It begins the same as every other day. The basement light goes on, the door opens and she enters – Margot, my neighbour, the woman I thought of as my friend, the woman who now insists that I call her ‘Mistress’.

"Good morning, Mistress," I say in a monotone as I kneel in my cage, my head bowed. It is shameful, but I know that I have been broken, I cannot resist her. Her punishments are far too extreme, too cruel and inventive for me to risk incurring her wrath. All I can do is cling desperately to my last hope - the hope that my darling husband will come to rescue me from this nightmare, maybe soon, maybe today is the day, the day I regain my freedom and return to being the loving, submissive housewife that I once was, and yearn to be again.

"Good morning, Alice. We have a busy day today, so let's get on with it." Obediently, I put my arms behind my back, my wrists close together and offered up, as is our routine. She reaches through the bars of the cage and I feel the padlock applied to join the leather cuffs on my wrists, and the chain which secures them to the back of my collar being attached. As time has gone by, the chain has shortened, pulling my wrists higher, and they are now up between my shoulder blades, just a few more links to go.

Mistress opens the cage and I step out, waiting patiently as she clips my leash to my collar and then leads me to the bathroom. As per our normal routine, I shit and she wipes, she brushes my teeth, and then we go into the kitchen, where she gives me my breakfast. I go down on my knees on the tiled floor and stick my face into the dog bowl in which she serves my cereal, unconcerned about the milk which drips from my chin as I eat it as quickly as possible, lest it be taken away and I go hungry.

Today is a Wednesday, so I will be returned to the basement to do laundry and ironing for the morning, before being dressed as in maid’s uniform to wait on any callers she has arranged. Sometimes, for ’vanilla’ visitors, this will be as simple as serving tea. For others, those in the know, the services I provide will be far more… personal. I would say that she is whoring me out but, as far as I know, she doesn't ask for or receive any money for the things I do. Maybe it is all to improve her position in the local community. Maybe she just enjoys making me do things she knows I find repulsive. I know she relishes the power.

But today, we are not following routine. As I stand, waiting to be commanded, she holds up a gag to my face. It's an extreme gag. I open my mouth and she pushes the cock-like protrusion in deep, challenging the gag reflex she has so assiduously, and painfully, trained out of me. The panel completely covers my cheeks, even extending upwards either side of my nose. The three straps buckle very tightly behind my head. I will not be making much sound while wearing this, no matter what she does to me. In some ways, that is reassuring. She has been known to punish me for screaming whilst being punished.

Another break with routine. She leads me upstairs and into her bedroom. Am I to be taught some new sexual deviation, as I have been forced to learn so many others in this place? I shudder at the thought of what I have suffered on that bed, tied to that bed, suspended from the canopy and posts of that bed…

But no. Today, she leads me across the room to the French windows, and out onto the balcony. I shiver in the cold morning air, my bare feet chilled by the layer of fresh snow. She brings me to the rail and then motions for me to kneel, tying the end of the leash to the iron bars in front of me.

"I thought you might like to get a bit of fresh air for once, Alice. I think there will be some activity out on the street today which you might find interesting." With this enigmatic comment, Mistress goes back inside, closing the doors behind her.

Despite the wintry weather, the sun is bright this morning, creating a stunning glare off the pristine white surface below on the street and gardens, but it is chilly here in the shadow of the house, a chill I would feel even if I wasn't naked.

There, across the street, is our house. The one owned by my husband and I, the one we bought when we first married, pooling our joint savings to raise the required deposit. How I long to be there now! Lying in my cosy bed, snuggled up to my darling Paul, toying with him, teasing him with my fingers and, quite possibly, my lips, trying to encourage him to make love to me before he leaves for work. Or possibly, once he has gone to the office, putting on my handcuffs, gagging myself, and then using my vibrator as I imagine being raped by some perverted intruder…

I look closer. There's something there that I don't recognise. A post. A sign. "Thomson Realtors - For Sale". And something plastered across the board. "SOLD". I stare at the sign. I can't quite take it in. Is it real? Is this some kind of joke? How can my house be for sale - in fact, sold - without me knowing about it, without my consent? I must be dreaming…

I hear the sound of an approaching engine, and then I see the van moving towards me down the street. I read the words on the side as it pulls up outside the house opposite. "Swifty Removals - Gone In 60 Minutes!" Two men get out of the cab and go to the door - my front door - to be let in by… Paul! My husband! I scream and cry out to attract his attention, but the gag is far too efficient, allowing only the most pathetic whimpers to escape. I pull frantically at the leash holding me on my knees, but to no avail. Just a simple knot in the leather, I could undo it in a moment, if only I had the use of my hands!

As I desperately continue my futile attempts at making myself seen or heard, I watch the removals men quickly loading up the truck - my furniture, my bed, boxes of my possessions - my life! They're taking away everything I own, all my precious things, all my memories. This cannot be happening!

