"I haven't seen Yvonne around for a while," Dafne said carefully over her glass of wine, "are you two okay?"

"We're perfect," I said gloomily, "problem is, she had to go back up to Nottingham because her mother's been taken into hospital. She's looking after her dad, and she's been away for a couple of weeks. I spoke to her on the phone earlier and she's going to be up there for at least another week. I miss her so much!"

It was true, we had been going out for several months by then and I was head over heels in love with her.  But, with her absence, I was bored, depressed, and frustrated as hell. Vulnerable, and a perfect target for Dafne and one of her outlandish schemes.

"Well, there's only one thing for it," she said decisively, "when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping! This weekend, you and I, we're going up to town – we'll hit Oxford Street, take in a West End show, and pamper ourselves with a night in a posh hotel. That should cure your miserable mood!"

I don't know whether I would have been allowed to turn her down, but that wasn't a problem - I thought it was a wonderful idea and went along with it gratefully and enthusiastically. I needed taking out of myself, and this sounded perfect.

We went up to London on the train that Saturday morning and had a lovely day cruising the shops and a few tourist attractions as well. We checked into the poshest hotel I'd ever stayed in, and I nervously asked Dafne how much I owed her - this was way beyond what my teacher's salary could afford.

"My treat," she said dismissively, waving away all my attempts to insist that I pay my way, "come on, let's get dressed for our night out." We went up to our rooms, which were adjacent. Just as I was about to enter, Dafne handed me a bag.

"It's your outfit for tonight, pet," she explained in her most commanding, domineering tone, "I expect you to wear everything in there, and bring nothing else. Understood? I'll see you in reception in half an hour." She turned and went into her own room without waiting for an answer or checking for my response. I glanced in the bag and was not surprised to see latex glinting back at me.

I thought about protesting before she disappeared. I thought about disobeying her and dressing in the perfectly acceptable clothes I had brought. But then I thought, why bother? It would be an empty gesture of defiance - she would make me do it in the end. And, anyway, isn't this really why I came? Yes, it was nice to be out having fun but, secretly, I had been hoping that Dafne's Dominatrix would come to the fore and force me to do something I wasn't entirely comfortable with.

I quickly went into the room and emptied the bag on the bed. Seeing what she had provided added to both my excitement and nervousness. I took a very quick shower and then started to get dressed. There were black latex stockings, with matching black latex elbow gloves, which I struggled into before admiring the look in the dressing table mirror.

Next came the shoes, which were pretty extreme, even compared to other fetish footwear I'd had. They had three inch platforms made from huge red plastic blocks, with 7 inch heels, held on my feet by shiny red plastic straps which buckled and locked around my ankles. They contrasted garishly with the black stockings, but at least they matched the dress.

Figure-hugging seems far too conventional a term to describe the way the sheath of red latex gripped me from bust to hips. It was strapless, almost backless, and just barely reached the tops of my legs to cover my privates. It left a healthy expanse of bare white thigh between the hem and the stockings, as well as moulding my breasts firmly into an impressive cleavage while leaving my chest and shoulders bare.

I moved on to the accessories, of which there were just two. First, a simple black leather collar, but with two inch steel spikes - thankfully blunt - sticking out from it. It also had an identity disc on the front with the word PET engraved on it. Wow, I thought as I buckled it around my neck, Dafne's really going all out tonight!

The other item was something quite familiar to me, a small butterfly clit vibrator. Parting my legs and hitching up the hem of the dress, I carefully positioned it between my labia, before pulling the dress back down and smoothing it. The vibrator had an aerial wire, which wouldn't normally be a problem as it would tuck into my knickers, but that wasn't an option here! For lack of any better idea, I pushed the dangling length of wire into my pussy, noting how hot and damp it was getting down there.

Dafne had also provided make-up in the form of a dark grey eyeshadow and 'volumising' mascara, plus a lipstick which matched my dress and shoes - shocking red and attention-grabbing.

