Chapter 1

As I lay there, feeling time move so slowly by, my concentration moves back and forth through the discomfort my body is feeling, my own helplessness to do anything about it, how ridiculous I must look at present, and how I wish I could see more of my Lady reclining above me. You see, I've been hogtied and laid on the floor, naked but for a lilac brassiere which presses a pair of huge, fake breasts to my body. My body, which, other than for the hair on my head that she has insisted I grow out, has been shaved completely bald. My wrists are cuffed behind me and a chain from those cuffs runs down to the cuffs that similarly hold my ankles, so I can't even stretch my legs.

I may have fallen asleep on and off, since it seems like I've been here forever, and I've lost track of time. My Lady, my Mistress, my owner, is reclining in her favourite plush chaise, and the soft rhythm of her breathing is hypnotic, and as lovely as she is.

Sleep must have caught me again, since suddenly she is above me, her heels inches from my face.

"Wake up, slut! It's 2pm!" She is clearly upset, from the short and urgent movements of her perfect legs, and the way her heels are clicking on the wood floor. "Move your ass, whore! Who told you could sleep so late?"

I can do nothing, dare do nothing but watch as she aligns the spike heel of her boots over my cock, and lowers it slowly and firmly. The result is an urgent pulse of intense pain shooting through me, and each involuntary squirm of my body makes it worse.

"Fucking bitch. Sometimes your disobedience makes me so mad that I want to chop off your balls and force-feed them to you. Fucking prick." My Lady is so wicked, I don't know that she won't do it. There is relief as she lifts her shoe, but I can feel my face stiffen in fear.

The words fly from my lips, "Oh please, my Lady, please no. I'm so sorry to have fallen asleep. I beg you to forgive me, please. I won't disappoint you. Please, please my Lady. I worship you, my Lady." There are tears mixed in with my words, and I'm writing in panic and pain. I squirm over as much as I can, my body scraping against the floor as I wriggle my face closer to her, allowing me to place eager kisses on her boots, all over the toes of them, the heels, stretching out my tongue to wash the soles of them.

She hesitates a moment then steps away, leaving me squirming and panting on the floor like an animal.

My pleading may have worked as she changes the subject, at least for the moment. "Now faggot, you know I'm meeting my beautiful friends today at the park. We will be having a Gothic & Lolita gathering! We'll all be dressed in Victorian clothes, lovely Goth wigs, exotic make up and unusual footwear." The lovely image of my Lady in such ornate clothing rises unbidden into my mind. "You're going to be going us, and I won't be waiting around for you, so move your ass now."

She makes no movement to free me and I know better than to hesitate so I start to writhe as best I can, worming my body over to the dressing area, where my most humiliating costumes are kept. She allows me to get half way there, rubbing my flesh raw where it scrapes against the floor, before she reaches down to unlock my cuffs.

My costume is laid out waiting for me, and I can feel the warm flush rise to my face as I even think of going out in public like this. It is best for me not to think, of course, and just obey. I am hers, of course. I belong to my Lady.

An hour later, as I am walking out in the bright sunshine obediently behind my Lady, I am almost glad for my heavy make-up, hoping it is enough to disguise me. Every time she takes me outside, in ever increasing humiliations, I feel the powerful, intense fear that someone from my old life, my lost life, will recognize me and see what I've become.

Today, however, there seems little chance. My hair, now grown out past my shoulders in the countless months that I've been hers, has been dyed black and teased out in fluffy curls. My face is thickly coated in a white pancake, making the darkness of my hair even more pronounced. My lips, regularly plumped with merciless collagen treatments, are painted a bright pink — a color to match the garish rouge and eye makeup that has been heavily applied.

My body has been forced into a latex maid's uniform. I wobble on six-inch heels, locked onto my feet. Seamed fishnet stockings wrap my legs, and are held up with a latex garter belt decorated with white silk bows at each connection. My skirt, in pleated pink latex, doesn't reach down enough to cover the tops of my stockings. In fact, since it is kept full and bouncing by the layers of lace petticoat beneath it, it barely covers anything. My cock and balls have been guided through a hole in the pink latex panties I'm wearing and further decorated by more white silk ribbon tied in a bow around them. I can feel the crisp air on my naked member, and I know that if I even have to sit or bend over it will be clearly, publicly and obscenely visible.