They close the back of the van and fire up the engine. As they manoeuvre the vehicle to return the way they came, I see Paul coming down the drive to wave them on their way. And… who's that by his side? A busty young blonde, in a short skirt and high heels. Perhaps she is the realtor? But then, I see that they are holding hands as they go to his car. They kiss. And then…

Paul looks directly at me, I know he sees me, and then he smiles. And waves. I look over at the girl. She is looking at me and smiling as well. They get into the car and drive away. They are gone. Paul is gone, with his new… wife?

My last hope… is gone.

I don't know how long Mistress leaves me there before finally bringing me inside. All I know is that my fingers, toes and nipples are frozen, and my face is wet with my tears. I pay little attention to what happens, I let Mistress do with me as she will. I am in shock.

She gives me an enema, showers me, washes my hair, dries me, puts on my make-up, dresses me. As she does so, I move from shock to disbelief, to denial, to guilt, to anger, to depression, and finally to acceptance. I have nothing and no-one to bargain with. Fate, luck, chance, God - all have deserted me.

By the time I come back to the real world, I am once more in the cellar. I am dressed in a red satin corset, black stockings and suspenders, thong, high heels, and silk opera gloves. My leather collar and cuffs are locked in place, and I am chained to a metal frame, arms above my head, legs spread wide. I look around, rather dazed and confused, as if seeing my surroundings for the first time. Mistress is not there, but I see the familiar shape of my cage, with its thin mattress. Somehow, it speaks to me of safety, and I long to be locked inside…

Less reassuringly, I see a table in front and to one side of me, something that was not there before. On it are arrayed a set of items, weapons which have been used in the past by Mistress to torture me - a riding crop, a cane, a flogger, a whip, nipple clamps, dildos, a vibrator, a butt plug. I begin to shake uncontrollably at the thought of the torment to come, pulling at the chains holding me, starting to whimper in fear.

The door to the basement opens, and I hear the click-clack of Mistress’ heels on the steps down. I try to calm myself, knowing that she will not appreciate me showing my fear so clearly. I have to at least appear to be subdued and accepting of my fate. She will not abide any struggling or pleading from me, and will severely punish any sign of resistance.

"Here is the merchandise, gentlemen. I know you will not be disappointed." At these words, I look up and see that Mistress is being followed into the room by half a dozen men - no, only five - they stare at me, some smiling, some stony-faced. I don't recognise any of them. Who are they? What is going on? They stand in a row in front of me, looking me over, evaluating me. I have never felt so exposed or so frightened.

"Please, feel free to examine her. You have an hour before I ask for your sealed bids. This will be a straight blind auction - highest bid wins." Bids? Auction? It slowly dawns on me what is happening. I am being sold as a slave! How can this be happening?! Only this morning, I was hoping this whole nightmare was about to end. In one way I was right, it seems like a new, much worse nightmare is about to start!

"Please! Mistress! No! I-" My pointless and ill-judged pleading for mercy is cut short as she slaps me surprisingly hard across the face. There is a ringing in my ears, and I taste blood in my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up, cunt!" she shouts, her spittle exploding onto my face. "You're my property, I will do with you what I want!"

"Can we use these?" one of the prospective buyers asks as he picks up the flogger.

"Certainly," Margot replies, an evil grin on her face as she looks at me, "but please, don't damage the goods, at least not permanently. Any ‘breakages’ must be paid for. You have an hour, gentlemen." So saying, she turns on her heel and ascends the staircase, leaving me to my fate with these strangers.

Several of them approach me and begin groping my body. They grab my breasts, squeezing them painfully, pulling on the nipples, tweaking them into erection. I feel hands on my buttocks, and then running over my crotch, feeling, rubbing…

"She's wet," the man with his hand down my panties informs the others matter-of-factly, "the slut is obviously well trained." I feel my cheeks blush with shame at this comment, because I know it is not the result of any training, it is my body reacting as it always has to this kind of situation - the bondage, the humiliation of being pawed, the prospect of what is to come.

"Let's get rid of these clothes, and find out what her body is really like." The panties are ripped from me, and then I feel the corset being unfastened and removed, leaving me naked apart from the stockings and gloves. Hands once more roaming my body, and I feel a finger thrust into my wet hole, exploring, testing how I react to this new violation. I gasp in surprise and shock then, to my shame, I moan with pleasure, unconsciously thrusting myself onto the digit. I open my eyes, and see the face, inches from mine, break out into a knowing smile. They have labelled me a slut, and they are right. Despite the desperation of my situation, I can't control myself, this abuse is turning me on.

Now there is a man pressed against my chest, his hands gripping my buttocks as, without warning or hesitation, he forces himself into me and begins to thrust, bouncing me up and down on his prick like a rag doll. Another man comes up behind me, crushing me against the first, and I feel his tool against my anus, stretching it wide open, making me cry out in pain. My discomfort is of no interest to him, and he slips all the way into me, finding a counter-rhythm to the other guy, so that I am speared, first front then back, cunt then ass.