I used the cloth and spray provided to bring the dress, gloves and stockings to a brilliant shine before checking myself out in the full-length mirror. I loved the dress because it was very slightly thicker than some of the other garments I have worn, so appeared entirely smooth across my stomach, hips and bum, accentuating my curves beautifully. But the overall effect… Yes, I thought, stripper heels, hooker dress and make-up, fetish collar - I feel humiliated and degraded just looking at myself in the mirror in the privacy of the room, never mind other people looking at me and judging me!

I glanced at the clock and saw that my thirty minutes were up. I put the mascara and lipstick into my bag and grabbed my coat, but then remembered Dafne's instructions - 'bring nothing else'. Reluctantly, I put the coat and bag on the bed and hurried out of the room and down to reception.

At first, I was glad that I had made it before Dafne but, as the minutes stretched out, I became increasingly uncomfortable at the stares I was attracting. Guests coming in and going out looked at me like I was an alien from another planet, while one man who came out of the bar looked me up and down, ogling me, then went back into the bar to fetch his mates, and they all stood there with eyes like saucers and jaws dropping. I felt horribly objectified by their rude behaviour, and turned away.

"Can I help you, madam?" It was the hotel manager, and the expression on his face told me that he was both disgusted and offended by my presence.

"I'm just waiting for someone," I explained rather pathetically.

"Perhaps you'd like to wait in the bar," he asked with a smile on his lips which never got anywhere near his eyes, "I'd like to offer you a complimentary drink." He put his hand on my elbow and began pushing me towards the group of men still staring at me.

"No, thank you," I replied, pulling my arm away from him. I knew he was just trying to get me out of sight, but I didn't want to get into trouble with Dafne.

"Is there a problem?" I had never been so grateful to see Dafne as she strode across the atrium. She was also dressed sexily, but rather more elegantly than me - high heels, stockings, black leather pencil knee-length skirt and a corset-bustier top, with a string of pearls tight around her neck. But she was also wearing an expensive and very warm-looking coat, and carrying her handbag.

"I was just asking this… lady to-" the manager began, but Dafne cut him short.

"Never mind," she said dismissively, waving his explanations away, "we're leaving now. Come, pet!" I scooted after her, noticing the look of relief on the manager's face, as well as those of disappointment from the guests.

We took a taxi to Shaftesbury Avenue and entered the theatre displaying posters for Chicago, sweeping past the people queueing for return tickets.

"How did you get such great seats at such short notice?" I asked as we settled down in the third row of the stalls, right in front of the stage.

"I know somebody in the theatre," Dafne replied. Of course you do, I thought, it's all part of the power kick, isn't it? I didn't feel so bad about submitting to her so easily, because it seemed like she had that effect on everyone she encountered.

The show was brilliant, and I had a great time, able to forget about my outlandish appearance as the audience were all far too interested in the musical to look at me. As we exited into the foyer, I was disappointed to see that it was absolutely tipping it down outside.

"Come on," Dafne said briskly, "let's go get a drink." As we emerged, she took a telescopic umbrella from her bag, and I huddled close to her as she set off at pace down the street. Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks and threw her arm out to the side in front of me.

"Heel!" she snapped loudly, pushing me backwards until I was behind her and no longer under the umbrella, before setting off once more.

Within a few yards, I was completely soaked. My blonde hair - which was still short in a pixie cut, because Yvonne said she liked it that way - was plastered to my head, and rivulets of water were running uncomfortably down my cleavage. I held my gloved hands above my head to try and protect myself, but it was hopeless and I just looked pathetic. Meanwhile, Dafne looked entirely comfortable under the brolly, in her long winter coat, and strode on ahead, forcing me to scurry along to keep a couple of paces behind her.

We walked about a quarter of a mile, deep into the heart of Soho, before diving into a pub called The Slug And Lettuce. I was glad to be out of the teeming rain and in the warm, but the place was a sports bar and packed with men quaffing beer, exchanging 'locker room banter'. It was not what you might call a female-friendly environment.