I wear a skin-tight, sheer white blouse with white ruffles at the high-cut neck and at the cuffs of its long, puffy sleeves. Wrapping tightly around that is my matching pink latex corset. It is reinforced with stiff boning and tight laces, mercilessly forming my profile into an hourglass, and pushing my fake tits even higher. The corset doesn't cover the nipples on the breast forms, which are so realistic that with the additional screening of the sheer blouse, any observer would have to look very, very close to tell that they weren't real — though they are so large it would just be assumed they are a different kind of fake.

I am drenched in cheap Britney Spears perfume — surely another reason that my Lady wishes me walking behind her. Those we pass on the busy park's pathway also have yet another reason to crane their necks and mutter under their breath.

Ahead of me is the striking image of my Lady. She is so beautiful, so perfect — her stunning body is wrapped in a one-piece black latex dress that gleams in the sunshine. I had to apply the powder to her flesh as she prepared so I know that there is nothing on beneath it, though it is so tight to make that fact obvious. Her hair is drawn back tight in a ponytail and her make-up is dark and powerful. Her face too has been lightened with powder, though her lips and eyes are marked with deep black. Her boots are leather, reaching up to her knees, and they lift her at least four inches at the toe and four more at the heel. Her imposing power, her sheer beauty, her undeniable power makes me look even more ridiculous following behind in frilly pink and white.

And now, approaching a gazebo surrounded by blooming violets, I see my Lady's friends. Much like her, they are visions of dark beauty. Their curves are displayed in their tightly fitted outfits of latex, leather and rubber. Their make-up is thick, garish, and dark. They look as strangely out of place in this idyllic park as my Lady and I do, though even more now I stand out in the most embarrassing way, even in the midst of their uniqueness.

My Lady makes me move faster, and the laughs of her friends ring out as I stumble along, trying to run, with my fake breasts bouncing as much as my clothing allows. My Lady's friends laugh more and louder as we get closer and I'm made to stand in the middle of the gazebo with all of them sitting on the perimeter benches. It is excruciating, waiting as each of them points out their favourite detail to the others while they make me turn and display myself. I watch out over the park, and the noise of their hysterics only draws further attention to me, from all of those within earshot.

After a few minutes, once the hilarity fades somewhat, my Lady points to the floor and I know to instantly obey. I drop to my knees, and one by one, I crawl to each of them, and kiss and lick each and every shoe. The wood plank floor is murderous on my knees, but even worse is the renewed laughter from behind me. On all fours, my ribbon-wrapped cock and balls are clearly visible poking out of my pink panties and crinoline.

I can't stop — don't dare stop — as I've only serviced the shoes of two of my Lady's four friends, and my Lady's boots I've saved for last. So I am helpless: bent over on my knees, head nearly to the floorboards, my bottom in the air. I try to block out the words and the taunts — the audible beating of my heart helps — but through it all, my deep blush fights against the whiteness of my makeup as they tease.

"Oh god, it's so small!"

"Oh, what a pretty little boyclit!"

"I think it's pretty, like a wee tiny little piece of jewellery."

Their high voices, distorted with uncontrollable laughter, tear at my soul like a knife.

Two of them seem to want a closer look, and I can feel them behind me. One of them is pulling up my short skirt and pushing aside my petticoat, exposing me completely.

"You are right, it is rather tiny," she giggles, "but I have heard that though therapy it can be enlarged a bit."

I gasp against the shoes, nearly bite my extended tongue, as I feel velvet gloves suddenly grip my exposed shaft tightly. The fingers move slowly at first, feeling me, even teasing my balls, but then they close more tightly, and begin to stroke me in earnest.

"Oh look! I think it's working!"

I am mortified, and try to bury my face between the anonymous feet, as my body betrays me. I feel the heat of blood rushing to my cock, feel it stiffen with attention and need. Encouraged by results — the growth of my member in her grip — she takes hold even harder, pumping faster. I can feel the tied ribbon tighter now. Once just a humiliating decoration it is becoming an effective cock ring, holding me and keeping me erect. My Lady has often teased me but not let me cum in days, so I feel so full now, so desperate for release.

"My turn, my turn!" the other screams, and for a moment the touch is gone, but only for a moment, as I'm passed off like a toy. I have to keep licking the leather before me while I feel the quality of touch change. Instead of a tight stroking grip, she seems to prefer teasing strokes followed by intermittent rounds of slapping at my cock, watching it react. I can feel that I no longer dangle, but instead my erectness pops back in place like a spring with each slap, causing fresh bouts of laughter.

"Look, look — it's getting nice and pink to match her uniform!"