I have never been a very confident girl – my English father left us when I was very young, my Chinese mother always blamed me for that and never had a good word to say to me. Even though I was a pretty girl, with my mixed race looks, she always denigrated me and put me down, so I never believed it when people said nice things about me. I wear my black hair tomboy-short, have big, black-rimmed glasses to hide my face, and I always dress to disappear into the background, because I'm embarrassed by my curvaceous figure. I am bright, and left home to go to university at eighteen, moving as far away as possible, both physically and culturally – going from a small country village to the big city. I struggled for the first few months, unable to make friends and having to rent a squalid flat. I threw myself into my work and cried myself to sleep at night. And then I met the man who was going to change my life.
I was working at a restaurant clearing tables and he was a customer, dining with a very attractive woman with long blonde hair down her back. He looked in his mid-forties, about twice the age of his date, but distinguished and very expensively dressed. I could feel his eyes on me as I gathered up their plates and I felt uncomfortable, preferring not to be noticed.
"Kat?" I heard him say in an amused tone, "That's an unusual name" He was staring at my chest, or rather the name tag on my chest, which gave the shortened form of my name, Kathryn. I glanced up at them nervously, unable to think of any response. I noticed the woman was looking at me with something like hatred, but possibly a little fear as well. He was looking me up and down, checking out my body under the uniform of black shirt unbuttoned to show off my cleavage and tight black trousers which accentuated my bum, a uniform which I was always embarrassed to wear but had no choice.
"Do you like working here, Kat?" Again, I could not say anything and looked at him a little fearfully – I would be sacked if I was caught 'fraternising' with a customer.
"I think you have ... potential", he said with a smile on his lips. "You should come to work for me" He reached out and I saw he was holding a £20 note, as much as I would be earning that night.
"Take it", he urged, "A tip for doing such a fine job on our table". I glanced around to see if anyone was watching – we were strictly forbidden from taking money – before grabbing the note, mumbling my thanks and scurrying away.
As it turned out, someone had seen me take the money and had snitched on me to the manager. He was a real bastard and took great delight in lecturing me, before informing me I was sacked, and he was docking me my evening's wages as well. As I walked home in the rain, I bitterly regretted accepting the money and ever meeting that odd man. When I got home to my bleak flat, I took out the £20 note to store it away to pay for rent, and noticed it was wrapped around a business card, which had the words "Farout Enterprises, Owner D. Harman" on it, followed by a telephone number. I checked the name out on Google but found nothing. I put the card on my bedside table and went to sleep.
I returned my uniform the next day and, despite my profuse apologies and offer to pay the tip into the communal fund, they would not give me my job back. I went around all the restaurants and bars, looking for any work, but there was nothing available at all. After a few days I was getting desperate, as I didn't have enough to pay the rent at the end of the week and they were not sympathetic to defaulters. I picked up the business card and, with some trepidation, called the number.
"Hello?" I was surprised to hear a woman's voice at the other end. I hadn't really thought about what to say.
"Oh, er, hi" I stammered, "I met Mr. Harman the other day and he suggested I ring this number to apply for a job?"
"Uh-huh" I could sense the coldness down the line.
"Name please". I gave her my name, using the shortened Kat, as I hoped he might remember me.
"Contact number?" I gave her my mobile number.
"I'll ask him to call you" And with that, the line went dead. I was rather doubtful about the call, as it seemed so unprofessional. But I needed a job and, unpromising as it seemed, I didn't have any other options. I was in a lecture when the phone went, and I had to hurry out, apologising as I went.
"Hello, Kat?" I heard his voice, "Thanks for calling earlier. I'm glad you decided to take up my offer"
"Hello, Mr. Harman –" I started, but he interrupted.
"I've only got an opening at one of my shops at the moment, retail assistant, but if that works out we can see how we go"
"I'm a student, Mr. Harman" I explained, "So can't work 9-5"
"Perfect" he said smoothly, "You can work evenings and weekends. I'll pay you hourly, twice minimum wage, plus an unsociable hours allowance. When can you start?"
"As soon as possible" I said, thinking of my rent due at the end of the week.
