Chapter 13

Madam Isis’s smile was like the gleam of a predator as she surveyed me, a mere plaything in her grand scheme of bimbofication. “I trust this is only the beginning of your transformation,” she purred, her eyes sparkling with a hint of sadistic amusement.

“Yes, Mistress,” I responded, my voice quivering with anticipation. I knew she had noticed the bells attached to the chains that hung from my skirt, waiting to make their jingling introduction to the world.

“Perform for me,” she instructed, her voice dripping with a command that I dared not disobey. “Do it in a way that will excite me, show me how much you crave this.”

Drawing upon my days as an actress, I began to move with a seductive grace that had once been reserved for the stage. I angled my body to the side, extending my legs as wide as they would go, and pushed my hips back. The bells chimed with each sinuous movement, setting the rhythm for the depraved dance that was about to unfold.

As the bells danced, so too did the chains, tugging at the anal plug and ben-wa-balls nestled within me. The weight was a constant reminder of my new role, a sensation that sent a shiver of both pain and arousal through my core.

Madam Isis’s desk became my stage as I faced away from her, my backside jutting out like an offering. With painstaking slowness, I began to lower my skirt, inch by inch, the fabric revealing the swollen flesh beneath.

The sound of her muffled moan filled the room, and I knew she was pleasuring herself as she watched my degradation. The thrill of her arousal fueled my own, and I swiveled my hips with more vigor, the chains and bells playing a tune that was music to our twisted symphony.

Finally, the skirt fell away, leaving me bare before her. I bent down, exposing the gold chain and plug that filled my most private space, the bells chiming out their presence with every move I made.

Her laughter was a knife to my soul, yet it brought a strange comfort as it echoed through the room. It told me that she approved, that my humiliation was exactly what she desired.

I rose and turned, crossing my legs to hide my shame. With trembling hands, I revealed my newest addition: pastel pink fingernails that stretched almost grotesquely long. Her eyes widened in surprise before a smile of satisfaction graced her lips.

Dropping to my knees, I began to uncover the small elastic band that held my toes captive. The same shade of pink adorned my nails, a stark contrast against the blackness of the floor.

My heart racing, I began to unbutton my shimmy blouse, peeling it away from my body like a snake shedding its skin. I moved with the grace of a dancer, each button popping open to reveal more of my exposed flesh.

Her eyes raked over me, searching, until they found what they sought: the stud in my navel, the QOS locket swinging gently in the dim light.

With trembling hands, I offered her the gold ankle chains and the delicate bracelet. Each locket was a declaration of my ownership, a brand that marked me as their property.

Satisfied, she nodded, and I felt a wash of relief that she approved of the changes. With a flourish, I donned the chains and bracelet, feeling the cold metal against my skin, a constant reminder of my new status.

On all fours, I crawled towards her, my ass swaying with each step, the bells announcing my approach. I kissed the ground before her feet, a sign of my submission, and looked up at her with a mix of fear and longing.

Her feet, encased in exquisite open-toe heels, were like sculptures of black marble. I leaned in, pressing my lips to her toes, feeling the power, she held over me.

I extended my tongue with a sense of urgency and reverence, eagerly lapping at the delicate curves of her enchanting feet. Her smooth, ebony skin was like a canvas for my desperate, hungry kisses. With each swipe of my tongue, I felt a surge of humiliation and pleasure, reminding myself that I was nothing more than a pathetic servant to her beauty. My mouth journeyed up her sleek legs, feeling the warmth of her skin and the softness of her thighs. When I reached her skirt, she willingly lifted it, revealing a pastel blue panty that seemed to be a beacon from a past life where I had the luxury of wearing such garments. It had been a week since my Madam had allowed me to cover my intimate areas, a constant reminder of my new role as a subservient slut.

The fabric of her panties was damp with desire, and as I kissed them, she permitted me to pull them down. Her neatly trimmed pussy lay before me, glistening with anticipation. I couldn’t resist the urge to press my mouth against her, my tongue diving into her folds as she moaned with pleasure. One of her hands gripped my ponytail, guiding my movements, while the other tenderly caressed her own breasts through her blouse.