Dafne and I had to push our way through to the bar, and the lewd comments were soon flying. I found that, when I politely asked them to let me through, men would look around at me, by which I mean they looked at my body rather than my face, and then wouldn't move out of the way, forcing me to brush against them. There were even sly grabs, a quick pinch of the bottom or fingers sliding across my wet thighs. If that wasn't bad enough, there would be laughter and humiliating words after I'd passed, just increasing my feeling of objectification.

"Gin and tonic and a Diet Coke with ice and a straw, please," Dafne said to the barman when we finally reached the front of the crush.

"Diet Coke with a straw?!" I whined, "I'm not 12! Can't I have a proper drink?" Dafne looked to me as if shocked at my effrontery.

"You'll have what I say you'll have!" she replied icily, "I don't want to hear from you in here again, keep your ugly mouth shut!" Shocked by the vehemence of her words and realising that she was now in full dominatrix mode, I visibly shrank from her and kept quiet.

Having got our drinks, we pushed through the crowd again. Dafne scanned the room, but I could see that there was nowhere for us to sit. She seemed to select a suitable target and approached a booth where six well-dressed young men were sitting and having a lively chat, laughing and ignoring the TV screens around the room.

"Hi there, guys, mind if we join you?" Dafne said with a smile. They looked up, noticing us for the first time and, as they locked their eyes on me, their initial attitude of annoyance at being interrupted instantly changed to one of joyful welcome. One of them jumped up and pulled over the only free chair in the pub, which Dafne immediately sat on.

"You can squeeze onto the bench seat with the boys, can't you, pet?" Immediately, three of the young men stood up and moved to allow me to shuffle around to the back of the booth. Moments later, I found myself crushed between them, three on one side and three on the other, preventing any thought of escape.

I took a sip of my drink through the straw, feeling them staring at me. A drop of rain ran down my nose and dripped from the end into my cleavage. I looked down and saw that my shoulders, chest and thighs were wet, making them glisten almost as much as the wet rubber on the rest of my body. Jesus, I thought, even I think I look sexy, what must this lot be thinking?!

"So, what are you boys doing in town tonight?" Dafne asked. It turned out that they were rugby players up from Wales on a stag night. Gareth was the groom, Dan his best man, while the other mates were George, Leigh, Alex and Jamie.

"Well, I'm Thelma and this is Louise," Dafne lied easily, fooling no one, "we are up from the country too, looking for some fun! What naughty stuff are you getting up to?" Dafne raised an eyebrow and gave a saucy smile.

"Not much, I'm afraid," Dan replied wistfully, "we're under strict orders from our wives and his wife-to-be - no prostitutes, no strippers, no lap dancers, and no taking nubile young women back to the hotel for a quick one. Sorry, Louise, much as we'd like to! " There was a general grumbling and an array of miserable expressions all round.

"Don't be so disheartened, lads!" Dafne exclaimed, "where there's a will, there's a way." She beckoned to me and, suddenly feeling very nervous, I stood up to go to see what she wanted. The guys on either side of me didn't get up this time, and I had to squeeze between them and the edge of the table, which involved a lot of rubbing of latex bum against denim- and chino-clad groins.

"I'll be back in a moment, just going to freshen up," Dafne said to them when I reached her, "by the way, Louise has her website. You should look it up, it's called www.devonbondagegirl.com." As we headed off towards the toilets, they all whipped out their smart phones and, moments later, were all doing impressions of stunned mullets.

"What are you doing?!" I squealed when we got out of the bar, "they'll know it's me!"

"They'll know it's someone called 'Louise' from somewhere in Devon. Big deal!" Dafne replied, rather contemptuously. "Anyway, I thought I told you to shut the fuck up!" Before I could react, she pushed me through a door, and I assumed we were now in the Ladies' toilet. Oh, how wrong can you be…

"What the fuck?!" an elderly gentleman standing at one of the urinals squeaked, rapidly trying to finish and pack away as Dafne pushed me across the room.

"Sorry! Emergency," she called out, "the Ladies' is occupied and we're desperate!" She hustled me past the sinks to the line of cubicles, selecting the disabled cubicle, and shoved me inside.