"Tonight too soon? I could show you the ropes, get your uniform sorted out, and get you earning right away. How about I meet you at the shop at seven? I'll text you the address" I blurted my thanks and that was that.
I went home and decided what to wear. I knew there would be a uniform but I wanted to make a good impression, so I wore my best little black dress and heels – cocktail party clothes, but they were the best I had. The address of the shop was in Soho which, combined with the fact it was open at night might have given me a clue, but I was very innocent. It wasn't until I was standing outside that I realised it was what they call a 'Private' shop, with blacked out windows, selling sex toys and other stuff (I'd never been in one so had no real idea). I hesitated, but I really had little choice, I needed the money. I plucked up my courage and went inside.
The interior was dimly lit, with racks of what my mother would call 'filthy' magazines and DVDs along the walls. In the dark recesses, there were other things which I could only dimly make out. There were also half a dozen customers, all men, perusing the merchandise, although they were all now staring at me, as if I was an alien from another planet.
"Kat! Thanks for coming!" I turned and saw Mr. Harman, as I had come to think of him, walking towards me. He stood just too close to me, looming over me, making me uncomfortable, and I felt his hand on the small of my back as I he guided me towards the counter. It was laden with boxes of condoms of many names, shapes and, I noticed, flavours. Behind it slouched a surly-looking young man.
"Kat, this is Steve, he'll talk you through the merchandise and show you how to operate the till later, when we have a quiet period" Steve looked up briefly from the magazine he was looking at, but didn't return my smile.
"Now, let's get you into your uniform!" Mr. Harman said enthusiastically, leading me towards the back of the shop.
"What I need you for, Kat, is to bring some glamour to this place. I want to attract women into the place – they always spend more – and at the moment they feel too intimidated to look around. What better to put them at their ease than a bright, sexy, glamorous young woman working here? I suspect it might encourage some of my regulars to spend more too!" We moved into a back room littered with boxes of stock and he indicated a curtained-off cubicle.
"What I want you to wear is all laid out, just take your time and come back out into the shop when you're ready" With that, he gave me an encouraging smile and left me alone. I pulled back the curtain and looked at my 'uniform' – there were fishnet stockings, a suspender belt, a thong, silver platform heels and a silver lamé dress. I was shocked but, as I said before, I felt I had no choice – the money was too good and my situation too desperate. I stepped into the cubicle and pulled the curtain across, before stepping out of my dress. I had never worn stockings or suspenders before, so I felt uncomfortable putting them on. When I picked up the dress, I realised it was a halter-neck, so I could not wear my bra underneath it. As I pulled it on over my head, I also realised that it was made from an elasticated material, so that it clung to my body so tightly my belly button showed. The skirt flared out from the hips and was so short the tops of the stockings were clearly on show and I knew that if I bent over even a little, my knickers would be on view. I refused to wear the thong, deeming this to be just too revealing, and kept my knickers on under the dress. The shoes had three inch platforms and seven inch stiletto heels, far higher and steeper than any shoes I had ever worn before. As I straightened up and looked at myself in the mirror, I blushed deep red as I saw what a tart I looked, my nipples showing clearly through the shiny, clinging material, fully erect like small bullets.
"You look stunning!" As I stepped back into the shop Mr. Harman smiled, putting his arm around my waist. Steve had stopped reading and was smirking at me unpleasantly, while the customers were once again staring.
"Now, I have to leave, but Steve will look after you. We close at 11, so I'll pop back and check how you've got on". With a smile he walked out, and I was left to get on with it.
Steve walked me around the shop, enjoying my constant embarrassment as he showed me the merchandise – dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, handcuffs, costumes, and other things I didn't even recognise. The magazines and DVDs covered everything from schoolgirls and grossly obese women to bondage, shoe and rubber fetishes, to bestiality and scat. He took me behind the counter, where there were rows of gags, whips and strange, cruel clamps, and I didn't even want to guess where they were meant to go.
After the tour, he showed me the till, how to cash up and how to close up. After that, he told me to start my job. This involved walking around the shop and making sure everything on the shelves was in the right place, straight and well presented. Suddenly, there seemed to be a lot of magazines which needed sorting out, and they were all on the bottom shelf, requiring me to bend down, stretch over, and generally flash my knickers to all and sundry. My face was permanently red and flushed.