I had become quite the skilled cunt licker, and it wasn’t long before she shuddered with an intense orgasm. She forced me to swallow every drop of her sweet nectar, ensuring that not a single trace was left on her body. With trembling hands, she pulled up her panties and skirt, and I retreated back to my designated position—legs spread wide, hands clasped behind my head, and breasts thrust forward.

Her gaze swept over my new additions—the chains and the belly button piercing. My heart raced with fear, unsure if she would be displeased. “Samantha, I didn’t expect this,” she mused, pointing at the unexpected embellishments. The chains and belly button piercing were a risk, a step beyond the easy modifications like my ridiculous bimbo nails. However, she was smiling, and I hoped against hope that she would be pleased.

With a knowing smile, she lifted my chin with her foot, and my spirits plummeted as I awaited her judgment. “Don’t worry, you’ve still exceeded my expectations. Your bimbo training is really coming along,” she assured me. The way she looked at me, with a mix of amusement and satisfaction, only fueled my desperate need to serve her better.

Her shoe tapped the chains between my legs, sending a thrill of pain and excitement through me. She demanded that I recount the events of the morning, and I began to speak, detailing my journey to the mall, the stares and whispers that followed me, and how I had decided to get a stud for my already pierced belly button.

I described the scornful looks from the other women at the salon as I sat there, my long, fake nails clacking against the chair, a clear indication of my transformation into the very thing they despised. Yet, I was filled with a strange pride as I recounted how I had gone back for more, asking for an ankle chain and bracelet, flaunting the QOS logo etched into my skin just below my neckline.

The story grew more explicit as I told her about the store owner’s displeasure with my initial offer of a blow job for his services. In a moment of desperation, I had offered my ass to him. The memory of his thick cock filling me up, the feel of the cold metal chain attached to the plug as it entered my body, made me quiver with arousal.

As I recounted the entire sordid tale, her foot continued to tap my cunt, driving me closer to the edge of climax. The sweat trickled down my body, and my voice grew hoarse from the effort of controlling my urge to come.

Finally, she spoke again, “So, you whored yourself out for a stud and some chains?” Her words were a mix of mockery and admiration.

“Yes, Madam,” I replied, my voice trembling.

“And his cum is still in your ass?”

“Yes, Madam.”

Her eyes narrowed as she took in the crusty evidence on my tits, a reminder of the degrading act that had occurred earlier.

“But I see some of it on your tits.?” She taunted.

The humiliation washed over me like a wave as I remembered the way he had smeared his cum on me and laughed at my predicament.

“Yes, Madam. He made me do it,” I whimpered.

Her foot paused, and she looked at me with a smirk. “Do you want to cum now, my dear slut?”

“Yes, please, Madam,” I begged.

With a cruel twist of fate, she withdrew her foot, leaving me on the precipice of release.

“You’ve been a good girl, but I have work to do. Remember the instructions from this morning?”

“Yes, Madam,” I replied, my voice filled with longing.

“You’re going to the pub for your training. I’ll let you cum at the glory hole there. Now, get dressed before I change my mind,” she said, returning her attention to her work.

With a glimmer of hope, I dressed and prepared to leave.

Her commanding voice reverberated through the hallway, halting me in my tracks before I could even touch the door handle. “Samantha,” she called out, her tone unwavering, “whatever adornments or contraptions you’re wearing right now, they’re to become a permanent fixture of your attire, with the exception of your clothing and the cum lodged in your backside.”

I swiveled around to face her, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in my gut. The plug, ben-wa-balls, chains, and the new belly button piercing that I had now, along with the garishly long and pointed fake nails, were now to be my daily companions. It was a humiliating revelation, yet deep down, I felt a strange sense of belonging, a perverse pride in my newfound identity as a sexual plaything.

“And remember,” she added with a devilish grin, “always swing that lovely ass of yours as you strut. I adore the melodious tinkling of the bells.”

Her words hit me like a sledgehammer, but I could do nothing but nod obediently. “Yes, Madam,” I murmured, the title rolling off my tongue like honey, sweet and sticky.

With a deep breath, I pushed open the door to the office and stepped into the corridor, the bells on my anal plug chiming with every sashay of my hips. Each step I took sent waves of pleasure and pain through my body, the heavy plug and the ben-wa-balls moving in synchrony with my gait. The thick, viscous cum filled me up, creating a squelching sound with every movement, a constant reminder of my submission.

