a round aperture which revealed my mouth, from the neck up I was encased in black, shiny rubber. And the rest of my body had not escaped the clinging embrace of the heavy latex.

My arms had been sheathed from shoulder to tip, where each glove ended in a sort of tapered mitten with a sturdy steel ring at the end. I tried to flex my fingers inside their prison, but could barely move them, so tightly had the mitten been designed to fit. Not that the use of my fingers would have been of any great benefit to me though, for both my upper limbs were held securely to the bench top on which I lay by means of leather straps at wrist, elbow and just below either shoulder. The straps were arranged in such a way that both arms were held a few inches clear of my body, which in turn had been secured by even broader straps about my chest and waist.

Within these straps, my torso had also been given the tight rubber treatment. My nipples remained exposed, but from just below them and on down to my hips, stretched what could only be described as a black latex corset, laced and buckled to an unbelievable tightness which was rendering anything other than extremely shallow breathing totally impossible.

My loins and genitalia had been swathed about by a harness of rubber and leather which had been designed to hold my cock - to my astonishment it was fully erect - flat against my stomach by means of five narrow leather straps. Seen against the black background of the harness, my member was thrown into prominence, made even more bizarre by the fact that my testicles, which were also gripped by an encircling strap, were now totally devoid of hair and gleamed wickedly under the harsh lighting.

As I was taking all this in, I became aware of something else which was not visible, but whose presence was unmistakable as my wits began to return. The cock harness was not just there to present my genitalia in such helplessness. Where the strap ran down and beneath me to fasten to the waist strap at the rear, it was holding in place a large, firm dildo which no amount of effort from my sphincter muscles was ever going to dislodge until someone unfastened the buckle.

Further down still, encasing my legs, was more rubber, long boots reaching from thigh to toe and fashioned in a way that forced my feet into a high arch as a stiletto heel would do to a woman. But I could detect no stiletto heels from the mirrored reflection, rather the base of each boot seemed to be one solid piece, flaring out into a wider base which was not unlike a horse's hoof in appearance. About each ankle yet more restraining straps held my legs several inches apart. If I was surprised that there were not straps about any other part of my lower limbs, that surprise did not last long, for when I tried to flex my knees I realised that the heavy rubber was so tight that each leg was almost as rigid as if it had been encased in steel.

I blinked hard and shook my head in an effort to make sense of all this. Someone - or several someone’s - had gone to a lot of trouble to turn me into a fetishist's dream, but who and for what purpose? A door opened somewhere behind my head and I heard the click- click of high heels on the bare flooring. A woman moved into view on my left hand side. She seemed tall, but then it was difficult to judge from my enforced prone position and her dark hair was scraped back from her face in a chignon in an effort - a very successful one at that - to make her features appear as severe as possible. This effect was enhanced by the heavy eye makeup and the deep red lipstick. The studded leather collar which ringed her long neck was unnecessary, but it heightened the illusion even more.

I could only see her from the waist up, but that was impressive enough. Her shoulders and arms suggested physical strength and her generous bosom could not be concealed by the tight leather bodice which she wore. Rather, the cut of it emphasised her majestic cleavage which rose and fell gently as she studied me.

"I see you have re-joined the land of the living," she said. I had half expected some trace of a foreign accent, but her English was faultless, well-modulated and suggested that quite a lot of money had found its way to some expensive finishing school somewhere along the line.  How long ago that would have been I couldn't guess. She might have been forty five, or she might have been twenty five; she had one of those faces.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. "What the hell is going on here?" I demanded, trying not to sound as scared as I felt. "Let me out of this immediately."

The woman shook her head, the faintest traces of a smile flickering at the edges of her mouth.

"I think not, Mr Mason," she said. "We do not believe in wasting efforts and energies here, you know. It will be some time before you are released."

"Why?" I spluttered. The rubber helmet, whilst permitting speech, had a hampering effect on my jaw and cheeks and it was almost impossible to talk normally. "What have I done to you? Who are you?"

"In answer to your last question," she replied, "I am Constance Bellamy-Fraser, but that need not concern you. When able to and permitted, or ordered, to address me you will, in future, use the term Mistress.