By the end of the evening, my feet and legs were aching from the shoes, but I had started to lose my embarrassment, partly because I was exhausted.
"So, how was your first shift?" Mr. Harman asked when he returned. I gave him a wan smile and said it had been hard work.
"You'll soon get used to it" he said, "Why don't you get changed and we'll settle up. Oh, by the way, one thing. When I give you an outfit to wear, I expect you to wear it all, not just what you feel like wearing. Image is everything. Any other time, I'd dock your wages, but as it’s your first night, I'll let you off" I looked at him and saw the raised eyebrow and serious look, and knew he meant the thong. I blushed and scurried off.
When I returned from the store room, Steve had closed up and gone.
"Why don't we nip next door for a drink and I'll work out how much I owe you"
"I'm very tired, Mr. Harman" I said, "Couldn't you just pay me now?"
"Sorry", he said dismissively, "Steve has locked the cash drawer, I'll need to cash a cheque. Anyway, the night is young, this place is only just getting going". He walked out of the door and waited impatiently for me, so he could lock up. I had no option but to follow him down the road and into some backstreet pub, which was absolutely packed out. I waited while he pushed his way to the bar and then came back, carrying two glasses.
"The landlord will cash me a cheque a bit later, when it quietens down a little. Bottoms up!" He encouraged me to finish the drink, a double G&T, quickly, then went back for another. Three or four of these later, I was wasted. I realised I hadn't eaten since lunchtime and I was definitely feeling very drunk. Everything became rather hazy after that – I remember staggering outside and getting into a taxi with him, but that was about all.
When I woke up, it was morning and I was in bed, naked. Not my bed, I quickly realised.
"Good morning, sleepy head!" I heard a cheery voice from the doorway and looked around to see Mr. Harman in a towelling robe, carrying a tray towards me. Trying to gather my wits as my head pounded, I realised I was in a hotel room and I could see my clothes littered around the room. I wondered who had taken them off.
"What happened?" I croaked.
"Well, you were out of it and I wasn't fit to drive, so a hotel seemed the best option. Here, drink this, my patent hangover cure" He put a full glass of some foul smelling concoction to my lips and forced me to drink it, even holding my head when I tried to pull away. Immediately I felt violently sick and, despite being naked, I ran for the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.
"Better out than in, I always say" I heard, and saw him in the doorway, watching me puke repeatedly, until I was just retching bile, shaking and in a cold sweat. He held out a robe and, staggering to my feet, I slipped into it, before splashing my face with cold water to try and revive myself.
"I need to get on" he said, "I think you need some more sleep, so why don't you go back to bed and I'll see you tonight" I was too ill to argue and I crawled back into the bed and fell asleep.
I was woken by the maid entering. The bed covers had been pulled back, so she saw me lying there naked, with my clothes strewn all around. On the bedside table, there was £10 and a note saying "Taxi fare, wages tonight". When I got up, I couldn't find my underwear, so I had to put on just my dress and shoes. With no makeup or hairbrush, I looked a state walking through reception and I could feel the stares of the staff, judging me.
I went back to the shop that evening in scruffy clothes, knowing I would have to get changed anyway. I noticed a sign in the window – "Feel free to ask for advice from our friendly FEMALE staff" – and wondered what kind of clientele that would attract. Steve was behind the counter and told me that Mr. Harman wouldn't be in until later, but he had left the outfit he expected me to wear. When I went to the cubicle, I had expected to see the silver dress again, but there was an entirely different outfit laid out. It looked like a one-piece swimsuit made out of thin latex rubber, accompanied by boots and gloves. I swallowed hard, knowing this would be even more revealing than the dress. Once again, I was desperately uncomfortable, but still had no choice – I had rent to pay tomorrow, and still no money.
I took off my clothes and squeezed myself into the red swimsuit, which was incredibly tight. It was cut so high around the thighs that I had to tuck my pubic hair in at the edges so it didn't show, while at the back, my buttocks were left entirely exposed. The neckline plunged between my breasts to my navel, and the back was totally cut away and only held together by thin straps, leaving me with an exposed bum cleavage as well.