I cum, then cum again before they are finished with me. I feel their hot spunk shoot inside me, filling me up, and then they withdraw, stepping away from me, leaving me hanging by my wrists, my legs too weak to hold my weight. The cum slowly leaks from me, sliding down my thighs, making me feel even more dirty and disgusting than I did when they were fucking me. I manage to raise my head and look around with bleary eyes to see what is going to happen to me next.

Before I can focus on anything, I feel a searing pain across my back. The shock of the blow stuns me momentarily, before the scream of agony erupts from my throat. I try to cope with the pain, but almost immediately I am screaming again as I am assaulted from the front, the flogger lashing hard across my breasts. I gasp for breath, tears streaming down my face, as they beat me mercilessly, the whip on my back, the flogger on my front, until I am on the verge of unconsciousness.

Through the haze of pain, I am dimly aware that the thrashing has finished and the chains from which I am hanging limply are being loosened, lowering me down until I am on my knees. I open my eyes to find myself staring at the crotch of a man, his erection long and hard, an inch from my face.

"Don't even think about biting, bitch," he says, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back so that I am staring into his eyes, "because if you do, whatever that ‘Mistress’ of yours says, I will kill you right here and now." He lowers my head and presses his cock against my lips until I open my mouth, then drives it in until my nose is pressed against his body and the head of his member is pressed against the entrance to my throat. The deep throat training which Mistress has forced me to endure means that I can resist the overwhelming urge to retch, and take him into my oesophagus, all the while massaging his impressive length using the swallowing technique I have been taught.

Thankfully, he doesn't last very long. He grips my head pulling it back and forth as he fucks my mouth, strangulated grunts and cries coming from him as he approaches his climax. Just at the crucial moment, he pulls back, and I find myself with a mouth full of hot, salty semen, before it is sprayed all over my face. When the gushing flow finally ebbs, he drops my head and walks away, leaving me to cope with my degradation alone.

Some time later, I realise that there is somebody squatting down in front of me and, with a supreme effort, I lift my head. It is one of the men, the only one who has so far not joined in my abuse and defilement. I'm confused by the look on his face as he stares into my haunted eyes. Is that sympathy? Compassion?

"What's your name?" He asks, astonishing me with the gentleness and warmth of his voice.

"Alice," I croak.

"This is all being done against your will, isn't it?" I nod my head in response, and wonder why he is asking such a question. He is here to buy a slave, what does he care if she is willing or not? A sudden thought comes to me, a ridiculous hope springs in my breast.

"Please help me! Get me out of this!" I beg desperately, wondering if this is my saviour.

"I'm sorry, Alice, I can't. But I will definitely bid for you now. I've always wanted to own someone like you." His tone is still gentle and compassionate, but his enigmatic words confuse me. I don't know what he means by ‘someone like me’, I don't know what he wants to do with ‘someone like me’…

"Well, gentlemen, I hope you have satisfied yourself of the quality of the merchandise. Let us adjourn upstairs for a drink, and to work out which of you will be leaving with this beautiful, young woman." They leave with Mistress, and I am alone once more to contemplate my fate.

It is two hours before the door opens again and I look up to see Mistress approach.

"Well, it's all over, you belong to someone else now. All that remains is to crate you up for transportation. I'll miss you, Alice. You were a good neighbour, a good friend, and a good slave."

"Why?" I say quietly, "why are you doing this?"

"Oh, it's just about the money," Margot replies, "Paul sold you to me, and I had to get my money back. In the event, after training you, I turned a healthy profit."

"He sold me?!" I gasp in renewed horror, "why would he do that? I thought he loved me, like I loved him!"

"He told me that he found you too needy, your demands to be treated submissively too onerous, too much like hard work. He thought that, as you wanted so much to play at being a slave, you should become worn for real. I'm sorry, Alice." The look of sympathy on her face was probably as close as she had ever been to a true human emotion.

I watched as she dragged a long, wooden crate into the centre of the room, and realised that this was going to be my mode of transport out of this place. With a final desperation, I struggled and fought every inch of the way as Margot carefully released me from the chains one arm at a time, making sure that it was tightly strapped to my body before she tackled the other. With both my arms secured, I kicked out wildly when she freed my legs, but she just sat on me and soon had me trussed up from head to foot. She is a strong woman, and had no difficulty in lifting my bound body and putting me into the box.

"Please, Margot, don't do this! For the sake of our friendship! I'm begging you!"

"I'm sorry, Alice. Business is business." It was her final word, and I knew there was no point in further argument or pleading. She forced a ball gag into my mouth, and then covered my head with a black bag. Now blind, I could only listen as she manhandled the crate lid into place and then hammered the nails in. Every blow felt, literally, like another nail in my coffin.

I don't know who has bought me. I don't know what awaits me at the end of this journey. All I know is that my life as I knew it, as I ever conceived it progressing, is gone forever.

The End…?