This was a novel sensation for me. Previously, when my Master had filled me with hus seed, I had been allowed the reprieve of lying still, the plug sealing in my humiliation as I slept. But now, as I walked through the bustling office, the cum sloshed around inside me, mixing with the plug’s movement in a deliciously obscene dance. I found myself clenching my cheeks together, pushing the plug deeper, the feeling of fullness and the knowledge of what I had become making me wetter with every step.

I reveled in the thought that I was nothing more than a submissive slut, yearning to be fully owned, an obedient bimbo for my owners, Madam Isis, Master Kevin and his girlfriend Mistress Nina. Their happiness was my sole purpose in life, and I would endure any indignity to ensure it.

As I descended the stairs, the cold metal of the handrail seemed to bite into my palm, a stark contrast to the warm, sticky mess in my ass. I reached the back entrance of the pub, the leather of my collar digging into my neck as a grim-faced bouncer eyed me up and down. Without missing a beat, I pulled out my leash from my purse and attached it to the collar, the clasp clicking loudly.

I approached the burly white man, and held out my wrist. The charm dangling from my slave bracelet caught the light, revealing the pub’s insignia and the key that marked my status as a member of the depraved family within. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and with a gruff nod, he allowed me entry into the dimly lit bar.

The scent of stale beer and lust hung heavy in the air as I made my way through the labyrinth of patrons, the leather of my collar slapping against my bare skin with every move. Finally, I spotted the black woman who had been present on my first afternoon, the one who had guided me through the initial stages of my transformation. She beckoned me over with a knowing smile, and I obeyed, eager for whatever awaited me.

As I reached her, she enveloped me in a tight embrace, her warm breath in my ear. “Good progress, slut,” she whispered, her voice like a warm caress against my skin. She took hold of my leash, leading me through the throngs of people like a well-trained pet.

We arrived at a gathering of women, all dressed in similar attire to mine, all with the same hungry look in their eyes. “Girls,” she announced, her voice carrying over the low murmur of the bar, “this is Samantha, our newest glory-hole whore.”

The room grew quiet as all heads turned towards me, the weight of their gazes a physical force pushing me down. I instinctively dropped my eyes to the floor, my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

The ebony goddess grew increasingly vexed as she noticed the lack of pride in my eyes when she announced my newfound status as the latest addition to their glory hole whore assembly. My heart raced as I felt the sting of her disapproval. “Look up, whore,” she barked, but fear had my eyes glued to the cold, hard floor. I desperately attempted to pull away, hoping to avoid her wrath, but she was unforgiving.

Her anger swelled like a storm cloud, and before I could blink, she had my face in a vice-like grip, forcing me to look into her fiery eyes. Without a shred of mercy, she delivered a swift one-two slap to my cheeks. The pain was intense, and I felt the warmth of humiliation flood my face as tears began to stream down my cheeks. “Please,” I begged, my voice trembling, “I’m sorry, please don’t do this to me.” But she was relentless, unfazed by my pleas.

With a smirk, she called for Trina, a voluptuous blonde who sauntered over, her hips swaying hypnotically. Trina had the air of someone who knew exactly what she was doing and took great pleasure in it. She approached with a set of cuffs in hand, clicking them around my wrists without a word, securing them tightly behind my back. The cold metal bit into my skin, reminding me of the unyielding control I was now under.

The black woman stepped aside, still holding onto my leash, and made a call on her phone. She placed the device to my ear, and the sound of Madam Isis’ voice sent a shiver down my spine. “Samantha,” she said, her tone stern, “you’re causing trouble again. You will be punished for your disobedience.” My heart sank as she informed me that I would be serving under Angel’s command for the rest of the day.

“But, Madam...” I stammered, my voice barely audible through the sobs, “I’m sorry.”

Her only response was a cruel laugh. “Your apologies mean nothing to me, slut. You will learn your place.”

Angel took the phone and spoke with Madam Isis for a moment, the conversation making her smile grow wider. When she hung up, she looked at me with a gleam in her eye that I knew spelled trouble. “You will address me as ‘Ma’am’ and the others as ‘Miss’ followed by their name,” she instructed, her voice a powerful crescendo in the otherwise silent room.

The moment she said those words, my stomach twisted into knots. I knew what was coming next. “Strip,” she ordered, and the room filled with the sound of snickers from the other women. My cheeks burned with shame as I slowly began to undress, my body quivering with fear and anticipation.