On the chair, I found a spray can labelled Rubber Shine and a cloth. Feeling that I was committed beyond the point of shame, I sprayed the cloth and rubbed it over the suit until it was gleaming. I found the exercise rather simulating and by the time I had finished, my breathing was a little ragged. I pulled on the boots, which were black leather and reached up to my thighs, then the black satin gloves, which reached to my elbows.
There was one more thing on the chair, a thin leather collar, like a dog collar, with a silver chain hanging from the front. I really didn't want to wear it, but I remembered the thong and the threat to dock wages and I picked it up. It was a tight fit and I had to pull it to make the two halves meet behind my neck, but when they did, there was a distinct click. The chain hung down between my breasts, feeling cold against my skin.
As I looked at myself in the full length mirror, I suddenly realised, for the first time in my life, I looked and felt incredibly sexy. I took off my glasses, mussed up my hair and licked my lips, enhancing the effect. I ran my gloved fingers over the shiny latex, gently rubbing each nipple to erection, before letting my hand glide down across my stomach and between my thighs. With the tightness of the rubber and the smoothness of the gloves, I couldn't work my fingers inside to reach my swollen and receptive sex, as I wanted to, but I could rub my fingers along the crack between my lips, which I could feel through the material, and indeed seemed to be made supersensitive by the thin covering. I let out a gasp as I leaned forward, putting one gloved hand onto the mirror to steady myself, while the other worked hard to satisfy the burning desire within me. I felt my knees buckle and I slumped against the cool glass, panting and whimpering as my ever more desperate fingering brought me to the edge of orgasm and then, gloriously, over that edge. As the waves of pleasure swept through my body, I stumbled back onto the chair, legs splayed and back arched as I waited for the sweet agony of the 'little death' to pass. At last, spent, I slumped in the chair, trying to gather my thoughts and my wits.
As I came out into the shop a few minutes later, I was surprised to see a dozen customers standing and looking at me, and I was even more shocked when they burst into a spontaneous round of applause. Behind them, I saw Steve's leering face and, as he indicated the wall behind me, I looked round. The wall-mounted TV monitor, which normally showed pictures from the CCTV cameras covering the shop floor, was showing a still picture of the store room. Slowly I realised it wasn't a still but a view of the room with no-one in it, and that the view was from inside the changing cubicle out into the room. I suddenly knew the camera was positioned behind the mirror, a two-way mirror, and I had just unwittingly given them a spectacular floor show.
With my face once more burning with shame, I ran out of the shop, but I was back in the store room and therefore on the screen. I pulled the curtain across, obscuring the hidden camera, but then saw the camera in the corner of the store room, whirring around to focus on me. Confused, I ran back into the shop and went behind the counter, hoping this offered some kind of barrier between me and the gaggle of dirty old men leering at me. Of course, that just meant being closer to that dirty young man leering at me, Steve.
The rest of the evening was a nightmare. Customers kept coming up to the counter and asking for my help. "Which of these DVDs would you recommend?" they'd ask, holding up two vile films called 'Shit on My Face' and 'The Torture of Eve', or something equally horrendous; or "Do you think this would satisfy a real woman like yourself?" as they proffered the biggest dildo they could find. I had to wander around the shop, picking up magazines deliberately dropped on the floor while the punters followed me around, almost drooling over me. When one of them got his mobile phone out and took a picture of me, Steve was suddenly all protective, aggressively insisting the man delete the photo and warning everyone that pictures and videos were not allowed. I was glad that my shame was to be limited to just the 'live' experience.
"However", I heard Steve go on, loud enough so they would all hear, "Come back tomorrow night and we may have some screen grabs from the earlier performance on sale". I was dismayed and, when I cornered him on his own later, told him he couldn't do that.
"Not my idea, take it up with the boss" was all he'd say.
The shop was busy right up until Steve closed up. I asked him not to lock the till before Mr. Harman turned up, as I had to have my money, and he reluctantly agreed, before leaving me alone to wait for the owner. I got changed and came back into the shop, to find Mr. Harman there, watching the TV monitor. I saw an image of myself, leaning into the camera, bringing myself off, while the sounds of my gasps and moans filled the room.