"Take off the dress," she hissed, in an aggressive tone which brooked no argument. As I peeled the wet latex from my body, I saw her take two sets of handcuffs from her handbag.

"Oh no, please!" I begged but, without saying another word, Dafne roughly pushed me down onto my knees, with the edge of the toilet bowl pressing against the small of my back. I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking at that moment, but I put up no resistance as she cuffed one wrist then, pulling my arms behind me, locked the other wrist so that the handcuffs were behind the water pipe from the cistern to the back of the toilet.

She used the other cuffs to lock my ankles together behind the base of the WC. She had to pull my legs back to make the chain between the ankle cuffs reach, which forced me to arch my back as the edge of the porcelain bowl dug into me, and my breasts were thrust invitingly forward.

"Oh God, oh God…" I mumbled to myself as she reached into her bag again and brought out a gag. As she forced it into my mouth, I realised it was a spider-gag - a metal ring which fitted behind my teeth, and four metal 'legs', two pointing up and bent to poke my cheeks, two pointing down and pressing either side of my chin.

"There! Such a tasty morsel for a hungry wedding party!" I let out a stifled cry as the clit vibrator suddenly burst into life, making me jump with surprise.

"Hang on, pet, I'll just go and see if I can rustle up some visitors to keep you company." I watched as she unlocked the door and walked out. The locking bar slid back into the locked position, and I realised it was one of those you could manipulate from outside with a 5p coin. So I knew I was pretty safe from 'casual' toilet users who would not be able to stumble in upon me. What was worrying was the thought of what Dafne had planned for me.

Through extensive trial and error, Dafne knew the exact setting for the butterfly vibrator such that it would deliver the maximum stimulation just short of bringing me to orgasm. As I waited nervously for what would happen next, I was squirming in my bondage, writhing against the edge of the toilet seat, wishing desperately I could climax.

Even though I was expecting it, it still came as a shock when the door in front of me opened, a figure entered, and the bolt slammed across again, locking me in here with… When he turned to face me, I realised that it was Gareth, the future bridegroom.

"Bloody Norah!" he exclaimed in his sing-song Welsh accent as he feasted his eyes on the sight before him, "I thought Thelma was pulling my plonker when she said you were willing to let us… you know… She didn't mention you'd be naked and in bondage! You are willing, aren't you?"

At this final moment, I lost my nerve. I couldn't admit to this stranger that I got off on being presented, naked and helpless, for the use of someone I' d met just minutes before. I shook my head.

"She said you'd probably want to pretend this was non-consensual!" he said with something like awe in his voice, then began unbuckling his belt. "Well, as Thelma said, this isn't breaking any rules - you're not a prostitute or a stripper, and I'm not chatting you up, so let's get on with it!"

With his jeans and boxers now around his knees, he shuffled forward, took a handful of my hair at the back of my head, and slid his erection through the ring and into my mouth. In some ways I dislike the ring gag because it doesn't allow me to give a proper blowjob. But looked at differently, it's ideal because it removes that last desperate means of resistance - the bite. Not that I would, but knowing I can't is a whole different feeling.

Though unable to use my lips, I did everything I could to give him maximum pleasure using just my tongue. It seemed to work, as he became more and more animated, letting out small grunts and gasps as his excitement grew. I wasn't gagging on his cock, because it wasn't quite long enough to get right to the back of my throat, but I found my own level of arousal increased just by him fucking my mouth. How does that work?!

Eventually, I felt his cock twitch and then spurt his cum, and I swallowed it greedily. Perhaps a little too greedily, as I choked on it and had a coughing fit. As Gareth withdrew, my coughs sprayed spunk over his legs and pants, and he quickly twisted my head to one side.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he grumbled as he used a paper towel to clean himself up, "you're supposed to either spit or swallow, not both!" He quickly did up his jeans and slipped out of the door, locking it from the outside again. No, I thought, don't mention it, you're welcome! He certainly left me with the feeling I had been thoroughly used!