One by one, the buttons of my blouse popped open, revealing my breasts, sticky with the residue of past encounters. The women ogled me, their eyes raking over my body as they whispered crude comments among themselves. The room was a sea of leers and snickers, and I felt like the main attraction in a twisted carnival.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at them as I let my skirt drop to the floor, exposing the chain that held the ben-wa-balls lodged in my cunt. The sight of the bells swinging from the plug in my ass brought forth a fresh round of laughter, and I felt a new wave of embarrassment wash over me.

“Look at that pathetic cunt,” one of them jeered. “What a disgrace,” another added, her voice thick with mockery.

Ma’am Angel approached me with a sinister grace. Her fingertip glided over the metal links, sending shivers of both fear and arousal through my body. “Dance for us,” she purred, her voice a potent mix of sweetness and venom. “I want to hear those bells ring out your whorish tune.”

With a swift jerk of her wrist, she yanked on the chain, causing the bells to chime and a searing pain to shoot through my backside. I had no alternative but to comply with her vile demand, my body moving in a lewd, undulating dance that made my stomach churn with self-loathing. Yet, the painful pleasure grew with every twirl of my hips, the bells chiming out a symphony of degradation.

The room was filled with the sadistic gazes of the other women, their eyes piercing into my soul as I danced before them. The humiliation was overwhelming as I felt the jizz of the black jewelry shop owner, who had used me earlier, sloshing around inside me with each movement.

Ma’am Angel’s stern voice broke through my haze of mortification. “Keep your eyes open,” she barked, ensuring that I was fully aware of my audience.

I obeyed, my eyes scanning the sea of faces that bore into me. The woman I had once thought of as a friend was now the embodiment of my deepest, darkest fears. She reached behind me and began to fiddle with the plugs buried in my ass, twisting them with an expert touch that brought forth a whimper of pleasure despite the pain.

“What’s hidden in here, slut?” she whispered, her breath hot on my ear.

I trembled, my voice a mere whisper. “The cum of a black jewelry shop owner, Ma’am.”

Their laughter was like a thousand needles stabbing into my ego, but I couldn’t help the way my body responded to the degradation. The pain and embarrassment only served to fuel my arousal.

Ma’am Angel’s fingers continued their torment, twisting and turning the plugs with an agonizing slowness. “You love having a cock in your ass, don’t you?” she taunted.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I managed to choke out.

With a satisfied smirk, she slapped my ass cheeks together, causing the plug to press deeper into me. Her nails raked across my skin as she squeezed my breasts, her mouth at my ear. “You are property of K&N, and you will serve us well,” she hissed.

The words sent a fresh wave of dread crashing through me. I knew what it meant to be a glory hole whore, to be used and discarded by countless strangers, my only purpose to satisfy their carnal desires.

“You will obey every whore above you,” she continued, her voice a sweet caress that sent a shiver down my spine. “You’ll crawl around this pub like the filthy animal you are, always ready for whatever we demand of you.”

The room was filled with the sound of their laughter, each chuckle and snicker a reminder of my new place in their twisted world. The leash tightened around my neck as Ma’am Angel tugged on it, pulling me to my knees.

“Look at them,” she ordered, pointing to the other whores. “You will serve each and every one of them, no matter what they ask. They all are part of my whore brigade and you are going to become a member.”

Tears streamed down my face, but I nodded my understanding.

“You will always wear your bling, even when you’re naked, serving us,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “And as the lowest of the low, you will crawl like the dog you are.”

Ma’am Angel began to lead the procession, my leash in hand, and I had no choice but to follow her on all fours, my ass in the air for everyone to see. The plugs inside me made every movement a painful reminder of my new reality. The bells attached to the chain grew louder with each step I took, announcing my descent into their depraved games.

The other whores trailed behind, whispering and pointing at my exposed, plugged body.

The stark emptiness of the room was a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions churning within me as we stepped inside. All that remained was a solitary chair of luxurious comfort, positioned in the center like a throne of degradation. The other ten whores, my newfound peers in servitude, swiftly arranged themselves into a degrading tableau. They knelt in perfect symmetry, a line of five on either side, leaving a clear path to the chair that was my fate.