"Magnificent performance!" Mr. Harman said jovially, "You're a real natural"
"I didn't know you were filming me!" I protested.
"Of course not, that's why your reaction is so real! Well done. Now, we need to settle up. Here's your wages for the two nights, and here is a bonus for taking the initiative and being a real trooper, as well as boosting sales tonight!" The bonus was more than the wages and altogether it was nearly a month's rent. I was stunned, as well as relieved, but I had to say something.
"Mr. Harman, I don't feel comfortable with what I am doing here" I said hesitantly.
"Oh, don't worry" he said breezily as he ushered me out and locked up. "I'll make everything much more comfortable for you. Oh, just one other thing. To keep our relationship on a professional level, I think it would be best if you called me 'Sir', is that alright?". He looked at me expectantly, demanding a response.
"Very well ... Sir" I mumbled. He smiled broadly and, before I could say anything else, he had gone off into the night.
When I got to the shop the next night, it was packed. I pushed my way through to the back of the shop, where Mr. Harman was waiting to usher me into the store room. I was surprised to see that the room had been cleared of boxes and had a carpet on the floor. There was a dressing table and chair against one wall, and a wardrobe against another. The changing cubicle had been changed into a shower stall and there was even a sofa in the room as well.
"I hope you find this rather more comfortable" Mr. Harman said, walking over to the wardrobe and opening it.
"Mr. Harman, I didn't mean –" "Ah, ah, what did we say about 'professional' relationships?"
"Please ... Sir ... I meant I don't feel comfortable with the whole dressing up and parading in front of those ... creeps"
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, with a dismissive wave, "This is pure theatre and you are the star of the show. You must dress the part to satisfy your public!"
"But Sir", I protested, "This is wrong!"
"Kat, we are making money! You want – need – to make money, don't you?"
I nodded my head in shame.
"Very well, let's get on, you've wasted enough time already. Now I think you will need help in doing this up". He held up a corset, covered in red satin and black lace, with suspenders hanging down from it. I swallowed hard, knowing I was defeated. I looked up at the corner of the room to check whether the CCTV camera was trained on me, but I saw that there was now a camera in each corner, meaning there was no hiding place. Slowly and miserably, I stripped off my street clothes, trying to cover my nakedness from the lenses. Mr. Harman took the clothes, put them away in the wardrobe and handed me the corset. I stepped into it and, with considerable difficulty, pulled it up over my hips. It was already pinching my waist in, and it pushed my breasts up and out, so they looked like big round globes, cut in half by the top of the corset which barely covered my nipples. He passed me the other items of my costume – sheer black stockings, shoes with four inch platforms and eight inch heels, a black lacy thong – and I put them on in silence. The final item was the collar I had worn the previous night, which clicked tightly in place as before, uncomfortable but not choking me.
"Come over here and I'll lace you up" Mr. Harman said in a commanding voice, which brooked no disobedience. I grabbed the back of the chair, facing the dressing table mirror and leaning forward as he instructed. He worked methodically, pulling the laces through a little at a time and I felt the garment tighten around me, inch by inch, until I was struggling to take more than short, shallow breaths. When he had done as much as he could, and I was becoming light-headed from a lack of oxygen, he gathered up the laces and put them behind a panel behind my back, which zipped up and I heard another quiet click. When I straightened up and looked at myself in the mirror, I was shocked by the effect. I have a naturally small waist and curvy hips, but that had been exaggerated to a ridiculous degree and I now had an impossibly tiny waist, with my hips flaring dramatically from the bottom of the corset. My breasts looked enormous too, straining to break free from the intolerable constraints they were under.
"You just need to touch up your make-up a little, a bit of lipstick, some mascara". He indicated I should sit at the dressing table and I saw the make-up laid out. The lipstick was blood red and glistened on my lips, while the mascara outlined my eyes dramatically – the overall effect with the corset was a surreal, almost doll-like image, assuming you were thinking of a sex doll.