Rather distracted by the continued vibration against my clitoris, I looked down at my body to see how much of a mess I had made of myself. Immediately, a mixture of saliva and semen slopped out of my open mouth and drooled onto my chest. I quickly tipped my head back again but it was too late, and I could feel the slimy cum-spittle sliding down between my breasts, across my stomach, taking a small detour into my belly button, until it reached my groin, where it mixed with the increasing slickness seeping down my thighs. I have to tell you, it was not a pleasant feeling!

I wondered what would happen next. Had I been provided as just a rather unusual wedding present to the groom-to-be? Or was I to be used by the whole wedding party? To be honest, I was so aroused that I was hoping there was more to come (or cum, if you prefer). After a couple of minutes, I got my wish as, once more, the door quickly opened and shut, and I was looking at another bulging groin.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?" It was Dan, the best man, squatting down before me so that we were eye to eye, and he had a broad grin on his face, "a beautiful girl chained up and helpless, available to be used and abused by all and sundry! Is this what gets you off, Louise? What a depraved little slut! What a worthless piece of fuck-meat you are! Nothing but a receptacle for my jizz!"

As he insulted me so harshly, he grabbed my breasts in both hands, roughly groping and mauling, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh, pinching and pulling on my nipples. The combination of gutter trash-talk and the rather painful tweaking just aroused me further, pushing me even closer to the edge.

"Is all this getting you wet?" Dan asked as he, to coin a phrase, grabbed my pussy. "Oh yes! You're dripping like a leaky tap down here! I bet just the merest touch would make you cum!" I let out a wail and threw my head back as he drove two fingers up inside me, clawing at my inner flesh. It is fair to say that I was enjoying the effect he was having on me.

What felt like only seconds later, the orgasm hit me hard, and I screamed at the point of release, unable to control myself.

"Are you all right? What's going on in there?!" I heard from the other side of the door.

"Never you mind, boyo," Dan called back, "just fuck off back to the bar, if you know what's good for you!" I managed to get a grip and quietened down. As I came down from that stratospherically high plateau of sensation and focused once more on the world around me, I saw Dan straighten up before pulling his trousers down.

"Thanks for the spectacular show, Louise," he said as he slid his erection between my open lips, "now let's see what you can do for me."

I did my best, given the restrictions imposed by the gag, trapping his shaft between my tongue and upper palate, then bobbing my head so that each move sent further sensations firing through him. It seemed to have the desired effect, as he became more and more vocal, grunting, groaning, gasping, swearing.

After a few minutes of this, with me doing all the work and him just standing there, enjoying it, I achieved my goal and he achieved his climax. Once more, I was choking down what seemed like gallons of the natural protein shake.

"That was bloodily marvellous!" he panted, pulling out and doing up his trousers. "Thanks, luv, you're a real trouper!" He kissed me on the end of the nose and, with a smile and a little wave, exited the cubicle. What a polite boy, I thought, his mother would be proud of him - as long as he didn't tell her that he'd just been fucking a girl in the toilets of a Soho pub!

Things became a bit of a blur after that. I mean, one cock in your mouth is pretty much like another, really, isn't it? Except for the last guy, of course, he had to be different. I think it was Jamie, although it could have been anyone, but he had the distinction of having a not too long but extremely fat dick - honestly, weirdly out of proportion, like nothing I'd ever seen before.

This wouldn't normally be a problem - listen to me, like I go around sucking cock all over the place! - but the ring gag proved to be a stumbling block.

"Fuck, I can't get it through!" he wailed, as if he was a child who'd been barred from the sweetshop. But then he had a brilliant idea - at least in his mind. "Be a luv, Louise, and stick your tongue out so you can lick it." Oh great, I thought, I get to enjoy his 'lollipop'!

While I poked my tongue through the metal ring, he rubbed his meat against it and, as he became a bit frantic, also against my lips, chin, and even under my nose. It was all a bit rubbish and, when he realised he really wasn't getting enough stimulation, he decided to take things into his own hands, literally. He began to beat out his own rhythm while I, pretty much, became a spectator.