"As to the whys and the whats, not to mention the wherefores, a certain party has engaged the services of my establishment in order to repay you for certain actions which this party found unacceptable. Not to put too fine a point on it, you are here to be punished for your sins."

"But that's ridiculous!" I protested. "This is kidnapping."

"From your point of view, yes," she retorted. "But then here your point of view is of no value. As you can see, your position is totally helpless as well as hopeless." She reached out and stroked my swollen testicles and I felt a cold surge race up my spine. "In case you were wondering, by the way, we have drugs other than that used to knock you out last evening. You have been injected with one which will ensure that your cock remains in a state of full arousal at all times. Even if you orgasm it will not shrink from its present size.

"Our lady guests prefer to see their slaves this way and if they feel the urge to avail themselves of the goods on display they need not waste time and energy."  With her other hand, she reached out and patted my rubber covered cheek. "You are here to be used, slave," she said. "How does it feel and how do you like the new look you, eh?  You do look very fetching, if I say so myself. And, as the drugs don't seem to have induced any nausea, we can complete your outfit before you are passed over to your initial handlers."

She moved around out of my sight again and I heard the sound of a drawer being opened. I made one final, desperate attempt at reason.

"Look," I called out, "if it's a question of money, I'll give you whatever you've been paid for this nonsense and ten percent on top."

Her laughter sounded harsh in the bare-walled room and I knew what she was going to say, even before she said it.

"The money doesn't come into it, slave. That was merely a negotiated fee for our services here. Within a week at the most you will have earned me at least double that again."

"Okay then," I almost screamed, "you name your price. I've got money, plenty of it and -”

My plea was cut short in mid-sentence as the rubber ball was forced into my mouth. Perhaps, if I had seen it coming, I might have put up some show of resistance, but I doubt it would have done me much good. This woman intended that I should be gagged and I got the impression that she always got what she intended. And the gag was intended to do more than just silence me, I realised, as she buckled the harness around my head, for jutting out from it was a long, black, shiny rubber phallus.

With me now unable to interrupt her, Constance Bellamy-Fraser set to work with a will. First, she turned her attentions to my hands.  Taking two short straps, she threaded one through the ring at the tapering end of each glove, bent my fingers over to form a fist and fastened the strap about the wrist to keep it that way. My hands had been virtually useless before, but now they were completely so.

Next, she released the strap securing each elbow to the bench and, producing others to take their place, buckled my elbows tightly to my sides, by means of heavy rings set into the corset for just that purpose. The heavy strap across my chest was released and I was hauled roughly into a sitting position. My hands were dragged cruelly around and behind my back and I heard, rather than felt, something being clipped into place between the two rings where they were fastened to the wrist straps and knew, before I even tested the truth, that my wrists were now connected together.

My ankle bonds were loosened next, but, whilst the restraining thigh straps remained in place, a pair of heavy cuffs, connected by a sturdy chain scarcely twelve inches long, were buckled and then locked into place. The vague hope I had had that my feet might prove an effective weapon against my captor faded even quicker than it had formed. Now, when the thigh straps were released and my legs swung around so that they dangled over the side of the bench, I realised that walking would be a hard enough task, let alone anything else. I looked at my legs, stiffly encased in the thick rubber, my knees hardly bent at all and understood for the first time what total helplessness felt like.

Constance grasped the rings at either side of my corset and pulled me even closer to the edge, so that my legs gradually lowered beneath the pull of gravity. The bizarre hoof-like boots finally hit the tiled floor with a sharp ringing clatter and I realised that they were shod with steel, or some suchlike metal, but I had little time to reflect as she pulled me into a standing position and forced me to shuffle awkwardly into the centre of the room.

"Excellent," she said, walking around me like a horse-trader inspecting a prospective purchase. "Gagged, plugged, shod and shackled - all ready for your first lesson." She reached out and stroked the swollen globe at the end of my cock and I felt myself shiver. Her eyes gleamed, maliciously. "Rigid as a rod and nowhere to put it," she sneered. "Well, slave, welcome to the first day of your new life."