Mr. Harman led me out into the shop and through my throng of admirers to the counter, where more surprises awaited me. The clothes I was wearing were reproduced in a little display under a sign reading "What our model is wearing : 5% discount tonight only", while on the counter were A4 sized photos of me from the previous night, leaning against the mirror, my eyes wide at the moment of orgasm. A sign next to these said "One free with every 2 purchases". They were certainly marketing me hard.
I was ordered to wander around the shop and 'mingle', which meant having to brush past the men who were pretending to look at the goods on the shelves rather than at my goodies equally on display. Whenever they could, they brushed past me or forced me to brush past them, and on more than one occasion I felt a hand stray onto my buttocks or 'accidentally' graze across my breasts. I was almost relieved when Mr. Harman called me to the counter.
"Ah, Kat, this gentleman" he said, indicating the sleezy individual currently ogling my breasts, "Has just purchased a very expensive ... outfit, and is very keen for you to model it for him before he takes it back to his 'girlfriend'. You wouldn't mind, would you? You don't have to change, you can try it on with what you're wearing"
"Er, no ... Sir" I said doubtfully, looking at the short, fat, sweaty man and wondering what sort of girlfriend he had.
"Excellent, well, we can put it on right here. Just put your arms in here and I'll slip it on"
He was holding something made out of black leather, lots of straps and buckles, and a couple of arm holes. I thought it was some kind of biker jacket, and put my arms behind me and into the sleeves. But instead to my hands appearing at the end of the sleeves, they were funnelled together and held behind me. I felt a strap tighten around my wrists and when I tried to pull my arms out again, I couldn't. Mr. Harman took a strap attached to the top of the leather garment just by my left shoulder, passed it across my chest and fastened it to a buckle underneath my right arm, before repeating with a strap from my right shoulder to underneath my left arm, pulling the straps tight and ensuring the contraption could not be shrugged off.
"Now, sir, you will see the straps along the arm binder here, perhaps you'd like to just tighten them and observe the effect on the wearer?" The fat man shuffled eagerly over to me and I got a whiff of his body odour before he grabbed the straps behind me and started to buckle them. As each one was pulled tight, my forearms were forced closer together and my shoulders pulled back, thrusting my breasts out in front of me. I gasped in discomfort as he progressed up my arms until my elbows were touching inside the arm binder.
"Very good, see how the breasts are accentuated by the strictness of the bondage". Mr. Harman sounded like a super-smooth car salesman as he grabbed my breasts to emphasise his point.
"Please, Sir", I whined, finally finding my voice, "That really hurts. Please unstrap me"
"Which is where your second purchase comes in" Mr. Harman said. As I looked around to try and see what he was holding now, he gripped me by the jaw, forcing my mouth open and stuffing a bright red ball into it. Moments later there was a strap across my cheeks, one under my chin and two up the side of my face, which joined together and went over my head to buckle at the back.
"'Et 'e 'o!" I shouted around the ball with some difficulty.
"This gag was such a good choice, sir" Mr. Harman went on smoothly, ignoring my struggles and shouts, which had got everyone in the shop looking at me.
"Because by using this" He attached a small tube with a bulb at the end to a pipe on the ball in my mouth, "You can quickly silence those annoying noises" He pumped the bulb a couple of times and suddenly I could no longer move my jaws, as they were forced further apart, or my tongue, as it was crushed against the floor of my mouth.
"Now what you've got here is good, but what I think you need to do, sir, is to accessorise". He led me into the middle of the shop, scattering the crowd watching the performance, then stopped and reached up. Hanging from the ceiling was a chain with a hook on the end, which I had never noticed before, and he pulled it down, attaching the hook to a ring on the top of the head harness I was wearing, meaning I was held there, unable to get away. The crowd formed a circle around me, literally salivating at the floor show unfolding before them.
"You can apply one of these" Mr. Harman said, and I saw that Steve had come round and was holding a metal bar with a strap at either end. As he squatted down in front of me I couldn't look down to see what he was doing, but I felt one of the straps fastened around my left ankle, then my feet were pulled wide apart and the other strap fastened around my right ankle.
"The spreader bar not only puts her in an attractive stress position, it also gives access to all areas" I felt a finger run across the front of the thong and I suddenly went weak at the knees and my hips ground involuntarily.