Unfortunately, he decided to include me in his onanistic game right at the end. It was like watching a madman pointing his weapon right at you and stroking it obsessively - you know that, sooner or later, it's going to go off in his hand, and you're going to suffer the consequences.

I stared at his oddly-shaped trouser-snake, completely hypnotised by the urgent activity going on in front of me, knowing I couldn't avoid what was about to happen. Suddenly, the white fluid erupted from it and hit me right between the eyes, then across my cheek, and finally spurted into my hair. Now I'm a complete mess, I thought, I suppose that's a fitting climax!

I had to wait a few minutes before the cubicle door opened again and, although I couldn't see who it was because of the cum in my eyes, I knew by the click-click of her heels that Dafne had returned.

"What a filthy girl you are," I heard her say as she unlocked the cuffs and removed the gag and vibrator, "I hope you appreciate me arranging all of that for you. Get yourself cleaned up and come back to the bar." I staggered to the sink and splashed water into my face, but by the time I could see again, she had left.

It took me a while to get all the gunk off my body and out of my hair, and my make-up was pretty much ruined by the time I had finished wiping spunk out of my eyes and off my lips. Putting the latex dress back on wasn't easy either, with the rubber sticking to my wet skin, but eventually I was just about presentable and clip-clopped my way back into the main part of the pub.

I started towards the booth but, to my dismay, it was now occupied by an entirely different group of people. I looked around frantically and finally spotted Dafne sitting at the bar sipping a cocktail. I hurriedly made my way over to her.

"I'm afraid the boys had to go," she said when I reached her, "but they said to say thank you, you got their evening going with a bang. Here, have a proper drink, I think you deserve it." She passed me a tall glass filled with a creamy, opaque drink and sprouting umbrellas, straws and fruit. I took a long drag of the sweet liquid, which turned out to be a Pina Colada.

"I have to say thanks, Dafne, that was an amazing experience," I said with feeling, "but now I feel really guilty. What on earth am I going to tell Yvonne?!"

"Simple," she replied breezily, "lie! What she doesn't know, can't hurt her." I looked at her rather glumly - I really did love Yvonne, and I didn't want to jeopardise our relationship with deception and half-truths. They were the poison which eats away at trust. I didn't know what to do…

* * * * *

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

I hadn't taken Dafne's advice. I had just told my lover the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Right about now, I was starting to regret it.

"I leave you alone for a few days," she shouted, clearly angry and annoyed, "and you go and get yourself fucked by the Wales back line!" I wanted to correct her, to say that she hadn't left me alone for 'a few days' but for weeks, that I hadn't actually technically been fucked, it was just a blowjob or six, and they weren't really from the Wales national rugby team, they were just this bunch of guys. But I decided that would be a very bad idea.

"I'm sorry, Evie, I don't know what came over me," I whimpered pathetically.

"Half a fucking rugby team came over you, that's what happened!" she screamed, and I shut up at that point. We sat in silence for a few minutes, her fuming, me wishing the ground would open up and swallow me. Eventually, she calmed down.

"You're a kinky little slut, Sally Masterson," she said in an exasperated tone, "but you're my kinky little slut." She pulled me into a tight hug which lasted far longer than the argument had.

"So, do you forgive me?" I ventured, not risking looking at her face.

"I suppose so," she replied resignedly, but with a smile in her voice, "but I'm going to have to punish you."

"Oh?" I responded in surprise, and rather uncertainly. What did she mean? If Dafne had said that to me, I would have known that I was in for a whipping. But Yvonne wasn't into all that kind of thing.

She manoeuvred me from the close cuddle to bent over her knee in a trice. As I tried to come to terms with this new, assertive Yvonne, she yanked down my leggings and knickers and began spanking my bottom surprisingly hard and efficiently. As I howled in response to this unexpected assault, I wondered how she came to be so proficient at delivering such a beating. Maybe she's a natural, I thought, or maybe she's been taking lessons from Dafne!

By the time she had finished, my arse was very sore and glowing bright red.

But, oh my God, the make-up sex was out of this world!