"See how turned on she is by what some people would say is mistreatment? Now, what she needs is to be teased, and what better than with these?" He was holding up one of the evil-looking clamps I had seen the other day and I tried to beg for mercy and shake my head, but I was just turning the audience on more.
I felt a hand on my breast and heard a zip being pulled. Moments later, first one then the other cup had been removed and my breasts were bare and on show, eliciting a small cheer from the audience. I felt my nipple being pulled and flicked, until it was standing erect, and I knew what was coming next. I felt my nipple squashed between the spring-loaded teeth of the clamp until it was pinching painfully and the weight of the clamp was dragging the nipple down. The torture was repeated on the other nipple, but after a few seconds the pain ebbed to a dull ache. Mr. Harman and the fat man stood in front of me, examining me, I'm sure enjoying my discomfort.
"The good thing about these particular clamps" Mr. Harman went on, "Is that when you apply the lead weights supplied with them, the clamps are designed to grip more tightly, biting more firmly, as they get heavier". I squealed into the gag as I felt the effect he had just described, the metal teeth digging into the tender flesh of my nipples as they were dragged down towards the floor. The dull ache became a constant and intense pain which could not be ignored. The faces in front of me smiled cruelly as my cries and whimpers forced a large quantity of saliva to escape past the ball gag and slide down my chin, before dripping onto my chest and oozing between my breasts and under the corset.
"Excuse me" I heard someone say, "I asked this stuck-up bitch yesterday if this would satisfy her, but she was too up herself to answer. Could we find out now?" I saw the enormous, life-like dildo held up in front of me, still encased in its shiny packaging.
"If you buy it, Sir, I'm sure she will be happy to model it for you"
"Really? She doesn't look too happy about it"
"But I don't hear her protesting, sir, do you? Steve, can you reposition her while I ring this gentleman's purchase through?"
Mr. Harman moved out of my line of sight, but Steve appeared at my side. He reached up and I felt the head harness released from the hook, allowing me to relax from my stretched position. But the relief was very temporary, as Steve took hold of the arm binder and pulled it up behind me, forcing me to bend forward until I was doubled over, with my arms stretched up above me and my bum thrust out behind me. As I was made to bend over, the pain from the nipple clamps intensified as they twisted around until they were dangling below me, pulling my breasts down towards the floor, with the teeth ripping my skin as they took up their new position. I heard the hook scrape against the metal ring at the base of the arm binder and I was trapped in a new stress position. Apart from the pain in my nipples, my shoulders were now at an unnatural angle and were soon aching terribly, while the combination of the spreader bar, the high heels and my bent posture were stretching my hamstrings to what felt like breaking point. But that all became background distractions as I felt the thong I was wearing pulled down until it was stretched between my knees. All attention in the room, including mine, was now focused on what was happening behind me.
"I don't think you'll need to use the KY jelly you bought, sir" I heard Mr. Harman say as he stood behind me, "she looks like she is well lubricated already". Immediately, I felt the head of the dildo pressed against my pussy lips and, without hesitation, thrust into me as far as it would go. I let out a muffled cry and my knees almost gave way, sending another wave of agony through my shoulders, as the long, thick shaft was slowly pulled back and then thrust in, over and over again. The pain was intolerable, but everyone in the room could see I was being turned on, as my juices coated the rubberised monstrosity and started to dribble down my thighs. I fought against the reaction of my body to the stimulation it was being forced to receive, but it was no use, I couldn't stop the feelings of intense pleasure rising up, until the orgasm hit me like a train. I twisted and struggled in the tight bondage, snorting and gasping for breath, not caring about the constant string of drool coming from my lips and forming a puddle on the floor beneath me. Most shamingly, I was pushing my hips back in rhythm to intensify the thrusts of the dildo, which moments before I had wanted desperately to escape. The plateau of my climax seemed to go on longer than ever, before finally abating and sending me crashing into post-orgasmic fatigue, which was so intense it would have made me collapse to the floor, if I hadn't been hanging from the ceiling.
"So, would anyone else like to try out their purchases on our gorgeous and very accommodating model?" Mr. Harman must have been doing a roaring trade as, over the next hour or so, I had a bewildering array of different devices thrust into my pussy, forcing me to cum, until I was almost delirious with tiredness and over-stimulation, my body covered in a slick sheen of sweat. "Can I try this on her?" became the phrase of the night, as the clientele became more and more comfortable with the idea that I was there only for their pleasure and excitement, to enable them to live out some of their own sick fantasies, as long as it involved spending money on the shop's range of toys.
As yet another object was about to be thrust towards me, I suddenly noticed the cold touch of KY being smeared around my sphincter and dribbled down between my buttocks. I tried to make noises of protest – this was surely a violation too far, I had never taken anything up there before, and I certainly didn't want to start now – but my weak, almost inaudible, cries were ignored, as they had been throughout. I felt something pressing against my hole, stretching it wide, wider, beyond the point where surely it would go no wider, then sliding into me, filling my back passage, forcing whatever was in there back up inside me, increasing the feeling of being completely stuffed. At the point where I was certain I could take no more, the girth of the intruder reduced and my sphincter closed around it, greedily sucking it in a little further and ensuring I couldn't expel it. And then it started vibrating, sending weird signals through my body, somewhere between pleasure and deep, unsettling discomfort. The butt plug must have been pressing against the walls of my vagina, because I could feel the vibrations passing through to my pleasure centres and slowly, unbelievably, disgustingly, I felt myself begin to climb the mountain towards yet another climax. It seemed to take forever, but everyone knew it was coming, that I was cumming, and they waited, watching in fascination as I was brought off by pure anal stimulation.
At last the terrible night came to an end. Steve began to herd the customers towards the door, promising them that 'mementos' of tonight's show would be on sale tomorrow night. Finally I was released from the spreader bar and the arm binder, enabling me to release myself from the ball gag and try and massage some life back into my aching limbs and jaw. I removed the clamps gingerly, then grimaced as the blood returning to my nipples provided its own special agony.
"Excuse me, can I buy that thong?" There was one customer still in the shop, and he was pointing at my groin, although his question was addressed to Mr. Harman.
"Certainly, sir, what size and colour would you like?"
"No, I mean I want the one she's wearing".
"Ah" said Mr. Harman, appraising the situation quickly, "That will cost an extra ... £10?" The man nodded.
"Certainly, sir. Kat, give the gentleman his goods" I looked at him beseechingly, wanting to avoid this last humiliation, but I could see I would receive no mercy from him. With my head bowed, I pulled down the thong, stepped out of it and handed it over. Disgustingly, he put it to his nose and sniffed it. Clearly not satisfied, he leaned forward, forced me to spread my legs, and wiped all the juices from the inside of my thighs and from my pussy, before sniffing it again and, now happy with his purchase, putting it in his pocket and heading to the till to pay.
I retired to the store room, Mr. Harman and Steve ignoring me as they tidied up. All I was thinking was get changed, get paid, get out and never EVER come back here – these people were sick, warped, and would only continue to exploit me in this gross, degrading way if I didn't get out. I wanted to get the police on them, but I realised they could legitimately claim I had willingly dressed up and had been well paid for my troubles.
I pulled at the wardrobe doors, unable to open them. They must have been locked to stop anyone stealing my clothes, I reasoned, and went back to the shop to ask them to unlock it. But now I couldn't get the store room door open, it must have jammed, no matter how hard I pulled or twisted the handle it stayed firmly shut.
"Hello?" I called, "The door's stuck, could you let me out please?" Incredibly, it took two minutes of banging and calling before I realised that maybe the door wasn't stuck, maybe it was locked.
"Hey!" I shouted, "Let me out, you sick bastards! Let me out!" I hammered on the door and my shouts turned to screams when I heard the shop door open and then slam shut. I paused, listening in horror as the locks clicked into place, before resuming my desperate banging and cries to be released. When I was hoarse and my fists were hurting, I stopped and listened, my ear pressed to the door. There was not a sound from the shop. I slowly realised I had been abandoned, locked away, kidnapped, imprisoned and with no idea when or how or if I could get free.